Back to Italy, after one disgusting detour. It’s that magical year of 1961, when the Hercules series enjoyed huge favor and equivalent budgets, yet switched up its interchangeable he-man ciphers as often as a loincloth. Next up: Reg Park
A new leading actor, but the story remains the same. Another Mr. Universe, only Park was a three time Mr. Universe champion – 1951, 1958 and 1965. And as a British-born bodybuilding badass, Park could afford to use his original name, and not “Anglicize” it into something transparent like Rock Hard or Strongus McGranite-Stone, Jr. Steve Reeves may get all the glory as the first Hercules, but Park is possibly the absolute best one they had, in terms of sheer athleticism, and he had a (minor) degree of actorly capability as well, something no other 1960s muscleman could claim. You’d expect nothing less from the man awesome enough to qualify as Arnold Schwarzenegger’s mentor! With such status, Park had his say in a movie career. Picky Park picked a pack of popular pepla. He chose Hercules, not vice versa, limiting his film career almost entirely to Hercules movies (and one Maciste…and Pumping Iron).
Despite this change, the Italian Herculeses enjoy at least some continuity, as Vittorio Cottafavi directs Park’s introductory Hercules and the Conquest of Atlantis just as he did Mark Forest’s The Revenge of Hercules. This is a good thing. The man understands the grandeurs of the peplum, knows what to make silly (most of it) without selling out a film’s heart. He embraces the fantastical more wholly than the Reeves movies did, and makes his budgets work for him.
What one notes first about Park’s Hercules is how calm he is. Other interpretations have played up the he-hulk’s stupidity or rudeness, though it’s arguable this was just the actors’ own personas shining through. Park is an intellectual amongst strongmen, whose Hercules seems more as we’d wish an all-powerful demigod would be (i.e. an actual role model), and less how Hercules really was in old myth – yeah, the Greeks legitimately portrayed him as an ass. Park’s Herc is actually a mature immortal, able to sit out of a western-style bar fight, even when the rest of Thebes is getting their violent jollies off. Oh, but Hercules can still stop such a brawl, when it inconveniences him, with a single word of protest.
Park’s Hercules is also phenomenally lazy, but we can’t have a flawless character.
Now, continuity may be a scarce, precious commodity in Hercules films, but we still see similar characters crop up from flick to flick. The same mythological figures, really, and the same Theban setting (with the same single palace set, slightly redressed). So Deianeira is back as Hercules’ wife, but thankfully I only have to spell her name but the once today, as she exists mostly to reminds us that, yes, Hercules is domesticated now, he shits indoors, and is thus less of an adventurer. With this setup, Herc’s son Illus (Luciano Marin) is back, and unlike The Revenge of Hercules, Illus is inarguably Herc’s son now. Utilizing Illus as something other than the buttmonkey, he receives some of the old Herculean traits Park does not exhibit, such as a lust for adventure, and a lust for, well, lust.
There’s also a dwarf on the premises, played by Salvatore Furnari, whose entire film career was based around the notion that he’s short and stocky – which is in and of itself apparently hilarious to the Italians, for how his Timoteus is literally manhandled here. To say nothing of the…bizarre voice dubbing, somewhere between a Mars Attacks! alien and “The Simpsons’” Squeaky-Voiced Teen. No one in the modern age shares such a juvenile wonder of dwarves…except Mike Meyers.
Meanwhile, Thebes is a kingdom, so there’s gotta be a ruler. That’ll be king Androclus (Ettore Manni, groin-shooting Italian legend), another displayer of Herc’s old vices. Thankfully, with the tonal switch-up, Thebes is not the setting for ridiculously complex political intrigue, as Cottafavi now recognizes the value in a simple story well-told. Rather, danger is a wholly outside force, one which makes itself known by means of a literalized prophecy – an excuse to use the sort of whoop-whoop-whoop cheapo sci-fi noises the ‘60s specialized in. For over a minute, the screen turns redder than downtown Amsterdam, as Hercules (and Androclus) “sees” things we’re meant to see, but which we just cannot see.
The red recedes, and the gist is this: Some unknowable, distant peril threatens Thebes. Rather than wait for whatever to reach him, Androclus goes all Bush Doctrine and orders a preemptive strike, never mind a complete lack of intelligence or capable warriors. Astoundingly enough, even mighty Hercules refuses this call to action. Rather, he does something uncharacteristically sane (for Hercules, at least), and destroys Androclus’ throne for trumped-up reasons. Well…any chance to wedge in a Feat of Strength early…
They don’t over-insist upon the always-boring “I don’t want to be a hero today” arc, that being a Joseph Campbell facet these pepla just cannot be arsed with. They instead embrace idiotic comedy with shocking regularity (see the dwarf), and thus Hercules’ eventual adventure is the result of a joke. Illus is gung-ho about meeting and murdering foreigners, and he opts to smuggle a snoozing Hercules onto Androclus’ ship without Hercules’ knowing. And when Hercules awakes at sea, Illus hides below decks with his precious pet midget. So Hercules doesn’t know aught for why he’s here alone with Androclus and a bunch of mutinous pirates rowers, Androclus not being the most effective hirer in the world.
The mutinous crew attempts mutiny. When pressed by necessity, Hercules can lift a finger, as he single-handedly drags the departing ship back into shore. It’s a nice Feat of Strength, and juxtaposing Hercules with chains is always iconic. This randomness complete, fulfilling the need to show off Reg Park’s musculature, Herc and Androclus set back out to sea armed with naught but a little person (the dwarf). (Illus remains “comically” hidden in the hold.) Then something happens which no sea-faring adventure can do without: the tempestuous storm. The upswing is it sends Hercules off by his lonesome on a thing of driftwood. Now we’re through the preliminaries, and the true adventure can commence.
Herc drifts through the fog, prays to Zeus with shocking respect (Park’s buff buffoon is one upstanding citizen, I tell you what), and washes up on a desert island. Cottafavi breaks out his trademark grab bag fantasticalism, depicting the rocks as formed of women. Herc finds one gal still half-alive in the rockface – this being Ismene (the Björk-lookin’ Laura Efrikian). Rather than take her for granite (uh hyuck!), Herc learns of this island’s god. …Now, the word “god” must have had different connotations them, because the dread Proteus is feeble, insane, and highly killable.
Word can barely contain the moronic glee of Herc’s upcoming duel. The bearded Proteus transforms himself into a great, rubberized humanoid iguanadon beastiolle, lookin’ like a cross between one of my dog’s chew toys and the Gorn. Seriously, one can almost hear the “Star Trek” fight theme! (Warning: that links to a cat video.)
Then Proteus transforms into an equally-rubberized python, the best with which to wrap around Hercules’ trunk-like neck like a stylish neckerchief. Hercules tosses this new fashion accessory away. Hercules may be gay (he has two beards: the one on his face, and Deianeira – spelled it twice!), but he’s not camp gay.
In a burst of sudden flames, Proteus is now the requisite lion-per-entry. Lion fight! At least this time we get actual man-animal interaction, and not just Steve Reeves wrestling an elaborate blanket. Their trained stunt-lion isn’t much of a fighter, however, mostly content to hug Reg Park like a long lost lover.
Oh boy – WHOOO! – Proteus is now a vulture, on the most obvious strings outside of Plan 9! Let those Atari SFX play! This is nutbars!
One more burst of flames, and he’s the lizard again, ready for the main battle. You’d think the Godzilla approach could yield more fight choreography than a love struck lion, but it seems the suit actor is as lovelorn as Leo, also quite pleased with groping Park. Park does not reciprocate, rips off the lizard’s horn, and immortal Proteus dies.
At that, the fogs lift and Ismene (and it occurs just about every Hercules has a totally different Ismene) is freed. She directs Hercules to another nearby island. The Island of…Atlantis! It’s meant as a shock, but any movie called Hercules and the Conquest of Atlantis just has to get there at some point (those watching the U.S.-titled Hercules and the Captive Women will be more confused, especially since Ismene is but the sole woman shown as a captive).
They putter on over to the Atlantean capital, which looks all Egyptianish, this being an opportunity for the set design people to go hog wild with cultural miasma. This is a most effective setting, and more pleasurable in its fantasy than the bland historical kingdoms we oft get. The Atlanteans – the villains – are busy prepping their youths for your standard virgins-in-the-volcano routine. When Hercules asks, they have a wonderful motive:
“Today is dedicated to Uranus.”
Making it a holy day! Heh? Eh.
So Hercules goes into the grand palace hall, expecting to find the required evil seductress queen bitch vamp. He does indeed find her, in the form of Queen Antinea (Fay Spain, of freaking The Godfather: Part II), accompanied by her henchman – a blonde and bearded variation on Mark Zuckerberg, and therefore someone you’d like to slap right in the face.
Antinea realizes Hercules has murdered horny Proteus:
“You have killed a son of Uranus.”
She notes, further, that this means Atlantis’ foggy protection is gone:
“Uranus has abandoned us.”
Actually, it’s still right h- Oh, you mean the god. Yeah, he has. (Get used to “Uranus,” it won’t stop poking up.)
Enough of that (for now – more to come). We learn Ismene is Antinea’s daughter, whom she gsve to Proteus to kill. What the heck for?! Well, prophecy, really, and does anyone in ancient Greece ever learn these things are self-fulfilling?! Here’s Antinea’s fate: Should Ismene live longer than her, then Atlantis shall fall. Antinea’s just trying to preserve her nation, through an unwanted but necessary sacrifice. (It must be said, there seems to be little Atlantean intent upon Thebes now, despite the former worries. Androclus even makes a brief, very confusing cameo, then vanishes forever. Forget about that whole First Act.)
Hercules, ever the hero, swears that somehow he’ll find a loophole to save Atlantis without requiring anyone’s death. Guess how successful he’ll be at this? Not very. Instead, he initiates the usual adulterous affair with this entry’s temptress, leaving Deianeira in the lurch (spelled it thrice!), for even a relatively moral Hercules retains his passion for marital infidelity. Bless that demigod! And, following formula, once the desultory affair and dancing girl-watching is over, Antinea shall try to kill Hercules, despite his desires to help her, simply because that’s what you do in these things. Hercules escapes, however, utilizing the old “bend the bars” trick. Antinea’s advice to her henchmen:
“Find him if you value Uranus.”
Stop it, stop it, you’re killing me!
Meanwhile, Illus and Timoteus the Dwarf of Hilariousness have conveniently drifted onshore near the Atlantean sulfuric death pits. Sadly, no one calls this sulfur “the gas of Uranus.” (Sulfur is always portrayed in pepla by lighting off a few yellow gas bombs, which is always entertaining – and oddly effective.) Here, with equal convenience, is Ismene tied to a post all damsel-like, ready for execution by some of Antinea’s Zuckerburgs. Illus attacks these goons, making for a surprisingly effective murderous do-gooder. That’s despite Illus’ pronounced scrawniness, as he’s the David type to Hercules’ Goliath, and just as good with a sling. (The dwarf kills some dudes too, which is just horrifying. I’ll have nightmares.)
Let start the normal romance between Illus and Ismene, something Hercules would’ve done in an earlier entry.
So now we got both Hercules and Illus randomly roaming the mountains of Atlantis, seeking the next plot development. They find it, simultaneously but without seeing each other (farce!), in some gravel pits, where some of Antinea’s failed sacrifices now dwell like lepers. It’s an odd situation, necessitating exposition from one of these sods…These frequent male virgin sacrifices are to the island’s ancient rocks. Those who do accept this fate become Antinea’s interchangeable Zuckerburgs, a presumed master race of unstoppable supersoldiers we’ve already seen die by the dozens (even by Illus). Those who refuse this call become the lesion-covered wastrels we see before us. Some of this supernatural hooey isn’t wholly clear, but never mind that, for Hercules has now found Timoteus, and is shaking him like a baby:
Hercules helps these fools escape their bonds. They start a rebellion against Antinea et al, killing many, which is a good example of how Hercules couldn’t effectively parse out a loophole to that prophecy. To spoil ahead a tad, the entire civilization of Atlantis shall soon fall, and all because Hercules didn’t want Ismene to die. Good one there, Herc!
Meanwhile, the chief expository outcast leads Hercules up the mountain face to a sulfurous craphole cave. Inside is a lava pit dealie, where the unstoppable Zuckerburgs are formed. Mr. Exposition demonstrates by standing over it, and instead vanishes in a puff of smoke. (This makes no sense by any description, beyond Cottafavi’s desire to stage a weird special effect.) That talkative ass gone, a new one arrives in the form of a priest, explaining this grotto is the lair of a god far more powerful than Zeus…URANUS!!!
[Spit take!] Stop the presses! Prepare for the great dump of “Uranus!”
“Uranus was struck down and thrust into the great unknown. [The where?!] The gore that flew from Uranus’ hideous wounds fell into the seas and sank into the waters, granting us all the powers of Uranus. [No comment.] I was the last high priest dedicated to Uranus, and I still worship Uranus. [Brown-noser!] Uranus was just! The blood of Uranus can never be destroyed.”
This is one of the greatest things ever!
Hercules realizes Uranus is a foul and rancid thing, and he vows to kick Uranus’ ass. Since Atlantis is inarguably of a different religion than his, Hercules is apparently justified in destroying it (Bush Doctrine!). So off he races to the center of town, where an epic sword battle betwixt all the extras has left the various rebel forces dead as dodos. Not much help they were!
Hercules searches the palace for Antenea. She presents him with the usual villainous spiel about joining her and ruling the world together and about the joyous qualities of megalomania and yadda yadda. “If you will not join me, I must destroy you!,” all that jazz. Antenea pits Hercules against the fullest force of her Zuckerburgs, “a supreme race borne of the blood of Uranus.” Okay, that’s the last time she invokes Uranus! Cue an extensively choreographed duke-out twixt Herc and the Uranus-borne, complete with much Herculean thing-tossing. It ends with a reasonable amount of running time remaining, so Hercules tumbles down a sudden trap door (forces himself into it due to awkward blocking, more like it) and winds up in a cell with Illus (who was captured at…some point). This is the first time Herc sees his son on this whole adventure, mind you. It’s wacky!
They escape a Temple of Doom lowering ceiling with alarming ease. They reach Atlantis’ underground caves, which are the same distinctive catacombs I’ve seen in nearly every peplum so far (what are these things?!). They engage some Zuckerburgs in a chariot chase, which Hercules wins through the use of explosive agorae (!).
As Illus sets for shore to barter a ship and wrangle the dwarf, Hercules returns to the stinky, sulfurous, gassy crags of Uranus. (Look, that is where he is, I cannot sugarcoat Uranus.) Mass genocide on his reasonable mind, Hercules locates the central lava hole…of Uranus. He shines a shaft of light upon Uranus’ gaping chasm, causing Uranus to expel great heaping torrents of magma. He makes good his escape, as all of Atlantis perishes under the wrath of Uranus. The palace crumbles, innocent citizens just seeking Herculean salvation die violently under tumbling debris, Hercules willingly destroyed an entire civilization for iffy reasons at best. At least it makes for a nice climactic spectacle.
That finale pulls out all the stops, in a peplum which is fun, legible, coherent, full of big, goofy monsters, all the things one wants in a B-grade sword-and-sandals extravaganza. Genocidal impulses aside, Reg Park’s Hercules is a much more identifiable son-of-Zeus, with sense and smarts and piety. The moments where he falters, accepting seduction and mass murdering innocents, are more a fallout of the general formula, to which Hercules is ever chained. Cottafavi surely understands how to deliver the goods better than Pietro Francisci before him, so it’s a shame his pepla experienced a slight downtick in worldwide popularity. They are better, but it’s enough years now into the cycle, with enough awful copycats (such as Queen of the Nile, The Colossus of Rhodes, Two Gladiators, War Gods of Babylon, Suleiman the Conqueror, literally at least 100 more) there’s only so much market demand for even the best Hercules flick. But even by 1961, with many peplum peddlers losing their moxie, Hercules remains unassailable. Reg Park would stay on for one more entry, and perfect his interpretation under perhaps the greatest director to ever direct a peplum (apart from Sergio Leone): Mario Bava!
RELATED POSTS
• No. 1 Hercules (1958)
• No. 2 Hercules Unchained (1959)
• No. 3 The Revenge of Hercules (1960)
• No. 4 Hercules vs. the Hydra (1960)
• No. 6 Hercules id the Haunted World (1961)
• No. 7 Maciste Against Hercules in the Vale of Woe (1961)
• No. 8 Ulysses vs. Hercules (1962)
• No. 9 The Fury of Hercules (1962)
• No. 10 Hercules, Samson and Ulysses (1963)
• No. 12 Hercules in the Land of Darkness (1964)
• No. 16 Hercules and the Tyrants of Babylon (1964)
• No. 17 Hercules, Samson, Maciste and Ursus (1964)
• No. 18 Hercules and the Princess of Troy (1965)
• No. 19 Hercules the Avenger (1965)
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