Continuing with their series, the Maciste mega-producers traded Gordon Mitchell for Gordon Scott, thus intentionally cultivating an air of confusion. Scott’s greatest day in the sun had already come and gone, as he anticipated Steve Reeves’ ascendance to fame in the latter half of the ‘50s by playing in Tarzan movies…as Tarzan. Then jungle adventures gave way to Greco-Roman epics, though it’s all still a delivery system for naked, rippling male torsos. Scott coasted for a while longer in the pepla, playing Maciste twice in 1961.
Part Four, Maciste at the Court of the Great Khan, sees the temporally-challenged Maciste bring his usual, formulaic heroic antics to Asia, against the Mongols in particular. In true Italian frugality and resourcefulness, it was thrown together from the leftover sets of Marco Polo (which somehow dates from a year later than this Maciste – Time Lord!).
You know, if anything distinguishes Maciste from all the other pepla, it’s this freedom to hop aimlessly between settings without a care in the world. Certainly beats getting caught in a Greece trap. Let’s ‘em embrace weirdness for its own sake, and devise some pretty outré spectacles.
Like Part Five, Maciste vs. the Vampire. Here, married to presumably the bog standard sword-and-sandals formula, is any number of nutbars supernatural notions. To go off of various conflicting summaries, we have vampires, zombies, Satanic cults, robots which run on human blood, haunted forests, giant insects, assorted grab-bag monsterism, plagiary against the “Flash Gordon” serials, sandals. No movie could possibly be that good! Like Mario Bava’s Hercules in the Haunted World, Maciste vs. the Vampire showcases Italy’s growing enthusiasm for horror. Only poorly.
Neither of these Scott Gordon Macistes are available in the post-VHS era.
Then there’s Maciste, the Strongest Man in the World (there’s a certain idiotic poetry to that title), which marks, er, Mark Forest’s glorious return to the role he “originated” (in ‘60s terms) in Maciste in the Valley of the Kings. It’s called Mole Men vs. the Son of Hercules in the U.S., for idiotically complicated reasons which yield an even more idiotically poetic title. “Idiotic” continues to describe the movie as a whole, a work of shameless, artless, pure Velveeta cheese which has the temerity to posit honest-to-Apollo Mole Men as an idea worthy of exploration. Because even by late 1961, Maciste had explored enough real civilizations, it was time to take the formula into the realm of abstract craziness.
We first make our reacquaintance with Mark Forest’s Maciste dragging a god damn whale onto shore. Then, wasting no time, the Mole Men make their ignominious entrance. It’s all gonna be comedown after this. These Mole Men – albino, lab mouse-looking Sand People types, only more disposable – these Mole Men kill some guys gratuitously, Maciste smacks them around a bit, then, without warning, the sun rises. Like normal.
This kills the Mole Men. Now…these are the “evil kingdom” of this entry, the tyrannical overlords running rampage throughout helpless villages and whatnot. That is, undefeatable demigods. Who are lesser versions of vampires, who absolutely cannot step outdoors in the daytime. This’ll make the Mole Kingdom look pretty lame as the film goes on, raising a whole lot of plot-related holes – but if we sit here examining plot holes, we’ll be here all day, and I’m pretty drunk.
Besides, there are more insidious issues at play. Consider those doofy Mole Men. They’re white. Like, whiter than an Irishman, performed that way by swarthy Italians in great, caking chunks of paint primer. Some of ‘em even have afros, which rather begs the question. Though it’s not clear what the point here is, certainly there’s something racial going on – villains of white whose modus operandi most resembles the Third Reich, but featuring other racial characteristics. Proving that an unacknowledged Maciste franchise consistency, ever since 1914’s Cabiria, is awkward controversy-baiting.
Now, that all seems like a bit of a stretch, and I feel I’m lacking coherence. The next scene synchs it. Maciste traipses off into the jungle, finds some more Mole Men, and murders them. Keep terrifying us with your villains there, movie. The upshot of all this is Maciste rescues a big, hulking, glistening black man from a Z-grade King Kong sacrificial ceremony. Questionably named Bangor (Paul Wynter – these sound like pornography names), this African feels the need to thank Maciste profusely. That is, in the manner of a 1930s stereotype, automatically subservient to a white (but not too white) superior. I can’t imagine Italy was that insensitive; let’s just blame Antonio Leonviola, director.
(Paul Wynter is beefier than Mark Forest too, to no one’s benefit)
Thus established, Bangor tags along in Maciste’s hulking wake, sinking into the background as is his subjugated wont. Ignoring that stuff, they make it right along to the Mole Kingdom. Here we learn something new: Maciste is unintelligent. Sure, in Maciste in the Land of the Cyclops he was surprisingly swift-witted; here, he’s an ass. He pinpoints the Mole Men – living underground in the dark, naturally – and even sets a clever trap to attack them the coming night. Then, instead of springing his trap, Maciste (and Bangor) simply get themselves taken prisoner by the Mole Men instead. Totally undermining their own hard work. And don’t think Maciste’s an undercover mole (heh heh); he has absolutely zero game plan once they’re captured.
Sigh…Oh well, let’s get used to the Mole Kingdom, as Maciste’s gonna be a valueless prisoner here for the majority of this film. That’s alongside all the other surface humans the Mole Men have pilfered, none of whom was clever enough to figure out these guys only attack when it’s night. (Or when there’s an ineffective night filter out, at least, which is maybe what tripped ‘em up.) And damn you, Maciste, surely when you were directly above the Mole Kingdom at midday you could’ve done something, you know, collapsed some chasms into their cave network, drowned those albinos out with some good old fashioned melatonin. Okay, it’s would’ve been a 20 minute long movie (not that I’d complain), but you just look incompetent. … (You know, if I address every problem with these Mole Men, this’ll never end.)
Despite this kingdom’s obvious fictional status, it follows the same formula strictures as all pepla. That means a standard, boring evil queen seductress (Moira Orfei as Queen Halis Mosab), a male bad guy to pick up the villain ball should the queen falter in the Third Act (Nando Tamberlani as King Aran), and his son who can pine for the queen and then envy Maciste when he steals her from him (Enrico Glori as Kahab). Oh, and there’s a bland good girl to counter the evil queen, in a role so useless they literally forget her for good half way through (Raffaella Carrà as Princess Saliurra – where do they get these names?). So now you’re filled in.
The reason Queen Halis Mosab has kidnapped all these surface folk instead of, well, killin’ ‘em, that’s because the Strongest Man in the World people have been watching the same movies Steven Spielberg did right before making Temple of Doom. At the very least, they’ve probably seen She. And King Solomon’s Mines. I mean the 1950 version, not the one that was ripping off Temple of Doom. At any rate, H. Rider Haggard stuff. That is, slaves working an underground mine, turning these ginormously recockulous grinder wheels to deliver gold and diamonds and unobtanium.
Okay, I’m tiring of this movie; I’m burning out from all these pepla in a row. Halis Mosab dictates the flow of the story, not Maciste, because it’s almost always the vampy queen type who runs the show really. She wants to marry Kahab, or maybe Maciste, or Bangor, or someone else unspellable. Oh, she also wants to kill Saliurra, or maybe Maciste, or Bangor, or – Whatever, there’s a way to decide all of this, and thankfully it’s the same method to determine marriages and executions. (Cynically-minded types wouldn’t distinguish between those two.)
Here’s how it works: The entire Mole Man civilization shall go outside, out of the safety of the caves, into the night sky around 4 am. May I ask WHY?! Do you all WANT to die?! I…I…I…I’m sorry, if I can’t accept these arbitrary setups which allow Maciste (and Saliurra) to eventually escape, I’ll never make it through. Whatever, they’re all outside, which is as dumb as the aliens in Signs invading a planet made out of alien poison and –
Start again! We’re outside, the night filter is on full blast, and there’s a cage here with a ferocious ape in it – or at least a nameless Italian in a grody, unkempt ape suit, possibly passed down by Ray Corrigan. Whomever Halis Mosab wants to kill, the ape shall decide for her – by killing them! And whomever Halis Mosab wants to marry, the ape shall decide for her – by getting killed by him! As a pointless example, some anonymous Mole Man demonstrates, becoming ape Alpo.
Maciste volunteers to ape grapple, as a part of his ingenious “keep putting myself in the worst possible predicament” plan, through which he somehow intends to dismantle the entire Mole Man society. For reasons which are arbitrary even within the world of Maciste, he cannot just go do that, though. Nope, first Halis Mosab demands Maciste wrestle Bangor first. Sure, why not. (Fighting a black man and then an ape. I am…not going to address this one.)
Maciste fights Bangor. Bangor submits, due to his natural inferiority to Maciste’s European blood.
Maciste fights the ape. The ape dies, for similar reasons.
Then, everyone gawking slack-jawed like a troglodyte, Maciste runs out of the cage, snags up Saliurra as cavemen do their brides, and rides off into the rising sun. Without anyone putting up a fight. And all the Mole Men flee screaming back for the safety of their inviting dank pits, lest their skin tan and they die. Not a single Mensa member in this whole bunch, I tell you what!
What happens next? Maciste deposits Saliurra at the safety of a random, never-before-mentioned sacred grotto (where’s Hef?), where she’ll never be seen again. Then he wastes an entire day, presumably twiddling his thumbs. That night, Kahab sets out to capture Maciste, and restore whatever he specifically lost in the carnival of retardation that was the ape fight. Like a villain in a Bugs Bunny cartoon, Kahab does this by basically setting up Maciste bait (that is, a raw hunk of meat) in a snare trap out totally at random in the jungle. And Maciste takes the bait! I’ve seen hound dogs smarter than this guy! Racing that danged sun again, Kahab lugs Maciste – whose name, by the way, they all pronounce as “Majestus” for some reason – back to the Mole Kingdom.
Meanwhile, King Aran (just one “y” short!) has learned some startling new racist news. Queen Halis Mosab is not pure Mole Woman. She’s not all that pale, really; no attractive woman in Italy would be. Nope, she’s miscegenated, impure, not whole Mole. I’m sure this movie intends some sort of racial metaphor, but I doubt even it knows what it is.
No time for that now, we have to satisfy generic peplum requirements. Meaning, for reasons most arbitrary, Halis Mosab places Maciste in a Feat of Strength™ which also sorta resembles a Saw trap – he must prop up eight massive weights, and it they drop he’ll kill his beloved friend, and also Bangor. Maciste succeeds, which makes Halis Mosab horny, so she invites him to her chamber for a seduction scene so standard, I can’t even recall now if I saw it.
Now, Halis Mosab doesn’t realize she’s of mixed ancestry. But she wants her kids to be, wants the seed of Maciste to be able to explore Earth’s surface. More racial stuff, man, which I’m leaving well alone, especially since the sudden random, purposeless, short-lived intrusion of lions distracts Maciste and myself. “The Sacred Lions” as Halis Mosab calls them, which is pretty funny.
I grow wearing of recalling Maciste, the Strongest Man in the World. The final – oh Lord! – 22 remaining minutes of this follow the sword-and-sandals playbook by the, er, book – extra battles, more Feats of Strength™, crumbling pillars. But the queen’s turn to good, which is increasingly becoming a feature of these pepla as they lose all need for the “good girl,” warrants greater-than-average attention. Halis Mosab winds up on the surface at daybreak, along with all her Mole Man brethren. While they perish writhing in a screaming morass of pain and suffering, like that one vampire in Blade, Halis Mosab realizes she is immune to the sun’s murderous intent.
This is a grand day for Halis Mosab. Maciste has shown her that there is more to life than the insular, condemning tyranny she once knew. He has given her strength, not just strength in himself, but strength of her own, the strength to great every new day with a sense of purpose and promise. Thus truly Maciste is the strongest man in the world! And what a world Halis Mosab has discovered! The sun shines brightly, giving her skin a glow she’s never known before. And what’s this? Butterflies, a panoply of colors, which are nothing compared to the birds in their magnificence, and the cascading torrents of waterfalls, and the brilliant rainbows. Halis Mosab can be proud to spread her arms wide and know this life is hers.
…Until she falls off a cliff and dies. Now THAT was funny!
RELATED POSTS
• The Silent Maciste Franchise (1914 - 1927)
• No. 1 Maciste in the Valley of the Kings (1960)
• No. 2 Maciste vs. the Headhunters (1960)
• No. 3 Maciste in the Land of the Cyclops (1961)
• No. 7 Maciste Against Hercules in the Vale of Woe (1961)
• Nos. 8 - 20 (1962 - 1964)
• No. 21 Maciste vs. the Mongols (1963)
• No. 22 Maciste in Genghis Khan's Hell (1964)
• No. 23 Maciste and the Queen of Samar (1964)
• No. 24 Hercules, Samson, Maciste and Ursus (1964)
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