Hercules, Maciste, Samson and Ursus, Nos. 17 & 24 & 5 & 8 - Hercules, Samson, Maciste and Ursus (1964)

This is it. This is, at long last, the GREAT CROSSOVER.

The mightiest of all pepla, conceptually at least, has a name, as lugubrious as one would expect of this genre: Hercules, Samson, Maciste and Ursus (for now on, HSM&U). If that doesn’t say more efficiently than any other possible name “This is a crossover of Hercules, Samson, Maciste and Ursus,” I don’t know what does? (Though it could have added a “vs.” or three.)

This movie’s alternate U.S. title is Samson and the Mighty Challenge, which not only hides any sense of grandiosity, but unfairly marks the thing out as belonging to the frail, emaciated Samson franchise alone.


The idea of combining three of the greatest peplum heroes, and also Ursus, into a single definitive rumble has a certain lizard-like appeal (it’s also attractive to fans of the overtly homoerotic). It would be even more exciting if these four cinematic musclemen were anything more than interchangeable stand-ins for each other, but what’re ya gonna do? Of course, there have already been a few Hercules crossovers, such as with Maciste in Maciste vs. Hercules in the Vale of Woe, and with Samson in Hercules, Samson and Ulysses (spuriously, and not actually a crossover, is the similar Ulysses vs. Hercules). None of these is remotely good, so maybe I shouldn’t be too excited about the prospect of another one with four times the sweaty, glistening muscle. But thank Zeus, Jupiter, Jehovah, or whomever Ursus worships (himself), HSM&U is a fantastically atypical sword-and-sandals!

Don’t get me wrong, it’s still dreadful, near the bottom of the cinematic agora. But at least it comes by these mistakes honestly, forging its own trail of insufficiency rather than just being an uninspired 20th generation copy of Hercules and the Captive Women. I’ve watched in essence the exact same movie every day for the better part of a month, making the rather rancid HSM&U a true godsend. Imagine trying to critique Friday the 13th Part III twenty days in a row; that’s what it’s been like.

Anyway, it can be effectively argued that a crossover doesn’t usually appear until desperation truly sets in. A rule of thumb is the more franchises are in a crossover, the more desperate they are. Look to the crossbreeding of Universal’s monsters, leading eventually to Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein, and beyond. (I’d also point out Godzilla free-for-alls like Destroy All Monsters, except such maniacal multi-monster mash-ups became the SOP for Toho.) And surely by late 1964, the accursed Italian peplum craze was truly perishing, already dealt a fatal blow by A Fistful of Dollars and the ascendant Spaghetti Western. Pulling out all the stops, every single major peplum franchise combines here into a hybridized chimera, joining the powers of every series…

Which means HSM&U sucks with the combined magnitude of four mortal pepla.


With a budget paltry even by the standards of Maciste vs. the Headhunters, HSM&U is lucky they could afford a single marquee-name bodybuilding superstar. They did in fact get one, as Alan Steel draws the long gladius and plays Hercules (having only fist essayed that particular role earlier that year, in Hercules Against Rome). This leaves the other three lugs relegated to no-name he-men, obscure even by the standards of this forgotten trend. But we’ll get to those.

For now, Hercules is shown wandering with characteristic aimlessness, until Zeus’ voice booms down from the clouds with moral guidance. You’d be totally surprised to learn this is actually the first peplum I’ve seen which directly invokes Zeus, or any of that puffy cloud and lightning imagery. And lest we think this is one of those compromised American dubs, where Maciste is rechristened “Hercules” since non-Italians don’t know aught about Maciste, remember everyone is in this one, so when they say “Hercules,” they damn well mean “Hercules.” And Alan Steel is Hercules!

Hercules highs his way to the kingdom of Lydia – and don’t even bother trying to redress that Spanish coastal town as something that isn’t 20th century, guys! Around now I start to notice something funny (and not “ha ha” funny) about HSM&U…It is a comedy! OH…NO! Vale of Woe, the earliest such crossover (and the dead worst peplum I’ve seen, possibly excepting Ursus, the Terror of the Kirghiz) also tried to be a comic peplum, and was about as humorous as wildly bleeding hemorrhoids. But somehow HSM&U manages to work in spite of itself (though my standards are ridiculously lowered at this stage), never achieving “humor” but at least totally eschewing hateful, hair-pulling worthlessness. It seems built upon actual genre observation, noting especially its heroes’ personality flaws.

Consider Hercules, a boastful ass who lets everyone within earshot know at every possible moment about his demigodhood, how he achieves the Nietzschean ideal (though a B.C. he-man wouldn’t call it quite that, exactly) and is better than you. Yes, YOU! This is par for the course, which is one reason I’ve silently detested this peplum exercise. But among the characters Herc meets, they all treat him as I would – with anachronistically modern condescension, but with great tact lest he hear them and rip their throats out.

Okay, not every character acts that way – though those that do tip this film’s hand as a would-be comedy. Some people, especially Queen Nemea (Lia Zoppelli) are stupefied in Hercules’ exalted presence, as he prefers. It’s just as well, as this mania drives the plot. For Nemea wishes the Herc to wed her daughter Omphale (Elisa Montés); Omphale is of a sane mindset, and thoroughly opposes this. And would you lookie here! The Italians have discovered that subtle storytelling technique, conflict. Suddenly their stories can movie along naturally!

Omphale, in her struggle to cancel marrying the lunkhead, rigs the local oracle, much as Dreyfus rigged that supercomputer in Curse of the Pink Panther, to demand that first Hercules battle the strongest man on earth. You’ve a one in three chance of guessing this one correctly. It’s Samson (aka שמשון). Despite Hercules’ protestations, he (Hercules) is deemed “not a man” – a common ailment amongst steroid abusers – due to his demigod status. Can you believe they seem to have an actual, functional understanding of Hercules’ mythological history, even if they rather make an intentional hash of the Omphale story? I’d wager (for the first time in any peplum) the writers have done some honest-to-Atlas research, for the previously-unacknowledged mythological factoids which spring up. Amongst that “useless trivia” is the idea that Samson worships a non-Zeus god, namely Yahweh. Yes, they actually pose the Zeus vs. Our Lord debate, even if it goes nowhere. It goes to show they knew the subtext of these movies (or one subtext, at least, as the “gay” thing is never addressed).

I’m heaping oodles more praise onto HSM&U now than I rather expected to. Time to counterbalance that. There are many problems with HSM&U, and an early purposeless set piece with Hercules reflects that. While emissaries are off to Israel (or wherever) to find Samson, Nemea has Hercules perform odd jobs around the kingdom – an actually funny conceit. In one scene, he’s asked to dredge a ship from the ocean’s floor. Do you like uncut, murky underwater footage? Was Thunderball’s climax too short for you? You’ll love this bit, then, which somehow eschews the light and breezy tone most of HSM&U boasts for one of the worst Feats of Strength™ in the genre.

Add to that the out-of-place soundtrack, which for some reason samples Beethoven’s Fifth every time somebody namedrops Zeus. That’s when it’s not doing a lugubrious, anachronistic sci-fi pastiche, an utterly bizarre bit of tunage I’ve tried to transcribe here: “Bam bam BAM bam bam whoohohohohohoho!”


Meanwhile, emissaries are out scouring whatever wilderness this film crew had available for Samson. Finding a particularly sadistic muscleman in a tavern, they enter to find…Ursus (Yann L’Arvor). What, Ursus?! Already?!

Yann L’Arvor…This is just the start of uninspiring casting for the non-Hercules semi-Herculeses.

Ursus is blessed with the sort of personality flaws I’ve always associated with Charles Atlas and his sheep-like followers, namely Ursus is a bully. Though HSM&U uses Ursus in the same basic way as they do Hercules, it’s impressive how distinctly defined Ursus is. Ursus, as a mortal who’s become strong, is simply mean – an entitled, priggish asshole. If there were sand in this inn, he’d kick it in people’s faces. In a turn of events having nothing to do with the Hercules/Samson debate, the innkeeper sends his own emissary out to succor aid from Maciste. This is all a little random, but anything getting all four together in a halfway sensible way would be.


Let us forget about Ursus for now, as Nemea’s men have just found Samson (Nadir “Baltimore” – nadir indeed!)! With the possible exception of the unseen Hercules, Samson and Ulysses, this is the first Samson movie to get right a few facts about the Biblical Samson – which you’d think would’ve happened sooner. Namely, this Samson is the Biblical Samson, strength coming from his long, rabbi-like hair (yes, the “joke” with Samson is that he’s Jewish), and his love for “the jawbone of an ass” (which is a rather tittersome phrase the more it’s repeated).

And Samson is married…to Delilah (Moira Orfei). And let me take a momentary break to admire Miss Orfei…


Hello, Moira! She is truly the “Queen of the Peplum,” having also starred in (and these are just the ones I’ve considered) Hercules vs. the Hydra, Ursus, Maciste in the Land of the Cyclops, Maciste, the Strongest Man in the World, Ursus in the Valley of the Lions, Zorro vs. Maciste, The Triumph of Hercules. A little more broadly, Moira is known as Italy’s “Queen of the Circus,” and for a nation with a La Strada-like obsession with that institution, you know that means something!

Anyway, back to business. That Samson and Delilah are husband and wife, and bicker constantly like in a bad 1960s sitcom (comedy!), seems a sudden betrayal of the historical respect this goofy mash-up has dabbled in. Though great liberties are taken with the story, I needn’t have worried. Soon enough Delilah shears Samson’s hair as he sleeps, rendering him weak, and perfectly recalling the “Book of Judges.” (This was done to prevent Samson from fighting Hercules, and also schtupping the various known whores of Lydia.) With Samson now weak and cowardly and also beardless, his joke becomes just how worthless these bodybuilder types are when not God Mode Sues.

Back to Ursus! He terrorizes the bar more (actually, he never stopped), ordering people to “Dance!” like a villain in a western. To quote him:

“I SAID DANCE. I WAAAAANT MOOORE WIIIIINE. WWWWWIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNEEEEEEE!!!!!”

The great shitheel even takes to hurling people, inexplicably accompanied every danged time by a comedy slide whistle. But the time has come to pay for his Ursine crimes, as along comes the last of our required he-men, Maciste (Howard Ross). Maciste thrashes Ursus, and there was much rejoicing.


As contrast to the irredeemable buffoons that are the other three, Maciste’s persona is his innate decency, which becomes funny wholly by contrast. I’m glad they could work out unique traits for all these musclemen, seeing usually they’re all just off-brand Herculeses.

The emissaries behold Maciste’s Macistean strength – in fact, they note everyone’s comic book muscularity – and opt to take pretty much everyone back to Lydia as insurance seeing as Samson is a sissy girly man now. Everyone has different motives in the inevitable, upcoming Clash of the Four Interchangeable Guys, in an attempt to be a French farce. It doesn’t quite succeed – frankly, nothing in HSM&U is good – but there’s still the effort, and the intention behind it – and that goes a long way in my peplum-addled state. What does it say that this, the best movie I’ve seen in over a week, has a 2.2 on IMDb?

…

Okay, my fat neighbor is having an argument that’d make Hitler weep. She’s fat, loud and vulgar in the best of times, meaning today she’s fatter, louder and more vulgar than ever. I can’t deal with this, not when I wish to simply enjoy horrible movies in peace. I’m going for a nice stroll in the rain.

[Sound of me walking out of the apartment, locking up.]

[Sound of me going down the stairs.]

[Intensely long sound of nothing more than my fat neighbor’s furtive screeching echoing throughout a vacant unit.]

[Many hours later, sound of me ascending the stairs.]

[Sound of me entering my apartment, drying off, resuming Herculean pleasantries.]

Sorry about all that, folks.


Ursus, Maciste, Samson and the emissaries start the trek back to Lydia. Occasional slapstick fights break out, courtesy of Ursus. These somehow result in Blair Witch Project close-ups (also really pixilated) of various bearded men racing through the woods. Really, imagery like this belongs nowhere in an alleged comedy. This signals, for all HSM&U’s noble intentions, a notable dearth of competence, as the badness starts to creep into this effort as it must all late-period pepla.

Lydia is reached, and preparations are underway for the Rumble in the Agora, with assorted soap opera dramatics from Omphale ensuring all four shall tussle for our amusement. It won’t be that straightforward, since for reasons owing solely to the film’s running length, we suddenly meet neighboring tyrant King Inor (Luciano Marin). In a movie that’s shunned the usual tired peplum formulae, this left-field Third Act villain is most unwelcome. Despite the sudden appearance of Deianeira, another of Hercules’ assorted mythological harlots (who does not serve that purpose here), I’ll leave this section alone, as it might cause me unfathomable dismay.

Rather, I’ll skip right on over to the title fight, which duly occurs as though that last paragraph hadn’t happened at all. It’s a pretty sloppy affair (making it still one of the more cogent clashes in the genre), and it’s not a good sign that the pic below is the absolute best image from the whole ordeal.


Then things end with a literal deus ex machina, as Zeus just up and appears (via a ridiculous face-in-a-wall) to tell everyone to just stop and move along. This story wasn’t going to resolve itself anyway, and if I’m being generous I’d say “The Odyssey” ends in the exact same way. The four strongmen ride on, conflict over and nothing gained.

Hercules, Samson, Maciste and Ursus may as well stand as the final monument to an entire dying genre, for as atypical as it is. For the Samson franchise, this was the end. For Ursus, only 3 Avengers remained, and I’ve already saved time by dismissing that one out of hand. Only one more Maciste was to come, which I’ll halfway address in two days. Hercules alone was able to manage two more movies after this, which is appropriate since Hercules was e’er the torch-holder for the pepla, the originator and the best. It is with those two final entries that we shall bid farewell to this era.


RELATED POSTS
• The Silent Maciste Franchise (1914 - 1927)
• Hercules No. 1 Hercules (1958)
• Hercules No. 2 Hercules Unchained (1959)
• Hercules No. 3 The Revenge of Hercules (1960)
• Hercules No. 4 Hercules vs. the Hydra (1960)
• Maciste No. 1 Maciste in the Valley of the Kings (1960)
• Maciste No. 2 Maciste vs. the Headhunters (1960)
• Hercules No. 5 Hercules and the Conquest of Atlantis (1961)
• Hercules No. 6 Hercules id the Haunted World (1961)
• Maciste No. 3 Maciste in the Land of the Cyclops (1961)
• Maciste No. 6 Maciste, the Strongest Man in the World (1961)
• Hercules & Maciste Nos. 7 & 7 Maciste Against Hercules in the Vale of Woe (1961)
• Ursus No. 1 Ursus (1961)
• Ursus No. 2 Vengeance of Ursus (1961)
• Hercules No. 8 Ulysses vs. Hercules (1962)
• Hercules No. 9 The Fury of Hercules (1962)
• Maciste Nos. 8 - 20 (1962 - 1964)
• Hercules No. 10 Hercules, Samson and Ulysses (1963)
• Maciste No. 21 Maciste vs. the Mongols (1963)
• Hercules No. 12 Hercules in the Land of Darkness (1964)
• Hercules No. 16 Hercules and the Tyrants of Babylon (1964)
• Maciste No. 22 Maciste in Genghis Khan's Hell (1964)
• Maciste No. 23 Maciste and the Queen of Samar (1964)
• Ursus No. 7 Ursus, the Terror of the Kirghiz (1964)
• Hercules No. 18 Hercules and the Princess of Troy (1965)
• Hercules No. 19 Hercules the Avenger (1965)

Ursus, No. 7 - Ursus, the Terror of the Kirghiz (1964)

There are a total of seven more fucking Ursus movies in the franchise. Thankfully, though, I’m only able to see one of ‘em, and in favor of my own sanity it’s getting a desultory write-up below along with the other six…


Part 3, Ursus in the Valley of the Lions (1961) – In another story with absolutely nothing to do with any other Ursus film, this one asserts that Ursus was born of royal blood (in direct contradiction to The Vengeance of Ursus), but lost his kingdom and parents as a baby, to the ruthless tyrant character we just know is there. So he’s risen by lions, because these shoddy filmmakers can’t even parse out that “Ursus” means “bear.” Seriously, that’s just inexcusable!...Oh, and then Ursus goes and gets his vengeance upon reaching adulthood – Vengeance! That’s another thing The Vengeance of Ursus forgot to add! A pox upon these movies!

Not that The Valley of the Lions can even count as a prequel. It’s just a different one, with a baby pre-story. Oh, and Ed Fury is back in the “role” he “originated” in Ursus, which somehow merely dates from earlier that same year – They did four Ursi in its first year (1961)! It’s staggering.

Oh oh oh, and befitting Ed Fury, his new Ursus is more complex than the usual peplum bicep-brain, because that asinine “raised by bloodthirsty lions” thing makes him a naïve discoverer of human society upon entering his own plot.

Part 4, Ursus and the Tartar Invasion (1961) – Did I watch it? No. Do I know anything about it? No. There is no story summary anywhere, even, so one can only presume the inevitable tyrant is a “Tartar,” then things proceed as normal. This sounds a most shoddy work, and its current nonexistence is probably a testament to its barely passable technical achievements.

A new muscle-moron makes himself known: Joe Robinson. Take it as a sign of my own recent “MST3K”-addled existence that I first typed that as “Joel Hodgson.” Actually, I’ve seen this lunk before, because James Bond beat him up in Diamonds Are Forever. He was Peter Franks. He was involved in a diamond smuggling operation for Blofeld and – Oh look, I’m getting distracted!


Part 5, Ursus in the Land of Fire (1963) – Another “Sons of Hercules” episode (they repackaged these movies into an unwatchable and forgotten TV show, to indicate their cumulative qualities), another Ed Fury entry – Could he get no other work?!

Let’s see…Tyrant – check! Ursus challenges him – check! Princess – check! Seductress – check! Ursus bound to a grist mill – check! Honestly, why the hell does a grist mill appear in each one of these?! (I usually don’t mention them.) Probably because an Italian bought a grist mill once, and god damn but these pepla are recycling-happy.

No, not a single thing about Land of Fire sounds interesting or unique.


Part 6, Ursus the Rebel Gladiator (1963) – It’s the plot of Gladiator, only told poorly and starring Dan Vadis. My already nonexistent interest continues to wane.


Part 7, Ursus, the Terror of the Kirghiz (1964) – Now this one, I watched. Steel yourself for an actual consideration. But don’t steel for Steel, for now it’s [spinning the Wheel o’ Musclemen] Reg Park’s turn to essay Ursus.

After viewing, it’s, yeah, it’s just Ursus versus tyrants yet again…but with a twist. (There’s a possibility each of these has such a twis.) For there is also a monster. [Spit take!] What?! Yup, there’s a generic monster rampaging throughout the countryside. Said monster is portrayed by a hairier-than-usual Italian, about as impressive an effect as Torgo in Manos. And because character motivation is not only murky, but flabbergastingly random and baseless, local tyrant King Zara (actor unclear, for all this movie’s sins) somehow blames the monster on Ursus. Why?! Eh, because Ursus is hunting the monster. That’s spurious logic. Basically, it seems the presence of Ursus (or Hercules, or Maciste, or whomever) automatically invites antagonism from local card-carrying villains, who wish said lug dead to no profitable end.


A smart peplum peddler (which pretty much means just Mario Bava) would use this premise to fashion a “Beowulf” story – which pretty much follows the peplum formula to a tee. But with Samson somehow neglecting the Biblical Samson story, Italian filmmakers don’t recognize low-hanging fruit when they see it. So instead The Terror of the Kirghiz becomes a maddeningly cluttered non-narrative about…actually, damned if I know. Assorted expected scenes transpire, each necessary archetypal fulfilled, and yet the connective tissue is not there.

Also, there is this white dog in every goddamned scene, with no ultimate plot utility, almost as though director Antonio Margheriti (1980’s Cannibal Apocalypse) owed the dog a favor.


Now, pepla are bad movies, all of them (excepting Hercules in the Haunted World and also, with some reservations, Hercules and the Captive Women). This is not a bold statement. To call The Terror of the Kirghiz “bad” even within this bulky brotherhood is a telling statement, and one which needs qualification.


Often, a “bad” movie is one with certain cheesy redeeming qualities, a nobly misguided effort with ineffective special effects or other charming deficiencies. Look to the universally loved Plan 9 From Outer Space, or the greater panoply of Godzilla masterpieces. “Bad,” amongst the pepla, is far more dire than that. These are products of a most imprecise nature, filmed with all the technical sophistication of the Zapruder film. These feel, by the mere tinge of their celluloid, like genuine snuff films, spurned things rotting for decades in some Roman’s moldy bric-a-brac cellar. That’s the brownish sheen sported by basically every peplum apart from the first six Herculeseseseses, something I’ve seen so much of now I suspect my eyes are permanently unable to see vibrant colors.


Actually, with technical imprecision come mistakes so unbelievable, you’d never expect it possible for a movie to even make such errors. Ursus, monster and soldiers “fight” (i.e. gesticulate in each other’s proximity) at thoroughly random intervals, in either the same quarter mile of forest trail or this one cave, though there are supposed to be dozens of locations. (The assassins pursue furious Ursus, and it’s Ursus versus spurious usurpers in a circus-seeming fracas.) Though the hateful “monster” is just a guy with pubes glued to his face, its anti-Ursine struggles possess the same ineptitude as most lion fights, though there’s no excuse for it now. I dunno, perhaps cinematographic illegibility was simply the style at the time.

Then Ursus drops out of his own picture for a solid 40 minutes, or so – I timed it, or so. In his faux-Herculean stead, they up and drop in a guy called Ilo (Ettori Manni), though the transition is so awkward I wasn’t even aware Ursus was missing until I realized Ilo is called “Ilo” more often than he is called “Ursus.” Yeah, they seriously cannot keep their characters straight, as new names come and go at random. That Ettori Manni looks exactly like Reg Park doesn’t help, as even confusion-based works like “Comedy of Errors” distinguish their identical twins.


Oh, and though even mighty Ursus couldn’t best the monster (which is the reason for his prolonged absence), Ilo is eventually able to conquer the same beast, even though he’s shown himself to be Ursus’ inferior in every way. No reason for this, it’s just in the script. Adding insult, the “monster” just turns out to be a moronic “Scooby” ploy, as in-story it’s just a man with his curly-twirlies reaffixed. So…Ursus was defeated by a man, which is patently impossible!

“Nino,” Ilo exclaims upon discovering the beast’s identity, and I was all “Who?!?!?!?!” Such reveals ought to be loaded with meaning, and there’s been no character by such an Italianate, name. With a little more research, I discover it’s the actor’s name, which went unnoticed by the entire film crew. How do such errors pass by unnoticed?!

Actually, the longer it goes on, the more Kirghiz becomes unwatchable. And I mean literally unwatchable, not simply inane and sluggish and without point, but where the images on screen seem more like a Stan Brakhage experiment than any sort of narrative motion picture. Whatever type of film these fools were using, it wasn’t really passing through the camera correctly – and no one ever thought to correct this, or reshoot their scenes. So moments of unintentional cinema verité which wouldn’t pass muster in Cannibal Holocaust (what is it with me today and referencing cannibal movies?!) pass by uncommented upon. Leaving only the garbled, drunken American dub to go by much of the time.


But even when the camera does work, the movie increasingly decides to shoot nothing of value. Either we’re in a cave which they opted not to light at all, or the cameraman simply dangles the machine at his side, strolling along as we marvel at the out-of-focus ground. Okay, Kirghiz has to be some sort of Andy Warhol experiential lark, right? This was made by confrontational auteurs wishing to explode our notions of the cinematic medium, right? I mean, there’s no way a traditionalist, someone hoping to make a David Lean-style epic, could commit blunders so egregious.

Oh well, at least this gives me something to talk about. Because when the movie is working to the immeasurably small height of its powers, it’s the same sort of peplum as The Vengeance of Ursus, about which I could say mostly curse words.

Lo and behold, they find even new ways to make Kirghiz the most unwatchable movie I’ve seen since my drunken buddies’ homemade zombie epic (though I don’t think we can blame the Italians for this one):


Oh, the movie did resume, and I did watch the rest of it, while trying instead to illustrate a casino for unrelated reasons, but there are no more observations worth noting. I officially stopped paying attention. Let the Ursus franchise stand (from what I’ve seen) as the lousiest assembly of almost-movies to ever qualify as a “series.”

And then there’s Part 8, 3 Avengers (1964)


Actually, that’s not a real Ursus poster. Seemingly, there is none.

This time, Alan Steel plays Ursus, in the same way he’s also played Hercules, and Maciste, and Samson. For every new peplum franchise I look into, I find the same half dozen strongmen appearing again and again. Hell, it’s one reason (among many) why none of these things is unique. Did they just have a rotation schedule, like in a compound of swinger polygamists? Did they decide Random Peplum #32A was to be an Ursus or a Goliath or a Hercules BEFORE filming, or at some random stage based off of a randomizing element? Up this subgenre’s cumulative anus!

Anyway, what of 3 Avengers’ content (and an explanation for why it’s called 3 Avengers, without a single titular invocation of “Ursus”)? Well, I find NOTHING about it, even compared to the dearth of info on the rest of this godforsaken franchise. Still, I can safely say it has the exact same plot as them all.

Part 9 – The GREAT CROSSOVER (1964)! Identity still not revealed (except for the RELATED POSTS addition below), but we’re a day away! Come back tomorrow (or whenever you damn well feel like it) to learn everything I can regurgitate about the GREAT CROSSOVER…and also probably some other movie too.


RELATED POSTS
• No. 1 Ursus (1961)
• No. 2 Vengeance of Ursus (1961)
• No. 8 Hercules, Samson, Maciste and Ursus (1964)

Ursus, No. 2 - The Vengeance of Ursus (1961)

I was right! The Vengeance of Ursus has absolutely nothing to do with its predecessor, Ursus, except for that name. This barely even counts as a sequel. Worse yet, absolutely everything Ursus did (what little there was) to tinker with the standard peplum formula is undone here, making this absolutely an undistinguished Italian sword-and-sandals.

Those things Ursus did “well” (for a very inexact usage of the word “well”) mostly involved humanizing the standard lunk-headed oaf who qualifies as hero in these travesties. For about the first time in any damn peplum, the lead (Ursus, natch) was fallible, mortal…though not by much – I’m simply speaking in relative terms. This was the lone factor of Ursus which got me through it, because it otherwise barely counts as a movie.

While I liked that changeup, it seems the Italian nutjobs who flocked to these pepla felt otherwise, seeing as the “Ursus” of Vengeance of Ursus is just about the beefiest, burliest, stupidest lug to ever grace European cinema. The star now – what, you thought just once a peplum series could maintain inter-entry actor continuity?! – is one Samson Burke. That’s the closest any real life name is gonna get to “Brock Samson,” so I rue having already referenced that name during a Hercules recap. Burke is no Swedish Murder Machine, but rather a Canadian bodybuilder, who – zzzzzzzzzz!

Actually, you know those big, dumb guys the action hero (in real movies) fights around ¾ to 7/8 through? Like that bald German boxer on the Fixed-Wing? Well, Ursus is that guy, for all intents and purposes, with no other redeeming fixtures. Imagine spending an entire film (let alone franchise) in the company of such stilted semi-humans. It isn’t pleasant.

Story? Oh, right. An evil tyrant wants to conquer a different kingdom, and tries marrying that kingdom’s princess to that end. Ursus stops him. Actually, Ursus can barely figure it all out until 90% through, for how otherwise perfect the great ass is. This movie’s only notable accomplishments are as follows: A) increased screen time for a whining, incorrigible child (which causes me literal pain), and B) an assertion that the standard Feats of Strength™ actually exist to determine a man’s morality. Those witch-murderers at Salem were cleverer than this.

Actually, there’s absolutely nothing else to say which I haven’t already said about some other sword-and-sandals. I shall let Vengeance rot in largely-unreviewed hell. Good riddance! But as proof I suffered through it, I’ll let my standard screen caps serve entirely in lieu of a continued consideration.








Ursus can kiss my ass!


RELATED POSTS
• No. 1 Ursus (1961)
• No. 7 Ursus, the Terror of the Kirghiz (1964)
• No. 8 Hercules, Samson, Maciste and Ursus (1964)

Ursus, No. 1 - Ursus (1961)

Be warned, this entry was written while on painkillers. Oh, it’s not because the movie is awful (though it is), it’s my back acting up from an old injury – I fell down a Mexican well. True story, and perhaps more interesting one than Ursus.

It has previously been my assertion that all you need to start up a new peplum (sword-and-sandals) franchise is a name for your hero. That done, you can be as formulaic as you wish, it really doesn’t matter! That said, 1961’s Ursus in no way distinguishable from the rest of the low budget peplum morass…and it’s a lesser example of the form, at that. Redubbed, I could completely buy this is a Maciste movie.

Since it’s already known there is no consistency or continuity in peplum sequels, switching actors, directors, stories, settings, you name it, there’s really little point in examining something like Ursus as an overall franchise. But still, here we are… The only thing like “consistency” is usually a degree of quality (or more often, a lack thereof), and the first Ursus does not augur well for Ursus the franchise.


But anyway, about that name, seeing as it’s the only thing really distinguishing this from the rest of the pap. Because producers have zero actual interest in this genre, “Ursus” is not a character out of antiquity (i.e. Hercules, Ulysses, Samson), nor is he even from a really old movie (i.e. Maciste). If there’s any history to “Ursus” prior to 1961, it’s a decade earlier, with Quo Vadis?, where the ninth-billed character is a gladiator named Ursus…That is all! Boy, those Italians and their shameless, desperate plagiary! Whilst the mightier pepla were unabashedly cheap variations on scenes from Ben-Hur and Spartacus utilizing their leftover sets, Ursus had to burgle from freaking Quo Vadis?!

Another insight on the “Ursus” name. It means “bear-like,” in the same way “Maciste” means “rock-like” or “Hercules” means “Hercules-like.” None of this is very helpful.

Today’s Ursus is portrayed by Ed Fury – yet another pointless bodybuilder. As useless as Fury the actor is, his Ursus is just slightly interesting, at least to my peplum-addled brain. In the annuls of the pepla, if Hercules is Arnold Schwarzenegger and Maciste is Sylvester Stalone, then Ursus is Bruce Willis. (Samson winds up as Jean Claude Van Damme or some such.) By that I mean those more famous he-men are ridiculously overpowered, promoting sheer muscle in a fictional world where they can never be harmed. Ursus, meanwhile, maintains outrageous strength, but to a rather diminished degree. Instead, he’s as close as I’ve seen to an everyman hero crossed with the muscleman ubermensch. This is a protagonist who cannot take on an infinite army bare handed, and must strategize to some extent. But like Bruce Willis in Die Hard, Ursus claws his way into the upper echelons of muscularity by sheer, innate badassness.

Also, Ursus wears honest-to-Zeus clothing more often than his peplum-mates. I’m okay with not seeing man meat for once, but it is anti-peplum.

At least, that’s the way he comes across in Ursus, that or I’m just struggling to find something to latch onto in my laudanum haze. This by no means indicates Ursus will be similar in his sequels, which is why analyzing these pepla is such a Sisyphean ordeal.

But as an example of Ursus’…lesser stature as a sheer mound of dumb, rippling, Olympian biceps, he is early challenged to a Feat of Strength™, to break the chains he’s entwined in. His opponent can do it, much more speedily and efficiently. Boy, a peplum where its hero is unable to do such a thing! Gentlemen, we’re through the looking glass.


Until…until Ursus breaks his chains upon hearing comment about his lady love. Ah hah!, motivation! (Another inexplicable peplum rarity.) I guess it’s time we address story. Ursus has just returned from “the wars,” and hopes to marry his fiancé Attea. But Ursus usurpers have come and gone, and spirited Attea off to some distant land. There’s a bit of red herring villainy in this opening section, as those who squirreled her away try killing Ursus for reasons having to do with mental retardation, but I’m beyond trying to parse out the stupider peplum complexities. The gist of it all, ultimately, is Attea is a slave on some island. Ursus away!

All this sounds fairly streamlined, because I’m making it so. Ursus is not a well told tale. It has no ambitions beyond being a Hercules knockoff, and without the budget or competence. This gives us two modes, expository and spectacle.

The spectacle transpires with as much listlessness as if I got a camera and told the six people nearest me to have an impromptu fight. Likely that’s just what director Carlo Campgalliani did – though he did start the Maciste franchise off to a surprisingly sure foot with Maciste in the Valley of the Kings, told with budget and competence and everything, so I’ve no choice now but to call that halfway decent peplum a fluke, owing almost entirely to how it cannibalized American sword-and-sandals sets.


As for exposition, well, has a peplum ever done this well. Nah! Moments of explanation come about in great, mighty lumps, unexpurgated ten-minute chunks. By the unadventurous use of the camera and the editing process, it’s as likely Campgalliani wasn’t even on set. These things could literally work as radio shows, even the spectacle, for how non-visual the movie is. That is a serious critique, especially for an ostensible epic. Of course, the dubbed dialogue is so garbled, I can make out but half of what they’re rattling off anyway, so I’m rather thankful for all the needless repetition.

But when you’re in such an indefensibly expository mood, you need to know precisely what exposition best fits. There’s the central story, Ursus’ quest to save his bride-to-be, which is so simple it can be relegated to a single clause in a larger sentence. And yet Ursus explains and re-explains “She was my bride, and I intended to marry her, because men marry the women who are their brides” to a degree that’d make Hal P. Warren envious. But when the movie gets complex, when characters come and go every 8 minutes, it’s pretty impossible to follow. Fortunately, none of that nonsense ever amounts to anything.

There’s but one character we must be concerned with. That’s Doreide (Mary Marlon, aka Maria Luisa Merlo), a shepherdess who was but a mere child when Ursus left, never mind the actors are basically the same age now. Yeah, full grown, Doreide’s the same sort of statuesque Italian beauty every peplum serves up, because even bad movies can get certain things right. But there’s one problem with her that the picky Italians just cannot allow. Doreide is blind. Not that she was born that way, which would make her an irredeemable cripple (these movies aren’t the tactful). No, Doreide had the sight literally smacked out of her, because that’s something you can do, all for the dour offense of letting a single lamb wander casually – Yeesh!

All these factors combine to make Doreide an unsuitable romantic partner for Ursus, who still pines for Attea. I yell at the screen that he just screw the rest of the plot, settle down with the hot blind chick, and get it all over with. Other characters say as much, even, but Ursus remains boringly insistent upon his earlier vows, channeling the bland heroics of Rome’s own pious Aeneas.

Skipping over a lot of sub-picaresque pointlessness, Ursus and Doreide make it to the fabled island, the Kingdom of…Zice, as best as I can figure out. And why is Doreide even here?! Her expository functionality is long gone, and she is of no value to Ursus. Could…hmm…could they be setting up a love triangle perhaps?


The island proves to be another slave-driving dystopia indistinguishable from those in, let’s see, Maciste, the Strongest Man in the World, Hercules in the Land of Darkness, Maciste and the Queen of Samar, and those are just the ones I’ve seen. Is it any wonder audiences grew sick of the pepla? But to sum this setting up as something we all know, yes, it’s again Temple of Doom time, complete with familiar sacrificial ceremonies and all that goodness.

Wait up! I’ve just determined another of Doreide’s narrative functions! Recall the whole of Ursus is a dialogue-happy radio play with stiff images. Well, as she’s blind, and cannot behold the non-splendor we’re stuck with, Ursus must describe to her all which is patently clear to us already. Boy, sure am glad they kept her around!

Ceremonies over, Ursus is captured. Actually, he is captured by, say, six soldiers, the sort of melee a Hercules or Maciste would easily brush off. And yet everyone in, er, Zice still discusses Ursus as though he’s an equivalent muscle-bound demigod. Fine, formula stagnation demands it. In deference to this cliché, Ursus is brought forth to see the Queen of Zice (Moira Orfei), because god forbid a peplum NOT use the 5/8ths mark to embroil its hero up with the token seductress. And marvel at that cinematic variety on display, how the Queen’s chamber seems functionally no different from the sacrificial chamber!


Though there’s no evidence in my write-up, Ursus is ridiculously overstuffed with characters, as though the filmmakers had to find a spot for each of their buddies. And now, far enough in where most movies would be cashing in their old exposition for some sort of climactic buildup, Ursus instead introduces more characters. For instance, satisfying political intrigue, the nation’s elders oppose the Queen, and vice versa. This doo-doo is not worth getting into, nor is it worth dwelling upon a secondary hero/damsel duo they now introduce. The lone upshot of all this is it allows for far more sultry actresses up on screen, in a movie which already eschews beefcake to a notable degree. ‘Tis a shame the film is so crappy.

Anyway, the Queen wears a mask at all times, even once she orders Ursus into her chamber for the exact same seduction I wager I’ve seen now nineteen times (non-exaggeration). Okay, any guesses about the reason for the Queen’s mask?...Eh?...It’s okay, I’ll give you a minute…

…

(Oh, and SPOILER…as though you care.)

…

…The Queen is Attea!


Yes, Ursus’ fiancé has gone and become a murder-obsessed psychopathic ruler of a far-off pseudo-Atlantis. As obvious as this is, it necessitates another marvelous carnival of exposition. For how does such a nonsensical (yet predictable) turn of events come about? How does a moral, prudish, chaste girl get captured, sold as a slave to a distant nation, then somehow become the motive-free evil solo ruler of said nation even while all her subjects actively hate her? In honesty, it is never clearly explained, though they sure devote a solid ten minutes attempting to. But even without logic behind it, this nicely upturns the usual seductress/hero/damsel dynamic, and any formula upheaval is a welcome port in a storm in this fucking genre.

Justifiably, Attea questions Ursus’ fidelity. It’s justifiable, because everyone’s been askin’ why he lugs a blind hottie around, even though he’s traveled ostensibly hundreds of miles to discover his fiancé. Yeah, that’s not the clearest sign of an adulterer. No matter, it’s Attea’s understandable conclusion, and in response she decides to sacrifice Doreide.

Oh, and she also opts to kill some other girl too, for the sheer evil hell of it. That makes much less sense, except it’s the sorta thing villains do, and Attea up and decided at some point in life she wanted to be a villainess, so there you go.


Now a bull readies to do in Doreide. Ursus watches on shackled to a wall, delivering a preemptive play-by-play to the blind gal so she can avoid a be-goring. And Ursus’ inspiration, Quo Vadis? too featured man-on-bull action. It’s all so Cretan! Mythologists among us will recognize the old Minos tale, one I think I’ve seen in about four pepla so far.

And recall how Ursus is not needlessly strong like a Hercules of a Maciste? Well, he does have occasional strength, but only when his love is in trouble. We saw this earlier, when he escaped his chains once someone mentioned Attea. But now, seeing Doreide in trouble…he breaks his chains. So let us know Ursus unquestionably prefers her now.

And lest any Italian be grossed out that he prefers a sightless shepherdess, Doreide gets her sight back instantly. Why, it’s just that easy! Let that be a lesson to you blind people somehow reading this blog (or having it read aloud to you): If you just love hard enough (or face down a bull, perhaps), you can then see!

At least Ursus doesn’t badmouth the Africans, something most other pepla seem quite fond of.


Okay, so Ursus fights the bull, kills the bull, but it’s not an end to the bull(shit). Even though Attea’s just been speared to death by one of her own followers, the elders of Zice still want Ursus dead. Even though he just freed them (rather indirectly) from tyranny. Why?!?!?! Oh, because we need an epic battle, even if it invalidates the whole notion of Ursus as this nation’s savior. Instead, he frees the slaves, and apparently everyone dies except for Ursus and Doreide…

Or at least that’s the conclusion one comes to, as just those two sail away from the island (which they never actually sailed to in the first place, just sorta walked to somehow – logic!). And the island crumbles. Though nothing caused that. But the soundtrack reminds us that love has been found, and better yet with a woman whose eyeballs function.

“FINE” Well, not fine, per say, but the thing’s over. And with a weirdly pretentious final title.

So how does something like this inspire a franchise, when it’d barely pass muster as a freaking Maciste movie?! (I’m ignoring the interesting formula upending, which surely won’t last.) Well, make a peplum in 1961 with a reasonably distinct name in the title, and that’s all you need. These things were self-perpetuating like bunny rabbits, for reasons lost to obscurity. And though the peplum craze would only last through 1964 (well, the craze wouldn’t, but lazy filmmakers’ insistence upon it would), these things were so simple to make they managed a full eight Ursuses when it was all said and done. I am eternally grateful so many of these pepla are now lost, making my sorrows that much easier to bear. But we still must muster some strength, and see what (if any) value this franchise possesses.


RELATED POSTS
• No. 2 Vengeance of Ursus (1961)
• No. 7 Ursus, the Terror of the Kirghiz (1964)
• No. 8 Hercules, Samson, Maciste and Ursus (1964)