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)
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