Hercules, No. 4 - Hercules vs. the Hydra (1960)

Though the rules of the Italian sword-and-sandals craze dictate that any movie released with “Hercules” in the title is therefore a part of the Hercules series, we’re at the point where productions diverge like, well, like the heads of a hydra. That means 1960’s Hercules vs. the Hydra is one of the most spurious entries in this entire Hercules fad. Hell, it wasn’t even made in Italy! It’s French! Not that they play up that fact; nope, the French would never cop to producing sheer escapism, that being something the Italians are much more comfortable owning up to. So here we have a French picture pretending to be Italian pretending to be American. Ah, the demands of the marketplace.

Willing to watch or not, I am unable to watch, as this film’s French origin means it is out of circulation where more Italianate efforts survive. I still wish to devote a day to it, as there’s enough to comment upon.

Hercules vs. the Hydra (or The Loves of Hercules) has something most other Hercules movies could not afford: stunt casting. Oh sure, it still stars an undistinguished bodybuilding non-actor, but even then there’s a bit more to the presence of Mickey Hargitay than that.


Not only is Mr. Hargitay (or “Monsieur Muscle,” as the French credits would have it) another run-of-the-treadmill muscleman, he’s even another former Mr. Universe, much like Steve “First Damn Hercules” Reeves. In fact, Hargitay decided to take up bodybuilding upon seeing Reeves featured on a magazine cover. He then copied his better’s later career all the way into the peplum genre, and from thence into obscurity.

Prior to all that, Hargitay was a Hungarian, who actively fought underground during World War Two (for the good guys). Assorted athletics and marriages make up his pre-strongman life, but the Hargitay Saga wouldn’t start, as far as we care, until that fateful glimpse upon Reeves’ incomparably ripped male physique. God, is it any wonder gay rights came about shortly after the bodybuilding craze?


And about that bodybuilding craze. I feel I ought to provide some context for all this before we get too far into the peplum. It all traces back to Charles Atlas, born Angelo Siciliano, meaning the tradition of he-men switching from Italian to Anglo names is older than we thought. The man essentially invented bodybuilding as a “sport,” the process of narcissistically tempering one’s own body for no reason other than the act itself. How masturbatory! And a disgustingly-bulked out fool called Atlas, how comic book! No coincidence, for comic books made Atlas’ a gymhold name, touting his advertisements for Dynamic Tension and whatnot.

The guy pretty much made a career out of being a bully. Strength is directly equated with social terrorism, as Atlas’ self-promoting ads espouse a Nietzschean notion that might makes right, that the burliest and least evolved among us have it as their duty to give weak doofuses a hard time. The gist of his ads: If you too want the moral and ethical privilege of lording it over scrawny girly-men, worship at my altar, you unwashed peons! And let’s not assume Atlas’ public life was anything but an egotistical game of King of the Mountain. I mean, he fucking named his son Herc! Grounded individuals don’t do such a thing.


But in the ‘40s and ‘50s, there was a certain novelty to Charles Atlas’ disgusting appearance, one others wished to emulate. Hence the bodybuilders, hence Muscle Beach, hence Mickey Hargitay. But rather than these new musclemen being anointed as Masters of the Earth, and granted spontaneous monarchies with which to stomp on lesser sub-humans, instead they got used by the real ubermenschen, the lawyers. Musclemen, far from being worshipped as human Adonises, instead became something akin to circus freaks, natural curiosities to be paraded upon the stage for all to gawk at. Among those subjugating the he-men were Mae West, sex symbol, who created a New York-based strongman revue which was essentially a precursor to Chippendales. And pity poor Hargitay, after winning Mr. Universe in 1955, he had no choice but to pimp himself out under Miss West’s employ.


It is here that he met another mighty sex symbol goddess, Jayne Mansfield, whose entire film career was built upon the premise of having impressive breasts and blonde hair. See Female Jungle, The Girl Can’t Help It, The Burglar, all hailing from the mid-‘50s. So, Hargitay met Mansfield, who became this man’s field. Pumped up on lust and greed and possibly steroids, Hargitay divorced his long-suffering wife I haven’t bothered to name, and wed Mansfield instead. (Their daughter: Mariska Hargitay, of “Law & Order: SVU.”) Thus Mansfield became Hargitay’s next future-ex-wife.

That wasn’t to be until 1964. Until then, they were Hollywood royalty, in that each could manage to get cast in a French rip-off of Italian rip-offs. Yup, Hercules vs. the Hydra is notable for featuring a famously married celebrity couple as onscreen lovers. It’s the Eyes Wide Shut of 1960! And it’s surely his marriage to Mansfield which put Hargitay in this special position, unique among acting peplum bodybuilders. He’d no previous acting experience, and afterwards was only in Promises! Promises! and Bloody Pit of Horror. One, because Mansfield was in it, and two, because it was Italian. (Actually, there are over a dozen other assorted Hargitay appearances, but they hardly warrant mention.)


Well, that’s more than enough context, as I’m just trying to stretch this out to post-worthy length. What of Hercules vs. the Hydra itself? Yeah, what of that movie I haven’t seen?

Mansfield, having abandoned American filmmaking, was well on her way to obscurity, and Hargitay was simply returning from whence he came. Far from their film together yielding any advantages, reportedly the greatest enjoyment to be gotten from Hercules vs. the Hydra is to parse out metatextual tidbits about their personal life. Their inability to act together onscreen surely suggests the domestic problems that’d soon divorce ‘em. Even the public gag they would perform together, which brought Hargitay post-Universe fame in the first place, he cannot do here – so I hear. That gag: Lifting Mansfield over his head, all strongman-like. “Hercules! Hercules! Put me down!” she apparently says, when “Hercules” cannot even gets her up enough to begin with. (Cannot get it up…don’t do steroids, kids.)

Of the story. Despite zero production association with the former Revenge of Hercules, once again it’s Hercules vs. King Eurytus (though the actor this time escapes with his name unknown). Not that he serves so much purpose here, as soon the real villain, Licos (Massimo Serato), kills old Eurytus. Hercules’ wife, another repeating character, dies around the start too, because even a “sequel” like this must make a point of assassinating as many returning characters as possible. It frees up new narrative possibilities, as though they even had to bother. Oh, and that wife this time is now Megara, not Deianeira.

Deianeira’s still in this, though, and what joy that I get to keep typing that unruly name. Now she’s Queen Deianeira, for Jayne Mansfield sure ain’t playing no mere princess or wife of a demigod. Oh nooooo! And even whilst Hercules laments the death of Megara, at the hands of equally-dead Eurytus, he is quick to switch up and happily fall for Deianeira. (Shades of how easily Hargitay left Wife No. 1 for Mansfield in the first place.)

Not that the relationship starts all that smoothly. For reasons having to do with maybe the Wrath of the Gods, or Licos’ convoluted scheming, or arbitrary screenwriting, Hercules must endure the Trial of Themis and hurl axes at Deianeira for a while. She survives this, I guess, and they head off together. Licos continues to scheme, and I’m at a loss to imagine what this schemery amounts to. Political intrigue in pepla is confounding enough when one has seen it; without a film to reference, it becomes downright mysterious.


I’m anxiously awaiting Deianeira’s death, because I know it’s coming. Had it happened sooner, I could’ve said something more cutting about the Hargitay/Mansfield marriage. The possibility of her painful, cruel slaughter arises, when during no-doubt-aimless wanderings they happen upon a ferocious bull…or a sedated, weeping cow painted black. Animal fights rarely come off in the best if pepla, so pitting a “bull” against a “Herc” ain’t gonna work. I picture it mostly like cow tipping.

Next challenger! Enter Achilles (say what?!), who – You know, goddamnit, I don’t remotely want to see how “The Iliad” fits in with this bastardized mythology. Some guy named Achilles (Gil Vidal – homosexual author of “Julian” and “Myra Breckinridge” – no, wait, that’s Gore Vidal) – anyway, this Achilles, who’s not that Achilles, wants to marry Deieisngduaiaiaiaiai- the woman. Bethroval and all. He and Hercules fight, Hercules spares him, Hercules and woman wander off. And Achilles is found dead anyway, by Licos’ hands, but with Hercules framed.

Hercules learns about this frame job. Several hours later, once the slow-minded nitwit has understood what this means, he protests that the dagger which murdered Achilles was in fact left in the hide of the dead “bull.” “Bullshit,” they cry, figuratively, and I for one am astounded that they found an eventual excuse to justify the bull battle. This at least gives Hercules something constructive to do, beyond wander aimlessly and love Deianeira, who still ain’t dead. For now, Hercules’ goal is to find the witness who saw him murder the bull, to prove his roundabout dagger defense. That guy, Philotetes (another figure from Hercules myth, another figure completely misused in film), has apparently decided to do some aimless wandering of his own. For no reason except The Revenge of Hercules did likewise, this includes wandering straight through the fucking Underworld.

All this is just foreplay, the sort of wildly convoluted justification these plot-obsessed pepla utilize to explain their monster fights. For in Hades, Hercules finds the Hydra, when it really ought to be in Lernaea. Misunderstandings of mythological proportions continue, as chopping off but a single of the beast’s heads is enough to kill it outright, rather than simply exacerbate the situation as it ought to do.


By all evidence, the full-scale Hydra is even less impressive (and more immobile) than the dragon from The Revenge of Hercules. Visually, it kind of looks like a green turd.

It’s early yet in the movie, title be damned, and it turns out it was all a big mix-up! The Underworld’s entrance is not wherever Hercules found this Hydra (Lernaea?), rendering all this pointless. Oh well, extends things out, though having reached the titular tussle, I’m gonna parse over the rest with some rapidity. So now Hercules must travel to the Forest of the Dead, which sounds like something taken out of Dante’s “Inferno”– what with the human-like trees and all, looking like a middle school production of The Wizard of Oz.


Past the point of caring, at last Deianeira dies, or she died at some previous point. At any rate, she’s dead. But with Mansfield’s character deceased early, that means a new gal must enter the scene, also played by Mansfield – Hippolyta she is, famed Amazon queen of myth and of “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” And Hercules vs. the Hydra. This allows the blonde Mansfield to play a redhead, as Dieanotherday was herself a brunette. That’s “acting.” And Hercules, ever the chaste and monogamous demigod, takes no time in falling for this latest broad, much as Hargitay quickly left Mansfield for a lass named Ellen Siano. Amusingly (to my awful mind), Hargitay’s first divorce from Mansfield was ruled invalid, as it was performed by a conman in Mexico.

I glance ahead in the various plot synopses I’ve found (I do apologize for all this), to see that Deianeira did not die. DAMN IT! Maybe I ought to preplan these things out a bit beforehand. Hippolyta goes the way of all Third Act seductresses, dies, Hercules assembles an eleventh hour army to finally just defeat Licos, and he fights a hairy ape-man, and all is well. And I’m tired.

This movie can kiss my ass.


RELATED POSTS
• No. 1 Hercules (1958)
• No. 2 Hercules Unchained (1959)
• No. 3 The Revenge of Hercules (1960)
• No. 5 Hercules and the Conquest of Atlantis (1961)
• 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)

Hercules, No. 2 - Hercules Unchained (1959)

Finally my cheapo “Sci-Fi Classics 50 Movie Pack” DVD is pulling its own weight around here!

No…wait…that damn disc is all scratched. ..Yeah, definitely scratched…Unwatchable…You fail me again, cheapo “Sci-Fi Classics 50 Movie Pack” DVD!

Leaving me no choice but to go with my second option…


Yeah, I watched the “Mystery Science Theater 3000” version.

Yeah, this movie isn’t going to be too good. Funny, though.

And it’s early yet in the franchise!

*************************************************************

Even before the Italian peplum sword-and-sandals movement really took off in response to the surprise success of Hercules, writer/director (a veritable auteur!) Pietro Francisci had already delivered that film’s equally successful sequel: Hercules Unchained. At least that’s the title usually given in English; in Italian, ‘tis Ercole e la regina de Lidia (Hercules and the Queen of Lydia). The less dramatic Italian title is a bit more accurate I guess, plot-wise, but Hercules Unchained is far more instructive once one parses out what it really means: Hercules Cheats on His Wife for a Period of Time.


That wife would be Iole (returning nonentity Sylvia Koscina), who tied the Gordian knot with Hercules in the last film’s quicko epilogue. Hercules Unchained is a proper sequel, with Koscina being but one of a massive returning cast. Of greatest importance to everybody is that Steve Reeves is back as the Herc. Reeves utilizes his great bodybuilder skill of looking like a bodybuilder. Acting-wise, Reeves mostly strikes poses and laughs a hearty laugh, a throaty “Ha hah ha!” I associate most with the Troy McClure satire of the subgenre. Oh yes, Herc acts the jerk (see what I did there?) for much of the film, though it’s unclear if that’s an intentional trait, or simply a little of Reeves rubbing off. (For such a homoerotic bit of cinema, I’ll try to refrain from using phrases like “rubbing off.”)

With the rest of the Italian copycats still waiting in the wings, Hercules Unchained has the opportunity to further cement the peblum formulae, and correct many sloppy narrative problems with the original Hercules. It is a more streamlined narrative, though surely the “MST3K” edit does a lot to help it. No matter, the herky-jerky habit of the Herc-y turkey is a thing of antiquity, as the better elements of Hercules become clearer. For one thing, Hercules starts out with a consistent goal (get to his hometown of Thebes), and he sticks to it.

That’s not to say there isn’t some arbitrary randomness at play, most notably an early encounter with the Giant Anteus (Primo Carnera, which sounds like a breaded beef dish, but is actually a bearded beefcake dish, a wrestler who makes even the mighty Steve Reeves look like a puny girly man). For no reason beyond the mere bullying fun of it (the mentality it seems behind all musclemen of the 1950s), Anteus forbids Herc’s funky little caravan passage. Ulysses is there (Gabriele Antonini again), displaced from his own distinct “Odyssey” narrative (and granted Romanic moniker), easily tossed aside by the big lug. Iole doesn’t stand much chance either.

Ah, but the Herc! He sleeps now, for Hercules is naught but an appetitive soul, but once he awakes, oooh, watch out Anteus!


Or not. It seems Anteus cannot be bested, which celebrates with a “Ho ho ho!” to counter Reeves’ “Ha hah ha!” Then Hercules has one of those brain things, whattaya call ‘em?...An idea! Yeah! Anteus is Anteus! (That’s almost verbatim dialogue.) Hercules isn’t quite a member of Mensa, is he? Ulysses, who puts the “logical” in “mythological,” knows a bit more: Anteus is the son of the Earth Goddess. So Hercules tosses him into the sea, and that is that. [Dusting off hands.]

Randomness over, Herc, Iole and Ulee continue on their shoddy way. Into the forests they go, where many Theban soldiers make their camp. Hercules fights off one more rape attempt on Iole, and I’m glad to report that’s mostly the end of that.

Instead, the Hercu-crew discovers a nearby cave, inhabited by the former King of Thebes, Oedipus himself, that motherfucker (Cesare Fantoni). By his particular beard and toga combo, we cannot help but remember these Herculepics derived from DeMille’s The Ten Commandments. Yeah, Oedipus looks all Heston-y. And he’s in a randomly expository mood too, much for our benefit, for why else would Oedipus choose to explain to his own son Polynices (Mimmo Palmara, returning from Hercules in a new role with a bad red wig) all the vagaries of Polynices’ own recent life. For as Oedipus gave up his Theban throne (on account of the whole mom-doinking thing, which isn’t mentioned), he split the kingdom all Ran-like twixt his sons Polynices and Eteocles. But Eteocles is a big ol’ meanie, and won’t share nice! So it’s brother against brother, with war threatening to break out throughout all of Thebes.

Classics scholars among us (i.e. me) will recognize this setup as deriving from Aeschylus’ “The Seven Against Thebes.” No points, though, since the credits say as much, also attributing Sophocles’ “Aedipus [sic] at Colonus.” That seems a mighty high-fallutin’ inspiration for a late-‘50s bit of Italian body-ogling, but recall what a heedless potpourri Hercules made of Grecian myth. The random sampling reoccurs here, but with a bit more focus, even if this remains a world where Hercules, Ulysses, Oedipus, Orpheus, Jason, and many others all occupy the same generation. And though it seems nice to cite Aeschylus and Sophocles (what, no room for Euripides?!), this whole setup is simply a generic genre framework, ‘cause there’s always a kingdom in limbo, allowing for scheming villains and battle scenes. There was one in Hercules, there is one here, there’ll be one from hence forth.

Anyway, Hercules agrees to act as Henry Kissinger, his own mental deficiencies be damned, and parse out a truce between the siblings. Then Oedipus casually walks straight to Hell!

SKIT INTERMISSION

The gang reaches Eteocles (Sergio Fantoni, whose boisterous “Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!” puts Reeves’ laugh to shame). And he is anxious to make amends with Polynices, so – well, that was a quick and simple plot. Iole stays back in Thebes with some handmaidens she suddenly has. Meanwhile, Hercules and Ulysses carry a ceasefire scroll back to Polynice.

Leave it to the Herc to screw this one up, and make a movie out of it. Seeing a bird, he announces “Look. I’m hungry.” To which Crow T. Robot responds: “Listen. I’m cold.” And like that, Herc drinks from a natural spring well, and like that a one-time-only voice over announces this to be the Waters of Forgetfulness. Hercules, whose hamster wasn’t spinning too much to begin with, forgets damn well everything about himself; Joel believes that includes the ability to breath, in an amusing riff.

When your sequel prohibits storytelling in any other way, just give your main character amnesia! It’s a cheap little ploy to sidestep issues of characterization (characterization?! Hercules?!), and do whatever you please.

So, randomly, some soldiers collect up Hercules, and also Ulysses. Realizing the shit he’s in, Ulysses pretends as a deaf, dumb and blind kid (who sure plays a mean pinball), going all “Uh uh uh uh uh uh uh uh uh uh!” as he scampers about like a little ape. That’s not much of an addition to the great chortling competition, Antonini. At least it keeps Ulysses un-stabbed.

These soldiers haul the duo off to the land of Lydia, where a totally unrelated new plot may commence: the film’s central plot. And random though it is, a mere two independent storylines is streamlined, by Hercules standards. What could possibly await our heroes in this new and strange land?


A live action Jessica Rabbit! That’s Queen Onfale, played by Sylvia Lopez – a French model (which is surely enough to warrant casting in Italian cinema), who sadly died later that very same year of leukemia at the young age of 27, or maybe 28, depending upon vanity. Here they replay that stupid Amazon detour from Hercules, but with the luxury of greater screen time to make it work. And with that improvement, Onfale becomes the first of a hallowed peplum tradition: the evil femme fatale temptress. Since these Herculean strongman heroes cannot be bested by simple physical threats, sex combines with smarts to give them a true challenge. Onfale takes an instant attraction to the mass of dumb muscles that’s just arrived, and even has her former lover executed, to shore up any loose ends. Let the titular adultery commence!

This illicit love affair between Hercules and Onfale consists mostly of classic hedonism, in that they both lie about amidst the flowers eating grapes, all while giggling handmaidens race about like so many brainless chorus girls. Such handmaidens are the standard representatives of the female gender in this genre, eye candy for the fellas to make up for the homoeroticism (itself somewhat reduced in this entry, thank Olympus). And because Italy is a musical nation, they allow for another formula element: the Dancing Girls.


Tin-eared musical interludes add to the chunky action and ill-measured comedy to create the grand mélange of tonal miscalculations that is the Italian sword-and-sandals epic. The bots’ riffing here is amongst their finest, and that’s all I have to say.

Onfale keeps Hercules continually drugged with more Waters of Forgetfulness™, her docile boy toy. Someone could make a wonderful Freudian investigation into the genre, with all the odd sexuality on display. For as coy as it is, Hercules Unchained is distinctly European in how comfortably it portrays fornication, etc.

Meanwhile, Ulysses mugs his way amidst the Lydian palace, employed mostly as Herc’s masseuse. He’s his fluffer! He tries to restore Herc’s memories, with helpful bits of exposition for those somehow needing filling in. (“Filling in,” another phrase I’d be best to avoid in such rippling contexts.) Ulysses even has Hercules try to bend metal, to discover he is the mighty Hercules; he cannot. I can see they’re attempting another study into the fractured psyche of the great demigod, but this amnesia thing simply bogs the tale in low gear, where we have no choice but to wait for Ulysses to succeed, restore what accounts for Hercules’ brains, so the story can resume.

SKIT INTERMISSION

Two sorts of scenes follow: Herc lying on a couch, and Ulysses struggling to surface repressed memories. Psychoanalysis metaphor! Not that I have much use for such things. During another of Ulysses’ sessions, he launches into a flashback, which at least further explores the villainy of Onfale even while Hercules remains in perpetual arrested development.


One day, when Ulysses strolled through the wrong (or right) ivy-covered doorway, he stumbled upon Onfale’s statue museum. Here she keeps statues of her former lovers, whom she trades out with the regularity of any easily-disinterested worldly lover. Her Egyptian slaves even have a process to turn flesh into marble, why not, because fantasy is the name of the game. Joel: “It’s like a cheap Temple of Doom set.”

Onfale even exposits to her loyal, well-informed slaves all about the statueifying process, just in case someone like Ulysses happens to be surreptitiously listening in.

Hercules, learning this, can bend the bar. And yet his memory is still long in coming, a credit to Hercules’ halfwittedness. And just when an Argo full of the mixed-nut heroes from last time has washed ashore! Most are imprisoned, but Onifale takes an interest in one, Castor (which is Greek for “beaver,” which I don’t even want to look into). This spells imminent statueification for our muscle-bound hero, as Onifale now prefers Castor oil to jerking the Herc. (Crow: “Gee, Miss Mood Swing!”) Making matters worse, Hercules still doesn’t recognize any of his old comrades in tanning butter.

Onifale, having changed out her man meat, has also changed appearance. No longer a live action Jessica Rabbit, she’s now a live action Wilma Flintstone! Do you have strange fantasies? Because they’re getting fulfilled here.


Okay, damn it, enough of this pussy-footing around, Hercules has his memory back at long freaking last, and can proceed to laying down the whoop-ass! It’s him versus the palace guards, a one-per-peplum special. As befitting Hercs’ own particular…idiom, his choice of weaponry includes a big ass table and several big ass statues, all which proceed to crush innumerable helpless Italian extras.

Hercules escapes to the Argo with all his bestest male “companions.” In a parallel to the final scene with the Amazons in Hercules, Onfale sings a lament to her lost, loved Hercules – the only man who could ever truly master her, never mind that whole Castor thing, and never mind the icky sexual politics this signifies. It’s the Dido detour from “The Aeneid” once again, though now with something closer to that epic’s power. One thousandth of its power, but still… And Onfale, as befitting most of her temptress brethren to come, kills herself rather than live a day without the embrace of Hercules’ throbbing biceps – by leaping into the statuifier. A shame we never see the result.

Coming to his Herculean senses, Hercules demands a much-delayed completion to the Theban peace talk process. Too bad he’s then informed they’re 20 days overdue, and surely the warring Theban factions will have gone to war by now. And all because Hercules was easily distracted, when his only mission was to get from point A to point B.

SKIT INTERMISSION

Indeed, it is war now, and a chance for Francisci and buddies to pull out all the budgetary stops and stage a massive, Ben-Hur-esque battle sequence with as many extras as a B-grade Italian knock-off could manage. It’s mighty impressive, in fact, with nice cinematography (courtesy of Mario Bava) and ambitious imagery. Which goes to show these would-be epics did have professionalism behind ‘em, it just didn’t extend to the acting or screenwriting.

One question remains: Who is the villain? Neither Polynices nor Eteocles is eviler, on the face of it. However, a few more examples of Eteocles’ laugh, now coming closer to the classic “Mwah hah hah hah!,” and there’s no doubt in our minds. On top of that, he’s kidnapped Iole, the bride of Hercules, who’s just now coming back into the picture.

And along comes the Herc brigade, here to end the war via…some means. Via fighting, of course, ‘cause we didn’t come here to see diplomacy in action or anything. And without clarity of mind (hey, it’s Hercules!), they simply putter off into the Theban palace, never mind the battle’s taking place outside the city gates. Oh well, I guess anything’s a fine enough excuse to satisfy one remaining portion of the peplum formula: the Animal Fight.


Hercules, true to his intellectual form, walks straight into a very, very, very, very obvious trap in the gladiatorial arena. The tigers are released, and it all goes familiarly. Shots of tigers. Unrelated shots of Steve Reeves, never in any danger. Occasional shots of Reeve tussling with a throw rug. Give a minute, then announce that Reeves has won. Were these things ever exciting?

Because Hercules isn’t the one who’s gonna resolve this plot (which is his fault, let us not forget), it’s up to Polynices and Eteocles to do it themselves. To prevent further bloodshed, they opt to a one-on-one duel to the death outside of Thebes’ gates. Yeah, it’s pretty much Achilles vs. Hector in “The Iliad”…or for those less classically minded, Brad Pitt vs. Eric Bana in Troy. Oy! Even now I suppose these peace-happy brothers could just chat and make amends, but where’s the fun in that? Instead, they both die in the duel.

Well, that leaves a…happy ending, I guess, though with a big, fat, glaring vacancy on the throne. And another vacancy in the designated villain spot, and with us still craving one final battle sequence to slake our bloodlust. Literally out of left field, in comes Eteocles’ commandment, who up and announces to Hercules that…er, he’s gonna kill, like, everybody, and also go rape Iole. (Ah-hah, a return of the wonderful rape joke!) That big, shiny battle sequence we were promised takes place, and Hercules crushes this newly evil nameless peon underneath a siege tower. Mooks flee. And that’s victory…I guess. Still not sure what kind of a political situation this leaves Thebes in, but…eh, I guess it’ll work itself out. Hercules sure ain’t gonna help!


The popular success of Hercules Unchained owes as much to Joseph E. Levine’s distribution method as the original did. Tom Servo himself admits so much. With lightning now striking twice, it showed Hercules was no fluke, and the genre (and franchise) could begin in earnest.

Except this was it for Reeves, at least as far as the Hercules series is concerned. He’d do about a dozen more anonymous pepla in the next 5 years – starting immediately with The Giant of Marathon, The Last Days of Pompeii, White Warrior, Goliath & the Barbarians. Yes, the rest of 1959 did see the peplum grow out of control. Why he left his trademark role, I dunno. Perhaps he didn’t want to get typecast, in which case why play OTHER interchangeable mythological he-men?! Reeves’ never recovered from this silly misstep, as he eventually became so tied-in with the sword-and-sandals subgenre that his career died off around the same time as the movement. Which was just as Spaghetti Westerns were taking over. Hell, Leone even offered Reeves the lead in A Fistful of Dollars. Reeves turned him down, stupidly assuming Italians couldn’t make westerns (moron!). That role instead went to Clint Eastwood, and the rest has nothing to do with Hercules.

Not that Reeves’ departure was a gigantic loss for the producers, as marginally-talented bodybuilders are a dime a dozen. Indeed, the genre would eventually sport a ridiculous host of indistinguishable hard-bodies, as we’ll start to see next time.


RELATED POSTS
• No. 1 Hercules (1958)
• No. 3 The Revenge of Hercules (1960)
• No. 4 Hercules vs. the Hydra (1960)
• No. 5 Hercules and the Conquest of Atlantis (1961)
• 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)

Hercules, No. 3 - The Revenge of Hercules (1960)

So…1960 was no time to stop making Hercules movies, not when the two thus far had enjoyed incomparable international success, and the peplum genre only just taking off. Even in such an enviable position, those largely responsible for Hercules and Hercules Unchained, star Steve Reeves and director Pietro Francisci, opted out – they were apparently more interested in not being successful.

Not that a sudden break in continuity can stop a franchise, when producers will it into being. Italian rights to the “Hercules” name transferred from Galatea Film to SPA Cinematografica – I’m not even sure how that works This changed the U.S. distributor scenario as well, with James H. Nicholson and Samuel Z. Arkoff taking over for former distributor Joseph E. Levis (who too was moving on for some damn reason). Working for fantastic profiteer of B-movies, AIP, this duo lent unparalleled funds to new Italian director Vittorio Cottafavi, to put out the most lavish Hercules to-date: The Revenge of Hercules.

That’s the Italian title (translated), at least. Despite the draw of the “Hercules” name in the U.S., it was changed abroad to Goliath and the Dragon. Yes, the Hercules character is renamed “Goliath,” because strong is strong. There are two theories as to this title switch…

One. With the change in actors playing Hercules (to be recounted below), it was felt audiences would feel betrayed, and question issues of characters, continuity, you know, all those anal sequel concerns the Italians rarely bother with. This is unlikely.

Two. With new plagiarists representing the Hercules brand, there was some fear of legal reprisal. As though you can even copyright something like “Hercules,” who predates Christ by a couple of millennia. This actually poses a serious question. Italy did not necessitate Herculean rechristening, and all their Hercs are considered part of a single franchise, a designation which does not extend to unrelated Herculeses such as The Three Stooges Meet Hercules, or the non-Hercules Italian pepla which got rebranded as Hercules films in the U.S. – yeah, it’s complicated. And that surely doesn’t include movies from entirely different eras, like Schwarzenegger’s atrocious Hercules in New York, or the Disney cartoon.


One of The Revenge of Hercules’ major shakeups is the recasting of the Herc. Thus begins a glorious Italian tradition of cycling through anonymous bodybuilders like Queen Onfale. Idolizing bodybuilders was a sudden fad, causing ten score of them to act in forgotten ‘60s pepla. Only the best of ‘em got to be Hercules, and judging by their performances, once shudders to imagine what the worse bodybuilders were like.


Despite an Italian-sounding name of Louis Lorenzo Degni, Mark Forest was born in Brooklyn. This name change is just one of many bits of Italian chicanery devised to mask a movie’s international origin – for the U.S.’s benefit. But Degni – er, Forest – was an American, and a muscleman of a most astoundingly stereotypical origin – Muscle Beach! We’re talking Venice (California, that is…we’re not to Italy yet!), where in the ‘50s tourists observed those ungodly freaks of nature, the bodybuilders, in their natural habitat. All the stories of beach bullies kicking over some scrawny nerdlinger’s sandcastle? They come from here. So Forest had a suitably uncultured past before donning the great demigod’s groin-cloth, which makes it all the more surprising this meathead opted to pursue freaking opera once the peplum’s strength sapped.

That’s Mark Forest’s background. On screen, he is as uncharismatic and vapid as Steve Reeves, with an equally ridiculous physique. His Hercules is even as much of a shameless asshole, though it’s possible this personality flaw was just carried over from the he-men’s own personalities.

Forest’s physical performance is surely dandy enough, as he scrambles down a chasm made out of Greece’s (or Rome’s) indigenous papier maché rock formations. It’s all so much cheapo “Star Trek” stuff, which marks The Revenge of Hercules out as an astoundingly high-budget Italian picture. With the freedom of funds provided by international producers, the film lavishes the joint up with a panoply of monsters, such as old Cerberus here. That’s a full-scale, fire-breathing Muppet, which Hercules easily bests in conflict. We’ve reached a wonderful confluence of filmmaking ambition and unintentional cheesy hilarity, which makes The Revenge of Hercules a surprisingly fun B-movie.


And once again they’re reassembling myth like a foul Frankenstein monster. Recalling Hercules’ Twelve Tasks, this is the final one. Which leaves the story to –

Wait up. It seems I’m actually watching Goliath and the Dragon, which differs from the Italian version in more ways than mere dubbing. For one, it has a dragon. For another, all the details directly relating to Herculean myth are altered to fit a generic “Goliath,” and many inessential facts are changed up too, for the Hades of it. (This leads to ridiculous confusion later on, for which I am thankful to certain other recourses.)

For now, it means Hercules – er, Goliath – is not in Hades, but simply the Cave of Horrors. He seeks the Blood Diamond, which may as well make it Sierra Leone. So, a helpful narrator informs. Goliath isn’t on some quest of the gods, but has simply been charged with retrieving this gem for the local corrupt tyrant, King Eurytus (Broderick Crawford – an Oscar winner in a Hercules film?!).

Eurytus rules the Kingdom of Oechalia with dignity and insanity. Early in the peplum cycle, the filmmakers remain hopelessly in love with complex political intrigue as an end unto itself, and perhaps this entry provides the worst of it. There are at least half a dozen other figures in the palace, each with different motives and allegiances, scheming and counter-scheming like a Pirates of the Caribbean feature. Plot complications, the Italians never do well. Look at the frankly illogical (and therefore good) horror movies they’d later put out. It doesn’t help that motivations change in the English version, and thus make even less sense. Let’s try to parse this out…

Eurytus simply wants to attack Thebes. Why? Plain evil, really. He will not do this until Hercules is dead – and yes, I’m just calling Goliath “Hercules,” ‘cause it’s easier. Hence why he sent Hercules to the Cave of Horrors, which no man could survive, even though Eurytus personally set all the traps there ahead of time.

Present as well is a likely seductress, Ismene (Gaby André). As I know the seductress type completely overpowers the genre in later entries, I over-focused upon this surprisingly useless character here. Which made things worse for me, since I then didn’t pay attention to elements which are important.

Such as the bland blonde “other girl,” who remains useful to the genre…for now. Today she’s Thea (Federica Ranchi). She is boring, she is blonde, and she wants romance.

That romance is with Illus (Sandro Moretti). Here, the English changes really fuck things up. Originally, Illus is Hercules’ son. In Goliath, he is his brother. Why the change? Maybe the 2-year difference in age, never mind Hercules’ demigod immortality (which is never ascribed to Goliath, however). Confusing! It’s unusual in a Hercules flick to grant the romance to someone who isn’t Hercules. Doing so actually gives such a normal subplot great depths of convolution.

But the film understands (I think) how messed up everything is, which is why we often cut back to Hercules in his surrealistic hellscape, a bubbling, sulfuric mass of flames and ridiculously colorful horizons (in Colorscope). A giant-ass bat-cat thing with wings attacks Hercules; he kills it. He gets the Blood Diamond. He escapes. These purely Hercules elements are so simple, not at all like what’s going down in Oedema – er, Oechalia.


Oh well [sigh], let’s get back there, and convolute things up some more. Eurytus wants to kill Illus, as a relation of Hercules, but he cannot until he is certain Hercules is dead. Assuming Hercules has survived his unsurvivable deathtrap (on no justifiable grounds, though he is correct), Eurytus rather stays Illus’ execution (Illus has been captured and imprisoned in one of many unfollowable scenes), and sends him off home. Illus cannot sense an obvious ploy when he sees one, so he goes right on his merry way.

Thea is left unmolested this whole time. The reason being (pity a Hercules film which tries to explain itself) that Eurytus wants to marry Thea – for you see, Thea is the princess of Oeillade. Which will solidify Eurytus’ grasp over the land, as he’s a mere spurious usurper now, like Mark Forest himself.

Want to try for more conspirators, more confusion? Sure, why the Hades not! Acting as Eurytus’ vizier is Tyndaros (Giancarlo Sbragia), who is brother to Ismene, Eurytus’ former lover. Eurytus’ current lover (though Tyndaros would like her to be his own) is Alchinoe (Wandisa Guida), satisfying the need for a sultry redhead in every entry. Though one of Eurytus’ conquered peoples, Alchinoe conspires with him, agreeing to feed false information to Illus, on agreement that she will wed Eurytus. Even though he intends to wed Thea, and will thus betray Alchinoe when the gettin’ is good. Miss one mumbled line about their agreement, and you’ll then be forgiven for believing the nonsense Alchinoe tells Illus.

Nonsense such as the notion that Hercules wants to also marry Thea (I don’t see what these countless hulks see in her). Add to that we learn, but not for a great long while, that Hercules is already married – to Deianira (Leonora Ruffo). If one struggles to align these Hercules films with the Grecian myths, then continuity is all wonked up, seeing as Hercules was Deianira’s man before shacking up with Iola (the boring female lead of the Steve Reeves Herculeseseses). This ignores Megara, Omphale, 50 freaking virgins in one night. It also ignores the dudes Hercules schtupped, like Iolaus and Hylas and Elacatas and Iphitus and sweet Dionysus but Hercules was a slut!


We’re getting lost in lunacy again. Time for a simplistic detour over to Hercules himself (playing a supporting role in his own film), as he delivers the Blood Diamond to the gods. Following the Italian narrative, this absolves him of his years-long labors; in the English variation, I cannot explain why he deposits the gem here, as it’s supposed to tie into Eurytus. And Hercules has a vision of the God of Vengeance (not Yahweh, the Greek one), who says some intentionally vague things about prophecy and whatnot.

Anyway, that resolved, back to confusion! Illus thinks Hercules, his happily married brother and/or father, wants Illus’ gal. Which explains, in Illus’ mind, just why Hercules is always such an unreconstructed asshole towards him. And Hercules is an Olympian-level shitheel towards his…relation, generally smacking him around and tying him to trees for absolutely no reason whatsoever. There is, eventually, some specific justification towards this behavior. The easy reason is merely that Hercules is a mean, rude, cruel superhuman in general – how Mark Forest distinguishes his performance from Steve Reeves the simple idiot.


Hercules meets Illus and Alchinoe. A fabulously unconvincing bear suit (not pictured) attacks. Hercules kills it. Hercules kills all animals with thoughtless abandon. And Illus wanders off, unable to do the whatever to Hercules she’d planned to do. So no seduction-by-redhead for you today.

Alchinoe instead wanders on back over to the Kingdom of Oenophile, where she is captured and fed to immobile rubbery snakes. About time we started losing some of the dead wood.

Meanwhile, Hercules heads home to Deianeira, which is the first we become aware of her. In celebration of his great success re: the Blood Diamond, Hercules throws a great, orgiastic shindig at his villa, which resembles nothing so much as a frat party, togas and all. One of Eurytus’ random assassins is here, who is never seen before or after, because things are overloaded with plot as it is. He puts a magical poison in Hercules’ chalice. And then…

Well, Eurytus is the sort of baddie who must brag about his schemes to everyone within earshot. Thea, locked away in prison still being a perfect MacGuffin, learns of the poison. And because the wind is blowing just so, she hollers into the wind about this. Owing to either the gods or general ridiculousness, her coherent screams travel over to the party, and are heard by Illus. Okay then… He knocks the chalice out of a thirsty Hercules’s grasp. A dog sups on the spilled swill, and dies.

Hercules, being thoughtless, short-tempered, brutish, and an ass, blames Illus not just for the dog’s death, but also, more damningly, for spoiling the toast. He smacks Illus around a little more. And Illus, conforming to Eurytus’ desires even when he doesn’t know ‘em, responds by obligingly riding off and becoming Eurytus’ prisoner. Sometimes I’m not quite sure where this plot is headed.

For now, straight to a set piece. Let’s make it quick! Eurytus plots to sacrifice Illus, as a trap laid for Hercules. Hercules learns about this, via no means whatsoever, and rides into the Kingdom of Oecumenical in a brilliant disguise – clothing. For such strongmen, it counts! And Hercules battles a fricking elephant, which is actually impressive since for once the Animal Fight™ involves an actual animal interacting with the actor. The trainer is there onscreen overseeing it all, but we’ll forgive it. Hercules kills the elephant, all Rancor-like. He and Illus (and some third dude) escape.

Meanwhile…the color is bleeding! I don’t know if it’s meant to be surrealistic or just bad filmmaking, but this is the most needlessly colorful movie I’ve ever seen. Check out Eurytus here. That’s just the sky there, man, either that or I had peyote for breakfast.


Hercules takes Illus off to the gods, so we can get an answer to his son-(or brother)-specific assholism. The goddess inside explains it all, in a single, muttered, vague sentence. “You,” meaning presumably Hercules, shall lose “your love” if “he” gets “his love.” Translation, and again thanks to others: If Illus marries Thea, which will happen if they defeat Eurytus, then Hercules is doomed to lose his wife Deianeira – to death. That’s a lot to parse out from a couple of unclear pronouns.

Though Hercules knew all this before (one presumes, unless he really is just a general bastard), hence his persecution of Illus. But upon hearing it again, he responds with typical anger and thoughtlessness. Hercules goes off and destroys his own villa, hoping to accomplish…what exactly? “Collapse like my shattered dreams!” Ah, he’s literalizing a metaphor!

His little tantrum over, Hercules rides off aimlessly with Illus and Diaiaiametbhs- his wife. She decides to resolve this latest nonsense, and prays to the gods to take her life – right then and there. So up comes a guy claiming to be a centaur even though it’s obvious he’s really a satyr, though in a later scene he is suddenly a centaur, and it turns out this is an Italian attempt to portray shape shifting. At least it’s a more successful fawn than in Manos: The Hands of Fate. At any rate, this…creature kidnaps Deianeira. Rather than do her in now, he carries her off to the Kingdom of Oesophagus so Eurytus can do it. And Hercules kills him (the satyr/centaur/man), though he escapes before can he die from it. Whatever.

It’s climax time. Hercules heads off to the Kingdom of Onomatopoeia to rescue Deianeira. Because there just has to be an epic battle in every peplum, the armies of Thebes are suddenly, randomly, purposelessly here to take Eurytus down. And Illus is busy doing nothing of value. So it’s a simple matter of destroying the city’s inexplicable subterranean supports, sword-fighting lotsa disposable dudes, then Hercules running into the dungeons to face off Eurytus and –

Not so fast! That’s how it went down in Italy, but the American producers insisted upon a damned dragon getting tossed in. They’d even already paid for one, and had it made! The Italians had no choice but to satisfy this demand, film it, even if they (for whatever reason) excised the dragon from their own film. I don’t know why; it’s the best thing about this movie. So in Goliath and the Dragon, as opposed to The Revenge of Hercules, Hercules goes and saves Deianeira from a dragon, and then goes and saves her (and Thea) from Eurytus. I surely don’t know how she got recaptured in the interim.

And about that dragon! One doesn’t expect much out of it, and it doesn’t disappoint. First there’s the adorable stop motion version, like in some bargain basement Jason and the Argonauts meets “Davey and Goliath” – hey, Goliath, I just realized that!


Then there’s the full-scale version Mark Forest must “battle” with. Since the unexpressive thing, sculpted perhaps over a barely-mobile crane, is incapable of doing anything, this duel consists of Hercules waggling a sword around for a while. At least that sword is as evidently artificial as the dragon.




And because it’s an Italian movie, no opportunity for eye-gouging is left alone.



And somehow the movie concludes with Illus and Theo marrying, even as Deianeira remains unkilled. Making that holy prophecy one great big lie. Unless the sequel addresses the issue… It won’t. There’s no continuity between entries, so let’s just chalk The Revenge of Hercules (or whatever you prefer) as being a grand, confusing spectacle. Like life!



RELATED POSTS
• No. 1 Hercules (1958)
• No. 2 Hercules Unchained (1959)
• No. 4 Hercules vs. the Hydra (1960)
• No. 5 Hercules and the Conquest of Atlantis (1961)
• 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)

Hercules, No. 1 - Hercules (1958)

OH SHIT!

Originally I’d planned to spend a couple of casual, relaxing days investigating the Ursus franchise, one of the innumerable sword-and-sandal blasphemies which emerged during the ‘60s. Yeah, I thought I was gonna review Vengeance of Ursus; I even have it lined up on DVD, sitting there right now over by the television. And yet…

The Italian sword-and-sandal (or peplum) subgenre was an absolute travesty of film, taking up the entire energies of that boot-shaped nation’s film industry from 1958 to 1965 – that is, all their energies not focused upon committing artsy, angsty pretention. The slightest familiarity with the vagaries of Italian moviemaking indicates they are a prolific people, keen to follow whatever knockoff trend arrives without concern over art, creativity, copyright or common sense. Such a nonsensical trend could only end with the rise of the mighty Spaghetti Western, at which point Italians started ripping off something else.

So in my study into the genre, I discovered at least four notable franchises, franchises with interbreeding is as complex as West Virginia. Yeah, pretty much each of these franchises crossed over with each of these other franchises, meaning I cannot just do Ursus – one of the lesser efforts anyway. Oh no, I gotta go to the start of this convoluted movement, then go from there, and do ALL of them!

I gotta go back to 1958, to the one and only Hercules.

Hercules!
Hercules!
Hercules!


Hercules can owe its Italian existence mostly to Cecil B. DeMille’s The Ten Commandments, for populist Italian film doesn’t spring forth ex nihilo. And just as that Biblical epic paved the way for Hollywood efforts such as Ben-Hur and Spartacus, Rome-centric prestige pieces showcasing something resembling fidelity towards history, the Italians took the inspiration in a very different way. They saw mythology, they saw fantasy, and had the unique geographical opportunity to legitimately comment upon the Greco-Roman legends of old. And rather than utilize such material to the delight of the monocle-dropping set, the Italians went as was oft their wont in the populist route, with a pulpy, comic book-esque mélange of ridiculousness.

Ἡρακλῆς, son of Ζεύς but not Ήρα, as Ζεύς’s rampant adultery led to Ἡρακλῆς being the son on a mortal in a heteropaternal superfecundative childhood which –

Okay, this movie ain’t too concerned with mythological fidelity, and neither shall we be. Rather, ‘tis simply a tale ‘bout the Strongest Man in the Whole Wide World. And Heracles – excuse me, Hercules, for this movie generally prefers the Romanic etymology – is a figure with great Roman favoritism, for the ancient Romans were no better than their modern counterparts in appropriating from better (i.e. Greek) sources. Under Roman guidance, Hercules dropped his more questionable traits and became simply a quasi-mortal role model and beacon for all of humanity. For all intents and purposes, he was the ancients’ Superman.


Given this reading, it is excusable to think the cinematic Hercules is Superman’s father. Nope, it’s Steve Reeves and Christopher Reeve, sans “s.” (Steve ain’t Keanu’s pa either.) Reeves, with whom we’re concerned today, came of a bodybuilding background (Mr. Universe, in fact), making him more of a precursor to the great Arnold Schwarzenegger. He’s known almost entirely for the Hercules role he originated, previously limited to a walk-on in Ed Wood’s Jail Bait – to let you know what sort of a star we’re dealing with. Reeves ain’t much of an actor, but that made no never-mind to his Italian overlords, as he is instead rippling with cartoonishly-proportioned muscles, arms the size of a torso and a torso the size of a…a very, very large torso. And he does rock the groin-cloth, in a state of perpetual shirtlessness, like a roided-out Jonathan Frakes.


To this overwhelming gourmet of beefcake, they add a goodly amount of cheesecake. It’s just a parade of beautiful, Italian flesh all about. This appeals to the more…deviant members of Hercules’ audience (i.e. the Italians), along with a childish narrative to rope in the kiddies. It’s not for nothing Airplane! features the line “Do you like movies about gladiators?” (See pic below.) Director Pietro Francisci and producer Federico Teti (both mostly known for these Hercules flicks) sure knew what they were doing, at least in regards sating their audiences. That does not extend to extreme filmmaking competence, for what does one expect of a B-movie from a fledgling cinematic nation? It’s nowhere near the Z-grade enjoyed by Wood and his betters, but Hercules is still lame and campy enough to have been “featured” on “Mystery Science Theater 3000.”

At least the cinematography’s pretty, far out of proportion with the rest of…Wait, the cinematographer was Mario Bava?! Ah-hah, I got something to discuss another day!

Hercules starts out by laying the mold for so many of the sword-and-sandal swashbucklers to follow, rip-offs of a rip-off were they. Hercules makes his, er, Herculean entrance by throwing a freaking entire tree in front of some horses! This is to get ‘em to stop, for like in Back to the Future Part III they were running out of control, with a woman in mortal peril. That’d be Iole (Sylvia Koscina) and…at least they got something right outa the myth.

Not that her father is Eurytus in this ‘un. Rather he’s King Pelias of Iolcus (Ivo Garrani), allowing for a whole nother mythological detour to come, but I’ll get nowhere continually pointing out where liberties have been taken. In a flashback of needless length, Iole explains how Pelias took the throne of Iolcus, possibly through fratricide (i.e. killing your own brother, man). This is her belief, which ultimately proves true once the movie finds a need to identify a villain.

For now, though, the focus is upon Hercules. Indeed, it’s almost a character study of the Theban he-man! Hercules has reported to Pelias in order to train his son Iphitus (Mimmo Palmara, getting minimal screen time by dint of his inferior pecs). These training scenes are an excuse to fill every inch of celluloid with rippling, oiled, throbbing man muscles, in an act of homoeroticism unparalleled in the modern world. It’s also the moment for Hercules to explode out a veritable diarrhea of assorted Greco-Roman heroes, without reason or care for where this subgenre might be headed: Let’s see, we got Ulysses, Lertes, Argos, Castor, Pollux. What, no Jason?! Don’t worry, he’s coming up.

But I said this movie intends to probe the Herculean muscleman, as it were. So it does, as Hercules shows success in all physical feats far in excess of his lowly mortal companions. It’s the lament of the immortal, like the more tiresome aspects of Superman Returns. But it soon comes to a head as Hercules rides out to slay a lion (a Nemean lion, perhaps). Quoth Iole, Hercules’ subplot-relegated lover: “Hercules, noooooo!” This gets Iphitus killed, because Iphitus is an ass and desperately wants a rivalry with Hercules and – You know, up ‘til this moment I could’ve sworn their rivalry would become the central plot thread. Guess I was wrong!


Rather, Peleas and then a random hot Sybil (pictured above to counterbalance all the scenes of dudes groping each other) order Hercules to atone for this death he’s frankly not all that responsible for by heading out and performing tasks. Thus the soothsayer said sooth. Oh, so that’s the game! Hercules shall be a retelling of his Twelve Tasks. I gotcha.

So Hercules renounces his demigodhood, anticipating Superman II, and putters off to kill the Cretan Bull – bingo, Twelve Tasks! I must pause here to point out how patently unsuccessful his animal fights are, of the same Woodian school which brought us Bela Lugosi wrestling inanimate tentacles in Bride of the Monster, or countless Tarzans throwing down with throw rugs. Hercules does likewise, with unrelated close-ups of Steven Reeves and various wild animals. And I can’t believe I’m saying this, but would it kill them to show Herc’s whole body here – you know, for comprehensibility?

Anyway, I guess there’ll be a Hydra in here someplace and – Oh, wait, no, they’ve now forgotten this new narrative thread, as Herc’s just run into Jason (Fabrizio Mioni), exiled nephew of King Peleas. One expository chat later, and Hercules is now concerned with putting Jason back on the throne. As true to myth (the Jason myth, at least, never mind the old Hercules stories), Jason is prophesied to take down Peleas, as he has just entered Iolcus with one sandal for convoluted reasons. They’ve laid on this “one sandal” nonsense most heavily, and make it doubly obvious now – with sci-fi humming noises that’d be more at home in Forbidden Planet than ancient Thessalonica. “MST3K”-worthy, I’d say.

Peleas opposes Jason’s would-be coup. Fearing a fleecing, he sets Jason forth to retrieve the Golden Fleece – Yeah, we’re well and surely into a retelling of the “Argonautica” now, having forgotten all previous narrative strands. And, okay, sure, Hercules was in “Argonautica” (in the sense that Iron Man was in The Incredible Hulk), but guys, c’mon, you do know there’s gonna be 18 sequels to this, right? Don’t stretch it. Anyway, the Fleece was Jason’s father’s favorite MacGuffin, which reveals the true ruler of Iolcus. It possesses more…otherworldly powers as well, to hear Iole tell it: “It seemed to vibrate, and to touch it made us tremble.” Yes, there is nothing remotely sexual in this movie.


So the Argo sets sail, filled to the brim with Herc, Jason, and all the other aforementioned heroes, their biceps and pectorals grinding hard against each other and – look, I’m sorry, that’s what’s going on, okay. There’s at least one non-muscleman aboard, meaning he’s a villain – Peleas’ companion in schemery, Eurysteus (Arturo Dominici). In between scenes of two score weightlifters rowing their wooden oars, musical numbers crop up. And though most copies of Hercules today retain the English dub (all Italian movies are dubbed anyway, owing to their lousy sound technology, which paradoxically lent their work to better international distribution), these songs remain in the original Italian.

I’m sorry for how slowly all this seems to be going, but it reflects a problem with Hercules itself. It feels magnificently sluggish for a film under 2 hours, what with the narrative indecisiveness, a relic of ancient storytelling approaches attempted in 1958.

The next major section of film is another of those wonderful diversions, a section which could be excised entirely from the film and no one would notice. Seeking provisions, the glistening, hard-bodied Argonauts reach the shore and explore the jungles. Enter the Amazons, the famous all-woman tribe named after an online retailer, and a most welcome opportunity to balance the gender dynamic. You gotta love the way this flick considers the human body!


These man-hatin’ gals have nothing to do with Jason, and occur only briefly in the Herculean exploits. They’re just rummaging through old myth like my neighborhood’s stray dogs, they are.

The Argonauts are welcomed by a society of horny women like the chiseled Adonises they are. Hercules, not trusting heterosexual pairings, retires to the hills to sulk and/or whatever. Thus commences a brand new love story, between Jason and Antea, the Queen of the Amazons (Gianna Maria Canale, growwwl!). It’s like Aeneus and Dido in “The Aeneid,” in that the hero loves, them leaves his woman, creating tragedy and – Nah! It feels like a feature length movie plopped down in Hercules’ midst, but to no end. This is some attempt to convey emotion as its most operatic, a challenge Francisci is not up to. He lacks subtlety, content to utilize heavenly choirs from some stock soundtrack library, and call it a day.


So the Amazonian subplot putters on in its merry way. We gets scenes of men frolicking gaily (as opposed to gayly), and even an overload of dull underwater swimming footage. Then Antea announces that the men shall be put to death in the morrow, as presumably impregnation has already happened (that being the Amazons’ way to perpetuate themselves, like a sequel). Ulysses overhears this (what is Ulysses doing here?!), warns Hercules. Each goes to save their fellow Argonauts, Ulysses using his smarts to drug everybody, and Herc using his strength to carry three men at once. Which is where he is clearly the most comfortable.

So the Argo sets back out on its way, as though nothing had ever happened. The Amazon adventure makes it feel like a complete voyage, at least, as they are now at Colchis, land of the Golden Fleece (and the Silver Cowhide). Hercules leads most of the men in a sudden, random, pitched battle against “the hairy ape-men.” Herc beats these hominids up with his favorite weapon, a really big stick, making things feel uncomfortably like the start of 2001, only stupid. Meanwhile, Jason flees for the Fleece, to encounter –


This is how...eclectic Hercules is with its inspirations, as it now tosses in “big rubber monster” to its “mythological epic,” “operatic romance,” “melodrama,” “light-hearted romp” and “unintentional softcore gay pornography.” This so-called “dragon” even uses Godzilla’s famous roar, as there’s no word for “shame” in Italian. (Actually, it’s “verogna.”) One’s hope for a competent man vs. monster battle isn’t high, given the previous animal fights. Rather, let us bask in the cheese factor, the camp, perhaps the only way now to enjoy these old Hercules flicks.

Dragon dead, Fleece fleeced, Jason et al sail back for Iolcus, knowing for a fact now that Peleas is a brother-murdering meanie. It’s time for Hercules to climax. Following the DeMille example, and setting the template for all of Italy, that means a massive battle between the goodies and baddies, Argonauts vs. Peleans. For all its incompetencies and awkwardnesses, let no one say Hercules lacks for ambition, or the means to stage it – I mean, c’mon, big ship to interact with, many sets, ancient ruins. Okay, so maybe it’s not hard to look Roman when filming in Rome, but they even manage to destroy Peleas’ palace, like something straight outa Intolerance. And I doubt Italy is that crawling with ancient ruins that film producers are allowed to demolish them at will.


So the palace falls, as Hercules strikes an iconic pose. Setting a bit of franchise iconography, Herc is shackled in chains prior to this pitched melee (off screen, so we do not ask how such a feat is accomplished), which then gives him something to smack extras about with once he’s freed himself. It’s all so very silly, and one never remotely fears for Herc’s life, but therein lies the comic book style Hercules profited from.

And Hercules did profit well, and not only in Italy! That’d be enough to justify sequels, but Hercules is a greater tale than that. Joseph E. Levine, a U.S. distributor, picked up this epic much like he’d previously done with the original Godzilla, and saturated the market to ensure without doubt that Hercules would be successful. Hence runaway popularity on the international scene, Hercules silly enough for the kiddies to embrace, with enough veiled sexuality for just about every persuasion.

This would have long-lasting results on Italian film. Their genre efforts were then produced with international markets in mind, so much that crew members often adopted Anglo names to hide their origins. This fallout would play through the ‘60s, ‘70s and ‘80s, in disparate genres such as the Spaghetti Western, Euro horror, Euro spy, Euro cop thriller, Euro sex comedy, many other things with the word “Euro” in them.

And Hercules ensured that the sword-and-sandals form would flourish in Italy, diverging from the American model with a greater focus upon fantasy, silliness and beefcake. That beefcake thing was the lesson they learned quickest, as Reeves proved a star could be born solely through his shape, notwithstanding a complete lack of charisma, style, intelligence, acting skills, whatever. The floodgates are open; let the movement commence!


RELATED POSTS:
• No. 2 Hercules Unchained (1959)
• No. 3 The Revenge of Hercules (1960)
• No. 4 Hercules vs. the Hydra (1960)
• No. 5 Hercules and the Conquest of Atlantis (1961)
• 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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Pathinaru (2011) Tamil movie free download

Cast: Mirchi Siva, Madhu Shalini
Direction: Saba Rathinam
Music: Yuvan Shankar Raja




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