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)