I was right! The Vengeance of Ursus has absolutely nothing to do with its predecessor, Ursus, except for that name. This barely even counts as a sequel. Worse yet, absolutely everything Ursus did (what little there was) to tinker with the standard peplum formula is undone here, making this absolutely an undistinguished Italian sword-and-sandals.
Those things Ursus did “well” (for a very inexact usage of the word “well”) mostly involved humanizing the standard lunk-headed oaf who qualifies as hero in these travesties. For about the first time in any damn peplum, the lead (Ursus, natch) was fallible, mortal…though not by much – I’m simply speaking in relative terms. This was the lone factor of Ursus which got me through it, because it otherwise barely counts as a movie.
While I liked that changeup, it seems the Italian nutjobs who flocked to these pepla felt otherwise, seeing as the “Ursus” of Vengeance of Ursus is just about the beefiest, burliest, stupidest lug to ever grace European cinema. The star now – what, you thought just once a peplum series could maintain inter-entry actor continuity?! – is one Samson Burke. That’s the closest any real life name is gonna get to “Brock Samson,” so I rue having already referenced that name during a Hercules recap. Burke is no Swedish Murder Machine, but rather a Canadian bodybuilder, who – zzzzzzzzzz!
Actually, you know those big, dumb guys the action hero (in real movies) fights around ¾ to 7/8 through? Like that bald German boxer on the Fixed-Wing? Well, Ursus is that guy, for all intents and purposes, with no other redeeming fixtures. Imagine spending an entire film (let alone franchise) in the company of such stilted semi-humans. It isn’t pleasant.
Story? Oh, right. An evil tyrant wants to conquer a different kingdom, and tries marrying that kingdom’s princess to that end. Ursus stops him. Actually, Ursus can barely figure it all out until 90% through, for how otherwise perfect the great ass is. This movie’s only notable accomplishments are as follows: A) increased screen time for a whining, incorrigible child (which causes me literal pain), and B) an assertion that the standard Feats of Strength™ actually exist to determine a man’s morality. Those witch-murderers at Salem were cleverer than this.
Actually, there’s absolutely nothing else to say which I haven’t already said about some other sword-and-sandals. I shall let Vengeance rot in largely-unreviewed hell. Good riddance! But as proof I suffered through it, I’ll let my standard screen caps serve entirely in lieu of a continued consideration.
Ursus can kiss my ass!
RELATED POSTS
• No. 1 Ursus (1961)
• No. 7 Ursus, the Terror of the Kirghiz (1964)
• No. 8 Hercules, Samson, Maciste and Ursus (1964)
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