“The Loves of Hercules”

I love 1950's/1960's sword-and-sandal films (or, as they are picturesquely known in French, peplums). They are the most formulaic nonsense ever put to screen, but in a wholesome, very entertaining way. 

1960's The Loves of Hercules — a Franco-Italian coproduction most notable for starring Jayne Mansfield as Queen Deianira and her husband Miklòs "Mickey" "Mr Universe" Hargitay as Ancient Times' greatest strongman — is no exception. 

It hits nearly all the beats that I have come to know from other Hercules and Maciste films of the era: the Amazons and their beguiling Queen with an interest in the hero; a lead with as much character as the lump of wood he uses to crush his foes; colorful physical feats; a Queen who longs for love; an evil advisor thereof, seeking power; an uprising against the usurper; a few encounters with random monsters; and, most infuriatingly, the same plot-thread I keep seeing over and over of the evil Amazon (or something) Queen who kills/petrifies/eats/whatever all her lovers and takes an interest in the hero who is temporarily bewitched until he snaps out of it. 

Also, honorable mentions to "mashing together bits and pieces of various connected myths in a way that makes little to no sense", and to "the American dub feels free to rewrite part of the story, why not?" (American may be surprised to learn that Hercules does not in fact visit the Underworld in the original version; the place with the sulphur clouds is just a random canyon). 

So what's to like about this one? 

It's nicely shot, for one thing, and as always, the cast are solid with the exception of the bland-as-gruel Hercules. Jayne Mansfield, here and elsewhere, mercifully does far more than looking pretty for the camera — she was a genuine, and not-untalented, actress, and the difference between her portrayl of the real Deianira and of Hippolyta magically impersonating her makes that clear enough. 

The monsters encountered along the way are also pretty creative. There's a great atmosphere in the Forest of the Dead, and the lovers-turned-trees are a surprisingly haunting creation, albethey this film's take on that "preying-mantis Queen" trope that just refused to die in those days. The Ape-Man at the end is… introduced without any explanation of why we shouldn't be surprised to find an Ape-Man in Ancient Greece (there's a similar thing in Hercules/Maciste Versus the Moon Men, so I presume this was just "a thing" at the time, for some reason), but he has hints of the strange tragedy of King Kong in his breif appearance, and the make-up, while admittedly the fakest thing ever, is also kind of arresting. 

Don't you feel sorry for this poor hirsute chap? Just a little?

Next up… oh, I'm sorry, did I call the Ape-Man the fakest thing in the movie? How could I forget the briefly-appearing Hydra who, for reasons yet to be determined by science, gave its name to the movie in some countries? 

This film's Hydra is what I assume everyone must have thought was an awesome animatronic (its eyes glow and lbik! It breathes fire!), but the truth is, in any but the widest and foggiest shots, it just looks like a big, painted, carboard-covered machine. Which it is. Its claws are also not in any way articulated, leaving the poor stuntman to struggle under its paws, trying its very best to make you believe that the monster is grabbing him — like something out of an Ed Wood film. 

Yet it is certainly memorable. The design gave up on trying to look real, but it still managed to be impressive and creative (certainly, there's a sense of gigantism to this Hydra that is rarely evoked by other movie versions of the beast), and the sound design in the scene must be praised. That howling is not easily forgotten. 

One thing I can't quite forgive the movie for, however, is that they kind of got the concept of the Hydra backwards. Hercules, through the use of a woodsman'saxe he seemingly conjures out of his own personal Hammerspace, chops off one of its heads… and that's… enough to kill it. No "two more heads grow up when you cut one off", not even a "you have to kill all the heads". Whuh? 

Mind, there's a surprisingly atmospheric shots later of the Hydra's still carcass that almost makes you forget its underwhelming demise. So that's something. 

Okay, let's talk villains. I love me a good villain, and Massimo Serato's Licos brushes with greatness, in the “so obviously evil let's not even pretend I'm not a cartoon villain” category. He looks and acts in such hilariously, obviously villainous way that you can't help but love the character. Yet he does not cackle or revel in his power — if you're in for that sort of thing, there's some darker, more tragic depth to Licos, even if it is but barely explored; he mentions having “given up on love long ago” to pursue only power, and it's up to anyone's imagination what might have prompted this drastic choice. 

Like all great sword-and-sandal villains, he also owns a designated death trap, though unlike Hippolyta (who, spoiler, dies strangled by one of her own cursed trees), he does not die by it. It's pretty cool. A bridge above a sulphur bit on which the victim is made to stand and can be opened inwards, letting the poor victim plummet to their doom. It is extremely reminiscent of the more modern bridge used by the king of all evil masterminds, Ernst Stavro Blofeld, in You Only Live Twice. The sulphur pit is put to good use in the climactic battle, incidentally — it's an impressive set on multiple levels and has all sorts of interesting staging possibilities. 

“A bridge? Is that the best you can doOOOOWAAAAHHHRGH----”

And over 2000 years later… 

“A brdge? Please! The other guy had a laser, a nuclear bomb

to blow up Fort Knox, and a decapitating hat, is that really

the best you canaaaAAAAAHOHGODNO---”

I have little to say about it, but I feel like I should mention Carlo Innocenzi's composition, too. Italian sword-and-sandal films's scores are rarely bad, but there is a tendency for them to be forgettable orchestral sludge with little character or theme, good enough to accompany the action, but hardly something you'd listen to for its own merits. Not so here. Innocenzi's frequent use of minor-key and a chorus brings a real character to this score. 

Oh, and we must have our trivia-focused Post-Scriptum once again:

• One, what is up with this poster? 

          Looks to me like someone didn't get the memo that clean-shaven Mickey Hargitay was playing  

          Hercules, and just drew Steve Reeves again. 

• Two, am I the only one who thinks Maga the Enchantress looks exactly like Docto Who's Ohila? If there's any relationship it must, of course, be the other way around, but it's striking either way. Just look at'em. Twins, I tellsja. 

(Has Steven Moffat seen this film?)

• And three, a question. The opening credits proclaim that one “Sandrine” (no last name given) plays some significant part in the movie. You may recognize this sort of crediting as the way pop-singers are usually credited when they try out acting, and I presumed Sandrine must be some French or Italian 1960's singer long forgotten. But who does she play? imdb has no friggin' clue. The following screencap is not edited, there's genuinely just a blank. 

Me = confused.