HERCULES (2014)

Dwayne Johnson, making for an impressive Hercules.

Finally got around to checking out HERCULES (2014). Taking place after the completion of the famous twelve labors, this gives us a Hercules (Dwayne Johnson) who leads a band of mercenary heroes, including Ian McShane as a skilled spearman who sees visions of his death,  

and the athlete Atalanta (Ingrid Bolsø Berdal), here reimagined as an Amazon archery badass.  

Though widely lauded for his amazing feats and status as a demi-god, Hercules bears the guilt of having killed his wife and children, a state of mind that holds him back from true greatness, but he nonetheless leads his companions when they are hired to lead the army of Thrace against savage marauders. But all is not as it seems, with neither Hercules's culpability for his family's murders nor with the people he and his stalwart crew were hired to rout. And, interestingly, there is question as to whether the mythic hero is actually the son of Zeus, or is he just a figure whose legend grows with each retelling?

Basically a matinee popcorn muncher, I can see why this flopped, as it's little more than a throwback to the seemingly endless Italian mythological muscleman flicks of the 1950's and 1960's peplum wave, only with the production values to make it look quite lavish. It's nothing great, but lovers of ancient world epics and mythic adventure will find it an agreeable way to pass just over ninety minutes. Dwayne Johnson makes an appropriately beefy Hercules, and his band of mercenaries are all a lot of fun. It's the kind of thing I would have absolutely loved if I'd seen it at age nine, and even at my current age of fifty-nine, I was entertained. Recommended as a minor diversion for mythology goons and peplum addicts.

Poster for the theatrical release.

GLADIATOR II (2024)

 

 Director Ridley Scott returns to the sands of the arena.

 

GLADIATOR II (2024) is a decent sequel, filled with all of the elements fans of the ancient world epic genre want, but with one glaring problem: its protagonist is by far the least interesting character in it. The narrative would have been much better served if it focused solely on Pedro Pascal's war-weary Roman general who only wishes to retire and spend time with his wife, but it's made clear by the twin emperors that he is their bitch and must therefore never cease conquering in the name of the empire. Also fun is Denzel Washington as an owner or gladiators who seeks to use the film's hero, the son of the original's Maximus, as his stepping stone to usurping the throne. 

 

But, whatever. 

 

There is enough pageantry, lavish costumes, well-choreographed and realistic fight scenes, cartoonish CGI animals,graphic violence, and flamboyant camp that the genre has provided since the days when Rome's Cineccita studios was cranking out badly-dubbed peplum imports by the dozen seemingly every other week to keep fans of the genre entertained. And extra points for the inclusion of Derek Jacobi, a favorite and an immortal in my eyes for his unforgettable performance in the classic I, CLAUDIUS (1976). 

 

Worth seeing, but better if seen at at cheap matinee or via streaming on a huge flatscreen at home.

 

Poster for the theatrical release.

31 DAYS OF HORROR 2018-Day 11: HERCULES IN THE HAUNTED WORLD (1961)

The sybil speaks.

Princess Deianira (Leonora Ruffo), the lover of the mighty Hercules (Reg Park), is inexplicably driven mad and her people are consequently miserable. The only thing that can restore her sanity is a stone found in Hades, Greek mythology's land of the dead, so Herc and his pals, priapic ladies' man Theseus (George Ardisson) and woefully unfunny comic relief Telemachus (Franco Giacobini) set off on a quest to snag the magic rock and save the princess. But what our heroes don't realize is that Deianira's madness has been orchestrated by her guardian, the evil Lico (Christopher Lee), who has used her insanity as an excuse to install himself as king of her land. 

Christopher Lee as Lico. Not Dracula this time, but still evil as fuck.

Lico is in league with unspecified dark gods (presumably not of the Greek pantheon) and wields assorted baleful powers, so our heroes must first endure a number of potentially deadly trials in their quest for the stone before returning home to settle Lico's hash. And as if all of that wasn't enough to deal with, things are further complicated when the walking erection that is Thesues meets and instantly falls in love with a nameless beauty (Ida Galli) in the underworld and sneaks her out to make her his bride. Unfortunately for him, she turns out to be Persephone (look up her story in literally any book on Greek mythology), so Pluto, the unseen lord of the dead, is none too pleased by her departure, thus bringing the displeasure of one of the most powerful gods down upon Deianira's land in the form of crop and livestock blight and natural disasters. And as a coming eclipse looms, Lico must drink the blood of Deianira to ensure that he rules her kingdom for eternity. In other words, just another week at the office for Hercules.

HERCULES IN THE HAUNTED WORLD (originally titled HERCULES AT THE CENTER OF THE EARTH in its native Italy) is one of the best-looking and most visually imaginative of the hundreds of tits & togas flicks released during the 1960's, and it overflows with mood and atmosphere. Writer/director/co-cinematographer/special effects artist Mario Bava was a legendary and prolific filmmaker who more or less codified the tropes of the peplum genre as we know it with the back-to-back international box office hits HERCULES (1957) and HERCULES UNCHAINED (1958) starring Steve Reeves, and those films spawned a slew of imitators that glutted the screen for the next decade. (I'd love to know exactly how many Italian peplum movies were released in the wake of the Reeves flicks, but good luck counting all of them. There have to be literally hundreds.) Bava's work on HERCULES IN THE HAUNTED WORLD was pretty much the last word when it came to genuine quality creative filmmaking for this sort of film during its heyday, and his other notable contributions to cinema form an impressive roster that includes genre-redefining classics such as THE MASK OF SATAN (1960), BLACK SABBATH (1963), BLOOD AND BLACK LACE (1964), PLANET OF THE VAMPIRES (1965), and DANGER: DIABOLIK (1968)

As for the movie itself, the true virtues of HERCULES IN THE HAUNTED WORLD lie in its visual presentation. It's low on actual scares, but its depiction of the underworld is memorable and lit with colors that border on psychedelic. Reg Park, possibly the most physically jacked of the actors to essay the role of Hercules until Arnold Schwarzenegger and Lou Ferrigno, is himself a living special effect, looking like an animated slab of well-muscled beef, and therefore making a perfect Hercules.

Reg Park, kicking ass and hefting styrofoam boulders as Hercules.

The Hercules films of the peplum boom did not exactly require an Olivier or a Brando to portray the legendary hero, so Park's thespic chops were irrelevant when compared to his ability to look good in a one-strapped leather toga. And who cares if the guy can act when all that's really required is for him to take on the likes of rock monster Procrustes, 

Procrustes, looking like a guest monster on LOST IN SPACE.

vines containing the souls of the dead that scream and bleed when cut, and a pack of web-encrusted flying zombies that crawl up from the tomb? And let me tell you that it's not every day when you get to see Hercules squash Christopher Lee to death with a huge styrofoam monolith, so what's not to love?

Just one of the sights found in the underworld.

HERCULES IN THE HAUNTED WORLD is a fun way to spend a rainy Sunday afternoon and is a must for all fans of Greek mythology-based movies, even though it plays fast and loose with the actual stories (which have been reinterpreted numerous times and with numerous variations for centuries, so why quibble?). Too bad Bava didn't rope Ray Harryhausen into the mix to provide some of his signature stop-motion animated monsters to add some more spice...

Poster from the American theatrical release.

31 DAYS OF HORROR 2018-Day 8: GOLIATH AND THE VAMPIRES (1961)

Now, this is how you kick off a movie!

A band of marauders raid and destroy a seaside village, killing all the men and abducting all the women. The guys are such bastards that once at sea and making their way back to their home island, they throw all of the old women overboard as food for sharks, but they also take random samples of the captive girls' blood to feed to their unseen master. Unfortunately for the marauders, the village they destroyed was home to Goliath (former Tarzan and beefcake legend Gordon Scott) and one of the nubile abductees is Goliath's betrothed, so it's off to the raiders' homeland for some righteous peplum-style ass-kicking. The marauders' homeland, Salmanak, is ostensibly run by a sultan, but he and his people are under the vile thrall of spectral vampire lord Kobrak, who is aided by the sultan's chief consort, Astra (Gianna Maria Canale). To rescue his beloved and the captive girls (who have been sold into slavery in Salmanak's slave market), Goliath must take on hordes of soldiers,  a hidden race of blue men, assorted cheapjack monsters,  a legion of the walking dead, and eventually Kobrak himself. Kobrak's master plan is to conquer the world by transplanting his mind into a duplicate of  Goliath's super-powered body and leading an army of mind-controlled super-slaves, but if you think Goliath's down with that mess, then you have never seen an old school "tits 'n' togas" actioner.

Astra (Gianna Maria Canale) confers with vampire lord Kobrak.

Originally one of the many Italian muscleman flicks of the 1960's to feature the all-purpose superhero Maciste, this entry was part of the peplum boom kicked off by the Steve Reeves Hercules films of the late-1950's, which proved to be unexpected international hits at the box office. The success of the Reeves Hercules flicks opened the door for a flood of cash-ins and knockoffs that would go on to glut the screen for close to a decade, with only a handful of the hundreds of films in the genre actually being any good. GOLIATH AND THE VAMPIRES, as it was retitled for its American release, is one of that handful, and it's a fun introduction to the genre for newcomers. While low on scares and totally suitable for younger viewers, it has enough sword & sorcery madness and cheesy monsters to make it worthwhile as an example of the genre's occasional fusion of mythic hero and horror tropes. 

Kobrak manifests in tangible form.

But while GOLIATH AND THE VAMPIRES is a decent representative of this section of the peplum genre, it's not the best of the classic-era peplum/horror hybrids, but we'll be getting to that soon...

Poster for the Italian theatrical release.

Poster for the American theatrical release.

GOLIATH AND THE BARBARIANS (1959)

The peplum genre, so named for the short (but ever so manly) skirts worn by its heroes — a term originally applied to Italian muscleman flicks a la HERCULES (1958) but now seen as a blanket term for movies about beefy shirtless guys kicking ass in ancient settings — churned out seemingly hundreds of bargain basement epics featuring the manly adventures of oiled-up ancient heroes such as Samson, and of course Hercules, but one-time biblical bad guy Goliath also starred in a few entries after being reinvented as a white hat (or white toga, if you prefer). This 1959 outing stars the original Hercules himself, Steve Reeves, as Emiliano, a super-buff woodcutter whose people are preyed upon by an invading barbarian horde and subjected to the usual barbarian degradations such as rape, pillage, arson and murder.

Steve Reeves as Emiliano, soon to be better known as Goliath.

After the killing of his father (who was apparently some kind of high muckety-muck in the community, but the script’s a bit muddy on that) Emiliano adopts a ludicrous mask and fright wig and embarks on a campaign of murderous terror against his foes, bashing them in the head with a big rock on a tether, crushing their throats with a clawed gauntlet, or assaulting them with a massive club.

Goliath, the forgotten member of Gwar.

Any way you cut it and no matter what weapons are deployed, the dude kills a shitload of barbarians before the bad guys get sick of him having the nerve to defend the innocent, so he’s soon a wanted man. And for no good reason the barbarians think the masked raider is a monster and dub him Goliath. Don't ask me why.

During the requisite bouts of violence and homoerotic displays of greasy, straining thews and superhuman feats of strength, Londo, the incredibly hot daughter of one of the invaders, finds herself dripping like a broken refrigerator at the sight of our hero and in no time a forbidden love affair is in full swing.

Playing the haughty barbarian princess is Chelo Alonso, a Cuban/Mexican dancer and former star of the Folies-Bergères in Paris, and she is one thermonuclear warrior goddess whose look reminds me of Halle Berry.

Yeah, this one's got pretty much everything you'd want in a peplum flick with the exception of a couple of rubber-suit monsters, and it's packed with enough action, romance and eye candy to make any audience happy. Now available in a gorgeous print as half of a Goliath double bill on DVD, GOLIATH AND THE BARBARIANS is a lot better than you might expect and is a terrific bit of Saturday matinee fodder that I enjoyed quite a lot. And while it can't hope to compete in terms of budget, in terms of solid entertainment this film beats CGI bullshit like BEOWULF by leaps and bounds. TRUST YER BUNCHE!!!

CONAN THE BARBARIAN (2011)

 

It's nearly three decades since Robert E Howard's seminal barbarian protagonist — he can hardly be considered a hero — first graced the big screen, and since that time there have been many sword-slinging warriors to follow in his footsteps, most recently and to much popular and box office appreciation being J.R.R. Tolkien's LORD OF THE RINGS gang. Unless you've been living under a rock somewhere in the tiny republic of Togo for the last ten years or so, you know the LOTR fantasy epics made a shitload of cash, so it was inevitable that Hollywood would try to mine the audience's hunger for fantasy in some way, and it would seem that now would be a good time to dust off Conan and his Hyborian Age wanderings. After all, Howard's Conan stories more or less defined the genre, if not outright inventing it, so why not bring back that genre's single most well-known and popular character? The audience was already built-in after three decades of fans who enjoyed the first Conan flick, released in 1982 and starring as it did Arnold Schwarzenegger in what is arguably the film that first put him on the map as perhaps the epitome of the 1980's action hero. (THE TERMINATOR didn't happen until two years later, by which time most of America knew who Ah-nuld was thanks to Conan.) And, yeah, there was a sequel, the inexplicably PG-13-rated CONAN THE DESTROYER (1984), but that film sucked and brought what looked to be a promising franchise to a screeching halt.

As the first film's cult reputation grew, in its wake followed a terrible Saturday morning cartoon wherein Conan was the bodyguard/escort for some royal kids and each week taught them important life lessons like "don't judge people because they're different from you" — I swear to god I'm not making this up — and there was also a live-action show, CONAN THE ADVENTURER, that sought to cash in on the popularity of HERCULES: THE LEGENDARY JOURNEYS and XENA: WARRIOR PRINCESS, but that watered-down mess died a swift death at the end of its sole season. Now, in the current climate of reboots/re-imaginings, I suppose it was only a matter of time until someone had the bright idea of making a Conan movie for the 2000's, with what I'm sure was the intention of kickstarting another cash cow along the lines of LOTR or the PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN flicks. Well, I'm here to tell all of you fellow lovers of the 1982 CONAN THE BARBARIAN that that film's status as a cult classic and textbook example of how to make a mythic "warrior's journey" film has absolutely nothing to worry about.

The current iteration opens with a new version of our sullen protagonist's origin, cribbing much of its initial thrust from the 1982 film. We first meet Conan when he is literally still within his mother's womb, and the oft-stated "he was born on a battlefield" takes on new meaning as his ready-to-pop mom is seen in leathers and armor in the middle of some random battle in which her tribe of Cimmerian warriors are dealing out death like it was Halloween candy. As the extremely pregnant woman fights with sword in hand, she is critically wounded, so Conan's dad (Ron Perlman) performs an impromptu C-section and brings his son into the world. Oh, and before that happens, the voice of Morgan Freeman tells the tale of an ancient mask of great power that was crafted from the bones of dead kings, an item so rife with evil magic that it had to be broken down into several components and hidden for a thousand years lest its possessor take over the world.

We then skip ahead by about twelve years or so and find Conan (Leo Howard) yearning to become a full-fledged warrior of his tribe, and during the trial of young men that will determine who earns that coveted position, Conan and the other lads on the trial encounter several animalistic raiders. While his fellows pussy out and hightail it back home, Conan takes on and spectacularly slays the raiders. returning to his village with their severed heads as trophies. At that point I said to myself, "This has promise," but those hopes were dashed as the remainder of the film degenerated into a rote and eventually boring trope-fest that offered little to keep me interested.

Young Conan and his dad (who looks like some kind of heavy metal orangutan by way of Snorri Sturluson) bond over some father-son arts and crafts.

Anyway, Conan's people are wiped out by Khalar Zym (Stephen Lang), a conqueror who seeks the last piece of the mask — that just so happens to be in the care of the tribe's leader, Conan's pop — which he obtains with the help of his witchy and bone china-white-complected daughter (Rose McGowan, who was by far my favorite thing in the film). As the bad guys ride off with their prize and the sword that Conan's dad had forged for him, presuming Conan dead after they torched the building he and his now-dead father were in, Conan swears vengeance and the story jumps ahead by about ten or twelve years.

The ferocious Jason Momoa as Conan.

We then meet the adult Conan (Jason Momoa), who has spent the past decade or so wandering as a a thief and pirate, now living among a band of pirates and robbers who take the time to rescue a large group of peasants and very attractive topless women from slavers, thus establishing Conan and his pirate pals as decent folk who just say "No!" to slavery. (Which is a load of P.C. bullshit, because anyone who's every read any Conan story will tell you that slavery is very much an accepted part of Conan's world, with even Conan himself not being against it as a practice. If you ended up as a slave, that meant that was just your tough luck, so to avoid ending up in chains you had to be a badass.) It's during the post-rescue revelry when Conan comes face-to-face with one of the warriors who killed his people years earlier (a warrior whom Conan incidentally happened to deprive of his nose, thus making him easy to identify) and after brutally gathering info, he makes a beeline to Zym (minus the offered aid of his pirate cronies, because it's a personal vendetta). It turns out that Zym has spent years searching for "the pure-blood," a holy woman named Tamara (Rachel Nichols) whose blood is instrumental to a ritual that, using the evil mask, will resurrect Zym's burned-at-the-stake sorceress wife and, via her magic superpowers, render him a god who will rule the world. Needless to say, Conan ain't havin' it.

 

Rose McGowan as freaky witch Marique, stealing every scene she's in.

What ensues after that is a pretty-to-look-at hodgepodge of elements shamelessly cribbed from THE LORD OF THE RINGS, the PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN movies, and even bits from THE MUMMY series, all of which add up to form a generic "adult" fantasy fim that's somehow replete with gore, some very nice nekkid titties and one semi-graphic sex scene, but nonetheless feels like a kids' adventure movie. Several of the set-pieces — a few of which were flat-out idiotic and laugh-out-loud stupid — evoke other films or fantasy/quest video games, and at no point did this Conan story feel like its own thing. This film bears even less of the flavor of creator Howard's visceral and testosterone-laden works than the 1982 film did, but the '82 flick at least defied its own genre by crafting a Campbell-esque warrior's journey tale with a surprisingly sweeping and epic feel. (The sword and sandal genre had become something of a moribund joke after the onslaught of Hercules and gladiator films released by the truckload during the heyday of the "peplum" craze, so the '82 film was a welcome surprise.) That sweep and sense of grandeur, plus a narrative that involved its viewers in Conan's vendetta and made us genuinely care about him succeeding is nowhere to be found here. When not aping other popular properties, this CONAN THE BARBARIAN stands as the most generic fantasy film to come down the pike in ages, and while not flat-out terrible, it is a sad squandering of a great opportunity. Jason Momoa was a decent and very ferocious Conan, and Rose McGowan as the uber-creepy sorceress Marique steals whatever scene she's in, but their considerable efforts couldn't elevate a film that in the end smacks of nothing more than "Conan by committee."

BOTTOM LINE: If you absolutely have to see this film — an urge that I understand, what with having been an avid Conan fan since 1974 and all — don't get ripped off by shelling out the extra cash for 3D. I saw it in 2D and there are only a couple of segments that were obviously composed with 3D in mind. Otherwise, wait for cable and have your intoxicant of choice on hand to liven up the proceedings. I was totally straight as I sat through it and I found myself rather bored about halfway through. I've certainly seen far worse films, especially in this particular genre, but this was a big disappointment. To sum up, this entire film was essentially a Manowar album cover brought to life at the cost of a reported $80 million.

The basic feel of this movie, summed up in one album cover illustration.

CALIGULA (1979)

Here's where this site finally does the world a public service. Despite all you may have heard about the infamous CALIGULA, I'm here to tell you that's it's an overblown testament to across-the-board excess, turgidly dull, and certainly not worth the waste of two-and-a-half hours of your life. It even stars my favorite actor, Malcolm (A CLOCKWORK ORANGE) McDowell, and I still can't stand it! I mean, how do you make a movie so absolutely loaded to the gills with extremely graphic gore and hardcore sex — two elements I adore — and still have it turn out so fucking boring?

The film has no real story — no surprise since the script was penned by that pretentious and overrated A-hole Gore (MYRA BRECKENRIDGE) Vidal — and is just an escalating parade of explicit images that seek to titillate the viewer, and as such it could be considered a success, provided you're just looking for entrails and pussy, but the whole in-your-face experience is simply numbing after its all-too-generous running time. The film also famously roped a slew of A-list thesps to appear in what was originally to be an R-rated look at the mad emperor's rule and eventual assassination, but then money man Bob "Penthouse" Guccione, aided by his pal Giancarlo Lui, shot and inserted majorly-explicit sex stuff while the film was in post-production that pissed off many of the cast and alienated many critics, to say nothing of presumably annoying the piss out of the porno audience who wanted to see just the wet shots with no attempt at anything else. I've seen porn audiences who don't care if a given skin flick is shot in a moldy basement while the talent fuck on a stained mattress just as long as there's action, which CALIGULA certainly has, but it's trying to be way too highbrow while also striving to appeal to the trenchcoat brigade, and that's a recipe that just doesn't work.

The only positive things I have to say about the film are few, but they are strong draws to the curious, so let me break it down for you:

• The sets, costumes, and other related stuff are just as opulent as anything found in the historical epics of decades past, so even if the movie itself is largely boring, you can at least enjoy the pretty images.
• The film barely goes for two or three minutes without something pornographic or violent happening, and the nudity/sex ranges from simple nekkid chicks to full-blown orgies of flesh featuring scores of humpers, complete with the camera practically shoved up every nearby orifice.
• One of my favorite actors, Helen (PRIME SUSPECT) Mirren, is in CALIGULA, and she does get nekkid.
  

Not that she's ever been shy, but I'm just saying. She even has a three-way with Caligula and his sister (that's Helen with the long-assed wig.)

However, I'm only noting that scene because it exists, not because it's all that hot.

• My man Malcolm McDowell gives perhaps his most over-the-top performance here, and that's really saying something. I love the guy and it's a joy to see him chew the scenery with that patented loony smirk upon his face while wearing an assortment of staggeringly flamboyant togas.

But the one thing, — THE ONE THING!!! — that keeps CALIGULA in my DVD collection is the contribution of Lori Wagner and Anneka di Lorenzo, two lovelies who are featured as regulars in Cal's live-in entourage. These benevolent goddesses make the entire film worth sitting through thanks to what is, in my humble opinion, the greatest hardcore lesbian scene ever committed to celluloid.

Lori and Anneka, sittin' in a tree...

Their scene is interspersed as counterpoint with the aforementioned three-way and in every way their bedroom arabesque blows the competition out of the water. Incredibly sensual, tender, and downright steamy, the sequence is commanded by Anneka di Lorenzo, who claims in the unimaginably boring making-of documentary to have never previously had sex with another woman... Well, all I have to say to that claim is, "Yeah, RIGHT!" The girl eats clam like a goddamned sea otter and it's truly a joy to behold. I usually find lesbian scenes, even the hardcore ones, boring as shit, but this sequence is an exception of unparalleled magnitude.

The greatest scene in motion picture history.

The only thing that stops it from being absolutely perfect is the cutting back and forth to Cal's listless threesome, and its relative brevity. Any fool could have seen that the Wagner-di Lorenzo segment was a winner, so why did Guccione fuck it up with intercut hetero stuff? Surely the man was mad.

So now you know all you need to know about CALIGULA, and you can proceed at your own risk. But I'm tellin' ya, that lesbian scene...WOOF!!!

Yes, this is real.

BEN-HUR (1959)

Your eyes are full of hate, Forty-one. That’s good. Hate keeps a man alive. It gives him strength.
-Roman Consul Quintus Arrius, to a seriously pissed-off Judah Ben-Hur.

Awesome, a word oft bandied about with little consideration for what it actually means and frequently applied to movies of dubious quality such as INDEPENDENCE DAY, TRANSFORMERS and the loathsome ARMAGEDDON. Well lemme tell ya, bunkie, you ain’t seen awesome until you’ve seen William Wyler’s 1959 epic-to-end-all-epics, the truly motherfucking awesome BEN-HUR. There were cinematic epics before and after BEN-HUR, including a silent version of the same story, but none of them stands as prominently in the hearts and minds of movie-lovers as this Charlton Heston landmark of widescreen spectacle. I’m a huge fan of the historical/biblical epic genre and while I favor Cecil B. DeMille’s eye-popping and mind-blowing THE TEN COMMANDMENTS (1956), I am only a certain type of hair away from ranking BEN-HUR as Number One in the field (with SPARTACUS coming in as a close third). Believe me, I totally understand the point of view of those who hold it as the end-all, be-all of the form, and I understand it more fully after having had the pleasure of seeing it projected at Lincoln Center with my Marvel Bullpen brother and dear friend Big Black Paul, a lover of classic cinema whose encyclopedic knowledge of movies far eclipses my own.

For those of you who somehow managed to miss it, BEN-HUR (subtitled “A Story of the Christ”) begins some twenty-six years after the birth of Jesus (which we witness during a pre-credits sequence) with the arrival of Messala (Stephen Boyd), the new Roman tribune of Jerusalem, at his new post. Assigned to quell the local dissidents — especially some pain-in-the-ass carpenter — Messala seeks the aid of his boyhood friend, wealthy merchant and local nobleman Judah Ben-Hur (Charlton Heston in all his tooth-clenching, nostril-flaring glory).

A joyous reunion, soon to turn bitter.

The two meet with joy, but their happiness turns sour when Ben-Hur flat out refuses to betray his own people and fink on those who oppose the Empire’s stranglehold on Judea for the sake of Messala’s political career. The refusal shocks, disappoints and angers Messala, him having counted on unquestioning support from his former best friend and all (it’s also quite clearly alluded to that Messala considers his feelings for Ben-Hur to be a case of “unrequited love;” you could get away with such stuff back in the days, but you couldn’t have Messala plainly state, “Hey, Judah…Ever thought about riding me like the camel you always wanted for Hanukkah?”), so when an unfortunate accident nearly kills the Roman governor during a parade, Messala seizes the opportunity and has Ben-Hur and his family (his mom and sister, to be specific) arrested and thrown in jail, intending to make an example of Ben-Hur by proving he’s gotta be a hard-assed bastard if he’s willing to destroy the life of a close friend, thus scaring the locals into being good little Red Sea Pedestrians.

Ben-Hur’s life turns into a shitstorm of outright misery and awfulness as he’s sentenced to life as an oarsman on a Roman warship, a fate from which people simply do not return, but he vows to Messala’s face (through that famous snarl and gritted choppers) that he’s not only gonna return, but he’s also gonna hand Messala the ass-whuppin’ to end all ass-whuppin’s, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned from the movies it’s that if Charlton Heston expresses a desire to fuck you up, you’d damned well better dig a ditch and get the hell in. Messala however, not being around during an era that had the movies, did not learn this valuable life lesson, so he arrogantly waves Judah goodbye and sends him of to his considerably more than three-hour tour. But while making the tortuous march through the desert to the ship, Ben-Hur nearly succumbs to exhaustion and thirst and is shown kindness and given a drink of water by some unknown longhair in a dress whose face we never see, but we do hear a lot of “Aaaah aaaah aaaaah” churchy music, so it’s obvious that it’s the good ol’ Nazarene. In fact, J.C.’s so cool that he even scares off a whip-wielding centurion just by looking at the guy (that scene always cracks me up and comes off like a tough guy stare-down at a Fear show)!

"Don't make me break my foot off in your Roman ass!"

Anyway, that dose of water — presumably infused with some of the Holy Spirit — rejuvenates Ben-Hur and gives him the strength to live, allowing him to survive and grow strong through over three years of rowing as a galley slave (although I very much doubt the Prince of Peace would have been down with Ben-Hur carrying on solely so he could eventually plant his size thirteen sandal straight up a Roman pretty boy’s tuchas).

A man kept alive by hate.

Ben-Hur’s fortunes take a turn for the better when command of the ship he’s on is turned over to Quintus Arrius (Jack Hawkins), a high-ranking Roman military officer and veteran of more battles than any man should have to endure, now assigned to rout the seaways of some pesky Macedonian pirates. Arrius takes note of Ben-Hur’s practically radioactive hatred and force of will and offers to free him in exchange for gladiatorial training — the one thing, short of Ben-Hur engaging in mortal combat with a giant monster and using only his dick as a weapon, that could possibly have made this movie any better — but Ben-Hur opts against it in favor of his belief that he’ll eventually get free and gain his revenge. That moment comes when the Roman fleet and the pirates have a kickass and ultra-violent sea battle — we actually see Ben-Hur set a guy’s head on fire, for fuck’s sake! — during which our hero saves Arrius’ life. Arrius returns to Rome with a spectacular victory and, being a stand-up guy who doesn’t forget a favor, publicly adopts Ben-Hur as his heir.

Arrius shows his gratitude.

During his time in Rome Ben-Hur becomes a champion charioteer in the Circus Maximus (which we are told about rather than shown; I guess the movie was long enough already), but he must fulfill his quest and while on his way home he runs into Arab sheik Ilderim (Hugh Griffith, in a deservedly Oscar-winning role), a nomadic racing nut who owns a quartet of the most gorgeous horses you will ever see, and the two become pals when Ben-Hur offers his experienced eye in giving the sheik tips on how to maximize his horses’ racing potential. The sheik pleads with our hero to drive his team to victor in Rome, but Ben-Hur declines the offer in favor of finding out if his mother and sister are still alive, even after discovering he’d be racing against that douchebag Messala; the setup is simply perfect since during the race just about any amount of foul play and violence can be gotten away with, but our hero just has to find his folks.

Ben-Hur returns to Jerusalem, nearly giving Messala a heart attack when he strolls in looking like a million bucks after what was intended to be a death sentence, and demands to know the whereabouts of his family when he returns the next day (you’ve gotta see Messala during this bit; I kept looking to the floor for a golden puddle beneath his toga). His family is indeed alive, but they’d been forgotten for years and the filthy conditions of their tiny cell have caused them to contract leprosy. Rather than have him see them in such a wretched state, his mom and sis swear Ben-Hur’s “who cares” love interest, Esther (Haya Harareet), to silence as they leave to take up residence in the Valley of the Lepers. Esther tells Ben-Hur they’re dead, so he sets off to Rome to take part in one of the most awesome (the term being properly used here) sequences in the entire history of world cinema, the Great Chariot Race, and finally exact his long-in-coming and hard-earned vengeance.

Messala versus Ben-Hur: it gets no more personal than this, kids.

It at this point that the movie just plain goes completely berserk and the chariot race will blow your fucking mind, no two ways about it. In fact all of the genuinely spectacular stuff that litters the flick from start to finish is a visual smorgasbord, and you won’t be bored by any of it. Also in fact, this film is probably right at the top of the heap of flicks that proudly show just how little CGI really adds to contemporary movies. Other than a few matte paintings and a little bit of blue screen work, what you see onscreen is the physically extant performance of actual human beings, both actors and cinematic craftsmen, that brings the ancient world to completely believable and teeming life, and the scenes of marching troops and thronging crowds were real people, the audience for the chariot race including some eight-thousand (!!!) extras. That, along with its strong narrative, is what I mean by awesome, and if you ever get the chance to see BEN-HUR on the big screen you should under no circumstances miss its myriad wonders.

The Circus Maximus: eight-thousand extras, no bullshit.

The grandeur of Rome: the soldiers keep marching, and marching, and marching...

But there’s an interesting thing about this film, and that’s its stated purpose as a “story of the Christ.” When you get right down to brass tacks, it’s the story of one man’s burning hatred and his desire for vengeance against his former best friend, an extremely personal revenge story loaded with highly entertaining action and violence, and Jesus is almost an afterthought. Sure, his gift of water gives Ben-Hur the will to go on, which, if truth be told, is completely necessary for the plot, but after that J.C. is really only there to be sought by one of the wise men who attended the Nativity. Said wise man, Balthasar (Finlay Currie), runs into Ben-Hur a few times and tries to get him to listen to Jesus and put aside his need for violence, so I guess that small bit of good values is how they got away with so much in this film in 1959. It always felt to me that after the climax of the chariot race the film’s true narrative thrust is over and done, but the movie goes on for about another half hour as Ben-Hur finds his family aren’t dead and he and Esther try to get them to Jesus, only to arrive as he’s on his way to the crucifixion. Of course there’s the expected miracle cure for leprosy and happy endings all around, but it still feels to me like the filmmakers said, “Well, Messala’s dog food, so that’s that! Hey, wait a minute…. Oh, shit! Isn’t Jesus supposed to be in this movie? We’ve gotta shoot some more footage, pronto!”

Call me hard-hearted, but I never bought the romance between Ben-Hur and Esther, coming as it does from seemingly out of nowhere and evincing no trace of passion or chemistry whatsoever, nor did I care about Ben-Hur’s mom and sister; sure their being alive provides a feel-good ending, but to me this is all about the bitterness between Ben-Hur and Messala. But why am I splitting hairs? None of the classic epics are absolutely perfect and BEN–HUR is one of the true classics of cinema, so I should just shut the fuck up. TRUST YER BUNCHE and see this one for yourself. Seriously, it’s one of the all-time greats and your movie education is sorely lacking for not having experienced it.

HUNDRA (1983)

As allergy medication rendered the Mighty Bunche a loopy, futon-bound mess, the benevolent gods of DVD obscurity saw fit to take pity upon the stalwart mocha warrior and did bless him with a stack of flicks, among which was found the long overdue release of Matt Cimber’s HUNDRA. And our hero was most pleased.

Let’s get one thing straight. Be they high-class epics (I don’t care what you say, GLADIATOR was a barbarian flick) or low budget sword-and-sandal flesh and blood fests, I love me some barbarian movies. CONAN THE BARBARIAN stands tallest in my estimation of the genre, and even the laughably execrable SORCERESS counts as one of my all time favorite films, so I welcome the DVD availability of even the most obscure entries in the genre, and HUNDRA certainly fits that description. As one of the dozens of loincloth extravaganzas released in the wake of CONAN’s success, HUNDRA came and went in the blink of an eye, somehow being missed during my daily scouring of the movie listings, and that’s no mean feat since I even managed to see DEATHSTALKER during the nanosecond it played at the local grindhouse. For years I heard tell that HUNDRA was a better than usual example of the genre, but having fallen victim to such claims in the past and being burned by such recommended films (CONQUEST and HAWK THE SLAYER among them) I never bothered to check it out even when it periodically turned up on cable or VHS. Then I went to Manhattan’s esteemed Kim’s Video on Sunday afternoon and found HUNDRA just released on DVD with the accompanying soundtrack album (by one of my favorite composers, lifetime achievement Oscar Winner Ennio Morricone!!!), and at $15.95 I figured it was worth taking a chance on. And I was absolutely right.

HUNDRA opens with a narration about a tribe of warrior women who happily live apart from men (requiring them only for reproductive purposes and giving away any male offspring), and how the strongest of their number, the uncouth and unkempt Hundra (Laurene Landon), has left on a hunting mission. Once Hundra’s out of sight we see their village attacked for no reason whatsoever by a bunch of helmeted male assholes who worship the bull, the ultimate symbol of manliness. The women put up one hell of a fight, but they are soon mercilessly raped and slaughtered, leaving the returning Hundra as the next-to-last survivor of the tribe. After killing fifteen of the men who destroyed her people, Hundra visits the cave retreat of the tribe’s aged holy woman for advice on what to do next with her life and isn’t very happy with what she hears: in order to perpetuate her tribe, she must make flaming Osh-Osh with a man (YECCH!) and give birth to a girl child. A man-hater to the core, a disgusted Hundra declares “No man shall penetrate my body, either with a sword or himself!” — you GO, girl! — but she can’t let her people die so she butches up and sets off with her faithful (if cowardly) dog, Beast, on a literal quest for dick.

After being accosted by a warrior midget (?), our girl encounters a drunken, flatulent barbarian dude and attempts to hump him, solely so she can get the noxious deed over with, but his patriarchal assholism earns him a righteous ass-kicking. Undeterred, Hundra heads to the nearest city in search of worthy genetic material and finds it to be the home of those bull-worshipping pricks, run by a priest who enlists the town’s unwilling young women to be trained to service the needs of warlords in the local temple. Needless to say, that shit don’t sit too well with Hundra, so after preventing some soldiers from abducting a girl, the blonde warrior intentionally starts some shit with the authorities in order to hit the temple and teach the harem a thing or two about feminism. After a swashbuckling battle that would have been right at home in THE ADVENTURES OF ROBIN HOOD, Hundra falls through the roof of a handsome, kindly doctor and swiftly finds her loincloth to be a very humid place indeed. When the guy refuses to submit to her demands (made at dagger-point), Hundra has a change of plans and decides that maybe she could learn from the temple women how to appeal to the doctor instead of scaring the shit out of him. Once at the temple, Hundra pretends to submit to her docility and grooming training, all the while teaching her companions about their own self-worth and sneaking out for house calls with the doc. And when the mighty Hundra finds herself pregnant, the shit really hits the fan!

Somehow finding the perfect balance between humor and adventure, HUNDRA is a hoot from start to finish, and star Laurene Landon’s athletic skills more than make up for her thespic deficiencies, allowing her to come off like a less-polished Errol Flynn. It’s cheap, silly, and even kinda stupid, but it’s a perfect Saturday afternoon popcorn-muncher that’s a proto-XENA must for all the little girls out there; sure, it’s rated R and has a smattering of nudity (the raping thankfully takes place off-camera, so the flesh on display is a bit of casualness in the harem and a looney bit with a bare-nekkid Hundra riding her horse in the surf), but it’s a great lesson on taking no shit from patriarchal douchebags and doing what needs to be done for the greater good, namely getting knocked up by a total stranger you tried to coerce with sharp objects. Heartwarming stuff, indeed.