The Legend of Hercules (2014) – Review

There are bad movies, and then there are movies like The Legend of Hercules, a film so spectacularly generic and joylessly bombastic that it feels less like a retelling of Greek mythology and more like an extended infomercial trapped inside a video game cutscene.

Let’s start with the plot, which is a kind of “Hercules for Dummies” rewrite. This adaptation is an awkward blend of star-crossed love story, chosen-one prophecy, and revenge saga, all glued together with dialogue that sounds like it was generated by mashing up fortune cookie messages and rejected Spartacus monologues.

Sadly, it’s not even that good.

The story kicks off in 1200 BC, when sandals were in and personal boundaries were out. King Amphitryon of Tiryns (Scott Adkins) is on a conquest bender, smashing kingdoms like ancient Greek LEGO in his relentless pursuit of power. His wife, Queen Alcmene (Roxanne McKee), is not impressed. She’s so fed up with his warlord cosplay that she prays to Hera for help. Hera, in true divine fashion, forwards the request to her husband, Zeus, who interprets “guidance” as “romantic home invasion.” He shows up in a flash of light, does his patented ‘seduce-and-vanish’ routine, and voilà! Alcmene is now pregnant with a demigod destined to save Greece. Classic Zeus move.

Amphitryon could join the ‘I was Cuckolded by Zeus’ support group.

King Amphitryon, blissfully unaware that his family tree just got a supernatural branch, names the bouncing baby boy Alcides. But Alcmene, giving side-eye to literally everyone, knows the kid’s true name is Hercules. Fast forward twenty years, and Alcides/Hercules (Kellan Lutz) has grown into a glistening slab of beefcake with dreamy eyes and a thing for Princess Hebe of Crete (Gaia Weiss). Naturally, this makes his jealous older brother, Prince Iphicles (Liam Garrigan), simmer like goat stew in a bronze pot.

“Dude, I’m going to so betray you later in this film.”

During a hunting trip, the boys are attacked by a freakishly strong lion, the kind of lion that lifts weights and chews on boulders. Hercules strangles it with his bare hands like he’s wrangling a fuzzy pool float. Iphicles immediately claims credit at the royal banquet, where everyone’s busy sipping goblets and pretending not to notice the obvious lack of lion-wrangling credentials. Hebe, however, isn’t fooled; she can smell cowardice from across the throne room.

Is it cowardice she smells or simply bad acting?

Then, in true party-pooper fashion, King Amphitryon announces that Hebe will marry Iphicles (surprise engagement: ancient edition), and after a brief attempt at elopement, which fails, Hercules is deployed on a conveniently timed military trip to Egypt. Before he ships out, Alcmene pulls her son aside for a little pre-battle truth bomb: “You’re not Alcides. You’re Hercules. Also, your real dad is Zeus. And yes, that makes family dinners awkward.”

“Hope you packed a lightning bolt, kid—your story’s just getting started.”

Welcome to the Egyptian desert, where Hercules (still going by “Alcides” like he’s in witness protection) joins the noble Captain Sotiris (Liam McIntyre) and a small army unit that’s about as effective as wet parchment. Surprise! They’re ambushed—because apparently King Amphitryon decided “kill your own son” is just good parenting. Everyone dies except Hercules and Sotiris, resulting in a classic “buddy action movie bond” forged in sand and betrayal. If only King Amphitryon had made it clear that there were to be “NO BLOODY SURVIVORS.” Sometimes getting good help is next to impossible, but setting proper goals is just as important. This allows our hero, now going by the name Hercules, to talk his way out of getting murdered.

“Did I mention I’m the son of a god?”

They’re promptly sold into slavery because ancient Greece was basically one big Craigslist ad for gladiators. Enter Lucius, a shady fight promoter who sees profit in turning demigods into pay-per-view entertainment. Hercules hides his royal identity but reveals his gym membership by annihilating six undefeated gladiators like he’s clearing out a protein bar sale at the arena. Word spreads. Amphitryon’s own soldiers start deserting to join Team Hercules. Amphitryon, now mad and short-staffed, hires foreign mercenaries. Because nothing says “secure regime” like outsourcing.

“Go down to Home Depot and pick out some hard workers.”

Meanwhile, back at Tiryns Castle & Spa, Alcmene and Hebe assume Hercules is dead. Alcmene goes to ask Hera for help—bad move. Amphitryon catches her mid-prayer, learns that Zeus is the baby daddy, and reacts with the royal version of “not cool, bro.” He stabs Alcmene with her own dagger and makes it look like a DIY tragedy. What a guy. Iphicles, jealous sibling and full-time human speed bump, threatens Sotiris’ kid to get Hercules’ location and surprises the rebel encampment. He finds his long-lost brother and has him chained up and flogged like it’s an episode of Ancient World’s Got Torture.

A story as old as Cain and Abel.

For bonus trauma, he also makes Hercules watch as Chiron (Rade Šerbedžija), the kingdom’s favourite kindly old advisor, gets murdered like an expendable extra. Pushed to his emotional breaking point (and let’s be honest, probably a few physical ones), Hercules has a divine meltdown. He screams to the sky, accepts Zeus as his dad, and gets struck with a power-up: LIGHTNING MODE ACTIVATED. He breaks his chains like they’re cooked spaghetti, takes down the guards, and begins his thunderous revenge tour. Together with Sotiris and their ragtag army, Hercules storms the palace. The royal guards pull a classic “surprise allegiance switch” and join him. Mercenaries get zapped left and right by Hercules and his newly electrified sword—think Thor, but with better abs and worse dialogue.

He has the power of Grayskull!

It all comes down to a boss battle with Amphitryon. Just as Hercules is about to win, Iphicles plays the “damsel in distress” card and holds Hebe hostage. But Hebe ain’t here for that nonsense. She impales herself just to stab Iphicles through the gut. Bold move, ancient lady. Bold move. Hercules, now properly fired up, uses the same dagger that killed his mom to finally end Amphitryon’s reign—and his life. With the bad guys vanquished, he cradles Hebe as she slips into unconsciousness in the most dramatic post-battle cuddle scene this side of Olympus.

It’s not easy being a love interest to Hercules.

Cut to nearly a year later: the sounds of a baby crying fill the halls. Hercules has a son, a kingdom, a destiny fulfilled, and probably some seriously expensive lightning insurance. The camera pulls back as our hero gazes out over his land like a brooding mythological real estate agent. Roll credits. Cue thunder. Try not to giggle. Because when life gives you mythological daddy issues, gladiator slavery, and lightning swords… you make The Legend of Hercules.

“Do I get to go and fight the Amazons now?”

It’s safe to say that this entry is about as faithful to actual Greek mythology as a Spirit Halloween toga is to ancient fashion. While it borrows names and the very rough concept of Hercules being a demigod, it takes wild creative liberties, cutting, twisting, or outright inventing most of the story. Here’s a breakdown of how it differs from the original myths:

1. Hercules’ Parentage and Birth

In the movie, Alcmene prays to Hera, and Zeus impregnates her as a favour, producing Hercules. Amphitryon is unaware and names the child Alcides, which is pretty much the opposite in the mythology. Alcmene prays to Zeus, who disguises himself as her husband, Amphitryon, and seduces her (Greek gods: yikes). Hera hates Hercules because he’s Zeus’s illegitimate son and tries to kill him multiple times from birth onward.

2. Hercules’ Trials

In the movie, he slays the Nemean Lion, fights in gladiator matches, overthrows a tyrant king, and uses a lightning sword to defeat mercenaries. Of course, Hercules in the myth is known for his Twelve Labours, a series of penance quests imposed on him after Hera drives him into a madness that causes him to kill his wife and children. Of these trials, none include lightning swords or gladiator promos.

3. Love Story is New

In the movie, Hebe is mortal and the love of Hercules’ life, complete with forbidden romance, dramatic separations, and sword-through-the-shoulder self-stabbing heroics. In the myth, Hercules marries several women over his lifetime, including Megara (the first), Deianira (the most tragic), and Hebe, the goddess of youth, whom Hercules marries after he dies and ascends to Olympus.

4. Amphitryon and Iphicles

The movie depicts Amphitryon as a cartoonish villain, and Iphicles is an evil, jealous brother. In the myth, Amphitryon is actually a decent guy and helps raise Hercules. Iphicles is Hercules’ mortal half-brother (same mom, different dads), but he’s not a villain—just a normal dude trying not to get trampled by divine drama.

5. Hercules’ Powers

In the movie, he only gets superpowers when he accepts Zeus as his father, gets struck by lightning, and goes full-on demigod Hulk, but in the myth, Hercules is super-strong from the get-go. As a baby, he strangles snakes sent by Hera to kill him in his crib. No lightning sword needed.

This 2014 movie may have been inspired by Greek mythology, but it’s more in the same way that fast food is “inspired” by fine cuisine. It drops most of the complexity, tragedy, and divine intrigue in favour of shirtless brawling, romantic angst, a boilerplate “chosen one” action plot with swordfights and CGI lightning swords. Greek mythology is tragic, weird, and epic. The Legend of Hercules is more like Gladiator Lite: “Now With 90% Less Myth!”

“Are you not entertained?”

Stray Observations:

• This was Kellan Lutz’s second Greek mythology movie; he portrayed Hercules’ uncle, Poseidon, in Tarsem Singh’s Immortals.
• Hebe, in Greek mythology, is the Goddess of Eternal Youth and the daughter of Zeus and Hera. Considering that Hercules is the son of Zeus, that would actually make the two love birds half-siblings. Yikes!
• When Hercules and Hebe try to elope, he tells her that they’ll be safe from the King’s men if they can cross the river that marks the border of their land. I’m not sure ancient Greeks were all that hung up on landmarks.
• The Ancient Greeks held athletic contests, but not gladiatorial games. Gladiators originated on the Italian peninsula around 700 years after the setting for this movie.
• When Hercules fights the six undefeated gladiators, he calls all of them but the single woman gladiator, simply pinning her in her own net. Is that honourable or sexist?
• In the final battle, Hercules is wearing the cloak made from the hide of the Nemean lion. This cloak was last seen in the possession of Iphicles, and there is no scene explaining how Hercules got it.

Did the gods slip it to him?

Directed by Renny Harlin, The Legend of Hercules is a movie that dares to take one of the most enduring legends of ancient mythology and strip it of everything that made it epic, fun, or even remotely memorable. It’s like watching someone tell the story of the Trojan War using sock puppets, only less imaginative. Harlin clearly wanted his movie to be 300—slow motion, desaturated colours, and CGI blood everywhere—but it lacks the stylistic flair, budget, or choreography to pull it off.

“Is this not Sparta!”

Kellan Lutz, while undeniably muscular, delivers his lines with the emotional depth of a marble statue. He looks the part, sure, but his version of Hercules has all the charisma of a damp sponge. He spends most of the movie with the same two expressions: confused determination and confused confusion. The supporting cast doesn’t fare much better. His love interest, Hebe, mostly exists to pine and gasp, while the action sequences aim for 300-style slow-motion spectacle but instead resemble a video game with lag issues. On the bright side, Liam McIntyre and Scott Adkins try to inject some gruff energy into the proceedings, but they’re just buried under heaps of exposition and melodramatic grunting.

Why they didn’t cast Scott Adkins as Hercules is beyond me.

What really sinks The Legend of Hercules is its complete lack of identity. It’s not mythological enough to embrace fantasy, not gritty enough to be taken seriously, and not fun enough to qualify as camp. It wants to be Gladiator, 300, and Clash of the Titans all at once, but ends up being none of them. And while the film borrows many elements from those other films, it fails on almost every one.

“Do you think anyone will release a Kraken?”

In conclusion, if you’re looking for a faithful or exciting take on Hercules, skip this myth-mash mess and try the 1958 Steve Reeves classic, or even the other 2014 Hercules movie with Dwayne Johnson. At least that one has a personality. This version is less a legend and more a forgettable footnote in the annals of bad sword-and-sandals cinema.

The Mighty Kong (1998) – Reviews

Once upon a time, someone had the wild idea: “What if King Kong… but for kids… and with songs?” Thus, 1998’s The Mighty Kong was born, a direct-to-video animated musical that dares to retell the classic 1933 monster story through toe-tapping tunes and awkward animation. And by “daring,” I mean it swings from the Empire State Building straight into a pit of questionable decisions.

The basic story remains intact: The film opens in the 1930s, where ambitious and slightly eccentric filmmaker C.B Denham (Dudley Moore) is cooking up his next big cinematic adventure. He’s convinced he’s found the perfect location for his mysterious new movie—an uncharted, fog-shrouded place called Skull Island. All he needs is a leading lady… and he conveniently stumbles upon Ann Darrow (Jodi Benson), a down-on-her-luck chorus girl with dreams as big as a Broadway marquee. She agrees to join his seafaring film crew aboard the ship Venture, unaware she’s about to star in a monster movie for real.

 

“You’ll be a big star or a big appetizer.”

The crew sets sail, and we’re treated to the first of several toe-tapping musical numbers. Yes, this version of King Kong throws in spontaneous Broadway-style songs that range from peppy to downright peculiar. We get a peppy cabin boy named Ricky (Jason Gray-Stanford) and a singing chimp named Chips who acts as even more comic relief, because what every monster movie needs is a wisecracking monkey in a vest. When the ship finally reaches Skull Island, it’s not exactly a tropical paradise. Think dark jungles, ancient ruins, and locals who are a bit too eager to stage an impromptu casting call…for Ann, the “golden-haired beauty” foretold in legend.

 

Enter our ethnically questionable natives.

As expected, Ann is kidnapped by the Skull Island natives and is offered up as a sacrifice to the island’s most famous resident, a 50-foot-tall gorilla with a soft spot for blondes. But instead of chomping on her like a jungle snack, Kong gently scoops her up and takes her on a vine-swinging tour of his prehistoric home. So, it’s up to Seaman Jack Driscoll (Randy Hamilton) to set forth into danger to rescue his possible love interest. But Skull Island isn’t all banana smoothies and lullabies. The jungle is crawling with dinosaurs, giant snakes, and other beasties who think Ann would make a nice appetizer. Kong fends them off in cartoonish battles that are more Scooby-Doo than savage, complete with dramatic roars and goofy sound effects. The classic battle between Kong and a Tyrannosaurus Rex is also reduced to a ten-second fight in this version.

 

Taken out by a bonk to the head.

Meanwhile, Denham and his clumsy cameraman (William Sage) race through the jungle, doing their best to avoid the big gorilla, but Kong isn’t the only danger as the island’s volcano decides to erupt. That said, a few well-tossed gas bombs bring the ape down, and a conscientious Denham convinces Captain Englehorn (Richard Newman) to save Kong before Skull Island is completely destroyed. And before you can say “Eighth Wonder of the World,” Kong stands in chains, looking sad and bewildered before a New York City Crowd. When flashing cameras and chaos break out, Kong goes full King Kong™, breaking free, grabbing Ann, and rampaging through the city in search of a tall perch to climb. 

 

Kong’s big break on Broadway.

Naturally, he ends up on the Empire State Building, clutching Ann in one hand and swatting at biplanes with the other in a kid-friendly version of the iconic scene. But one wouldn’t want to scar the little kiddies, so in this version, when the planes fail to bring Kong down, Denham comes up with a plan to capture Kong alive, which consists of two blimps with a cargo net strung between them. Kong is captured in the net, but his weight causes it to tear apart, and he falls to the streets far below. Carl then gives his iconic line about Beauty killing the Beast, but Chips discovers that Kong is alive.

 

“I’m not dead yet.”

Stray Observations:

• This version of Carl Denham produces live Broadway musicals to promote his “Animal Follies” films, which doesn’t make a lick of sense.
• Denham pitches to the crew that they are looking for a “Land that Time Forgot,” but clearly not the one penned by Edgar Rice Burroughs.
• As this is a kid-friendly version, not only does  Kong live, but there are no deaths at all. None of the sailors are killed trailing after Kong, no natives are stomped or eaten, and the biplane pilots have parachutes.
• It takes 42 minutes for Kong to appear in this 73-minute film, which gives Peter Jackson’s version a run for its money on wasted screen time.
• This remake has one direct reference to the 1976 version, where Kong takes Ann to a waterfall to wash off some mud and then blows her dry with his breath.

 

Insert “Blow Job” joke here.

Let’s get this out of the way: The Mighty Kong is not a hidden gem. It’s a curious, well-meaning but largely ineffective attempt to take the grim, iconic tragedy of King Kong and retrofit it into a G-rated, toe-tapping cartoon musical. It’s as if someone asked, “What if we took one of the most dramatic finales in film history… and added songs?” It features a 1930s Broadway vibe, animal sidekicks, and a musical score that ranges from forgettable to “please make it stop.” The songs—by the usually competent duo of the Sherman Brothers (yes, Mary Poppins Sherman Brothers!)—feel oddly recycled, and no amount of jazzy enthusiasm can save what are fairly contrived lyrics. They’re bouncy and upbeat, but they don’t do much to elevate the narrative or linger in the memory.

 

“Now with catchy tunes and cartoon jungle hijinks!”

As for this film’s animation? Think 90s TV commercial meets off-brand Disney. The characters move with the stiffness of cardboard cutouts, and poor Kong often looks like a knock-off plush toy rather than a towering force of nature. Ann Darrow, our starlet-turned-scream-queen, is now a plucky singer whose dream is to perform on Broadway, and Jack Driscoll is downgraded from rugged sailor to… sort of just there. And yes, Kong is still kidnapped and brought to New York, but instead of a tragic commentary on exploitation, we get a tacked-on happy ending that feels unnatural and cheap.

 

This idea was suggested by the character Jack Prescott in the 1976 remake.

Which leads to the film’s key problem. Tonally, it’s a strange beast. The original King Kong was a thrilling adventure tragedy, while this version turns that classic tale into a quirky jungle romp. Now, this might work for kids under 10, but it strips the tale of its emotional weight and will leave older viewers out in the cold. As mentioned, the film’s awkward clash between the classic tragic ending and the movie’s relentlessly chipper vibe will rub most fans of the original the wrong way, and it’s hard to feel the grandeur or heartbreak of Kong’s fall when everything else feels like a Saturday morning adventure. 

 

Everything is better with monkeys.

It’s not all a disaster. Dudley Moore, as Carl Denham, in his final performances, brings a hint of charm to the chaotic mess, while Jodi Benson, best known as the voice of Ariel in The Little Mermaid, voices Ann Darrow and delivers her songs with the usual warmth and sparkle. The voice cast is competent, but the material they’re working with rarely gives them a chance to shine. Kids under six might enjoy the bright colours and silly animal side characters, but anyone familiar with the original King Kong—or even The Lion King—will likely be left scratching their heads or dozing off mid-ballad. Worst of all, Kong barely counts as a character in this movie; not only does he have a middling amount of screen time, but what we do get is weak and uninspired.

 

Kong demands better writers!

In conclusion, The Mighty Kong takes a cinematic masterpiece and reduces it to a clunky, watered-down sing-along. It’s a curiosity, sure—but mostly for the wrong reasons. If you’re looking for a King Kong experience with heart, style, or emotion, this isn’t it. It’s not quite mighty, and certainly not monumental, but an odd little curiosity for animation completists or die-hard Kong fans.

The Adventures of Superpup (1958) – Review

Before Supergirl, before Smallville, before the endless reboots and multiverses, there was… Superpup. Yes, in 1958, someone genuinely thought the future of the Superman franchise was a pint-sized, big-headed dog in red tights.

Let’s be clear, this wasn’t a cartoon. This was a live-action television show, starring actors in oversized dog masks with frozen plastic grins and blinking mechanical eyes — a cross between taxidermy and a Chuck E. Cheese nightmare. The pilot was created as a way to recycle the Adventures of Superman sets and tap into the audience goodwill following George Reeves’ run, while also dodging some complicated rights issues. The solution? Swap humans for anthropomorphic dogs and pretend it makes perfect sense.

 

“Spoiler alert, it did not make sense.”

Our hero is Bark Bent (Billy Curtis), a mild-mannered reporter for the Daily Bugle (but not the one that employs Spider-Man) who transforms into the costumed wonder Superpup, a flying, super-strong hero with a knack for mild discomfort. His love interest, Pamela Poodle (Ruth Delfino), is the classic damsel in distress, while Montmorency Mouse (Sadie Delfino), his excitable sidekick, is the only one who knows Superpup’s secret identity. Together, they navigate a world full of talking animals and crime.

 

They also navigate nightmare fuel.

At the local jail, the villainous Professor Sheepdip (Harry Monty) escapes with help from his bumbling henchman Wolfingham (Sadie Delfino), and he evades the half-hearted pursuit of Sergeant Beagle (Frank Delfino), who’s armed only with a toy cannon. Sheepdip soon plots revenge by sneaking a liquid bomb inside a grandfather clock into the Bugle, setting the stage for more chaos. Bark and Montmorency scramble to stop the threat just as Wolfingham unwittingly reveals the plan.

 

Danger: Mad Sheepdog at Work.

Superpup bursts into action in a dramatic, wall-smashing entrance, hurling the ticking clock off a cliff to take down Sheepdip. But the villain’s not finished—he kidnaps Pamela and straps her to a rocket, only to be foiled once again by Superpup’s timely rescue. The episode closes with justice served, questionable property damage ignored, and Superpup soaring off into the sunset, leaving behind a trail of mayhem and unanswered questions. No one questions the property damage, the animal-based terrorism, or the fact that a wolf just lived in a clock.

 

“It’s time to clock out!”

It must be said that The Adventures of Superpup is one of those rare pieces of television history where everyone involved seems to have underestimated just how bad an idea it was — or overestimated how much kids love dogs in suits. Instead of cute or heroic, Superpup comes across as unsettling, like something that escaped from a Sid & Marty Krofft fever dream. The sets wobble. The dog masks don’t move. The dialogue is delivered in awkward barks of forced cheer. Every scene looks like it’s filmed at 2 a.m. after everyone gave up but kept rolling. If “uncanny valley” had a canine version, this show would be its mascot.

 

“Your Bark is worse than your bite!”

Unsurprisingly, the show was never picked up for a series. CBS and the producers likely recognized early on that the concept lacked mainstream appeal and that the production, while imaginative, came across as awkward and visually off-putting. The fixed-expression masks prevented natural facial movement, which made dialogue delivery and emotional nuance difficult, especially by the standards of even children’s television in the 1950s.

 

Question: Did they drop a lot of acid in the ’50s?

That said, why watch it? Because you simply have to see it to believe it. It’s the kind of show that feels like a parody but isn’t. It belongs in the pantheon of so-bad-it’s-stupefying television alongside things like My Mother the Car or Manimal. Superpup is part of that rare breed: television history so baffling, so misguided, so unbelievably weird that it becomes accidentally fascinating.

 

You will believe a dog can fly.

In conclusion, The Adventures of Superpup isn’t good. It’s not entertaining. But it is unforgettable. This show is the TV equivalent of someone trying to remake Citizen Kane using sock puppets and a kazoo. It’s a must-watch for anyone who loves pop culture oddities, forgotten pilots, or just wants to witness the strangest thing ever created in the name of Superman.

The Adventures of Hercules (1985) – Review

Some movies defy logic. Others defy physics. And then there’s The Adventures of Hercules, which loads logic and physics into a giant paper-mâché boulder and hurls it into space while Lou Ferrigno flexes at the camera.

This 1985 Italian-American fever dream (a sequel to 1983’s Hercules) picks up where the last left off: with Hercules (Lou Ferrigno) living it up as a celestial being. But that can’t last; it seems that things aren’t all that great up on Mount Olympus -or whatever celestial habitat this film is passing off as the home of the gods – and Herc will have to handle a classic cosmic dilemma. Turns out that Zeus (Claudio Cassinelli), the father of the gods, has had his Seven Mighty Thunderbolts stolen by a quartet of pissy gods: Aphrodite (Margie Newton), Hera (Maria Rosaria Omaggio), Poseidon (Ferdinando Poggi), and… Flora (Laura Lenzi)? (Yes, the goddess of gardening, because, why not?) Apparently, they don’t like how Zeus is running things, and this is their idea of how to orchestrate a palace coup.

 

The Legion of Doom?

Without his magical bolts, Zeus is reduced to a toga-wearing retiree yelling at clouds. Worse, the Moon is now on a kamikaze path toward Earth—because, naturally, lightning bolts were somehow holding that in place too. Down below, humanity is panicking (as one does), and two sisters, Urania (Milly Carlucici) and Glaucia (Sonia Viviani), consult the mysterious Little People—tiny, sparkly advisors who speak in vague riddles and glitter. They declare only one being can stop this lunar disaster: Hercules! But Zeus isn’t so sure. He’s hesitant, probably because last time Herc was on Earth, he left behind a trail of broken pillars and broken hearts. Still, desperate times call for immortal muscle, so Zeus finally teleports Hercules down from the heavens to punch things until the problem is solved.

 

“Excellent, it was so boring being a constellation.”

Not to be outdone, the rogue gods counter by reviving King Minos (William Berger), a dude known for dooming people to the labyrinth of the Minotaur, who teams up with the ancient inventor Dedalos (Eva Robbins), because what better way to beat divine power than with SCIENCE? (Insert dramatic thunderclap.) With monsters hiding the thunderbolts all across the galaxy, Hercules embarks on a star-hopping, bicep-flexing adventure to retrieve the bolts, punch some cosmic beasts, and maybe teach the Moon some manners.

 

Let the mythological madness begin.

First up on Hercules’ intergalactic to-do list: wrestle a giant ape-like creature that looks like it escaped from a low-budget Bigfoot documentary. Herc flexes, punches, and probably yells something heroic, and boom, thunderbolt #1 is his. One down, six to go. Meanwhile, the four petty gods are off in the background cooking up their evil plan, which is running into a few snags as the recently resurrected King Minos isn’t quite following orders, and his team-up with a mad inventor could lead to even more complications for the gods.

 

Pinky in the Brain, an early Greek version.

Back on Earth, Hercules joins forces with Glaucia to save her sister Urania, who’s been kidnapped by what can only be described as the rejected cousins of the Putties from Power Rangers, only even more disgusting. They’re gross, slimy, and show up in large, squishy numbers. Outnumbered and out-gooed, our heroes make a dramatic escape into a conveniently placed cave full of ominous stone statues (which is never a red flag).

 

“Sure, it may look like a knock-off Zardoz, but I bet it’s safe.”

Inside, they meet Euryale (Serena Grandi), who at first seems friendly until she casually strolls off and transforms into a scorpion-tailed, snake-haired nightmare with the personality of a disgruntled Medusa on a bad hair day. Yep, she’s a Gorgon. Time for Plan B. Luckily, Hercules is prepared with his shiny shield mirror trick, and after some classic mythological manoeuvring, he avoids turning into a lawn ornament and turns Euryale into a pile of scaly regret. Cue thunderbolt #2, which he plucks like a prize from a claw machine. Two thunderbolts down. Several monsters, a rogue king, and possibly more slime to go.

 

Hercules vs. Bargain Basement Medusa.

Hercules and the two sisters hop on a boat to yet another ominous island because clearly, peace and quiet are not on the itinerary. They wander into a haunted forest where creepy human dolls dangle from trees like nightmare-themed Christmas ornaments. Things escalate quickly when a demonic sorcerer-knight (looking like a goth Lancelot with anger issues) jumps out swinging. Hercules, unfazed as always, pins him to a tree with little to no effort. That’s one evil knight down, and thunderbolt #3 up for grabs!

 

Did this knight wander in from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland?

But no time to rest, Glaucia gets snatched by soldiers working for a high priest who’s really into volcano-themed sacrifices. She’s about to be flambéed for the glory of a fiery beast named Antaeus, but Urania swoops in with the rescue. Meanwhile, Hercules suplexes Antaeus around the Earth like a mythological WWE champ until the fire monster crash-lands in the ocean like a soggy sparkler. Ta-da! Thunderbolt #4!

 

Hercules vs. a Bug Zapper.

Next stop: An Amazon smackdown. Hercules and Glaucia run into a tribe of fierce masked warrior women who don’t care for uninvited guests. Why do they wear creepy masks? Who knows? Who cares? Sadly, Hercules is caught in an electrical net and knocked out and soon found tied up (standard procedure at this point) in a strange web in the lair of Arachne (Pamela Prati), the Spider Queen, but Urania gives him a wake-up call just in time. He breaks free, strangles Arachne and retrieves Thunderbolt #5.

Note: Hercules strangling a woman to death is probably the most character-accurate thing this movie has done up to this point.

With five bolts in hand, our mythic trio blasts off into space…because, why not? Urania helpfully reveals thunderbolt #6 is hidden in a rock, like a cosmic Easter egg. But plot twist! Glaucia had been murdered by Poseidon and replaced by an evil doppelganger, who threatens to kill Urania if Hercules doesn’t get with the program. Enter King Minos, again, who’s somehow still in the game and wants Hercules to join “Team Evil Science.” Classic villain move. It’s here that things go fully bananas: Minos turns into a space dinosaur, because sure, that’s science now. Not to be outdone, Hercules turns into a space gorilla with galaxy-sized muscles and absolutely wrecks Jurassic Minos into extinction.

 

Well…um, yeah, this happens.

Finally, Urania drops a bombshell: she’s Hera’s daughter (surprise family drama!) and the seventh thunderbolt is literally inside her. She nobly sacrifices herself by letting Hera give her the “kiss of death,” which sounds romantic but is more “lethal smooch from your vengeful goddess mom.” Supercharged with all seven bolts, Zeus helps Hercules go full cosmic—he grows so big he can literally reposition planets like furniture. He gently nudges the Moon back into orbit like it’s a beach ball and saves Earth from becoming cosmic roadkill.

 

Superman, eat your heart out.

With the universe saved, Zeus forgives Hera and the other gods for rebelling so that peace can reign now and forever on both Olympus and Earth. He also resurrects Urania and makes her the Muse of space and astrology, which is kind of like winning an Oscar but with better perks. And Hercules, well, he goes back to Olympus and pretends to be a constellation again. The end. And yes, that all really happened. Sort of.

 

“I’m shocked that people down there still pray to us.”

But how does this film stack up against the Greek mythology? Well, let’s say it’s less a faithful retelling of Greek mythology and more a disco-flavoured fever dream with lightning bolts. It gets just about everything wrong—but it’s gloriously, cheesily wrong. Think of it as a Hercules movie made by someone whose only exposure to mythology was a comic book scribbled on a napkin in a laser tag arena.

 

1. The Thunderbolts Are Just… Lying Around?

In the film, Zeus loses his thunderbolts (yes, plural) and tasks Hercules with recovering them. Greek mythology treats the thunderbolt as one, not a Pokémon collectible set. It’s the singular, divine weapon of Zeus—crafted by the Cyclopes—and not something you misplace like TV remotes.

 

2. Zeus and Company as Literal Space Gods

The Olympians reside atop Mount Olympus, an actual mountain in Greece, but in this film, the gods chill on a variety of planetary bodies, with vibes somewhere between Flash Gordon set and a disco ball. Mount Olympus? That’s for amateurs.

 

3. The sisters Urania and Glaucia.

These characters are completely made-up. Urania is a Muse in Greek myth (of astronomy, not astrology), but here she’s a cosmic sidekick and only becomes a Muse after dying. Glaucia has no mythological basis and mostly serves as damsel bait.

 

4. The Villain King Minos.

Minos was a complex character; sometimes wise, sometimes cruel, but he wasn’t a mad scientist sorcerer. Here, he’s basically a campy Bond villain who wants to conquer the universe with “science.” Giving us such wonderful tidbits as, “Science and chaos have given me the power to eliminate you all!”

 

So, these are the enemies of science?

This film plays like Greek mythology filtered through a ‘70s prog rock album cover, written by someone who once skimmed a mythology book—upside down. But you don’t watch it for accuracy. You watch it for glowing thunderbolts, bad dubbing, slow-motion fights, and the sheer audacity of its nonsense.

Stray Observations:

• As was the case with 1965’s Hercules the Avenger, which consisted mostly of footage from previous films, The Adventure of Hercules consists of about 35 minutes of new footage.
• Minos is resurrected by having the blood of a slain warrior poured over his desiccated skeleton, which seems more like a Dracula thing, if you ask me.
• The fire monster called up by the high priest is reminiscent of the Monster from the Id from the movie Forbidden Planet when it first appears.
• Hercules is told that Urania received her powers from her adopted mother. I’m not sure if that’s how inherited traits work.
• The “Space Dinosaur” and “Space Gorilla” fight was clearly borrowed from the classic T-Rex vs Kong fight in the original 1933 classic King Kong. And by “borrowed,” I mean they blatantly traced the fight sequence.
• The two “little people” who advise Urania reminded me more of the twin fairies from Mothra than anything from Greek mythology.

 

“We need you to go and fight Godzilla next.”

Director Luigi Cozzi once again proves that if you can’t make it good, you might as well make it weird. And Ferrigno? He’s having a great time, possibly unaware that the monsters were added in post-production, perhaps aware but beyond caring because he’s Lou freaking Ferrigno. And, once again, Ferrigno is dubbed by a man who sounds like he just woke up from a nap, struts through the film in a loincloth, lifting things, flexing meaningfully, and punching problems until they go away. Ferrigno’s Hercules is less a cunning hero than a musclebound wanderer, solving nearly every problem by lifting, throwing, or punching it into submission.

 

“Look, there’s a boulder I could throw.”

Thematically, the movie plays fast and loose with classical mythology. Greek gods mingle with sci-fi gadgets and cosmic prophecies. Zeus is portrayed like a weary CEO of Olympus, and the “thunderbolts” resemble glowing batons from a disco-themed light show. There is little concern for fidelity to mythological source material. Cozzi’s script treats mythology as a buffet of cool-sounding names and vaguely magical artifacts, mixed and matched for maximum spectacle. While the film lacks the polish of its Hollywood counterparts, it compensates with creativity and enthusiasm.

 

Well, enthusiasm on a budget.

In conclusion, The Adventures of Hercules is a fascinating example of low-budget fantasy filmmaking. It may not honour the Greek myths in any traditional sense, but it honours a different tradition: that of the campy, colourful, and completely bonkers adventure film. For those willing to suspend disbelief and embrace its glorious absurdity, it offers a unique and strangely lovable viewing experience, part sword-and-sandal, part space opera, all glorious nonsense.