Queen of Blood (1966) – Review

Let’s say you’re a low-budget filmmaker in the mid-60s, you love weird horror, and you’ve just gotten your hands on some cool Soviet sci-fi footage, stuff that looks a hundred times more expensive than anything you can shoot in California. What do you do? If you’re Curtis Harrington, you spin that into Queen of Blood, a moody, Frankenstein’d space-horror hybrid where astronauts venture into deep space to rescue an alien damsel, only to discover she’s got fangs and a taste for hemoglobin.

Curtis Harrington’s Queen of Blood is one of those curious anomalies in film history, a low-budget American sci-fi/horror hybrid that exists in a dreamlike limbo between artful ambition and glorious exploitation. On the surface, it’s just another drive-in era genre flick with a pulpy poster and a plot that sounds like it could have been written on the back of a cocktail napkin. But peel back the layers, and you’ll find a moody, atmospheric B-movie that plays like a space opera directed by a Poet.

 

“Alert! Alert! Beware of amazing borrowed footage!”

The plot is all kinds of fun. It’s the space-age year of 1990, and humans have been zipping around the cosmos ever since that first Moon landing 20 years ago. At the International Institute of Space Technology, communications expert Laura James (Judi Meredith) picks up a mysterious signal from deep space. Her boss, the ever-unflappable Dr. Farraday (Basil Rathbone), decodes it: aliens are sending an ambassador to Earth. Cue the intergalactic welcome wagon—until a follow-up message shows the alien ship has crash-landed on Mars. So much for peace talks.

 

Invaders on Mars?

A rescue mission is launched aboard the Oceano, with Laura joined by astronauts Commander Anders Brockman (Robert Boon) and Paul Grant (Dennis Hopper), already looking suspiciously expendable. After surviving a sunburst and some light structural trauma, the crew finds the downed alien vessel, completely deserted except for one very dead extra-terrestrial. Farraday suspects the survivors might’ve been scooped up by another ship, so he sends Laura’s fiancé, Allan Brenner (John Saxon) and volunteer astronaut Tony Baratta (Don Eitner) to Phobos. It’s there that they stumble on another alien craft, and inside, a mysterious, green-skinned woman (Florence Marly), elegant, unconscious, and radiating “space royalty” vibes. With only two seats on the return capsule, Tony draws the short straw and stays behind while Allan returns with their silent stowaway.

 

“You take the alien, she kind of creeps me out.”

The alien wakes up, says nothing, and smiles a little too much at the men—especially Allan and Paul, while giving Laura the cold shoulder. She refuses food, resists medical exams, and generally floats around like a space ghost with cheekbones. Then, late one night, she hypnotizes Paul and quietly drains his blood. Rather than eject her into the vacuum of space, the crew decides to feed her plasma from their medical stores. When that runs dry, she kills Anders next. Laura and Allan realize they’re stuck on a ship with a literal space vampire, who is clearly not here to make friends.

 

“We may have a situation.”

During her final attack on Allan, Laura intervenes and scratches the alien, who immediately begins bleeding out in dramatic, slow-motion fashion. Turns out, she’s a hemophiliac. Allan suspects she was alien royalty, possibly the titular queen, and the real mission might’ve been reproductive, not diplomatic. Sure enough, they find a stash of alien eggs hidden aboard. Once back on Earth, Allan begs Farraday to destroy them. Naturally, he does the exact opposite and decides to study them instead. Because science. Or hubris. Or both. Laura’s statement to Allan is probably the most terrifying thing in this movie, saying, “They’re scientists, they know what they’re doing.” Seriously? You never trust a scientist in these types of movies, and certainly not when played by Basil Rathbone.

 

“Have you never seen a horror movie before?”

Stray Observations:

• Nobody seems all that phased by finding a dead alien. They discover a corpse from another species and barely register a reaction. “Yep. Dead space guy. Anyway, on to the next.”
• The sound of the sunburst is another borrowed element. It’s the sound of the Martian death ray from George Pal’s War of the Worlds.
• Laura is the real MVP. While the men bicker, get hypnotized, and die, Laura is the one who puts the pieces together and ultimately defeats the alien queen. Bonus points for scratching her with nothing but fingernails.
• Though not credited as producer, due to union rules, this is a Roger Corman production, and every pore of this film feels like it.
• We never find out whether Tony, who was abandoned on a Martian moon, ever gets home. Justice for Tony!
• The final twist—dozens of alien eggs hidden in the queen’s quarters—is a precursor to the entire Alien franchise. Maybe Queen of Blood walked so Alien could chestburst.

 

“Will we have to claim these at Customs?”

Here’s the weirdest and most wonderful thing about Queen of Blood: about 30% of the movie is gorgeous Soviet sci-fi footage lifted from films like Mechte Navstrechu and Nebo Zovyot. These sequences are lush, painterly, and operatic—gleaming rockets, alien landscapes, swirling colour palettes that look like a prog-rock album cover. This technique, fusing recycled grandeur with new, economical storytelling, also gives the film its peculiar, fractured aesthetic. It’s a mix of the baroque and the bare-bones, a Frankenstein’s monster stitched together from high concept and low budget.

 

The Soviet stuff is hauntingly beautiful.

As for the American-shot scenes, well, they are… different. Let’s call them “more intimate.” The budget clearly went to gels and cheap paintings. The sets are minimal (lots of silver spray paint and blinking lights), and everyone is bathed in red, green, or blue lighting at all times. It shouldn’t work. But weirdly? It does. The contrast between the sleek Soviet grandeur and the scrappy, moody interiors gives the whole thing an unintentional surrealism. That said, the cutting between cheap American shots to the gorgeously executed Soviet ones can be a little jarring at times.

 

“We’ve spent tens of dollars on our space program.”

As for a titular villain, Florence Marly doesn’t speak a word, and she doesn’t need to. She walks, she stares, she seduces with one eyebrow twitch, and then—you’re dead. She’s not a character so much as an image burned into your brain. She floats through the ship like a silent movie ghost, draining astronauts and oozing menace without ever uttering a sound. Her performance is almost entirely physical, with small head tilts, lingering glances, and stillness, and it’s this restraint that makes her so compelling. She’s a silent film character adrift in a Technicolor galaxy. It’s sci-fi vampirism stripped down to its barest elements: hypnotic beauty, erotic danger, and just enough gore to keep the teenagers awake.

 

Deadlier than the male.

And then there’s Basil Rathbone, who shows up just long enough to lend some “dignity” to the film (read: they filmed all his scenes over a day and a half and edited them in around the plot). He mostly stands next to those blinking lights and delivers exposition like he’s reciting Shakespeare while paying taxes. As for the rest of the cast, John Saxon delivers a solid, grounded performance, providing a kind of emotional anchor amid the more fantastical elements. Dennis Hopper is…well, Dennis Hopper. He plays his character with an off-kilter charm, though you get the feeling he’s barely aware he’s in a sci-fi horror movie. But somehow, it works. His slightly detached demeanour adds to the film’s eerie unreality. Finally, there is Judi Meredith, who gives a low-key but strong performance, balancing warmth and strength in a role that could’ve easily been sidelined. She brings credibility and humanity to a film full of space vampires and recycled Soviet footage, and without her, Queen of Blood would’ve felt a lot emptier.

 

“Anyone who asks me to get coffee will be receiving a laser enema.”

Overall,  the cast delivers performances that range from charmingly earnest to delightfully stilted, which are hallmarks of mid-century sci-fi. And much like the film’s pace, these performances run on a kind of low-frequency wavelength. Nobody’s chewing scenery. No one’s in a hurry. It’s all very measured, which makes the bursts of horror—mostly involving a green lady silently hovering over people while they bleed to death—stand out even more.

Note: This is one of the earliest American films to present the concept of a female alien vampire, predating 1985’s Lifeforce by nearly two decades. And in its own quiet way, it paved the road for later, more sophisticated cosmic horror stories.

While this is the kind of film that’s easy to make fun of, it’s also kind of impossible to hate. Sure, it’s slow, cheap, and full of awkward edits, but it’s also ambitious, eerie, and surprisingly stylish. It’s Dracula on a rocket ship, and somehow that elevator pitch is enough. This is not a film for people expecting laser battles and space dogfights. It’s for fans of atmospheric sci-fi, silent horror vibes, and movies where the villain never speaks but still manages to haunt your dreams. It’s half schlock, half sci-fi tone poem. And if nothing else, it’s a fascinating time capsule from a very weird corner of 1960s genre cinema.

 

When science fiction and horror have a beautiful baby.

In conclusion, Queen of Blood is a strange, slow, hypnotic little film. It’s low on action, high on atmosphere, and brimming with odd beauty. It may lack polish in places, and its stitched-together nature is occasionally obvious, but there’s something strangely poetic about it all. This is science fiction made with thrift-store props and otherworldly ambition.

Superman (2025) – Review

Superman has long been Hollywood’s toughest nut to crack: the original superhero, yet often labelled “too perfect,” “too square,” or—worst of all—“boring” for modern audiences. Since Richard Donner set the gold standard in 1978, filmmakers have tried to solve the Superman problem by darkening him, complicating him, or basically turning him into Batman. James Gunn, however, flips the script: he embraces the bright, idealistic, sky-high optimism of the character, giving us a Superman who’s unapologetically himself. Let’s take a look and see how he pulled this off.

This movie starts with a rather bold opening. Forget retelling how the rocket landed, James Gunn skips all that Kryptonian baby stuff. Instead, we join Superman (David Corenswet) mid-career… and recovering from a loss! Yep, he’s already taken a walloping off-screen by the mysterious “Hammer of Boravia” before the opening credits, rescued by doggos and guilt (aka Krypto). Soon, we learn the Hammer is actually Ultraman, Lex Luthor’s (Nicholas Hoult) evil clone project. After a tense tête-à-tête with Lois Lane (Rachel Brosnahan) about whether superheroes even should meddle in global politics, Luthor unleashes a kaiju on Metropolis as a distraction. Lucky for Supes, he doesn’t have to fight this thing alone; the Justice Gang show up, consisting of Mister Terrific (Edi Gathegi), Hawkgirl (Isabela Merced) and Green Lantern Guy Gardner (Nathan Fillion). Though “lucky” may be too strong a word.

 

“Shouldn’t this thing be threatening Japan?”

But what did Luthor need a distraction for? Well, turns out the bald genius had bigger fish to fry. With Superman conveniently tied up, Lex and his goons slip into the Fortress of Solitude like tourists on the worst VIP tour imaginable. What do they find? Not just the usual Kryptonian tech and ice sculptures, but a bombshell hidden message from Krypton itself. The first half is what you’d expect: noble legacy, hope, all that “S-shield means something” kind of stuff. But when Luthor restores the corrupted second half? Suddenly, Jor-El and Lara are less loving parents and more cosmic dictators, basically telling their son to conquer Earth and, well… keep the family line going in the most awkward way possible.

 

“Family can be so embarrassing. Am I right?”

Naturally, the world freaks out. Overnight, Superman goes from symbol of hope to public enemy number one, as governments, talking heads, and even a few of his so-called allies drop him faster than a speeding bullet. “Clark, are you okay?” quickly turns into “Clark, you’re under arrest,” and before long, the Man of Steel finds himself locked up in a bleak little pocket universe—basically, superhero solitary confinement. His unlikely cellmates? Metamorpho (Anthony Carrigan), who can turn himself into kryptonite, does so because Luthor is holding his baby hostage. Back in the real world, Lois refuses to let him go down as history’s greatest alien scam, rallying Mister Terrific and everyone’s favourite cape-wearing canine, Krypto, to pull off a jailbreak with all the energy of a high-stakes heist movie. Together, they crack open the cosmic cage and give Superman one last shot at clearing his name and proving that Krypton’s ghostwriters don’t speak for him.

 

He will be getting some help.

Then Luthor literally tears reality apart. Metropolis is split in two, clones and chaos everywhere. But with teamwork, moral clarity, and a hero dog to boot, Superman beats his clone (into a black hole, no less), Lois and Jimmy clear his name via streaming evidence, and the day is saved. The film closes on a tender, goofy note: Superman recuperates at the Fortress of Solitude, watching heartwarming baby footage of his life on Earth, finally able to exhale. And just when he thinks he can enjoy a quiet moment, his cousin Kara Zor-El (Milana Vayntrub) shows up, utterly hungover, insisting she needs Krypto back—cue the dog’s dramatic side-eye and Superman’s weary but fond sigh. It’s the perfect mix of epic superhero stakes and small, human (and canine) comedy, reminding us that even the Man of Steel needs a little domestic chaos now and then.

 

This is the Woman of Tomorrow?

Stray Observations:

• A member of Lex Luthor’s Luthorcorp crew is named Otis Berg, a nod to “Otisburg,” the seaside spot pencilled in by Ned Beatty’s character Otis on the map of his boss’s evil waterfront scheme in Superman (1978).
• Lex Luthor’s girlfriend, Eve Teschmacher, is another nod to the Donner Superman film, where actress Valerie Perrine played the villain’s moll.
• Lex Luthor using a strand of Superman’s hair to create a clone of him, as well as Superman’s intervention in global affairs, were ideas that previously appeared in Superman IV: The Quest for Peace (1987).
• Zack Snyder’s Man of Steel got a lot of heat for all of the collateral damage in the fight between Superman and Zod. Here, James Gunn fixes that by having an announced evacuation of Metropolis. Ignoring the fact that the logistics of this kind of quick evacuation would be impossible.
• The Hall of Justice exterior was shot at the Cincinnati Union Terminal, which was used as the model for The Hall of Justice in Super Friends (1973).

 

I hope the Wonder Twins show up in this DC Universe.

Writer/director James Gunn took a radically simple approach for his Superman and the launching of the new DC Universe. It isn’t about subverting or deconstructing the Last Son of Krypton; it’s about embracing him. Gunn has made what is, at heart, a love letter: to the comics, to the iconography, and to the idealism of a character who has always stood tallest when he’s unashamedly himself. In an era of cinematic antiheroes and brooding, morally grey protagonists, Gunn commits to something both retro and radical: letting Superman be Superman.

 

You know, like saving people.

David Corenswet steps into the cape with a performance that balances modesty with myth. He never postures or leans into Christlike imagery; instead, his Superman exudes a steady decency, a warmth that radiates in quiet gestures as much as in grand speeches. He feels human even when he’s flying at Mach speed, which is perhaps the most essential quality of all. Importantly, Corenswet avoids the trap of imitation; he doesn’t play Reeve’s charm or Cavill’s solemnity. He plays Superman as if the character has always been his, and the result is refreshing.

 

How can you not love this guy?

But what about everyone’s favourite Daily Planet reporter? Rachel Brosnahan’s Lois Lane is every bit the equal of Superman, a fearless reporter with sharp wit, iron will, and a heart that cuts through Clark’s occasional self-doubt. Gunn wisely avoids turning Lois into a mere romantic interest. She’s integral to the story, a partner in truth and justice whose tenacity grounds Superman in humanity. Brosnahan sparks instantly with Corenswet, and their chemistry gives the film an emotional core. When Lois calls out Superman for being too idealistic or pushes Clark to trust in humanity, it feels like more than banter—it’s a philosophy of partnership.

 

This is the heart of the movie.

If Superman is the embodiment of hope, Lex Luthor is the counterweight: human ambition curdled into obsession. Nicholas Hoult’s Luthor is neither the campy huckster of Gene Hackman nor the ice-blooded corporate predator of Jesse Eisenberg. He is something more layered—and, arguably, more frightening. Hoult plays him as a man whose genius is undeniable but whose psyche is paper-thin beneath his cultivated confidence. There’s always a gleam of mania in his eye, the sense that he’s orchestrating three different schemes while delivering a smooth soundbite. His hatred for Superman isn’t just rivalry—it’s an existential crisis. To Luthor, Superman’s existence invalidates everything he’s built, every achievement he’s clawed for. That insecurity festers, calcifies, and becomes weaponized intellect. Gunn and Hoult together make Lex less of a caricature and more of a chillingly modern villain: an influencer of minds, a manipulator of power, a man whose genius is matched only by his capacity for malice.

 

Corporate evil personified, and he’s also a tad smug.

But what truly sets Superman apart from its predecessors isn’t just plot or casting, it’s tone. Gunn threads the needle between grandeur and sincerity with remarkable precision. The film has spectacle—plenty of it—but never loses sight of its emotional compass. Truth, justice, and the dream of a better tomorrow aren’t ironic slogans here; they are the narrative’s heart. This is not to say Superman is syrupy or naive. Gunn peppers the script with humour, humanity, and a recognition that the world is messy and complicated. What makes Superman heroic isn’t that he ignores the world’s darkness—it’s that he insists on shining through it. The film respects this balance, never collapsing into cynicism but never blinding itself with rose-coloured glasses either.

 

Even in darkness, we find light.

Visually, the film pops with colour, rejecting the muted palettes of recent superhero cinema. Metropolis feels alive, vibrant, a city worth protecting. Gunn also leans into the comic book strangeness that defines Superman’s world: alien beings, bizarre science, even a touch of the surreal. Yet he balances this with grounded, emotional storytelling. As for the score, it swells with heroic motifs and undercurrents of tenderness, tying it together. Composers John Murphy and David Fleming allow it to be bombastic when it needs to soar, intimate when it needs to comfort. The cinematography frames Superman not as a god above humanity, but as a beacon among us, a hero who flies not to rule, but to lift. It helps that Gunn, unlike some of his predecessors, understands the tonal elasticity of comic books. He allows for weirdness (aliens, bizarre tech, larger-than-life villains) alongside earnest drama, recognizing that Superman’s mythology thrives best when it embraces both the cosmic and the intimate.

 

Balancing it all with grounded, emotional storytelling.

In conclusion, James Gunn’s Superman succeeds not by reinventing the character, but by restoring him. It’s a reminder that earnestness isn’t a weakness, that idealism isn’t outdated, and that sometimes the bravest cinematic choice is the simplest one: to let Superman stand for something good. Corenswet wears the cape with dignity and warmth, Hoult gives us a Lex for the ages, and Gunn orchestrates it all with a clear affection for the source material. The result is a film that’s as bold as it is heartfelt, a Superman for today that honours the Superman of yesterday.

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.