Hercules the Avenger (1965) – Review

Welcome back to the land of loincloths, muscle oil, and poorly synced dubbing. Today, I bring you Hercules the Avenger, a sword-and-sandal B-movie in all its bravado and bare-chested, bronze-age glory. This is for those who have ever wanted to see Hercules wrestle an evil doppelganger, get lost in the underworld, and suffer some serious angst.

Reg Park reprises his role as the brawniest demigod in Italy, Hercules. While he certainly looks like he could lift Mount Olympus, he spends much of the film looking confused, which, to be fair, is kind of his default setting In fact, this movie is a clever (read: cost-saving) Frankenstein’s monster of recycled footage from earlier Park adventures, most notably Hercules in the Haunted World and Hercules and the Captive Women.

“I’m tired, just play some of my greatest hits.”

This entry starts with Queen Leda of Syracuse (Gia Sandri) having a royal headache. Her husband just died—tragic—and before the funeral figs have even been cleared, every prince in a 300-mile radius is suddenly pounding on her palace gates with marriage proposals. Not out of love, mind you, this isn’t a Disney movie, it’s all about land grabs and power plays. Basically, they’re suitors in the streets, warlords in the sheets. It’s giving Penelope-lite, with a strong “Odysseus is definitely not coming back” energy. But hey, if you’re going to swipe plot points for your Hercules flick, might as well borrow from the original Mediterranean soap opera…The Odyssey.

“Are any of you asshats good at stringing a bow?”

Meanwhile, at the home of Hercules (Reg Park), we find our muscle-bound hero kicking back with his wife, Deianira (Adriana Ambesi), getting a nice massage while bemoaning his immortality. Clearly, no one understands how tough it is to be a demigod. Sadly, existential crises have to be put on hold when Hercules’ teenage son Xantos (Luigi Barbini) declares wants to become a man, which in ancient Greece means you have to go out and kill a lion. This is when disaster strikes. On his first lion-hunting jaunt, Xantos is grievously injured, and his soul is snatched into Hades by a spiteful Earth goddess, Gaea. Naturally, Hercules must descend into the underworld to save him. It’s a dad thing to do.

“You must venture into the land of Mario Bava.”

In the meantime, tired of the endless royal Tinder swipe-lefts and following some cryptic, incense-fuelled advice from the local Oracle (who probably moonlights as a therapist), Queen Leda decides to track down Hercules. Because when diplomacy fails, send in the biceps. However, with the big guy (a.k.a. Hercules) off on an underworld vacation, Queen Leda has to settle for Plan B: Anteus (Giovanni Cianfriglia), the second strongest man in the world, which is kind of like bragging about having the second-best gladiator on Yelp. Anteus is also the son of Gaea, the local troublemaker goddess who’s been gleefully throwing wrenches into Hercules’ life like it’s her divine hobby. Normally, this is Hera’s job, but I guess she was busy appearing in a better Hercules movie.

Mythology Note: Gaea was considered the ancestral mother of all life. She is the wife of Uranus as well as the mother of the Titans, the Cyclopes, and the Giants. More than that, she had no beef with Hercules and often sided with his father, Zeus, in his power struggles.

Queen Leda does her best to roll with the punches—royalty’s tough like that—and teams up with Anteus, putting out the royal press release that he’s totally Hercules, you guys, trust us. It’s a bold move, especially since anyone with half a brain and two working eyes can tell this guy is about as Herculean as a soggy pita. Unfortunately for her, Anteus proves he’s less “heroic demigod” and more “raging jerk with delusions of grandeur.” To keep his fake identity under wraps, he knocked off the Queen’s handmaidens like he was starring in a very bloody HR violation. Then he shifts gears into full tyrant mode, slapping ridiculous taxes on the kingdom like he’s trying to finance a solid gold protein shaker.

“Behave, or I’ll tell my mother on you.”

Naturally, this kind of nonsense can’t go unchecked. And just when things are looking bleak, the real Hercules returns from his underworld sabbatical, sees what’s been going on, and says, in so many words, “Oh nope, not today.” It’s time for the original, 100% certified, god-approved Hercules to lay the smackdown on this budget knockoff. Get ready for a brawl: Herc vs. Herc-ish! The ending feels like it was made up on the spot. Hercules tosses around some boulders – one of his favourite pastimes – which causes a volcanic eruption and a panicked populace. He then tracks down the villainous imposter, stomps the bastard, who ran underground to get protection from his mommy, but after a brief wrestling match, the mighty Hercules prevails.

So ends the tale of a bargain basement Hercules.

Stray Observations:

• Queen Leda is given the standard prophecy you’d get from an Oracle, which means it will be immediately misinterpreted and lead to much misfortune.
• Hercules goes full existential; he spends a good chunk of the movie brooding about death, the soul, and fate. Yes, that Hercules, the guy who usually wrestles lions, is now pondering the afterlife like he’s in a Bergman film.
• It’s never explained why Xantos goes on his first lion hunt with some family friend and not his dad, you know, the demigod.
• The villains have that “Community Theatre of Evil” energy. With over-the-top eyebrow-raising, sinister chuckles, and dramatic hand gestures, the bad guys seem to be auditioning for a pantomime production of Oedipus: The Musical.
• Time has no meaning. Scenes transition with little logic. Characters teleport. Plot threads vanish. Honestly, it feels more like a dream you had after eating too much feta than a coherent story.

A dream where you are watching a better movie.

What saves Hercules the Avenger from total cinematic oblivion is the pure charm of its genre. Painted backdrops, foam boulders, rubber monsters, and operatic shouting fill the screen with glorious cheese. Park’s physique is genuinely impressive, and when the fighting finally kicks off (with that unmistakable Italian fight choreography, part ballet, part bar brawl), there’s a kind of dopey joy to it all. He grunts, glowers, and throws foam boulders like a champ. He’s not exactly delivering Shakespeare, but his physical presence is undeniably Herculean. Director Maurizio Lucidi keeps things moving briskly enough, and the melodramatic music makes sure you feel every moment, even if you’re not entirely sure what’s going on. Sadly, we spend a little too much time with discount Hercules, and all the borrowed footage in the world can’t quite save this film.

Mythology Note: Antaeus was a giant, the son of Poseidon and Gaia. He was known for his incredible strength, particularly in wrestling, which was renewed each time he touched the earth. He was defeated by Hercules, but he never had a personal grudge against him.

In conclusion, Maurizio Lucidi’s Hercules the Avenger is half flashback, half fever dream, but 100% vintage Italian fantasy absurdity.   It’s not a good movie by traditional standards, and is made up of approximately 60–70% recycled footage, but if you’re in the mood for campy heroics and brawny nonsense, it’s a dumb delight. Bring wine, friends, and your best “By the gods!” impression.

Eve of Destruction (1991) – Review

Ah, the early ‘90s, a golden era of action schlock, where filmmakers thought slapping some robotics onto a generic thriller plot would make it cutting-edge. Eve of Destruction is one of those movies that thinks it’s being cool and futuristic but ends up feeling like the cinematic equivalent of a malfunctioning fax machine: loud, outdated, and utterly frustrating.

Let’s start with the plot: The movie opens with genius scientist Dr. Eve Simmons (Renée Soutendijk) and her latest creation, EVE VIII (also played by Soutendijk), an advanced military android designed for reconnaissance and combat. She also built the android to look exactly like her because, apparently, self-love is real, even in the scientific community. And this isn’t just any robot—this one is equipped with her own memories and emotions, and this was to enhance its adaptability in the field. However, unbeknownst to her colleagues, the android also inherited her sexual fantasies, past trauma, subconscious fears and all sorts of emotional baggage, creating a potential for unpredictable behaviour. 

This is why we need oversight on military spending.

During a routine field test in a simulated urban environment, a group of armed bank robbers stumbles upon EVE VIII, mistaking her for an unarmed civilian, and when they attack, the android’s defensive programming activates. It ruthlessly eliminates the threat, but due to either stress or being shot, it malfunctions and breaks free from operational control and goes on a violent rampage, because that’s what all advanced AI does in early ’90s action movies. Proving once again that the government should not be trusted with expensive murder machines. Now, instead of advancing science, Eve is stomping around, stealing cars, shooting people, and casually carrying a nuclear bomb inside her. Oops. To solve this problem, they have to bring in the Best of the Best. 

Were Schwarzenegger or Stallone not available?

Enter Gregory Hines as Colonel Jim McQuade (yes, that Gregory Hines), an elite military specialist tasked with stopping this rogue robot. This man is known for his tap dancing, and trust me, that skill would have been way more useful here than his actual performance. And what exactly are his qualifications for this mission? Unclear. But hey, he looks cool holding a gun. McQuade teams up with Dr. Simmons (the human one), who tries to explain that EVE VIII isn’t just a killer robot; she’s also a killer robot with mommy issues because she inherited Simmons’ personal baggage along with her advanced weaponry. And I’m sure that will pay off in a dramatic and meaningful way. Or, most likely, the screenwriter will forget in favour of a lot of gunfire. 

The robot does have those crazy eyes, so that’s something.

EVE VIII, now fully embracing her inner terminator, embarks on a cross-country murder spree, but with a twist: she occasionally has emotional breakdowns because of the human memories inside her. One minute, she’s mowing down cops in cold blood; the next, she’s having a deep introspective moment in a department store. Along the way, between moments of emotional reflection, Eve steals a car and adds moving violations to her list of crimes, blows up random buildings, and terrorizes innocent bystanders, all while strutting around in a bright red power suit and heels. Even on a murder spree, fashion matters. This is not to say she doesn’t have time to catch up on some of her creator’s past traumas, such as visiting her dear old abusive father (Kevin McCarthy) for some homespun revenge.

“Weren’t you the star of Invasion of the Body Snatchers?”

After a trail of destruction that would make Grand Theft Auto jealous, McQuade and Simmons finally corner EVE VIII, but there’s a big problem. Remember that nuclear bomb inside her? Yeah, it’s armed and ready to go off. The only solution? More gunfire and explosions! Then, after 90 minutes of build-up, the film simply… stops. You expect a dramatic climax, but instead, it’s like the movie itself lost interest. After all the explosions, chases, and nonsense, the movie simply ends. There’s no emotional weight, no real resolution…just, “Well, that happened.” Gregory Hines probably went straight to his agent and fired them after this project. Did the government learn anything? Nope. Did Simmons realize that maybe making a killer android with emotional baggage was a bad idea? Also no. But hey, at least Gregory Hines survived to never make another sci-fi movie again.

 

“I think it’s time to dust off my tap shoes.”

Stray Observations:

• EVE VIII was designed to be a battlefield nuke, but why was she packing a live nuke during a field test? Did the military think that “If we aren’t endangering millions of lives, it’s not a proper test.”
• The military spends billions on this super-advanced android… and then they just lose track of her. Maybe they should have invested in a better GPS tracker instead of a built-in nuclear warhead.
• Another bit of EVE VIII’s programming is something called “Battlefield Mode” – her highest state of readiness – and while in this mode, she will not respond to orders from her superiors. How is that a good idea? Was she designed to go rogue?
• This movie is about a military science experiment going wrong and features Kevin McCarthy, who played a scientist behind a failed military experiment in Joe Dante’s Piranha.
• Our two main characters travel as passengers aboard an SR-71 Blackbird reconnaissance jet, but that plane is equipped with only two seats: the pilot and the navigator. Is the navigator riding on the outside of the plane today?
• As mentioned, EVE VIII isn’t just a killer machine; she has memories from her creator, meaning she occasionally stops to have emotional breakdowns. Imagine The Terminator, but with therapy flashbacks.

“Now, Timmy, let me tell you about the rabbits…”

Written and directed by Duncan Gibbins, Eve of Destruction plays out like he was desperately trying to rewrite The Terminator, but with none of the charm, tension, or budget. Eve, the robot, has a nuclear bomb inside her because, sure, why not? It’s not enough to have a deadly android; she has to be a walking apocalypse. Her rampage consists mostly of standing around looking blank while occasionally shooting people in the most awkward, unconvincing way possible, and Gregory Hines spends most of the movie looking either confused or deeply regretting signing onto this project. 

 

I think this expression pretty much sums up his feelings.

Renée Soutendijk is given the impossible task of making two lifeless performances interesting, and she fails spectacularly at both. For the big “climax,” the robot kidnaps the real Eve’s son – him being the most important thing in Eve’s life – but since EVE VIII is about as expressive as a toaster, the whole sequence has the emotional weight of an answering machine message. Imagine Siri trying to threaten you, yeah, it’s like that. EVE VIII just comes across as a slightly annoyed office worker instead of a terrifying killing machine.

Though she’d be a very well-armed office worker.

In conclusion, Eve of Destruction is a 99-cent store version of The Terminator, with none of the heart, excitement, or competence that film had to offer. It’s the kind of movie that makes you check the runtime every 10 minutes, praying for the sweet relief of the credits. This can make for a fun “So Bad It’s Good” movie night, but watch at your own risk, preferably with heavy doses of alcohol and low expectations.

The Three Stooges Meet Hercules (1962) – Review

There’s slapstick, there’s sword-and-sandal, and then there’s whatever The Three Stooges Meet Hercules is, a delightfully goofy mashup of time travel, ancient Greece, and good ol’ Stooge mayhem that manages to make absolutely no sense and somehow still charm your socks off.

The movie opens in modern-day Ithica, New York (1962), where the Three Stooges, Moe (Moe Howard), Larry (Larry Fine) and Curly Joe (Joe DeRita), work at a local pharmacy for their smarmy boss George Dimsal (George N. Neise), but things get interesting when their friend and neighbour Schuyler Davis (Quinn Redeker), a shy, brainy but awkward scientist who has invented a time machine in his spare time (as one does). Schuyler is the sort of guy who probably shouldn’t be trusted with a toaster, let alone the fabric of space and time. He’s also trying to win the affections of Diane Quigley (Vicki Trickett), who seems more interested in bravery than brainpower. Unfortunately, Dismal also has the hots for Diane, and he sabotages the blueprints to Schuyler’s time machine.

 

“This will explain my entire evil plot to steal the heart of Diane.”

Dismal easily manipulates the Stooges into “fixing” the time machine, and, needless to say, this meddling causes Schuyler’s experiment to go awry, and the whole gang, Diane included, are transported back to ancient Greece, specifically the island of Ithaca, where their accidental grand entrance just happens to line up with a battle between King Odius (George N. Neise) and Ulysses (John Cliff), with the mighty Hercules (Samson Burke) fighting alongside Odius. At first, the Stooges are hailed as gods, because, of course they are, as their startling appearance causes the army of Ulysses to flee the field, granting Odius a victory.

 

Mythology Note: Hercules and Ulysses come from different generations of mythological heroes. Hercules lived a generation before the Trojan War, while Ulysses was a central figure during and after the Trojan War.

Naturally, this divine mix-up eventually lands the Stooges in hot togas. They immediately tell Odius that they are not gods but mere mortals – breaking the cardinal rule that if some asks you if you are a god, you say yes – and while the king cannot believe mortals could arrive in a flying chariot, as this is what he believes their time machine to be, when Ulysses is dragged in chains before the cruel king our heroes quickly realize that they’ve changed history. The Stooges free Ulysses from his cell, but are soon captured by Hercules and, along with Schuyler, they are sentenced to spend the rest of their short lives serving as rowers on a galley.

 

“Row well and laugh.”

With them out of the way, things become even more complicated with Odious making his lecherous intentions towards Diane clear, even drugging her to become his love slave. Now the Stooges and Schuyler have got to escape slavery – multiple times – save the girl, fix the timeline, and pretend like they know what they’re doing, which, historically speaking, they absolutely do not. This will involve shipwrecks, Schuyler becoming musclebound from rowing a slave galley, a slave market, back to more rowing, and then being offered their freedom if they rid the island of Rhodes of the terrifying Siamese Cyclops, because two heads are better than one. 

 

Yeah, this is a thing that happens.

Schuyler, now “mistaken” for Hercules, becomes famous for defeating and performing many of the demigod’s legendary tasks, such as defeating the Cretan bull and battling the nine-headed hydra. Of course, the real Hercules eventually gets wind of this imposter, and he’s not happy, but Schuyler defeats Hercules in the arena and convinces the legendary hero to team up with them in overthrowing Odious and rescuing Diane, who is not-so-secretly regretting every life choice that brought her here, especially the ones involving time travel and the Stooges.

 

Cue the chariot race.

Their time-travelling shenanigans reach a glorious climax with a chariot chase that would make Ben-Hur sweat, followed by the brilliant decision to dump King Odius into the Wild West, because nothing screams “historical correction” like dumping a toga-clad tyrant into cowboy country. When they finally stumble back to the present, Schuyler can now stand out to Dimsal, who then ends up stuck in a pillory due to a time-travelling jaunt of his own.

 

Things are a bit wacky in this one.

Stray Observations:

• Schuyler’s time machine looks like something cobbled together from a water heater, a dentist’s chair, and a spaghetti strainer. Somehow it works—but only when the Stooges are breaking it.
• The king’s guards look like they were recruited from a community theatre production of Ben-Hur, and they somehow manage to be even dumber than the Stooges—no small feat.
• The Stooges can’t read a road sign because it is written in ancient Greek, yet everyone in this movie speaks colloquial English.
• Ithaca looks suspiciously like Southern California with some Greek columns slapped in the background. Hollywood magic at its most… optimistic.
• There’s an absurd chariot chase sequence through ancient Greece that feels one horse short of a Looney Tunes cartoon, with stunt doubles looking nothing like our stars.

 

This has to be the only chariot race to include a pie fight.

Directed by Edward Bernds, The Three Stooges Meet Hercules is delightfully unbothered by historical or mythological accuracy. What of Hercules? He’s a snarling bodybuilder who looks like he’s wandered off the set of a peplum epic and into a Marx Brothers routine. Ancient Greece? It’s mostly papier-mâché sets and confused extras in tunics. Time travel? It’s just a box with buttons that work when the script needs them to. But let’s be honest: nobody comes to a Three Stooges movie for logic or world-building. You come for the gags, and Meet Hercules delivers in droves. Whether it’s Moe smacking Larry upside the head, Curly Joe botching a disguise, or the trio brawling their way through a slave auction, the slapstick is vintage Stooge — broad, loud, and unapologetically dumb. And that’s its charm, which allows us to forgive some of its silly science fiction trappings.

 

This film sports a less-than-impressive time-travelling conveyance.

By the early ’60s, the Stooges were in the twilight of their long, bruised careers, but their comic timing hadn’t gone entirely soft. This film, part of their resurgence due to television reruns, leans heavily on nostalgia, but there’s still a kind of madcap energy in the air. It may not be their best work, but it’s certainly not their worst. It should be noted that this iteration of the Stooges features Curly Joe instead of the original Curly Howard, and he does lack the manic energy found in the classic shorts. Curly Joe is gentler and less animated, which somewhat dilutes the trio’s trademark chaos. Yet, by 1962, the Stooges had adapted their act to a more family-friendly tone, aiming to appeal to children who were discovering their old Columbia shorts on television. In that context, the film’s broader and less violent comedy is understandable, if less electric.

 

“Could we time-travel to one of Caligula’s orgies next?”

The portrayal of Hercules, played by Canadian bodybuilder Samson Burke, leans into the “strong but dim” archetype, making him more of a muscle-bound obstacle than a true co-star. He’s used for contrast, his stoic heroism bumping awkwardly against the Stooges’ slapdash antics. While this doesn’t make for particularly complex storytelling, seeing “Brains vs Brawn” take an interesting detour in this outing was fun to see.

 

“I can lift boulders just as well as Reg Park can.”

The film’s greatest asset is its unapologetic silliness. There’s no pretense of historical accuracy or logical plot development—only an enthusiasm for physical humour, goofy anachronisms, and visual gags. The sets and costumes are modest, the effects primitive, and yet the whole thing has a handmade charm. Watching the Stooges being more terrified of giving a pretty woman a massage than of the swords of pursuing Greek soldiers. It is comedy that transcends eras, not because it’s sophisticated, but because it’s proudly not.

 

This is where mythology goes to laugh.

In conclusion, The Three Stooges Meet Hercules is not a film of great depth or innovation, as you’d expect, but it does deliver exactly what its title promises: a ridiculous, light-hearted collision between three stooges and one musclebound demigod. For fans of classic slapstick, it’s a pleasantly dopey time capsule. For everyone else, it’s a reminder that sometimes comedy doesn’t have to be smart—it just has to be fun. “Nyuk nyuk nyuk!”

Zatoichi as Cultural Icon: Genre, Myth, and the Common Man (1962-1989)

 

The Zatoichi film franchise is one of the most enduring and iconic in the history of Japanese cinema. Stretching from 1962 to 1989, with later revivals and reinterpretations, the series features a unique hero in a genre dominated by stoic samurai and noble ronin.

Zatoichi is not a warrior by birth or class, but a blind masseur—a commoner—whose disability disguises a masterful swordsman and a deeply ethical soul. Played primarily by the inimitable Shintaro Katsu, Zatoichi became a cultural phenomenon in Japan and a cult icon around the world. Zatoichi made his first appearance in The Tale of Zatoichi (Zatoichi Monogatari, 1962), directed by Kenji Misumi. Immediately, the film turned the conventions of the chanbara (sword-fighting film) on their head. Instead of a high-born samurai or a dashing ronin, audiences met Ichi—a humble, blind masseur and former yakuza. His weapon of choice: a cane sword (shikomi-zue) concealed within his walking stick. His demeanour: humble, self-deprecating, kind to children and the downtrodden, yet lethal when provoked.

What makes Zatoichi such a compelling figure is the duality within him. Blind and marginalized, he is underestimated by virtually everyone he meets. Yet his physical prowess and razor-sharp hearing allow him to outfight any adversary. He is both a protector and a killer, a wanderer and a man with a strong moral code. The contradiction is central to his appeal: a man who wishes for peace but is followed by violence.

One of the most consistent patterns in the Zatoichi series is the portrayal of women as victims of violence, exploitation, and injustice. Many of the women Ichi encounters are prostitutes, widows, or poor peasants who are vulnerable to the abuses of corrupt samurai, gangsters, or cruel landlords. Their suffering often serves to highlight the moral decay of the ruling class and justifies Ichi’s intervention. In this sense, women are frequently used as a moral compass for the story, symbols of innocence or purity that evoke Ichi’s protective instincts. Their mistreatment underscores the brutality of the world and often catalyzes Zatoichi’s quest for justice.

Stray Observations:

• Zatoichi gambles like a boss. Ichi is weirdly good at dice gambling (cho-han), even though he’s blind. He listens to the sound of the dice bouncing and calls the outcome with uncanny accuracy. It’s like Daredevil meets Vegas.
• Zatoichi has a habit of getting stuck taking care of babies or children mid-quest. He’s surprisingly nurturing, but also hilariously awkward about it. Those familiar with the Lone Wolf and Cub films will understand this dynamic.
• If a woman catches feelings for Ichi, she might as well pack her bags and prepare for disappointment. Either she dies, turns out to be working for the enemy, or gets the classic “we can never be together” speech.
• He meets Wang Kang in Zatoichi Meets the One-Armed Swordsman. Reportedly, two endings were filmed—one for Japanese audiences (Zatoichi wins), and one for Chinese markets (Wang Kang wins or escapes with dignity).
• He meets Yojimbo (sort of). In Zatoichi Meets Yojimbo, he faces off with a character heavily implied to be Kurosawa’s Yojimbo (Toshiro Mifune). It’s a samurai movie crossover event, and it’s as entertainingly mismatched as it sounds.

Between 1962 and 1989, Shintaro Katsu portrayed Zatoichi in 26 feature films and 100 television episodes. The films, particularly in the 1960s, followed a loose but familiar structure: Ichi arrives in a new town, encounters corruption, cruelty, or injustice, often involving gangsters or feudal lords and is reluctantly drawn into conflict. Along the way, he gambles, befriends children, falls in love (with tragic consequences), and delivers poetic, lightning-fast justice.

The success of Zatoichi owes much to Shintaro Katsu. A former kabuki actor with a flair for the dramatic and comedic, Katsu imbued the character with humanity and pathos. He wasn’t content to simply act; Katsu eventually produced the series through his company, Katsu Productions, and even directed the 26th film (Zatoichi, 1989), which served as both a revival and a sombre farewell. Katsu’s involvement kept the character alive for nearly three decades. His performance is a masterclass in physical acting: his head tilts, the way he shuffles, his playful laughter, and sudden bursts of violence all combine to make Ichi feel utterly alive. He’s a figure of both myth and flesh.

At its core, Zatoichi is a deeply humanist series. Though filled with sword fights and genre thrills, the films are often concerned with issues of social injustice, class struggle, and the fate of the marginalized. Ichi is a symbol of resistance: against corrupt authority, against discrimination, and against the assumption that strength must come from wealth or status. The franchise also touches on the loneliness of the wandering hero. Despite his good deeds, Ichi is often left alone at the end of each film, walking off into the distance with nothing but his cane. His blindness, while physically limiting, also metaphorically isolates him from the world, a man fated never to settle, to never fully connect.

In conclusion, the Zatoichi franchise is a singular achievement in cinema. For over sixty years, this blind swordsman has walked across Japan’s war-torn landscapes, dispensing wisdom and slicing through injustice. Shintaro Katsu’s portrayal is legendary, and the stories themselves still resonate; they are simple, poignant and thrilling. In an era that celebrates flashy antiheroes and high-tech spectacle, Zatoichi remains a timeless figure: a humble man with a hidden blade, fighting not for glory, but for what is right.

Hercules and the Captive Women (1961) – Review

This 1961 sword-and-sandal spectacular is less “epic myth” and more “myth-adjacent fever dream,” a film that dares to ask, “What if Greek mythology had no rules, fewer shirts, and absolutely wild Atlantis cosplay?” Complete with foam boulders, clunky dialogue, and glow-in-the-dark magic rocks.

The film opens with the Greek states being affected by strange atmospheric events and creepy visions that Androcles (Ettore Manni), King of Thebes, wants to investigate, but none of the other Greek leaders seem all that interested in doing so, as they have grown tired of paying for wars that Androcles starts. Worse is the fact that legendary demi-god Hercules (Reg Park) also refuses to be dragged off another crazy adventure, stating that he’d rather relax at home with his wife Deianira (Luciana Angiolillo) and his son Hylas (Luciano Marin), making him the classic reluctant hero. 

Hercules, the original Inaction Figure.

After more or less stating “I’m just here to take a nap,” Hercules soon finds himself shanghaied by the king, aided by Hylas, who drugs his father and earns the title of “Worst Son of the Year,” and he wakes up aboard a boat manned by ex-slaves and thieves. He does have one “friend” in the form of his faithful dwarf sidekick Timoteo (Salvatore Furnari), but this guy is more comic relief than support when it comes to fighting. The following high-seas adventure quickly runs into some trouble when the entire crew mutinies, while Hercules almost sleeps through it. Way to keep the eye on the ball, Herc. But our hero wakes up in time to drag the ship back to shore and maroon the mutineers. 

“Are you pulling my chain?”

Before you can say “S.S. Minnow,” a storm brews and their tiny ship is tossed. Androcles falls overboard and is presumed lost at sea, and come morning, Hercules finds himself adrift on a piece of wreckage, still not knowing that all along his son Hylas had been aboard their ship the whole time, and soon comes ashore on a mist-shrouded island, where he sees a woman encased in stone as a sacrifice to the sea god Proteus. Now, it’s here I should point out that while there are “captive women” in this outing, as the American title suggests, they’re not exactly central to the plot. Which is about creating an invincible army of black-uniformed blond supermen to take over the world. The Italian release of this film was called Hercules and the Conquest of Atlantis, which was a more accurate title.

Or, how about Hercules and the Encased Women?

This leads to the lost continent of Atlantis, because, surprise, surprise, the woman he rescued is Princess Ismene (Laura Efrikian), daughter of Antinea (Fay Spain), the Queen of Atlantis, and we quickly learn that Atlantis is not just a lost continent but completely bananas as well. Turns out there is a prophecy that if Ismene is not killed, Atlantis and its population will be destroyed. The death of Proteus has already stripped Atlantis of its protective fog that keeps it unseen by the outside world, so Ismene is recaptured and taken for execution. Luckily for her, this is when Hylas and Timoteo eventually show up and perform a well-orchestrated rescue, taking out numerous guards with sticks and stones. Needless to say, Ismene is nonplussed by the whole situation.

“Is my sole job to be a damsel in distress?”

Meanwhile, we learn that Queen Antinea might be the most fabulous evil queen ever, draped in sequins and power, and positively glowing with radioactive ambition. Her plan? Use a glowing stone made from the blood of Uranus to create an invincible army of black-uniformed blond supermen with which she plans to conquer the world. That’s bad enough, but she’s also turned Androcles into one of her mindless soldiers, sending him to kill Hercules. That will not stand! Determined to stop Antinea, Hercules and his allies rescue Ismene once again, and this leads to a climactic battle, in which Hercules destroys the source of Antinea’s power, causing Atlantis to collapse.

“Let’s go home, that ‘twas a silly place.”

Stray Observations:

• In the original Italian version, the character is actually Maciste, a recurring Italian strongman hero dating back to silent films. U.S. distributors routinely renamed Maciste “Hercules” because Americans have actually heard of Hercules.
• While drifting on the wreckage of their ship, Hercules has a vision of Androcles calling for help. I had no idea this was one of Hercules’ abilities. I don’t think even his dad, Zeus, had this psychic power.
• Hercules promises to return to the beautiful Antinea after he concludes his search for his friend Androcles, but he already has a loving wife waiting for him back home. Greek heroes tended to have feet of clay when it came to women.
• The dubbing in this film is hilarious. Hercules sounds like he’s trying to remember his grocery list while fighting, and Queen Antinea sounds like she learned English phonetically from a villainous parrot.
• Special effects alert: Atlantis gets destroyed in a wave of glitter, fire, smoke, crumbling sets, cool-looking models, and stock footage of volcanic eruptions. 

It’s hard to tell if Atlantis is sinking or just blowing up.

Let’s get one thing straight: if you came to this 1961 Italian peplum spectacle looking for mythical accuracy or even a coherent plot, you took a wrong turn at Mount Olympus. But if you’re here for shiny muscles, wild magic, mysterious islands, and enough camp to host a Boy Scout jamboree—welcome, my friend. Hercules and the Captive Women is exactly the kind of delightfully bonkers B-movie that belongs in a toga-twirling Hall of Fame. Directed by Vittorio Cottafavi, this bizarre blend of Greek myth, science fiction, and proto-feminist villainy elevates the film from generic pulp to something uniquely bizarre and occasionally inspired.

The beautiful face of Evil.

This was Reg Park’s debut as Hercules, and he is a more stoic and physically imposing presence than his predecessors, notably Steve Reeves. Though not a nuanced actor, Park’s sheer presence is enough to sell the role of a demigod. Park is so monumentally muscular that he makes the Colossus of Rhodes look like a stick figure. He grunts, flexes, and lifts giant stone doors like he’s cracking open a cold one. Acting range? Who needs it when you can toss guards like lawn darts? Let’s talk sidekicks. Hylas, son of Hercules, tags along as a secondary hunk, falling in love with Ismene, and to provide semi-useful sword work. He mostly serves as the one person Hercules doesn’t throw across the screen, and he somehow survives the entire film despite wandering off like a dim golden retriever in every scene. Hylas doesn’t even get to fight monsters, like his dad.

And by monsters, I mean a guy in a goofy suit.

Visually, the film is bursting with over-the-top colour and charmingly fake sets. Atlantis looks like it was designed by a 12-year-old with a box of crayons and a love of lava lamps, and I mean that as a compliment. It’s glorious, kitschy, and surreal in all the best ways. Director Vittorio Cottafavi, one of the more stylistically adventurous directors in the peplum arena, imbues the film with operatic flair and occasional bursts of visual poetry. His direction is far more imaginative than the script requires, which may be why Hercules and the Captive Women has had longer critical endurance than many of its contemporaries.

You can’t knock the film’s sets and costumes.

The action? Delightfully cheesy. Hercules wrestles guys in rubber suits, flips papier-mâché boulders like flapjacks, and generally grunts his way through villainous henchmen like he’s in a protein shake commercial from ancient Greece. Atlantis finally explodes in a finale that would make Ed Wood say, “That’s a bit much.” And sure, the dubbing is goofy, the dialogue is wooden, and some of the special effects might make you giggle more than gasp. But that’s part of the charm. This isn’t just a movie, it’s an event. You don’t just watch Hercules and the Captive Women, you experience it. You marvel at the absurdity. You question the logic. And you will wonder, “What exactly is going on?”

Who knew that the Greeks had cloning technology?

In conclusion, Hercules and the Captive Women is a perfect movie for those who enjoy their mythology served with a side of nonsense, and their heroes oiled up and mildly confused. Is it historically accurate? No. Is it coherent? Barely. But is it a glorious, sweaty, toga-wrapped time? Absolutely. For fans of camp, cheese, and chiselled chests, this one’s a mythical mess worth watching.