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.

Pinocchio in Outer Space (1965) – Review

Some movies defy expectations, and then some movies defy basic comprehension. Pinocchio in Outer Space falls squarely into the latter category. This baffling Belgian-American animated sci-fi morality tale asks, “What if Carlo Collodi’s wooden boy tangled with giant alien crabs on Mars?”

Strap in, kids (and deeply confused adults), because Pinocchio in Outer Space is less of a movie and more of a fever dream shot into the cosmos on a rocket fueled by ’60s optimism and pure narrative chaos. This Belgian-American animated oddity takes Carlo Collodi’s classic wooden boy and hurls him through the stratosphere in a cosmic coming-of-age tale featuring space whales, a cranky turtle, and desolate Martian cities. Off the hop, we get this delightfully useful piece of narration, “The adventure you are about to see is based on a true portrayal of outer space, and could actually happen, to a puppet come alive.”

 

“What, they’re upgrading us to sci-fi now?”

Our story begins with the world’s most beloved former puppet, Pinocchio (Peter Lazer), now a real boy… but not for long. See, Pinocchio has backslid on his promise to “always be good,” and kindly Geppetto (Ray Owens) is beside himself as to what to do. Enter the Blue Fairy (Mavis Mims), who has apparently upgraded her fairy license to intergalactic probation officer, and punishes him by turning him back into wood. Bummer. But Pinocchio isn’t giving up that easily. He wants redemption, and what better way to prove he’s a hero than to save the Earth from a rampaging, satellite-destroying space whale named Astro?

 

Yes, a flying space whale. Don’t question it.

When a news broadcast states that there is a “handsome reward” for the capture of the creature, Pinocchio latches onto the idea of going off into space, catching the big space whale so that he’d win the reward, and they wouldn’t be poor anymore. “And I’d prove myself worthy, and the Blue Fairy would turn me into a real boy again.” Yeah, sounds like an excellent plan. Unfortunately, on the way to school, he runs afoul of the Fox and Cat from the original tale – now named Sharp (Conrad Jameson) and Groovy (Jess Cain) for some reason – and when they learn Pinocchio wants to catch Astro, they run a con suggesting that hypnotism could be the secret to defeating the space whale.

 

“Don’t let logic or book learning stand in your way!”

Enter Nurtle the Twurtle (Arnold Stang), a green alien turtle who rocks an aviator’s cap, arrives on a spaceship that looks like it was made by one of Santa’s elves, and has the dry wit of a weary substitute teacher. Nurtle’s mission was to investigate stories of a highly advanced civilization on Mars – the detection of radiation in the area supports this theory – but he landed on Earth due to his poor map-reading skills. Pinocchio warns Nurtle of the rogue space whale, and with the claim that he can hypnotize Astro, he is welcomed aboard Nurtle’s ship.

 

“Do you have strings to hold you down?”

At first, Mars seems to be a lifeless planet, endless tracts of sand, but the sight of a distant city gives them hope, and the two decide to check it out, that is, after rescuing their ship from a trio of gigantic Martian crabs who thought it looked like a nice snack. Sadly, when they eventually make it to the Martian city, they find it to be deserted, a collection of ruins that look to have been destroyed by a large space whale. Could the giant crabs and a giant whale have a common ancestry? Turns out the Martians had used radiation to mutate a variety of animals to turn them into giant biological weapons, which, of course, eventually bit them in the ass.

 

Martians developed their own kaiju, who knew?

The two flee from an assortment of these giant beasties, while also discovering the canal where Astro was created, but then they have to escape the underground catacombs as it begins to shake apart. It seems that a massive sandstorm has begun to sweep across the planet, and as it enters the city’s nuclear reactors, the whole place starts to come down around our hero’s ears. Luckily, their ship isn’t totally buried by the sands, and they lift off just in time to see the city detonate with a huge atomic mushroom cloud.

 

This is pretty dark for a kids’ movie.

Unfortunately, they almost immediately run into Astro, and Pinocchio once again finds himself in the belly of a whale, because this film is both a sequel and a remake of the original tale. But, fear not, kiddies. The Blue Fairy finally decides to make an appearance, and even though Pinocchio disobeyed his father, consorted with criminals, and lied his little wooden ass off, she gives him a little “hint” as to how to escape their current predicament. Yeah, they fly out Astro’s blowhole as if that wasn’t the most obvious escape route. This leads to a rousing battle between our heroes and the rogue space whale, using bravery, brains, and, surprise, surprise, a little bit of hypnotism.

 

“I think he’s right behind us.”

While Pinocchio’s attempts at hypnotism fail at first, a damaged fin on Nurtle’s ship causes the craft to spin in such a way as to mesmerize the big beast and become a puppet on a string, but the day isn’t quite saved yet. Astro’s route to Earth is too direct, and they will burn up in the planet’s atmosphere, so Pinocchio exits the ship to hook onto Astro’s “jet propulsion” spout to alter their course and save their lives. Sadly, this results in the little wooden boy being bathed in flames and dying. Needless to say, the Blue Fairy arrives, and Pinocchio earns back his human status.

 

“We’re just going to repeat the ending of the original, is that it?”

Stray Observations:

• A marine biologist theorizes that “A rare mutation, the kind that resulted in flying ants, flying squirrels and flying fish, may be responsible for the evolution of a flying whale.” Sure, that makes sense, but how about its ability to survive in space and develop rocket propulsion?
• Nurtle the Twurtle was voiced by actor Arnold Stang, who bad movie lovers may recognize as Arnold Swartzenegger’s co-star in Hercules in New York.
• Geppetto gets abducted by the plot and never returns. He’s barely in the movie. Pinocchio goes to space to prove he’s brave and honest… not to save Geppetto. Priorities.
• Pinocchio’s nose still grows when he lies, but also shrinks when he tells the truth, another added ability for this movie.
• Pinocchio and Nurtle find an underground city, one that is very reminiscent of the Krell city in the film Forbidden Planet.

 

“Keep an eye out for Id monsters, Pinocchio.”

Directed by Ray Goossens, Pinocchio in Outer Space is a 1965 offering that delivers a truly eclectic visual style. Imagine mid-century European animation colliding with Hanna-Barbera on a sugar high. There’s a weird charm to the stilted movements and odd colour palette, like a space-themed picture book brought to life with just enough LSD to confuse the kids and mildly alarm their parents. The character designs vacillate between cute and uncanny, with that classic ’60s European animation style that seems designed to make kids mildly uncomfortable. Voice acting varies from earnestly wooden (yes, again, appropriate) to melodramatic Saturday morning cartoon. The moral lessons are still there; don’t lie, be brave, help others, but they’re sandwiched between surreal alien encounters and intergalactic PSA-worthy messaging.

 

Pinocchio definitely has a dark side.

Pinocchio’s journey in this film is technically still about being brave and good, but that message is now filtered through alien landscapes, giant mutated monsters, and extended space sequences that feel like they’re one synthesizer track away from 2001: A Space Odyssey. It’s like Educational Filmstrip Theatre meets Plan 9 from Outer Space, but for children. Tonally, it’s a cosmic blender of child-friendly adventure, Cold War paranoia, and philosophical oddities. Pinocchio is still trying to be a “real boy,” but now he’s doing so while fleeing exploding nuclear reactors and pondering the ethics of space crab extermination. The moralizing is ever-present but hilariously shoehorned in. Your nose may grow if you lie, but you’ll really get in trouble if you mess with intergalactic crustaceans.

 

Avoiding intergalactic crustaceans is a lesson we all should learn.

Pinocchio remains the moral centre of the film, though his journey here is less about resisting temptation and more about gaining empathy and bravery. His character arc, though rushed, mirrors the themes of the original story, just filtered through a Jetsons-like lens. However, it’s Nurtle the Turtle who steals the show. Voiced with rapid-fire wit and no small dose of sarcasm, Nurtle provides the film’s comic relief and its scientific credibility. He’s a clear nod to the talking animal sidekicks of Disney fare, but has more in common with the fast-talking salesmen of 1960s American television. He’s easily the most memorable character and provides a much-needed anchor for the film’s otherwise scattered tone.

 

“I’m more effective than any cricket.”

And then there’s Astro. This isn’t Monstro from the Disney classic; this is a full-on nightmare beast from a sci-fi horror movie, complete with gaping jaws and cosmic mind control powers. He is a delightfully absurd antagonist. The idea of a gigantic, planet-destroying whale floating through the void of space is so wonderfully ridiculous that it becomes iconic in its own right. The creature embodies the “atomic age menace” trope common in 1950s monster movies, but with a fairy tale twist. The desolate Martian landscape also brings that “atomic age” feel to the forefront, with its destroyed city giving us a look at a possible future Earth.

 

Post-apocalyptic Earth, anyone?

Is it good? Maybe if you squint. Is it entertaining? In the way that watching a marionette puppet try to explain orbital mechanics is entertaining, absolutely. The movie is short, strange, and wildly inconsistent, but that’s part of its appeal. It’s got that special kind of vintage nonsense that makes you wonder what the writers were smoking (and where you can get some). Yet, it’s somehow earnest, like it genuinely believes that putting Pinocchio in a rocket ship is a natural extension of Carlo Collodi’s beloved 19th-century fable.

 

When Fantasy and Science Fiction collide. 

Ultimately, Pinocchio in Outer Space is a bizarre artifact from a time when animation was still willing to take absolutely unhinged risks. It’s not a classic by any metric, but it’s a cosmic curiosity worth witnessing if only to confirm that yes, this really exists. It’s baffling, bonkers, and kind of beautiful in its own off-kilter way. Definitely not “good” in the traditional sense, but oh boy, is it an experience.

The Loves of Hercules (1960) – Review

If you’ve ever wanted to watch Hercules rip a tree up by the roots, romance an entire nation of women, or wrestle a fire-breathing papier-mâché monster, then The Loves of Hercules is your golden ticket to Mount Olympus-level madness.

In the pantheon of sword-and-sandal cinema, The Loves of Hercules stands tall, not necessarily in quality, but in sheer, gleaming spectacle. This is a fever dream of ancient heroics, melodramatic romance, and creature-feature absurdity. This Italian peplum production delivers exactly what it promises: love, Hercules, and enough oiled pecs to fuel a bodybuilding expo. The plot, as is often the case in these mythological epics, is a tangled tapestry of revenge, political intrigue, and people yelling “Hercules!” a lot. There are scheming advisors, sacrificial rituals, and enough dramatic arm-gesturing to power a Shakespearean workshop. But narrative coherence takes a backseat to mood, muscles, and melodrama.

“Should I be going on some labours?”

But what exactly is this particular outing about? Also known as Hercules vs. the Hydra, the story kicks off with tragedy: Hercules (Mickey Hargitay), known as the strongest man in ancient mythology and a lover of wide stances, comes home to find his wife Megara (Barbara Florian) murdered and the village plundered. The culprit? The kingdom of Ecalia. But wait! The twist? King Eurysteus (Cesare Fantoni), ruler of Ecalia, was manipulated by his scheming advisor Licos (Massimo Serato), who then commits regicide to prevent Hercules from destroying the country out of vengeance. Licos is a man so obviously evil that he practically twirls his toga like a moustache. He’s the kind of guy who would tie a girl to train tracks at a moment’s notice.

“Could someone please go out and invent trains?”

Cut to Hercules getting a briefing by the Oracle, who tells him that his life will be full of madness and death because he killed the sacred serpent of the goddess Hera, which was a pretty dumb thing to do, as pretty much everything pisses off Hera, and she already hated Hercules for being the bastard son of her husband. Hercules doesn’t have to wait long to learn what form Hera’s revenge will take. A sole survivor of the attack on his village stumbles into the Oracle’s temple to inform the demigod of the murder of his wife.

Mythology Note: Megara’s death is a lot darker in the mythology. Hera sent a “madness” upon Hercules, and in a fit of divine-induced insanity, Hercules killed her and their children, believing they were enemies.

Fuelled by a potent mix of righteous fury, heroic justice, and biceps that could bench press Mount Olympus, Hercules storms back to Ecalia for vengeance. But instead of confronting a wicked king, he’s greeted by a surprise plot twist: Deianira (Jayne Mansfield) is now Queen, crown and all, and she’s barely holding the throne together with sheer willpower, royal poise, and an emergency supply of eyeliner. She’s caught in a political tug-of-war between civil unrest and the Greek equivalent of daytime court drama…oh, and also the unavoidable gravitational pull of Hercules’ oil-slicked pecs, which are basically doing their own diplomacy.

“Hercules, I feel really bad that we murdered your wife.”

A still scheming Licos comes up with a charming little game called “The Trial of Themis, the goddess of Justice,” which is basically axe-throwing with murderous intent. The goal? Trick Hercules into accidentally assassinating the Queen and calling it “justice.” Unsurprisingly, this plan goes sideways as Hercules is genuinely impressed by Deianira. She’s brave, beautiful, and not once has she swooned unnecessarily, which is rare in his line of work. While escorting her back to her capital (because nothing says “date” like a war-torn countryside), they stumble upon a group of distressed peasants who’ve just had a close encounter with a monster. Classic Tuesday. Always up for monster-hunting and heroic overachieving.

“Let’s ride around for a bit. A monster is bound to show up.”

Hercules goes off to find the beast, but while he’s off doing that, the local livestock decides to panic and stage a bovine jailbreak. A stampede erupts like a cow-themed chaos theatre, and Hercules, never one to shy away from dramatic solutions, whips out his trusty dagger and takes down a wild bull in one epic move. No lasso, no rope, just pure dagger-fuelled cow diplomacy. The peasants are terrified, Deianira is probably rethinking her definition of “chivalry,” and Hercules? He’s just getting warmed up.

Is this supposed to be the legendary Cretan Bull?

Now, does Licos give up? Of course not, evil doesn’t sleep, it just rewrites the plan. Next, he tries to bait Hercules into killing Achelous (Gil Vidal), who just so happens to be Deianira’s fiancé. The logic? Get Herc to go full rage mode, commit a passion murder, ruin his chances with Deianira, and clear the road to the throne for good ol’ Licos. Very subtle. And for a minute there, it almost works! Hercules is all ready to add “guy who smashed Achelous” to his résumé, until Deianira shows up with her best tearful plea and puppy-dog eyes. Herc, being a softie beneath those mountains of muscle, lowers his weapon and backs off. Heartbroken and emotionally winded, Hercules decides to peace out of Ecalia entirely, leaving behind the throne, the girl, and, most importantly, Licos’s increasingly ridiculous evil plans.

Mythology Note: Deianira was indeed one of Hercules’ wives, but their relationship ended in tragedy when she accidentally caused his death by giving him a poisoned tunic, thinking it would ensure his fidelity. That drama, arguably more interesting, is not in this film

Licos sticks to his evil plan like glitter on a preschool art project. He orders Achelous to be murdered using the same dagger Hercules left behind in the bull, because why waste a perfectly good murder weapon? He’s pretty confident Hercules won’t be popping back up to defend himself, what with being off doing muscley hero stuff. Unfortunately for Licos, plot convenience strikes again: one of Herc’s bros runs into him on the road and casually mentions he’s been framed for murder. Naturally, Hercules isn’t a fan of false accusations, so he stomps back to clear his name.

“Hercules, do you have a good lawyer?”

To keep the frame-up rolling, Licos tells the real killer, Filarete (Andrea Aureli), to go play hide-and-seek beyond the gates of the Underworld, because nothing says “innocent” like running straight into mythological hell. The plan? Hercules follows him in, they both get eaten by the Hydra, and Licos gets away with everything. Needless to say, things don’t go quite to plan. Filarete is killed by the Hydra, getting both stomped and munched, but Hercules slays the beast in a gloriously sweaty battle, which consists mostly of him slowly whacking at the neck of one of the creature’s three necks with an axe until a head falls off. Strangely, unlike the myth, it doesn’t grow back.

Is it just me, or does this Hydra seem to be missing a few heads? 

The fight wipes him out so badly that he passes out, but luckily for him, a group of Amazons loyal to Queen Hippolyta (Tina Gloriana) scoop him up like a lost puppy. Unfortunately, Hippolyta has a fun little hobby: turning ex-boyfriends into trees when she gets bored with them. (You know, like you do.) But Hercules isn’t into flora-based relationships; his heart belongs to Deianira. Miffed that her usual “turn-‘em-into-branches” charm isn’t working, Hippolyta’s advisor helpfully suggests she magically transform into Deianira. So, she gives herself a Mansfield makeover—same face, same figure, but now with red hair, because, you know, subtlety.

Mythology Note: While Hercules does encounter Amazons in his labours (notably Hippolyta, from whom he must take a girdle), the events and characters in the movie are anachronistically jumbled and over-the-top. The monster fight is pure cinematic invention.

Meanwhile, actual Deianira is busy discovering that Licos has the moral compass of a damp snake. Naturally, he responds to being found out by locking her up, like any proper villain with commitment issues. But back in Amazon land, Hercules is saved by Nemea (Moira Orfei) – the real MVP – who sacrifices herself so he can escape. Hippolyta, in true poetic justice, is crushed by one of her own enchanted exes. With the truth finally out and a righteous rage in his pecs, Hercules leads an army back to Ecalia to give Licos a one-way trip to Villain Defeat Town.

“Who needs an army? We have a demi-god standing right there.”

After getting thoroughly thumped in battle, Licos does what all good cowards do—he grabs Deianira and makes a run for it, hoping nobody notices the whole “kidnapping while losing” move. Unfortunately for him, his getaway is cut short when he runs into Alcione, a monster with zero patience for melodrama. Alcione promptly strangles Licos like he’s trying to juice a particularly evil orange. But before things can devolve into a full monster soap opera, Hercules bursts in like a shirtless wrecking ball, drop-kicks the creature into next Tuesday, and rescues Deianira in the nick of time—hair tousled, muscles flexed, and heroic lighting cue fully engaged. And with that, the curtain falls on Licos, villain, coward, and human stress ball.

Death by Bigfoot? 

Stray Observations:

• Hercules’ shirt budget was clearly zero dollars. I have to wonder if Mickey Hargitay was allergic to shirts. He wears a burgundy cape, a belt, and vibes.
• When Hercules arrives in Ecalia, the entire populace, including the army, flees to hide behind the city’s strong walls. Hercules has easily the biggest rep in all of Greece.
• Hercules tells Deianira, “Before finding you, nothing in this world gave peace to my heart.” This is said mere days after Deianira’s father supposedly murdered his wife. Damn, does this Hercules ever have a fickle heart.
• Insulted, Achelous attacks Hercules. Did he not receive the memo that everyone else in the country had about Hercules’ incredible reputation? There are better ways to kill yourself.
• Every problem is solved with a Bear Hug or a glare. Hercules negotiates like a toddler with super strength: lifting things and smashing furniture until people agree with him.
• Jayne Mansfield’s gowns are from the Victoria’s Secret “Mythology” Collection. No historical accuracy, but maximum sparkle and cleavage. Perfect for ruling a kingdom and distracting assassins.

“I have my hair done by Vidal Sassoon.”

Directed by Carlo Ludovico Bragaglia, The Loves of Hercules is “Greek mythology” the same way a paper plate is fine china, technically functional but mostly decorative. It borrows names and a vague mythic atmosphere, but it’s a romantic fantasy adventure designed for 1960s audiences, not a faithful adaptation of ancient stories. The Hercules myths are often tragic, exploring the themes of guilt, divine persecution, strength, and sacrifice. They’re darker and more complex than the film’s cheesy, Technicolor take. Think of it as mythology filtered through beefcake, hairspray, and an Italian movie set.

The Oracle has a very nice-looking cave.

But at the centre of this sword and sandal epic is Mickey Hargitay, the Mr. Universe-turned-actor, who swaggers through the film as the titular demigod with all the charisma of a stoic gym statue. Hargitay’s Hercules doesn’t do much in the way of emoting, but why should he? His pecs do most of the acting. Whether he’s ripping trees out of the ground, hurling boulders, or brooding over his love life, Hargitay delivers a performance that’s more about posing than pathos, and somehow, that’s half the fun.

Watch in awe as Hercules picks up heavy things and chucks them.

Paired with real-life wife Jayne Mansfield, who plays the widowed Queen, the film tries very hard to be a romance. And by “tries,” we mean it features long, lingering glances, dramatic declarations of honour, and scenes where Hercules saves her from various shirtless predicaments. Mansfield, ever the bombshell, gives her all to the role, balancing regal poise with campy distress, her hair and makeup remaining immaculate through battle, betrayal, and the occasional monster attack.

“Damn it, is it Tuesday already?”

Speaking of monsters…oh yes, there’s one. A delightfully low-budget creature appears late in the film, looking like a papier-mâché experiment gone terribly, gloriously wrong. It lumbers onscreen with a sort of confused dignity, as if unsure whether it’s in a horror film or a costume party. Hercules, naturally, fights it in a scene that’s more slow-motion wrasslin’ match than epic battle. That said, the full-scale puppet of the Hydra is impressive, if somewhat off-model from its mythological counterpart.

“Wow, Hercules is great at killing giant puppets!”

Visually, The Loves of Hercules is a time capsule of early 1960s fantasy filmmaking. The sets are colourful but obviously artificial, the costumes lavish and sometimes inexplicably revealing. Special effects are minimal and often unintentionally humorous, most famously, a lurching tree monster that looks like a piñata made of carpet remnants and despair. Yet these limitations give the film a certain charm. There’s a handcrafted quality to its world-building, where everything feels like it was created with love, ambition, and not nearly enough budget.

Hippolyta’s grove of ex-lovers needed a better landscaper.

What elevates the film beyond simple camp is its wholehearted embrace of the material. There’s no winking at the audience, no ironic detachment, it is earnest about its absurdity. It believes in its romance. It believes in its papier-mâché monsters. It believes that Hercules can stare stoically into the distance and solve all problems by flexing at them. And really, who are we to argue? There is a sincere attempt to tell a story of myth, love, and heroism, even if that story occasionally trips over its own sandals. It’s this sincerity that makes The Loves of Hercules both entertaining and oddly endearing. This is what makes this entry so enduring, or at least bizarrely enjoyable.

Why women love this guy, I’ll never figure out.

In conclusion, The Loves of Hercules is less a film and more a flexing, fur-lined fever dream. It’s campy, clunky, and completely committed to its own weird vision of myth. It’s not good in the traditional sense — but like a toga-clad soap opera with a dumbbell fetish, it’s incredibly watchable. If you ever wondered what Greco-Roman mythology would look like filtered through a glam-’60s lens, complete with heavy eyeliner and heavier biceps, look no further.