Hercules in New York

Appalling in nearly every conceivable way, Hercules in New York still reveals a couple of interesting corners when viewed in the wider context of Arnold Schwarzenegger's career. Schwarzenegger is Hercules, a stroppy Demigod sulking about the Big Apple in a film that presumes to parody a then recent cycle of Italian action yarns. Niche upon niche. Fresh off Mr Universe fame, a 23 year old Schwarzenegger is cast as a buffoonish curio. His lines are short, delivery clipped, and heavy with accent. His body is enormous and rounded; in his Olympian briefs he resembles a gigantic infant, an effect exacerbated by his petulant line readings.

Hercules in New York is shot with an eye for the dull. Sequences are barely framed, and ramble on like leaden, unsophisticated TV skits. The film does occasionally spring to life though, especially when considering Schwarzenegger's physicality. The frame shrinks into a roaming eye, poring over the star's veins and muscles. Attacks are frequently shot from the perspective of Schwarzenegger's victims, his monstrous body swamping the point of view. Tone wise, the film holds back on any of the mechanised horror inherent to Schwarzenegger's body, aiming instead for campy giggles. Fights are grab-ass push contests with an emphasis on burly men made weak in Hercules' presence. At times it seems as if Schwarzenegger is being objectified as a dim-bulb dom, able to easily overpower any man and have his way with them. His companion for the majority of the film is a flustered fey little man, always on hand to gawk and splutter when Schwarzenegger tears his shirt off for the umpteenth time. There is a female love interest, and all the Goddesses fawn and slink whenever Schwarzenegger is about, but the film's heart isn't in it. The relationship with the girlfriend never evolves beyond exasperated culture-clash sight-seeing, and when Hercules finally does bid his farewell, it's his male companion he fobs off with empty platitudes.