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“See heroic Hercules rip down the Age of Orgy’s lavish palace of lustful pleasure!” and “See the Mightiest of Men vs. the Mightiest of Beasts— the killer Cretan Bull!” One style of poster design for The Three Stooges Meet Hercules mimicked and parodied this hyperbolic marketing strategy: “SEE what happens when the man of steel meets the maniacs of mayhem!” and “SEE The 3 Stooges make a shambles out of ancient Athens and a wreck out of Hercules!” (Press book 1). A second poster design promoted the film as “The World’s SPOOFIEST
GOOFIEST SPECTACULAR!” (Press book 2). It is evident that The Three Stooges Meet Hercules proclaimed its parodic intent in a clear, unmistakable fashion.1
Parody can be characterized as a deliberate imitation or repetition of a specific text with humorous intent. Ingeborg Hoesterey defines parody as “a work of literature or another art that imitates an existent piece which is well-known to its readers, viewers, or listeners with satirical, critical, or polemical intention,” suggesting the humorous aspect widely associated with parody is not necessarily among its primary functions (13 –14). As with pastiche, parody is dependent for its effect on the audience’s awareness and appreciation of the original work. Richard Dyer notes that parody by definition acknowledges the element of imitation involved and works best if the notion of imitation itself is taken into account ( Pastiche 23). Simple repetition of the target text is in itself insufficient to generate parody; a sense of both difference and distance is also crucial to the effect. Linda Hutcheon defines parody as “a form of repetition with ironic critical distance, marking difference rather than similarity,” though I would argue that the latter remains a crucial factor if a sense of the original text is to be retained (xii). Furthermore, the target audience will only engage with the parodic text as intended if, to use Hutcheon’s terms, they “share certain assumptions or cultural codes with the encoder” (xiii–xiv).2 In other words, parody is dependent on frames of reference common to the producer and the intended receivers.
In the case of The Three Stooges Meet Hercules, there are clear problems with Hoesterey and Hutcheon’s characterization of parody in terms of mono-textual specificity. The film does not parody closely the 1958 Hercules film, any subsequent Italian-produced Hercules movie, or even the peplum genre as a whole. Moreover, the extended sequences with the main characters as galley slaves draw on a wider, Hollywood-centered tradition of classical epics, in particular Ben-Hur, a then recent, widely distributed and publicized film which would have been familiar to most audiences in 1962. The chariot chase towards the end of the film also invokes Ben-Hur, as do the bladed wheel hubs on Odius’
chariot and the promotional tag “More fun than a Roman Circus!” recalling the Circus Maximus where Ben-Hur’s chariot race takes place (Press book 3).
Thus The Three Stooges Meet Hercules could be described as a multi-textual parody that plays on ideas, images, and characters from earlier films rather than close textual readings of particular scenes in a specific film. To state it another way, The Three Stooges Meet Hercules is more clearly a burlesque of multiple
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genres as a whole, including the peplum, rather than a spoof of any particular film. This suggests audience familiarity with the conventions of the peplum genre and the forms of masculinity it espouses— gleaned through the popularity of Hercules and its successors— as well as the notion that the genre and its masculine values were ripe for parody.
In his book-length study of film parody, Dan Harries states, “Parodic texts simultaneously generate similarity to and difference from their targets in a reg-ularized fashion,” echoing the ideas outlined above (8). Harries characterizes the mechanism for maintaining this all-important balance as “logical absurdity,”
for which “one dimension [is] needed to ensure a logic and another for difference-creating absurdity. This is the necessary oscillation between similarity to and difference from a target that allows parody to maintain either the lexicon, syntax or style while manipulating the others” (9). A parody will manipulate the targeted text’s key generic, diegetic, and narrative elements, the order in which they are arranged, and the style in which they are presented. At any given point, the lexicon, syntax, or style of the parody must match closely to its source, or the sense of similarity will be lost. Yet one or both of the other dimensions likewise must be correspondingly and excessively different from the parodied text. If this is not achieved, the new text may be mistaken for imitation or pastiche. While this approach may be overly schematic, suggesting a standardized formula for parody, it has some application to The Three Stooges Meet Hercules. In terms of lexical elements, the costumes, props and set design conform adequately to the iconography and generic verisimilitude of both the peplum and the classical epic. Having established a sense of “Ancient Greece,” the film then manipulates the lexicon, giving Curly Joe a sundial wristwatch, an incongruous blend of old and new technology that corresponds to Harries’
notion of difference-creating absurdity. When the soldiers of Ulysses (John Cliff ) flee the battlefield, Larry comments, “The guys in the green skirts chick-ened out,” ridiculing the Greek warriors and their uniform in terms of trans-vestitism and cowardice ( The Three Stooges Meet Hercules). Furthermore, his use of a modern American idiom creates a sense of linguistic disjuncture with the setting of Ancient Greece. The character of Achilles the Heel (Lewis Charles), a criminal who runs a protection racket, corresponds to Harries’ category of literalization, “a play with the notion that a character’s inner qualities can be read by his or her name (literalization through a pun)” (95). In North American slang, the term “heel” is used to denote a disreputable person of dishonest and often criminal intent. In this instance, the name also refers to a figure from Greco-Roman myth, subverting the latter’s heroic status through appending his name to a small-time crook. Achilles the Heel also invokes the concept of an Achilles heel, in myth the hero’s only vulnerable spot, and in common parlance a literal or figurative weakness.
The spectacle and special effects associated with the peplum are evoked with the appearance of the Cretan Bull, the Nemean Lion, and Cyclops, a one-
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eyed giant from Greco-Roman mythology. The bull and the lion, which figure in the twelve labors of Hercules and both feature in the 1958 film, are represented with rigid dummies, which could be read as parodic reference to the low-budget props and effects associated with the peplum. The bull is thrown in the air and the lion is swung around by its hind legs, underlining the deliberate artificiality and lack of verisimilitude in their representation. Cyclops is featured in the film Ulysses, released in 1954, and a number of pepla, including Atlas in the Land of the Cyclops (1961) and My Son, the Hero (1962). The generic similarity is subverted with the revelation that this is a Siamese Cyclops, a paradoxical absurdity, as a two-headed Cyclops has two eyes, one in each head, and, therefore, is arguably not a Cyclops. Schuyler’s avowedly Herculean fight with a hydra is advertised by a poster which features star billing and an admission charge, a blatant commercialization of the heroic struggle of Greco-Roman mythology that could be equated with the financially-driven peplum films.
Schuyler wears a silk robe with “Hercules” emblazoned on the back, an obvious nod to the self-promotion of professional boxers, fighters whose primary objective is the generation of financial reward.
The Three Stooges Meet Hercules conforms broadly with the various definitions of parody outlined above but not in the sense of parodying a specific text. While it might seem logical or expedient for the film to spoof either Hercules or Hercules Unchained, the peplum epics most familiar to audiences in America and elsewhere, there is little sustained or even tentative attempt to reference characters, scenes, plotlines, or other elements from the Italian productions. For much of its running time, The Three Stooges Meet Hercules can be characterized as a general burlesque
of various films and genres associated with Greco-Roman legend and history as represented in popular media. Yet the film was made in response to the Steve Reeves Hercules movies and requires, if only on a superficial level, audience familiarity with the character, his exploits, and a general notion of the classical world. More specifically, The Three Stooges Meet Hercules plays with the notion of a super or heroic masculinity associated closely with the peplum cycle and therefore presumes a pre-knowledge of genre conventions centered on the concept of Herculean masculine values that informs the film’s key parodic strategy.
Differentiation
The Three Stooges Meet Hercules can be appreciated for its broad parody of the peplum and epic genres, alongside the slapstick humor associated with the titular comedians. However, the effect of the film depends to a significant degree on the audience’s acquaintance with the figure of Hercules and his representation in the peplum. The North American release of Hercules and Hercules Unchained ensured at least some aspects of these films were familiar to most
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viewers, particularly the juvenile audience at whom The Three Stooges Meet Hercules was aimed. In casting Hercules, the film followed the standard peplum strategy of employing a bodybuilder with little or no acting experience, in this case the Canadian Samuel Burke. Like many of his peplum contemporaries, Burke underwent both depilation and a change of name. As “Samson Burke,” he connoted the physical prowess and masculine potency associated with the peplum genre.3 The character of Hercules features prominently in the advertising for the film, though Burke is not credited in promotional materials. In one illustration, Hercules is depicted as a figure in repose, suggesting indolence and apathy, another comic subversion of the heroic man-of-action familiar from the peplum.
First appearing around twenty minutes into the film, Hercules performs acts of strength that could be characterized as typically “Herculean” in terms of his standard peplum representation. A low angle medium long shot shows him lifting a man above his head, emphasizing his strength, physique, and prowess in combat. He also lifts two huge boulders, pinning Schuyler’s time machine to the ground. Hercules’ height, physique, and exposed torso form an extreme contrast with the Three Stooges, elderly, diminutive men whose bodies remain covered throughout the film. One poster design for the film featured the line “Hercules, strongest hero in history, meets weakest weaklings in hys-teria,” offering a simple contrast of physical strength — and its heroic associations— with physical weakness which, it seems, can only be appreciated in terms of comic potential (Press book 3).
Dyer states that parody employs techniques of likeness, deformation, and discrepancy ( Pastiche 48). Having evoked an existing and sufficiently well-known text, parody then transforms this similarity in such a way as to subvert the original representation in an extreme fashion that could be termed grotesque. In this instance, Hercules retains his familiar appearance and extraordinary strength, yet the morality and nobility associated with the character in the 1958 Hercules are displaced by brutish aggression and subservience to a malevolent patriarch. Hercules could also be seen as an example of what Harries terms misdirection, which operates “by reiterating an expected convention along lexical, syntactic, and stylistic paths and then transforming that convention in a way that is both unexpected and ‘inappropriate’” (70). In establishing a Hercules similar to the Steve Reeves incarnation — in terms of appearance, actions, and framing — The Three Stooges Meet Hercules can potentially mislead audiences into anticipating this Hercules will not differ significantly from the familiar version. The subsequent reconfiguration of Hercules as a villain could then be termed both unexpected and inappropriate. Even younger members of the audience would appreciate that good guys are not supposed to become bad guys. Moreover, a well-known hero such as Hercules, both a figure from mythology and a recently established cinematic brand-name, embodies only positive attributes, which have here been transformed into negative qualities. This is reflected by the opening credits, which depict Hercules as a statue
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that is broken by the Stooges, anticipating what happens to his familiar representation in the film.
In terms of physical strength, the spectacular feats associated with the peplum are replaced by Hercules crushing walnuts in the crook of his arm, echoing his earlier demonstrations of strength in intentionally absurd form. On another level, his formerly heroic super-masculinity is reconfigured as aggression directed at a smaller and weaker opponent. During a banquet scene, Hercules traps Curly Joe’s head against his flexed bicep, transforming a classic bodybuilding pose into a humorous expression of domination and humiliation. This image also featured in promotional material for the film, permitting audiences to anticipate Hercules’ potentially hostile status and, therefore, the subversion of his established persona. A publicity shot featured on the cover of a comic book version of the film highlights Hercules’ violent subjugation of the Stooges, underlined by his use of chains, which in Hercules symbolized liberation rather than enslavement and oppression (comic book 1).
Hercules is also represented in terms of vulnerability, another parodic inversion, even in his interaction with the diminutive, physically unimposing Stooges. Curly Joe inadvertently hits him in the jaw with an iron bar, while Moe strikes him in the face with a bowl of fruit. The infliction of pain and humiliation undermines Hercules’ male potency, dignity, and standing within the tyrannical patriarchy headed by Odius. When Hercules punches all three Stooges in retaliation, Moe bites his fist, attacking directly a prime symbol and tool of masculine power and aggression. This sequence concludes with Hercules running into a wall and knocking himself out, becoming the very instrument of his incapacitation and temporary impotence. However, Hercules can acquire his as-yet unearned popular reputation through the intervention of a third party. Hercules as a man has been inverted and ridiculed; yet the popular conception of Herculean masculinity will be endorsed and validated in the form of the Stooges’ scientist friend Schuyler, the stereotypical
“weakling” who becomes a super-man through enhancing both his body and spirit.
The Three Stooges Meet Hercules invokes not just the peplum films in its depiction of Hercules but also the American-centered bodybuilding culture, which had existed in its modern form since the early years of the twentieth century. By the 1950s bodybuilding was as regulated and commercialized as many other sports— though its status as a “true” sport is still disputed — and enjoyed a far-reaching, if still relatively niche, international appeal. Thus the comic subversion and parodic misdirection of the film reference the masculine traits associated with body culture as much as the peplum genre that drew heavily on these ideals. While the villainous, thuggish Hercules suggests a negative critique of the mythical/bodybuilder hero, the narrative progression of The Three Stooges Meet Hercules offers another form of misdirection. Having ridiculed the built male physique and what it is usually taken to represent, the
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film performs an about turn and ultimately endorses the bodybuilder as a legitimate and ideal form of masculinity, both ancient and modern.
Emulation
As noted, peplum heroes were often played by bodybuilders, some of whom — Steve Reeves, for example — were champions and celebrities in this specialized field prior to gaining wider fame as screen incarnations of Hercules.
Patrick Lucanio asserts: “The major icon of the peplum genre is the bodybuilder; he is so pervasive in fact that ... his very presence defines the genre” (22). While there are pepla which do not employ bodybuilders for their leading men, the genre is invariably characterized by commentators in terms of its “musclemen”
stars. This relationship between classical mythology and body culture played a significant role in perpetuating the image of the Prodican Hercules, achieving one of its most notable manifestations in the 1958 film but dating back to at leas
t the nineteenth century.
Anne Bolin defines bodybuilding as “working out with weights to reshape the physique by adding muscle mass and increasing separation and definition of the various muscle groups” (50). It is notable that muscle growth in itself is insufficient to achieve the desired bodybuilder look; the body must also be shaped and honed to the proper proportions, invoking ideas of sculpture associated with classical statuary. The public display of large, muscular and — by demonstration or implication — strong male bodies had long been a feature of street, circus, and carnival acts. These performances highlighted shows of physical strength or athleticism, claiming artistic legitimacy and respectability through invocation of the Greco-Roman tradition. As Blanshard states, circus strongmen often wore a leopard or lion skin in emulation of Hercules, arguably the best known mythical hero and certainly the one most associated with incredible acts of super-human strength (153). This invocation of the demigod, and the accompanying equation of the built body with both physical and moral strength, offered a new manifestation of the Prodican Hercules. Over time, these classical associations, however tenuous, assumed greater importance.
Maria Wyke notes: “As the [nineteenth] century progressed, so circus programs began to include acts that had no pretensions to the display of skills such as weightlifting or equestrianism but were, instead, wholly focused on the representation of classical figures familiar from statues and paintings” (357). As with modern bodybuilding, the display of the muscular body, in a legitimate, culturally approved framework, took precedence over any demonstration of this same body’s abilities.
One of the first celebrity bodybuilders was the German Eugene Sandow, who made his American debut at the 1893 Chicago World’s Fair. Promoting himself as a strongman and physique showman, Sandow offered, in Bolin’s