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.