The umpteenth film version of H. Rider Haggard’s “famous novel” (the credits assure us of this), this 1965 Hammerfied take on She won’t get you nearly as high as the 1935 film, but nevertheless boasts a pretty fair amount of camp. It’s still a lost-city yarn about a 2,000-year-old woman called Ayesha (“She Who Must Be Obeyed”) who is all a-dither about her reincarnated lost love. In the bargain, you get Ursula Andress in the title role giving her usual awkward line readings, Christopher Lee as an evil priest in a variety of hats that appear to have been fashioned from 1930s football helmets (and one made out of a gilded pineapple), a volcano pit that looks like a lava light that got out of hand and the lamest leading man (John Richardson) imaginable. Unfortunately, there are some pretty dull patches, too.
She marks the beginning of Hammer Films’ attempt to expand beyond the melodramas and gothic horror pictures they were best known for—all the while keeping one foot at least in the realm of the fantastic. In this case, they imported a star—Ursula Andress—and retained their most powerful stars in terms of drawing power, Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee. Unfortunately for fans, the film offered them little more than supporting roles, despite their somewhat glorified billing. (I suppose they were lucky not to have been covered in furs and cast as cavemen in the following year’s One Million Years B.C.) Overall, this is mostly Andress’ show. If nothing else, she certainly makes an impression in her feather robes (several ostriches must have gone naked for those) and golden headdress. I kept thinking of the bit in Casino Royale (1967) where David Niven asks her if she often wears an outré outfit in the office and she tells him, “If I wore it in the streets, people might stare.”
The best things about this version of She are the silliest—like the costumes and the horn players, who apparently live atop some seemingly inaccessible columns in the throne room just in case Andress shows up and needs a fanfare. (And she seems to need one whenever she wanders in.) The worst things—apart from a story line that makes little sense—are the slow patches that the film has far too many of. It hardly helps that it takes nearly half the movie to get to the lost civilization that makes up Andress’ dominion. There’s a good deal of tedious camel riding that is not improved by hokey double-exposure visions of Andress that are more reminiscent of Dotty Lamour appearing to Bing and Bob in the desert in Road to Morocco than anything vaguely mystical. In the end, it’s about 50 percent campy fun—with another 50 percent of rather dull adventure.
SHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE… may be the voice I can’t forgeeeeeeeeeeeeeetttt
A trace of pleasure! or regreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeettttt….
Well, that was musical.
While it’s certainly no masterpiece (even by Hammer’s standards), I prefer this version to the 1935 one. That one has great art deco sets and Nigel Bruce but little else.
This one retains the original desert setting, the altered ending is much more effective, and John Richardson seems much less awkward than Randolph Scott.
Speaking of awkward, whatever her other faults, don’t blame Andress for her line readings since she was dubbed by someone else. So was Andre Morell.
While it’s certainly no masterpiece (even by Hammer’s standards), I prefer this version to the 1935 one. That one has great art deco sets and Nigel Bruce but little else
Oh, I’m no huge admirer of the ’35 film, though it’s hard to not like the Busby Berkeley style temple dance. But it doesn’t have 50 minutes of eyes-glazing-over boredom and this one does.
John Richardson seems much less awkward than Randolph Scott
And much less palatable, too. Scott’s not good, but there’s something wholly unlikable about Richardson for me.
Speaking of awkward, whatever her other faults, don’t blame Andress for her line readings since she was dubbed by someone else
Is she overdubbed in What’s New, Pussycat? and Casino Royale, too? She sounds just as awkward in those — in fact, that’s part of her charm.
As flawed as this movie was, it is a veritable cinematic masterpiece compared to the sequel, ‘The Vengence of She’.
I need to do a better job of spell-checking…make that ‘The Vengeance of She’. Still a lame flick, although Olinka Berova was easy on the eyes.
I have mercifully been spared that one — in either spelling.
Haven’t seen the movie but the book is awesome. The Victorians were spoiled to have pop writers who could actually write. You compare Haggard’s writing style with someone like Dan Brown and it’s just worlds apart.
Damn, I was hoping this was the SHE with Sandahl Bergman. It’s supposed to be one the worst films ever and I’ve never seen it.
Damn, I was hoping this was the SHE with Sandahl Bergman. It’s supposed to be one the worst films ever and I’ve never seen it.
That’s rare for you.