The Big Whatsit

SEE! Bladed chariots of death! Occult terrors of the druids! Men roasted alive in the cage of hell! Mighty legions of Rome! Barbarism of the mad emperor! Savage rites of the Icena!

The average Hammer production invariably contains a certain amount of cheese. Cheap cheese, at that. The studio was infamous for churning out cut-price quickies, most of the time with some success but occasionally resulting in a real howler. One of the latter was surely The Viking Queen, Hammer’s stab at a ’swords and sandals’ epic. Though the end result has some mild entertainment value, mainly in a schlock, unintentionally comic degree of poor acting and economic production values, it is undoubtedly a mess of a movie. Little wonder that it is barely remembered today, shuffling quietly on to the middle order of the Hammer Ultimate Collection set, its star - Finnish model, Carita - never troubling a cinema screen subsequently.

The story is weaved loosely - very, very loosely - around the legend of Britain’s warrior queen, the Iceni Boudicea. It’s the time of the Roman Emperor Nero. His legions occupy Britannia; a legionnaire’s mumbled ‘Bloody country’ showing exactly what they think of being there. It’s fortunate for everyone that the governor, Justinian (Don Murray) is a benign ruler. Wise beyond his years, the ‘guv’ keenly keeps the peace between conquerors and the native Druidic culture, which clearly wants Rome out. Justinian’s lackeys see it differently. Led by Octavian (Andrew Keir), the Romans collude with the local merchants and see the land as one worthy of exploitation. They’re just waiting to get their benevolent overlord out of the way before striking. In the meantime, the new queen of the Iceni, Salina (Carita) falls in love with Justinian, which should herald an era of peace. But it’s an uneasy truce. With the Druids crying for insurrection and her feelings for the governor unbalancing her, Salina will be left with a choice. On the one hand, she’ll abide by the wise counsel of Tristram (Patrick Troughton) and maintain the status quo. The other is to listen to the advice of the Druids and become the Viking Queen, the warrior charged with driving the Romans out.

Readers who have as little as a nodding acquaintance with history should identify the obvious, early flaw - the Viking Queen? Surely, the Vikings were from Scandinavia, and didn’t start raiding and colonising Europe until the 8th century. Perhaps Clarke Reynolds, who came up with the hackneyed script, hoped that we wouldn’t notice, yet it’s an early sign that the movie is after cheap bucks rather than any degree of authenticity. In the film, the Druids worship a God called Zeus, which ties in with the general laziness of the writing. As anyone with even a loose grasp of mythology knows, Zeus was the father of the Greek Gods, and did not in fact move to Britain, presumably on a deity’s free transfer.

All this nonsense might yet have worked had director Don Chaffey been able to call on some decent acting talent. He didn’t. The best that can be said for Don Murray (best known for his role in Knot’s Landing) is that he’s miscast, and hopelessly so. By all accounts, the role of Justinian was offered primarily to Christopher Lee, who knew a turkey when he saw one (on this occasion, at any rate) and steered well clear. As difficult as it is to imagine the Prince of Darkness taking on the part of a noble ruler, it’s possible that he might have lent some authority to it, something Murray lacks entirely. His relationship with Salina doesn’t spark either, but this is at least partly the fault of Carita, who simply gets lost in the titular lead role. She looks the part, and ticks Hammer’s usual boxes i.e. she’s voluptuous, exotic, and prepared to get her kit off, albeit by the tame standards of the time, but she can’t act to save her life. It’s at times like these that you can see what a masterstroke it was for the boffins behind One Million Years B.C. to proffer on their cast essentially mute parts, saving its audience from Raquel Welch’s thespianic limitations and letting her do what she does best. Carita isn’t spared in the same way, and it shows. Her subsequent decision to call time on her acting career was a very wise one.

It’s left to the supporting cast to prop things up. Led by Patrick Troughton, it almost succeeds. Sadly, the second Doctor isn’t on the screen often enough to inject any semblance of dignity to the proceedings, though Keir’s presence livens things up. A reliable Hammer stalwart, Keir is allowed to let rip on the movie, gleefully pillaging, raping and doing murder throughout. Worse comes in the shape of Druid leader, Maelgan (Donald Houston), who sees his character as a wild eyed, demented lunatic. It’s almost certain that Asda’s cooked meats section doesn’t deliver as much ham.

Hammer’s cheap as chips attitude to its movies really comes to the fore in the final battle. The yarn has been stumbling its way to this moment all along, the inevitable clash between angry Britons and the despised Roman rulers. However, the budgetary limitations mean the action looks more like a minor skirmish than the pivotal conflict that will settle who owns the land. Salina gets to ride in a chariot to very little effect, is defeated pathetically easily, and the fighting looks poorly staged even on 1960s terms. In an earlier tussle, Justinian is settling matters with the Anglesey Druids, his soldiers taking on warriors who go into battle dressed hilariously in their white ceremonial robes. Do they use sickles for hand to hand combat?

Many scenes appear to be rip-offs of those from bigger and better epic movies. Salina’s chariot ride with Justinian has shades of a similar moment from The Fall of the Roman Empire. The love scenes are vaguely reminiscent of Cleopatra, though thankfully they’re over in a moment. Ben-Hur is also mined for inspiration, particularly in the battle sequences, making the Viking Queen not just a poor film in its own right, but derivative also.

Mostly however, it’s just plain silly. More laughable than it was intended to be is the execution of some poor Romans by the Druids. The victims are locked inside a wooden cage, which is then lowered over a pit of flames, Maelgan orchestrating the sacrifice with mad waves of his hands. Further craziness comes with the Hammer mandate to offer its viewers a surfeit of female flesh. A naked merchant’s slave pops up now and then, her arms demurely covering any body parts that might have offended the censors. Later, Octavian and his buddies enjoy an orgy, serviced by females wearing nipple tassles or who, for reasons unknown, are painted green.

It’s quite possible to enjoy The Viking Queen as a daft, diverting bit of fun. Its plot rushes by in serviceable swathes, crammed in to the usual Hammer running time of around the 90-minute mark and it’s briskly paced enough to mask some of its ills. But not all, and even the traditional production virtues - good looking sets, nice costumes and a crucial tongue in cheek nature - can’t save the movie from its status as an absolute turkey. The only wonder is that given Hammer’s limited resources and penny dreadful reputation, they didn’t make more stinkers. The Viking Queen is a rare blip, and it’s to the company’s eternal credit that so few of their efforts ended up as shockingly awful.