Pundits have speculated about what Schwarzenegger, a party guy if there ever was one, will do if his new party (the Republican one) includes a plan to amend the constitution to ban gay marriage on its national platform. And we wonder, what are his views on gay marriage, and how are they informed by his religious views. Just what ARE his religious views? And would Arnold dare stand up to the all-powerful RNC if he doesn't agree with their position on this matter?
To find out, we turn to . . . The Schwarzenegger Project! Specifically, a movie from very early in Arnold's career, Hercules in New York.
From this film we learn that Arnold's religion is Greek Myth (Reformed), a faith which takes the ancient Greek pantheon, adds gods from Roman mythology, stirs in some theology from the WWF, and wraps it up in the esthetics of a lowbudget '70s porn movie.
The Greek Myth (Reformed) church does not disapprove of homosexuality -- it's liturgy actually involves muscley-men who have oiled up their bodies in honor of the gods, publicly embracing other men on the sacred wrestling mats of Smackdown.
It promises the faithful an afterlife in which lovely maidens wear filmy garments and present themselves for your fondling pleasure. (Well, maybe that's not the afterlife so much as an alternate universe or a movie set -- the theology is a bit unclear on this point.)
It defines marriage as "a union between a man and a woman; or a man and a bear, or other large mammal," and teaches that the mighty hero Hercules himself was the product of a relationship between a male mortal and a male god -- making it the most gay-marriage friendly religion practiced by any major Republican politican.
And as for standing up to evil but powerful organizations, such as the Mafia or the RNC, it encourages its followers to do so, even if that involves riding around NYC in a chariot or fighting with Fred Flintstone in a warehouse.
Hercules in New York (1970)
Directed by Arthur Allan Seidelman
Written by Aubrey Wisberg
You can tell your film career isn’t off to an auspicious start when you’re playing the title character, and Arnold Stang still gets top billing.
Our story opens atop Mount Olympus, home of the Greek pantheon. Here, in their limitless wisdom, the gods have chosen to live on the steps outside a community college library on Long Island. Arnold Schwarzenegger ("Arnold Strong" in the credits) is Hercules, a demi-god celebrated in ancient myths for his ability to recite lines phonetically. On earth, Hercules was lauded as the greatest of heroes, while on Olympus he is chiefly noted for his habit of stuffing his trunk-like thighs into a micro-mini skirt.
Hercules is bored in the realm of the gods, but Zeus will not permit him to visit earth, because, "these mortals are bedeviled by as aggravating a collection of annoyances as it’s possible for one to imagine," so adding Arnold to the situation would just be gilding the lily. When it’s pointed out to Hercules that he’s just a demi-god and should quit putting on airs, Arnold recites, "My father may have been a mortal, but you Zeus, my father, are a god." So, Hercules has two daddies.
Under the circumstances it’s forgivable that the star doesn’t understand English, but you’d think that kind of thing would have disqualified the screenwriter. Especially since he then starts mixing up the Greek and Roman pantheons (Zeus is king of the Gods, but is inexplicably married to Jupiter’s wife, Juno) until Herc can’t stand it anymore and jumps off the mountain, landing just long enough on the wing of a Pan-Am jet to scare the crap out of William Shatner.
Hercules splashes down, and the next thing we know, he’s aboard a freighter—naked and glistening—toweling his massive physique in front of the crew and their flinty-eyed captain. If the filmmakers had chosen this moment to give up on the whole ancient-hero-in-modern-times scenario, and just make a male porn version of Jack London’s "The Sea Wolf," I doubt anyone would have complained.
Unfortunately, they stick to their game plan, and Hercules jumps ship in New York. In keeping with the classic myths, he meets pretzel vendor Arnold Stang, whom the filmmakers call, with stunning malice aforethought, "Pretzie." At first glance, they would seem to have little in common—the wormy, adenoidal peddler and the unintelligible slab of waxed beef—but they bond over their equally annoying voices.
Herc and Stang take a taxi up to Central Park and when the driver requests his fare, Hercules pushes him into the shrubs, and overturns his cab. They flee through the bushes until they come upon a college track and field team working out on a softball field in the Sheep Meadow. At the same time, comely co-ed Helen and her father, The Professor, sit down in the bleachers to watch her track star boyfriend, Rod. Helen, with her pert nose and long, center-parted brunette hair does a credible job of making herself look like Ali McGraw, but then blows it later in the film by refusing to die of leukemia.
The Professor invites Herc and Stang over for tea. When they arrive a short time later, Herc immediately starts licking Helen’s hand and pinning her to the couch. "Ya just got here," Stang reminds him, "and right away, you’re on the make!"
Then her boyfriend arrives, and Hercules asks, "is he your lover?" Both Rod and Helen are scandalized (apparently, the Sexual Revolution hadn’t quite reached New York City by 1970). Rod demands satisfaction, but since they appear to be filming in the producer’s grandmother’s apartment, and Grandma has Hummels, they can’t afford to stage a fight scene. So Hercules aggressively picks up Rod and cradles him gently against his bosom, while Helen screams and Stang hops around on the furniture. And thus does this battle take its place amongst the legendary Labors of Hercules—the slaying of Anteus, the destruction of the many-headed Hydra, and the breast-feeding of Rod.
Naturally, Helen immediately agrees to have dinner with Herc, and later to take a ride in a hansom cab through Central Park, even though he’s sporting a baby blue mock turtleneck and a polyester sport coat with a windowpane plaid so busy it could induce vertigo in Alex Trebek.
Suddenly, a man in the worst bear costume since Santa Claus Conquers the Martians appears beside the cab. Herc immediately leaps out and begins an inter- (or intra-) species smackdown. Helen screams, "Beat him up!" She’s off camera, so it’s not clear whom she’s addressing, but one assumes it’s the bear. She watches the two ursine antagonists wrestle for a moment, then has an orgasm (no, I’m not kidding) and falls back against the upholstery, spent and dewy.
When Arnold finally works his hand inside the costume, but can’t find a breast, he goes berserk, and beats the ersatz bruin into a bathmat. Instantly, the WWE comes calling, and a newspaper from one of those Make Your Own Joke Headline booths at Coney Island informs us that Hercules is now champion of the world.
Meanwhile, on Mount Olympus, the majestic Zeus sits serenely upon his throne, except when a co-ed who’s late for an eight o’ clock runs down the steps and clips him with her backpack. Otherwise, all is tranquility—demented young women in filmy togas run in circles on the grass, and bouzouki tapes from a Greek restaurant play relentlessly on the soundtrack, while Audra from The Big Valley serves cocktails.
Unfortunately, down on earth, Hercules is consorting with Vince McMahon, pretzel salesman, and Ali McGraw impersonators, so Zeus orders Mercury to organize an intervention, and to bring Hercules a Pick-Me-Up bouquet.
Ah, the viewer senses, at last, the film is gearing up for a battle royale between these two all-powerful immortals. And we are not disappointed, for in the very next scene, Hercules takes some snapshots at Rockefeller Center, then has coffee and a bagel at the Automat.
The intervention fails, and Zeus dispatches Nemesis to open an amphora of whup-ass on Hercules, but Juno intercepts Nemesis, and gives her a mood ring that will render Hercules both mortal and mellow.
Stripped of his demi-divinity, Herc is now vulnerable to Juno’s malice. She immediately sets in motion a cunning plan to kill Hercules by…I’m not sure, actually. It has something to do with Hercules losing a weight lifting contest on a national TV variety show that’s shot in front of a shower curtain. Even though we’re not sure what the hell is going on, we suspect that no good can come from this, since nothing good has come from anything else in the movie, especially the opening credits. Anyway, during the power lifting, Hercules sustains a rupture of heroic proportions, and is forced to flee the TV studio, pursued by his mobbed-up handlers.
In the Elysian environs of Olympus, Great Zeus is displeased by this turn of fate. At least, I think he is—it’s hard to tell, because most of the dialogue is being drowned out by the sound of nearby cars honking.
Herc runs outside and just happens to find a chariot parked at the curb. The filmmakers’ excuse is that it was advertising something, and many New Yorkers will smile in fond remembrance of the days before billboards and bus ads, when most products and services were advertised by chariots pelting down Seventh Avenue.
Herc cracks the whip and drives his two-horse two-wheeler through Times Square (passing a movie theater showing Easy Rider). At this point, it’s not entirely clear if the movie is ripping off the chariot race from Ben-Hur, or the Amish buggy scene from Witness. Suddenly, Herc is galloping past Radio City. Then he’s in back in Times Square! Then he’s driving past the Music Hall again! Clearly, the mesomorphic lunkhead is lost. Or maybe he’s just having a really hard time finding a parking place.
Thanks to another jump cut, Herc is now in Central Park, even though a split second ago he was at Fifth Avenue and 50th Street—clearly heading south. It’s just as well, though, since Helen and the Professor are also driving around Central Park, pursued by the Mobsters (one of whom has apparently borrowed his mom’s station wagon --despite the modern capo’s predilection for black Cadillacs, in the 60’s the Mafia’s car of choice was clearly the cream-colored Country Squire).
By this time, however, the wheels are coming off the chariot (as well as the movie), so our hero and his sidekick jump into the backseat of the Professor’s car. Almost instantly, Helen shouts, "We’re out of gas," terrifying the audience with the prospect of having to spend the rest of the movie watching Herc and Stang make out.
Mercifully, they go into a warehouse instead, where Hercules gets his ass kicked by a pick up group of thugs. Suddenly, Atlas and Sampson appear! Or rather, a beefy guy wearing the bottom half of a monk’s habit, and another dressed like Fred Flintstone show up, and start smacking around the crooks while our hero climbs up onto some crates and hides.
(By the way—Sampson? It’s one thing to mix up the Greek and Roman gods into some kind of Reese’s Peanut Butter Pantheon, but now we’ve got characters out of the Old Testament? Who’s going to show up next? Hansel and Gretel? The Dukes of Hazard?)
Anyway, Herc gets his strength back and immediately rips off Sampson by pushing over two stacks of cardboard boxes, which apparently frightens off all the thugs, because suddenly the fight is over.
We cut to Olympus, where Hercules is concluding the tale of his earthly adventures. "It all sounds revoltingly noisy," Juno sniffs, and we’re forced to agree, since she has to shout to be heard above the traffic.
So. While the abode of the gods is filled with scheming, immortal harridans and mini-skirted lummoxes who talk like Madeline Kahn in Blazing Saddles, on the bright side, Mount Olympus is apparently freeway close.
First, that just like how Herc won the wrestling match with the bear, Arnold will win the battle to be governor of the Bear State. Oh, wait, that already happened. Um, then this incident undoubtedly indicates that just as Helen swooned at Herc's feet as she watched him wrestle his ursine foe (despite the total INCONGRUITY and STUPIDITY of a man encountering an obviously fake bear in Central Park), so too will the idea of Schwarzenegger in a race for the job of Governor of California cause many a supposedly intelligent, right-minded woman to have an orgasm at the idea of having an unqualified actor in an important political position, despite it's stupidity and incongruity. Wait, that's already happened too. Never mind.
Okay, but here's something: the opening credits pointed out that Arnold used to be "Mr. Universe." And now he's the leader of the most-populous state in the union. . .but it's only a STATE. Will he be content with this? Surely not.
So, when the GOP is pushing for a Constitutional Amendment to prohibit homosexual marriages, Arnie will tell them he will support them on this, but only if, while they're amending, they change the part about the President having to be native-born.
That done, he will be elected President, and as President he will order the Pentagon to construct an army of killer robots from the future, and he will use them to conquer the world, and then the entire universe, making him the first Mr. Universe President.
