Feasting Out on Peplum, Swords, Sandals and Sorcery: A Short-lived Historical/Mythological Film Sub-Genre

Posted on by E Curb Nottus
Ancient history, Cinema, Memorabilia, Popular Culture, Regional History

As a kid I was wholly immersed in what film critics call ”epic films“…those mega-large scale productions with sweeping scope and spectacle, unfettered extravagance, lavishly costumed, a cast of thousands (actual persons, not a computer-generated substitution of a multiplicity of images for people en masse), exotic locations, loosely set in a far ago historical context which could be Biblical, could be Viking sagas, Sinbad the Sailor/Arabian Nights adventures, 16th century pirates, Spanish Conquistadors in the New World, 12th century Crusaders venturing forth for the Holy Land or from countless other pages in the chronicles of history. Even movies which mix myth with history like the Robin Hood sagas or the Arthurian legend drew me to their flame. But it was the world of antiquity, in particular the BC era as interpreted on celluoid screens large or small that most fired my imagination. My all-time favourite viewing entertainments back then were “sword-and-sandal” movies. Yes okay I admit that when we got a TV set in the late Fifties, watching Westerns started to consume the lion’s share of my leisure time, but by circa 1960 there was just so many damn TV westerns, “horse operas”, “oaters” call them what you like monopolising air time on the box, that you had to be discerning to avoid them (which I wasn’t!).

King of Kings (1961): dubbed “I was a teenage Jesus” by critics upon its release

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The Peplum:
This quintessential term in the epic film lexicon comes from the garment worn by Greek women in the Archaic era, the peplos. What the Hellenic women of antiquity called a peplos—a long outer robe or shawl which hung from the body in loose folds and sometimes was drawn over the head—is a far cry from how moviemakers in the mid-20th century conceived the garment. Peplaⓐ in the Greco-Roman cinematic universe were a much sexier affair, mini-length tunics to show off shapely legs (and worn by both sexes).

Peplum fashionistas

In that less prescriptive age when no one fretted much about the adverse physiological (or psychological) effects on juveniles of their maxing out in front of the idiot box 12 hours a day, my penchant was to get as much Hollywood epic blockbusters into me as I could manage—this included such classic Hollywood biblical and historical fodder as Ben-Hur, The Ten Commandments and Spartacus —seeing them in the picture theatre and again on television when they turned up there. If I had to nominate one ancient world epic flick as my all-time favourite though, I’d probably plump for the 1963 Jason and the Argonauts movie– admittedly a smaller scale ‘indy’ production without the big name star drawing power (maybe more “epic-lite?”). It’s stellar appeal lay in part, like its more famous fellow Greek myth story, “The Odyssey”, in the adventure-packed extravaganza of its Classical heroic tale, its virtuous protagonist’s quest and ultimate triumph against the longest of odds stacked against him. But what elevated Jason and the Argonauts above the pack for my 11-year-old self was undoubtedly the film’s fantasy special effects. I was captivated by the myriad of fearsome legendary creatures created by Ray Harryhausen’s ground-breaking SFX wizardry—though to more discerning adult eyes they must have looked decidedly “hokey” and “stilted”—the glorious highlight of which was the iconic scene where Jason single-handedly battles the frenetic army of animated sabre-wielding skeletons – and emerges triumphant of course!

Jason and the Argonauts (1963): Harryhausen’s Special FX

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At some point in my juvenile years I developed a special fondness for Italian-made sword-and-sandal ⓑ flicks, something which I find hard today to rationalise. These are films, made primarily between the late Fifties and the mid Sixties, with trite, ludicrous and meaningless translated titles like Goliath and the Vampires, Hercules Against the Sons of the Sun, Samson Against the Sheik and Ursus in the Valley of the Lions. Most are set in ancient Greece, sometimes in Rome or elsewhere within the Empire (occasionally somewhere more exotic), and characteristically with storylines and events riddled with anachronisms.

Ursus finds himself in the Amazon in this 1960 entry

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The sword-and-sandal formula
Robert Rushing defines the peplum as “depicting muscle-bound heroes…in mythological antiquity, fighting fantastic monsters and saving scantily clad beauties”. Sloppily dubbed into halting English, atrociously woodenly acted, scenes lacking continuity, the plots are ludicrously formulaic, typically involving a superhuman strong man hero who stereotypically runs through his repertoire of superhuman feats of strength, triumphing over all foes while rescuing a beautiful but defenceless heroine (typically wearing the briefest peplum imaginable) and sometimes liberating the oppressed masses to boot at the same time. Unlike Hollywood’s lavish epic spectacles (Quo Vadis?, Cleopatra, Ben-Hur, etc.) , these Italian homegrown peplums were decidedly low-budget flicks which zeroed in on the hero’s beefcake attributesⓒ. (‘Sword-and-Sandal’, Wikipedia, http://en.m.wikipedia.org). The Italian cinematic peplum was indeed a curious passion of my pre-teen to early adolescent years.

Hercules (1958) with Steve Reeves: prototype for the Italian sword-and-sandal film

Hercules by another name
The ur-peplum was Hercules (Italian title: Le Fatiche di Ercole), released in 1958, starring American bodybuilder-turned-actor Steve Reeves, an instant hit which pocketed >$5,000,000 profit for the producers and backers and unleashed a steady stream of sequels starting with Hercules Unchained. As a variation to Hercules, other strongman protagonists were added to subsequent peplum movies, including Samson, Goliath, Ursus and Italy’s own folk hero Macisteⓓ. By 1965 the peplum was pretty much passé in Italy, with the void quickly filled by Spaghetti Westerns and Eurospy films.

My fascination with this Continental movie sub-genre was even more remarkable and unfathomable because, even then, I knew that the films were egregiously badly put together! Watching them was like being drawn against your better instincts to look at something as horrific as a car crash…you know it’s wrong but you just can’t resist the temptation. The unequivocal fact that the sword-and-sandal pictures were such thoroughly execrable, absolute turkeys of films perversely had precisely zero impact on my satisfaction quotient during my early impressionable years!

This 1964 ”Sword-and-sandaller” Maciste Contre Les Hommes De Pierre was released in English as Hercules Against the Moon Men, (“Hercules meets Sci-Fi”)

Footnote: Now at an age where I am hurtling towards senectitude I find the grainy and tired-looking footage and the equally tired storylines so unappetising that I couldn’t even stuck it out for 10 minutes, let alone stay the course of a peplum…but even with my profoundly diminished enthusiasm I still hold a soft spot for the deeply flawed sub-genre…I guess that’s simply nostalgia kicking in – the remembrances of things past which seemed better then (ie, in my youth) than they do now guided presumably by a more mature, more measured outlook.⿻⿻⿻

The sub-genre’s popularity in the early ’60s prompted the Three Stooges to get in on the act with a slapstick, farcical take on the Italian peplum The Three Stooges Meet Hercules (1962)

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ⓐ plural of peplum

ⓑ “sword-and-sandal” and “peplum” are used interchangeably to describe this sub-genre, both terms have a disparaging connotation. The sorcery component of the sub-genre was something I could take or leave

ⓒ so to have the lead convincingly looking the part, professional bodybuilders, athletes and wrestlers were transformed into actors and cast as the Herculean-like protagonist

ⓓ Maciste as strongman in the peplum films was resurrected from a previous incarnation in the silent era of Italian cinema

Rome’s Chariot Racing: The “Formula One” of the Ancient World

Posted on by Bonza Rottwheeler
Ancient history, Cinema, Regional History, Society & Culture, Sports history

People tend to associate the sport of chariot racing with the ancient Romans, thanks in part to Hollywood and movies like Ben-Hur…chariot racing was a fundamental part of ludi circenses (circus entertainment) for the Roman public, together with gladiatorial combats, mock hunts and wild animals pitted against each other. Chariot racing however wasn’t an activity that originated with the Romans, the ancient Greeks and the Etruscans were right into the sport long before them𝔸. It emerged in the Hellenic world at least as early as 700BC with contests taking place in stadia known as hippodromes (“horse course”). The sport features in the Iliad and by 684BC it was so popular it debuted as an event in the proto-Olympic games. In Greek chariot races the competitors were the owners of the rigs and horses, and with Spartan women entitled to own property, this allowed some women to participate in the popular sporting spectacle. Success in the four-horse races was well remunerated, with prizes for the winner such as 140 ceramic pots of olive oil (‘Ben-Hur: The Chariot Race’, A Historian Goes to the Movies, 16-Sep-2016, http://aelarsen.wordpress.com).

Spartan woman winning a chariot race (vase decoration)

The premier venue for Roman chariot racing, the epicentre of the sport in antiquity, was the massively-proportioned Circus Maximus, a specially-constructed race course located between the Aventine and Palantine hills in Rome. The course was an extended oblong shape along a 2,037-foot-long sand track (spatium) with sharp 180° turns at each end (a race comprised seven laps with the top speeds nudging 40 mph) (Encyclopedia Romana, Upd. 21-Nov-2023, www.penelope.uchicago.edu). The rage for currus circenses (chariot racing) as a spectator sport was such that the Roman went from having 10-12 races a day on 17 days of the year only in Emperor Augustus’ time to 100 races per day during the reign of Domitian. The standard “horse power” for racing chariots was four horses—called a quadriga or quardigae𝔹—piloted by older, more experienced horsemen called agitatos, whereas novice drivers (auriga) were usually assigned a bigae (two-horse vehicles). Less common but not unheard of were six, eight and ten-horse chariots. The best horses for currus circenses were sourced from the Roman provinces of Lusitania and Hispania and from North Africa (‘Chariot Racing: Rome’s Most Popular, Most Dangerous Sport’, Patrick J Kiger, History, Upd. 17-July-2022, www.history.com).

All that remains today of Circus Maximus

To the Roman masses, the chariot drivers were above all entertainers, just like actors or musicians of the day, but there was a duality to how they were viewed by society. The elite drivers were lauded and lionised by the public (just like elite sportsmen today), but at the same time they were cursed as witches or magicians (this conclusion was drawn because how else could you explain their repeated victories?)(Kiger). Not all social elites in Rome were as gung-ho about the sport as the populus Romanus, although the egregious and unstable emperors Caligula and Nero were both big fans.

To the victor, laurels…and “big bucks”

Charioteers faced a high danger of injury or death from their profession, but the lure was the prospect of fabulous wealth…for the best race drivers. The prize money for a single victory ranged from 15-30 thousand sesterces up to 60,000 sesterces. If you were successful on the track and survived, you could earn a fortune and set yourself up for life…one such ace driver was Portuguese-born Gaius Appeuleius Diocles whose 24-year career netted him upward of 36,000,000 secterces from 1,462 victories. Diocles’ race winnings, valued today as equivalent to US$17 bn, would place him far above the superstar earnings of the Michael Jordans and Novak Djokovics of the modern era in sport (Kiger).

Diocles, champion of the Red team (source: earlychurchhistory.org)

Charioteers competed in teams under the aegis of factiones (factions) which like Formula One racing today, were under the control of team bosses/owners – these were different associations of contractors. The four principal factions, each one associated with a particular season and god, were known as the Reds, Blues, Greens and Whitesℂ. Each faction team had its own talent scouts whose job it was to find the most promising charioteers and horses, and each team had its own passionate tribal supporters base, much as we see today in professional football𝔻 (‘Chariot Races’, The Roman Empire in the First Century, www.pbs.org).

The four “colour” factions

The faction bosses bankrolled the whole operation of their teams, including the engagement of medical and veterinary staff, in return they took a cut of the drivers’ winnings. With customarily 12 charioteers in a race (three drivers from each team), teams pursued a stratagem of using their two lesser drivers to try to manoeuvre and block their opponents to maximise the chances of success of their team’s star driver (Formula One and contemporary professional cycling adopt similar team tactics in races) (‘Chariot Racing’, Travels Through Greco-Roman Antiquity, http://exhibits.library.villanova.edu).

A Roman mosaic of two famous race horses (source: earlychurchhistory.org)

Chariot racing revolved around money, not just for the drivers and factiones, betting on the outcome by the race-going “punters” was big business too. The Circus Maximus didn’t have on-course bookies or the TAB or Ladbrokes but betting was widespread on an individual basis. Prior to a race spectators in the seated areas or in the refreshment arcades would make private wagers with each other on the upcoming race.

Footnote: Hollywood does currus circenses ⟴⟴⟴ Most movie-watchers would have seen the 1959 biblical era blockbuster Ben-Hur, the Charlton Heston version immortalised for its epic 20-plus minutes chariot race. The race is a thrilling climax to the movie, accurately capturing the danger and drama of a real chariot contest in Ancient Rome, however much of what is shown veers away from historical verisimilitude…there are nine bronze dolphin lap counters, not seven, though the chariots are comparatively light as they needed to be. In Roman charioteering the race drivers were formed into teams (as outlined above), whereas in the film this is completely ignored with each competitor singularly representing different ethnicities (Jew, Roman, Arab, etc). Roman chariot races had staggered starts and starting gates (carceres) to negate the advantage to drivers nearest the inner wall or barrier (the spina), the movie is again historically out-of-kilter. First, the contestants line up one abreast, backing on to the the spina which seems to be borrowed from the way Formula One car races used to start in the 1950s, then they wheel round and start in a straight line across the sand-strewn track. Having Ben-Hur’s antagonist the elite Roman soldier Messala as a charioteer, is also all wrong…chariot drivers were recruited from the lower orders, slaves, freedmen, foreigners, they were infamis, the disreputable in society, men with a black mark against them. Lastly, Ben-Hur and Messala and the other drivers all hold the reins of their horses during the race, unlike what the Romans actually did, which was to tie the reins around the charioteer’s waist during the race (‘A Historian”).

‘Ben-Hur’, the iconic chariot race scene

𝔸 and the Byzantines continued the sport after the fall of Rome

𝔹 the quadriga races were the main event of the ludi circenses race day

ℂ the Blues and the Greens, the two largest factions, engaged in a fierce rivalry

𝔻 there were also occasionally spectator riots, as in football

Same Year, Same Subject Matter: Cinematic Happenstances

Posted on by funambulator@live.com
Cinema, Performing arts, Popular Culture

With hundreds and hundreds of feature films being churned out of Hollywood every year, I suppose it shouldn’t surprise too much when two separate and unrelated production companies find themselves working on a version of the same thing. Nonetheless it does seem something of an oddity, or at least a novelty, when it does occur, which isn’t very often in cinema history.

Source: pastposters.com

At least three instances of identical subjects being simultaneously made into features spring to mind. Who doesn’t know that the mythical or semi-mythical (depending on your point of view) English hero of Medieval fable and legend, Robin Hood, has been the subject of American and British feature films almost too many times to count? Ever since the early days of silent movies the silver screen (and later the TV screen) has been awash with iterations of Robin and his Lincoln green-daubed coterie of “Merry Men” locking horns with the Sheriff of Nottingham, Sir Guy of Gisborne and other assorted knaves and villains. But in the year 1991 moviegoers got two Robin Hood sagas🄰 to choose from, a big budget Hollywood number, Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves with Kevin Costner in the eponymous role. In a film stolen by Alan Rickman’s outrageously over-the-top, campy Sheriff of Nottingham🄱, apple pie American Costner’s non-attempt as an appropriate English accent was a talking point of the film. The behind-the-scenes scuttlebutt was that his initial plan to try to pull off a passable English accent was vetoed by the director (‘Actors who gave up on accents halfway through a movie’, Ben Falk, Yahoo, 13-Nov-2020, www.uk.movies.yahoo.com).

𝕐𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕔𝕙𝕠𝕚𝕔𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕒𝕔𝕖 𝕓𝕠𝕨𝕞𝕒𝕟: 𝔹𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕤𝕙 𝕠𝕣 ℂ𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕒𝕟 ℝ𝕠𝕓𝕚𝕟?

𓃰𓃰𓃰

Flashy ‘Prince of Thieves’ vs gritty, shadowy ‘Robin Hood’
The other 1991 RH vehicle, simply entitled Robin Hood, a UK production, was a smaller scale, more modest affair than ‘Prince of Thieves’. The two filmic versions—Hollywood vs Britain, Kevin Costner vs Patrick Bergin—were expected to go head-to-head in a battle at the box-office, but this was averted when the producers of the UK Robin Hood decided to send their version straight to cable (Fox) TV.

A surprising lack of rivalry existed between the two concurrently-working production teams. Because a number of the shoot locations were reasonably close to each other (Buckinghamshire, Cheshire, West Yorkshire, North Wales) there was a good bit of collaboration, eg, crew swaps between each movie’s SFX and stunt teams (‘The Surprise Cooperation between 1991’s two Robin Hood films’, Dan Cooper, Film Stories, 09-Apr-2021, www.filmstories.co.uk).

🏹 🏹 🏹

𝔻𝕦𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 ℍ𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕠𝕨𝕤: ℂ𝕒𝕣𝕠𝕝 𝕧 ℂ𝕒𝕣𝕣𝕠𝕝𝕝

𓃯𓃯𓃯

Two films about Hollywood’s original “Platinum Blonde”
1965 saw the release of two biopics about Jean Harlow, star Hollywood actress and screen sex symbol of the 1930s, both were titled simply Harlow. The first, a Magna Distribution Corp TV biopic starred Carol Lynley in the titular role and the second, from Paramount released five weeks later with a budget more than double. Carroll Baker played the Thirties sex siren. Magna and Paramount subsequently countersued each other alleging unfair competition. Both movies were critical and box office failures with nary a good word to say by anyone about either of them…DVD Talk summed them up as “two smutty movies” with little resemblance to the real Jean Harlow (‘Harlow (1965) v Harlow (1965)’, www.realtoldmovies.blogspot.com).

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Dual Doomsday message
The third concurrent double act on the screen has the most interesting relationship. In 1964 Hollywood made two Cold War-inspired films with a storyline about the US military launching a Doomsday bomb aimed at the Soviet Union. The tones of the respective movies are diametrically opposite however, Dr Strangelove is a farce and satire, comically lampooning the absurdity of the global nuclear standoff, whereas Fail Safe is a grimly serious dramatic thriller which plays it very straight. Dr Strangelove director Stanley Kubrick was alarmed to discover that Sidney Lumet was making a near identical movie…so concerned was Kubrick that Fail Safe with its similar content might undermine his pet project he got the production company Columbia Pictures to buy the distribution rights to Lumet’s film in order to delay its release for nine months. The wash-up from this head-start was that Dr Strangelove did far better business at the box office than the similarly themed Fail Safe and is the much better-known of the two movies today.

Images: Columbia Pictures

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🄰 there were actually three Robin Hoods in the works simultaneously at that time. The third RH intended to have Liam Neeson in the role ended up being canned prior to production starting

🄱 as one critic summed it up, “While Costner had been robbing from the rich, Rickman had been stealing the movie“, ‘Behind-the-scenes trouble during ”Robin Hood”’, Garth Pearce, Entertainment Weekly, 21-Jun-1991, www.ew.com

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Strangelove and his Cold Warrior Comrades, Art Imitating Life

Posted on by Sloane Snodgrasse
Cinema, Comparative politics, Futurism, International Relations, New Technology,, Popular Culture, World history,

Stanley Kubrick’s 1964 dark satire Dr Strangelove is a classic of the genre which comically probes the collective anxieties triggered in the West by the Cold War at its height in the early 1960s. Kubrick hammers home the utter absurdity of the prevailing nuclear standoff between the US and the Soviet Union and the consequential existential threat to the planet from the doctrine of Mutually Assured Destruction (MAD) and “Doomsday bombs”. The movie’s plot involves the unilateral unleashing of a preemptive strike on Moscow by a deranged US Air Force general and the Pentagon’s shoddy attempts at “management” of the crisis.

Sellers as Dr Strangelove

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Kubrick and his film co-writers Terry Southern and Peter George give us three dangerously over-the-top, lunatic fringe characters – two gung-ho hawkish military types, generals Turgidson and Ripper, and the eponymous “Dr Strangelove”𝟙. The central figure in the nuclear nightmare scenario, Dr Strangelove (played by Peter Sellers), is a former German Nazi technocrat turned US strategic weapons expert and scientific advisor to the US president Merkin Muffley (also Sellers). Strangelove is creepily sanguine about the prospect for humanity post-nuclear Holocaust, expanding on his vision of a 100-year plan for survival (for some)…a male elite ensconced in an underground bunker where they can sire a selective breeding program with a plurality of desirable females [‘Dr Strangelove (character)’, Kubrick Wiki, www.kubrick.fandom.com].

Wernher Von Braun (Photo: Mondadori via Getty Images)

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Strangelove a composite of various personages
Though characterised by caricature and satire, the film’s three wildest characters are recognisable among the actual political, military and scientific figures of the day in America. The heavy Middle European accent of Dr Strangelove, his authoritarian-Nazi mannerisms and regular references to “Mein Führer”, has led some observers to conclude that the character was based on German aerospace engineer Wernher von Braun, instrumental in the Nazis’ V-2 rocket project and after 1945 in the US designing space rockets for NASA (a view given countenance by one of the screenwriters Terry Southern). Others have added émigré Hungarian scientists John von Neumann and Edward Teller as models for Strangelove. Both men worked on the Super-bomb projects (A-Bomb, H-Bomb, C-Bomb) for the US government in the 1940s and 50s, and both were rabidly anti-communist and anti-Russian [P.D. Smith, Doomsday Men (2007)]. Teller in particular shared a number of Strangelove’s traits, eg, volatile nature, Soviet-fixated and obsessed with bombs, possessed of a prosthetic limb. It’s probably a reasonable bet that the there was something of the personality of all three men in Dr Strangelove, but other individuals were also sources of inspiration for the character.

Herman Kahn (Source: Alchetron)

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A Megadeath influencer from RAND
Another real-life figure widely associated with the Strangelove character is Herman Kahn, who was a physicist and military strategist with the RAND Corporation𝟚. Kubrick got the idea of a “Doomsday Machine” from Kahn whose 1960 book On Thermonuclear War posited the possibility of a winnable (sic) nuclear war. Kahn has been described as a “Megadeath Intellectual” with his robust insistence that the dangers of nuclear war were exaggerated (this also accords with the outlier position of General Buck Turgidson – see below)𝟛.

Gen. Jack Ripper (Photo: Columbia Pictures)

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Military madness
Maverick general in the Strategic Air Command Jack D Ripper (played by Sterling Hayden) is gripped by the all-consuming communist conspiracy hysteria. His belief in the loony notion that the Soviets have been fluoridating American water supplies to pollute the “precious bodily fluids” of Americans leads him to initiate a H-Bomb onslaught on the USSR without consulting the Pentagon. Ripper’s wild rhetoric and blustery style has been compared to Robert Welch, the rabid anti-communist founder of the ultra-conservative and reactionary John Birch Society. Ripper’s loopy claim about Soviet water contamination echoes Welch’s baseless anti-fluoridation allegations (‘How I Learned to Stop Worrying’).

Gen. LeMay (Image: Mort Kunstler / Stag)
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Expendable dead
Gen. Buck Turgidson (played by George C Scott) was largely modelled on four-star air force general Curtis LeMay𝟜. Turgidson is an unrepentant war hawk who wants to escalate Ripper’s nuclear attack on the Soviets, justifying it with the outrageous claim that it will result in only “limited” casualties from the ensuing superpower war, which in his estimate equates to 10 to 20 million dead! Like Turgidson LeMay danced to the beat of his own drum, he was well disposed towards a preemptive strike on the Russians and vociferously advocated nuclear strikes on Cuba during the Cuban Missile Crisis and on North Vietnam during the Indo-China War.

Gen. Turgidson (Scott) in the War Room (Columbia Pictures)

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The actions and statements of the clearly psychotic Ripper and morally reprehensible Turgidson convey insights into the level of paranoia gripping the real-life military commanders in the climate of the nuclear arms buildup in the Sixties. [Fred Kaplin, “Truth Stranger than ‘Strangelove‘“, New York Times, 10-Oct-2004, nytimes.com].

Fail Safe (1964)

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Footnote: Satirical Dr Strangelove v Serious Fail Safe
Intriguingly, at the same time Kubrick was making Dr Strangelove there was a separate film in the works also about an American nuclear attack on the USSR. Fail Safe dealt with the same subject but as a straight-up drama. In this second film about nuclear Armageddon the trigger to the catastrophic event however is not rogue generals but a technical glitch. Strangelove’s equivalent morality-free scientist character in Fail Safe is Professor Groeteschele (played by Walter Matthau) who draws similar comparisons with Herman Kahn.


𝄪𝄪𝄪𝄪𝄪𝄪𝄪𝄪𝄪𝄪𝄪𝄪𝄪𝄪𝄪𝄪𝄪𝄪𝄪𝄪𝄪𝄪𝄪𝄪𝄪𝄪𝄪𝄪𝄪𝄪𝄪𝄪𝄪𝄪𝄪𝄪𝟙
Dr Strangelove is broadly based on George’s novel Red Alert (1958), although the character of Dr Strangelove doesn’t appear in the novel
𝟚 mimicked in Dr Strangelove as the BLAND Corporation
𝟛 another Strangelove comparison is Henry Kissinger…suggested by a shared “eerie poise, lugubrious German accent and brutally pragmatic realpolitik” [Gary Susman, ‘Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb’, Time, 11-Feb-2013, www.entertainment.time.com]
𝟜 although behaviourally the Ripper character (“cigar-chomping, gruff-talking”) also resembles LeMay’s style