A strange Spanish-American barbarian movie from the '80s, Hundra is surprisingly more interesting and entertaining than it should be.
A bizarre mix of feminist commentary, Carry On humour and Emmanuelle sauciness with strong overtones of a Gorean obsession with submissive women, the film actually has some pretty decent - and long - action sequences.
Hundra (Laurene Landon) survives a brutal raid on her all-female village and, after single-handedly killing the dozen or so raiders (in an incredible, prolonged fight), is charged by the village elder (a waffling, decrepit old crone who also provides the amusing and overly serious narration) to seek out a man she can use to repopulate the tribe.
Man-hating Hundra makes some poor choices along the way - including a foul, belching, farting slaver that she ends up fighting rather than mating with in an utterly bizarre, and almost silent, scene (the slaver never says a single word during his whole time on screen).
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| Laurene Landon |
Eventually Hundra arrives at a nameless city (the entire world is one of those generic, sub-Conan, dusty environments where places and tribes have no names - because that would have been too much effort for the writers) where she falls in love with the local healer, Pateray (Ramiro Oliveros) - using the best opening/chat-up line ever: "You will mate with me and make a baby" - then gets mixed up with shenanigans at the local Temple Of The Bull (a knocking shop and baby factory for local warlords).
By no means a great movie, Hundra orbits around mediocre but is saved from total oblivion by its well-choreographed (and often slo-mo) fight scenes, the coquettish charms of Ms. Landon and its humour (some deliberate, some accidental).
The movie also features a strong score by Ennio Morricone that swings from epic grandeur to Benny Hill zaniness in its scope.