"They're gladiators but, you see, they're ladies!" - presumed pitch for The Arena*
Oh Roger Corman. The hallmarks of the superhero producer litter this perfect piece of exploitation nuttiness: logistical gaps, often unnecessary violence/sex every ten minutes, badass ladies and imagery straddling the line between sexist and empowerment. Yet between action beats and women being cruelly/titillatingly hosed down because they just have to be right that second it's been too long since see we saw boobs, the film remains immensely entertaining. This ability keep audience enjoyment boiling is Corman's most prominent watermark during his 1970's / New World Pictures heyday and it lovingly stains every frame. He makes a kind of "aristocratic sleaze", a quality style often transcending 42nd Street standards. Most Corman produced films of this era follow the Corman formula (Cormula? I regret nothing...) yet can claim a consistent level of cinematic sophistication when scrutinized against the traditional schlock polluting many of America's grindhouses. The freedom allowed to young directors within limited budgets helped propel the Corman library above its competitors. Steve Carver was handed his first feature with The Arena (after impressing the illustrious producer with a student short adaptation of The Telltale Heart, understandable with Roger's hard-on for Poe) and while he hits all the exploitation notes with gusto, there is an excitement, a kineticism in many of the shots displaying a hungry new talent eager to brag amongst minuscule resources.
The camera jostles during a hectic capture scene, dollies through the woods using varying focal planes, and may begin on a sword thrust in the ground post-combat only to twirl and rise simultaneously ending on movement following a character out of the battle-pit. Lens flares are embraced and the entirety of the scope frame is filled. The sets at Cinecitta Studios are milked for all they're worth and help distract from obvious post-dubbing (an expected "flaw", considering it was shot in Italy after all). Even the fight choreography often stands above the dull and lumbering "sword and sandal" schematics while employing an energetic assemblage courtesy of Piranha/Gremlins director Joe Dante (a favorite editor of Corman's at this point). These elements, along with charismatic performances all around relegate obvious shortcomings to endearing trivialities (which in my opinion is the definition of 'high-end exploitation'). This one stands out despite subject matter that could be deemed "unseemly" by a prick with whom none of us want to converse.
What a perfect concept for an exploitation piece though. Women are kidnapped from the countryside or, in Mamawi's case, other continents and forced to entertain an increasingly weary Roman populace with the novelty of girl fights. The balance between "tee hee fighting is hard for us ladies" training scenes and ass-kicking female-led revolt Spartacus-style against cruel male leaders makes for a a strange amalgam of sensibilities on screen.
But like many Corman films women are both objectified and empowered so as to appeal to the largest demographic of filmgoers. It works beautifully and in the end, while perhaps not triggering joviality in the pit of Gloria Steinem's chest, it's a positive tale of women escaping their social and literal shackles.
Plunging deeper, there is an undercurrent of racism and fear over fickle mob mentalities. Mamawi's rookie one-on-one combat is against a peer who declares herself a child of Rome to the crowd, setting their rage aflame. How dare a Roman be forced to battle for amusement! A new opponent of a more foreign blood is located and tossed into the fray. Upon Mamawi's victory, the irate audience demands she end the life of her supine foe. Even the surrogate Caesar leading these games appears horrified by their craving of death but succumbs to their wishes, instructing our protagonist to hastily discard the challenger with her trident though not before an arrow pierces her arm as a not-so-subtle nudge toward murder after initial hesitation. This vulgar display of power plants the seeds for an estrogenic gladiatorial revolution against the militaristic society, a revolt spearheaded by a black woman. Progressive!
But like many Corman films women are both objectified and empowered so as to appeal to the largest demographic of filmgoers. It works beautifully and in the end, while perhaps not triggering joviality in the pit of Gloria Steinem's chest, it's a positive tale of women escaping their social and literal shackles. | ||
| The crowd awaits Terrence Malick's decision |
This is prime exploitation, functioning as both pure entertainment and sly social commentary. I expect only the best from Roger Corman.Except for when he makes shit.
*This jokey opening was indeed confirmed upon viewing the dvd extras