POPEYE. Cinematic creative extravagance and artistic chaos

Created in 1929 by Elzie Crisler Segar, the sailor with a heart of gold, a fiery nature, and an inseparable pipe in his mouth quickly became one of the most recognizable cartoon characters. This was all due to his love for spinach, which gives him almost superhuman strength, and through which people tried to encourage children to eat vegetables. In his own way, Popeye – known in pre-war Poland as Kubuś, with adventures translated also as Ferdek and Merdek – is one of the first superheroes of modern pop culture. It’s no surprise then that he easily transitioned from one medium to another – first to cartoons, and in 1980 to cinema, brought by Paramount, Disney Studios, and… Robert Altman.

Artificial, defecating pelican; an artificial, highly theatrical town, worked on by 165 men in Malta for over half a year; artificial, balloon-like forearms of the main character, unfinished by the time the first scene was shot; and an artificial, very sluggish octopus, for which there was no budget left in the twenty-million-dollar project. These are some of the attractions offered by the work of a creator usually known for serious, ambitious, mosaic stories. This time, Altman created neither a comedy nor an adventure film, nor a musical – a film that sometimes amuses and other times just embarrasses or simply bores. He did so with a purely blockbuster scale, giving us a colorful world of contrasts, lively comic-book-like, charmingly exaggerated, and deliberately twisted. Yet at the same time, it’s presented without much conviction, lacking the vigor and dynamism of the mentioned animations. And it feels somewhat, despite everything, poor.

It’s enough to say that Robin Williams’ mumbling is hard to understand for most of the time (despite re-recording the dialogues in the studio as the on-set ones were unusable). The future comedy icon – here in his first leading role – constantly mutters something under his breath, leaving the viewer confused with little understanding of his babble. And the songs by Harry Nilsson appear out of nowhere, delivered rather half-heartedly – more recited by the actors than performed in the grand, engaging style to which this genre has accustomed us. Moreover, the screen is frequently flooded with various types of slapstick, which almost completely overshadows the core of the story, becoming a form of expression that competes with the rest of the film and is easy to get lost in (especially with the debut of the rubber man, Bill Irwin).

In this clutter of exaggerated gags, only some of which genuinely hit the mark, practical effects are still occasionally visible, and you can spot a few familiar faces – including Linda Hunt (another debut), Donald Moffat (The Thing), and Dennis Franz of Die Hard 2 fame as a bar thug. This all adds up to nearly two hours of screening in the safe PG category, suitable for the whole family. Considering the year of this production – made before the birth of the much-maligned PG-13 rating – it’s easy to conclude that parts of this show would not pass through Hollywood’s self-awareness unscathed today (By Teutates! The entire cast is white!!!).

The sequence of generally disconnected vocal-physical performances is somewhat held together by a screenplay that at least makes some sense (fortunately only in the allegorical way). Our hero Popeye arrives in the seaside town of Sweet Haven – in search of the father who left him in childhood. There, he finds a gallery of bizarre characters straight out of the worst nightmare of a drunken tax official, including Olive Oyl (Shelley Duvall, born for this role) and her impulsive boyfriend, the gigantic Bluto (also perfectly cast Paul L. Smith), who literally shakes the whole area. The rest of the events can be… well, imagined. Love and male conflict of interests hover in the air here.

And it must be admitted that the chemistry between the three main characters saves this farce from complete failure. Despite technical difficulties, they share a palpable chemistry, understanding the nature of their characters well and seeming to have fun with their portrayals – especially noticeable compared to the rest of the colorful but flat and expressionless individuals. These are faithful to the spirit of the original creations – particularly in Popeye’s relationship with spinach, which he initially does not like, just as in the first issues of his adventures, where he drew strength from… rubbing a magical bird named Bernice (sic!). Fortunately, the filmmakers restrained their absurdity, at least in this regard, so Popeye does not offend the eyes.

Ultimately, the whole project can be compared to another cult comic-based film of the ’80s, released the same month as Popeye – Flash Gordon. In both cases, we see no ambitions, the execution leaves much to be desired (especially after years when all effects look stiff), but kitsch and tackiness pour from the frames in hectoliters. Yet Altman – who cast his grandson, Wesley Ivan Hurt, as baby Swee’ Pea – staged it all so joyfully that it’s no wonder some easily get carried away by this charming nonsense, almost a pure definition of guilty pleasure, aka so bad it’s good.

At the time, it was quite a hit, earning three times its budget at the box office, avoiding crushing critical reviews (Roger Ebert gave it three and a half stars out of four!). And though it didn’t escape some anti-awards, generally the public liked film Popeye – at least as much as possible. Evidence of this is that the film town still stands untouched in Anchor Bay almost four decades after filming ended, attracting crowds of tourists every year.

Whatever one may think of its quality, Popeye is indeed a rare example of cinematic creative extravagance, artistic chaos, and kitsch-laden ornamental splendor.