El hijo de Simbad

Son of Sinbad is a dull film, more or less only watchable at scan speed. But what redeems this film is the performances by some of the top names in burlesque during the 1950s. A big thanks to Howard Hughes and those responsible for making this film. Burlesque Queen Lili St. Cyr is breathtakingly beautiful, and wears some of the most glamorous and lavish costumes seen in any harem-themed movie. Wonderful exotic dancing sequences featuring Nejla Ates and Kalantan make this film a must-see for fans of burlesque. Unfortunately, there's no stiptease here, but Son of Sinbad features a bevy of beauties in colorful costumes that make for some delectable eye-candy. There's no doubt the girls are the main attraction here, with a little story, plot, and action built around them.

A couple years ago I taped Son of Sinbad but gave up on it when two of the early scenes involved a surprisingly long, mediocre dance sequence and a surprisingly long dialog between Lil' Sinbad and Omar Khayyam. But I'm an inveterate fan of the Eastern genre, and by 8 July 2008, when TCM ran a morning of Sinbad movies, I'd forgotten my earlier dismissal and gave the film a longer chance. The Houston Chronicle's TV Week gave it only one star, which is close enough, but a little patience is redeemed by offbeat treats and occasionally upscale production values.

As for the treats, Dale Robertson is a game Sinbad, Vincent Price is a trooper as Omar Khayyam, and eventually the onslaught of female pulchritude becomes embarrassingly charming in its exuberant abundance of blonde and redheaded Arab harem girls, sheer hosiery, intensive coiffures, and tear-away clothing that makes many of the dances more like G-rated strip routines. Wordsmith is right that the extended dance scenes throw off the film's pacing, but the action keeps recovering its pace, and the sets glow with the candy colors of 50s childhood.

False statements, repeated often enough, can reinforce false impressions. I believe this is what has happened to "Son of Sinbad". As a writer and aficionado of Grecianzed Near-Eastern adventures, I admire the construction of the plot, the dialogue, the characters and the execution of the visually-lovely little gem. I suppose some have fallen in with the maker's jest at Dale Robertson's Oklahoma accent; but in the main, he is charismatic, intelligent and virile in the part of the son of Sinbad, a man who loves adventure even more than he loves women and who is afraid of neither. The film is all but stolen by Vincent Price, essaying another bright comedic part as Omar Khayyam, poet and victim of Sinbad's ill fortune after he is caught leaving the Sultan's harem. Sally Forrest as Amir is lovely and does quite well with her difficult role as palace servant, secret agent, lover and jealous woman. Leon Askin is superb as the vainglorious Sultan, and Mari Blanchard is very good as a long-lost love, as is Jay Novello as the sinister court buffoon. The plot line is a good and straightforward one. The Mongols are threatening the Sultanate; Simon Aristides and his daughter come to court just in time to save Sinbad and Omar from being executed; when the old man is murdered for his secret of Greek fire, the atom bomb of the ancient world, Sinbad is allowed at his suggestion to take Omar with him and try to retrieve the weapon before the Mongol General who stole it can get its secret from Aristides' daughter and deliver it to his Mongol Khan. Enter Amir, and her organization, with whom Sinbad leagues to use the Greek fire in battle and destroy the Mongol general and his army. The satisfying conclusion of the film finds Sinbad second to the Sultan, his allies, female descendants of the forty thieves, as the Sultan's new bodyguards and Amir and Sinbad II united in matrimony. The film features four extended exotic dance numbers, with lovely music by Victor Young, rousing direction by action-film veteran Ted Tetzlaff, and a surprising number of interesting dialogue-rich scenes, some lovely outdoor scenery and some tongue-in-cheek humor at the Sultan's expense. The costumes are delightful, the art direction is colorful and very fine and Larry Germain's hairstylings are a great asset. This film was never intended to shock, as are so many bad recent films. Its maker, Howard Hughes, however, did intend it to violate silly taboos on the exhibition of females in film; the result is a movie than is fun, very attractively photographed and choreographed and a fine entertainment. If it has suffered, it is because those who have spoken most often about it have not seen it nor perhaps considered its many merits as an attractive "entertainment".

Sally Forrest's lush legs are wonderfully on display in a dance scene where she appears "Almost Nude!" Yummy. Corny but colorful not-so-serious adventure is enhanced by a dance scene that tends to tip it's hand to strip club dancing (complete with pole!) This segment is not as polished as her dance scene in "Excuse My Dust!" but she shows a lot more skin. Once again: Yummy!

Back when I first saw this, I was enchanted by the verses of Omar Khayyam (which I innocently supposed to be have been created for the script), excited by the spectacle, delighted to recognise allusions to so many familiar stories rolled into one, and heartily entertained by the comedy. Watching it again nowadays, I can't help noticing how the picture is completely dominated by the producer's desire to feature as many half-naked girls as can conceivably be shovelled into its slender plot.

Thanks to the engaging double-act of the two male leads (Vincent Price as Omar still steals the show) the film remains a watchable romp, but the extended dancing sequences threaten to wreck the otherwise brisk pacing. I suspect they either pall or enthral, according to taste. Where other "Sinbad" films will show you a few seconds of exotic dance as an establishing shot, this one lovingly retains the camera throughout the whole routine -- or several!

The heavy mining from other sources of legend -- whether the secret of Greek Fire (nowadays assumed to have been napalm), the conqueror Tamerlaine, the tale of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, or well-known lines from the Rubaiyat -- also now tends to suggest a certain laziness in the writing of the script, rather than inspiring a delighted recognition of familiar allusions. I'm afraid I'm probably too sophisticated these days to be able to enjoy "Son of Sinbad" whole-heartedly any longer... which in a way is a shame. It's still a lively adventure with a saving sense of the absurd and an unabashed penchant for spectacle, but I can't in all honesty rank it above the rest.