Centuries of Arthuriads suggest that every age
creates its own version of the great saga, probably the most important single
myth for literature in Western Europe, particularly in Great Britain. The many
stories of knightly valor and honor, the fellowship of the Round Table, the
grand quest for the Holy Grail have inspired countless works, including poems,
novels, plays, operas, films, animated cartoons, and comic strips.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย As
long as civilization endures, that narrative should never perish. Claiming that
their work is the “definitive” version of those oft-told tales, the makers of
the new movie King Arthur, however,
almost succeed in the difficult task of obliterating the accumulated wonders of
an ancient tradition.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย Grounding
the marvelous, energizing legends in someone’s idea of “history” rather than
depending upon the gradual accretions of time, racial and individual memory,
and some actual human imagination, the filmmakers rob the tales and the
characters of most of their excitement and all of their magic. Instead they
substitute a literal, heavy handed, and entirely dubious interpretation of the
material.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย Despite
all the obvious expense and its highly publicized authenticity, the makers of
the new King Arthur transform their
source into a ridiculously inflated, nervously self conscious, and abysmally
dull version of a story that should be almost impossible to tell badly.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย According
to the absurd script, the original Arthur is not British but a fifth-century
Roman soldier named Lucius Artorius Castus (Clive Owen), the half-British,
half-Roman commander of a unit of Eastern European cavalry in the service of
Emperor Marcus Aurelius. He and his men, among them such famous names as
Lancelot, Gawain, Galahad, Bors, and Tristan — the names don’t sound terribly
Eastern European, but that’s about as close as the movie approaches to the
Knights of the Round Table — defend one group of Britons against the Woads
and the Saxons.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย Since
all the characters tend to look and dress alike, the alleged ethnic differences
rarely emerge from among the crowds of extras, and the particular points of
dispute that motivate the central conflict never really emerge from the murky
conception, the confused plot, and the mists of time.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย Once
they introduce the familiar figures, the filmmakers either forget about the
characters or simply employ them as movable cardboard cutouts, largely just
filling space and now and then answering to their names so we can occasionally
tell them apart. The movie begins, for example, with Lancelot (Ioan Gruffudd),
but that major Arthurian personage soon settles into a minor role, never
allowed the famous romance with Guinevere (Keira Knightley) or the betrayal of
his friend and sovereign. The Round Table itself suffers a population decline,
so that the one scene in which it appears, with a few empty chairs scattered
around, suggests something of the sadness and desolation of a restaurant after
closing time.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย Aside
from depopulating the company of noble warriors, the writer and director also
transform the rich fantasy of the stories, its speaking landscape and marvelous
figures, into something drab and dreary. Merlin, the great magician (Stephen
Dillane), for example, here exercises no special powers, foretells no future,
provides no advice to Arthur, but simply serves as the leader of the Woads, at
first Arthur’s enemy, then later his ally.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย Denied
even a hint of a flirtation with Lancelot, Guinevere straps herself into some
sort of harness, paints herself blue and joins Arthur’s forces, firing arrows
all over the place and acquitting herself as well as any of the soldiers, no
doubt another moment of fifth-century authenticity.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย Aside
from the vast disappointment of the script, for all its battle scenes, the
movie rarely attains any sense of life. The repeated skirmishes of various
sizes all begin to look alike, the characters barely acquire even a modicum of
individuality or differentiation, the lighting too appropriately suits the Dark
Ages, and the emotional tone seldom transcends the lugubrious. Clive Owen’s
stolid manner, saturnine face, and graceless movements suggest not so much a
fierce Roman warrior, the man who would be king, or the lover of Guinevere, as
some minor movie heavy dressed up in the wrong clothes and feeling quite
uncomfortable about the whole business.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย The
writer, David Franzoni, and the director, Antoine Fuqua, deserve some odd kind
of credit for an act of reverse alchemy. Inheriting a cast of characters and an
immortal narrative that inspired artists as different as Malory, Tennyson, Mark
Twain, Wagner, T.S. Eliot, and Raymond Chandler, they turned all that shining
golden possibility into a dull, leaden story with only the barest suggestion of
any beauty or even meaning. If King
Arthur really is their version of history, most of us, I am sure, would
much prefer the myth.
King Arthur (PG-13), starring Clive Owen, Ioan Gruffudd, Keira Knightley, Maos
Mikkelsen, written by David Franzoni, directed by Antoine Fuqua. Cinemark Tinseltown, Loews Webster,
Pittsford Plaza Cinema, Regal Culver Ridge, Regal Eastview, Regal Greece Ridge,
Regal Henrietta.
This article appears in Jul 14-20, 2004.
