35 years after its release, "Excalibur" remains a flawed but worthy exploration of the power of myth

It's not just about the sword.

Mankind has always loved myths. Stories of transcendent forces and larger-than-life figures have always helped us both to make sense of the world and our place in it, to relate to one another, and to understand ourselves. And don't think that myths are just the irrational product of a pre-civilized age. The patterns and forms of even our most primal myths can and do work their way, sometimes subtly, and often more obviously, into all of our art, and even into the very fabric of our lives.

One of the most enduring myths of Western civilization is the legend of King Arthur, that fabled unifier of Britain, assembler of the Knights of the Round Table, wielder of Excalibur, discoverer of the Holy Grail, and much, much more. The main features of Arthurian legend proceed from some of mankind's most basic mythic archetypes; the quest for immortality that the Holy Grail represents goes back at least to the Epic of Gilgamesh, the earliest surviving work of great literature, for example. But, as part of the mythic dialectic of mankind's cultural storytelling memory, these aspects of Arthurian legend have become archetypes in themselves, receiving both literal and more subtle adaptation.

One can count Excalibur, released exactly 35 years ago today (and briefly seen in Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice), among the more literal adaptations, and also, incidentally, one of the bigger-budgeted and more famous. A relatively straightforward adaptation* by John Boorman** (who directed, co-wrote, and produced) of Thomas Mallory's early Renaissance Arthurian recapitulation L'Morte d'Arthur, Excalibur hits those basic beats mentioned above, and some of the other ones that people probably forget about (the stories of Uther, Mordred, Morgana, etc).

Though Arthurian legend is easily mocked, Excalibur evades easy mockery. Begin with the cast. The recently-deceased Nigel Terry largely sells the character of Arthur despite having had, as a 35-year-old man, to play Arthur at every stage of his life, from teenager to aged king. Nicol Williamson's Merlin is a delight, and he is set against a young Helen Mirren as a deliciously evil Morgana (the duo was cast in part because they did not get along in a stage performance of Macbeth). Nicholas Clay realizes the dashing exterior and simultaneous inner torment of Lancelot. It's also fun to see some other not-yet-famous actors in some of their earliest roles. In addition to Mirren, we see a young Liam Neeson, and a Patrick Stewart who looks...pretty much exactly the same.

Some thematic elements, moreover, elevate the film above a mere retelling of Arthurian legend. Despite being an epic tale, much of the drama of the plot centers on the consequences of all-too-human lust. In truth, there is no contradiction here; I can think of several key instances in the Odyssey, the Iliad, and the Aeneid--three of Western literature's greatest epics--over which lust looms large. In all of these cases, it makes sense, and reinforces the fact that much of the power of even epic stories derives from their relation to and revelation of basic aspects of the human experience.

There is also the intriguing theme, somewhat understated in the film, of the rise of the Christian God and the fall of the pagan gods, and the concomitant elevation and subsuming, respectively, of the parts of culture and of the human mind that these two very different worldviews draw from and represent. 

The overall style of the film, moreover, feels appropriate for the story it is telling--in visual style, and, perhaps most strongly, in its music***. Indeed, at least one piece of classical music probably owes its oddly prominent place in popular culture to its excellent use in the film:



Yet much of Excalibur feels contrived and disjointed. It rolls through the biggest hits of the Arthurian legend catalogue, but often in an overly picaresque fashion that limits or thwarts altogether the development of certain characters. The narrative introduces certain plot elements--particularly, the Holy Grail itself--in a haphazard, artificial way that makes them seem obligatory rather than natural parts of the story being told. This major storytelling defect makes the film seem fundamentally hollow at times.

It also renders some of the drama of this purportedly epic fantasy film surprisingly limited in scope and scale; missing are some of the grand battles and far-ranging adventures you'd expect in a film like this. Finally, it leads to some of those dreaded beasts for a work of fiction: plot holes.**** The basic flaw of Excalibur is that the powerful myths that support its story become at times not natural parts of the film but crutches. The film, at its worst, treats these myths as objects for their own sake, forcing them in without considering what they mean or represent, or treating them as part of a larger, more coherent whole. 

And yet, for all my digs on the film, it's hard to beat the power of its final scenes, when the myth, the music, and the mood all come together:


The best parts of Excalibur (such as the scene above) show that, even when myth becomes a sort of crutch--as it does in much of the film--it still speaks to something powerful about the human experience: the patterns and cycles of our very lives and our very beings, the seemingly forgotten but eternally-recurrent remnants of our distant past, and the truth behind all myth.

*In addition to John Boorman, the film was made possible by the efforts of the amazingly-named "Irish Film Stunt Squad," whose inclusion in the credits singlehandedly justified, in this instance, my frequent insistence on watching the credits of movies to look for the best production crew titles, and contributes to the film's thoroughgoing Irishness.
**As an aside, this, Excalibur was almost an adaptation of The Lord of the Rings, and much of the casting, production, and set design was done with The Lord of the Rings in mind. Having known that before watching the movie, I could not help but see this everywhere (Excalibur's Camelot could have easily doubled as Rivendell). I also enjoyed thinking about potential casting: Nigel Terry as Aragorn? Percival as Frodo? Nicol Williamson (Merlin) as Gandalf (or Saruman)? Patrick Stewart (Leondegrance in the film) as Elrond (or Gandalf?) Helen Mirren as Galadriel (or Saruman)? Nicholas Clay (Lancelot) as Legolas? Liam Neeson (Sir Gawain, gruff, flawed, and yielding to temptation) as Boromir? It's almost as fascinating a "what-if" as the Stanley Kubrick-directed, Beatles-starring Lord of the Rings movie that almost came together in the 60s.
***But my favorite music from the film is that not composed for it, interestingly enough.
****How, for example, does Guinevere remove Excalibur from the ground after an angry Arthur strikes it in when he finds her sleeping with Lancelot?