The imaginative power of the Arthurian legend is borne from its innate, ‘transposibility.’ Since its seminal origins in the Welsh poem, Y Gododdin (c.600.), every successive generation has illuminated and enhanced the existing elements by the lights of its own time. From a skeletal frame of ancient Celtic mythology, the legend was first captured in its entirety by the cohesive, although largely unsubstantiated, historical approach of the 12th century English Chronicler, Geoffrey of Monmouth, (Historia Regum Britanniae, c.1136). By the next phase of unified coherence, the legend had become rooted in Christian mythology, to which Malory’s Le Morte Darthur (c.1485) assimilated both the didacticism of chivalry and the lyricism of French romance. Sharpened by the modern sensibility of Alfred, Lord Tennyson and T.S. Eliot, the Arthurian legend of the twentieth century constitutes a complex cultural tapestry that has enjoyed equal appeal in both the popular and academic mind. Universally appreciated, it is only natural that the evolution of cinema would add a further dimension to the cultural kaleidoscope of Arthuriana. In John Boorman’s Excalibur (1981) one can identify a further spoke in the wheel of Arthurian understanding, lifting the legend from history and romance into archetypal myth. Although Boorman credits Le Morte Darthur as his literary source, he rejuvenates the entire Arthurian legend by paradoxically returning to what Jessie Weston, From Ritual to Romance, identifies as its primal source, the ancient mythic ‘Nature-Cults.’ By ignoring the Arthur of history and romance, his originality lies in the systematic re-working of the legend according to his own conception of the intrinsic power of myth:
Listen carefully to the echoes of myth. It has much more to tell us than the petty lies and insignificant truths of recorded history.
Revealed during the filming of Excalibur, Boorman’s comment on the fundamental truth invested in myth provides a telling insight into both his understanding of the Arthurian legend and the inspiration behind the film. Moving beyond the web of, ‘petty lies and insignificant truths,’ that have blanketed the story of King Arthur, Boorman abandons the unnecessary elements of recorded history (by which we can infer not only history in its truest form, but also the convoluted literary heritage of Malory’s narrative) to achieve a concentrated rendering of the legend’s mythological impact, ‘The film has to do with mythical truth, not historical truth.’ In so doing, Boorman attempts to draw the broad brushstrokes of the Arthurian legend into sustained focus, distilling what Northrop Frye identifies as the over-arching, determinative myths that underpin all literature. Accepting the notion that the power of all literature lies in its general shapes, the archetypal structures, one can understand how the Arthurian legend has not simply survived but rather thrived from generations of modification and reinterpretation. With this knowledge, Boorman approaches the legend of the Once and Future King not by following Malory’s example, but rather sets his film alongside the medieval literary work. By drawing inspiration from the same mythological source, ‘they are both treatments of a common legend, reflections on the same moment of the pseudo-past.’ Although he claimed to tell, ‘the whole story,’ of Le Morte Darthur, and acknowledges the medieval text as the source for his screenplay, it is evident that Boorman saw Excalibur as an innovation rather than an adaptation. Indeed, he told the actors, ‘that they are not reenacting a legend. They are creating it…’
Concentrating on the mythic structure of the legend, Boorman felt suitably justified departing from the narrative structure of Le Morte Darthur, through invention or rearrangement, in order to enhance the cinematic impact of his presentation. An impact not only determined by the powerful visual potential of cinema, but rather borne from the intimate unity of structure and meaning within myth itself. As Northrop Frye argues, the elemental rhythm of myth centres on the symbiotic relationship of man and nature, and is therefore inherently bound to the eternal cycle of the seasons, ‘the Myth of Spring, or Comedy; the Myth of Summer, or Romance; the Myth of Autumn, or Tragedy; and the Myth of Winter, or Satire.’ That Boorman recognised the skeletal structure of this monomythic cycle in the tale of the Once and Future King is apparent when Arthur declares:
Arthur:
The fellowship was a brief beginning,
A fair time that cannot be forgotten;
and because it will not be forgotten,
that fair time may come again.
Now once more I must ride with my knights
to defend what was, and the dream of
what could be.
-Excalibur, screenplay
Boorman could experiment with the elements he inherited from Malory because he understood that the fragmented episodes were hung on the unifying cycle of Life itself. As long as he maintained the chronology of past, present and future, his version of the Arthurian legend would echo the genetic rhythms of myth, and continue man’s infinite struggle to escape nature, ‘You can rearrange or extend or elide the order of events quite liberally without destroying the meaning.’ However, the abandonment of the overt dependence on Christianity in favour of what Jessie Weston claims to be its true origin, the ancient fertility rites practiced by Nature Cults, marks a radical departure from the conventional meaning of the Arthurian tradition. By looking beyond the didacticism of Christian interpretations, Boorman ignores the overriding spiritual importance given to the Grail Quest, and approaches the legend according to the natural cycle of Birth, Growth and Decay; thereby rejuvenating the myth of King Arthur in its entirety.
Boorman’s expansion of the Arthurian legend at the expense of the Grail legend intensifies the intimacy of meaning and structure. Although Boorman adopts the figure of Uther Pendragon and the dynastic fighting that characterised Dark-age Britain, he uses the chaos and destruction of that period, not to allude to Britain’s historical past, but rather to illustrate the necessary death and decay of one Life cycle, in order to give birth to another when Arthur becomes king. Boorman’s interest in the cycle of life and death is signaled from the outset. In Malory, Uther uses trickery to fulfill his lust for Igrayne sometime after the duke’s death, ‘And so thorowe his owne yssue the duke hym self was slayne or euer the kynge cam at the castel of Tyntigail.’ In Excalibur, the duke dies at the very moment Uther fulfills his desire. By synchronisisng Arthur’s conception and the Duke of Cornwall’s death, Boorman creates a powerful impression of the climactic moment when one cycle ends and another begins. More than this, Boorman provides a blueprint for the inevitable upward movement of Arthur’s kingship, the subsequent downward turn as king and land lose momentum, and most important of all, the future hope that silhouettes the tragedy of Arthur’s death.
Through the undulating cycle of generations, Boorman ingeniously threads three immutable elements: the mystical figure of Merlin; the sword Excalibur, symbol of royal authority; and finally the destructive potential of human passion. By raising the importance of Merlin and Excalibur, Boorman places his version of the story in line with Celtic developments. Stripped of the imposed overtones of Christianity, Boorman restores the link to Celtic druidism by making Merlin the mediator between king and Otherworld. As revealed in the ancient text, Dio Chrysostom, Forty-ninth Discourse, Celtic culture hinged on the primacy of the druid role, which even overshadowed that of king, ‘the kings were not permitted to do or plan anything without the assistance of these wise men.’ In compliance with this, Boorman transforms the emblem of Excalibur into the Celtic cup of kingship; ‘I need the sword to be king;’ thereby proving the Otherworld’s confirmation of royal authority. That Boorman took these two Celtic tokens to be the main source of the myth’s energy is evident in both the original title of his film, Merlin Lives, and the final title, Excalibur. However, Excalibur is not a Celtic myth. The magical function that Merlin performs, as the channel between the natural and the supernatural, relates not to Celtic practice, but further back, to the ritual practice of Vegetation cults. Thus, ‘the ultimate object of Magic in all ages was, and is, to obtain control of the sources of Life.’ Viewed in this light, The Charm of Making and the emblem of the Dragon, become metaphors for the violent energy invested in nature, and thus Life, ‘A beast of such power that if you were to see it whole...it would burn you to cinders.’ In so doing, Boorman echoes man’s timeless fantasy to harness nature’s power and become god. By subscribing to the ‘sword and sorcery’ format, Merlin also performs a degree of commercial magic, following the likes of George Lucas’ Star Wars to ensure box-office success.
The third strand, human passion, is the most explicit application of Weston’s theory. At every decisive stage of Boorman’s Excalibur it is human error that defies nature and prompts supernatural retaliation. At the beginning of the film, it is Uther’s strength and virility, ‘I am the strongest! I am the One!,’ that earns him the right to be king. It is no coincidence that this parallels what Weston’s, From Ritual to Romance, discovers from J. G. Frazer’s, The Golden Bough; that the Arthurian legend is borne from the ritualistic killing practiced amongst primitive tribes in order to maintain the virility of its ruler. Testing the ruler’s virility is intimately connected to the crucial concept at the heart of all vegetation myth: that the condition of land and ruler are one. In Excalibur, Boorman is eager to enforce this understanding of Arthur’s kingship:
Merlin:
You will be the land,
And the land will be you.
If you fail, the land will perish;
If you thrive, the land will blossom.
- Excalibur, screenplay.
If we accept the principle that the king’s right to rule is dependent on a harmonious relationship with nature, what Weston sees as the Divine principle of Life and Fertility, it is the instant when human passion wishes to operate outside, and therefore against, the natural cycle of Birth, Growth and Decay that ensures future cataclysm. In Boorman’s mythology, the crime against nature is made literal; the agents of the supernatural, Excalibur, Merlin and Morganna, all arrest nature’s course in some fundamental way. Since the crime is literal, so is the punishment. The Otherworld responds by razing the land to waste. Though the wasteland is accepted as an important motif in both the Celtic and Christian versions of the Arthurian legend for Boorman, the crisis of the Arthurian world is not an isolated event. It is the culmination of a complicated chain of events that stem from an initial violation of nature. The initial violation is of course Uther’s demand that Merlin quench his insatiable lust for Igrayne through magic, although he knows that it will return the land to chaos, ‘The alliance I forged is wrecked.’ By ranking the prosperity of one above that of many, Uther betrays the Otherworld and is subsequently abandoned. The sexual desire that creates Arthur sets the seed of his future success but also his future doom. For it is the violence surrounding his conception that makes Morganna fatherless, corrupting the one whom ultimately forces Arthur to atone for the sin of his father.
Boorman increases the complexity of the wasteland motif by knitting the judgement of Uther’s crime together with Arthur’s own. After accepting his role as king and consolidating the barbarous factions into a unified land, Boorman shows how Arthur is weakened by arrogance. The fatal flaw is dramatically exposed by the initial encounter with Lancelot du Lac, ‘Sire, your rage has unbalanced you.’ The strength and virility of the, ‘mightiest and fairest of knights,’ ought to displace the weakened authority of the ruler, as demonstrated by the Vegetation cults of Weston and the example of Uther. Yet Arthur ignores the will of nature, drawing on the supernatural power of Excalibur to maintain his pride at the expense of the land:
Arthur:
This excellent knight who fought
With fairness and grace was meant
To win. With Excalibur, I tried
To change that verdict.’
-Excalibur, screenplay
Arthur redeems himself by acknowledging the offense and commanding Merlin to restore Lancelot through magic. However, his error has been made and his fate simply prolonged. The cracks in the paradise of Camelot rapidly begin to widen. Lacking proper leadership, the land begins to fall into decadence and decay, ‘We have lost our way, Arthur.’ Lancelot’s virility returns to haunt Arthur, as the scandal of Guinevere’s affection for his champion smashes the physical and spiritual unity of his Round Table. Arthur’s redundant status as ruler is ultimately confirmed by the fulfillment of Merlin’s prophecy, ‘Guenevere. And a beloved friend who will betray you.’ At the second instance of sexual crime, Lancelot and Guinevere’s adulterous encounter, Boorman yokes Arthur’s infertility and the ruin of the land in the powerful image of the abandoned Excalibur plunged between the coiled lovers. Although shocked by Arthur’s discovery of their betrayal, it is the nightmare future of the land without a king, symbolised by the abandoned, ‘symbol and sceptre,’ of leadership, that sends Lancelot screaming, ‘The King without a sword – the land without a king!’ Although Boorman must acknowledge Weston et al for the dramatic juxtaposition of Lancelot’s virility and Arthur’s impotence, the complex layering of meaning and imagery is his own. The death and decay of an impotent world is strikingly underscored by Morganna’s usurpation of power and Merlin’s banishment. With the guiding light of Merlin gone, and the symbol of royal probity abandoned, Morganna is free to suspend nature once again. Tricking Arthur into a third sexual crime of incest, Morganna uses the supernatural to conceive Mordred, who will eventually force Arthur to bear the consequences of his father’s crime.
With the guiding light of Arthur’s strongest support gone, his champion, Lancelot, and his mentor, Merlin; compounded by the ruination of his knights, his adulterous wife, and his own incest, Boorman establishes the wasteland sequence with unprecedented thoroughness. Foreshadowed by a definite sense of desperation and division, Boorman skillfully sweeps into the infamous quest for restoration and regeneration: the search for the Grail. Those who ascribe to a rigid, conventional, understanding of Arthuriana, which as I have illustrated runs contrary to the legend’s chameleon spirit, criticise Boorman for failing to adequately prepare for the Grail quest, treating it, ‘as if the Grail were some misplaced lunchbox.’ Boorman’s focus is archetypal, and archetypes are universally accepted and recognised. If they do not necessarily hang together as we would like, who are we to question why? Boorman’s Grail is not misplaced; it is relocated. Stripped of the officious effects of Christianity, the mystery of the Grail and King Arthur, that is its life-blood, is returned. If Boorman had brought the Grail into focus from the beginning, through conversation or otherwise, he would have taken away its vitality. It is the suddenness and unexpected nature of the hope of remedy, provided by the Grail and doubled by the re-discovery of Excalibur, that is the tour de force of Boorman’s vision. For if the destruction of human passion can be relied upon, so too can the capacity for redemption.
Coupling the Grail’s power with the hope of remedy is perhaps the most consistent aspect of the Arthurian legend. Yet Boorman’s ingenuity lies in the conflation of the King as ruler, the Grail King as questor, the injury/infertility of the Maimed/Fisher King, and the land, making the Grail a universal medicine. By making Arthur, ‘the hapless lord of the Wasteland,’ Boorman ignores the didactic drive for celestial chivalry and religious devotion that blurred the focus of many traditional Grail texts. Restoring Arthur to the centre of his myth, Boorman effectively illustrates how his initial crime as king, his conscious disruption of nature, forced error onto others as Uther’s crime eventually becomes forced upon him:
Arthur:
I have lived through others
Far too long! Lancelot carried my
Honor and Guenevere my guilt. My
Knights have fought my causes.
Mordred carries my sins. Now,
At last, I shall be King.
-Excalibur, screenplay
To be King, Arthur must confront his moral responsibility for the sins of the land. Made literal, as with all myth, by the physical conquest of the sin manifest in Mordred. Thus, Boorman’s Grail becomes the sign and substance that will end one dying cycle and give birth to another. After receiving the Grail, the land and king are reborn and not simply healed or restored, ‘You will be reborn and the land with you.’ By making Perceval Excalibur’s successful quest knight, rather than, Gawain, Boorman shows his willingness to depart from a literary tradition that used the Grail adventure to extol, ‘chivalric reputation and glory.’ Instead Boorman alludes to the Perceval versions which present the Grail quest as a search for knowledge and a deeper truth. Viewed in this light, Arthur’s declaration, ‘We must find what was lost,’ becomes a self-reflexive development to rediscover the nature of Kingship and thus resurrect the land. But an intermediary must perform this function; the knight who becomes rudely aware that he is not and never will be king or god, validates the Divinity of he that is. The knowledge of the Grail restores the unity of land, king, and god, ‘You are Arthur,’ resolving the circle of destruction that began when Arthur used Excalibur to assault the course of nature and lost the right to be King, ‘I am nothing.’
The circular unity that Boorman creates in the film, Excalibur, concentrates the power of the Arthurian legend. Though the visual potential unique to film, along with the thematic suggestiveness of music, increase the film’s aesthetic maturity, it is the density of meaning imbued in myth that demonstrates Boorman’s true mastery. For those who understand Arthuriana with a rigid notion of what is and what is not acceptable; an approach which looks beyond the formative influence of developed religion, be it Celtic or Christian, will undoubtedly be gauged as confused, impoverished, or hopelessly muddled. That Boorman moves the legend forward, not simply through the modern technology of cinema, but by paradoxically returning to the clarity of its ancient role as a vegetation myth, is ingenious. Of course, there are problems, and the film has received criticism, but it must be remembered that it is the scourge of Arthurian material that it is never complete without the legacy of that which came before. Certainly, there are errors that are inexcusably Boorman’s own. At times the urge to complicate, entwining layers of meaning and action, makes the film, ‘often structurally unclear, at times thematically confused.’ At others, problems of writing, casting and acting take the film closer to Monty Python than Malory. The ‘near-atrocious’ dialogue, capturing classic interchanges like, ‘What are you afraid of? / I don’t know. / Would you like me to tell you? / Yes please;’ the decision to cast young Arthur as an idiotic Irish yokel; and Nicol Williamson’s Steptoe inspired performance as Merlin, all threaten to reduce the film to farce. But cutting through all this is the relentless cycle of Boorman’s myth, resurrecting the Once and Future King, ‘to defend what was, and the dream of what could be.’
Bibliography:
Harty, Kevin, ed. Cinema Arthuriana: Essays on Arthurian Film
(Garland: London, 1991)
McConnell, Frank, Storytelling and Mythmaking
(Oxford Univ. Press, 1979)
Weston, Jessie, From Ritual to Romance
(Princeton Univ. Press, 1957)
Lecture Notes: Arthurian Legends module.
Texts:
Malory, Thomas, Le Morte Darthur, Web Version.
Pallenberg, Rospo and Boorman, John, Excalibur screenplay
(available at the official Excalibur website.)
Darren Withers
Newcastle University Arthurian Legend: ELL 254
Extended Study 7: ELL 356
