Skip to main content

It’s a table. You sit at it.

King Arthur: Legend of the Sword
(2017)

(SPOILERS) I can certainly see why Guy Ritchie’s latest has flopped. Audiences weren’t interested in what he was selling, and what he was selling was very clear from the trailers (it’s the same with Ghost in the Shell; all these post-mortems offering a list of reasons why really boil down to whether those two-and-a-half minutes are appealing, not whether Charlie Hunnam’s a star or Scarlett Johannsson can open a movie). Much weaker movies become hits every year, so it was his take on King Arthur – which, like everything Ritchie gets his paws on, immerses itself in laddish camaraderie – not it being the umpteenth retelling of Camelot per se, that put them off. And I can relate to the disinterest; I want my Arthurian legends to be steeped in just that: legend. Make them too immediate, relevant or – as was the case with Antoine Fuqua’s King Arthur a decade ago – mundane, and the audience will give them a wide berth. But, for all that I’m not a fan of the approach Ritchie took, this is still a Guy Ritchie movie, which means stylistically there’s much to enjoy in King Arthur: Legend of the Sword despite yourself. Plus, it could have been much worse; we could have been enduring Bryan Singer’s Excalibur remake instead.


Ritchie apparently (according to a recent Empire interview) had an Arthurian tale brewing for about a decade (“I’m an Englishman. I grew up with King Arthur and Sherlock Holmes”: indeed, perhaps we can soon look forward to his epic account of fish and chips). By the sound of it, it consisted of the most rote elements of Legend of the Sword; his orphan growing up in a brothel and hanging with the boys before recognising his calling. The fantasy element wasn’t there (this tone-deafness previously did for King Arthur, a choice that seemed perversely self-destructive – albeit Jerry Bruckheimer is never given to throwing money away if he can help it – given The Lord of the Rings was at its zenith at the time).


The whole origins story bit isn’t, per se, a problem; whatever Ritchie’s tinkering, the sword in the stone is, by definition, an origins story, the rise of a king, one who discovers, and must come to terms with, their power. The issue is rather that it’s guilty of perversely butting heads with a trope audiences are heartily sick of; spending an entire movie having the hero denying the call (and in not terribly interesting fashion, tormented by visions until such a point he can wield Excalibur effectively). The movie’s biggest crime, then (not that audiences would have premeditation of this), is that it’s guilty of not getting to the point. Even worse than the hero protractedly denying their destiny Legend of the Sword is structurally designed to serve as teaser to starting the “proper” story in a movie to come.


And this is WB’s folly: assuming they can simply manufacture a shared universe and that there will be a demand for it, because that’s what Marvel has done. It may well turn out to be Universal’s folly too, with their “Dark Universe” (getting a novice director to kick off your franchise isn’t necessarily the safest of bets, less still initiating a “horror” universe that’s actually an action-blockbuster universe; it could even be regarded as ham-fisted when you’re getting low budget horror movies – Get Out – grossing more than The Mummy is likely to for a negligible cost). All the studios, besides Disney – of course – are so at a loss over how to repeat that Marvel magic that they’re putting the cart before the horse, making assumptions about long term properties that are unlikely to be realised (even WB’s HBO, putting forward various Game of Thrones prequel series, appear to be flogging an expired badger; they should be initiating that next big thing rather than hedging their bets). How else do you explain a Transformers universe (a movie devoted to Bumblebee?!) or Sony’s Spiderman’s Supporting Characters universe with likes of Venom and Black Cat & Silver Sable (particularly ludicrous as Spidey is now a distinct and separate entity in the Marvel-verse).


It’s this thinking that saw WB latch on to Joby Harold’s multi-part shared Arthurian pitch, envisaged to feature a movie for each of the main characters (Arthur, Merlin, Lancelot etc.), explaining why some of the big names aren’t in here, and also why, by assuming there will be an appetite for a $200m shot in the dark, they’ve managed to eschew what might have been their greatest assets (I mean, seriously, not including Merlin? You could start with Merlin and not include Arthur more confidently). The result is the worst of all worlds, a movie built on the assumption of further instalments that, while it has nominal closure, hasn’t even come close to getting to the good stuff (pulling the sword from the stone is the only iconic moment here; the Lady of the Lake is present, but used in a manner that seems like an afterthought, particularly as it occurs at Arthur’s most irritatingly petulant moment; he throws away his sword because Neil Maskill snuffs it. It is, at least, the one occasion in the picture where Ritchie is willing to operate by dream logic, in the fashion of John Boorman’s Excalibur).


Harold has a Robin Hood screenplay coming out next year, with Tarron Egerton. It was initially titled (yes, really) Robin Hood: Origins. You can see where this is going (or isn’t, if it has the reception of Legend of the Sword). Harold’s Arthurian universe had the supernatural element Ritchie’s lacked, hence the finished picture’s mashup of elements. It’s ironic that, for all that he claims it’s foreign territory, Ritchie handles the fantasy part of Legend of the Sword with consummate skill. He cites Excalibur as a favourite, for its “mystical quality” (so how did he so completely not get why it worked and the appeal of these legends?) He admits that fantasy “is completely out of my wheelhouse”, yet the various elements, from oversized beasties (“Guy doesn’t want completely fantastic beasts”) to beckoning Syrens are visualised with care and investment. But one has to wonder at his stated desire to offer “something people won’t have seen” (why not just dive into the actual stories, then, there’s more than enough John Boorman didn’t even sniff at, rather than overlaying the well-worn Moses plot?), unless he means having Arthur as a contemporary bruv, complete with leather trousers and sculpted hair.


While Ritchie has delivered a movie that’s frequently as stylistically engaged as anything he’s done, he himself admitted he lost the movie in the edit, and it shows. When Legend of the Sword works, it’s usually because it’s adopting his trademark faux-lad posturing; Arthur comes from a place of privilege and destiny and is only moonlighting as one of the lads (Ritchie himself is a posh boy turned geezer. As such, it’s interesting that both he and his ex-producer Matthew Vaughn’s most recent movies concern an ostensibly “working class” character whose revealed heritage invites his ascension to an elite throne; it’s a coded reversal of the duos actual behaviour, and a reflection of their designer charades).


Ritchie’s strengths, as are Vaughn’s, are most evidenced by his ability to convey action musically, rhythmically and kinetically. When Legend of the Sword engages with such sequences, it’s a blast, from Arthur’s growing up montage, to recounting an incident with Viking traders that could have come straight out of Snatch (the tale isn’t very interesting, even though its crucial, but you nevertheless get into the knockabout verbiage) to Edgar Wright-inspired “what if?’ sequences (“And you’re going to say…”), all of which show his facility with editing, playing with time, repartee and sound to an energising degree. Daniel Pemberton delivers a fine score (maybe not in the league The Man from U.N.C.L.E., his previous collaboration with Ritchie, but very little is), and there really are few filmmakers around right now with the grasp on fusing score and image to such propulsive effect (I’d probably give Vaughn the edge over Ritchie, but only because he has a better track record).


The weaknesses of Legend of the Sword are most highlighted by how long it feels. It’s only two hours, but it draaaaaags. That’s partly rejecting the call, but it’s also partly not caring about anyone. Should we give a stuff about Maskell’s Backlack getting stabbed and bleeding out for about an hour? We certainly shouldn’t end up resenting him, as we do, when Arthur proceeds to chuck his sword. Charlie Hunnam’s okay. He holds the screen, just about. But there’s nothing special about his Arthur. He’s just a guy with a gang, and it ultimately weakens the stew, for all the seasoning Ritchie throws in. Hunnam no doubt had good intentions (if he’s watched Excalibur more than 40 times) but he can only play the character his director requests of him, who is devoid of any kind of regality or spark.


Aiden Gillen’s best feature is his character name (Goosefat Bill), but otherwise he has reached a place where he elicits a sigh of tired familiarity whenever arrives on screen. There’s a character called Kung Fu George, played by Tom Wu, whose most interesting aspect is his very-Snatch name (and his eventual Sir-ness). David Beckham’s cameo has been much remarked upon, negatively, but it really isn’t so distracting, prosthetic hooter aside. Geoff Bell’s Mischief John stands out amongst hissable henchmen.


Jude Law (who appears to be the latest victim of de-aging – its de rigueur right now, albeit fairly unobtrusive here) makes a decent fist of evil King Vortigern, but he’s undercooked until the moment he sacrifices his daughter, when there’s suddenly a palpable sense of the extent of his dedication. Alas, but by that point the movie’s almost over. Maybe there was more in the two hours Ritchie excised to try hone it down, but it’s always more interesting if you’re as invested in the villains as in the heroes. One of the few unqualified successes is Astrid Berges-Frisbey’s Mage, who essentially takes the Merlin role (but was, I was surprised to learn, intended to be Guinevere) and prods Arthur along magically.


The picture needed to be tighter, certainly. It also needed to embrace its (anathema to Ritchie or not) fantasy more fully. Arthur’s journey to the Blacklands is intriguing until you realise there’s nothing there but big rats. It’s disappointing that the wood nymphs are the product of his hallucinations… it seems. But who knows, there’s a trio of slithery tentacled Syrens in the basement. 


They’re the greatest visual success of the picture, and it bears noting that the effects generally, given CGI in every other blockbuster released is so very variable, are really first rate. The Syrens elicit exactly the right mix of the repellent and erotic, and ought really to have been Ritchie’s starting point for the movie’s tone: the seductive allure of power and its corruptive, bloating, corrosive quality. When it comes to the power of Excalibur – something of a one-ring effect that appears to harness dark energies, much as the Ancient One in Doctor Strange did – it’s something of a standard superhero bit, but if you’re aren’t wholly rejecting the picture as an Arthurian aberration by this point, you probably won’t mind too much.


Ritchie has experienced two flops in a row now, and there’s no doubt Disney won’t let the same thing happen with his upcoming Aladdin (I for one am intrigued to see how his style mashes with the property – it surely can’t be as somnambulant as the beat-by-beat translation of Beauty and the Beast). King Arthur: Legend of the Sword certainly isn’t the unfairly ignored minor gem The Man from U.N.C.L.E. is, but neither does it deserve ignominy. If you can get on board with Ritchie’s predilections, there’s a mostly good time to be had here, lulls aside. It’s entirely misjudged, but it’s also good fun. Just a shame that, for an intended saga, the invitation to “Now, tell me a story. Tell me every detail” is left hanging.


Agree? Disagree? Mildly or vehemently? Let me know in the comments below.

Comments

  1. This is the greatest review of all times. Thanks.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

She writes Twilight fan fiction.

Vampire Academy (2014)
My willingness to give writer Daniel Waters some slack on the grounds of early glories sometimes pays off (Sex and Death 101) and sometimes, as with this messy and indistinct Young Adult adaptation, it doesn’t. If Vampire Academy plods along as a less than innovative smart-mouthed Buffy rip-off that might be because, if you added vampires to Heathers, you would probably get something not so far from the world of Joss Whedon. Unfortunately inspiration is a low ebb throughout, not helped any by tepid direction from Daniel’s sometimes-reliable brother Mark and a couple of hopelessly plankish leads who do their best to dampen down any wit that occasionally attempts to surface.

I can only presume there’s a never-ending pile of Young Adult fiction poised for big screen failure, all of it comprising multi-novel storylines just begging for a moment in the Sun. Every time an adaptation crashes and burns (and the odds are that they will) another one rises, hydra-like, hoping…

You’re never the same man twice.

The Man Who Haunted Himself (1970)
(SPOILERS) Roger Moore playing dual roles? It sounds like an unintentionally amusing prospect for audiences accustomed to the actor’s “Raise an eyebrow” method of acting. Consequently, this post-Saint pre-Bond role (in which he does offer some notable eyebrow acting) is more of a curiosity for the quality of Sir Rog’s performance than the out-there premise that can’t quite sustain the picture’s running time. It is telling that the same story was adapted for an episode of Alfred Hitchcock Presents 15 years earlier, since the uncanny idea at its core feels like a much better fit for a trim 50 minute anthology series.

Basil Dearden directs, and co-adapted the screenplay from Anthony Armstrong’s novel The Strange Case of Mr Pelham. Dearden started out with Ealing, helming several Will Hay pictures and a segment of Dead of Night (one might imagine a shortened version of this tale ending up there, or in any of the portmanteau horrors that arrived in the year…

Romulan ale should be illegal.

Star Trek: Nemesis (2002)
(SPOILERS) Out of the ST:NG movies, Star Trek: Nemesis seems to provoke the most outrage among fans, the reasons mostly appearing to boil down to continuity and character work. In the case of the former, while I can appreciate the beef, I’m not enough of an aficionado to get too worked up. In the case of the latter, well, the less of the strained inter-relationships between this bunch that make it to the screen, the better (director Stuart Baird reportedly cut more than fifty minutes from the picture, most of it relating to underscoring the crew, leading to a quip by Stewart that while an Actor’s Cut would include the excised footage, a Director’s one would probably be even shorter). Even being largely unswayed by such concerns, though, Nemesis isn’t very good. It wants to hit the same kind of dramatic high notes as The Wrath of Khan (naturally, it’s always bloody Khan) but repeatedly drifts into an out-of-tune dirge.

‘Cos I’m the gringo who always delivers.

American Made (2017)
(SPOILERS) This is definitely more the sort of thing Tom Cruise should be doing, a movie that relies both on his boyish™ charm and at least has pretensions of ever so slightly pushing the envelope of standard multiplex fare, rather than desperately attaching himself to an impersonal franchise (The Mummy) or flailingly attempting to kick start one (Jack Reacher: Never Go Back); remember when Cruise wouldn’t even go near sequels (for about 20 years, The Color of Money aside, and then only the one series)? American Made is still victim to the tendency of his movies to feel superstar-fitted rather than remaining as punchy as they might be on paper (Made’s never quite as satirically sharp as it wants to be), but it at least doesn’t lead its audience by the nose.

Rejoice! The broken are the more evolved. Rejoice.

Split (2016)
(SPOILERS) M Night Shyamalan went from the toast of twist-based filmmaking to a one-trick pony to the object of abject ridicule in the space of only a couple of pictures: quite a feat. Along the way, I’ve managed to miss several of his pictures, including his last, The Visit, regarded as something of a re-locating of his footing in the low budget horror arena. Split continues that genre readjustment, another Blumhouse production, one that also manages to bridge the gap with the fare that made him famous. But it’s a thematically uneasy film, marrying shlock and serious subject matter in ways that don’t always quite gel.

Shyamalan has seized on a horror staple – nubile teenage girls in peril, prey to a psychotic antagonist – and, no doubt with the best intentions, attempted to warp it. But, in so doing, he has dragged in themes and threads from other, more meritable fare, with the consequence that, in the end, the conflicting positions rather subvert his attempts at subversion…

By Jove, the natives are restless tonight.

The Avengers 4.17: Small Game for Big Hunters
I wonder if Death at Bargain Prices’ camping scene, suggestive of an exotic clime but based in a department store, was an inspiration for Small Game For Big Hunters’ more protracted excursion to the African country of Kalaya… in Hertfordshire. Gerry O’Hara, in his second of two episodes for the show again delivers on the atmosphere, making the most of Philip Levene’s teleplay.

Two hundred thousand pounds, for this outstanding example of British pulchritude and learning.

The Avengers 4.18: The Girl From Auntie
I’ve mentioned that a few of these episodes have changed in my appreciation since I last watched the series, and The Girl from Auntie constitutes a very pronounced uptick. Indeed, I don’t know how I failed to rate highly the estimable Liz Fraser filling in for Diana Rigg – mostly absent, on holiday –for the proceedings (taking a not dissimilar amateur impostor-cum-sidekick role to Fenella Fielding in the earlier The Charmers). I could watch Fraser all day, and it’s only a shame this was her single appearance in the show.

Old Boggy walks on Lammas Eve.

Jeeves and Wooster 2.5: Kidnapped  (aka The Mysterious Stranger)
Kidnapped continues the saga of Chuffnell Hall. Having said of 2.4 that the best Wodehouse adaptations tend to stick closely to the text, this one is an exception that proves the rule, diverging significantly yet still scoring with its highly preposterous additions.

Jeeves: Tis old boggy. He be abroad tonight. He be heading for the railway station.
Gone are many of the imbroglios involving Stoker and Glossop (the estimable Roger Brierley), including the contesting of the former’s uncle’s will. Also gone, sadly, is the inebriated Brinkley throwing potatoes at Stoker, which surely would have been enormous fun. Instead, we concentrate on Bertie being locked aboard Stoker’s yacht in order to secure his marriage to Pauline (as per the novel), Chuffy tailing Pauline in disguise (so there’s a different/additional reason for Stoker to believe Bertie and she spent the night together, this time at a pub en route to Chufnell Hall) and …

I think we’ve returned to Eden. Surely this is how the World once was in the beginning of time.

1492: Conquest of Paradise (1992)
Ridley Scott’s first historical epic (The Duellists was his first historical, and his first feature, but hardly an epic) is also one of his least remembered films. It bombed at the box office (as did the year’s other attempted cash-ins on the discovery of America, including Superman: The Movie producers the Salkinds’ Christopher Columbus: The Discovery) and met with a less than rapturous response from critics. Such shunning is undeserved, as 1492: Conquest of Paradise is a richer and more thought-provoking experience than both the avowedly lowbrow Gladiator and the re-evaluated-but-still-so-so director’s cut of Kingdom of Heaven. It may stand guilty of presenting an overly sympathetic portrait of Columbus, but it isn’t shy about pressing a critical stance on his legacy.

Sanchez: The truth is, that he now presides over a state of chaos, of degradation, and of madness. From the beginning, Columbus proved himself completely incapable of ruling these islands…

Cally. Help us, Cally. Help Auron.

Blake's 7 3.7: Children of Auron

Roger Parkes goes a considerable way towards redeeming himself for the slop that was Voice from the Past with his second script for the series, and newcomer Andrew Morgan shows promise as a director that never really fulfilled itself in his work on Doctor Who (but was evident in Knights of God, the 1987 TV series featuring Gareth Thomas).