Misunderstood Masterpieces: First Knight
Posted by Will Helm on 06.14.2005
…or, (King) Art and the Zen of Swordfighting
Alright, I know we’ve covered the Arthurian world before, but a double-dip never hurt, especially with a film this terrible.
Throughout the history of the legend of King Arthur and his Round Table, one episode from the tale of the ruler of Camelot has been recounted and retold time and time again: the tragic love triangle between Arthur; his wife Guinevere; and his greatest knight, Sir Lancelot. From T.H. White’s The Once and Future King to the aforementioned – and previously covered – Excalibur to many other sundry sources, the relationship of that trio is recognized as one of the keys to the destruction of Arthur’s marriage, the Round Table, and of Camelot itself. Just like a great tree, the state dies from within and the personal strife of the King and his closest relations eventually brought down a mighty nation. Logically, as with something this epic, Hollywood would be a perfect place to dramatize this terrible event in folklore . . . and who better to play King Arthur than a truly regal actor in the form of Sean Connery? Supporting Connery in the role of the “traditionally” adulterous – remember that for future reference – Queen Guinevere is once-hot up-and-comer Julia Ormond (who has since fallen off the face of celebrity Earth). Sounds good so far, doesn’t it? Things start to get a bit confusing with the hiring of director Jerry Zucker, most known for Airplane! and Ghost. And then the final piece of the puzzle is none other than Richard Gere, star of many, many romantic films – another important item to note. The end result was the 1995 film First Knight a film which distills the TENSION between these three aggrieved parties . . . and turns it into a bad high school drama. Don’t believe me? Read on, skeptics!
As soon as it begins, the movie wastes no time in annoying me by bringing back an old friend: the science-fiction scroll, helpfully providing exposition since . . . whenever. Apparently, there’s some indignant lord named Malagant (Ben Cross) who’s ticked off with King Arthur for some unknown reason. Meanwhile, King Arthur, who’s getting up in years – mainly because he’s Sean Connery – wants to get some poontang and is actively searching for a wife. Rather than, you know, defending the nation from his evil rival. I guess that’s a secondary worry for an aging monarch looking to keep the bloodline going. Meanwhile, in some random village, Lancelot (Gere) gives sword-fighting lessons to the townspeople as he is, seemingly, some sort of wandering swordsman. That then segues into an exhibition of his sword-fighting prowess as he fights some random guy and beats him easily. The random guy, rather than stabbing Lancelot when he’s not looking, humbles himself and asks to learn the tricks of Lancelot’s trade. Lancelot, meanwhile, just tells the guy the Zen of medieval sword-fighting, since he must be some kind of samurai. In England. In the Middle Ages. Yup.
Finally, after all of this, the credits appear and then, somewhere, horsemen crest a hill. And I see Tully, and Ole, and Arn, and Paul Roma there too! The invading horsemen, it appears, are attacking the village where Lancelot was recently giving his “lesson” with rape and pillage on their minds. Not that there’s anything else of note residing in the mind of a raider. The townspeople, since they are but simple farmers and such – and, hence, totally destitute – panic while the raiders come into town and immediately begin slaughtering and thieving . . . as per their particular idiom. The pillaging ne’er-do-wells then set fire to everything in town, since that’s easier than making it a prosperous fiefdom. And why is all of this chaos and destruction taking place? Because maladjusted Malagant is out for REVENGE against some anonymous villagers. After this shocking revelation, the cycle of REVENGE continues, as Lancelot’s random opponent swears to return great REVENGE on Malagant while the village burns around him. After all of this, the town bell-tower collapses dramatically, signifying . . . something. Whatever it is, it probably has something to do with impotence.
Elsewhere, some wealthy people, totally unaware to the suffering and plight of the lowly villagers, spend their hours of leisure playing soccer in a courtyard in front of a church. Well, it has been said that, in some parts of the world, soccer is religion, so I guess this is proof of that. The game is rudely interrupted when the real world creeps into the idyllic setting, as two priestly guys tell some HOT CHICK (Ormond) about the wrecked village. The HOT CHICK isn’t terribly affected but then, simply for dramatic effect and to make a good medieval photo op, she meets with some of the town’s refugees. After meeting with the survivors, she’s still terribly disinterested, even though we come to learn that she is the lady of the land and the evil lord guy wants her to sign some sort of treaty. Even though misanthropic Malagant drives a hard bargain and it’s easy to see that the best plan of action is signing the treaty, the HOT CHICK takes advice from John Gielgud, since he definitely knows a thing or two about guys named “Arthur.” In addition to his area of expertise, Gielgud tells the HOT CHICK – who we later discern is Guinevere – that King Arthur wants to hook up with her as his queen. Guinevere, since she’s young, rich, and naïve, wants to marry for love instead of making a marriage that would be fiscally beneficial for both their houses. Silly girl. I bet she watched one too many episodes of A Wedding Story when she was younger.
Meanwhile, in the forest, Lancelot washes himself or takes a drink from a puddle or something. It’s all very manly and rugged . . . or at least as manly and rugged as Richard Gere can be. He watches curiously as Guinevere’s cortege rides by and he’s fairly unimpressed. He must have Lancelot-sense, though, since he springs in to action believing there to be danger afoot. At a fallen tree, Guinevere’s parade gets stuck and, unsurprisingly, a horde of bad guys ambush them. Guinevere’s troops fight off the evil-doers, but they stupidly chase them during the retreat . . . allowing a second wave of mounted bad guys to ride in and hijack Guinevere’s carriage. I guess tactics aren’t Guinevere’s troops’ strong suit. Guinevere, meanwhile, isn’t going to take the kidnapping lying down, so she throws her handmaidens from the carriage to the forest floor below and then she jumps out herself! Ah, there’s nothing like a medieval tomboy to keep the plot moving.
Guinevere runs through the forest, fairly aimlessly, and runs right into Lancelot, who helpfully kills some greasy thugs for Guinevere. All’s not well, however, as another greasy thug holds Guinevere as a hostage, but Lancelot confuses him with fancy talk, allowing Guinevere the opportunity to shoot the thug with a crossbow she kept concealed . . . somewhere. Ugh. I bet that hurt wherever she had it. The danger now averted, Guinevere joins Lancelot on his horse and she then asks why he did what he did for her. Geez . . . is she so dumb? Everyone knows he just wants to tap it. He doesn’t answer, so she just ignores it and introduces herself to him. He’s still unimpressed. I guess it’s that whole Zen thing. Since he’s not fawning all over her and stroking her ego, she slaps him around a bit and gets indignant. Ah . . . I guess she likes it rough, then. Guinevere, quite put out, walks off; Lancelot, SHOCKINGLY, does want the hook up, so he follows along and tries to convince her to give it up. Ah, there’s nothing like a gallant, chivalrous date rapist. He, now knowing that she does like it a bit rough, tries to force himself upon her; Guinevere likes it, but she refuses to go further. All of a sudden, perhaps to throw Guinevere off with more of that fancy talk, Lancelot asks her about her upcoming wedding. Huh? I guess he figures he can make her feel like it’s worth it to have one more roll in the hay. Inga would be proud. Before she can act on her rising passions, they hear some of Guinevere’s search party, so Lancelot rides off, but not before predicting that she’ll want to get “Lanced” in the very near future.
That evening, or even a fortnight later, Guinevere rides to Camelot . . . Camelot . . . Camelot . . . well, you know. WAY outside the city, some guys with torches line up and escort Guinevere while skillfully not setting her dress on fire. That would be an interesting end to the movie, considering how slow it is. Seriously, this is only about thirty minutes into the movie or so. So . . . slow. Anyway, in the middle of the flaming-torch tunnel, Guinevere meets with King Arthur . . . you know what, right now I’m just going to drop all pretenses, because this is where the bad high-school relationship drama begins. OK, so Gwen meets with Art, star jock of the Camelot riding and killing team; she tells him that she wants some help with her land – and she’s willing to give herself over to him for it. I always find it funny that these arranged, political marriages were nothing more than a royal form of prostitution most of the times. “Oh, you need something from me? Give me your daughter and it’s a deal!” Interesting. After exchanging niceties with his to-be-betrothed, Art receives a report about the ambush and he’s really not happy. Then again, I wouldn’t be happy if my hook up was kidnapped because of some gung-ho soldiers forgetting basic strategy. Art calms down, however, when he and Gwen reminisce about something and then he shows off the gleaming splendor that is Camelot . . . Camelot . . . Camelot . . . it’s not in his pants. They do, however, chat about the truth inherent in beauty or something like that. John Keats would be proud.
Gwen and Art ride into town and the people hold a tickertape parade for her. Now, how they got tickertape is anyone’s guess; I suppose Camelot had a pretty good stock exchange going back then. Meanwhile, in a random field, Lance chases down a runaway horse and he gives it to some wimpy guy (Stuart Bunce). The wimpy guy, perhaps to thank Lance, tells our favorite Zen date rapist that the horse is actually a gift for Gwen and he unwittingly invites Lance to join him for the big soiree in Camelot. Hmm . . . I would think that’s more Art’s or Gwen’s prerogative than the wimpy guy’s, but I guess I’d be wrong. Meanwhile, over in Camelot . . . Camelot . . . Camelot . . . the property tax is horrendous, some guy sets up a giant, convoluted gauntlet in the middle of the town square, which must mean that either the king likes random violence at his parties or he’s a big fan of Most Extreme Elimination Challenge. I’m betting on the latter; Spike TV has huge ratings in Camelot . . . Camelot . . . Camelot . . . this joke is old already.
After the scene is set, coronets blow and the happy couple of Gwen and Art stroll out of the castle to say “Hi.” Art, impressed with the sheer violence of the gauntlet, states that anyone who can get through the obstacle course wins a kiss with Gwen; Gwen, as she is now Art’s love slave – seemingly – agrees to go through with the wager. Lance, since he still wants to tap it, goes through the gauntlet dramatically and with no padding. Of course, he has no problem passing through the dangerous situation because, as we all know, he’s a Zen master and imminently patient. He comes out the other side and the crowd goes wild . . . and then they want to see Lance make out with Gwen. Damned voyeurs. Art, since he thought he was the manliest man in Camelot, is rightfully impressed with Lance’s performance; Gwen, meanwhile, not so much, so she refuses to give Lance his award. Lance, diplomatic as a Zen samurai in medieval Britain can be, plays it off coolly and the crowd goes wild again. I guess they’re easily amused. Plebians.
After the party, Art invites Lance in for a little chat, since he’s the first man to ever finish the gauntlet. There’ve been women, but usually they just slow it down to a crawl like they do with those damned mechanical bulls. And, unfortunately, back then he didn’t have a girl with him who was willing to make out with the female winners. It never hurts to set up some good, old-fashioned lesbianism for the king’s amusement. Anyway, Art, because he feels his manliness threatened by the newcomer, admits that he doesn’t “get” Lance; I guess he isn’t enlightened, either. After this confession, Art shows off his Round Table, which segues into a treatise about egalitarianism and philosophy – remember that for future reference. Art, knowing that it’s better to have friends close and enemies closer, invites Lance to hang out in the castle, but Lance sticks around for no man. Art, instead of being insulted at Lance’s rebuke, just gets philosophical about the connection between fear and love. Hmm . . . so now he’s Yoda?
Later that day, or even the next day, Art gives the horse from earlier in the picture to Gwen, who takes to riding quite quickly. Methinks she’s ridden some other things in her day; it’s just a hunch. Then again, perhaps he knew about her reputation, as he’s always been impressed with her fearlessness. She’s not afraid of casual sex, I guess. Surprisingly, Art, perhaps trying to seem self-denying and humble, tells Gwen that she doesn’t have to marry him if she doesn’t want to. It’s all for naught, though, as she agrees anyway – mainly because she needs Camelot’s power to help her protect her lands. Art, his ruse successful, then gets all misty over a scar on his hand which has something to do with Gwen and Gwen’s father, but it’s really just sentimental tripe. Art confesses that he just wants to get married because he’s getting old and then, with that in mind, he tells Gwen to get on the horse . . . the REAL horse, perverts. While Gwen calms the bucking mare with the awesome power of her private parts – and, honestly, who isn’t calm when they have a woman’s nether-regions rubbing against them? – the wimpy guy cracks wise to Art about how hot Gwen is. Later, his head is on a pole on the city walls and crows peck out his eyes. Well, not really, but you all know that Art’s thinking it.
Later, the Round Table, which – as egalitarian as it may seem – is still made up of WASP-y guys, meets. After the usual pleasantries are exchanged, Art reveals that he has a little surprise for his comrades: he invited Malagant over for a chat! Malagant, with all the verbosity of a burgeoning dictator, states that his recent raids into Gwen’s lands were just merely police actions, since some of her people may have been hiding weapons of mass destruction in their thatched-roof cottages. Trogdor would be proud. Gwen, put off by Malagant’s incursions, tells the evil-doer that she doesn’t want his help – but yet she has no problem with Art’s help – but Malagant responds by getting all high and mighty, just as any nonplussed despot would. Then, perhaps to obfuscate his confusion, Malagant gets into a political discussion with Art; after the impromptu debate, the Round Table tells Malagant to get lost. Malagant, not one to go gently into that goodnight, swears that he wants REVENGE (of course), war, and Camelot . . . Camelot . . . Camelot . . . I thought I was done with this!
That evening, Lance stands on the battlements of the castle and watches serenely as a lone boat rows through the water to the shore. Meanwhile, inside the castle, someone spirits a message to Gwen that the phantom rower is from her lands and has something to tell her. She goes down to meet with the mysterious boatman – Popeye? – but she’s merely kidnapped for her troubles. Hmm . . . I wonder if at this point Art’s thinking that this chick’s more trouble than she’s worth. Since he’s the first witness, Lance dives off of the city walls and swims in chase of the boat; just like a raging case of herpes, he’s fought back but keeps on coming. After learning of the abduction of his hook-up, Art sends a few troops to rescue her, since maybe he IS realizing she’s more trouble than she’s worth. But then he gets melancholy . . . probably because he can’t keep the bloodline going without a fertile uterus around.
Hot on the trail of Gwen’s kidnappers, Lance steals a random horse in the middle of the forest. The abductors, meanwhile, take Gwen to meet with Malagant, who notices that her dress is torn – which she did herself in order to leave markers for her rescuers – and then punches out one of his cronies over it. Of course, it really doesn’t matter in the slightest, as he strips off her ruined dress anyway, probably just so he can feel more secure around her. I bet when she’s all dressed up it threatens his masculinity . . . maybe he wants Art all for himself? While Gwen stands there shivering in her underwear, Malagant waxes philosophical about his shabby surroundings, in which, for no particular reason, there is a giant, bottomless hole. Malagant, crafty as can be, makes lemonade out of lemons by putting Gwen on the other side of the hole as his captive. I hope she doesn’t trip and fall, though; that could totally ruin his ransom demands.
Outside Malagant’s (very) humble abode, Lance ties up his horse in what seems to be a post-apocalyptic wasteland. Oh wait . . . that’s for next week. Ah, foreshadowing! He calmly surrenders to the evil troops – since he is a Zen master and all – and they bring him to Malagant, who is rudely interrupted during dinner of . . . something. Lance, totally unknown to Malagant, poses as a messenger from Art . . . and a very snippy messenger at that. He asks to see Gwen, so Malagant obliges, stupidly. Once down in the airy prison, Lance subdues her captors and rescues Gwen. They escape together some water-filled tunnel, which is probably just an excuse to get Gwen’s underwear wet and sheer. Oh, and then they jump from a waterfall, just so that the marketing guys can have a cool visual for the trailers.
After surviving the great fall from the waterfall, Lance and Gwen find ANOTHER horse – they must just be lying everywhere around the countryside – and ride down the beach and through the forest . . . and over some hills . . . and through another forest. After seeming weeks of riding, they stop and Lance giggles like a giddy schoolgirl for no particular reason. Gwen, perhaps the more masculine of the two at the moment, even though she’s wearing the see-through outfit, mocks him; he attempts to win her favor by channeling MacGyver and fashioning a water fountain out of leaves for Gwen. Gwen, her thirst for liquid refreshed by Lance’s ingenuity, is rightly impressed, so he – as any guy would – brags about being a manly, independent outdoorsman. Of course, he does have a softer side – Sears & Roebuck would be proud – as he reveals (I think . . . it could’ve just been a flashback) that his family was slaughtered years ago in some church somewhere in England. Gwen, touched by Lance’s past sorrows, is sympathetic and – oddly – philosophical. Then again, who in this movie HASN’T been philosophical? I swear this is just someone’s doctoral thesis. Lance, on the other hand, is just kind of angry . . . probably because he wasted a good opportunity to get some and now he’s just on “bestest friends” terms with Gwen. It doesn’t help that she leads him on, because they almost make out just before Art’s troops find them. Sorry Lance; I do believe you’re the “fall-back guy.”
Back in Camelot . . . Camelot . . . Camelot . . . ENOUGH ALREADY, Gwen finds Art in church, waiting for her. Lance, meanwhile, stares at a fire intently. Maybe he’s trying to make it go out with his Zen power or something. Or he’s just drying off and warming up, as he just happens to be sitting there naked. Luckily, we don’t get to see anything; this thankfully isn’t Camelot Gigolo. Art sneaks in behind him and – uh-oh – gives him a shirt – whew – as a way of saying “Thank you from saving my hook-up, G.” Later, Art introduces Lance to the rest of the Round Table, since now I guess he’s cool with the “in” crowd. Art also offers to make Lance a knight – more than halfway into the picture, mind you – which perturbs the other knights and greatly ruffles Gwen’s feathers, so much so that she tells Art that it’s a bad idea. Then again, perhaps telling him that Lance has been stalking her for weeks would be an even better idea, but she doesn’t do that. You know it’s because she really wants some. Lance, showing the maturity of a high-school student, takes the offer just to spite Gwen. Later, he prays in preparation in a chapel – at least the filmmakers got that bit of tradition right; the rest has been fast and VERY loose – but Gwen comes in and tells him to ship off. Lance, still enamored with the woman he’s been obsessed with throughout the entire picture, tells her to come with him, but she just lies to him and tell him that she doesn’t love him . . . while we all know that she does. It’s just so obvious. She just doesn’t want to hook up with the mysterious rebel when she’s already dating the captain of the football team, so to speak.
The next day, Art knights Lance but, before there can be much rejoicing, we cut to Gwen and Art’s wedding, where some little girl throws flowers at the camera melodramatically. I think that’s called “milking a bit part.” After the ceremony, the knights of the Round Table pledge allegiance to the new queen, which is very serendipitous as some guy shows up immediately afterward and informs them all that Malagant is attacking Gwen’s lands! I have a feeling the film knew it was going VERY SLOWLY so now it’s kicking into high gear to finish up in time. Thank goodness, says I! Anyway, upon hearing the news, Camelot’s army instantaneously assembles – see . . . high gear – and they ride en masse to Gwen’s lands. Once there, they discover a wrecked matte painting, so Art decides that’s the best place to encamp. That night, raiders, dressed as sheep, attack the camp, but they discover, much to their collective chagrins, that it’s all a ruse! Art’s troops, hiding under the cover of the forest, set fire to the decoy camp and then a full battle breaks out . . . slowly. Alright, maybe it’s not quite in high gear just yet. Anyway, once the battle finally starts, we’re treated to a plethora of grunts and close-ups, which I suppose is there to substitute for visceral violence. As the battle turns toward the army of Camelot, Art sends in the cannon fodder – I mean “infantry” . . . though, back then, wouldn’t they be “catapult fodder”? – while Lance hacks up a bunch of guys on the battlefield. Art’s troops easily rout their rivals and then they continue on to Gwen’s lands as if nothing happened . . . other than Lance slaughtering a bunch of hapless shmoes for the acceptance of the rest of the knights.
Once on Gwen’s lands, Art, his bride, and his troops find her castle demolished; not to fear, though, as they also discover some surviving villagers and John Gielgud in a stable or something and there is much rejoicing. Later, Lance walks down a corridor, strips off his armor, and cries. Hmm . . . I didn’t know that medieval Zen samurais were supposed to cry. You learn a new thing everyday. After his emotional breakdown, Lance goes to see Gwen, where he confesses that he’s shipping off and deserting Art’s army . . . after one battle. Wimp. Gwen isn’t happy about the situation, but Lance makes it all seem altruistic by stating that he’s leaving for the good of Camelot . . . Camelot . . . Camelot . . . I’m sorry, I can’t help it. Gwen, distraught at the thought of her “fall-back guy” actually thinking for himself, makes out with Lance . . . at the very same time that Art walks into the room and catches them together. The scene, unsurprisingly, gets really uncomfortable after that.
Later, after a random Round Table meeting, Art emotes in a chapel and then he has a chat with Gwen in her chambers. He wants to know, honestly, if Gwen and Lance got it on and if she loves him. Unsurprisingly, because she knows she has a better future with the captain of the football team than the guy with the leather jacket and cool shades – so to speak – Gwen confesses that nothing happened between her and Lance and that she does love Art. Art, cuckolded and skeptical, thinks it’s all his fault – perhaps he loved not wisely but too well – and then Gwen just ticks him off by going into a dissertation on the “different kinds of love.” As in “I love you because you can afford to get me stuff and you’re more mature and successful but you can’t get it up without a handful of Viagra” as opposed to “I love you because you’re enigmatic and dangerous and you’ll probably skip town once you knock me up.” Art, perhaps confused by Gwen’s weird feelings toward love, is saddened by the whole affair – pun intended – but, like any sap looking to bust a nut for the good of procreation, he forgives her . . . or doesn’t forgive her . . . or something like that. It’s all very vague but, whatever it is, it makes Gwen break down and cry.
After his episode with Gwen, Art visits with Lance, who is now under house arrest. Art remains very unhappy and, as such, isn’t listening to Lance’s voice of reason. Then again, Lance made out with the queen behind the king’s back, so perhaps listening to reason isn’t Lance’s strong suit either. Art, just because we need something to do with these dangling plotlines, charges Lance with treason and declares that he will stand trial an indeterminate time in the future. Later, Art must have decided on the date and time of reckoning as he announces that the trial will be public to his assembled Round Table. Just as Lance did before, they try to intervene as voices of reason because they all think he’s overreacting a bit – Lance didn’t slip her the bone, so no harm, no foul – but Art is having none of it.
Perhaps to bolster Art’s madness, we learn – at the trial – that Gwen is a defendant as well as Lance. And here I thought he forgave her. Odd. Anyway, Lance makes his opening statement directly to Art in which he proclaims that the queen is innocent – as we all knew – and that he’s willing to give himself over as a sacrifice for her freedom. Art mulls it over but, before he can make a ruling, the bad guys show up! Wow . . . now we’re REALLY in high gear. The evil Malagant, standing triumphantly in the town square, mocks Art, since Malagant believes in Social Darwinism . . . either that, or he’s the Camelot equivalent of Chairman Mao. Those do seem to be the two antecedents to Malagant’s muddled political views. After finishing his political-science thesis, Malagant requests that Art kneel before him. Zod would be proud. Art feigns fealty to the despotic oppressor, but instead he inspires his troops and countrymen to defend themselves. In the fray, all hell breaks loose – as always – and Art gets shot with multiple crossbow bolts for his troubles. Hmm . . . I don’t remember this from my folklore. Fast and loose, folks; fast and loose.
While the townspeople go nuts on Malagant’s troops, Lance and Malagant face off in the same swordfight we’ve seen Lancelot do a couple times already in the film. While random things happen to the other knights of the Round Table – usually involving killing or being killed – Lance gets stabbed and subdued by a quite put out Malagant. Of course, Lance was only playing possum – or is it opossum? – as he grabs Art’s sword from the ground and slices Malagant to teeny, tiny bits. Or at least he would have if the makeup guys made it look like Malagant was bleeding at all. With Malagant out of the way, the townspeople and the rest of the knights drive out the evil troops and there is some rejoicing . . . but mostly confusion. I’d say about a 70%-30% mix.
Later, Art rests comfortably in bed – which is, I believe, an accepted euphemism for “dying” – and Gwen is, unsurprisingly sad . . . mainly because her sugar daddy is looking to go bye-bye. Lance, fresh from the battlefield and, as per his particular idiom, PERFECTLY UNHARMED – even his stab wound seems to have miraculously healed – pays his respects to the fallen king . . . and Art is happy to see him? Wait . . . he’s actually forgiving the guy who stalked and made out with his wife and then at whose trial he was mortally wounded? Now THAT’S forgiveness. Even more amazing is the fact that Art, with his dying breaths, bequeaths the whole of Camelot . . . Camelot . . . Camelot . . . last time, folks, last time, to Lance and Gwen. Art then has a fit of dementia and ships off to that malt shop in the sky. That evening or some evening after, Gwen, Lance, and the knights float Art’s corpse out to sea; after a bit of smooth sailing, some guy shoots the boat with a flaming arrow, cremating Art in the once-traditional manner. I can’t help but chuckle, though, thinking to myself, “What if he missed? Now that would’ve been embarrassing!”
It’s quite terrible to bastardize the Arthurian legend by turning it into a high-school love triangle, but that’s just what First Knight does. One of the most tragic and melodramatic tales of folklore, which would make a spectacular film in any era, distilled into something you might see on an after-school special; who’s idea was that anyway? I have no problem with simplification, but this is ridiculous. I’ve seen many movies use tradition as a backdrop for a story, but here the tradition is in the fore and is muddled, mangled, and messed up beyond recognition. Note to Hollywood: if you’re not going to do epic love stories right, don’t do them at all. Thank you.
Join me next week as we kick off a triple dose of post-apocalyptic goodness with a little tour through the future of New York City. Don’t be a clown and miss this one! See you then!
