Excalibur (1981) is filmmaker John Boorman’s greatest accomplishment as a stylist. Every frame practically functions as its own lavishly designed set-piece. Boorman has condensed Thomas Malory’s Arthurian epic to one-hundred and forty minutes of movie. Excalibur is paced like an old movie serial, effectively outdoing George Lucas’ Star Wars (1977) as a revival of that extinct idiom.
Shot in Ireland, Excalibur doesn’t look like any other movie. Boorman wisely chose to design his Arthurian myth with all the romanticism of legend as opposed to historical accuracy. The armor is big, clunky, and gorgeously shiny. Merlin’s woods are dark and impossibly dense. The lair of Morgana Le Fay is a terrifying dungeon shrouded in smoke. The look of Excalibur owes everything to children’s book illustrations.
Yet, Excalibur is not a film for children. It’s a violently bloody affair. Swords hack and maim knights. Boorman embraces the brutality of the Dark Ages despite the fantastic appearance of the film. When Excalibur isn’t violent, it’s erotic. Lancelot and Guinevere make love in the woods surrounding Camelot, naked amid mossy rocks and ancient trees. Sex and death, the two great themes of Arthurian myth, permeate every scene of Excalibur.
The portrait the Boorman paints of Camelot is designed specifically for a twentieth century audience. Boorman takes the theme that “The land and the King are one” and translates it to “the King and his people are one”. It’s a quasi-liberal interpretation of Arthurian myth made in reaction to British conservatism of the early eighties.
What’s great about Excalibur is that all of its aesthetic flourishes and sub-textual meanings never get in the way of the film being fun. I watched Excalibur with great regularity as a little boy. At my mother’s behest my father cut the scenes of nudity out of our copy so that I could enjoy Excalibur as a seven year old. Of all the high fantasy films ever made Excalibur remains one of the greats.
