By Danièle Cybulskie
Yesterday, I read that Hollywood has two new King Arthur movies and two new Robin Hood movies in the works. Naturally, I was filled with the same mix of joy and trepidation that every medieval nerd feels when one of these reboots is announced. Each time, a movie about one of my favourite literary heroes has the potential to be every bit as stirring and epic as the medieval stories, and likewise the potential (like the last few Robin Hoods) to lose the heart behind them in an attempt to modernize.
The headliner from one of the articles I’ve just been reading is a film called Man at Arms, which is just getting started. It aims to tell a story of Lancelot post-Camelot, on a “quest for redemption in his later years – based on an original idea by Brucks” (the screenwriter). “Great twist to the tried-and-true story,” says the journalist. But, hang on a second. We already know what happens to Lancelot post-Camelot, and it’s nothing like Unforgiven, as Man at Arms is meant to be. After the death of King Arthur (or his removal to Avalon after his grievous wound, however you like to look at it), Guinevere and Lancelot do exactly what medieval people would have wanted them to do: they retire to a life of prayer.
In Malory’s Morte D’Arthur (this version has modern spelling), as soon as he hears the news of Modred’s treason, Lancelot returns from Joyous Garde (his castle) to Dover, where he learns the rest of the story. He mourns Gawain for three days at Dover Castle, generously giving alms and food to the poor. Then, he rides off to find Guinevere, and discovers her already cloistered, a nun on her way to becoming an abbess. Guinevere says she can’t stand to be around him anymore, considering the destruction they have wrought together, so she encourages him to leave and find himself a wife. Ever faithful to her, Lancelot swears he couldn’t love another woman, so he will forsake the world as she does (Guinevere actively doubts this, which I love). True to form, though, he asks her for one last kiss before he goes away from her forever. To her credit, she refuses. Lancelot then rides away, weeping, until he comes upon a hermitage, in which he hears mass from the Bishop of Canterbury, and gets the rest of his news from Sir Bedevere, who happens to be there. Here’s what happens next:
And than the knelyd doun on his knee and prayed the Bysshop to shryve him and assoyle him; and than he besought the Bysshop that he might be hys brother. Than the Bysshop sayd, ‘I wyll gladly.’ and there he put an habyte upon syr Lancelot. And there he servyd God day and nyght with prayers and fastynges. (pp.877-888, The Works of Sir Thomas Malory)
More knights of the Round Table discover him over time, and join him in being monks, and Lancelot becomes a priest after six years. One night, he has a vision that if he rides to Almesbury, he will find Guinevere dead; this happens as he foresaw, and he performs “al the observaunce of the servyce hymself” (p.879) for her, burying her at Arthur’s side at Glastonbury. For six weeks afterward, he barely eats for weeping at their tomb, and he dies soon afterwards, following the Bysshop’s vision that he was carried away by angels. When his body is discovered in his bed, “he laye as he had smyled, and [had] the swettest savour aboute hym that ever they felte” (p.881) (Saints were often said to have sweet-smelling corpses.) He was buried at Joyous Garde, having had his face uncovered for the fifteen-day journey and fifteen days of lying at Joyous Garde – clearly, he was saintly enough not to decompose.
The Stanzaic Morte Arthur, an earlier version of the story, has Lancelot dying in his own monastery without having made the journey to Guinevere, who dies shortly after Lancelot. (In this version, she also refuses to kiss him.)
For medieval people, this is really the only satisfying ending there could have been to the story. It would have been hugely subversive for Guinevere and Lancelot to get together afterwards – they would basically have been rewarded for treasonous behaviour – not to mention callous with regard to Arthur, who was meant to be the best king who ever lived. Having the two lovers become penitent for the remainder of their lives neatly ties up this messy loose end, and also underscores the piety they were meant to have, especially Lancelot, who had earlier been on a quest for the Holy Grail. For hundreds of years, this has been the ending of the story, although it seems this is soon to be changed.
Remakes can be a really interesting way to get at the heart of a story, as long as they don’t misplace that heart in the retelling. I’m hoping that the creators of the new films, especially Man at Arms look carefully at what it is that has made these stories so meaningful for so many years. The stories of the Round Table aren’t about some amazing war machines, but about human beings with divided loyalties, trying to find, well, peace, actually. If Lancelot becomes cold-eyed and numb, he will lose that humanity that has him desperately longing for a kiss at the same time as desperately longing for the salvation he knows he will only get from totally forsaking his old way of life. Somehow, I don’t think he’ll be a saintly priest in this new movie, but, like my fellow nerds, I’m willing to wait and see.
You can follow Danièle Cybulskie on Twitter @5MinMedievalist
Yesterday, I read that Hollywood has two new King Arthur movies and two new Robin Hood movies in the works. Naturally, I was filled with the same mix of joy and trepidation that every medieval nerd feels when one of these reboots is announced. Each time, a movie about one of my favourite literary heroes has the potential to be every bit as stirring and epic as the medieval stories, and likewise the potential (like the last few Robin Hoods) to lose the heart behind them in an attempt to modernize.
The headliner from one of the articles I’ve just been reading is a film called Man at Arms, which is just getting started. It aims to tell a story of Lancelot post-Camelot, on a “quest for redemption in his later years – based on an original idea by Brucks” (the screenwriter). “Great twist to the tried-and-true story,” says the journalist. But, hang on a second. We already know what happens to Lancelot post-Camelot, and it’s nothing like Unforgiven, as Man at Arms is meant to be. After the death of King Arthur (or his removal to Avalon after his grievous wound, however you like to look at it), Guinevere and Lancelot do exactly what medieval people would have wanted them to do: they retire to a life of prayer.
In Malory’s Morte D’Arthur (this version has modern spelling), as soon as he hears the news of Modred’s treason, Lancelot returns from Joyous Garde (his castle) to Dover, where he learns the rest of the story. He mourns Gawain for three days at Dover Castle, generously giving alms and food to the poor. Then, he rides off to find Guinevere, and discovers her already cloistered, a nun on her way to becoming an abbess. Guinevere says she can’t stand to be around him anymore, considering the destruction they have wrought together, so she encourages him to leave and find himself a wife. Ever faithful to her, Lancelot swears he couldn’t love another woman, so he will forsake the world as she does (Guinevere actively doubts this, which I love). True to form, though, he asks her for one last kiss before he goes away from her forever. To her credit, she refuses. Lancelot then rides away, weeping, until he comes upon a hermitage, in which he hears mass from the Bishop of Canterbury, and gets the rest of his news from Sir Bedevere, who happens to be there. Here’s what happens next:
And than the knelyd doun on his knee and prayed the Bysshop to shryve him and assoyle him; and than he besought the Bysshop that he might be hys brother. Than the Bysshop sayd, ‘I wyll gladly.’ and there he put an habyte upon syr Lancelot. And there he servyd God day and nyght with prayers and fastynges. (pp.877-888, The Works of Sir Thomas Malory)
More knights of the Round Table discover him over time, and join him in being monks, and Lancelot becomes a priest after six years. One night, he has a vision that if he rides to Almesbury, he will find Guinevere dead; this happens as he foresaw, and he performs “al the observaunce of the servyce hymself” (p.879) for her, burying her at Arthur’s side at Glastonbury. For six weeks afterward, he barely eats for weeping at their tomb, and he dies soon afterwards, following the Bysshop’s vision that he was carried away by angels. When his body is discovered in his bed, “he laye as he had smyled, and [had] the swettest savour aboute hym that ever they felte” (p.881) (Saints were often said to have sweet-smelling corpses.) He was buried at Joyous Garde, having had his face uncovered for the fifteen-day journey and fifteen days of lying at Joyous Garde – clearly, he was saintly enough not to decompose.
The Stanzaic Morte Arthur, an earlier version of the story, has Lancelot dying in his own monastery without having made the journey to Guinevere, who dies shortly after Lancelot. (In this version, she also refuses to kiss him.)
Remakes can be a really interesting way to get at the heart of a story, as long as they don’t misplace that heart in the retelling. I’m hoping that the creators of the new films, especially Man at Arms look carefully at what it is that has made these stories so meaningful for so many years. The stories of the Round Table aren’t about some amazing war machines, but about human beings with divided loyalties, trying to find, well, peace, actually. If Lancelot becomes cold-eyed and numb, he will lose that humanity that has him desperately longing for a kiss at the same time as desperately longing for the salvation he knows he will only get from totally forsaking his old way of life. Somehow, I don’t think he’ll be a saintly priest in this new movie, but, like my fellow nerds, I’m willing to wait and see.
You can follow Danièle Cybulskie on Twitter @5MinMedievalist
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