Boorman's Excalibur: Glorious Medieval Fan Fiction

I was intrigued by John Boorman’s Excalibur (specifically the VHS cover) and was curious to see the conception to death history of King Arthur because that's always fun. Honestly, I've never been clear on the specifics of how Excalibur and the Round Table knight’s Holy Grail fit into his legend outside of cartoons. The film also flaunts a cast with budding stars, Helen Mirren (enchantress Morgana), Patrick Stewart (Knight Leondegrance), Liam Neeson (Knight Gawain), and a few others so I went for it. Shortly after the film opened with the obligatory fight scene, when Uthur Pendragan is given the sword Excalibur from an ACTUAL protruding arm of the Lady of the Lake, I thought, “oh boy, this is cheesy.” Then to ominous wailings most unholy like a Tan Dun orchestra, when Uthur floats his horse over a fog vouchsafed by Merlyn’s magic to ravage (when this word still has meaning) Duke Cornwall’s wife, I felt some irritation of lactose intolerance. There was even a burning, soft-core porn style fire engulfing the rape scene. Yet, I found myself spellbound by the dramatic speeches and campy humor of Nicol Williamson as Merlyn, and by the magic of Riff Track-worthy moments, I’ve learned new ways to be enchanted by cheesy films. If only Keanu Reeves were able to perform with Williamson’s Shakespearean diction, imbibing every ounce of his education from Speech and Drama studies, then My Own Private Idaho would’ve been less of a bore.

Pre-CG innovations, making movies was probably more fun when you think of Monty Python films and specifically the use of coconut shells in Monty Python and the Holy Grail to imitate the sound and presence of horses they lacked the wherewithal to obtain. Considering the set catastrophes of Apocalypse Now at the same time as the making of Excalibur, it’s not so bad when Arthur’s gallant jump from Leondegrance’s castle walls to take down Uryens is offset by the blatant horse trampling he suffers in the process. You can’t help but wonder how long the cameraman had to wait for the shot of a crow eating a corpse’s eye (sheep’s eye I discovered) or how Morgana (a sexy young Hellen Mirren) didn’t choke on the fog machine set up in her mouth or where in that pagan universe they got that superimposed massive, red sun at the end. “AT THE END OF DAYS, MEN WILL LOOK UP IN FEAR TO ONE GLOWY POLKA DOT OF A SUN!” Despite the mess of rain and mud, Boorman set up beautiful landscapes with scenes of wild nature, green filters, and dark wastelands reminiscent of T. S. Elliot that tell of the age from the death of Merlyn to the coming of Christianity.


It’s also refreshing that throughout the film’s Seventh Seal sort of apocalyptic atmosphere and in between Lancelot and Guenevere’s Twilighty stares (which they consummate with the mosquitoes), there’s a surfeit of Williamson moments of comedic aloofness. Lacking the pointy blue Disney cap, he more than complements his overall ridiculousness with lines like, “Looking at the cake is like looking at the future, until you’ve tasted it what do you really know?” and “When a man lies, he murders some part of the world.” You sort of wish he could’ve been around (and real) to meet George Bush. Though, it’s not as if Merlyn is beleaguered by great standards of articulacy by the rest of the cast as Arthur heroically quips, “I was not born to live a man’s life but to be the stuff of future memory” and Perceval defines the reigning moral for King Arthur as “you and the land are one” (perhaps a pre-sage of early environmentalism).

Excalibur can’t boast of sound plotlines, transitioning from one piece of the legend to next through the use of sin-drunken myopic characters and shallow trickery by Merlyn (exploiting Morgana’s pride to coax her into fogging up her son’s battle camp is weak). However, this film is glorious medieval fan fiction with a soft-core sexiness.



I am curious what will come of John Boorman’s Excalibur remake by X-Men director, Bryan Singer…

There Will be Blood

There are many ways to judge the quality of an NYU cinema studies recitation. You can judge the vehemence of the students defending their positions on the various topics. There is the value of the materials brought by the TA that day. I, however, find it directly correlated to the amount of time it takes for a freshman to bring up There Will be Blood before the entire recitation group lathers itself up in a sweaty mess of Paul Thomas Anderson love juice.

Now, I'm not saying that TWBB is bad; by no means. It's just really overrated. It's the David Beckham of the cinema world.


Essentially, it's a story about a man named Daniel who is a bit of a crazy antisocial loner and portrays himself as the underdog up against the system, when really he's in truth a megalomaniac millionaire who is a great speaker, actor, and careful manager of his own PR.

So clearly a big stretch for Daniel Day Lewis then...

Let's be clear: this is a pretty simple film which complicates itself with various sound effects and people crying. In fact, lots of crying. So much so that it should have been called There Will Be NO Blood But Lots Of Grown Men Crying. I hear that on the DVD there will be a full extra hour of footage just made of the extra quivers the actors were adding to the end of their words, which had to be edited out in order to keep this movie to its conservative 2 hour and 40 minute running time.

To compensate for the straightforward plot, Anderson inserts a couple of betrayals which can be seen coming like a retarded Elephant crossing the Brooklyn bridge... while banging a drum... and wearing a hat with a propeller on it.

He also insists on disguising the A to B plot in a thick camouflage of grey tint. If this film is to be believed, there were only three proper colors in the early 1900s: grey, yellow and fire, which isn't really a color.

But, despite all this, it does deserve some praise, and maybe the Oscars that it won, too. However, it will only serve to continue the current trend for making ponderous character actor westerns where no one gets shot properly.

Thank you, Ang Lee, you sex-obsessed dick.