This is the Arthur about whom the trifles of the Bretons rave even now, one certainly not to be dreamed of in false myths, but proclaimed in truthful histories–indeed, who for a long time held up his tottering fatherland, and kindled the broken spirits of his countrymen to war. –William of Malmesbury, Gesta Regum Anglorum, c. 1125 AD
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But perhaps I’m crediting the wrong party: although Franzoni gets the screenwriting credit and Antoine Fuqua is the director of record, King Arthur is very clearly a Jerry Bruckheimer movie. An old-fashioned mogul of the David O. Selznick school, Bruckheimer leaves a highly recognizable imprint on all his projects regardless of who he hires to make them. King Arthur has none of the distinctive snap of Fuqua’s The Replacement Killers and Training Day; his style has been flattened out beneath the weight of signature Bruckheimer touches like the hero doing a grim-faced, slo-mo walk toward the camera away from a wall of fire. Of course, visual bombast of this kind is enormously popular, which is why Bruckheimer’s name now features prominently in marketing campaigns for his films. It’s hard to think of another producer whose name has comparable marquee value.
The Arthurian legend has a long and tangled history. Many scholars regard Arthur as a composite figure built from a mixture of fact and fiction. The original historical model was probably Ambrosius Aurelianus, a Roman general whose victorious exploits in leading the Britons against Saxon invaders were described in De Excidio Britanniae (“Concerning the Ruin of Britain”), a chronicle written in 529 AD by a monk named Gildas the Wise.
Just as Arthur’s knights are approaching the end of their tour of duty, the Romans announce that they are pulling out of Britain. Encouraged by this news, the Saxons launch an invasion from the continent. Inexplicably, the pope’s favorite godson lives in an estate located on the wrong side of Hadrian’s Wall, the northern boundary of the empire. On the very day his men were to be demobilized, Arthur is given a final assignment: find and evacuate the boy and his family before the Saxons arrive, which means venturing into territory held by Merlin, king of the fierce and rebellious Woads.
Gender politics have also been given a makeover here: Guinevere (Keira Knightley), a passive love object in the standard narrative, has been redrawn as woman warrior and kick-ass archer. This is arguably a progressive step for Bruckheimer, whose films are not noted for their strong female characters. Historically it’s also not quite as silly as it sounds–there is, for example, the precedent of Boudicca, aka Boadicea, the first-century Celtic queen who reportedly led an army of 200,000 in an unsuccessful revolt against Rome (and who’s the subject of four films currently under development, including one from Mel Gibson’s production company). Perhaps more important than the character’s historical plausibility is the fact that it gives young female viewers a proxy and young male viewers a chance to see Knightley get physical in skimpy leather battle garb.
