“Is this really all there is?”
David Lowery’s The Green Knight might just be one of the most anticipated releases of the year, long-awaited after a year-long delay as a result of the pandemic. In a sense, the delays are poetic, given the challenge made by the titular Green Knight to Gawain: in one year hence, the blow Gawain (Dev Patel) deals the Green Knight will be revisited on him. The film is based on the 14th-century epic poem, but the resemblances for all intents and purposes start and end at the presence of the Green Knight. Lowery’s film is one that strikes a delicate balance between setting out on its own path and honoring the text, ironically reflective of his major themes.
From the outset, The Green Knight introduces us to a very different Gawain, most notably a Gawain who is not yet a knight. He is not the Sir Gawain of the poem, but a hard-drinking, squirrely man who would rather dodge his responsibilities as Arthur’s nephew to spend time with commoner Essel (Alicia Vikander). The film’s opening sequence reveals more about the summoning of the Green Knight while also addressing one of the most drastic and consequential departures Lowery takes from the source material. The film positions Morgana as Gawain’s mother, muddling the role of nepotism in Gawain’s character arc, as she is shown to be directly responsible for the Green Knight’s arrival from the outset. The poem’s Sir Gawain accepts the quest as a way of humbling himself, acknowledging the privilege of blood that has placed him at Arthur’s side. In contrast, Morgana’s involvement makes Gawain’s acceptance far less admirable, and the entire event seems like a set-up for Morgana to gift her son a position as a knight.
However, the ethics and motivations of the Green Knight’s challenge are easily missable due to the scene’s hypnotic visuals and the noteworthy performances of the court. Two particular standouts are Sean Harris’ King Arthur and Ralph Ineson as The Green Knight. Harris’ Arthur is a vision of an older King, one closer to death’s door than he might care to admit yet still seeking the thrill of the quest, even if it means living vicariously through the stories of honor, courage, and valor from other knights. Ineson’s voice alone grants an undeniable cosmic power to the Green Knight, and the woody prosthetics suit him well, creating a towering vision of the wrath of nature itself.
The scene that surrounds The Knight’s challenge is also worthy of note: upon his approach, Arthur nods to Merlin to gauge the threat before them. The screen is bathed in red tint as Merlin pierces the veil of the future before giving the signal to Arthur to allow the Green Knight’s approach. The challenge itself is recited through a possessed, green-eyed Guinevere, her voice melding with the Knight’s as the light around her grows greener and greener. When Gawain completes the challenge beheading the Knight, deep red blood spills across pale stone as we watch from above. This scene alone reflects the Arthurian mysticism and majesty that Lowery captures so well throughout the course of the film, as well as highlighting some of its greatest visual strengths. Tinting is a recurring technique in the film, one that grants an air of the surreal wherever it appears, a technique that works well in tandem with the slow, hypnotic camera work that gives much of the film its dreamlike feel. The film also makes beautiful usage of scenery, set, and costumes, creating a rich, intricate weaving that feels more like a living tapestry than a movie.
Much of this scenery comes from Gawain’s journey, which comprises a surprising amount of the film’s 130-minute runtime. Along the way, Gawain is robbed and left for dead in the woods, he restores the corpse of St. Winifred, and witnesses a pack of travelling Giants. These are, however, completely inserted story beats; as Gawain’s voyage in the poem comprises a relatively small number of verses and is largely lacking in the fantastical, meditative elements Lowery infuses. It is in this portion of the film that Dev Patel’s rock-solid performance as the uncertain, unprepared Gawain shines through, as his limited dialogue proves how well Patel embodies the travelling non-knight facing trials that test his survival and dedication.
A particularly striking scene along the journey involves Gawain after he’s been robbed, tied up, and left for dead: a slow pan from a squirming, struggling Gawain reveals a weathered skeleton clad in his clothes. The shot is haunting, and cuts almost immediately to a very much alive Gawain wriggling over to his sword to cut himself free, even if it means injuring his hand in the process. The shot also foreshadows one of the film’s most surprising sequences, introducing the audience to the concept that some scenes in the film are not definitive, and can act as portents of the future as well as depictions of present reality.
After a series of hypnotically alluring trials and tribulations, Gawain arrives at an unfamiliar castle, where he is welcomed by the mysterious Lord and Lady, played by Joel Edgerton and a double-cast Alicia Vikander. Their presence in the story is far more nebulous, and greatly reduced from the original poem. The poem’s Sir Gawain spends three days with the Lord and Lady, engaging in the same bet the Lord and Gawain make in the film: whatever the Lord wins while hunting for the day goes to Gawain, and whatever Gawain wins while in his castle is given to the Lord. The Lady spends the next three days tempting Gawain into having an affair with her, and each night she is barely able to win a kiss. On the third, she offers Gawain her belt, and when the time comes to exchange winnings, Gawain hides the belt from the Lord in order to keep it. In the film’s version of events, Gawain flees after only a day in their castle, running into the Lord only for him to claim a passionate kiss, according to the rules of their game.
In addition to this, Gawain’s time within the strange castle, particularly his time with the Lady, emphasize one of the film’s persistent weaknesses: a willingness to add, rather than re-interpret, existing scenes in the poem leads to scenes and thematic elements that are confusing at best and, at worst, risk undermining Gawain’s character arc entirely.
The now-infamous scene before his flight from the castle, in which Gawain receives the belt from the Lady, offers a bewildering interpretation of the poem’s message. The poetic Gawain’s refusal to engage romantically with the Lady is meant to signal the choice he ultimately makes at the end of the story: his refusal to abuse the power granted to him by his status as a knight is a mark of conviction that surpasses the “honor” offered to him by this quest. In the film, however, the Lady punishes Gawain for simply being attracted to her. She offers him her belt, a magical item that will protect the wearer from all harm, and assaults him as he fumbles for it. It’s a confusing sequence to analyze, given that an interpretation of events closer to the original poem actually strengthens Lowery’s themes, as Gawain’s resistance to abusing the power of his perceived status ask the same questions of the legitimacy and worth of knighthood that Lowery is.
Gawain’s time with the Lady also highlights the film’s most glaring weakness: it’s female characters, especially in terms of Gawain’s relationship to them. Morgana, Essel, and the Lady are all criminally underwritten, asking viewers to read in between the lines to such a degree that it becomes hard to tell if thematically relevant and interesting interpretations of these characters are intentional, or if viewers are making the best of a bad situation. Morgana is particularly reflective of this issue, barely speaking or given much to do outside of her magic and the occasional meaningful glance. It is a testament to Sarita Choudhury that she is able to pull off a picture-perfect Morgana Le Fay with such limited presence and dialogue.
These underwritten characters make some of the other creative choices more confusing than effective. Both the Lady and Essel are played by Alicia Vikander, and beyond Gawain’s attraction to both characters, it’s hard to understand why. Essel is meant to provide a grounding relationship to Gawain and highlight the restrictions he feels with the concept of knighthood and his royal blood, as he is unable to answer her when she asks if he would let her be his Lady, despite the difference in their class and station. Thus, the casting choice could be intended to underline the contrast in their status and Gawain’s willingness to engage in relationships with them, or it could be to indicate that both are the only people capable of seeing Gawain as he really is. Unfortunately, the film offers too little in any direction to determine with any certainty. In contrast, the scene with St. Winifred is wonderfully written, her sparse dialogue revealing a mistrust of any men with power that Gawain realises will include him, should he attain the honor of knighthood by completing this quest.
The ending of the film, however, is what truly delivers The Green Knight from a cinematically beautiful yet stumbling adaptation to a mystical and powerful variation on an old story. Here, Gawain meets the Green Knight in his chapel, and, much like the poem, kneels down to accept the blow that he has promised to. Gawain flinches twice, not yet prepared to face death, and at the third swing…Gawain flinches once more. Gawain himself diverges from his own story to flee the Green Chapel,where he lives out an alternate, morbid future as King of England. Following the vision, he steadies himself, removes the enchanted belt and offers what may be his last words: “Now, I am ready.” Finally, Gawain has confronted the false promise of honor, of knighthood, and of power itself. He accepts death, and the truth of his promise to the Green Knight, rather than living out a lie in pursuit of power.
Whether or not Gawain survives is irrelevant, because ultimately what matters is that he chooses truth over power. This ending cements what the departures from the poem have suggested all along: this is not Sir Gawain and The Green Knight, but instead the story of Gawain, the non-knight, the uncertain hero who fulfilled his promise even if it would mean his death.
There is no arguing that The Green Knight is a cinematic feat of truly mythical proportions, and a major accomplishment for often polarizing director David Lowery. The Green Knight’s writing echoes the often strange and enigmatic nature of much of medieval storytelling and literature, and offers a truly unique cinematic experience. If one goes as far as to believe that Gawain dies at the end of this version of the tale, the film becomes an individual odyssey that treads the line between life and death: each singular viewer becomes the sole witness to Gawain’s story. If he dies, there is no story to tell and no poem to write.
Reviews so far have varied greatly, and it is likely for this reason. The uniqueness of the film, its existence on this scale, and this invitation to be the sole viewer of Gawain’s quest means that everyone will come away with their own feelings and interpretation of the film. Perhaps, after all, that alone proves The Green Knight has accomplished what it set out to do in adapting and transforming a centuries-old medieval poem. Medieval poetry has survived to this day on its nebulousness and ability to carry different meanings to different people. Stories of the courage and valor of a knight may come across as heroic to one person and as toxic to another. A story about a man on a quest to fulfill a mortal oath may be reflective of the way we have harmed the natural world, or it may be a tale of the value of deeds over words. Ultimately, The Green Knight’s true strength is in capturing the enigma of myth, something that changes and grows over time, and never means the exact same thing from one reader to the next. The Green Knight is a polarizing, hypnotic, surreal film, but more than anything else, it is a work worthy of its inspirations. It is a legend in and of itself.
