A24's The Green Knight: A Failure of Moral Clarity

     There is no shortage of critics willing to pick up the metaphorical ax against poor writing, especially online. But I would like to do it from the standpoint of the morality tale and its value to society. Moral clarity is almost impossible to write well if you lack it yourself. Director David Lowry admitted, in an interview I can no longer track down, that he wasn't sure he could do the story justice. In style and atmosphere he has, but in substance he has failed utterly. Arthurian stories are morality tales as much as fantasy and the morals of A24's film are decidedly muddied if not opaque. I will focus on three aspects of the story which deviate from the original poem and make it utterly devoid of moral meaning. Spoilers ahead for those who want to watch the film.

    Foremost is the character of Gawain. The movie begins with him waking up on Christmas morning in a brothel. This, admittedly, I knew going into the theater due to a couple of reviews I'd looked at beforehand. This wasn't a deal-breaker for me, I could easily imagine the journey of Gawain granting him the moral clarity of a man walking knowingly to his death for the sake of keeping his word. This did not happen. This Gawain eventually yields to the temptations of a lady in whose home he is a guest and whose husband had preserved his life and offered hospitality. In the original poem, as translated by the beloved J.R.R. Tolkein, Gawain resists the lady's advances. Here he finds only shame after failing to resist her. This Gawain begins a deeply flawed man and ends the story retaining several of these flaws. There was no need to change these elements of the story at all. the original Gawain was still flawed but does not fall to lust. he falls to cowardice and is marked by it so he will keep the memory of his failure as a warning forever after. No man is always and everywhere perfect in his conduct.

    When the Green Knight first appears he hands King Arthur a letter bearing a challenge: Let whichever of your knights is boldest of blood and wildest of heart try, in honor, to land a blow against me. Gawain answers with the boldness and lack of forethought a young man typically has. Especially if the young man is still seeking to prove himself. We never again see this Gawain, save, perhaps, at the very end. He spends nearly the whole movie displaying cowardice in many flavors. Abuse of alcohol, fear of commitment to the woman he supposedly loves, turning his back when a thief pulls a knife on him, and inevitably shrinking away from the Green Knight when the time comes to be held to his word. At the very end of the film we see Gawain cast aside his fear and show himself willing to keep his word unto the point of death. More on this moment later.

    Second, the presence of Gawain's mother in Camelot is confounding and her use of witchcraft even more-so. Christianity in this movie is window dressing only, kept for style but having no bearing on the plot or any of the characters. Morgan le Fey is Arthur's sister and nemesis in most stories. Arthur knows of her presence in Camelot and tolerates it, even embraces it. I may just be under-studied in Arthurian stories, but in all I've read she was never so chummy with her sibling. She it hateful and jealous of Arthur. Perhaps it's more of the "wokeness" of the creative industry infecting the film? How could a woman possibly be unjust? Or how could we make her unsympathetic? Worse, it is heavily implied that Morgan created the Green Knight and controls it. This makes the final moment of the film utterly confusing. Again, I'll hold off on describing the final moment.

Third, the lord of the castle near the Green Chapel. In the original poem, this man was the Green Knight. He had been disguised and protected by Morgan le Fey who had laid out this scheme to trouble Arthur and his queen on Christmas. In the movie version he appears to be some kind of hedonist deviant who was very interested in letting his wife prey upon Gawain, a man in his care. In the poem he was testing Gawain's virtue, in the movie he seems to have some kind of homoerotic designs on Gawain. Designs he meant to accomplish through manipulation and the twisting of Gawain's promise of mutual gift giving.

Lastly, the end of the film. When Gawain comes face to face with his executioner, he gives up the ax and kneels down to receive the strike to his neck. when the Green Knight begins his first swing Gawain flinches away. The second time, he asks the Knight to stop. The third time he asks if that's it, if there's nothing more to the game the Knight had challenged him to. The fourth time he runs away entirely. We then see Gawain's future after he runs, living the life of a coward and refusing to remove the magical belt he'd gained from the lady of the castle which would protect him from all harm. At the end of this sequence Gawain realizes that his escape was in name only. That he'd died the moment he ran. This life is then revealed to be an imagining of Gawain as he waits to be beheaded. He asks the Knight to wait. Gawain discards the magical belt that he believed would protect him and says he is ready. The Knight bends down to touch his face, in the same way almost every character in this story does for some odd reason, then gives the final line of the story: :Now, off with your head". This obliterates the original moral message of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. the original story was a story about honor, courtly love, and the price of cowardice and dishonesty.

The moral of this film, as far as I can tell, is that no one should try to be great. If you behave honorably you will die and your story will end. If you do what's in your selfish interest, you will live a life hardly worthy of the name, then die anyway. It is an Arthurian tale not worthy of the name or genre it was made in. As a morality tale, it is uselessly opaque in its message or presents a message of utter nihilism. The visuals and music are of the highest quality, but the story is so divorced from its roots that it is utterly worthless for its intended purpose. What's worse, this will be the only version of the story most people will even know. A true pity.

A Grim Friendship

 “Mommy, what’s that?” the child was only 4 years old, barely old enough to string proper sentences together. Her mother, carrying her daughter’s infant brother on her back, turned weary eyes toward the old churchyard. The sun was setting and left the graveyard beside the church in a patch of deep shade.

            “That’s just a really old church, honey.” The toddler knew the word church fairly well. Her family went to church every Sunday. That wasn’t what she was pointing to.

            “Not church, the black thing by all the rocks.” Her mother squinted at the place her daughter pointed to but didn’t see anything black.

            “Just a trick of the light. Now let’s get home. Daddy’s making dinner tonight.” The woman’s husband was a professional cook for one of the wealthy families in the town but they’d given him the night off for All Hallows Eve. As her feet kicked up the dried and colorful leaves, the woman’s tired mind imagined the rich food and hot apple cider waiting for her when she opened the door of her modest home. She didn’t notice when her daughter slipped away from her side until the girl was already twenty yards away, moving toward the church graveyard. The mother’s heart lurched into a rapid beat when she looked down and realized her daughter wasn’t beside her.

            “Eliza!”

            “It’s a big doggy!” the young girl blurted out with the unrestrained cheer of very young children. The graveyard fence was old and rusted but still sturdy enough to keep out one curious toddler. Eliza saw the big doggy with black fur walking over to her. It was even bigger than she thought. In fact, once it got close enough to poke its nose against the bars she realized it was a good deal taller than she was. “Good doggy.” She said, a bit more cautious now that the dog was close enough to touch.

            “Listen to your mother, child.” A deep and sonorous voice issued from the parted jaws of the huge beast. The girl stepped back in momentary fright. Doggies didn’t talk. She looked about her for somewhere else the voice might have come from but it was late in the evening and the old brick road was nearly empty, save for her mother.

            “Eliza Bronwen Reiss! Don’t go wandering off by yourself. Now come on, we’re going home.”

            “Sorry, Mommy. I just wanted to see the doggy.” Anwen Reiss frowned at her usually well-behaved daughter and looked around for the “doggy”. Seeing none she took hold of her daughter’s hand and began the walk back home. “But, Mommy, I wanted to-“ Eliza looked back at the cemetery but didn’t see the big dog anymore. Confused, the little girl went with her mother, though she kept looking over her shoulder for the talking doggy.

#

            “-but then I couldn’t see him anymore.” Eliza finished telling her father as he added wood to the hearth fire to heat up the stew and keep the small house warm in the autumn night. Her father was very tall, and his blond hair was a mirror of his daughter’s own.

            “A big black dog?” he asked, his voice still touched with a light accent from his home country. He’d come from Germany by way of England, it gave his voice an almost aristocratic bearing. Ingo Reiss had managed to pick up a variety of cooking styles in Europe before coming to America

            “She said she saw one in St. Jude’s cemetery. I think it was just a trick of the light.”

            “But he talked to me.” Eliza insisted. The parents shared a look. Their daughter had created an imaginary friend. Hardly unreasonable since she was one of only a handful of children her age to live in the small town.

            “What did the doggy say?” Anwen inquired.

            “Listen to your mother, child.” Eliza said, in her best imitation of that deep voice.

            “That is a good doggy.” Ingo remarked with a smile. “I think I know what you saw. My grandmother told me a story once when I was a bit older than you. She was from Finland. Do you remember where Finland is?” he asked his daughter. She immediately looked to the map on the wall. She couldn’t read yet but she thought she remembered what the word “Finland” looked like. She put her finger on what she thought was the right word. “Very good.” He cleaned his hands with some water and a towel then picked up his daughter, cradling her in one arm, and sat down in his favorite chair.

            “Grandma’s story?”

            “Be patient.” He told the precocious girl. He was trying to remember the old story, which his grandmother had related in her native Finnish. “She called it a Kirkonväki. A Church Grim.” He bounced the girl on his knee a bit and she giggled. “She told me that every church was guarded by one of these Grim. They keep out bad things and love the sound of church bells ringing.” He tried to recall what else his grandmother had told him. “She said that she saw one once. When she was young, her family would leave food for it on holy days. One day, on All Hallows Eve,” he was adding this last bit for embellishment, “she saw one come to eat the soul cakes her family had left for it.”

            “Daddy, can we make soul cakes for the Church Grim?” she asked immediately, as he knew she would.

            “Waste of flour and salt.” Anwen said.

            “Now, now, a few small cakes won’t take much of either. And, as it turns out, I already have them baking.”

            “Of course, you do. It’s an old superstition. You know what the Bishop says about that.”

            “The Bishop is a good man but he’s an American. They have no time for customs from the old world. And Father O’Rourke told us that there was no sin in honoring Christian traditions, even if they are a bit rustic.” Anwen harrumphed and went back to setting the table. The dishes were simple stoneware, none of that fancy porcelain that most wealthy families set out. The Scot in Anwen couldn’t justify spending money on something that should be functional. It wasn’t like the garden, which she filled with beautiful flowers every spring.

            “You two have your fun tonight. But we’ve got Mass at the Cathedral tomorrow morning so don’t stay out late.”

            “Why doesn’t Mommy like Halloween?”

            “She doesn’t care for the old stories. She thinks ghosts and faeries are old world nonsense. She might be right, I’ve never seen anything like that before either. But just because something is old doesn’t mean it has no value.” Ingo felt his lips quirk into a small smile as he realized he was talking to a 4 year old. She wouldn’t understand the importance of any of these things for a long time. But when she was just sitting there, listening so attentively, he found it easy to forget just how young she was. “But, just for tonight, we can go leave something for the Church Grim.”

#

            Carved pumpkins and the smell of sweets was omnipresent outside. There were a few children outside, going door to door asking for treats. Eliza and her father went straight toward the old churchyard as soon as the cakes had cooled enough to be put into a basket. Ingo left some with Anwen in case any children knocked on their door.

Old St. Jude’s Church had been there for more than 120 years but it had been ransacked during the Civil War and no one had ever tried to repair it or reopen it for use. The Bishop had taken the opportunity to build a new cathedral which had become the new center of the town. The town eventually became a city. And the old church remained as it had. Old and forgotten. The stones in the cemetery had been worn almost clean of names and dates. The iron gates were badly rusted and part of the back wall had crumbled. At night, it looked a bit ominous.

“It’s OK, Eliza. Nothing’s going to get you while Daddy’s here.” Ingo made sure he kept hold one of his daughter’s hands. She might be a good girl most of the time, but running off into the dark was not something he wanted her to do. She was looking around at every shadowy area the street lamps didn’t cover. She might be a bit mature for her age, but all children are afraid of the dark.

They went through the gate of the churchyard, Ingo stepping down the tall grass as they went. Eliza held on tightly to her father now, the place had an air of menace about it in the dark that it hadn’t in the fading daylight. The little girl, still innocent of the real terrors of the world, felt her first taste of real fear and she clung to her father, her protector, as desperately as a drowning man held onto driftwood.

“Guardian of those who rest in this holy ground, we thank you for your service.” Ingo intoned. Then he laid a bundle of small cakes, wrapped in a handkerchief, on the stone slab at the base of a large headstone in the shape of a cross. “Eternal light give to them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May they rest in the peace of God, Amen” Ingo prayed with clasped hands while his daughter had her arms wrapped around one of his legs. “Eliza, is there anything you want to say?” he laid a hand on her head in comfort. She shook her head, burying her face in the fabric of his pants. Ingo sighed and picked up his child, realizing he might have pushed her too far too soon. He carried her out of the churchyard with her arms wrapped around him. When she felt safe enough she looked up over her father’s shoulder and saw the black dog. He sat on his haunches next to the cakes her father had laid out. The huge beast made eye contact with her, green eyes looking into pools of red.

“I thank you for your charity.” The voice seemed to resonate inside her. The eyes of the Grim closed and it inclined its head. “I am Edryd, please pray for me, little sister. And be welcome in my place.” Then the dog opened its jaws and snapped up one of the small cakes. Eliza looked to her father but he kept walking as if he hadn’t heard anything. Mustering up a bit of courage, Eliza waved at the Grim. The beast bowed its’ head once more then walked back into the dark of the cemetery.