The Green Knight: Performing the Hero
This retelling of an Arthurian classic is as subversive as it is fantastical.
Rarely does a film allow for such a range of interpretations as The Green Knight. A modern recreation of an Arthurian classic, one would be forgiven for expecting grandiose duels with deadly monsters, sparks flying from clashing swords, and the relentless obsession with pride or honor typical of grounded fantasy. While this is a world ripe with such cliches, they are only ever presented in the most interesting way: through the lens of criticism.
The Green Knight presents its setting with lush, frankly poetic visuals so rich with subtextual meaning behind its ethereal beauty that the film’s unnamed fantasy world is closer to a lingering examination of surreal fantasy rather than, say, a string of exciting encounter after comical coincidence that is The Hobbit Trilogy’s Middle Earth. The Green Knight’s world is mysterious, the scope is grand, and the pace is pensive. Like The Northman, The Green Knight attempts to bring stories of old to the modern day not just with faithful renditions of impossible worlds, but through capturing the reality of what it means to live in the King Arthur’s shadow, how the unbearable weight of “honor” and expectation in a world defined by titles would burden its carrier, and the scale an on foot trek spanning unknown miles and biomes would actually feel. That is: painful, confusing, patient, and deeply contemplative.
In this way, the film’s cinematography directly reinforces the major themes at play in this adaptation. The Green Knight, for as much as it fantastically recreates a beautiful imaginary world, does so for the sake of investigation and critique. The film thus lingers in its own beauty not out of indulgence, but intrigue and a desire to interrogate the traditional fantasy setting. This is the fantasy world we’ve heard in legends passed on for generations, and when captured with such patience and care, invites the viewer to examine every element that fills the world’s infinite crevices. This world is jaw droppingly stunning like Middle-Earth, but more cruel in every way. Much like Gawain, the audience explores the traditional fantasy world with a slight terror instead of excitement. Whereas Bilbo and gang comically tumble down a river in physics defying bouncing barrels, here, a single thief is enough to nearly kill our “legendary hero.” Truly, The Green Knight is a complete package for its critical take on the idea of “tradition” so prevalent in Arthurian legends through visuals. The cinematography is but one way in which this seemingly timeless tale is, in reality, a masterful modern deconstruction of the very form it so passionately recreates.
We first meet our protagonist, Gawain, in a state of permanent immaturity. He is the typical aspirational fantasy hero still in his generative pod: a man-child unfit to be the heroic knight and King he is destined to become. Of course, the key to embodying this historical title is by attaining the ever present, ever elusive, trait of “honor.” Gawain can only undergo such a transformation by braving the traditional fantasy adventure. For any other fantasy hero this test of strength would seem a blessing. Tell me if you’ve heard this before: the antsy knight destined for greatness is presently unfit for his destiny due to lacking the core traits of the archetypal fantasy story. The immature hero naively goes on the quest he is ill equipped to take on, only to have his weaknesses exposed, his ego tested, until he is finally, truly, an honorable knight worthy of the title “King.” Gawain initially seems to be this immature archetype, that is, until he utters some of his first words: “I’m not ready.”
Positioned to take up the helm of the legendary King Arthur, Gawain’s life has been etched into the stones of fate since birth. The cold open says as much: “This is not that King, nor is this his song…let me instead tell you a new tale…and lay it down as I’ve heard it told…forever set in heart and stone like all great myths of old.” The Green Knight is thus immediately presented as both familiar and new, a story fated to end with a single conclusion, yet following a new hero that is unlike the King of old. It is fitting, then, that the King of this fantasy critique is the legendary hero himself. Gawain, meanwhile, is his straggling nephew, brought to the round table not because he is brave, not because he even wants to be there, but because he was destined to by blood. This King Arthur is bound to the idea of fate as if it is governing law, which for the traditional fantasy story, it is. When attempting to downplay his status and leave the roundtable, King Arthur only reaffirms Gawain’s position as destined hero. If fate, tradition, honor, and other gargantuan themes are the fantasy’s drug, King Arthur can’t see past his own addiction. While the archetypal hero would kill for Gawain’s position, our lead is instead crippled by the insecurity, doubt, and the weight of his own fate reinforced by the legendary heroes surrounding him. As a result, Gawain follows in the familiar hero’s footsteps, despite his clear hesitancy. In this iteration of the Aruthurian world, being a legendary member of the roundtable is as much a curse to a predetermined life as it is a soar to a life of luxury and status of “hero.” Hiding behind stellar subtextual dialogue and Patel’s immaculate performance, Gawain’s faux-confidence is a clear attempt at disguising his fear of taking on the role he is forced into by fate itself.
Which is why Gawain bears the burden of battling the titular Green Knight when he arrives at King Arthur’s throne demanding a duel. Out of desperation to prove himself worthy in front of legendary, judgemental heroes, Gawain follows his destiny despite his clear reluctance towards living a life out of his own control. Taking on the weight of tradition is symbolized by King Arthur gifting Gawain the legendary sword Excalibur for the battle. This makes Gawain no less fearful, as one of our hero’s defining traits, which you would never find in the legendarily stoic King, is deep seeded uncertainty. Holding his sword between shaky hands, bracing himself in front of the round table playing pretend legend, Gawain takes on the Knight with hesitance. Truly, this fight is established as one to be passed on for generations. The King-to-be takes on the fabled challenger, vanquishing his new arch enemy by following in the sword swings and cuts of past champions. Gawain, acting on nothing more than blind faith in tradition and fear of judgment, does as he’s told.The blade pierces skin, the Green Knight’s head topples to the floor, and thus, Gawain has cemented his legacy. A lost man without a story of his own to tell, mythological heroes now view the once meager Gawain as a knight destined for greatness, when in reality, the hero himself just had his life stolen by the thief called fate and the title of King.
The battle is praised by King Arthur, and Gawain’s new story is eventually raised to the status of legend. Gawain’s resultant popularity is comical relative to the reality of the Green Knight’s execution, as this heroic status is built on the back of a lie. The duel paraded as a warring clash for honor was, in reality, nothing more than the Green Knight kneeling, waiting, and accepting death. Gawain’s fight was nothing as extraordinary as the stories he’s heard and the one’s being told. As a result, our protagonist feels unfit for his fated position as new Arthurian legend, and is even reluctant to continue the second part of his journey. Prior to execution, the Green Knight presented Gawain with a deadline: one year’s time, and their battle will continue. From here, the film cuts to a Gawain seated in the position he was fated to take. The new Arthurian hero has his story told in the form of puppet shows to awe-inspired children, traveling merchants who sing his tale across the land; Gawain is officially a legend. And yet, Gawain is riddled with the insecurity that comes with playing the performance of “Arthurian hero” instead of actualizing it. He is no knight, even if the King, his fans, and the very structure of traditional fantasy stories itself forces him to be.
Mere days before his year is up, King Arthur again forces Gawain down his fated path. With that, Gawain continues his supposedly legendary adventure. With King Arthur’s sword and blessing, we are presented what is expected to be the next fantasy legend, the new King Arthur in a lineage of royal blood born to bear the honorable weight the title brings. Classic fantasy protagonists would see this quest as a blessing. Finally, the chance to prove oneself honorable enough to take on the admirable position of King. However, for Gawain this expectation brings a crippling weight that he carries over the beginning of his journey, the reality of which is depicted through the aforementioned stunning, informative cinematography. Captured in a seemingly never-ending long take, Gawain departs Camelot with adoring children in his trail. The uninterrupted shot calls attention to the torturous isolation the traditional knight’s journey brings. Minutes pass before the children disappear, the cheers fading alongside Gawain’s confidence. Instead of an aspirational knight, the audience is faced with a reluctant hero, one who literally doesn’t know which direction he is going. Passively pushed into his position, Gawain accepts the quest with the equivalent of a fearful sigh and a meek “if I have to.” Lord of the Rings presents the on foot trek for honor as exciting, thrilling, admittedly dangerous, but ultimately heroic, and thus, a worthwhile pursuit. Meanwhile, Gawain is already exhausted from the luxurious lie he leads, one directed by fate and his status of knighthood instead of his own will.
And so the journey begins.
Three pivotal stops make up Gawain’s narrative that test his honor. Refusing to pay a supposed war victim despite his helpful directions, expecting a reward for finding a spirit’s head at the bottom of a lake, and indulging in the sexual pleasures offered to him in a far off Lord’s castle are all examples of how the knight is unfit for his title. However, the distinguishing fact that makes this unlike traditional fantasy stories is that behind Gawain’s indulgences is not an inherently selfish man. A less subversive fantasy story would paint Gawain as ill-equipped for the legendary title because of a fatal flaw that he bests through a perilous quest. The archetypal hero’s journey has the capable protagonist only ill-equipped for the title because of a self-motivated weakness where the hero unknowingly halts his own progress due to his obsession with shallow vices and lacking wisdom. However, through Patel’s performance, Gawain becomes a more complicated figure than the typical fantasy protagonist. This is because behind Gawain’s vices, one can read fear, insecurity, and a pressure to conform to his title.
While Gawain’s flawed pursuits could certainly be read in the more traditional fairytale framework, with these actions being the genuine result of endless praise for living a lie that deserves punishment, I prefer the reading that makes for a far more critical view of the traditional fairytale narrative. Reading Gawain’s actions over his year of opulence as a reluctant attempt to be the knight the world labels him as, rather than an inevitable downfall into genuine lust and greed for taking on the title, makes for a fantasy tale that is sick and tired of its own tropes. Viewing the film from this angle, Gawain is less an unwise hero and more a tragic victim of legend, fate, and other fantastical hallmarks of the genre. If one imagines Gawain upset with his knightly status, as a man stripped of his agency to live a life he never wanted and was decided upon before his birth, then the resultant “hero’s journey” becomes a self critique. Fairy tales of old make the knight a desirable position. But read in this way, The Green Knight is a subversion of the formulaic “immature knight learns his lesson to be gifted the desired position of honorable King.” Instead, it tells a story that presents the typically honorable position as hollow, cruel, and empty. The legendary title becomes a ball and chain, making for a meaningless life of vices when forced upon its victim. I choose to read Gawain as upset with his meaningless life that tradition has established as desirable, a reputation history will only perpetuate, and leave its subjects unsatisfied.
With this reading, Gawain seems meek, merely playing the role of hero the best he can without blowing his cover to maintain a sense of respectability and self-purpose. His luxurious status may make for an empty life, but without knighthood, what else does Gawain have? According to those he meets on his journey, there isn’t even an option. The mysterious King and Queen demonstrates Gawain’s selfishness, a trait he has been conditioned into because of the titular role he was forced to fit. Gawain accepts this praise because, well, what else would a knight do? Instead of basking in glory, Gawain retreats to learned behaviors that one inevitably develops by taking on the curse of knighthood. It is not Gawain that is flawed, but instead, the entire notion of heroship or legendary titles as a whole. The weight of tradition and legend shapes men lacking identity into lustfull, pathetic “heroes.”
This sentiment is solidified in the film’s ending, where Gawain finally encounters his patient nemesis. On Christmas morning, the Green Knight awakens, expecting the hero at his feet because, hey, that’s what the legend says. What else is written in Gawain’s story? A closing period. The ultimate test of honor, the means of finally becoming worthy to be King, requires Gawain to give his own life at the hands of the Green Knight. Cut to Gawain running through the woods, terrified of his fate, and returning to Camelot as the new King. King Arthur passes, Gawain takes the throne as he was destined to, and the rest of his life is the same hollow path he’s lived the past year as a courageous knight. Gawain becomes a benevolent King, again, not out of some inherent evil, but because of the inevitability of the role. Being a King or knight is poisonous on one’s character because of the lavishness the title brings. Infinite praise makes one lazy. Inept. Unchallenged, and thus, unsatisfied. Gawain as the new King betrays his true love when taking her child to raise as the next ruler, sentencing his own son to the horrific fate he lives. Worse yet, his heir doesn’t even make it as far as Gawain, but maybe that’s a blessing. After all, Gawain’s Kingly rule ends with him alone in his throne room, his head cut clean off, looking at his headless body from the angle all of his worshippers did.
And then we return to the present. Having just hallucinated his future as King and facing the reality of knighthood being nothing more than worthless sacrifice for arbitrary titles and a vague sense of “honor,” Gawain is tired. Tradition, legend, and following the path he was always meant to have only led the fantasy protagonist to a dead end, a lose lose where he either dies for nothing or wishes he were dead as he spirals into villainy. Gawain isn’t evil, but everything traditionally positioned as “honorable” in fantasy settings makes him so. Met with this fatal coin toss, Gawain thus makes his first true decision in the entire film: to die for himself.
Prior to his departure, King Arthur spoke with Gawain in certain terms. According to the ancient ruler, there are two certainties to Gawain’s story as determined by legend. Gawain is fated to go on this quest and destined to return with honor, everything between is left unknown. This is how the story goes, as it always has, and how it always will. However, this knightly journey is revealed to be a hoax. Instead of a legendary duel making up the core of a warrior’s adventure, the knight’s duty is a recreation of the film’s anti-climax. Forced to his knees by fate and ordered by legacy to give his life for the arbitrary title of hero, knight, King, what have you, Gawain finally lives for himself. To be a knight is to die, to leave is to rule as a benevolent King. No matter what happens, Gawain loses, unless he chooses his ending. At the Green Knights' feet, Gawain removes his armor, and accepts his fate. Now, the seeming antagonist smirks, knowing Gawain has completed his quest. “Now, off with your head” mutters the knight. In this moment, I choose to imagine King Arthur a fraud, the Green Knight as the arbiter of subversive truth, and Gawain as happy for finally living for himself by choosing to die on his own terms. With this reading, it is not the tree monster that cuts off Gawain’s head that is the story's antagonist, but the framework of the story itself. Destined to what was once believed to be an ideal life, Gawain would rather die than take on the role destiny has planned for him. Finally, Gawain has become honorable not because he is finally worthy of being a knight, but because he refuses to become one.