Sword of Lancelot AKA Lancelot and Guinevere (1963)
Directed by Cornel Wilde; written by Richard Schayer and Cornel Wilde (as "Jefferson Pascal")
Quadruple-threat Cornel Wilde also co-produced and stars in this version of the adulterous love affair between King Arthur's most valiant knight and his queen. Wilde's real-life wife, Jean Wallace, co-stars as Guinevere.
Wallace's troubled personal life (more stable during the thirty years she was married to Wilde) may have added to her ability to portray the emotionally disturbed mistress of crime boss Richard Conte in the excellent film noir The Big Combo (1955, also with Wilde.) In a similar way, Wallace seems a good fit for the role of Queen Guinevere, whose fairy tale beauty cannot disguise her essential sadness.
(Some critics have suggested that forty-ish Wallace and fifty-ish Wilde are too long in the tooth to portray the lovers, but I had no problem with this aspect of the film. If Lancelot and Guinevere [to use the more appropriate, original British title] doesn't quite have the same autumnal mood of Robin and Marion (1976), they are both medieval romances for adults.)
The various film adaptations of Arthurian legends vary enormously in the degree to which they include fantastic elements. ]Excalibur (1981) and even the spoof Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975) are full of magic. Sword of Lancelot goes to the other extreme. There is no mention of Morgan le Fay or the Lady of the Lake. Merlin is present, but only as Arthur's most trusted adviser. Like any story of King Arthur, the plot bears no more resemblance to real history than your local Renaissance Faire, but it does not admit any hint of the supernatural.
Our tale begins with an unexpected touch of comedy. One of the knights of Camelot reports that Lancelot must be seriously ill with some plague, as he was seen with a strange white substance on his body. This turns out to be Merlin’s latest invention, which he calls “soap.” (This is historically nonsensical, as soap-making is an ancient process, very well-known in medieval times.) After some good-natured joking about Lancelot’s clean skin and fine scent, we get down to business.
It seems that Arthur intends to marry Guinevere, the daughter of another king, in order to unite the two realms. A representative from Guinevere’s father, hardly more than a boy, shows up to announce that the rival king refuses this alliance. In order to avoid war, however, he is willing to have his champion fight Arthur’s chosen representative to the death, with the winning monarch to have his way. Naturally, this is a job for Lancelot.
Our film takes a less romantic view of combat than some tales of valor. The battle is two heavily armed men trying their best to kill each other with a variety of deadly weapons. Later, in scenes of full-scale warfare, we’ll see an unexpected level of gruesome violence, with one character taking an arrow in the side of the head and another having an arm nearly completely cut off.
Of course, Lancelot wins. He escorts Guinevere back to Camelot. During the long ride, Guinevere reveals that she’s a bit of a tomboy (despite her golden hair, fair skin, and Disney princess gowns.) She claims to ride as well as a boy. Lancelot asks if she swims as well as a boy. This leads to a scene where the two aren’t quite skinny dipping together, but pretty darn close to it for a knight and his king’s intended bride. (During this scene, Lancelot demonstrates the use of soap to the lady.)
It’s pretty clear by this time that the two are hot for each other. (A later scene set in Guinevere’s bedchamber makes it clear that their passion is at least as physical as it is emotional.) The two only become closer when they are attacked by a gang of thugs, hired by Mordred to kill Guinevere to prevent another heir to the throne from being born. (Some reviews of this film claim that Mordred is depicted as Arthur’s brother, but the way I heard his dialogue, I think he is correctly said to be Arthur’s illegitimate son, although there is no hint that this is the result of an incestuous relationship between Arthur and his half-sister, as explicitly shown in Excalibur.)
By the time the two reach Camelot, they are madly in love, but are determined not to allow their emotions to interfere with honor and duty. Guinevere marries Arthur, and Lancelot goes back to doing knight stuff. Only after a casual conversation in a garden, in which Lancelot teaches Guinevere how to say “I love you” in Latin, do the two fall into each other’s arms, and the doom of Camelot begins. (In an effective scene, where we see people talk without hearing what they are saying, we watch the ladies of the court gossiping, then Mordred’s girlfriend [Hammer favorite Adrienne Corri in a small role] talking to her lover, then Mordred speaking to Arthur.)
Sword of Lancelot is an enjoyable combination of action and soap (!) opera. The modest budget shows through at times, particularly during scenes making use of back projection. It may also explain why certain major events take place off stage and are only talked about. On the other hand, the battle sequences are quite well done. Even someone like me, who is completely ignorant about military matters, can see that the tactics used by the combatants seem to make sense. (The film also points out quite clearly that the armies consist mostly of bowmen and foot soldiers, and only a much smaller number of knights.)
The acting is generally good, although some viewers may be put off by Wilde’s decision to play Lancelot as an accented Frenchman. The characters are interesting. I liked Arthur, portrayed as a man betrayed by his close friend, and tormented by his wife’s infidelity (as well as the fact that the law requires him to sentence her to a particularly horrible form of death.) I enjoyed Mordred’s Iago-like villain. Even a fairly minor character like Gawain has to evolve, as the story goes on, from Lancelot’s close friend to his bitter enemy (after Lancelot unintentionally kills Gawain’s brother during his escape from Camelot) to his ally against Mordred.
Sword of Lancelot has a bittersweet conclusion which avoids either a happy ending for the two lovers or total tragedy.