Eric Rohmer could easily be my all-time favorite film director. Granted, his movies are mostly just long psuedo-intellectual conversations between hot French twenty-somethings that are filmed without affectation or adornment. But, one could learn just about everything there is to know about humanity by studying the courtship rituals of twenty-somethings–and so Rohmer returns to this setup over and over again through his career to delve into the big questions in life. Along with “how do relationships work,” Rohmer is most obsessed with the question of what it is to live a moral life, and despite the light stench of Catholicism in his work, his answer again and again is: “to thine own self be true.”
So, why would the director described above choose to make an exactingly faithful (and HIGHLY stylized) adaptation of an unfinished 12th century Arthurian romance Perceval, le Conte du Graal by Chrétien de Troyes? This choice begins to make more sense when you take a closer look at de Troyes’ poem. Stories of King Arthur have evolved and changed for almost a thousand years, but many of the most well known tales position Perceval as the most pure knight (a role that later transitioned to Galahad, son of Lancelot), and thus the only knight worthy of finding the Holy Grail. However, the Perceval of de Troyes’ story no righteous Paragon for whom the Grail is reserved. While the Grail is central to this early story of Perceval, de Troyes’ character himself is more of a childish naife, swirling through a world of chivalry like a four year old at a dinner party.
Indeed, early scenes from the film show Perceval to be a spoiled monster, who only half listens to his mother’s advice and proceeds to immediately sexually assault a woman and kill a knight with his spear. He is pure id, devoid of a moral compass beyond fragments of half heard (and quickly discarded) advice from his mother. He is not a typical Rohmerian protagonist, grappling with the minutia of five dimensional moral quandaries–he just wants shiny armor and stolen kisses.
And yet, as the movie progresses, Perceval begins to grow, learn, even see the error of his ways. He allows himself to be taught how to properly fight, he learns mercy, restraint, and the rudiments of introspection. He still errs, most notably at the mystical castle of the Fisher King where he misinterprets his teacher’s advice to not say to much and thus loses the Grail–but he is a man who is learning. Upon his initial blank slate, Perceval slowly begins to build a moral compass from the ground up–starting with the advice of his teachers, and adjusting as necessary.
Of course someone like Perceval is a far cry from the naturalistic characters that typically inhabit a Rohmer film, so Rohmer’s decision to stylize the sets, performances, and structure to the extreme also fits. Half the action is sung (the soundtrack is one medieval banger after another, sung by a chorus of actor/chamber musicians with period instruments), the characters describe their actions in the third person, the horses are real, but everything else looks like a cross between The Cabinet of Doctor Caligari and Dogville, and even the plotting itself follows the unfinished book–hanging storylines and all.
If I have a criticism about the film, it is that it did not need the Gawain subplot. De Troyes’ manuscript contained two unfinished Gawain stories that interrupt the main Perceval narrative. They are well done in Rohmer’s film, but would work better as a short film (whose plot threads about jealous siblings, narrow sleeves and romantic meet-cutes are also quintessential Rohmer). The final 15 minute passion play is also an odd choice, but I feel less eager to excise it from the film, either due to the energy of the filmmaking, or the absolute FIRE music over the scene.
The final shot of Perceval, riding on, searching for both the grail and a more perfect understanding of how to live his life is perfect. De Troyes’ story was unfinished, but there is no ending needed for a film like this. We have seen a man thrust into the world, an elemental force of nature, both free and at the same time blind to his true potential as a human. Through living a full life the man grows and becomes something more human, but, like all humans, unfinished and still seeking answers to life’s unending questions.
Or, as the final sung lines of the film put it: “The Knight rode on through the forest…”
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