Well, that was a movie, wasn’t it?
I have to say, it was surprising to watch Dev Patel in a role like that. I know it was partly the writing, but I was shocked to realize I was watching Dev Patel acting, not just being Dev Patel, as so often happens with hot actors. But yes: I knew he was acting, because he was playing a coward.
It took me a second to realize The Green Knight is actually about Gawaine being a huge coward. I gave him the benefit of the doubt that his beheading of the Green Knight in the beginning was just impulsive, rather than stupid. Does TGK seem like the kind of dude who would die from just a beheading? Oh my God, Gawaine.
But then I was shocked to see him say nothing when Essel asked if he’d make her his lady. (Or “LAE DAE,” which is how I shall pronounce the word from now on.) People aren’t even that cowardly in Game of Thrones, jeez.
In that case, that’s why I really liked this interpretation of the movie:
I knew the last sequence was a dream because if there’s anything that can’t stand in a medieval story, it’s a coward. Someone who runs strategically away, maybe, but not a coward.
I wish the plot had hewed closer to the poem, of course. I read the poem in 9th grade, and I distinctly remember my tiny ginger teacher (who looked a bit like Lauren Ambrose but even paler) emphasizing that when Gawaine plays the game with his host, of giving him everything Gawaine receives while staying at his home, the writer does mean everything. Not just every kiss Gawaine receives from his host’s wife, but everything from a passionate embrace and then some. The fact that the movie shys away from this plot point makes the movie feel more cowardly than Gawaine himself. Look, it’s not Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle! This story is from the 14th century! I don’t see why this movie can’t go all the way. A24, why do you do this. You’re okay with a dog dying in The Lobster but not men making out more than a second? Boooooo. BOOOO!
I’ve never really related to cowards in stories. I’ve always wanted to be brave, and not because I wanted to be a Gryffindor or anything. It’s because I love that admixture of fear and self-aggrandizement. It’s a soaring pleasure to put yourself out there, to start things without knowing how they’ll end. To, ahem, stick your neck out.
But I love watching a coward in a story, because I’ve really learned to appreciate how some people need to take their time to face themselves. And while I might be wracked with fear for a few moments, I’m not marinating in it for years like they are. What struck me about Gawaine is that he drank regularly in his year between Green Knight meetings. He seemed to have no friends (barring Essel and perhaps his mom). You can tell that even though he really doesn’t want to follow through on his promise to the Green Knight, he drinks to offset the fear that someone might make him do it anyway. Because it was such a public obligation, in the service of his king, he won’t be able to get away with it like he does in private moments all over his life. He’s not sure why he’s doing it (honor?), but another thing with a coward is they’re also passive. He can only grow if he’s pushed to do so. At present, no one is pushing him. He only goes for the Green Knight because he thinks it’ll be easy — and then it is too easy, which he knows was a trap.
Also I figured Gawaine survived the blow to the head. The story doesn’t work for me otherwise. And besides, he survives in the original story, there’s magic everywhere in this story, and I’m pretty sure that was a plot point in The Green Ribbon, which had a lot of head-cutting-off sequences that Jess reminded me of:
I was also waiting for the fox to ask for his head to be cut off, because that was another bit I’d seen in another fairy tale.
Another reason I like the dream sequence is that it implies that by leaning into his most cowardly impulses, and hiding his shame from the world, his inner conviction would forever be ruined. He would betray Essel, betray his own son, betray everyone and punish them for his own fears. When people are cowardly, and passive, they make everyone else take responsibility for them. They let others over-function as they under-function. I guess this is another reason I can’t relate to cowards. Sure, I get terrified of things — like, say, love — but I feel like I set myself up so it’s not even a question of failure or success, but just avoiding the subject.
I think I’ve improved on that, mostly because two people sent me this tweet about Alan Alda:
And the sequel:
Before, I would’ve been too afraid to do something like that because I’d be afraid of looking stupid. I feel like I’m at a point where I would indeed eat rum cake off the floor to find true love.
Music Thoughts: Hated the music. Okay, actually...loved the music on its own, hated it as a soundtrack for the movie. It was like watercolor whereas this movie needed music that felt like oil pastels. Messy and glorious and sticky and a little smelly.
Lighting Thoughts: Loved the fog. Hated how dark everything was. I love when shows and movies about kings and queens are kind of dirty and gross, but there wasn’t enough color in this for me. I especially felt depressed seeing the giants in greyscale.
Fox Thoughts: The fox was a delight, especially when it moved like a cat. My favorite description of a fox comes from my friend Carrie Frye, who suggested I was like one: “a canine that moves like a cat.”
But why does it look like crap? Is it the same fox from Fleabag?
RECOMMENDATIONS
If you liked this, I suggest:
Anything by Gerald Morris, who I read in middle school because his tales of knights and ladies were gross and funny and weird and magical.
Jess Zimmerman’s Women and Other Monsters, not just because her tweets on the movie were on point but also because she’s my favorite person to read about myths. She looks past the classical interpretation to the visceral nitty-gritty.