The Chickens Were Oblivious

Having bludgeoned classic literature beyond recognition, Hollywood is taking its cudgel to the great legends.

I do not want my King Arthur demystified, thank you.  When I was growing up, I loved the idea of having a wizard for a teacher, and I loved that there could be wizards.  I never related to Arthur, but I worshipped Merlin.  As I grew older, my understanding of Merlin’s character deepened, and I love the thought of someone so insightful that he could teach a boy (and then advise a man) how to create peace and unity that would last a thousand years, yet be so completely clueless about women.  (Now, in my forties, I find it’s a delicious piece of Truth that it’s easier to build a country than it is to understand a woman.)  The story is a good one by itself, but it loses something without its magic.

Now, Hollywood has taken the mystery out of the story of Tristan and Isolde, reducing it to a story about two young people so good looking that they couldn’t resist each other.  All the way through, I kept asking myself, “Why?”  I can understand why he’d fall for the pretty girl who nurtures him back to health with skills only she possesses.  But wouldn’t a woman so caring and talented and wise look for reasonably equal depth in the man she chooses?  The deepest conversation they had was when she read poetry to him, poetry he admitted he didn’t understand.  And then, suddenly, they’re naked.  

That was when the movie lost me.  

Now, in the legend, Tristan plays the harp, and wins Isolde’s heart with his music.  Also, he kills a dragon, proving to everyone that he’s not a harping nancy-boy.  (He has also killed Morholt, the giant, poison-blade-wielding knight, which proves that his killing the dragon was not an accident.)  I mean, there’s something a woman-of-depth can sink her metaphoric teeth into: a guy who can slay giants and knights and play the harp has got to be a keeper.

Now, as if the music and the prowess with the sword (there’s some symbolism for you, a thousand years before David Lynch), in the legend, it turns out that Isolde’s mother (also named Isolde…as is the woman Tristan eventually marries…and we think The OC is hard to follow?) is quite the whiz with a potion, and Tristan and Isolde accidentally drink some of the stuff.  They, uh, drank the kool aid.

By the time Tristan returns to his family, and they’re amazed that he’s not dead, I was ready to walk out, but the movie reeled me back in.  Here’s how it happened: There is a wide shot as Lord Marke (Rufus Sewell) greets the returning/resurrected Tristan, and in the foreground…there are a pair of chickens pecking at the ground.  Why were they in the shot, I wondered.  They didn’t add anything to the story.  Or did they?

I began to look for other hidden clues.  More symbolic poultry, perhaps.  A horse that winks knowingly at the camera.

You see, those chickens in the foreground represent us.  You and me.  Those chickens are Hollywood’s audience, pecking at the ground for bits of nutritious entertainment, because that’s what we’re reduced to.

I want my dragons back.