Let’s Go To Spamalot (Even Though It Is A Silly Place)

By Scott Farrell

©2009, Chivalry Today Educational Program

Regular listeners of the Chivalry Today Podcast know we’ve kicked off our fourth season with a show that included an interview with actor Christopher Gurr, who has just taken over the role of King Arthur in the touring company of the Tony award-winning musical Spamalot. The show is based on (or, as its creator, Eric Idle, says, “Lovingly ripped off from”) the motion picture Monty Python and the Holy Grail (released, believe it or not, in 1975).

Last night (that’s “night” without a K) I got to see Spamalot, which, after my lengthy conversation with Gurr, gave me an opportunity to search for nuances and hidden messages within the show (as well as enjoying some classic bits and hilarious new material, of course).

Now, anyone attending Spamalot expecting a deep, thoughtful exploration of the values of chivalry and honor, or the legends of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table is going to be sadly disappointed. (They’ve replaced the Winchester Round Table with a roulette wheel, for Pete’s sake!)

The show is all about bringing the visuals and jokes from the venerable film to life on stage — and in that, Spamalot succeeds delightfully. There are a variety of effects and production pieces that provide great visual humor — from the catapulted cow crushing Patsy to a pair of monks who provide “moving” scenery by rolling themselves in a backdrop. And there are also all the unforgettable scenes from the movie (“Bring out your dead,” and the knights who say “nee!”) that have been given just the right amount of updating.

Enjoyable as all that is, however, what keeps Spamalot from becoming nothing but a regurgitation of jokes that were getting old when President Obama was in high school are the performances, primarily those of Gurr and Merle Dandridge, who plays the Lady of the Lake.

Dandridge’s performance is rock-solid and her voice is stunning. The majority of the humor she brings to the stage comes from the vocal gymnastics she performs throughout the numbers — proving she is thoroughly capable of “over singing” any song. (You could easily imagine her as a finalist on “Camelot Idol.”)

Similarly, Gurr doesn’t mug for laughs or play Arthur as an empty-headed fop. While his knights find the humor in their roles, Gurr brings a sincerity and dignity to the character of Arthur — which, as he mentioned in the podcast, is the key to making the role, and the show, work. Even when Gurr is skipping about the stage with Patsy clopping coconut shells together to imitate hoofbeats, there’s an unmistakable regalness to Gurr’s carriage. He makes King Arthur the most emotionally engaging character in the show, and, even amid the wackiness, he makes the audience feel that King Arthur is the leader we all want to follow, and the ideal we all want to be.

It’s a metaphor that plays out very nicely in the first musical number of the second act, “Look On The Bright Side Of Life.” Arthur’s down in the dumps and feels his quest has failed. His knights all come out to cheer him up and, amid gloom and thunder, they all whip out their umbrellas and begin to sing, whistle and dance; suddenly the sun is shining all around them, even though it’s pouring rain up above.

It’s easy to miss if you’re tapping your toes to the music, but the heraldic symbol on King Arthur’s tabard in this show (just as in the original movie) is not the traditional lion, dragon or Virgin Mary … but a shining sun. And that symbol is perfectly mirrored on the surface of the umbrellas the knights twirl as they’re “singin’ in the rain.” The message is simple and nicely underplayed: Arthur is the sunshine on a rainy day.

Spamalot wasn’t created to reveal the emotional or moral depths of Arthurian legend, but this is just one of several moments in the show that demonstrate there is something thoughtful lurking under the jokes — a message that the image of King Arthur has been, is and always will be that ray of hope in an hour of darkness, the light of optimism and strength that glows even when the world seems cloaked in the clouds of doom.

Though he maybe galumphing across the stage, tap dancing on the Round Table or enduring the merciless taunts of the French soldiers, Gurr portrays King Arthur in a manner true to the chivalric ideals of the 13th century Spanish knight and author Ramon Llull, who observed that, “Hope is the principle instrument of the office of knighthood.” And whether it’s proving the power of hope and joy to overcome adversity, or just putting a smile on our faces, King Arthur and the cast of Spamalot succeed in their quest most nobly.

Spamalot runs in San Diego through Sept. 13; tickets are available through Broadway San Diego. The show also runs in San Jose, Tucson and Costa Mesa – more details are on the Spamalot website.

A Little Touch Of Arthur On Sunday Night

They say that every generation re-invents the legend of King Arthur to meet its own needs, and to reflect its own values. The Victorians had the nostalgic idealism of Tennyson’s Idylls of the King; in the 60’s there was Camelot as a spot for peaceful happ’ly ever-aftering; and ushering in the 70’s was the biting social satire of Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

And now, fans of the Arthurian lore have another interpretation of the legends to consider: the series Merlin, which is airing on NBC Sunday nights. This show turns its focus backwards, exploring the “origin story” of Arthur (the young prince), Merlin (the budding wizard) and many of the other familiar characters in their formative years.

There are plenty of overviews and reviews of NBC’s Merlin on the web (including in The New York Times, The Hollywood Reporter and the Boston Globe), so there’s no need to rehash the basic details of the premise here. More to the point might be some insight into how the concept of chivalry is treated in this series, and what the message of Merlin is for today’s world.

On one hand, Merlin falls into the realm of Arthurian stories founded on the premise that knights, quests, jousting and castles have to be “kid’s stuff.” As many reviewers have pointed out, the writing, acting and production of Merlin seems better suited for a Saturday morning adventure than for a prime-time network historical drama. Don’t look for any nuanced characterizations of heroes in the making, or subtle explorations of the challenges of following a code of honor (much less developing and establishing such a code – which could have been an intriguing subject in an “origin” story).

By making the world of Camelot a place of simplistic storylines and campy dialogue, perhaps Merlin is a not-too-flattering reflection of ethics in today’s society: Where children are taught to “play nice,” “be fair” and “do the right thing,” then turned loose in a world where those kinds of ideals are largely considered impediments to success. We might think of Merlin, on some level, as a cautionary reminder that in today’s world, decency, honor and chivalry are too often treated as “childish fantasies.”

On the other hand, perhaps the contemporary lesson of Merlin’s King Arthur can be found more in what isn’t there than in what is. For instance, don’t look for any foreshadowing of the sword in the stone in this tale — Arthur is already the acknowledged (and entitled) prince and heir of the realm. There won’t be any need for him to draw a magical sword to prove he’s next in line to be king.

Similarly, don’t expect Arthur’s prospective bride to be portrayed as a princess. Although Guenevere is traditionally characterized as the daughter of King Leodagrance, whose marriage to Arthur brings peace to the fractured realm (and, incidentally, a large, circular table to the halls of Camelot), in this version Gwen is a scullery maid to Morganna and daughter of a humble town blacksmith.

And along with the traditional story elements, another thing that seems to be missing in Merlin is a recognition of moral absolutes. In the course of the first few episodes, Merlin is told repeatedly: “There is no right and wrong, only what is.” (Another way of saying, “The ends justify the means.”) Is this most recent adaptation of the King Arthur legend a story that has been stripped of its foundational elements, thus reflecting a world at risk of being robbed of its core principles as well?

Ironically, there is one element of the traditional Arthurian storyline that does remain in Merlin: Beneath the palace of King Uther Pendragon, there is a cavern where “the great dragon” is imprisoned. (In the usual telling of the story, a pair of dragons resides beneath Uther’s tower, and their struggles cause an earthquake that topples the fortress — Merlin himself reveals the presence of these dragons to King Uther.)

In Merlin, when Merlin need advice and guidance, it is not to his mentor, Gaius the physician, he turns, but rather to this captive monster in its subterranean dungeon, last of the wise and powerful race of dragons that Uther exterminated by royal decree. Is this a subtle depiction of a society in which untrustworthy leaders have abandoned their sense of chivalry and honor in favor of tyranny and brute force? Where a young generation must grope in the darkness for tidbits of wisdom as their role models operate with little regard for the constraints of “right and wrong”? Where chivalry lies chained underground while amoral and self-centered rulers are given free rein in the sunlit world above?

Of course, this maybe focusing far too much philosophical analysis on a lighthearted action show. But if the legends of Camelot reflect cultural identity, then it seems the metaphor deserves consideration at least.

Only time will tell if Merlin has the depth to become a generational portrayal of the lore and ideals of Arthurian legend, or serves merely as a fun and campy (but ultimately forgettable) romp into the world of Camelot. But at least for now, anyone who enjoys the legends of chivalry, whether deeply thought or lighthearted, can enjoy a little touch of Arthur on Sunday nights.

Below: Anthony Head, who plays King Uther Pendragon in Merlin, talks about his role and the approach of the series.

Pushing The Pram A Lot

Yesterday I had the opportunity to give a presentation for students at CSU Long Beach on a delightful subject: Arthurian legend and Monty Python and the Holy Grail. (The on-campus branch of the SCA [a historical reenactment club] was hosting a screening of the movie.)

Not wanting to get in the way of the movie ('cuz MP is far more enjoyable and entertaining than me) I tried to keep my comments brief - I just talked (mainly) about the symbolism in one scene of the movie: the famous "black knight" skit.

In the movie, King Arthur comes to a bridge, and is challenged by an anonymous Black Knight to a duel in order to cross the bridge. A common enough occurrence in most traditional Arthurian myths - but THG isn't about "tradition" ... it's focus is on deconstructing and undermining the traditional themes of Arthurian legends, as a way of deconstructing and undermining the symbols and presumptions of traditional politics and social values. In this regard, THG is very much a product and a reflection of its time period - the early 70s, when Watergate and Vietnam were still very much "current events."

So - back to the Black Knight. In traditional Arthurian narrative, the Round Table hero (in this case, Arthur) would have fought the challenger, dealt him a "grievous wound," and knelt down and prayed for his recovery - and as a result the Black Knight would have been beholden to King Arthur, and might even have subsequently been dubbed as a Knight of the Round Table. In this regard, Arthur would have demonstrated the rightness of his cause (chivalric virtue) through military might (the duel) and indoctrinated an otherwise violent interloper (the Black Knight) into his civilized court (Camelot/the Round Table).

But not in Monty Python ...

Here, after delivering a grievous wound ("I've cut your bloody leg off" ... "no you haven't!"), Arthur kneels down to pray, but the knight continues taunting and physically assaulting the king. Arthur proceeds to chop away at every other appendage, but none of these wounds seem to have any effect on the Black Knight's ability to continue fighting. Even when the Black Knight is nothing but a limbless torso, he continues to tell Arthur he'll "bite (his) kneecaps off" as the king shakes his head and trots away.

A uniquely hilarious scene, to be sure, but the comedy becomes all the more brilliant when you look at this as a metaphor for the American experience in Vietnam. A superior military force deals a series of debilitating wounds to its adversary, but becomes increasingly frustrated and baffled when the enemy won't quit the field. Finally the "winning" force tromps away in confusion, not quite sure how they could be successful in every engagement, and still have victory essentially denied to them.

There are lots of other wonderful metaphors in the film - Bedevere as a critique of the assumption that science and technology can solve every problem; Zoot and the damsels of Castle Anthrax as an emblem of the sexual revolution - but at its heart, THG brings to light a new approach to assumptions about established authority. It's no coincidence that this movie is a product of a time period that rattled long-held beliefs about the benevolent intentions of unchecked authority. More than three decades later, pretty much everyone has come to believe that even the most noble and honest leaders need oversight and transparency in order to achieve trust and respect.

And in that regard, the humor of Monty Python and the Holy Grail helped to add a new chapter and a deeper understanding to the value of chivalry today.

Look for more on this topic in a future edition of our podcast, when Prof. Gary Hardcastle, editor of the book "Monty Python and Philosophy" joins us to talk about the Pythonian take on the Code of Chivalry.