Michael
N. Salda, Arthurian Animation: A Study of Cartoon Camelots on Film and
Television. Jefferson, N.C. and London: McFarland & Company, 2013.
Reviewed by Christopher Berard (christopher.berard@gmail.com)
Arthurian
animation (“Arthurianimation”), as defined by Michael N. Salda, is not limited to
animated productions that feature King Arthur and his Knights of the Round
Table, but includes productions with Arthurian themes and motifs as well. According
to this expansive definition, the earliest known example of Arthurianimation is Warner Brothers’ 1933 cartoon short Bosko’s Knight-Mare, but here King
Arthur is, as it were, ‘Sir Not-appearing-in-this-film’. In fact, Arthur does
not seem to have made his animated film debut until Knighty Knight Bugs, another Warner Bros. film, which premiered on 23
August 1958 and garnered that year’s Oscar for Best Animated Short. Salda’s Arthurian Animation: A Study of Cartoon
Camelots on Film and Television, which takes Bosko’s Knight-Mare as a starting point, is thus far-reaching in
scope. It spans seventy-five years of film history, and it contextualizes and
describes more than one hundred seventy separate works. The monograph is
largely diachronic in structure and can best be described as a comprehensive compendium
of Arthurianimation. Each of the book’s ten chapters begins with an overview of
the cultural and commercial climate behind the film(s) under consideration.
In the
introduction, Salda makes three cogent statements about Arthurianimation that set the tone for the work as a
whole. First, he observes that Arthurianimation is by-and-large a commercial cash-in phenomenon. Second, he comments that it typically draws its inspiration from
recent, popular retellings and re-imaginings of Arthurian tales (rather than directly
from medieval source material). Third, he notes that although the commercially
driven and derivative characteristics of Arthurianimation are seldom a recipe for high art, they make Arthurianimation an ideal
specimen for the study of the reception of Arthurian legend. Arthurian animated
projects tend to be produced when animation
studios believe that the Matter of Britain is a lucrative commodity. Arthurianimation thus serves as an indicator of the
actual or perceived popularity of Arthuriana.
The presentation of Arthurian content in Arthurianimation is shaped by a combination of the creative team’s own understanding
of the material and their sense of their audience’s understanding of the
material. Thus Arthurianimation tells
us when Arthurian legend is “in the air” and
furnishes us with a snapshot of contemporary perceptions of Arthuriana (3).
Salda’s
claims about the derivative and commercial elements of Arthurianimation are
amply corroborated by the great mass of films he examines. And the exceptions prove
the rule. One such inspired exception is Jane Yolen’s Merlin and the Dragons (Shanghai Animation Film Studio/Lightyear
Entertainment, 1990), a twenty-four minute entry in PBS’ acclaimed animated
anthology series Long Ago and Far Away.
In this episode, we are introduced to a King Arthur who has only just drawn the
sword from the stone. His new kingly responsibilities weigh heavily upon him.
In the middle of one sleepless night Arthur goes to consult Merlin, who is
dwelling in the same castle. The seer-advisor tells the young king the story of
a certain “Emerys”, who, like Arthur, did not know his father and faced tremendous
adversity as a young man. The villainous King Vortigern was intent on killing
Emerys unless this fatherless boy could explain to him why his new stronghold
kept collapsing. Emerys survives the king’s machinations, and his example proves
inspirational to Arthur, especially once Merlin reveals that he is none other
than Emerys himself. As Salda notes, Yolen drew upon medieval source material
for this embedded narrative (122). But I would add that Yolen’s choice of
narrative frame, Arthur’s court shortly after the Sword-in-the-Stone episode, is
an even more inspired choice. It is a fine interlacement, or in the words of
Chrétien de Troyes, une molt bele
conjointure, of parallel facets from the lives of Arthur and Merlin. Both
characters experience uncertainty and anxiety about their respective identities
and abilities as they transition from adolescence to adulthood. Yolen’s creative
presentation of Arthur’s angst and Merlin’s avuncular quality make the
characters appealing and relatable to a wide spectrum of audiences. Salda is
right to recognize Merlin and the Dragons
as a highpoint in the Arthurian animation tradition (122–4).
In the
space that follows my aim is to bring Salda’s findings about the history of
Arthurian animation into dialogue with the medieval and post-medieval Arthurian
tradition more broadly speaking. And I
wish to begin by calling attention to how the Arthurian tradition, like the messianic
figure of Arthur himself, has gone through periods both of intense activity and
of hibernation, yet has escaped death. The longevity of the tradition and its
cyclical pattern of hope and disappointment spring from the two-fold belief
that once upon a time there lived a military leader named Arthur of superlative
virtue and accomplishment, and that this Arthur is destined to return to bring
succor to his people in their hour of need. Great expectations, equally great disappointments,
and counterfactual speculation pervade the tradition.
In the
world of politics, reigning monarchs and pretenders to the throne of England
have attempted to co-opt the myth of Arthur’s return to their advantage by
representing themselves as Arthur returned. These manipulations of the myth
have given rise to further Arthurian hopes and disappointments. Disappointed
Arthurian hopes and missed opportunities extend beyond the arena of politics
and into the realm of literature. In this category we can place Edmund
Spenser’s Fairie Queene (1590–6),
John Milton’s proposed Arthurian epic (c.
1638–42), John Dryden’s original dramatick opera King Arthur (1684), J. R. R. Tolkien’s The Fall of Arthur (developed 1934–7), and John Steinbeck’s The Acts of King Arthur and His Noble
Knights (developed 1956–9). In each of these cases, the original intention
was not achieved and this in turn has led to speculation regarding what might
have been.
These
examples set the stage for the first great, unfulfilled hope of Arthurian animation: Hugh Harman’s King Arthur’s Knights. Salda devotes the
second chapter of his monograph to this, dubbing it (in the chapter heading) “The Best Arthurian Cartoon Never Made”
(16–35). King Arthur’s Knights was
under development in 1941 with a proposed budget of $530,000, but the United
States’ entrance into the Second World War resulted in the project’s
postponement, and financial backing proved to be lacking in the later 1940s and
1950s (31, 35). The architect of this project, Hugh Harman (1903–82), although
not a household name, was one of the great animators of the twentieth century:
he had, in fact, been one of the original co-producers of Merri Melodies (1931–3). Harman began his career working with Walt
Disney and then took on assignments for a variety of other studios. In 1928, Harman,
together with his frequent collaborator Rudolf Carl Isling (1903–92), created
Bosko. The pair went on to animate the aforementioned “Bosko’s Knight-Mare”. In
1941, Harman, joined by fellow former Disney animator Mel Shaw, established
“Hugh Harman Productions”, and Harman was intent on making a feature-length
Arthurian film that would rival the success of Disney’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937) and Fantasia (1940).
This
Arthurian film project first came to scholarly attention in Charles Solomon’s Enchanted Drawings: The History of Animation
(1994), but Salda has broken new ground. He obtained from Mark Kausler
(animator, animation historian, and custodian of Harman’s papers) two story
treatments for the proposed film, and he has traced the evolving plans for the
film. King Arthur’s Knights was to
cover the rise and fall of Arthur, but to center on the exploits of Sir Gareth and
Lynette (that is to offer a loose retelling of Malory’s “Tale of Sir Gareth”).
Salda’s reconstruction is captivating, and his inclusion of original character
sketches is helpful for visualizing what might have been.
This second
chapter of Salda’s book calls to mind Christopher Tolkien’s editorial work on
the Fall of Arthur (2013) and Chase
Horton’s on Steinbeck’s The Acts of King
Arthur and His Noble Knights (1976). The idea of reconstructing, editing
and/or discovering a lost Arthurian text has, it should be noted, been a
central plot element in at least two contemporary novels, Robertson Davies’ The Lyre of Orpheus (1989) and Arthur
Philips’ The Tragedy of Arthur (2011).
And one might also note that since the
beginning the thirteenth century writers have been trying to resolve the ending
of Chrétien de Troyes’ unfinished masterpiece, Perceval ou le conte du Graal (c.
1190).
Disappointment
results not only from Arthurian projects that fail to materialize, but also from
those that prove to be dead on arrival and fail to deliver. The grandeur and magic
of the Arthurian tradition moves the casual audience member, not to mention the
consummate Arthurian, to expect marvels, and sadly Arthurian cinema often leaves
its audience, like the Arthur of romance, hungry and dissatisfied. Many would
agree that there has not been a “definitive” cinematic adaptation of the Matter
of Britain. The same holds true for Arthurianimation, particularly Disney’s The Sword in the Stone (1963) and Warner
Bros.’ lesser known, but much more recent, Quest
for Camelot (1998).
Salda
critiques the Disney film for having a
“monotonous storyline”, “forgettable tunes”, and for lacking a uniform
message (60–62). The Sword in the Stone is,
as it were, the modern equivalent of a mirror for princes, but one that cannot
make up its mind as to what wisdom to impart. According to Salda, the reception
of the film has consistently “lukewarm” (60), but following its Christmas 1963
release, the film was rereleased on 22 December 1972 and 25 March 1983 (64).
Salda treats this as evidence of a lack of popular demand for the film, but he
offers no basis of comparison with other Disney classics. Salda traces the limited success of The Sword in the Stone directly back to
Walt Disney, who reportedly did not take much interest in the project and
assigned the directorship to a competent and dependable, but uninspired,
company man (64).
If The Sword in the Stone was a moderate
success, Quest for Camelot was an
unmitigated disaster. The film cost an estimated $120 million to produce, but
in ticket sales it brought back only $23 million domestically and a further $15
million abroad (148). The narrative of Quest
for Camelot had great potential. In typical romance fashion it tells of a
youth’s quest to become a knight, except this time the fair unknown is
female. The protagonist is Kayley, the
ten-year-old daughter of one of Arthur’s knights. Kayley, as the story goes,
was born on the very day that Arthur drew the sword from the stone; her mission
is to return the now stolen sword (Excalibur) to Arthur. This is an excellent
and fitting concept for contemporary Arthuriana:
whereas Chrétien de Troyes’ Erec et Enide
(c. 1170) and Yvain (c. 1176) have the knightly protagonist confront the competing demands of
marital life versus a life of knightly service; Quest for Camelot has its young heroine confront the competing
dictates of personal vocation (to the knighthood) and society’s oppressive
gender roles. Unfortunately, the filmmakers flinched for fear of being controversial.
Over the course of the film, Kayley falls in love with a blind woodsman named
Garrett. Together they save Arthur from certain destruction. Arthur shows his
gratitude by making Garrett and Kayley, “knight” and “lady” and by giving them
seats at the Round Table. As newlyweds, Kayley (in the lead) and Garrett
(sitting behind her) ride off into the sunset with a “Just Knighted” sign affixed
to their horse (148). Simply put, the
filmmakers do not allow Kayley to succeed in her own right (without the
assistance of a man) and the equality of Kayley and Garrett is predicated on
the latter’s blindness. Much like The
Sword in the Stone, Quest for Camelot
is unwilling to commit itself to a progressive stance.
As can be
seen from the foregoing discussion, Salda’s Arthurian
Animation provides readers with ample food for thought and this volume is
very much a detailed introduction to the field and a conversation-starter.
Salda impressively covers obscure films from across the globe. One truly esoteric
example is “Merlin and the Toothless Knights”, a public service film
(co-produced in 1970 by the British General Dental Council and I.D. Television)
in which Merlin instructs the Knights of the Round Table in oral hygiene (72–3). Yet the strengths of scope and variety are something
of a liability on two counts. First, extended animated series, such as the thirty-six-episode
“Arthur! and the Square Knights of the Round Table” (Air Programs International
(Australia), 1966) and the thirty-episode “King Arthur & the Knights of the
Round Table” (Toei Animation (Japan), 1979–80) receive only slightly more
attention from Salda than one-off film shorts. Consequently, the coverage seems
somewhat uneven. Second, portions of the book read as a series of
reference-like entries of discrete subjects. This tendency perhaps should have
been more openly acknowledged and embraced through the inclusion of subheadings
naming the examples of Arthurianimation under consideration. Another
desideratum is an appendix listing all known examples of Arthurianimation in
chronological order. This omission is particularly curious given that Salda
has, in fact, compiled such a catalogue, and it appears as part of the Camelot Project. Additionally, as noted by Roger Simpson in his
review for Arthuriana 23.4 (2013), Salda
does not provide a fully developed conclusion that crystallizes his discoveries
and suggests areas for further research. Nevertheless, the strengths of the monograph
are many and easily outweigh the few weaknesses.
Salda’s Arthurian Animation is a pioneering work
that explores the intersection of the history of animation and Arthurian
Studies. It is clearly written and accessible
to a general audience, but the work is geared primarily toward readers conversant
with Arthurian literature from the middle ages and from the nineteenth and
twentieth centuries. Salda provides far more background information about
animation history than he does about the Arthurian tradition. This is
understandable given that Arthurianimation’s roots in the legend are fairly
shallow. Arthurian Animation is
recommended reading for scholars interested in the contemporary reception of
the Arthurian tradition and/or the place of Arthuriana in popular culture. It
is a worthy accompaniment to any bookshelf that contains such McFarland
publications as King Arthur in Popular
Culture, ed. Elizabeth S. Sklar and Donald L. Hoffman (2002), Cinema Arthuriana: Twenty Essays, ed.
Kevin J. Harty, (2002), and Jason Tondro’s Superheroes
of the Round Table: Comic Connections to Medieval and Renaissance Literature
(2011).
Christopher
Berard
Toronto
Toronto
