Looking astern from this here vessel on the sea of Time, it appears I failed to chart the Isle of International Talk Like a Pirate Day in the Year of Our Lord Twenty Hundred and Twenty-Three, so I'll be observing that elusive land with twice the jollity this year.
Arrrrrrrr!
Although the task of fulfilling the objectives listed in "Swinging from Chandeliers into 2024" is far from complete, I feel compelled to add to them.
This year—starting this past January the 7th, to be precise—is the tenth anniversary of Theoretical Swashbuckling. If you are a reader, thank you for reading. If you have ever commented, thank you for commenting. If you have any questions or requests, please let me know. I know there have been a few requests over the years I have not yet fulfilled (such as a review of Swashbuckler, the game by Yaquinto Publications), but I will strive to fulfill them eventually. And if you are a registered follower of this blog, thank you for embarking on the voyage.
I postponed watching the 1952 remake of the 1937 adaptation of The Prisoner of Zenda (q.v.) because I felt that watching them back-to-back would compromise my objectivity. After all, the 1937 version is itself but one of many film adaptations of the novel by Anthony Hope, and they all deserve to be judged fairly on their own merits. So, I gave myself 13 years to ensure impartiality. (Thirteen years was not a predetermined amount of time—I just happened to think recently, "I never got around to watching that version of The Prisoner of Zenda with Stewart Granger... I guess there's no time like the present!")
So, I watched the version starring Stewart Granger as Rudolf Rassendyll and King Rudolf V, Deborah Kerr as Princess Flavia, and James Mason as Rupert of Hentzau. As this version is a mostly scene-for-scene direct adaptation of the 1937 film, but in color, I'll avoid repeating the essential background I described in the previous review and concentrate on the differences.
Despite the similarities, or possibly because of the limitations imposed by such a close adaptation, the 1952 film lacks the verve of its predecessor. It's a good film, but it seems sleepy and resigned in comparison. Granger is fine, but lacks edge. Mason has a very keen edge, but his character is shallow. Everything about the film is acceptable, but nothing really gets the blood rushing the way a great swashbuckler can. The entire cast is acceptable, with one exception: Deborah Kerr. Kerr's Princess Flavia is subtle, powerful, and utterly believable. With such a performance, I think she could have carried an entire film centered on Princess Flavia, and I think I would have preferred it.
The Prisoner of Zenda (1952) is solidly good, but it is no match for the 1937 film.
Writing: GoodYes, I am taking liberty with temporal reality by setting the date of this article as 31 May 2024 when I am composing it on 1 June 2024, but I intended to post it yesterday, so I am travelling back in time and posting it yesterday. Because the subject of today's (yesterday's) thought is Renegade Nell.
When I last wrote about Renegade Nell, I mentioned my uncertainty as to whether it could be classified as swashbuckling three episodes into the series. After finishing the series, I can confidently state that I am still uncertain. If I were to assign it a more accurate category, it would probably be something like "folkloric superhero tall tale" or "swashbuckling fairytale" or "period action fantasy." Stunts are plentiful, and heroic regard for the downtrodden is a major theme, but magic is very prominent and swordplay is scarce. I found it enjoyable as its own thing, but it didn't quite scratch the swashbuckling itch. As I mentioned before, though, it is still far superior to this version of Zorro.
I have watched three episodes of Renegade Nell, a fantasy adventure on Disney+ about a highwaywoman with supernatural abilities in England in 1705, and I am not sure if it qualifies as belonging to the swashbuckling genre, but I am sure about three things: it has the spirit of a good swashbuckling tale; I'll continue to watch it; and it's far, far better than this year's version of Zorro (q.v.).
Bonus: It stars Louisa Harland, who played Orla McCool in Derry Girls.
I have not yet finished the first season of the Zorro television show in Spanish, and I am not sure I will ever finish it, so I have decided to give it a half-review. At the moment, it just isn't worth the effort to do more.
Writing: Poor
Princess of Thieves (2001), a made-for-television movie produced by Granada Entertainment (and distributed in some parts of the world by Disney), asks the multi-part question: What if Robin Hood and Marian had a daughter, Marian died, Robin was an absent father for years, and his daughter grew up to follow in his footsteps as a great archer who robs from the rich, gives to the poor, and has an unfaltering sense of justice? It goes on to answer this and other unasked questions, such as: Will she ever forgive her father for his absence, will she fall in love, and will she join her father in further adventures?
Gwyn (Keira Knightley) is the aforementioned daughter, who is riled to reckless bravery early and often. Luckily, her backstory of intensive training and inborn talent is established in a throwaway line. Despite the flimsiness of the writing (which strives for novelty, but wallows in predictability), Knightley's conviction shines and is the only interesting element in the movie. Malcolm McDowell's Sheriff of Nottingham and Jonathan Hyde's Prince John are unsurprisingly unsubtle in their incompetent villainy. Stephen Moyer's Prince Phillip and Adam Ryan's Conrad (Phillip's valet) are moderately dashing. Stuart Wilson's Robin and Crispin Letts's Will Scarlett are probably reasonably accurate as weary folk heroes long past their prime. The scenes of combat seem to have been coordinated as an afterthought, the feats of archery lack suspense, and the political intrigue is laughable. Nearly everything except the shooting location (Romania) seems to be a shortcut, as if it were multiple episodes of a television show inexpertly edited down to a movie.
Princess of Thieves largely fails as a swashbuckling movie, but Knightley saves it (just barely) from the oblivion of utter mediocrity.
Writing: Poor
My review of Princess of Thieves (2001) will be posted on 20 March 2024 at midnight Eastern Daylight Saving Time [here]. I accidentally posted a rough draft earlier today and removed it, but some blog rolls were still linking to it.
* A paraphrase from Dr. Fegg's Encyclopeadia [sic] of All World Knowledge by Terry Jones and Michael Palin.
Jill Bearup has a YouTube video on the subject of the fight choreography in The Mark of Zorro (1940), which may be of interest to readers of Theoretical Swashbuckling. (I certainly found it interesting.) Watch it here.
