Idling around on the Internet, I came across this academic article from 1998 discussing ‘The Ahistoricism of Medieval Film’. It’s more than a decade old and it’s rather long, but quite a good read if you’re interested in the relationship between the history of the Middle Ages and the way the period is depicted in the recent cinema.
There’s a good deal of harrumphing in it about what the author, Arthur Lindley, calls the ‘Disneyfication of the Middle Ages’. But there is also a thoughtful discussion of the ways in which filmmakers map the cultural and political concerns and debates of the present onto the malleable material of the past. The Middle Ages are particularly ripe for this, suggests Lindley, since they are essentially divorced from the present in terms of our contextual awareness of events and environment, but are also familiar in a variety of important imaginative modes, many of which are specifically attractive to filmmakers.
Worth reading. Especially so in anticipation of Ridley Scott’s forthcoming Robin Hood film. Russell Crowe is touted to be a dark Robin: the greenwood freedom fighter now painted as amoral and violent, rather than the heroic socialist of the late twentieth century. There are few other legends which work quite so effectively as historical palimpsests.



Canterbury, NY
I have subscribed to the New Yorker for a few years now. (Friday afternoons, I usually take that and the Speccie to the pub. They’re good reading partners, despite the difference in political outlook and tone.)
There’s not a whole lot of good stuff on medieval history covered in the New Yorker, so this week it was with some delight I read this piece by Joan Acocella about Geoffrey Chaucer and the Canterbury Tales. Well worth a look, although I’m afraid the link I’ve provided only directs to an abstract of the much-longer article. You’ll have to subscribe to get the full thing. (Or maybe wait awhile? Sometimes they put stuff up after a delay of a few weeks.)
Poor old Peter Ackroyd, a writer I very much admire, takes a bit of a kicking from Acocella for his free-handed retelling of the Tales. I doubt he minds very much. If he does, he shouldn’t. Granted, the combination of a prose rendition and Ackroyd’s pottymouthed generosity with modern profanity gives his version of the tales a very different feel to the original. The poetry is literally lost in translation. But then, isn’t all poetry? If you want to inhale the spirit of Chaucer, just read the original. Middle English ain’t that hard, and every decent verse edition out there has extensive footnotes to help you along the way.
Ackroyd’s book, as it says quite pointedly in the title, is a retelling. It’s a spirited modern take, and a good introduction both to Ackroyd and to Chaucer.
Anyway, subscribe to the New Yorker, read the piece and have a very Merry Christmas.