The older I get, the less interested I am in “interesting” movies. Or perhaps I should say, the less interested I am in merely interesting movies.
Take 2021’s The Green Knight, for example, a film that seems to have something interesting to say about the plight of men in the 21st century who simply don’t have the opportunity to live up to the examples of the great heroes from previous ages. That’s a worthy subject. The problem is that the screenwriter makes Gawain into an absolute bugman to make this point—the kind of fake knight who gets easily ambushed and subdued by three teenagers, one of them a girl, and who is later dominated by a seductress intent on proving that Gawain is little more than a pathetic coomer. The movie’s vision of King Arthur is as an utterly decrepit fellow. Most of the Knights of the Round Table also seem past their prime. So in order to make its “interesting” point, the movie would have us spend two hours with sub-mediocrity.
This not what our times call for. We need to see exemplars of excellence in our stories.
One of the simple iron laws of life is that we tend to become more like whatever we fix our attention on. When we binge-watch Game of Thrones, for instance, we become more cynical, lecherous, and impressed with our own false sophistication, among other things. When we fill our ears with the latest musical offerings from corporate record labels, we become more distracted, shallow, and servile. When we obsess over national political headlines—delving into the Latest Thing—we become more discomposed, trivial, and useless.
This means there can be no innocent dipping of one's toes in the devil’s water. In consuming, we take something into our body and soul—we are, like or not, deciding what we will become.
The good news is that it can work the other way too. Those who spend time gazing upon noble and wholesome and chivalrous models might just become more like them. This upward trajectory, though, is slower and more difficult than the degradation of a man by unworthy influences—destruction works fast and building takes time.
Toward that end, I’ve compiled a list of chivalrous movies. This list has less to do with swords and horses, though there is some of that, and more to do with the chivalric virtues of prowess, courtesy, honor, generosity, loyalty, and faith—films featuring men who are good and worthy influences.
The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962)
The “That’s my steak!” scene exemplifies what is so special about John Wayne: a confidence-inspiring manliness which convinces you that, so long as Wayne is near, everything will be alright. Few men have ever carried themselves with such a grand and easy dignity. Even the way he sits back and observes—some might call it “manspreading”—as Valance and his gang enter the steakhouse is remarkable: comfortable but not lazy, silently watchful, ready. When the evildoers go too far, harassing and tripping poor Jimmy Stewart, Wayne rises and walks into the frame and the effect is an almost breathtaking assertion of heroic spiritedness, as if to say there are a few strong men in this world who will not let villains walk all over the weak. He occupies space like a man should, such that one can understand why a great essayist once wrote this of him:
In a world we understood early to be characterized by venality and doubt and paralyzing ambiguities, he suggested another world, one which may or may not have existed ever but in any case existed no more: a place where a man could move free, could make his own code and live by it…
He is the indispensable man whose presence makes all the difference.
The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance has a devastating answer to all the those who ask, “What happened to men?” Civilization happened. Law happened. Commerce happened. John Ford’s film tells the story of how the knight-cowboy was displaced, as a matter of course, by the lawyer. Jimmy Stewart is a good man, yet even his wife knows on some level that she made the wrong decision in choosing the lawyer over the knight. In that sense, it is “interesting” in its examination of the true costs of progress and civilization.
But, more importantly for our purposes, it showcases a man of excellence that youngsters of a certain spirited character might aspire to.
Dark Knight Trilogy: Batman Begins (2005), The Dark Knight (2008), The Dark Knight Rises (2012)
The love triangle in The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance quite clearly inspired Christopher Nolan’s take on the Caped Crusader.
I often wish that Nolan’s films—all of them, but particularly this trilogy—were not so chatty. Too many scenes feature Bruce or Rachel or Harvey delivering some terribly thoughtful 5-paragraph essay on justice or whatnot. This became even more apparent in Matt Reeves’ The Batman, which used the silent brooding power of Robert Pattinson to good effect. If only Nolan had let Bale brood a little.
Yet the virtues of Nolan’s films are undeniable. Bruce Wayne is an inspirational figure who sees his world crashing around him and does something about it—like a real knight. The culminating exchange of this trilogy is one of the most chivalrous scenes in all of film history: when a treacherous thief explains to the knight that he should get the hell out of town, he returns a devastating response, almost Biblical in its power. “Save yourself. You don't owe these people any more. You've given them everything," says Selina Kyle. Bruce’s answer: ”Not everything. Not yet.”
One of the burning questions in my head is the movies’ overall stance on the relative virtues of Harvey Dent vs Bruce Wayne (again, the lawyer and the knight). Throughout The Dark Knight constant praise is offered for Harvey Dent because he operates through the law, whereas Bruce Wayne must break laws—it being technically illegal for Bruce to pummel criminals every night. Bruce is thus labelled a “vigilante,” whereas Harvey has a law degree and was elected and all that. That’s all well and good and supposedly legitimate. But Harvey never would have had the mandate and momentum to accomplish what he did if not for Bruce’s extra-legal nocturnal doings. And evil men eventually brake Harvey and turn him into one of their own; they do not succeed in corrupting Bruce.
So, yes, the movie does seem to suggest something contrary to what our elementary school teachers told us—that sometimes heroic and chivalrous violence is the answer.
Patton (1970)
This film won seven Academy Awards for its depiction of a man out-of-step with his age. General George S. Patton Jr was an Olympic athlete, equestrian, poet, historian, fashion designer, and genius for war—among his many talents. You could call him a Renaissance Man, but he was more like a medieval knight: he even says that he would like to challenge Erwin Rommel to a tank-joust to decide the fate of the world.
What is to become of such a man in a democratic age? Patton made the mistake of slapping a soldier in the infirmary for having shell shock. Even worse, a journalist found out about it! Thus Patton’s relatively minor offense against a man who would have been executed for cowardice in previous centuries turned into a scandal which rocked the nation and sidelined Patton. People of modern sensibilities might find his method distasteful, but Patton was attempting to uphold a standard of honor that was passing away, to the detriment of us all. We might ask ourselves: was there perhaps a connection between Patton’s old school sense of honor and his triumph as a commander? He was, after all, the only American general the Germans feared.
George C. Scott brings to life Patton’s manly verve, paying the legend a great tribute.
Gladiator (2000)
Maximus Decimus Meridius is an incredibly wholesome example of a man—a noble Roman general who loves his country and family and who salutes his soldiers by saying, without any touch of irony, “strength and honor.”
So many of our cinematic heroes are essentially lone wolves. Even Patton, though a great general, is really just a lone wolf in charge of an army. Maximus, on the other hand, is a leader through and through, almost a father figure. His abilities are not conveyed through one of those cheap and contrived scenes in which the protagonist must display his capacities for leadership by making an inspiring speech or some other demonstration which miraculously changes doubters into supporters. (These are almost always cringeworthy: Kristen Stewart’s “Who will be my brother?” speech, for instance.) Instead, a pure ethos radiates from Russell Crowe every time the camera hits him, difficult to put into words—a gleam in his eye, the calmness in his voice, his steady gait, etc. He is the kind of man capable of taking control during difficult situations—like the first contest in the colosseum—and leading his men through their trials. You could understand why soldiers would follow him into the greatest danger.
300 (2007)
300 was not the first film to show jacked dudes doing awesome things. But there was something different about it—something both collective and aspirational. The depiction of the Spartan way made a claim on me unlike anything I’d ever experienced onscreen before. The combination of manly aesthetics, brutal combat, and winning lines made 300 an invitation to a way of life very different from consumeristic mediocrity, as if to say—“Hey, you, young man, if you started flipping tires and doing pullups and dedicating yourself to a demanding code of honor, you could be one of us.” Anyone exiting the theater who wasn’t eager to go straight to the gym seems to have missed the point of the movie.
And please don’t be one of those guys who says, “Yeah, but it wasn’t historically accurate” or whatever. The film had a compelling internal logic, being the account given by a survivor of Thermopylae, sent back to rouse support for the larger war against Persia. It certainly worked to convince me that all the metaphorical Persias in my life needed to be muscularly opposed.
Stay tuned—subsequent parts of the list will be coming soon…
“300”, yes. They knew what they were getting themselves into, and they went through with it anyways to try and save the future of their civilization. “The Patriot” is a favorite also. Many examples of authentic chivalrous behavior to change the course of US History. Will it endure, we need more people like Benjamin Martin and those other characters who want it to endure.
What do you think of A Knight's Tale? I thought the insertion of modern sexual mores was a misstep, but otherwise holds a lot of salutary lessons on chivalry.