Zemeckis' Beowulf: A hero for our less heroic times?

15 December 2007

Gerard Wood

For all the differences with the Old English epic on which it is based, Robert Zemeckis’ 3D Beowulf is superb cinematic entertainment. Changes have been introduced, but they are fewer than you might think and more than the core of the epic finds its way on to the big screen. There’s no denying that some of the changes alter the nature of the story in significant ways, and yet there is, I believe, no serious injustice done to the poem.

That, of course, is a matter of opinion and it is one with which some reviewers clearly disagree. One of my favourites dismisses the movie as a "bulked-up and dumbed-down 3-D screen version of the Old English epic … aimed at the shiver-me and scare-me crowd", to which some bright spark made the one truly appropriate response: I thought Beowulf was a story intended for the "shiver-me and scare-me crowd". Epic poems weren't necessarily intended for English majors and snooty film critics.

That Beowulf has become a cultural icon and is considered high art is testimony to the greatness of the work, but this doesn't change the fact that it was composed to thrill, scare and move the listener. In short, to entertain. Clearly the poem still entertains many people, but there are good reasons why an adaptation might justify changes to entertain a modern movie audience.

To an extent the changes introduced have come about through the curiosity and inventiveness of Neil Gaiman and Roger Avery, the screen writers. They took the unusual position that Beowulf is an unreliable narrator, that when he announces to the world that he did this or that heroic (and unwitnessed) deed, he might be bending the truth. In an interview in July 2007 Gaiman explained: … our theory was that at any point where the poem tells you what happened, it's telling the truth. But at any point when somebody in the poem goes offstage, and then comes back on and says, "While I was in the other room, this is what happened"... they could be lying.

This has obvious implications for the characterisation of Beowulf. Traditional literary criticism tends to place Beowulf on a pedestal: the great, flawless hero, almost a superman. Gaiman and Avery's Beowulf is a great hero, but he is one with flaws. Their intention, I think, was to make Beowulf and the ancient world of the epic more engaging for modern audiences, particularly those unfamiliar with the story but who might be attracted to a fantasy movie or by the technology of motion capture and 3D employed by the film makers.

More than anything else it is this change in the characterisation of the hero that has disappointed the Beowulf purists. While I am an enthusiast for the poem I really don’t have much sympathy for this position. Although the character of Beowulf and his world are familiar in some ways, in others – the spirit and values of the age – are quite alien. At least they can be at a first encounter. The Beowulf of the epic is more than human, invulnerable, almost untouchable. He is brash and boastful in a way that is appropriate to the world of the epic but which jars with modern sensibilities: we tend to prefer more humility in our heroes and are suspicious of anyone who boldly self-promotes.

Zemeckis' movie gives the viewer a privileged perspective: we get to see the truth behind the characters' words. Beowulf still boasts of his deeds but as he does so his story is visualised for us. We get to see the truth of his words and to witness where they conceal the truth. Most of his claims are true, but not all. He lies, feels guilt and shame. This man is recognisably the great hero of the epic but he is also flawed and vulnerable, a man after all. This is a hero for our less heroic times, but one with whom modern audiences can engage more readily than with the superman of the poem.

The remainder of this review contains spoilers, so if you haven’t seen the movie yet, you may not want to read on.

The date of composition of the poem is unknown, estimates ranging from the mid 8th Century AD to the end of the 10th Century. The interests and ethics of the poem are only marginally Judeo-Christian, so that the earlier date seems likely as the culture was just emerging from a pagan world. The depiction of a flawed hero is one way in which the epic has been modernised; but perhaps more significant is the introduction of a more liberal and Judeo-Christian world view. (Although some might argue that this is not modern at all. The best that can be said is that relative to the values of the pagan epic the Judeo-Christian world view is somewhat more modern).

This change is introduced in several ways but primarily through a clever re-imagining of the role and significance of Grendel’s mother (played by a stunning Angelina Jolie, whose animated character is, we like to imagine, least altered from reality). On this issue, Roger Avery has this to say: Grendel is described as half-man, half-demon. The mother is described as a water demon. So who's Grendel's father? Grendel's always dragging men off alive to the cave? Why? Why is he never attacking Hrothgar? … And if Hrothgar is Grendel's father, then what happens to Beowulf when he goes into that cave? Did he kill the monster? Did he kill Grendel's mother? Or did he make a pact with the demon?

In the movie, Grendel’s nameless mother has become an embodiment of the Devil, a temptress who, like Satan, offers power and fame: at a price and for a limited time. Certainly the pursuit of power and fame is key to the epic, but in Zemeckis’ movie this has become bound up with pride, sin and guilt, which are mostly absent from the poem. This re-imagining of the character of Grendel’s mother has allowed the writers to draw a story arc from Beowulf’s adventure with Grendel at the start to his fatal encounter with the dragon at the end, adventures that are otherwise unrelated in the poem.

In fact, the story arc extends beyond the start of the poem and, we imagine, beyond its end. In his youth, Hrothgar clearly made a pact with Grendel’s mother, giving her a son as his part of the deal, and for a time he was a powerful king. Interestingly, the golden cup that Hrothgar awards Beowulf for killing Grendel only makes an appearance in the poem at the very end. It is this cup, stolen from the dragon, that rouses it from its sleep. In the movie a new episode has the youthful Hrothgar claim the cup after slaying Fafnir the dragon (a nod, incidentally, to the Saga of the Volsungs in which Fafnir is the dragon slain by Sigurd). Might not this dragon have been a child of the Temptress too – the product of an earlier pact by some unnamed King? The cup passes to Hrothgar, then to Beowulf and next to Wiglaf…

Nothing lasts forever and when Hrothgar’s time is up, it is his sinful past in the shape of Grendel that is his undoing. But Hrothgar, depicted in his old age as a drunken, womanising lout, has clearly been dying for years, tormented by his sin, riddled with guilt and finally undone by it. Grendel thus become an externalisation of Hrothgar’s inner truth, an ugly, deformed and suffering creature. The unfortunate victim of the father’s sin. This liberalisation of the epic (in which the monster has no redeeming qualities) asks us to understand the monster as victim, as well as victimiser.

Beowulf in turn is faced by the same temptation and, flawed hero that he is, he too succumbs, and provides the Temptress with a son. And so the cycle continues: Beowulf inherits Hrothgar’s sin, his guilt and shame, and in another change from the poem, he inherits the kingdom (not to mention, Hrothgar’s long-suffering wife). If the son is an externalisation of the father’s inner truth (and if the death and destruction which the son brings is the consequence of the father’s sin), there could be no greater contrast between Hrothgar’s child and Beowulf’s: Beowulf’s son is the dragon: a beautiful and majestic creature, powerful and yet terrible, violent and destructive.

The movie’s ethical commentary on the temptation and corruption of powerful men, on choices and their consequences, concludes with apparent uncertainty. At the very end, Wiglaf, Beowulf’s successor, faces the same temptation. We do not know how he fares, but the weight of evidence is against him. The cycle of temptation and corruption of the powerful with dire consequences for all looks set to continue.

Before I end this epic review, one final word on the motion capture technique employed by Zemeckis. My one lingering reservation is with this aspect of the movie. Zemeckis’ Beowulf is an animated feature produced using motion-capture technology: the cast were filmed on a motion capture stage and the resulting digital images were animated. There’s no doubt that Zemeckis has taken the technology further than ever and it is close to creating realistic animated characters. It almost works. The expressions reveal depth of feeling, complex reactions which are quite remarkable. But it doesn’t ring quite true. Most tellingly, the dragon, which presumably is fully digital animation, is by far the most impressive creation.

In the end the question I find myself asking is “why bother”? Peter Jackson has admirably demonstrated that the creatures and fantastical action can all be done in live action and I for one engage better with live action than animation.

Having said that, the 3D vision more than compensated for any reservation I had about the motion capture. This movie has to be seen in 3D to be believed – it is quite simply breathtaking (and occasionally sick making!).

Zemeckis’ Beowulf is no mirror of the epic, but much of the poem finds its way on to the big screen. It is far from being dumbed-down. Regarding the charge that “The minute [Beowulf] starts lying, he becomes less interesting”, I believe that for many viewers the opposite is true. As for the introduction of a more Judeo-Christian ethic, within the limits of the movie even this works well and while the nature of the poem is changed it does not undermine the original. “Put it this way,” Gaiman explained: I think that an English teacher with a recalcitrant class that doesn't think Beowulf is interesting could take them to see [our] Beowulf; they could think it's interesting, and then sit around arguing about the bits that we changed. But they would still have the core of Beowulf there, and that's important.

But in the end it is the 3D visual spectacle that dominates the Beowulf experience: we are engaged with the characters and the action, but we are enthralled by the vision.

If you aren’t familiar with the poem, there is no better place to start than Seamus Heaney’s relatively recent translation.

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