getting medieval
Going to Medieval Times is kinda like going through puberty. It’s awkward, but it seems to be part of the essential human experience.
When you show up at the big castle-shaped building, you pay a very decent-sized chunk of money to people wearing corsets and typing on computers, and then you’re cattle-corralled into a big waiting area. One of the first things I noticed was that there are two bars in the waiting area, only 30 yards apart. Gathered all around the bars were people slamming drinkypoos. I wondered at first if the kinds of people who came to Medieval Times just coincidentally happened to be the types to chug large amounts of dragon-named drinks out of little plastic knight helmets. Only later would I realize why some people would choose to include just a wee bit of inebriation with their Medieval Times experience. I’d realize later that these people were the veterans — they were getting prepared for all the silliness on the other side of those doors.
A guy showed up with a long trumpet thing, held it to his mouth while speakers blared out recorded music from several trumpets, and a guy ushered us into our appropriate sections. My group happened to be seated the Green Knight section, which meant that for the duration of the evening, we were supposed to support the Green Knight unconditionally, even if he fell off his horse or turned out to be the bad guy in the plot or if he was caught hosting dogfights.
With the other people seated in the Green Knight area, we shouted our heads off to support him, along with derogatory shouts against the other knights. “The Green Knight rules! The Yellow Knight drives slowly in the fast lane! The Black and White Knight doesn’t fold his laundry until several days after it comes out of the dryer!”
I’m not afraid to admit here that I’m apprehensive around horses. It is not because of their huge size or because they can kick your head right off, but rather because they’re so smart. My previous run-ins with horses have been some negative experiences. They can tell I’m a bit shy, so they follow me around and mess with me, biting at my neck and trying to steal my wallet. I tried to explain to this one horse that I’m supposed to be the more-intelligent species, and he bit off a little bushel of weeds from next to my truck and plopped them down on top of my head, just to be a jerk.
About half of the Medieval Times entertainment was watching horses do tricks. Horses would come out, strafe sideways, walk in crisscross patterns, dance in little circles, and do jumping kicks. The crowd loved it, but not me. While they politely clapped, I sat in my chair in the fetal position and covered my eyes.
Then the falcon guy came out. Unlike the horsemen and other assorted cast, the falconer guy seemed disturbingly genuine, like this was his whole life. You could picture this guy sitting in a chicken coop after the show and feeding birds out of his bellybutton.
There are two kinds of plot actors in the Medieval Times cast — the Ponytail Guys and everybody else. Apparently, to be one of the knights, you have to have a certain “look” : skinny arms and legs, sporting a ponytail, able to ride a horse, and walk with a certain heroic swagger. The other guys with shorter hair, or chubby, or who run like my wife with her arms out front, like she’s about to slide into second base — they’re the flag carriers and other miscellaneous cast.
The Ponytail Guys came out swinging. I wondered if it would be like old-school WWF wrestling, where the manager pulls them aside at the last minute and says “Okay, listen up guys. Red Knight wins today. Make it convincing.” But instead, it was more like the newer WWE wrestling, with very intricate plots. Luckily for the crowd, the plot was centered around constant violence — it was a friendly arena event, which thanks to the “bad guy” being the organizer, turned into a non-friendly battle. Each colored-knight had some kind of victory throughout the day. They kept the excitement pretty balanced between the colored groups so that one wouldn’t get heckled in the parking lot on the way out. “Hey Blue Knight, way to go on dying in the first round there. Next time we’ll make sure not to sit in your section. You ought to hit the medieval gym sometime.”
For the next two hours, the Ponytail Guys swung swords and axes in dramatic paths that would connect with shields and other weapons from other Ponytail Guys, making loud clanging noises. At times, the choreography seemed pretty convincing, but as the skirmishes rotated around to side-views, you could see that they never swung the swords in a path that would hit the opponent. There were some moments that it was very clear they weren’t even really trying to kill each other. Whenever there was a fight centered around a major plot element, the other fights would dissipate. You’d see the good guys and bad guys, who were previously supposed to be fighting to the death, lean on their swords and talk about something they saw on YouTube. Or a guy would drop his sword with his opponent closing in on him… and instead of killing him, the attacker would back off, making dramatic poses until the first guy could pick up his weapon to go back to clanging.
I secretly found myself rooting not for the Green Knight, but instead for an accidental stabbing.
Overall, it was a fun experience, and the food was surprisingly tasty. But after a couple hours of these shenanigans, we found ourselves peeking at our watches, wondering when what medieval-time this thing was going to end. At this one table near us, however, in the opposing Red-and-Yellow Knight section, the group kept up their intensity throughout the night. Everytime something would happen, they’d be on their feet, roaring with applause, occasionally doing fist pumps, and high-fiving each other quite impressively. It was then that I realized that these were the earlier folks from the bar. They had gotten sufficiently liquored up to the point that they didn’t notice or care that some parts were silly and unrealistic. I envied their drunkenness and promised to do the same if I ever returned. That should be their slogan: “Medieval Times — Better If You’re Loaded.”
We completed our awkward essential human experience and drove home from the big castle-shaped building. Like the majority of the other patrons did, I’m positive, my friends went home afterwards, drank too much wine, and duked it out in the backyard with rakes and shovels.