Unexpected Swords in the Stone
By Brenna Duperron
At Disneyland, if you are very lucky, a costumed actor dressed as Merlin might choose you from the crowd. After a few unlucky fathers get to try their strength on the iconic sword lodged into a glittering stone, a small child will inevitably have the proud moment of being worthy of this prize. The Disney movie and various children’s book adaptations, such as T.H. White’s Sword in the Stone, of the Arthurian legend, center this iconic moment. The epic pull of the sword from its stony sheath launches a young Arthur onto the throne, proving him the rightful and worthy king. The sword-in-the-stone scene is arguably one of the most celebrated and influential moments in Arthuriana, permeating throughout popular culture as a recognizable short-hand for heroism that has in many ways become surpassed its original sources. We find heroic characters throughout Hollywood test their mettle by pulling magical swords, hammers, and even tridents.
The famous sword-in-the-stone scene mostly pulls from Thomas Malory’s Le Morte D’Arthur, though it first finds its entry into the Arthuriana corpus with the thirteenth century Robert de Boron’s Merlin. In Malory’s rendition, Arthur’s first triumphant pull is accidental and private. Arthur’s right to rule is not immediately assumed by his possession of the sword. His claim to the throne needs to be ratified by public witnesses. Furthermore, various noblemen who also desire the crown test their luck. The sword-in-the-stone though resists the multitude of claimants. After Arthur is proven to be the only one who could successfully pull the sword, he is finally crowned.
The sword-in-the-stone trope, however, does not remain tethered to explicit retellings of the Arthurian legend. The trope has trickled its way into the superhero genre––arguably a clear descendant of the medieval romance. On both sides of the DC/Marvel divide, to focus on well-known examples, storytellers use a ‘sword-in-the-stone’ to symbolize a morally ambiguous character’s redemption arc. The successful pulling of the sword from the stone functions as proof of a character’s heroism and inner goodness, despite outward appearances or behaviors. The unlikely heroism of the youthful King Arthur is translated onto the bodies of the disgraced hero in Thor and the racialized exile in Aquaman. Furthermore, in modern renditions of the trope, the heroes actively seek the sword to prove themselves. Wielding the sword is a testament and powerful reminder of their achievements.
When you include DC Extended Universe’s Aquaman in a popular culture and medievalism syllabus, you are often initially met with confusion. The medieval futurism appears to be initially lost under the 21st century setting, globe-trotting action, and high-tech weaponry. However, the correlations between Arthur and Aquaman are abundant, beginning with his human name: Arthur Curry. Interwoven throughout the majority of the comics series and reboots in the works of Geoff Johns, Alex Ross, or Peter David, allusions to King Arthur are a key part of the Aquaman mythos.[1] Carl Sell notes that Geoff Johns' adaptation, ‘drew from the Arthurian mythos as a whole rather than any one specific textual rendering.’ Other creators adopt a similar approach. For instance, Arthur Curry exists in a world that has its own version of Excalibur, Mordred, Lancelot, the Holy Grail, Valkyrie, etc.[2] It is unsurprising then that the DC Universe movie adaptation maintains the Arthurian tropes.
Traditionally, the comic book Arthur Curry is a blonde, blue-eyed man in keeping with the popular imagination that connects King Arthur to white Europe (the correlation is so embedded that King Arthur Flour uses Arthurian iconography to reinforce the ‘pure’ whiteness of their unbleached grain). The embedded whiteness of Arthuriana, however, is disrupted by James Wan’s casting of Hawaiian actor Jason Momoa as Aquaman in the film adaptation, and his father is played by Māori actor Temuera Morrison. Momoa and Morrison’s characters are also marked as Indigenous in the film. The visual coding is subtle, with the odd knick-knack, such as the Tiki statue on the mantelpiece (00:02:34) or the Māori vase on the side table (00:05:33), interlaced art (00:02:39), Momoa’s rippling muscles decked out with Tribal tattoos (00:15:30), and the Toki that Arthur Curry wears (00:15:54). It is further reinforced through Arthur Curry’s interactions with his father, from their sharing in hongi (a Māori greeting of pressing their foreheads and noses together) to Thomas Curry chastising him for not finishing his ta moko, a Traditional Māori tattoo: ‘let’s go home and work on your ta moko, huh? If your grandfather were still alive, he’d be banging our heads for not finishing it’ (00:30:15-00:30:20). The Māori referencing is primarily in the early scenes and symbolizes Arthur’s connection to home and family.
The fabulous artwork is an original by Ollie Desautels, an inspiring artist, currently attending grade 11 in Vancouver, BC.
The trial of the sword-in-the-stone highlights that Arthur Curry’s cultural and racial difference from the white Orm and highborn Atlanteans does not preclude his standing as the ‘true King.’ Furthermore, the trial imbues Arthur Curry with the potential to disrupt the dangerous and violent imperialism of Orm and his ilk. The alterity of Arthur’s body is constructed in Atlantis as a stark contrast between the Māori homelife and the whiteness of medieval futurism. As Kim Wickham notes, ‘Curry is also visually Othered, as all other Atlantean main characters are white, but this potential challenge is never fully explored.’ However, the problematic purity associated with whiteness in Arthuriana is disrupted by a hero frequently referred to derogatorily as a ‘mongrel’ or ‘half-breed,’ a common slur aimed at mixed race Indigenous peoples. In the film though, the ‘half-breed’ status is attached to Arthur being half-human and half-Atlantean. The Atlanteans have a clear prejudice against the humans though few humans know of their existence, as the Atlanteans live live segregated from the ‘surface-dwellers’ except for Arthur who brings the two worlds together within his body. While the ‘potential challenge’ is subtle, Momoa’s presence both reasserts and complicates the imperial nature of the ‘matter of Britain’ in Aquaman’s source material.
Arthur Curry (Aquaman) becomes the usurper King who disrupts the white elite—an act that is justified by both his ‘sword-in-the-stone’ trial, which becomes interwoven with a Holy Grail-style quest to retrieve the Trident of Atlan and his own royal lineage. Much like the sword-in-the-stone trope, the Holy Grail often proves a character’s spiritual goodness and purity — if not their right to rule. For example, Lancelot’s inability to obtain the Holy Grail is due to his illicit affair with Guinevere in some stories, such as in the Queste del saint Graal[3]. Galahad, who finds the Grail in several versions, wins it in Arthur’s name, implying his moral purity. The sword-in-the-stone trope for Arthur Curry is blurred with the Holy Grail quest. In an interview, Geoff Johns noted that ‘It’s hard to think of Aquaman and this story . . . without thinking of King Arthur and the Holy Grail. He’s named Arthur after King Arthur and it’s literally that journey.’[4] The fact that Arthur Curry conducts the quest himself and pulls the trident from King Atlan’s dead grasp reinforces the sword-in-the-stone element of this journey. By bringing these two tropes together, Arthur’s retrieval of the trident becomes both a personal achievement (a testament to his strength, skill, and knowledge) and the fulfillment of prophecy. Arthur thus wins the throne through merit, family, and fate, which further legitimizes his claim to throne.
Wickham intriguingly argues that the Arthurian tropes in Aquaman reassert archaic ideals of power and reinforce toxic masculinity; however, I disagree on two major points. The first is on the impact of Jason Momoa’s casting as shown above, where the whiteness of Atlantis’s elite is disrupted by a rightful king of Polynesian heritage. The second is the historical use of the sword-in-the-stone trope. According to Wickham, ‘while Arthur of Camelot ascends the throne without resistance, needing only to demonstrate his goodness and worth by pulling the sword from the stone, our almost-king Arthur of Atlantis must contend with Atlantis’ current king and the movie’s central villain.’ In Malory and the wider corpus though, there is clear resistance and distrust from the nobility, and they consistently delay the coronation until the general public gets so frustrated that they cry out against the continuous tournaments and attempts to pull the sword. While the sword may not be wielded in an epic superhero battle scene, both Arthurs must convince their respective peoples that besides having the skills to pull the sword, they are also its rightful owner. For both Arthurs, unlike the trope’s usage in Marvel’s Thor as we will see, holding the weapon is not enough; they must prove able to wield it as well.
The Aquaman film falls neatly in what Jason Tondro refers to as the ‘Arthur Toybox.’ The film pulls heavily on readily recognizable motifs, tropes, and character types from the Arthurian world without directly referencing them, allowing Arthuriana to influence the story without confusing anyone unaware of the source’s nuances. The other superhero giant, Marvel Comics, makes use of this ‘Arthurian Toybox’ by blending Arthurian motifs into Norse Legend. In Marvel’s Thor, the ‘sword-in-the-stone’ is represented through Thor’s mythical hammer of Mjolnir. From Thor’s very first appearance in Journey into the Mystery (issue 83; August 1962), his hammer has been symbolically linked with Arthurian swords. Thor’s hammer, Mjolnir, is inscribed with the statement: ‘Whosoever wields this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor.’ Tondro connects this statement to the inscription on the stone in Malory’s description of the sword-in-the-stone scene: ‘whosoever draws this sword from this stone and anvil is rightwise king born of all England.’[5] Unlike in Malory, in this comic book iteration of Old Norse/Icelandic myth, wielding Mjolnir does not simply prove that you are worthy, but it literally transforms you into the god of Thunder. The Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) version reimagines the Mighty Thor’s origin story by bringing the sword-in-the-stone motif to the forefront.
The sword-in-the-stone motif becomes a key plot point to both Thor (2011) and Thor: Love and Thunder (2022).[6] From a bout of frustration with Thor, Odin places a spell on Mjolnir tying ‘the power of Thor’ to the hammer (00:29:38). One’s ability to wield the hammer becomes a testament to their personal morality. Only someone who is pure of heart could even lift the hammer––let alone manage Thor’s powers: an idea that the MCU will pick up in multiple Easter Eggs, reinforcing Captain America’s innate goodness. Throughout the series, the MCU teases Captain America’s ability to lift the hammer, strengthening his role as the moral center of the Avengers. In Avengers: Age of Ultron, the characters all sit around testing their strength on Mjolnir, a call back to the first Thor movie (00:27:44-00:28:49). Tony Stark recalls the Arthurian history of this moment, by asking ‘Right, so if I lift this, I will then rule Asgard?’ (00:27:54-00:28:03). Only Steve Rogers (Captain America) can shift the hammer but pretends not to for Thor’s ego (00:28:40-00:29:00). It is later revealed during Avengers: Endgame that Rogers has control over Mjolnir, wielding it in the big action climax (02:12:58-02:13:03).
In the first film, Thor undergoes a character arc that takes him from selfish, arrogant violence to heroic, selfless violence. Marvel adds to the Norse myths the idea that lifting Thor’s hammer confirms ones’ goodness. The most sword-in-the-stone coded moment comes in both a comedic scene and a moment of defeat. Mjolnir lands on earth shortly after Thor does and is discovered by the local townspeople. In a humorous riff on Malory’s succession of nobles trying their luck, blue collar workers use their pick-up trucks, power tools, and rippling muscles to attempt to dislodge the hammer (00:35:32-00:36:32). The event mimics a tournament with more recognizably modern flare––kegs and BBQs turn it into a tailgate party.
For Thor, it is not such a jovial affair. He must battle a series of secret agents and special ops extras while maneuvering through a maze-like structure (00:53:27-01:00:27). When he finally finds Mjolnir, the hammer is elevated in a mound of dirt that evokes the medieval anvil (00:55:36). Unfortunately, for Thor, it is much too early in the plot, and the hammer does not budge (00:58:13-00:59:00). The tragedy of the scene is reinforced through the melancholic music and rainstorm that falls upon him. Interestingly, Thor never succeeds in completing the sword-in-the-stone trial. Kiera M. Gaswint notes that if ‘the persona of Thor can be separated from a particular body altogether…then the identity of Thor must lie in some ways with the hammer.’[7] In fact, Thor is not innately or naturally Thor. He must also learn to become Thor himself, fulfilling his father’s vision of his divine role in the universe. When the time comes, the hammer does not need to be pulled out of the stone but actively flies into Thor’s hand.
In Māori director Taika Waititi’s Thor: Ragnarök, Thor’s innate right to rule is called into question.[8] An elder sister, Hela, is revealed to have been hidden away after being used as a violent weapon in the conquering of the nine realms (00:43:40-00:44:08). Hela is not only able to lift the hammer, but she easily shatters it in the palm of her hand (00:24:04). Dorothy Kim reads the destruction of Thor’s hammer as ‘a multiracial and postcolonial counternarrative to the white Viking narrative circulating through the alt-right digital ecosystem.’ Hela represents the imperial truth of Asgard, disrupting Thor’s right to rule when she destroys the hammer. Thor is forced into a second existential crisis as he must again learn what makes him a hero. The destruction of the hammer catalyzes Thor’s discovery of alternate impressions and experiences with Asgard’s imperialism, such as that experienced by the Valkyries who were decimated by the royal family’s squabbles (00:49:39-00:50:57). Thor must confront his peoples’ violent histories and come to terms with the legacy that he has inherited. An internal lesson that is only made possible by destroying the hammer that has come to symbolize both imperialism (through its appropriation of the ‘divine right to rule’) and white supremacist ideology (as Mjolnir is frequently appropriated by the alt-right).
The sword-in-the-stone trope is so ubiquitous in the Western cultural imagination that it becomes an instant shorthand for worthiness and the ‘right to rule.’ The use of the sword-in-the-stone trope allows 21st century films to play with and reinvent the implications of a ‘true’ right to rule. In Aquaman, Arthur Curry ultimately proves his worthiness, not by completing the quest to find the trident but through his humility. The creature of the deep, Karathen, that guards the trident, allows only those who she deems worthy to even approach the final test. She does so through a series of questions and insults that are meant to disarm the arrogant hero; however, it is also revealed that most heroes don’t speak her language or understand her, nullifying the impact of her words (01:51:40). Karathen though is met with an unexpected twist, as he is the first to be able to understand her words. Furthermore, much of what she says is no more than Arthur has heard before from a world that does not wish to accept his very existence(01:50:03-01:51:45). The underlying theme of worthiness is made clear in her questions to Arthur, who responds that he is, in fact, not worthy (01:51:53). It is this humility that proves to Karathen that Arthur has what it takes to be a good ruler and join the worlds of humans and Atlanteans. For Thor, he must consistently learn to put others before himself. Marvel’s understanding of good leadership comes not from humility but from a space of selflessness. He is only able to regain the power of Thor after he sacrifices himself to save the mortals, only once he learns that battling and ruling is about more than glory and fame (Thor 01:28:16). The internal attributes reinforced by the magical weapon highlights the heroism of its wielder.
The sword-in-the-stone becomes a symbol of heroism, an object shaping the hero to meet the social and cultural expectations of its time and genre. The superhero genre intervenes in a long tradition of questioning the identity and worthy qualities of a hero that goes as far back as the medieval Arthurian tradition. The questions of heroism and what it means to be one remain as relevant today as they did in the pages of the elusive medieval sources.
Author Bio:
Brenna Duperron works as a per-course/contract-faculty member at Dalhousie University, University of King’s College, and Mount Saint Vincent University. Duperron’s SSHRC-funded doctoral dissertation, “Fear Not the Language of the World: Red Reading Literacy in The Book of Margery Kempe” (2023), bridges Indigenous and premodern scholarship, disrupting the borders of orality/literacy in medieval texts. Her research has been published in Exemplaria (2021) and English Language Notes (2020).
Acknowledgement
The fabulous artwork is an original by Ollie Desautels, an inspiring artist, currently attending grade 11 in Vancouver, BC. I would also like to acknowledge the generative feedback from the Atlantic Medieval Association 2024 meeting, where I gave a version of this paper.
Notes:
[1] Jason Tondro, Superheroes of the Round Table: Comics Connections to Medieval and Renaissance Literature (McFarland, 2011), p. 158.
[2] Tondro, Superheroes of the Round Table, pp. 158-63.
[3] Fanni Bogdanow and Anne Berrie. La quête du Saint-Graal : roman en prose du XIIIe siècle. (Paris: Livre de Poche, 2006).
[4] Shanee Edwards, ‘Aquaman Writers Use King Arthur Legend as Inspiration,’ Screenwriting Magazine, 2018.
[5] Tondro, Superheroes of the Round Table, p. 155.
[6] In Thor: Love and Thunder (2022), Thor’s love interest, Jane Foster, steps into the powers of Thor through her ability to yield Mjolnir. Jane’s Mighty Thor simultaneously subverts the gender norms of the superhero genre while evoking issues of tourism and appropriations of spirituality––a topic that I pick up in a forthcoming book chapter.
[7] Kiera M. Gaswint, ‘There Must Always Be a Thor: Marvel’s Thor the Goddess of Thunder and the Disruption of Heroic Masculinities,’ in Superheroes and Masculinity: Unmasking the Gender Performance of Heroism, ed. Sean Parson and J.L. Schatz (Lexington Books, 2020), p. 101 [97-109].
