The narrative design is successful, with three strands that ultimately manage to untangle themselves while Hawkins looks on helplessly, but the visual storytelling is merely functional. The film’s visual appeal is mostly limited to the sumptuous costumes by Edith Head and Yvonne Wood, not to mention the people wearing them. It’s one shot too many, utilizing a better take, perhaps, but interrupting the flow of a moment that depends on unity of time and place for its effect. The sequence is capped by a close-up of the contents of the basket. Ravenhurst is then followed by Princess Gwendolyn (Angela Lansbury). Then Ravenhurst approaches from behind, but before he speaks, the film cuts to a tighter shot of the two men. In the first, after the king’s retinue exits the frame, leaving Hawkins alone in a medium shot, a man appears from the right to hand him a basket. This sequence is conveyed in three separate shots. Were he in possession of all his faculties, he’d understand that the plots contradict each other. They each issue brief instructions that make no sense to him. One inspired scene involves Hawkins, in character as the jester Giacomo but with his memory of the day’s intrigues recently wiped, getting accosted by three unrelated conspirators. The film’s dexterity extends to its scenarios, if not always the filmmaking. For all the masks the character puts on in his quest to save England, that of the buffoon is the most natural and therefore the most successful. In that moment, Hawkins stumbles into his true vocation, improvising a comic recitative before the most important audience he’s ever faced. “The Maladjusted Jester” is a small masterpiece. Lest it be forgotten that this film is also a musical (which can happen, considering Kaye is the only one who sings anything), the songs by Sammy Kahn and Sylvia Fine have more than their share of cleverness, as well. The get it/got it/good exchanges are a personal favorite. But there are equally great examples elsewhere, from “the grim, grisly, gruesome Griswold” to the doings of the duke, duchess, and doge. The film’s most famous scene, of which I’ve written before, certainly springs to mind, with its extra words thrown in just for the sake of rhythm (it’s not a “poison pellet,” it’s “the pellet with the poison”). Overflowing with alliteration and rhyme, the words are an actor’s dream. Written, produced, and directed by the team of Norman Panama and Melvin Frank, The Court Jester presents an unmistakably artificial form of medieval dialogue. This movie, however, a spoof of adventure tales, has a great deal of both. Lacking wit and self-awareness, such posturing can grow immensely tedious. This man, not his more skilled and experienced rivals, can win the battle and acquire an attractive mate. The fantasy is that the conventional rules can be overturned. Into this tale of medieval England comes a meek entertainer named Hawkins, played by Danny Kaye. Rejected are the supermen - the hulking warriors like Robert Middleton’s Griswold, the devious swordsmen like Basil Rathbone’s Ravenhurst, the theatrical leaders like Edward Ashley’s Black Fox. It’s an easy enough comfort zone for a writer or otherwise artistically inclined person to find. Not unlike The Seven Year Itch (although lacking that script’s satiric recoil), the film version of which was released a half-year prior, The Court Jester sings the praises of the sensitive man. This only deepened my affection for the film, as I formed an intense identification with a bumbling fool who bluffs his way to respect. Some of the very first hints of critical movie-watching in my life came when I first grasped the relationship between Hawkins and the Robin Hood-esque rebel leader. A young boy is apt to overlook that simple fact in favor of a world where the hero is simply the right man for the job. The Court Jester is the story of a milquetoast thrust into situations where heroism is required. At the very least, this means that a character with only a few minutes of screen time failed to leave an impression. I can vaguely recollect a time when an important plot strand involving the real Black Fox’s absence just didn’t register with me. In my earliest memories of this film - which extend about as far back into the recesses of early childhood as any non-Disney production in existence - Hubert Hawkins is the Black Fox.
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