Made in 1963, this is a ridiculously overwrought Arthurian retelling from before Hollywood had invented humor, romance, or horseback riding. In the days of Camelot, King Arthur sends Sir Lancelot, his best friend and strongest knight, north to the neighboring kingdom to bring back Guinevere, daughter of the king, to be his bride and seal an alliance that will unite all of Britain. When he arrives, however, Lancelot finds that he must duel the kingdom's champion to win Arthur's bride for him. He succeeds too well, winning not only the duel but Guinevere's heart as well. They fall in love on the way back to Camelot, flirt shamelessly at Arthur and Guinevere's wedding, and embark on a torrid affair (or, at least, what passed for torrid in 1963). After a 30-minute digression to deal with a raid by horn-helmeted Vikings and just as the audience is starting to come to the stunning realization that the actor playing Lancelot thinks he's doing a French accent, Lancelot returns to Camelot and finally awakens Arthur's suspicions. At which point, the final half hour suddenly pivots from Renn Faire silliness into a fairly faithful, if still ridiculously overwrought, retelling of Le Morte d'Arthur. Most of the important action happens off screen and the strategy in the epic final battle between the armies of Arthur and Mordred consists primarily of the knights of both armies riding half-heartedly toward each other hoping desperately not to fall off before they meet in battle. But in the end, it all unfolds as Mallory said, if not so competently told as in the original.