“An examination of the past in a way that feels innovative and daring.”

When we speak of “matter” it’s usually from a scientific perspective, looking at the atoms and molecules that make up our universe. However, when speaking about it from a literary or historical perspective, we can find a similar meaning, in the sense that the “matter” of a culture usually refers to the corpus of stories that form the foundation for a particular place or population; the very fabric of a culture as defined through the stories that have persisted over time. This is the foundation on which Peter Treherne, an exceptionally gifted experimental filmmaker in his feature-length debut, builds Matter of Britain. It is named after the collection of ancient stories, usually said to contain (amongst other tales) one of the most influential pieces of Western folklore: the exploits of King Arthur and his men in seeking the Holy Grail. The director’s approach is to enlist members of the local community in a remote hamlet somewhere in the county of East Sussex to recreate this famous story, eventually amassing a cast of over three hundred amateurs pulled from every walk of life, united to bring this iconic tale to life on screen. It evolves into a fascinating hybrid between documentary and fictional narrative that examines the art of observation, in terms of looking at the past (particularly the stories we tell over time and how they relate to the present in unexpected ways). One of the year’s most surprising works, Matter of Britain is truly original, an examination of the past in a way that feels innovative and daring, while never being so ambitious that it loses sight of its true intentions, which become increasingly clear as we venture further into its many thematic corridors.

Matter of Britain is a film that exists in the indefinite space between different concepts – past and present, fiction and reality, history and mythology. Treherne is not interested in the canonical facts on either end of these extremes but is more fascinated by the unspoken ambiguities that exist in the margins. This serves as the foundation for the film, which sets out to create a robust and experimental voyage into a particular era, one that is less defined and usually left open for interpretation. The director’s first point is to explore the narrow division between men and beasts – one of the opening scenes depicts someone hunting deer in a forest, silently seeking out his prey with deft precision, not unlike the natural predators that likely prowl the same terrain. There’s an animalistic quality to how Treherne presents this story – the scene of a hunter does not bear much narrative relevance (and the film is populated by a variety of these episodic moments that don’t quite carry any real meaning), but it does make clear that we are not dealing with a sanitised, neatly compartmentalised version of history, but rather one that is more violent, disconcerting and original. We can never quite tell where the fictional recreations stop and reality begins – the hunt that starts the film seems like it could just be a recreation until we see the actual act of killing and the aftermath of stripping the carcass and transforming it into a trophy. The film skillfully works with this ambiguity throughout, using it to experiment with narrative boundaries and their underlying meaning.

We aren’t ever in a position where it is possible to fully understand Matter of Britain, which is ostensibly designed to be a recreation of the Arthurian legend, but which features many radical diversions that are impossible to pin to a specific intention. The director seems driven by the desire to dismantle the preconceived notion that every artwork needs to be easy to comprehend, so that even when layered with meaning, a film can define itself as intentionally vague. To crack the code of Matter of Britain, we need to question the significance of the Holy Grail as more than just a metaphorical term used to describe something elusive but desirable, or as a remnant of a bygone era. The film doesn’t provide the answer to this question, but instead pushes us to reconsider the role mythology plays in everyday life. The Holy Grail has become shorthand for something coveted but never truly achievable, which here becomes a motif for the very search for the meaning of life, another concept that has led many on a relentless, fruitless quest. This is not merely a pompous attempt to revisit history, but an active examination of how we try to understand the past through physical and immaterial artefacts, which have deeper meaning when we add a modern perspective. Considering the director’s thesis statement, we can view Matter of Britain as his attempt to condense the history of the country into 100 minutes, an endeavour that seems far too ambitious to actually yield any results. However, through sheer audacity, Treherne manages to say something – it just depends on the individual viewer to interpret his precise meaning, which becomes an integral part of the film’s overall conceptual identity and artistic purpose.

Matter of Britain is by no means a conventional film, and tends to reward those willing to exercise patience. There are plenty of works that provide detailed approximations of medieval life, sweeping historical odysseys that pander to our fascination with Arthurian legend. Treherne was not interested in making that kind of film, choosing instead to create a piece that is deliberately vague and disorienting. The film takes place in an uncanny version of reality, one that is less focused on accuracy and more on establishing a particular atmosphere. The cast consists of hundreds of non-professional actors recruited from this community. The dialogue is written in both a classical register and a more modern style, and there is not much done to physically transform these people and places into their medieval versions, creating a dynamic contradiction between tradition and modernity. Some anachronisms feel genuinely captivating rather than frustrating or lazy, since they contribute to the offbeat tone and unconventional structure. This results less in a coherent narrative and more in a complex stream-of-consciousness, a mood poem about the intentional blurring of the past and present. As heir apparent to filmmakers like Peter Greenaway and Mark Jenkin (who similarly committed to telling haunting but beautiful stories of British culture in the form of films that appear to be suspended in time), the director relies on striking visuals and sound design to plunge the viewer into the history, albeit not one that we recognise since he is far more interested in a version of history that is detached from the traditional medieval narratives we often encounter.

By the time we reach the final moments of Matter of Britain – which are as vague as they are unforgettable – we’ve been taken on a fascinating journey into the past. The search for meaning has long been abandoned (probably lost somewhere towards the middle of the film, when Treherne’s overall intentions become slightly more clear) and is instead replaced by an engaging sense of spirited ambiguity that makes this distinct from any other film exploring the same subject matter, a peculiar curio plucked out of a recognisable but slightly off-kilter version of the past. Meaning ultimately doesn’t matter, and this is not a film that is particularly enamoured with the concept of accuracy. Instead, it’s an atmospheric philosophical odyssey that is intentionally opaque and impenetrable, and takes an already fictional story (which somehow has become so ingrained in the culture that it feels like an immovable part of history) and proves that it is possible to comment on both the past and present without reaching any clear conclusion. Matter of Britain does have some structure, and there is method to the madness; it just takes time to understand what the director is attempting to say. Ultimately, his unifying point is that entire populations of people carry the collective folklore – ordinary members of small communities who are responsible for keeping these myths and legends alive – despite the multitude of academics who may position themselves as the ultimate authorities on classical tales. The general public becomes the curator of the mythology, passing it down through time, and each new generation adds layers of significance through their bespoke interpretation, which tends to shift over the years. Folklore can shape and manipulate our perception of the past, while also deepening our understanding of human nature and our relationship with the world that surrounds us, which is the core of this fascinating film, a provocation of both form and content.