The peasants are revolting. The film, thankfully, behaves itself.
Give me 1381 and I'm anyone's. A teenage king, a hated poll tax and thousands of ordinary people marching on London to demand their freedom? Paul Greengrass gives it the Bourne treatment, and the jittery cameras and muddy shoving stop the tax row feeling like council admin.
I loved that Greengrass hands the story to a nameless ploughman and spares us invented backstories for Wat Tyler and John Ball. The revolt belonged to people with mud on their boots, so it's right the camera follows one of them.
The trouble is the Ploughman himself stays thin. Andrew Garfield spends most of the film looking like he's lost a field and found a migraine. Cosmo Jarvis and Jamie Bell rabble-rouse with gusto, though nobody had me reaching for a pitchfork. I was rooting for the rebels from the off, but my feelings about the film stayed stubbornly tax-exempt.
A perfectly respectable uprising. I shan't be joining the next one.