What do you get when you cross King Arthur, psychedelics, opera, and more than a little nudity? You get John Boorman's Excalibur--the messiest, bloodiest, sexiest fantasy film of the previous century. Blake is a clumsy young squire with no idea of the magnificent destiny that awaits him. But little does he know that Michael--an aging druid--has been pulling the strings around him for generations now. After yanking the fabled sword from the stone, he finds himself thrust into a world he doesn't understand. Can he restore order to Britain? Or will he end up slaughtered for his hubris?