Medieval Times

Just stop your crying, it’s a sign of the Medieval Times

I suppose it was only a matter of, well, time before I found myself at Medieval Times. I suppose it was only right that we would arrive there by party bus. At 2 PM. On a Sunday. 

My friend Emily decided to celebrate her 29th birthday at Medieval Times— a dinner and tournament set in 11th Century Spain. It’s not quite Disneyland. It’s not quite the circus. It’s an arena outside of Anaheim, California, where performers exhibit feats of strength on horseback. Medieval Times’ website describes it thusly: “Highly trained knights will joust and show off their swordsmanship in hand-to-hand combat, along with displays of horsemanship and majestic falconry.” There are ten locations in North America, ranging from Toronto, Ontario to Atlanta, Georgia. 

A quick note on the “majestic falconry.” At one point, while someone was ordering a round of tequila shots for the group (reminder: 2 PM), the server, a woman dressed in a smock and corset, paused and said with crisp professionalism, “One moment. I’ll finish your order, but I need to crouch for the bird.” She then ducked out of sight as a falcon soared inches above our heads. “Ok,” she said, suddenly returning to her feet, “..so, 10 Jose Cuervos…” 

A number of people in our group had been to Medieval Times before, and didn’t seem as phased by the spectacle. I guess it’s one of those things you do as a kid, if you were raised in/around LA. That day, there were many children in attendance, which gave the whole thing an even more chaotic vibe. Hammered 20-somethings mixed with corporate parties mixed with Logan’s 13th birthday. It’s a lot. They give you paper crowns, but my friend Casey and I made our own out of leftover baby’s breath and some twine we purchased the first week of the pandemic during our “crafting craze.” Another server approached us mid-way through the tournament and said “You two look like you’re from that horror movie, Midsommer. I don’t like it.” 

Casey and I split a Medieval Mango Slushy and stared in awe at the performance. I had so many questions. Who are these people? How does one apply for this job? Do they enjoy their jobs? Do they have health insurance and benefits? Are the actors ethically cared for? Are the horses ethically cared for? Why is this one knight eye-fucking the entire crowd so intensely? Is he really eye-fucking the crowd, or did I take too much of that mushroom chocolate? Is it appropriate to be 30 years old, high and tipsy on a Sunday, screaming into an arena while wearing a tablecloth as a robe? What is the bright red spice on this piece of chicken that our waiter, Aaron, just called “a dragon leg”? Where is the cutlery? There’s no cutlery?? Why am I suddenly TOTALLY OK WITH THIS? 

The crowd was divided into sections, which corresponded to a color, which corresponded to a knight. I was bummed that there weren’t any lady-knights…I suppose Medieval Times is still in the dark ages on that front. 

We were rooting for the Yellow Knight, a handsome guy who was not as cheeky as some of the other performers. He seemed kind of tired and like he’d rather be home smoking a bowl and watching Netflix. I guess I could relate. But could I?? I was there now. I was in 11th Century Spain. I was a lady among lords and lieges. 

I’ve never been a particularly rah-rah person. There is no team I emphatically root for, much to the dismay of my sports-loving family. It’s not that I don’t like watching sports, I just don’t totally know how to be a fan. Big groups dressed in the same color usually make me uneasy. Yet here I was, donning yellow, a color that I like, surrounded by people that I liked, in Buena Park, California. We’re here, I thought. I looked at our sweet, sleepy knight, adjusted my crown, and screamed at the top of my lungs “GO YELLOW!!” 

The Yellow Knight seemed to be making a comeback. We were all emphatically cheering for his victory. Emily (birthday girl) even got his attention by yelling with such volume and sincerity that finally, he approached us, and with a wink promised her “a special gift.” After the next round of fun and games, he awarded her a ribbon that said “Queen of the Tournament.” She swooned. I mean, how could you not?

After a while, it became obvious that the eye-fucky knight was the villain of the whole production. So that was it. This was his shtick. Towards the end of the performance, he was even miked and spoke to the crowd in anger and dissent. It was then that I acknowledged and accepted that the entire show was rigged. Our Yellow Knight didn’t stand a chance. He swiftly “died'' in a final sword fight. In the end, the Red & Yellow Knight won the whole thing. “At least he was half yellow” I said, somberly. A bizarre and potentially problematic sentiment that I still can’t believe came out of my mouth. 

We got back on the party bus and headed home. I googled everything I could about Medieval Times. 

Suspiciously, I found nothing regarding the treatment of Medieval Times’ animals or their actors, save for a Reddit AMA with a former knight at the New Jersey location, from about nine years ago. His username was “TheDovahkiinsDad",” which, after a quick search, I learned refers to the video game The Elder Scrolls. The wiki page says: “in Dragon language, "Dovahkiin" is a combination of the words "Dovah," meaning "dragon," and "kiin," meaning "born," or "child" which is typically translated to "Dragonborn," but it can also be translated to "Dragonchild.””

Anyway, someone asked this guy how he got the job and he said: 

“I actually applied to be a food server. But their manager was out sick the day of my interview and my interviewer was the head knight (manager). During the interview: Him: “Hey you look in shape.” Me: “Yeah, I played football and ran track in high school.” Him: “You ever ride a horse?” Me: “Not once.” Him: “You wanna learn? And maybe be in the show?” Me: “Hell yes.” Him: “You start Monday....As long as you pass the piss test.”

Umm…ok. So, some of these people are just DUDES WHO PLAYED FOOTBALL IN HIGH SCHOOL? The AMA confirmed the whole thing was just as weird and incredible as it seemed. 

I’m tempted here to bring it back to the subtitle— “Just stop your crying, it’s a sign of the Medieval Times” (a play on this Harry Styles song, if you need the reminder)— and offer an earnest reflection. I don’t know, that’s just something I like to do. Is it about how primal and dumb our brains are? About finding joy and ridiculousness in a period of human history (then & now) where suffering and confusion abounds? About the merits of being messy and loud and giving yourself over to a place that, yeah, wants!your!money!, but also promises to transport you somewhere else? I guess if you were crying before you got to Medieval Times, you’re either smiling, or crying even harder afterwards. Maybe something like that? 

Nah. I think the point is this, straight from the Reddit AMA: