“The strength of the pack is in the wolf. And the strength of the wolf is in the pack.”
The Pagan King (Nameja gredzens, “Namejs Ring,” in Latvian) is a historical(ish) fiction film made in Latvia in 2018. It tells the story (in English) of a legendary figure named Namejs (NAH-may) and his attempt to preserve his pre-Christian kingdom from crusaders.
Poster for The Pagan King (2018) [Platforma Film]
The film opens with a Star Wars-style text intro:
In the 13th century, Pagan tribes inhabit the lands along the shores of the Baltic Sea, and the rich trading nation of Semigallia has not gone unnoticed by Rome. The pope’s illegitimate son, Max, seeks his father’s authority to conquer the region. His only problem is the Semigallians themselves, brave warriors whose kingdom is a place where even Vikings had once feared to tread.
Max, illegitimate son of an unnamed pope, demands to be made governor of faraway Semigallia. We see the pope shiv a guy (presumably to create a job vacancy, but it’s not directly stated) and then threaten to kill his own son. This pope has several sons running around, which matches with documented historical facts; enough popes had offspring either before they became celibate or during their pontificate that Wikipedia has a table for it. Cruelty apparently runs in the family: we immediately see Max slit someone’s throat on the voyage to Semigallia with a smile on his face.
Meanwhile, the Pagans of Semigallia (currently Latvia, along the shore of the Baltic Sea) are playing a game that looks like rugby with extra violence and less appealing shorts. Unsurprisingly, the young surprise heir to the throne Namejs (Edvin Endre) takes the prize, which turns out to be a boat and the right to a road trip with his friends. But Namejs, like Luke Skywalker, is going nowhere.
That’s because succession is anything but certain. The local thanes begin scheming even before the current king has died. We see the poisoned king suffering in bed, declaring that Namejs must succeed him and avenge him. Folk magic quietly takes place around his bedside; his partner moves her hands through a fire in a series of meaningful gestures as a drummer orbits and mirrors the king’s heartbeat. When the beat stops, the man dies. He passes his ring, his sign of power, to Namejs.
The ring itself is the center of this story. Called the Namejs ring, it comes from a 13th century Latvian folktale of a warrior-king who is among the last to stand and fight against German crusaders who were Christianizing the land at the point of a sword. Forced to flee, the legendary Namejs leaves the ring to his son so that he can prove his identity upon his father’s return. However, the Germans learn of this symbol, and search for the boy who wears it. All the boys of Semigallia have similar rings made, and wear them so that the enemy will not know who is the real Slim Shady. (No, I’m Spartacus!)
The ring was worked into a novel in 1930 and a replica was even presented to president Kārlis Ulmanis in 1940, positioning him symbolically as the heir to a legend. Since then, it’s been a popular jewelry design in Latvia. It is curious to see a 13th century Pagan story gain such prominence in a and largely Christian modern nation, but the timing is significant. Latvia suffered heavy losses in World War II, coming under both German and Soviet occupation and seeing tens of thousands deported or killed in 1941. Latvians were pressed into service on both sides of the war, hundreds of thousands of civilians died, and 75,000 Latvian Jews were murdered by the Nazi government. A resurgence in nationalist myth makes sense under these conditions, especially a myth rooted in surviving German invasion.
Not a German but instead a Roman invader, The Pagan King’s mustache-twiddling villain from Rome sneeringly calls all Semigallians “Pagan scum” and immediately poisons the king and his youngest child upon arrival. Max commits several more murders before executing a brutal double-cross that gives the Pagans a chance to show off their superior shield wall technique and stab a lot of crusaders to death, despite their jingling mail. Max calls Namejs “the last Pagan king” (an awesome title over which a lot of rulers across Europe could probably reenact SummerSlam) before some more casual cruelty.
This is not a subtle film. This is like Game of Thrones without a hint of subtlety and stranger accents. (And possibly more on-screen kills. This ain’t a scene, it’s a gods damned blood bath.)
Edvin Endre as Namejs in “The Pagan King” (2018) [Platforma Film]
Pagan symbols and practices abound in the film. After accession, Namejs visits a sacred space – a set of standing stones where the Semigallians go to commune with their gods. Royal advisor Valdis (Ivo Martinsons) has a Vegvisir tattoo on the side of his shaved head (an excellent choice in a production with so many war-crime-bad wigs.) There are even some rituals invented or adapted from folk traditions for the film. The opening scene features some sort of ring dance, culminating in the youthful Pagans jumping naked into the water together. The young king is married to his brave partner Lauga (Aistė Diržiūtė) in a beautiful ceremony. Children bind them together with a long skein of white fabric while seeds are rained down on her flower crown in what can only be a blessing for the fertility of their union. The two share honey in public to symbolize the honey they will no doubt share private.
Throughout, the importance of Christian conversion for these “Pagan scum” is ridiculed as a childish pursuit by the murderous Max, a distraction of which his more devoutly Catholic brother tries to remind him. Max’s only goal is power: the type of power a man seeks when he has one god and one pope and one way of thinking.
The real beauty of The Pagan King is in that ring. As a symbol of sovereignty, self-rule, and access to the divine, Namejs believes not in one in his own hand, but many put into the hands of every man, woman, and child in his tribe. These moments are the strongest in the film; when it trusts the myth at its center and lets it sing its Pagan song.
The Pagan King is available to stream for free on Tubi.
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