The film suffers from Cornish's blocky and plentiful dialogue. Much of the plot is related verbally and often by endearingly hopeful kid hero Alex (Louis Ashbourne Serkis). Alex tells us—and other characters—that he's the kind of 12-year-old who sticks up for his loyal but helpless best friend Bedders (Dean Chaumoo), even if it means making himself a target for harassment by 16-year-old bullies Lance (Tom Taylor) and Kaye (Rhianna Dorris). Alex also has a code of honor, as we see when he, in a rare moment of silence, clams up after his never-named mom (Denise Gough) asks why he didn't tell the school's out-of-touch principal (Noma Dumezweni, doing a fine job in another pivotal but unnamed role) that he’s being bullied.
You can see why Cornish loves Alex just by looking at the way that Alex refuses to defend himself or even cry to his mother: Alex has grown accustomed to a world where might does not make right and where empathy is in short supply. He ultimately does not want to defend himself against Lance and Kaye, even if they are snotty bullies who initially can't stand Alex or his immature heart-on-his-sleeve declarations. That makes Alex a perfect Arthurian surrogate—somebody who leads with a firm hand, even when circumstances are a bit wobbly—and therefore somebody who deserves to wield Excalibur, train with a flighty teenage version of Merlyn (Angus Imrie), and lead a rag-tag group of adolescents against a newly revived Morgana Le Fay (Rebecca Ferguson), an evil sorceress who has waited for centuries to take over England after Arthur, her brother, and his knights initially defeated Morgana.
If that last sentence wore you down: boy, are you gonna be tested by "The Kid Who Would Be King." Serkis (son of Andy) does a fine enough job with the role he's given, even if much of that role is as a Thankless Plot Dispenser. He talks so much that you wish he would just fight somebody, anybody. The same is true for most members of Cornish's decent, but overwhelmed ensemble cast. Imrie—who has a rare gift for delivering goofy, tedious exposition with campy panache—is the exception that proves this general rule.
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