《王者之心》是一部兼具剧情、动作、爱情、冒险和古装元素的电影。故事背景设定在中世纪，罗马帝国已经灭亡，英格兰各方势力纷争不断，爱尔兰国王则一直在等待机会，希望集结权势，觊觎英格兰的统治权。
马克王是一个雄心勃勃的人，他希望在传奇骑士特里斯坦的帮助下实现统一大业。特里斯坦失去了双亲，被马克王悉心抚养长大，两人情同父子。
为了解决英格兰各部落之间的矛盾，爱尔兰国王决定以自己的女儿为奖品举办全英骑士大赛。特里斯坦为马克王赢得了公主，但当他看到公主真正的面貌时，他震惊不已。原来，在进攻爱尔兰的战斗中，特里斯坦受了重伤，得到了神秘的爱尔兰女子伊索尔德的照顾。两人由此相爱，但为了统一大业，他们不得不分别。
无论是为了国家的安宁还是为了他们之间的爱情，特里斯坦和伊索尔德都无法继续他们的恋情。他们将如何抑制这份热情？而爱尔兰国王的计划是否会给马克王的统一大业带来障碍？
第二次剑刺来的时候我迎了上去，让它对准第一次的伤口。
那是我的痛处，曾经鲜血淋淋，你用爱包扎了它。
你给我疗伤时我就预感还会受伤，命中注定，我不打算逃了。
爱情魔药吗？我从没喝过。你喝了吗？
我们的故事太简单了，我替别人为你决斗却赢得了你。不可思议，后人都这么说，是呀，可我们本意并非如此。
潮湿的爱尔兰，晨雾迷失了我的心。
我杀了你的情人，战场上我是赢家。我赢了却也受到重创，受了只有爱情才能愈合的伤。失去爱情，伤口就会流血，就像现在一样，锯齿般的伤口，鲜血淋漓，浸湿了床。
我不在乎死，可你出于怜悯收留了我，因为你不知道我的名字。我告诉你我叫坦特里斯，你爱上了坦特里斯。
“假如我是特里斯坦你会怎么样？”我有一天这样问你，你的脸色苍白，拿起了一把匕首。你完全有权利杀我，我迎向匕首，深吸一口气，在闭上眼睛之前我笑了。
等我睁开眼睛时，你已放下匕首握住了我的手。我觉得自己像个孩子，不是英雄，不是勇士，也不是情人，只是躺在大床上的小孩儿，世界围着他转，如梦如幻，悠悠荡荡。
房间很高，蓝色。钴蓝色。有橘黄的炉火，你碧绿的眼睛。爱情的颜色让人目眩神迷无法忘怀，现在，躺在这里，血已把床单浸成褐色，而我满眼却是钴蓝、橘黄、碧绿、一个躺在大床上的小男孩儿。
你在哪里?
沉默。你在我旁边坐下。这会儿你是强者，我双膝无力。你轻轻抚摩我的手，似乎在触摸我的灵魂。在那之前，一回回战役，一次次负伤，都让我更清楚我是谁，我是特里斯坦。现在，我的名字消失了，我自己也消失了，只有一个失魂落魄的男人。
在起锚返回康沃尔时，你出来了，站在一块窄窄的岩石上，我们望着彼此，渐行渐远，远到只有我们才能分辨哪里是岩石哪里是船哪里是人。
海茫茫，天到了尽头。
后来马克王派我来迎你成亲。
你说你要杀死我。
我再一次迎向匕首，你再一次丢下匕首。
你的侍女端来饮料，我知道你想毒死我。康沃尔的峭壁下，马克王在船上等候我们的到来，我一饮而尽，等待命运的安排。侍女给的是水。你喝了却倒下了，我奔过去抱住你，这时水手们落下了锚船倾向一侧，我第一次把你抱在怀里，你唤我的名字：“特里斯坦。”
我应了：“伊索尔德”
伊索尔德。那时起我的世界只有你了。
我们在夜晚才活过来，你窗口的火烛是我的信号，点燃时我藏秘，熄灭时我就来找你——穿过隐秘的门、幽暗的走廊、禁行的楼梯，不顾恐惧和操守，我进入了你，你包容了我。在床上我们可以昏睡可以做梦，侍女的哀哭也只是小鸟和小狗在叫。我从不愿醒来。白天我是死的，阳光不能给我温暖。只有在这里，没有太阳，没有时间，我们才是自由的，囚禁在彼此的身体里，我们自由了。
我的朋友梅洛特设下圈套时，我想我是知道的。我盼望死神，正如我的身体渴望爱情。让死神走近我正如你走近我。你渗入我的伤口循着我的血液回游到我的心脏，你在我的身体里流动，让我在你臂弯中像处子一样赧然羞红，你在我的心跳里，在我的体液里，在我的骨肉里，如果我割开自己，伤口里流出来的是你，只要血还在流，你又会重回我的心里。
那场混战中，马克王发现了我们，我死守住门口让你逃走。之后，我和梅洛特拔剑相向，那是我的朋友，我信任的朋友，我扔下剑，扑向他的剑锋，剑从肋骨下穿入还未愈合的伤口，撕裂了。
我醒来后发现我在这里，隔着大海，在我自己的城堡里，是仆人护卫我来的。他说已派人去接你，海上该有船帆了吧？它该像爱一样疾驰不是吗？仆人爬到了瞭望塔上，海上没有船帆。
我把手伸进伤口里，她的名字从我指间滴落：伊索尔德，你在哪里？
特里斯坦，我也没有喝那东西。没有什么爱情魔药，只有爱，我喝下的是你。
特里斯坦，醒一醒，别死。让我们分享完黑夜，明早再一起死。
他的目光已经空洞，他的呼吸已经停止。我最初看见他的时候，他就是这样平静，苍白。我用吻给他注入生命，他永远不会知道了。
特里斯坦，这世界的存在只是让我们找到彼此，世界正在消失，海潮吞没陆地，我的脉搏随着你一起衰竭，死亡会把我们从分离的折磨中解救出来，我不能和你分开，我就是你。
这世界空无一物，是爱造就了它。
当世界烟消云散。
只有爱还在。
______________
以上是Jeanette Winterson写的Some wounds never heal，我已经尽力了，但原文那种悲伤和绝望的味道还是没翻出来。
Tristan Isolde的传说起源于中世纪，头一个版本是苏格兰国王Talorc的儿子Drust从海盗手里救的一位公主，父子同时爱上她。
故事传到威尔士，Drust变成了Drystan，爱上了他的叔叔March国王（March的意思是屁股的耳朵，反正他身体有残疾就对了）的王后Essyllt。
十三世纪，一个英国作家让Tristan加入了圆桌骑士，他自幼被送往法兰西，在战斗中中了矛毒前往爱尔兰救治，在那里得到安格西Iseult公主的治疗，他教她弹竖琴，后因种种原因被驱逐。之后他替舅父玛尔克王向Iseult求婚，为安格西王打败敌人，甚至连安格西王也希望他娶自己的女儿，但那个傻瓜为了遵守诺言而将她带回与舅父结婚。之后他凭借自己的勇猛获得了许多荣誉，引起玛尔克王的妒恨和陷害，这对情人的关系也历经磨难，Tristan被迫结婚，不过他始终忠于Iseult，对妻子守之以礼。后来Tristan误会Iseult变心以致癫狂在旷野游荡，她以为他已死而差点自刎……最后他终于带她去了英格兰，可以执手偕老了，却在聆听爱人弹竖琴的时候，被情敌谋杀。一个有趣的事情是，那时的人显然相信爱情必须借助魔力来催发，所以Iseult的陪嫁就是有爱情魔药，他们俩为误饮付出了一生。
这种爱情模式也套在亚瑟王身上，就是著名的Lancelot和Guinevere的爱情，在早期的版本中这两人挺清白，后不断流传中才添了桃色，甚至红过了Tristan和Iseult，到19世纪，它被德国剧作家Richard Wagner改编成歌剧Tristan and Isolde。
有兴趣的可以去这里看整个故事随时代的演绎：
http://www.timelessmyths.com/arthurian/tristan.htmlTristan Isolde凄美哀婉，它感动过很多同病相怜的艺术家，Wagner肯定是一个，Jeanette Winterson也应该是吧（反正看她的文章，就觉得她经历过的坎坷肯定不止一次），还有好莱坞大导演Ridley Scott，当年，当两个剧本摆在他面前的时候，他选择了《异形》，功成名就。
20多年后，大约一直午夜梦回念念不能忘，终于把这个中世纪爱情故事搬上了银幕。
这部片子让人想起First Knight，又名: 第一武士 / 剑侠风流 / 第一骑士 / 剑侠柔情，Sean Connery和Richard Gere这两个好莱坞不同年代第一小生联手演绎Lancelot和Guinevere的故事，也非常好看，不输这部。
http://www.douban.com/subject/1299363/先看评论再看电影完全左右了我的心情，James Franco确实一副很少出太阳的忧郁表情，和很早逝的James Dean一个模子，James Dean我只看过一部，他真的从头到尾一个表情，居然火得不行。巧合的是James Franco还出演过James Dean。
http://www.douban.com/subject/1866354/附守望灯塔原文，有兴趣可以看看，别忘了准备面巾纸。
Some wounds never heal
Jeanette Winterson
The second time the sword went in, I aimed it at the place of the first.
I am weak there─the place where I had been found out before. My weakness was skinned over by your love.
I knew when you healed me that the wound would open again. I knew it like destiny, and at the same time, I knew it as choice.
The love-potion? I never drank it. Did you?
Our story is so simple. I went to bring you back for someone else, and won you for myself. Magic, they all said later, and it was, but not the kind that can be brewed.
We were in Ireland. Was there ever a country so damp? I had to write out my mind to think clearly. I was a morning mist of confusion.
You had a lover. I killed him. It was war and your man was on the losing side. As I killed him, he fatally wounded me; that is, he gave me the wound that only love could repair. Love lost, and the wound would be as bloody as ever. As bloody as now,
bed-soaked and jagged.
I didn't care about dying. But you took me in out of pity because you didn't know my name. I told you it was Tantrist, and as Tantrist you loved me.
'What if I was Tristan?' I asked you one day, and I watched you grow pale, and take a dagger. You had every right to kill me.
I turned my throat to you, Adam's apple twitching slightly, but before I closed my eyes, I smiled.
When I opened them again, you had put down the dagger and you were holding my hand. I felt like a little child, not a hero, not a warrior, not a lover, only a boy in a big bed, the day turning round him, dreamy and slow.
The room was high and blue. Cobalt blue. There was an orange fire. Your eyes were green. Lost in the colours of our love I never forgot them, and now, lying here, where the sheets are brown with my blood, it is blue and orange and green I remember.
A little boy in a big bed.
Where are you?
We said nothing. You sat beside me. You were the strong one. I couldn't stand up. Holding my hand, and stroking it gently with your finger and thumb, you touched in me another world. Until then, through wounds and wreck, I had been sure of myself.
I was Tristan. Now, my name gone backwards, I went backwards myself, unraveling into strands of feeling. This stranded man.
When it was time for me to sail back to Cornwall, you came out and stood on a narrow rock, and we watched each other so far that only we two knew what was rock or boat or human.
The sea was empty. The sky was shut.
Then King Marke sent me to fetch you to be his wife.
You said you wanted to kill me.
Again I opened my body to you. Again you dropped the blade.
When your servant brought the drink I knew you intended to poison me. Under the cliffs of Cornwall, the King in his boat ready to meet us, I drank the water, because that's what it was. Your servant had given me water. You drank too, and fell to the floor, and I went to catch you and hold you as the men dropped anchor and the ship lurched. You were in my arms for the first time, and you said my name, 'Tristan.'
I answered you: 'Isolde.'
Isolde. The world became a word.
We lived for the night. The torch in your window was my signal. When it was lit, I stayed away. When you extinguished it, I came to you─secret doors, dark corridors, forbidden stairs, brushing aside fear and propriety like cobwebs. I was inside you. You contained me. Together, in bed, we could sleep, we could dream, and if we heard your servant's mournful cry, we called it a bird or a dog. I never wanted to wake. I had no use for the day. The light was a lie. Only here, the sun killed,
and time's hands bound, were we free. Imprisoned in each other, we were free.
When my friend Melot set the trap, I think I knew it. I turned to death full face, as I had turned to love with my whole body.?I would let death enter me as you had entered me. You had crept along my blood vessels through the wound, and the blood that circulates returns to the heart. You circulated me, you made me blush like a girl in the hoop of your hands. You were in my arteries and my lymph, you were the colour just under my skin, and if I cut myself, it was you I bled. Red Isolde, alive on my fingers, and always the force of blood pushing you back to my heart.
In the fight when Marke found us, I fought at the door until you escaped. Then I face Melot at last, my friend, my trusted friend, and I held my sword at him, red with blood. As he lifted his sword against me, I threw mine down and ran his through my body, at the bottom of my ribs. The skin, still shy of healing, opened at once.
When I woke, I was here, in my own castle, across the sea, carried and guarded by my servant. He told me he had sent for you, yes surely there was a sail? I could see it swift as love. He climbed into the watchtower, but there was no sail.
I put my hand into the bloody gap at the bottom of my ribs. Her name drips through my fingers: Isolde.
Where are you?
Tristan, I didn't drink it either. There was no love-potion, only love. It was you I drank.
Tristan, wake up. Don't die of the wound. Divide the night with me, and die together in the morning.
His eye is pale, his breathing is still. When I first saw him, he was still and pale, and I kissed him into life, though he never knew that was the art I used.
Tristan, the world was made so that we could find each other in it. Already the world is fading, returning to the sea. My pulse ebbs with yours. Death frees us from the torment of parting. I cannot part with you. I am you.
The world is nothing. Love formed it.
The world vanishes without trace.
What is left is love.
