If you grew up in the late nineties, you probably remember a specific kind of "event" television that doesn't really exist anymore. It was that weird, high-budget, two-night miniseries era. Before HBO changed everything with Game of Thrones, we had the Merlin TV series 1998. It wasn't just a show; it was an NBC powerhouse that pulled in 70 million viewers. Seriously. 70 million. Today, a hit show is lucky to get a fraction of that on a streaming platform. But back then, Sam Neill was the guy. He wasn't just the raptor expert from Jurassic Park—he was the definitive, weary, grumpy-but-lovable wizard who shaped how an entire generation viewed Arthurian legend.
Most people today get it confused with the BBC show from 2008. You know, the one with Colin Morgan where everyone is young and hanging out in Camelot. That’s not this. The 1998 version is a sprawling, decades-spanning epic that starts with Merlin’s birth and ends with him as an old man. It’s dark. It’s got Jim Henson’s Creature Shop doing the animatronics. It’s got Martin Short playing a frantic, shapeshifting gnome-thing named Frik. Honestly, it’s a fever dream of late-90s practical effects and heavy-hitting acting that honestly holds up better than you’d expect.
What the Merlin TV Series 1998 actually got right about the legend
Most adaptations of King Arthur focus on, well, King Arthur. But this miniseries made a bold choice. It focused on the pagan-to-Christian transition of Britain. It’s basically a story about the death of magic. The real antagonist isn't a knight or a rival king; it's Queen Mab, played by Miranda Richardson. She represents the "Old Ways." She’s terrifying because she’s desperate. She’s literally fading out of existence because people are stopping believing in her. That’s a heavy concept for a primetime TV movie.
The Merlin TV series 1998 understands that Merlin is a bridge. He’s born of magic but chooses humanity. It’s a classic "nature vs. nurture" setup. Mab creates him to be her champion, a wizard who will lead the people back to the old gods, but Merlin has other plans. He refuses to use his powers for her. He’s stubborn. Sam Neill plays him with this incredible sense of "I’m too old for this" even when he’s supposed to be young. It works. It makes him feel ancient.
The cast was actually insane for a television production
You look at the credits now and it’s like a "Who’s Who" of Hollywood royalty. Beyond Sam Neill, you’ve got Helena Bonham Carter as Morgan Le Fey. This was before she was Bellatrix Lestrange or Red Queen-ing it up for Tim Burton. Her Morgan is tragic. She’s been physically manipulated by Mab to look "beautiful" but at a soul-crushing cost. It’s a weirdly body-horror subplot for a fantasy epic.
Then there’s James Earl Jones. He provides the voice for the Mountain King. It’s just a giant, sentient rock face, but because it’s James Earl Jones, it has more gravitas than most CGI villains today. And Lena Headey! Long before she was Cersei Lannister, she was Guinevere. Seeing her play the virtuous, classic Queen is a trip if you're used to her drinking wine on a balcony in King's Landing.
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The production didn't skimp. They filmed in Wales and at Pinewood Studios. They used a mix of massive physical sets and early digital compositing. While some of the CGI looks "crunchy" by 2026 standards, the practical stuff—the costumes, the makeup, the puppets—is still top-tier. When you see the Lady of the Lake, played also by Miranda Richardson in a dual role, she looks ethereal and haunting. It’s that Jim Henson magic.
Why the "Magic vs. Religion" theme still resonates
A lot of fantasy is just "good guy vs. bad guy." The Merlin TV series 1998 is more about the shifting of eras. There's a scene where Merlin basically says that when the last person who remembers the old world dies, that world dies with them. It’s a story about the cost of progress.
Think about it.
The characters are constantly losing things. Merlin loses Nimue (played by Isabella Rossellini) to a dragon’s fire and then to a nunnery. Arthur loses his kingdom to his own son’s betrayal. It’s a very "sad" show in a way. It’s not a triumphalist story about Camelot being great. It’s a story about why Camelot failed. It failed because people are flawed, jealous, and easily manipulated. Queen Mab doesn't use fireballs to win; she uses gossip, lies, and human insecurity. That’s sophisticated writing for a 90s miniseries.
The structure is also wild. It’s told in flashback. We meet Merlin as an old man, living in a world where magic is gone. He’s telling his story to a young girl. This framing device adds a layer of nostalgia to the whole thing. You aren't just watching the events; you're watching a memory. It makes the world feel fragile.
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The Jim Henson factor and the 90s aesthetic
You can't talk about this show without talking about the look. It has that specific "Hallmark Entertainment" glow. Everything is a bit soft-focus. The colors are rich—deep greens of the forest, bright reds of the capes. But the creatures! Frik’s transformation scenes are genuinely creative. They used prosthetic makeup that actually allowed Martin Short to emote.
And the dragon. Oh, the dragon. It wasn't a sleek, wyvern-style creature like we see now. It was a bulky, ancient-looking beast. It felt heavy. When it breathed fire, it felt like a disaster, not a cool special effect. This era of filmmaking relied on making things feel "present" because they couldn't just fix everything in post-production. They had to build the stuff.
What most people get wrong about the ending
There is a lot of debate about the "happy ending" of the Merlin TV series 1998. If you remember the finale, Merlin finally reunites with Nimue. They are both old, but Merlin uses the last of his magic to make them young again so they can live out their lives.
Some critics at the time thought it was a cop-out. They felt it undercut the "magic is dying" theme. But honestly? After three hours of watching Merlin lose every single person he ever cared about—Arthur, Lancelot, his mother, his friend the Lady of the Lake—he deserved a win. It’s a thematic pivot. Magic isn't for kingdoms or wars anymore; it’s just for two people who want to be together. It turns a political epic into a personal romance at the very last second. It’s kind of beautiful.
How to watch it today and what to look for
If you’re going back to watch it, try to find the original two-part version. Some edits for TV or streaming cut out chunks of the middle, especially the parts involving the Lady of the Lake's backstory. You want the full 182 minutes.
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Look for these specific details:
- The way Mab’s makeup changes as she loses power. She literally starts to look like she’s made of cracked porcelain or drying mud.
- The soundtrack by Trevor Jones. It’s one of the best fantasy scores ever. It’s sweeping, Celtic, and incredibly melancholic.
- The "Holy Grail" sequence. It’s not a big action set piece. It’s a quiet, mystical moment that emphasizes purity over power.
Actionable insights for fans and collectors
If you're looking to dive deeper into the world of the Merlin TV series 1998, don't bother with the sequel. Seriously. They made a follow-up called Merlin’s Apprentice in 2006. Sam Neill came back, but the magic was gone—literally and figuratively. It lacked the Henson creatures and the grand scale of the original.
Instead, do these three things to get the most out of this cult classic:
- Check the DVD extras: If you can snag an old physical copy, the "Making Of" featurettes are a goldmine for seeing how they pulled off the animatronics without modern CGI.
- Compare the sources: Read "Le Morte d'Arthur" by Thomas Malory. You'll see exactly where the showrunners stuck to the myth and where they went totally off the rails to create the Mab vs. Merlin conflict.
- Appreciate the costume design: Look at the detail in the armor. It’s not "historically accurate" to the 5th century, but it’s a masterpiece of fantasy design that influenced a lot of the early 2000s aesthetic.
The Merlin TV series 1998 remains a high-water mark for what television can do when it stops trying to be "gritty" and just embraces being a legend. It’s weird, it’s sentimental, and it’s unashamedly magical. In an era of cynical reboots, that’s something worth holding onto.
To truly understand the impact of this series, your best next step is to track down the Trevor Jones soundtrack on a high-quality audio format. Listening to "The Walls of Camelot" while reading up on the production history at Pinewood Studios provides a much deeper appreciation for the technical hurdles the crew overcame in the pre-digital dominant era. Focus on the interviews with director Steve Barron, who previously worked on The Storyteller, to see how his background in puppetry and music videos informed the unique visual language of this specific Merlin.