Character Analysis
He's a Fighter, Not a Lover
A prince. Lord of a beautiful castle. Ruler of a vast kingdom. A great head of hair and remarkably handsome(ish). Get ready to swoon, everyone.
But this guy ain't Prince Charming. It would be bad enough if all he did was capture and torture Westley because he loved Buttercup and wanted her for his own, but he doesn't even like her all that much. How do we know? Well, the fact that he wants to murder her on their wedding night so he can frame a neighboring kingdom for her death is a pretty telltale sign.
So yeah, this guy is way more interested in war and fighting than he is in romance. When he was a kid, he must have spent much more time playing Call of Duty than reading the collected works of Jane Austen. Just a hunch.
Given what we know about male members of royalty back in the old days, maybe this shouldn't be too surprising (yeah, Florin is a fictional place, but stay with us). Hundreds of years ago, kings and princes kept wives and mistresses almost as if they were some sort of stamp collection. They often didn't marry for love, but for political or strategic gain. And usually they didn't even choose their own mate at all; it was decided for them.
Well, here we have this Humperdinck fellow, who was probably raised learning to track and hunt (he certainly is skilled at finding Westley and Buttercup when they make their way for the Fire Swamp), become a skilled swordsman (although he never gets a chance to show us his stuff), and become practiced in the art of warfare. He's a cold-hearted, power-hungry tyrant, and the life of a couple insignificant civilians is never going to stand in the way of him satiating that hunger. Gotta give him props for having "drive," if nothing else.
It's just Buttercup's rotten luck that she's the one he settles on as the victim in his sick little game. Fortunately, it becomes Humperdinck's rotten luck in the end. He should have vetted his subject's boyfriend a bit better.
Why Did the Chicken Drop His Sword?
So he could pick up his battle-ax, obviously.
Throughout the movie, Humperdinck is a paragon of confidence and composure. He has nary an eyebrow hair out of place, and each word escapes his lips with paramount purpose. It seems like he'd be cool under any sort of fire; so why does he fold like a lawn chair at the slightest threat from Westley?
To be fair, Westley's threat is chilling. It's forceful, and passionate, and oddly specific. As if he's given a lot of thought about what's going to happen to each of the prince's body parts. Which is understandably unnerving.
But more importantly, there's something very different about this exchange than any other time we see Humperdinck. He's alone. It's just him—no trusty Count Rugen, no guards, not even a lowly footman who might be able to deflect a blow or two. And, as it turns out, this guy is nothing without his posse.
And that's pretty much the norm for people in positions of authority. They'll "speak softly and carry a big stick," but take their big stick away and they're hopeless. With no backup backing him up, Humperdinck isn't built to withstand much pressure. Since he's been surrounded his entire life by people who are there to protect him, his life has never really been threatened, and the minute it is, he doesn't even know what to do with himself. So he chooses to concede and sit down, since that seems less exhausting and dangerous than getting into a big swordfight with someone so scary he wears a mask and suede leggings.