Errol Flynn he’s not.
That’s the premise of the revisionist medieval bloodbath The Death of Robin Hood. Played by Hugh Jackman, the title character is presented here as a scoundrel, murderous brigand and varlet. His gallant philanthropy is fictional, tall tales spun, without his endorsement, among the poor to whom he definitely does not give.
He’s aging when we meet him, so also a bit sheepish and world-weary, but fully unrepentant and still perfectly willing and able to kill.
Written and directed by Pig helmer Michael Sarnoski, and loosely based on a late-Renaissance ballad, the movie initially feels unsustainable. The first half-hour or so unfolds on pitilessly bleak, rocky, foggy moors. It consists of lots of skirmishes with beardy guys yowling in pain as they mutilate each other. If it carried on much longer without relief, it would inevitably become funny.
The movie lightens up, however, both literally and thematically, after Robin Hood gets particularly mangled in a fight – but not killed, much to his disappointment – and is dumped at the door of an ancient priory on a remote island. The Prioress, Sister Brigid (Jodie Comer), nurses him back to health, and he finds himself a new member of a holistic, communal society. He also learns that he has a dark history with the Prioress.
As he gradually falls into the rhythm of life on the island, the stage seems to be set for a story of redemption. But Sarnoski derails this expectation, and the film dribbles away with a wrongheaded letdown, similar to the equally disappointing ending of Richard Lester’s very different Robin and Marian of 1976.
Overall, this interesting misfire held my attention. It isn’t every week we get a wide release that includes a nun discussing Lucretius and a leper discussing Boethius. Jackman is very good; haunted and authentic. Comer is fascinating, as she was The Bikeriders. The rest of the cast – ranging from Murray Bartlett as the leper to Faith Delaney as the young girl to whom Robin starts teaching bow skills (another unfulfilled stran) to Bill Skarsgård as Little John to Noah Jupe as part of clan with a grudge against Robin – all fit into the period feel.
The Death of Robin Hood is ultimately unsatisfying, but there’s a lot of talent and good work on display, and there is an audience for this milieu, so maybe it will find its niche. Be warned, though: It’s a seriously un-chivalric gorefest. It makes stuff like The Green Knight and The Northman look like a Renaissance Festival.
