In recent years, I’ve become enamored with “The Matter of England” and broader European history. From the various permutations of Arthurian legend to how that translates into the actual history of post-Roman Britain, the Danelaw, the Norman invasion, and eventually the environment that gave way to the tale of Robin Hood, it’s all captured my imagination and gives one a great appreciation of the power of those mythic creations and what purpose they served within context. Robin Hood, much like King Arthur, acted as a source of rebellion against intruding forces. In Robin’s case, those old stories are imbued with specific anti-Norman sentiment. It makes them a fascinating study, and also provides a base by which malleability is possible. Simply think back to every adaptation of Robin Hood you’ve seen? From the Disney fox, to Errol Flynn, to Kevin Costner and beyond…all different tenors and reflective of the time in which they’re being presented.
It doesn’t come as much of a surprise, then, that this A24 stab at one of the most enduring myths of the West, The Death of Robin Hood, should take the form of a reckoning at the end of a long career of banditry. It’s become a bit of its own worn-out spin, independent of the folklore, and rooted more in superhero IP – Old Man Logan, The Dark Knight Returns, and the like. But Michael Sarnoski‘s third feature carries a lot of outside weight, not all of it earned, but enough that it requires the film to overcome some of what the audience is already dragging into it.
The premise, taken independently of the elevator pitch, is gripping. Robin Hood (Hugh Jackman, no stranger to this particular terrain) has lived the long and torturous life of an outlaw with so many deaths at his hands that those adversaries and victims’ children and grandchildren have been coming for him one by one, day by day, in order to fulfill that blood oath. This is beautifully sketched out in the film’s opening, which sees a young girl who comes across Robin Hood at camp, befriends him if but briefly, and then attempts to kill him in the middle of the night – in vain, of course. This Robin of Loxley may be old and creaky, but he’s still a ruthless killing machine. Soon after, he’s reunited with Little John (another unrecognizable Bill Skarsgard performance) who needs Robin’s help to retake a homestead (and family) that John had previously stolen himself. One child murder later, among others, and this leads to another oath being taken against Robin – by way of John – and in battle Robin sustains an injury that leads him to convalescing at a priory led by Sister Brigid (Jodie Comer).
Other characters of note are introduced, including one that I was shocked to learn later was played by Murray Bartlett (in fairness, he wears facial coverings most of the time), but the key thrust becomes whether a man whose legend – true or not, and he continuously denies it – has outweighed him, can effectively become someone else and live a life of tranquility?
Sarnoski has begun to make a name for himself as a promising, if not sure-thing, filmmaker, and expectations surrounding this film weigh in on his burgeoning reputation. We’ve seen Jackman do this specific sort of revision already, even down to the Lone Wolf and Cub aspects that start to infect the film’s second half, so it’s all on Sarnoski to provide something worthy of discovery in a very bare cupboard. And what becomes most pronounced is that The Death of Robin Hood is a failure of execution over intent.
As the running time ticks on, it’s an effort that proves to be leadenly dull and increasingly so as its dramatic tension lessens and it strains toward the elegaic and more of a funeral dirge. Sarnoski’s atmosphere is one that posits the mythic trappings of Robin Hood into a green wasteland. Death and brutality are around every corner. It’s exactly what the viewer imagines when they think A24 Robin Hood, and is not too far afield of The Green Knight, which was the previous A24 British folklore reinvisioning (though comparisons to The Northman are also within bounds). The film becomes so comfortably within the standard framework that it feels routine. It’s as if we’re entering a phase where A24 Fantasy is becoming as on rails as the trauma horror that has been their bread and butter for years. With Elden Ring right around the corner, hope springs eternal still.
Yet, more than anything, that standard oppressive atmosphere is forgivable if the story can move, and in this regard, The Death of Robin Hood makes for a tough sit. Sarnoski takes every opportunity to slow individual scenes and give way to introspection. He also works toward artistic flair, in moments that feel like they’re trying to echo the heightened cinematic language of John Boorman. No matter, it brings the pacing to an interminable speed and much of that sense comes from the compounded feeling of a film that has been riding its brakes the whole time.
There’s a good film in The Death of Robin Hood, but it’s one that’s about a half-hour shorter, with a cleaner throughline and a firmer sense of its own purpose. What we have instead is a legend unmade without ever being fully reckoned with.