THE STORY – Grappling with his past after a life of crime and murder, Robin Hood finds himself gravely injured after a battle he thought would be his last. In the hands of a mysterious woman, he is offered a chance at salvation.
THE CAST – Hugh Jackman, Jodie Comer, Bill Skarsgård, Murray Bartlett & Noah Jupe
THE TEAM – Michael Sarnoski (Director/Writer)
THE RUNNING TIME – 122 Minutes
The tales of old myths and legends always seem to permeate the culture and demand new interpretations. There is certainly a cynical perspective one could attach, as these classic stories have no direct copyright holder, so there is an endless pathway in which to mine material into eternity. However, among the dearth of uninspired rehashes and poorly constructed ideas, there can be opportunities to find a new layer. Even if the original foundation bears little resemblance to what many have already been exposed to, it’s a wonderful opportunity for innovation for those who decide to take it. “The Death of Robin Hood” announces from its title alone that it is willing to take on a harsher view of this text, and it becomes a thoughtful exploration that is wholly engrossing.
Many are obviously aware of some variation of Robin Hood, the heroic figure who stole from the rich and gave to the poor in an act of true altruism. It’s the version seen from the likes of Walt Disney, Kevin Costner, and Mel Brooks. This interpretation of the tale does not paint Robin (Hugh Jackman) in a particularly positive light. In this barren thirteenth-century landscape, he is a violent criminal who’s had a long span of delivering carnage to all manner of folks. This is the reputation that has stayed with him, leaving him with a cold, isolating existence. He is an older man now, and his compatriot John (Bill Skarsgård) asks for assistance in rescuing his family from a rival clan. A brutal conflict ensues, leaving Robin critically wounded. He is brought to a residence to heal, under the care of Sister Brigid (Jodie Comer). Her reputation is that of a healer, though her work carries a magical connotation that seeks to rehabilitate more than just the body. It is Robin Hood’s soul that is ultimately in the most turmoil, and his recovery plunges him into reconciling his past with the hopeful prospects of his unclear future.
Michael Sarnoski has a way of taking premises that sound like disposable genre exercises and extracting a much deeper emotional meaning. “Pig” and “A Quiet Place: Day One” could be sold on a premise that appeals to the baser instincts of genre storytelling, but instead find a genuine emotional core that is a moving display of character growth. The arc he presents here does have recognizable traits, even for an attempt that wants to deviate from the general preconceived notions that have been formed concerning Robin Hood. However, the brutality of this way of life is acutely captured. There’s no highly choreographed sword play here. Every stab is accompanied by a piercing scream. The victims wallow in pain before they are graphically slaughtered. Women and children are not spared, whether they succumb to enemies or our protagonist. The world is dark and cruel, hauntingly captured by Pat Scola’s cinematography. The imagery frames the open chaos of the first act with wide vistas and the occasional bursts of experimental hallucinations before basking in the closed-off intimacy of the new environment.
It’s this section of the narrative that becomes even more captivating. Robin Hood may be on a road to redemption, but it is one he may not think is worthy of obtaining. He observes the work of Brigid and her devotion to religion as a guiding force. Prayer is constantly evoked in this land, but often as a means to cope with the unending tragedy. Here, the dominant aspect feels more spiritual than explicitly religious, and it is that perspective that evolves his character. The notion that Brigid does not carry piety within her heart makes her a grounding force amidst the raging sea that has just washed upon her shores. Still, her presence is an opportunity for this man to evolve, a chance to break the cycle of trauma through meditative introspection. While this can occasionally cause the pacing to induce restlessness, the story becomes enthralling again through its thematic analysis. Sarnoski is fascinated by these individuals who share a deep pain that’s been carried from the past. Some use it to extend a helping hand to others, while others forge a calcified weapon. Ultimately, the latter gets worn down, but only through a tragic catharsis that the screenplay brilliantly sketches.
Jackman is a performer who has a wide range of effectiveness in his career. He can be an impactful player, but it’s always down to the right material and guiding force. The grizzled old warrior is very reminiscent of his portrayal as Wolverine in “Logan,” including his proficiency in assassination. Yet the stoicism of those pensive gazes intentionally masks the agony that has plagued him for decades. The facade slowly softens, largely due to new relationships forming not only with Brigid but also with Margaret (Katie Breen), John’s daughter, who joins after her own traumatizing experiences. It’s a quick shorthand to humanize him further, underscoring the potential of fatherhood, but it also suggests he has a legacy to pass on. It may not be the type of role that has stretched Jackman farther than he’s previously been. Still, the physicality matches well with the interiority, and he’s always a captivating presence.
Comer’s role is sometimes in danger of being underwritten, but there is a vulnerability that is always compelling. She never falls into overt sentimentality, and a hint of complexity emerges in a third act that deepens her dynamic with Robin even further. It showcases a greater depth, allowing for an even more emotional impact. Skarsgård’s role is brief but serves more as an indulgence of the more violent nature that can so easily manifest. Breen has a natural chemistry with Jackman that’s quite endearing, and the same goes for Murray Bartlett as a sage leper who draws out more humanity from this cynical character. Noah Jupe also shows up as a young boy out on his own quest for revenge, but his contribution is minimal. Not only is his screentime limited, but the character is mostly here to further underline the theme of serving such cycles of everlasting bloodshed. He portrays the part nobly, but it also seems the film doesn’t fully utilize his talents either.
There’s a moment in “The Death of Robin Hood” in which the act of shooting an arrow is described. It’s not simply about actively releasing the arrow from one’s grip, but simply choosing not to hold onto it anymore. It’s an intentionally metaphorical description of tolerating the painful trauma of one’s life and finding solace towards the end of it. That’s the beauty that Sarnoski has demonstrated with all of his films to date. His greatest accomplishment is crafting beautifully intimate portraits of these earnest subjects, set within aesthetically pleasing arenas that highlight impressive craft and alluring performances. It’s an inventive take on Robin Hood to strip away the merry men, nasty sheriffs, and pining love interests. This presentation is much more somber, yet in a way that conveys a far greater significance. It’s what turns what could have been a needless adaptation into a profound experience.
