Yes, just like the assassination of Jesse James and there being blood in There Will Be Blood, the title here is a spoiler. The Death of Robin Hood is about exactly what it sounds like it’s about, and that energy of impending grim inevitability is the driving force of Michael Sarnoski’s take on English folklore’s most well-beloved outlaw. The result is rarely more than a bleak trudge; slow, grisly violence and bloodied men wailing in the mud give way to agonised soul-searching that fully commits to an aesthetic of misery but only half-commits thematically, never squeamish in its gore but always shying away from the real cynicism it pretends at on the surface.
As played by Hugh Jackman, the Robin Hood we find here is ageing, beaten down, and, in the most controversial twist, an out-and-out villain (some have suggested that the reworking of Robin Hood from wealth-redistributing hero to pure bandit is a reactionary Hollywood conspiracy, I think it’s probably just bad ‘gritty’ instincts). The swashbuckling bandit who steals from the rich to give to the poor is nowhere to be found here, the dash and righteousness replaced by psychopathic, sadistic brigandry and the ‘Merry Men’ all dead except Little John (Bill Skarsgard), who now goes by Edward after years ago slaughtering a man on the road to take his identity and farm. When the locals find out the ruse, their raid against Robin and John leaves Robin near to death, so John deposits him at a priory on a remote island to heal and hide.
Here Robin (in disguise as a hunter named Randolph) meets Sister Brigid (Jodie Comer), whose cleverness and piety and unconditional commitment to healing all who come through her push Robin to finally reckon with himself and the countless lives he’s ended and ruined. While Jackman does solid, if slightly mumbly, work as Hood, his newfound moral crisis just isn’t enough to carry a whole film (which might explain why there’s a nearly 20-minute stretch at the end dedicated almost exclusively to him bleeding out on his deathbed).
There’s a moment later on in which the more ‘redeemed’ Robin suddenly commits an act of such cruel, self-serving cowardice that you think Sarnoski might fully commit to the sort of devastating, bleak ending that he played with so expertly in his debut Pig, but that, bafflingly, never comes. Instead, we’re treated to an attempted tear-jerker finale that is, simply, entirely unearned. Outside of Robin, there are some interesting inhabitants of the priory, though – Comer is reliably effective as Brigid, Murray Bartlett is fun as a zen leper hidden behind a sort of medicalised version of the classic Robin Hood mask-and-hood look, and a traumatised little girl who starts seeing Robin as a surrogate dad is affecting enough.
These small, peripheral wins aside, though, there is little to recommend The Death of Robin Hood, from its non-committal script to its generically muddy and colourless view of medieval England. There is an interesting moment early on in which Robin and Little John riff out a new story together, an echo of the tales they used to spread of their deeds to gain fame amongst the people, Sarnoski showing us the power of mythmaking in real time. Yet, in deconstructing one apparent falsehood, he manages to replace it with a cliched Sad Male Redemption story that actually rings far more hollow.
Jack Blackwell – Film Reviews 