The Death of Robin Hood

 

In 1247, an aged Robin Hood (Hugh Jackman) is still an outlaw on the run from both the authorities and revenge-minded family members of the many he has killed in the course of his banditry. He disdains the tales that have turned him into a folk hero and welcomes his demise. When tragedy befalls his friend Little John (Bill Skarsgard), he nearly gets his wish. The kindness of a prioress (Jodie Comer) and the appearance of an orphaned girl give him an unexpected new purpose.

Give writer-director Michael Sarnoski credit: amid the countless adaptations and retellings of Robin Hood, his manages to stand out. The Death of Robin Hood is dark and brooding and works to actively deconstruct the mythologizing of its protagonist, an ambitious move that could have worked in a film less leaden and inconsistent.

Jackman’s casting in the title role is equal parts blessing and curse. He’s done the “aging antihero with a violent past” thing before, and he’s well-suited to the task, but his turn as Robin Hood lacks the emotional heft of his work in Logan. The supporting roles aren’t terribly demanding either, but they are at least well cast. Skarsgard makes for an imposing Little John, and while Comer seems at first a vision of benevolence, her character proves to have more layers.

Add to these performances some striking scenery, and The Death of Robin Hood might have been a well-crafted if not terribly enjoyable film were it not for the uneven pacing. The first half hour or so is packed with brutal violence, which would shock the psyche if much of it didn’t play out in the dark and the mud. The rest of the film is far more pensive – and far slower. Given the implications of the title, it feels less like a gradual march toward redemption and more like a ponderous delaying of the inevitable.

The Death of Robin Hood is worth checking out for its premise alone, but it probably isn’t a movie you’ll want to go back to again.