Given that my awareness of the heroic outlaw Robin Hood can be traced back to Walt Disney Productions’ 1973 animated musical comedy that depicted the titular character as an anthropomorphic fox, I concede that I am no expert in the character’s origins and cultural evolution. Thankfully, I can consult various tomes on folklore and medieval history in my personal library for clarification of various details — or I can ask Google’s AI to cobble together a sketchy summary from the usual array of dubious sources.
I’ll stick with my books, thank you very much.
Joseph Ritson is credited with curating and editing the earliest scholarly collection of works recounting the undertakings of the legendary figure. The definitive edition of his book, “Robin Hood: A Collection of All the Ancient Poems, Songs, and Ballads, Now Extant Relative to That Celebrated English Outlaw: To Which are Prefixed Historical Anecdotes of His Life,” was published in 1832. It was derived from an even earlier annotated version Ritson assembled in 1795. Even then, the source material he collected dated back as much as 400 years.
From the very beginning, Ritson admits to the reader that it is impossible to distinguish fact from fantasy and truth from fabrication. In the opening passage, he wrote “the times in which he lived, the mode of life he adopted, and the silence or loss of contemporary writers, are circumstances sufficiently favorable, indeed, to romance, but altogether inimical to historical truth.”
It is the tellers of the tales who shape and frame our perception of Robin Hood, from the earliest traveling troubadours and medieval minstrels who developed oral legends and strolling folktales to Renaissance historians and Elizabethan dramatists. Even Ritson, a Jacobin sympathizer, allowed his political beliefs to influence his portrayal of Robin Hood as a champion of the common people who transferred “the superfluities of the rich to the necessities of the poor.” Ritson goes on to justify Robin Hood’s activities, claiming he is warring “against those to whose wealth, avarice, or ambition he might fairly attribute not only his own misfortunes, but the misery of the oppressed and enslaved society he had quitted.”
By the 20th century, Robin Hood had become an advocate of the oppressed and a swashbuckling romantic hero. In film and television, he was portrayed by actors such as Douglas Fairbanks, Errol Flynn, Patrick Troughton, Sean Connery, and Kevin Costner. Hollywood generally paints him as dashing, charming, and charismatic. Even Disney’s interpretation made him a sly, heroic rogue surrounded by loyal, good-natured rapscallions.
Michael Sarnoski isn’t having any of that codswallop.
In “The Death of Robin Hood,” Sarnoski deconstructs many of the modern myths and legends associated with the character. The film, written and directed by Sarnoski, was released in theaters on June 19. It is a brooding, meticulously crafted meditation on violence and mortality. As a contemplative character study, it is haunting and ambitious.
The film opens with Robin Hood (Hugh Jackman) admitting to being a murderous outlaw haunted by a lifetime of brutal violence. He rejects any story that depicts him as a heroic champion. Though he is weary of bloodshed, he seems trapped in an endless cycle that compels him to kill again and again to survive.
He is soon approached by Little John (Bill Skarsgård), one of his most loyal companions, to reclaim his property and save his wife and daughter who are being held hostage by men seeking vengeance. Robin Hood reluctantly agrees, and in the ensuing series of bloody battles, he is badly wounded. Little John delivers him to Sister Brigid (Jodie Comer), the head of a secluded priory on a small island. Brigid nurses his wounds, pulling him back from the edge of death — even though he communicates his wish to die.
The remainder of the film explores Robin’s response to Brigid’s compassion. At the priory, he discovers an idyllic lifestyle he has never known. Because he is somewhat shielded from the blood debts that have forced him to perpetuate his hostile nature, he is able to mull over his life and his sins. He finds himself caring about others, including Brigid, a leper (Murray Bartlett) who befriends him on the island, and Little John’s daughter Margaret (Faith Delaney), who also finds her way to the priory.
“The Death of Robin Hood” is full of heavy themes as the main character grapples with the onus of a violent legacy. Most of the graphic violence occurs in the first half of the film — and it is often intensely gruesome. Sarnoski emphasized the ghastliness intentionally as part of his deconstruction of the mythology. He intends to strip away all the fabricated niceties in previous adaptation and expose the brutal hardships of 13th century life.
In contrast, the second half of the film is more introspective. Robin isn’t necessarily seeking redemption: He’s trying to learn to live with the darkness and regret that engulfs him. He’s trying to find a way to break the cycle of violence — if not for himself, then for those who have become important to him.
Sarnoski’s reimagining may not be for everyone, but for those willing to relinquish expectations, it is a fascinating exploration of the flexibility of myth and legend. Jackman delivers an emotionally honest performance that underscores his character’s internal struggles. The film features fantastic cinematography given its predominantly dour tone. While Sarnoski may scrap the idea of Robin Hood as a champion of the oppressed, his narrative still argues that in an unbearable world saturated in darkness and seething with antagonism and savagery, there are benevolent forces to be found — and that even those with a violent past can discover peace.
Lee Clark Zumpe is entertainment editor at Tampa Bay Newspapers, a Tomatometer-Approved Critic, and an author of short fiction. He can be reached by email at lzumpe@TBNweekly.com.