ROBIN HOOD BREAKS BAD (AN EXTENDED ASSESSMENT)

Someone told me that, in her humble opinion, Robin betrayed his pitch at redemptive sincerity during the end of Michael Sarnoski's The Death of Robin Hood. He did this, she claimed, when he informed Little Margaret how he and her father, Little John, met. Now, it's up to interpretation whether this sentimental encounter (carried by popular myth) even occurred in the context of the movie's reality, but it's clear that Hugh Jackman's bandit-bowman wanted the lass to embrace the uplifting account. Whether it's true doesn't matter since, by simple implication, it's designed to inspire her to make proper pacts and do righteous deeds, in the manner of Robin's accepted legend.

I don't have a problem with that, since the traditional tale (popularized ever further by writer/illustrator Howard Pyle) defines right from wrong, good from bad. (It doesn't switch the variables for some nefarious ruse.) What irks me are those lurking within Sarnoski's movie who might know the unsavory truth but find it fine as it stands.

The Death of Robin Hood, therefore, mirrors the modern practice of elevating miscreants to an ungodly fault. With this comparative observation, the movie acts as a warning, thanks to its flipside characterization. 

By habit, pompous pundits tend to blur the lines regarding bad acts, but even that practice is growing less common. Bad is bad, and that's good, or so the cretins proclaim, which again, I must stress, is the point of Sarnoski's experimental revision. (And I might add, this precise point, whether spurred by accident or plan, goes against the muddy perceptions of The Boys, Gen V and Preacher, which make it seem there's little or no distinction between the extremes: utter malarkey if ever there was. At least The Death of Robin Hood has the damn decency to draw a line in the sand.)

Some stories are open for interpretation. The Death of Robin Hood is one, and I've offered my estimation of its goal. I do believe my assessment is sound, based on the movie's pensive progression and the examples (the entitled brutality) it presents. Robin's recollection of Little John, as relayed to Little Margaret, doesn't contradict or ignore this; if anything, it reinforces (rather than merges) the great divide. Feel free to disagree, but until someone can convince me otherwise, I see no cause to purge my view. 

AN ALTERNATE REALITY: I SAW THE DEATH OF ROBIN HOOD

For those who've bypassed the obvious, Robin Hood, aka Robin of Loxley, was never meant to be a socialist percussor. If anything, he's always been a forthright herald of the American Revolution, embodying the revolt against "taxation without representation." Of course, people have a right to perceive the hallowed bowman and his mission as they see fit.

A case in point is writer/director Michael (Pig/A Quiet Place: Day One) Sarnoski's The Death of Robin Hood, where Hugh Jackman gives the titular legend a Logan-like cynicism, disclosing that he was never the compassionate, derring-do protagonist that mythology promoted. In this respect, Jackman's Robin may be likened to Luke Skywalker in The Last Jedi, though with a more conscionable consistency than the contradictory arc that Mark Hamill projected. In other words, Jackman's Robin, though embittered and flawed, ascends to redress his image (rather like Dwayne Johnson in Hercules 2014), as opposed to becoming a bumbling, "all men are incompetent" recluse, who bounces back only after an ex-machina shove.

During Robin's terse journey, he reunites with his towering, old friend, Little John, played by Bill Skarsgard, who convinces him to revisit his merciless ways, trusting he'll fix one of the big man's reckless deeds. The task reminds Robin (and the audience) of the protracted fable he's carried, but it also introduces a vicious, suicidal phase that leaves Robin wounded after a gut-wrenching melee. Little John delivers his battered compatriot to Jodie (28 Years Later) Comer's Sister Brigid, a platonic, priory/orchard-bound Maid Marian with a generous dose of Friar Tuck. 

To complicate (and yet heighten) Robin's revival under Sister Brigid's spiritual guidance, as well as her bloodletting techniques (during which he bears the random alias, Randolph), he's faced with Noah Jupe's Godwyn, aka, Arthur, a vengeful, young adversary. The situation establishes a High Noon/The Shootist/Red Headed Stranger homage, where Robin is tempted to reinstate his survivalist ferocity. By preventative default, Sister Brigid curbs the urge, being an estimable understudy to Grace Kelly's Amy Kane, Lauren Becall's Bond Rogers and Katherine Ross' Laurie, but Robin also receives encouragement from Murray Bartlett's Leper (who holds a sentimental and surprising link to Robin's past) and to a greater degree, Little John's daughter, Little Margaret (Faith Delaney), who summons Robin's paternal instinct and with it, the chance for an eleventh-hour conversion. 

On another level, The Death of Robin Hood accesses the need for people to dig their own holes and (at least among those who hold a smidgeon of decency) own their outcomes. Robin realizes that only he can placate the damage. It's a karmic thing, though in this instance, wrapped in Christian piety, which is as strong a medicine as one can consume. 

The movie references, as well, the contemporary tendency to make bad people appear good (case in point: the desperate dullards who've given political leverage to a tattooed Nazi in Maine). The Death of Robin Hood not only considers this sad, sick habit, but uses its brooding austerities to expose it.

The tactic doesn't steal any glory from the traditional view of the character, since it's a soiled (alternate-reality) surrogate who drives the point. In showing the absurdity of switching bad for good, Jackman's brutal "hood" honors his namesake's time-honored legacy with flipside irony: a stealthy tactic for sure, but I believe one that ensures Sarnoski's revision will endure. ↖↗