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. ↖↗
