‘The Death of Robin Hood’ Review: Hugh Jackman, Jodie Comer and Bill Skarsgard Get Mired in the Muck of A24’s Dour Revisionist Take

Listen, I’m no Robin Hood purist. I’m more than willing to see a revisionist take on the legendary folk hero who’s been portrayed on screen many, many times. Sure, I’m partial to a fun, rascally Robin Hood, as embodied by Errol Flynn. Or a mature, pensive Robin Hood, by Sean Connery. Or a surly, vengeful Robin Hood, by Kevin Costner. Hell, I even enjoyed Cary Elwes’ parodistic Robin Hood in one of Mel Brooks’ lesser efforts, Robin Hood: Men in Tights. So if director-screenwriter Michael Sarnoski (Pig, A Quiet Place: Day One) wants to give us a radical version that tells us, as the film’s marketing informs, “He was no hero,” fine.

Unfortunately, the filmmaker is so keen to make good on his premise that The Death of Robin Hood becomes a tedious slog. You spend most of the film’s overlong running time wishing that its main character would die a quicker death.

Hugh Jackman, outfitted with a flowing grey mane and a bushy, straggly beard that makes him look like a yeti, plays a solitary Robin who’s long been separated from his Merry Men. He wanders the 13th-century countryside, always enveloped in mist, in a severe depression. It seems he’s tormented by the knowledge that he wasn’t really a hero who stole from the rich and gave to the poor, but rather a ruthless, murderous criminal who apparently had a very good publicist.

Robin wants to give up his violent ways, but just when he thought he was out, he’s pulled back in by his old cohort Little John (an unrecognizable Bill Skarsgard), who recruits him for one final battle. It doesn’t go well for Robin, who winds up gravely injured and wakes to find himself recovering at a remote priory where he’s tended to by the kindhearted Sister Brigid (Jodie Comer, intriguingly restrained).

Considering that we’re talking about Hugh Jackman and Jodie Comer, you might think that a romantic relationship between their characters would develop. But this isn’t that kind of movie. Rather, Robin edges toward a kind of moral salvation by becoming a mentor to Margaret (Faith Delaney, Here), a troubled little girl whose father was killed in the battle, and the young Arthur (Hamnet‘s Noah Jupe), out for revenge and suffering from an injury that cost him an eye. Robin also strikes up a friendship with a soulful, philosophical leper (Murray Bartlett, covered in wrappings from head to toe), who somehow recognizes his good qualities.

Very little happens in the film, and since both Robin and Sister Brigid are quite taciturn there’s not much in the way of scintillating dialogue either. Rather, the filmmaker leans heavily on mood-setting, using such methods as a shifting color palette (when some vibrant hues finally permeate the gloom, it feels like an oasis in the desert), varying aspect ratios, harsh sound design, and a folk-music score suitable for funerals. The extreme violence is rendered in graphic, gory fashion that seeks to remind you that medieval England was no country for old men.

It’s all very atmospheric, including the frequent bloodlettings that Sister Brigid applies to Robin’s arm (the camera lingers lovingly on every spilled drop). But the dour, humorless proceedings never achieve the profundity they’re aiming for, and the revisionist take on Robin doesn’t prove very interesting or revelatory. And while Jackman brings an undeniable grizzled intensity to the role — his Wolverine is practically a cut-up by comparison — the performance is so off-putting that you never engage with the character. “I’m tired,” Robin proclaims early on. By the time the film ends, you’ll feel exhausted as well.