The film begins with an ageing Robin (Hugh Jackman) tormented by false stories of his own making and filling up his own personal graveyard with the bodies of would be assassins. When the last surviving member of his outlaw band, Little John (a typically chameleonic Bill Skarsgard) asks for his help in reclaiming a stolen farm, he senses the chance to finally receive his "good" death. Instead, he ends up gravely injured and in the care of Jodie Comer's healing Prioress.
Many films have done "realistic" medical violence but the opening act here is on a whole other level. Within minutes of the movie starting, Robin has killed a child that attempts to sneak up on him and avenge her family. Everything is covered in grey fog and mud and the fighting is a wince inducing, feral wrestle in grime. It is so brutal you will be left wondering how the movie will possibly build on it for the rest of the runtime.
The trick is, it doesn't. In addition to flipping the script on the legend of its titular character, The Death of Robin Hood upends the expected formula of genre. The story of a man living long enough to encounter his own mythos shares something in common with everything from this year's The Odyssey to Clint Eastwood classic Unforgiven, and of course Hugh Jackman's own turn in Logan. The difference here is that the showdown you expect to be the outlaw's end or salvation is early in the film and we then shift to something far more contemplative.
Once we arrive at the priory the pea soup murk fades to ethereal mist and Northern Ireland (where filming took place) suddenly looks beautiful rather than terrifying. There is an air of Avalon about the place and the rest of the movie is a contemplation on violence, grief, choices and death. This is ushered in by a hypnotically serene performance from Jodie Comer. In the original tales the prioress is a villain who betrays Robin and bleeds him to death. Here she radiates peace and humanity, showing our hero that stories can be used for good as well as ill and giving him a glimpse at a different way to end his tale.
Jackman himself puts in a towering turn as the hollowed out, almost feral outlaw. Some subtle prosthetics age him beyond his years but it is the performance that brings the textured gristle. Wild animal eyes contrast with his world weary voice and the self-disgust is almost visibly leaking from every pore. It is a step beyond what he did as the ageing Wolverine and deserves awards consideration it will almost certainly not receive given the timing of the release and the fact the film came and went from US cinemas without making a box office dent. Some people might bump up against the accent a little since it isn't mimicking any particular English town or county, but it works as a representation of Northern England circa 1247.
Tying everything together is an all encompassing score from folk musician Jim Ghedi. Ballads and jarring menace give way to melodic compositions as the film progresses. It blends together with the mythic cinematography and bold acting to create the idea of shifting stories (not even Robin can remember which tales are based in truth or completely made up) being pulled from the ether.
Not everyone will enjoy the process of doing that. After all, The Death of Robin Hood is slow, dour, sad and meditative but in the right hands these characteristics are positives, not flaws. Sarnoski's hands are definitely the right ones as this poignant reflection on life and legacy will leave you with food for thought long after it ends.
8 successful boar hunts out of 10.
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