A myth reconsidered in this grim but powerfully told version of a life that might not have been heroic.
Revisionism is a powerful dispeller of myth. Consider how Oliver Stone, Francis Ford Coppola, and Stanley Kubrick reframed the public understanding of the Vietnam War. Or how Sergio Leone, Sam Peckinpah, and Clint Eastwood cut the morally righteous reins on the American Western.
What about Robin Hood, the legend who stole from the rich and gave to the poor? A regular champion of the poor, like Mother Teresa, and a candidate for a Nobel prize? Not so much in Michael Sarnoski‘s dark reckoning, where Mr. Hood is looking for atonement before his book closes on his not-so-noble reputation. He’s played by
Hugh Jackman with world-weary gravitas, conveying sadness in his eyes and the simmer of rage in his heart.
The film is gorgeously shot by Paul Scola, who worked with Sarnoski previously on “Pig” (2021) — then again, the bare north mountains of Ireland do a lot of this movie’s heavy lifting. We learn early on that this is not Errol Flynn’s swashbuckling Robin Hood. Our Robin has been enmeshed in the cycle of violence all his life, hunted by the kin of those he killed. He’s adroit at bloodshed. There’s no flashback to show us whether the younger Robin’s deeds were derring-do or thuggish savagery.
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For What it's Worth 