Better titled The Death of Good Ideas in Hollywood, the new film from Quiet Place: Day One director Michael Sarnoski gives us no heroes, and a protagonist who betrays all the lessons children should learn from their childhood defender.

Robin Hood is one of fiction’s oldest heroes, a story told to children for hundreds of years. One who battled the evil tyrants of the world, and stole from the rich to give to the poor, with his love Maid Marion and his Merry Men. But now, in a move nobody has asked for, The Death of Robin Hood — in cinemas this week — dares to ask “but what if actually he was a vicious murderer who enjoys shooting arrows into defenceless kids?”... your guess as to the reason why is as good as mine. 

We are told at the beginning of the film that this incarnation of the titular character “were a murderous brigand, who perhaps cut the throat of a sheriff in a long line of others. People saw meaning where there none.” This is the modus operandi of the new grim-dark adaption of the folkloric hero; a visceral, violent, macabre portrayal of a character who has echoed through generations, losing heart and soul along the way.

Hugh Jackman stars as Robin, an evil criminal whose exploits have terrified the common folk of the land. A man who stole and murdered all those who came across him. Now, however, Robin is old, haunted with regret and longing for death. His ‘merry’ men are hung, drawn, and quartered across the country, Maid Marion an invention of a drunk storyteller once upon a time. Little John (Bill Skarsgard, in a deliberate uncharismatic role in contrast to his usual charming ensemble of freaks and monsters) is perhaps Robin’s only “friend” left, who enlists his old mentor to take back farmland stolen from him. What follows is a quick succession of bloodshed and brutality, as Robin and John hack and slash their way through a series of faceless brutes.

Ultimately, though, the subsequent battles leave Robin on the verge of death, bleeding out and hallucinating previous kills. John brings him to an island of the sick and damned, where the prioress Sister Brigid (Jodie Comer, delightful as always) heals those less fortunate than her (despite Robin begging for death). It is here where the film deigns to go beyond the savagery that preoccupied the first forty minutes, as Robin slowly defrosts after accepting that his death will not be so immediate. The rest of the film sees him become the reluctant hero he has previously vehemently denied — provider for the island, friend to the ill, protector of John’s daughter. Above all, a man who is now merciful, surprising himself more than anyone else.

While the second half made The Death of Robin Hood a more digestible viewing experience, the first act leaves so much distaste in the viewer that there is little that can be done to win them back. Jackman is undeniably believable in the role (accent excepted, if you cringed at his attempts in this year’s The Sheep Detectives then prepare for the worst), but that works against the film’s favour. We don’t just hear about Robin’s exploits in the past, where at least one can trick themselves into sympathising with the protagonist, but we see them, including acts of depravity that make it impossible to empathise.

This is, of course, not the first role where Hugh Jackman plays a gruff old man with a history of violence, and not even the first role where that character started life as a children’s hero. But while Wolverine got a similar bleak conclusion in 2017’s Logan, here this is a standalone project and not the conclusion to a trilogy. Thus, there is no prior pathos. No interest. No care. Robin tells us he is evil, then shows us the same. Why should we care about his redemption? I want him dead.

This is such a colossal failure in the film’s elevator pitch that it is a wonder it ever got greenlit. Especially since Robin Hood, despite studios desperate to prove him to be a profitable IP, has been a box office sink for thirty years. Relegated to bargain bin DVD racks, in an era when no one watches DVDs. I expected better from Michael Sarnoski, whose debut feature Pig starred Nicholas Cage in a similar role, but there Sarnoski demonstrated a mastery over letting an audience sympathise with a man despite a minimal performance. Here, all that mastery has been washed away, perhaps sophomore feature A Quiet Place: Day One taught him all the wrong lessons.

After The Death of Robin Hood’s bleak outlook, and the upcoming Andrew Garfield-led The Uprising seemingly telling a similarly gritty origin story for the Earl of Loxley, I cannot help but wonder if the repeated deconstructions of the Robin Hood myth in media are something altogether more sinister than attempts at a fresh perspective. Robin is the traditional hero archetype, effortlessly charming and suave. But his main appeal has always been his generosity, stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. Hollywood is the rich. Why should we expect companies who make their choices to appease shareholders to sink time and money into a hero who betrays all of their own 'morals'? If Robin Hood was alive today, he would be stealing from exactly the types of people who lead corporate America. Much cleaner, then, for The Death of Robin Hood to tell you that, instead, your childhood hero will murder the common people in cold blood and then forget you ever existed. Thanks, Hollywood.

The Death of Robin Hood plays at Harbour Lights Picturehouse and Showcase Southampton until at least Thursday 10th September.