Sadly to some and predictably to others, everything you’ve heard about Ridley Scott’s “Robin Hood” is true so far, now just amplify that to ten and take the kid gloves off already, as most of the reviews so far seem far too generous.
Clamoring, loud, paced like molasses, then hurried and visually confusing — action sequences shot in a disarray, quick edits and vertiginous camera that would make Paul Greengrass proud— save for an engaging 35 minutes in the latter half of the second act, Scott’s two-hours and twenty minute long “Robin Hood” might have otherwise been a complete waste of time.
Comparisons to “Gladiator” have obviously been tossed around like heavy bludgeons, but this umpteenth take on the archer’s legendary tale only wishes it could be half of what that overrated, Academy Award-winning picture is. For all of the flaws of “Gladiator” — its biggest crime perhaps being only a very decent action picture that somehow must carry the burden and expectations of hallowed Oscar greatness — at least it was compelling, engaging and largely entertaining if nothing more than strong Hollywood fare replete with its cliches and familiar plot and character arcs.
“Robin Hood” on the otherhand is a mirthless, dank, slow-moving “prequel” tale that is largely confusing at first and takes forever to coalesce into any kind of enjoyable rhythm — this is coming from someone who’s spent hours with different iterations of this tale, including the old 1970s BBC mini-series and the 1980s British TV series.
Many, have compared the film to “Batman Begins,” and this analogizing is apt; the picture sees Robin Longstride (Russell Crowe, vacillating from accents Scottish to British) return from the Crusades and a story that largely sets up his, “robs from the rich and gives to the poor” mantra and exile from regular society, but lord does it ever take its sweet ass time.
While the picture does boast a pretty exemplary cast on paper — Cate Blanchett, Max von Sydow, William Hurt, Oscar Isaac, Danny Huston, Mark Strong, Matthew Macfadyen, Mark Addy — the film is essentially a cadre of good actors in desperate need of a good film or some unstuffy lines (thesps like Blanchett have almost nothing to do and its almost a shock she agreed to such an empty role).
While Oscar Isaac gets to bray proudly as the vain, foolish Prince John — a character not far off the mark from Joaquin Phoenix’s Commodus in “Gladiator” — much of it is the typical showy scene-chewing that actors attempt to pull off when given sub-Shakespearean dialogue, all vapidly loud over enunciation as a means to communicate gravitas and import. Mark Strong, a great character actor who excels at playing villains, also struggles in vain to rise above the one-dimensionality afforded to his snarling black and white antagonist who’s only motivation seems to be greed.
On top of the strange pacing, “Robin Hood” is also tonally odd. The film takes pains to stop itself and inject what amounts to half-hearted stabs at humor, perhaps to tip its archer’s cap to the lightheartedness evinced in earlier versions of this folk tale. And while the attempts at buttressing the “merry” theme inherent to this lore are slightly appreciated, if only because it feels like something the director hasn’t attempted in years, the film largely — like most Ridley Scott films — takes itself deadly serious.
The merry men — Kevin Durand, Scott Grimes, Alan Doyle — at least have a lighter, more enjoyable touch (and all of them are serviceable in their roles), the actors have little more to do then chase skirts, drink mead and then eventually kick-ass (in many ways they’re tonally not a distant cry from Frodo’s Hobbit pals in the “Lord Of The Rings” only not as goofy). And Doyle’s musical interludes evoke images of Crowe screaming from the sidelines, “Ridley, mate, more Great Big Sea jigs!” (Doyle, a Canadian sea-shanty musician, is BFFs with Crowe which is probably the only reason he has a role in the film).
When “Robin Hood” finally starts to gel, it’s already been an hour and a half and when the picture finally comes to life near the last act — one can simply enjoy the dramatic build-up to the final action battle as the stakes are finally raised enough that we care — it’s so deep in the game, it’s like a valiant hail Mary pass that’s too little too late (though perhaps impressive for rousing us at all in a picture we’d almost completely left for dead).
Visually, “Robin Hood” is grim, grey and dark and while those grimy aesthetics worked wonders for say “Sherlock Holmes” — an infinitely more absorbing and entertaining picture — here it just makes you wish cinematographer John Mathieson didn’t shoot on an overcast British morning during every day of production. Musically, Marc Streitenfeld’s original score is amusing in that it’s both melodramatically overwrought and yet still effective in that last dramatic act that plays out like one sustaining long note of braveheartedness, valor and blood, sweat and tears (unintentional laughter does arise when Crowe bursts out of the water in slow-motion with a lion-esque roar to deliver the telegraphed final blow to the nefarious villain; this movie, even when firing on all cylinders, is still wrought with cliche).
But we’ve seen it all before, from Scott several times, and built by the same filmmaker with more grace, care and precision. Too much of the picture is given over to tedious set-up politics that perhaps lay the groundwork for the world these characters in habit, but boy is this conniving, betrayal and duplicity dull and rote. Then by the time we care, and of course the right-on-the-clock romance rears its head (cue the rolling of your eyes), we the audience are more annoyed than fully invested, let alone remotely emotionally involved. “Robin Hood,” like most Ridley Scott films, is about grand, expensive set pieces (this thing couldn’t have been cheap), spectacle and admirable cinematic technique, but we’d give up our longbow and quiver for even two minutes of humanity or pathos in one of his films.
Geeks have evidently complained that all the violence is widely bloodless, but where their plaint truly should lie is just how toothless a good chunk of the picture feels.
In the end “Robin Hood” is almost two and a half hours of grandstanding set-up polemics, roaring chest beating and then sword-clanking action sequences that are muddled, wet and sweaty (who knew Robin used more swords than arrows?). It’s not a terrible picture, and at times is technically accomplished and capable, it’s just derivative and not a film that anyone needs to go out of their way to see, because you’ve already seen it several times now — and vastly superior versions to boot. Scott might be bowing out of a Cannes appearance because of a bum knee, but we’re inclined to think he’s seen the early reviews and knows the cat is already out of the bag. [C]
