In the 1980s British television series Robin of Sherwood, audiences were shocked when Robin Hood was struck down by the crossbow bolts of Norman invaders. Yet he was quickly replaced by a new archer under the hood, fighting to protect the downtrodden.
The purpose of the change was a practical one, as the old star wanted to leave a very successful series. Yet the way it was written speaks to the nature of Robin Hood: He is eternal, to be re-created by each generation for their needs. From first mention in the 14th century in Piers Plowman to Errol Flynn’s derring-do, Cary Elwes’ comedy, even Taron Egerton’s parkour-crazy Cockney charmer, the outlaw of Sherwood Forest has withstood radical reinterpretations because he can and he must.
The Death of Robin Hood may seem like the most radical reinvention to date, but its existence and value is all about its relationship to the existing canon of Robin Hood folklore. Writer/director Michael Sarnoski (Pig) has set himself the seemingly thankless task of adapting Robin Hood’s Death, one of the earliest surviving yet still fragmentary and deeply enigmatic written pieces of the mythology. Much like the death of King Arthur, it revolves around the protagonist facing his end, not on the battlefield in glorious combat but aged and wounded in a monastery.
Moreover, this Robin is not the take-from-the-rich, give-to-the-poor hero of popular tales. As devastatingly portrayed by Hugh Jackman, he’s a bear of a man, a vicious brigand on the run from both his own true self and the myth he helped create. With a surprisingly convincing if geographically vague Northern English accent, if he ever dwelled in Sherwood’s leafy dells, in the winter of his life he hides in mist-shrouded hillsides, constantly waiting for the next assassin seeking vengeance. When one finally strikes what should be the final blow, he is rescued by his last friend, Little John (Bill Skarsgård), and transported to an island priory and the tender ministries of its prioress, Brigid (Jodie Comer).
Just as the hulking Skarsgård equals brother Alexander’s historical brutality from The Northman, in some ways Jackman is revisiting some of the themes of Logan. That unexpectedly elegiac addition to the X-Men universe promised a final chapter for his Wolverine, one the necromantic forces of franchise box office overcame. Yet there is an inherent inevitability to Robin’s fate, even as he too meets a young orphan (Faith Delaney) to whom he becomes a somewhat unwilling father figure. And, like Logan, he goes by two names – Robin to those that know him, Randolph to those he hides amongst.
Sarnoski’s script doesn’t needlessly insert darkness into Robin Hood. It’s always been there, and his version of the outlaw is in communion with all those other retellings. Questions of naming, of identity, of who we are within the stories told about us and the stories we tell ourselves are pivotal to his interpretation. Robin’s conflicted search for a peace he doesn’t feel he deserves is given sharp context through those that he would, on other days, have quickly dispatched: a survivor of a massacre (Noah Jupe), a leper with a secretive past (Murray Bartlett), and even Brigid herself, with her Christian sanctity but appreciation for the Old Ways. Through them, the seemingly formless opening acts – reflective of Robin’s existence for existence’s sake – gain a moral structure and emotional clarity culminating in a final scene of striking beauty, in word, look, and intention. May all our deaths be so meaningful.
The Death of Robin Hood
2026, R, 122 min. Directed by Michael Sarnoski. Starring Hugh Jackman, Jodie Comer, Bill Skarsgård, Murray Bartlett, Noah Jupe, Faith Delaney, Jade Croot.
This article appears in June 19 • 2026.
