Movie Monday: Robin Hood on Big and Small Screen

There are some stories that don’t wear out, and the Robin Hood legend is possibly one of the most popular. Today I’m going to share my thoughts on just a few of the screen adaptations: good, bad and ugly.

Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves. (1991)

My goodness, this film is cheesy! Was it supposed to be, I wonder? There seems to be a strange balance between an epic score, a rather melodramatic script being acted by some actors who seem to take their roles very seriously, alongside BRIAN BLESSED (albeit in a tiny role) and Alan Rickman hamming it up as the deliciously evil Sheriff of Nottingham.

“LOCKSLEY! I’M GOING TO CUT YOUR HEART OUT WITH A SPOON!!!”

And let’s not even get started on the accents. (I’ll leave that job up to Mel Brooks and Cary Elwes, see below.) I’m not quite sure of its reception when it first came out, and I’m sure the first time I saw it, when I was a kid of about 11, I found it pretty grim viewing. I don’t even remember watching very far into it, put off by the horrors of the prisons where the story begins. If I’d seen a bit more of Rickman, perhaps I’d have changed my mind somewhat; he is an absolute joy to watch. The film as a whole is all good fun, using some of the best-known traditions of the legend, and helping to cement newer plot additions into the Robin Hood canon, but somehow it seems as though this film isn’t quite sure whether it wants to be adventurous and gritty, or tongue-in-cheek. Maybe it was always a little confused, maybe it hasn’t aged very gracefully, or perhaps I’ve been ruined forever by watching the hilarious Mel Brooks parody Robin Hood: Men in Tights, which just highlighted all that was ridiculous about Prince of Thieves.


Robin Hood: Men in Tights (1993)

“Unlike some other Robin Hoods, I can speak with an English accent!”

If Prince of Thieves is a little confused about what genre it is, Men in Tights has no such troubles. A slapstickish comedy full of bad puns, deliberate anachronisms and the complete destruction of the Fourth Wall, somehow Men in Tights is closer to what I think of as the “real” Robin Hood story than the film it is most directly taking the mickey out of. Cary Elwes – “Westley” from the cult classic film The Princess Bride – smirks his way through scenes very reminiscent of Prince of Thieves, with Robin’s escape from prison in Jerusalem (swimming home to the tune of “Row, row, row your boat, kissing the sand, and promptly spitting it out again!) and his tragic homecoming.

Robin Hood: Blinkin, listen to me. They've taken the castle!
Blinkin: I thought it felt a bit drafty. Cor, this never would have happened if your father was alive.
Robin Hood: He's dead?
Blinkin: Yes.
Robin Hood: And my mother?
Blinkin: She died of pneumonia while... oh, you were away...
Robin Hood: My brothers?
Blinkin: There were all killed by the plague.
Robin Hood: My dog, Pongo?
Blinkin: Run over by a carriage.
Robin Hood: My goldfish, Goldie?
Blinkin: Eaten by the cat.
Robin Hood: My cat?
Blinkin: Choked on the goldfish.
Blinkin: Oh, it's good to be home, ain't it, Master Robin?

Then, of course there is the ghastly concoction brewed up by the hideous Latrine, while she tells Prince John all she knows about Robin of Locksley. (“You want certain, hire yourself a witch! I’m just your cook.”) This whole film ensures that I can no longer take Prince of Thieves seriously at all, though there are moments taken from other versions of the tale, such as the trap to catch Robin by luring him to an archery tournament, Prince John’s presence, and of course the green tights.


Robin Hood: BBC TV series (2006-2009)

After the first few episodes of what has become known as “Robin Hoodie” due to its costume choice, I wrote this review:

All right, there is no way that this series can be taken seriously, but it is enjoyable enough to allow me to suspend my disbelief. The cheese factor is bearable, though I could not believe the cheek of some of the lines: "I am your father;" "I shot the sheriff..." "No, you shot the deputy" to name just a couple. Minghella et al have plagiarised shamelessly, but in a tongue-in-cheek way. However, it is left to the supporting characters to give the programme the charisma it needs: what is with Robin Hood being reincarnated as an emo pacifist? Sam Troughton as Much is adorable and grows as a character through the series. Keith Allen hams it up as the Sheriff of Nottingham, and let's not forget Richard Armitage as the brooding villain with a bit of a heart. Marion is gorgeous and manages to avoid the stereotypes that are a danger for females in adventure stories: she is neither a doormat who spends her time working on her embroidery, nor a man's character in a dress, but a strong, feminine woman trapped in a seemingly impossible situation.
I look forward to series two, but I hope for some more bow action and less sulking from Robin next time around.

Perhaps it was Isle of Wight loyalty – the man behind this reinvention of the Robin Hood legend was the brother of the late Anthony Minghella. Looking back now, I feel I was too generous – especially after the plot developments of seasons two and three. There is something wrong when you’re secretly hoping that Guy of Gisbourne will polish off Robin Hood in any confrontation! And this is the version where the writers decided it was a good idea to kill off Maid Marian and introduce their own potential love interest character in her place. It wasn’t a good idea, and by all accounts Maid Marian’s replacement was what fanfiction writers dismiss as a “Mary Sue.” I say “by all accounts” because after series one I only dipped in and out of this series. Even in the first season, most of my enjoyment of this programme came from shouting abuse at the TV screen at either the corny scripts or the actions of our designated heroes, such as Robin failing to follow through on his threats, and generally wimping about.


Robin Hood – 2010 film

Despite, or perhaps because of, my love for the Robin Hood legend, I never went to see the latest film in the cinemas, from Ridley Scott and starring Russell Crowe. By all accounts it was a “darker, grittier” retelling of the legend, and the fact that these two were the pairing for Gladiator, which I disliked, made me suspicious. But was it darker? Well, yes, the light was poor in the opening scene, and there’s a fair bit of blood. But I was hasty to judge.

Over the past century, the Robin Hood tale has evolved, each filmmaker adding new elements to the legend, which the next assumes has always been there, and so the story has mutated. Of course, this has always been the case – the tale has been changing since the early ballads, the old folk plays, literature – Ivanhoe – then later film and television. Ridley Scott has taken the story back a bit, so that the basic plot points remain recognisable, but the details are different.

Lady Marion is older and more worldly than usual,  no longer “Maid,” but widow of Sir Robert Locksley – who is not Robin Hood. The man we know by that name is a humble archer who, for tax reasons, has taken on the identity of Locksley. This version takes place at the very end of King Richard Coeur de Lion’s life – he dies early on – and the wicked Prince John of legend is now the wicked King John by rights. This story is set against the backdrop of treachery and the threat of invasion from France, and turns into a war film, concluding with Robin Hood being declared outlaw – which is where most stories pick up.

But despite the differences, I thought that this film had a greater Robin Hood feel to it than some of the aforementioned, with a good historical setting – though I am quite sure many liberties have been taken with accuracy. And if Russell Crowe’s accent takes a bit of a wander around the British Isles and beyond, at least he tries, bless him. *ahemKevinCostnerahem*


Robin Hood (Disney) – 1973

I suspect that a lot of what I’ve referred to throughout this post as the “familiar” Robin Hood story comes from the Disney classic, which stars a strange mixture of anthropomorphic animals with a strange mixture of accents. Historically, geographically or realistically accurate, this is not – talking animals aside. But no matter. It’s a kids’ version, an introduction to the old tales whose only purpose is to tell a good story. And, after all, we are told right from the start that this is the animals’ version of the legends of old, not the British version, or even the human version. So I have no problem accepting a wolf who plays the kind of Sheriff you’d find in an old Western, rather than in medieval Naadinghayem – sorry, Nottingham, or a Friar Tuck who I didn’t even realise was supposed to be a badger, even though it says so in the credits. It doesn’t matter. It’s all good fun, though things take a sombre turn and I confess the song, “Not in Nottingham,” which is sung when our heroes are at their lowest point, still makes me feel a little choked up.

Other notable adaptations include:


The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938, Errol Flynn)
Robin of Sherwood (ITV, 1984-86)
Maid Marion and her Merry Men (BBC, 1989-1994, Tony Robinson)

Film: Comparing Creepiness in Wonka's Chocolate Factories: 1971 and 2005

My first ever acting part was as Violet Beauregarde in a primary school production of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory when I was nine years old. Chewing gum was one of the deadly sins of primary school, so I had to fake it, and I remember that when the time came for me to inflate like a blueberry, somebody put a blue cloak around me and I stuck my arms out. When I say a blue cloak, I mean turquoise. Not violet. Not navy. Turquoise.

Roald Dahl is the quintessential example of an author that when you reach adulthood you wonder how his books were ever considered suitable for children, and yet at the time you hardly notice anything at all. Perhaps this is because there are less clear ideas about what is fantasy and what is real life when you're a little kid, and therefore things that sit on the boundaries don't worry you so much. I don't know.

The 1971 adaptation of Charlie, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory starring Gene Wilder was one of the classic children's films when I was growing up, alongside Mary Poppins, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and Oliver! Apparently Roald Dahl hated this film, but for me it was the film of the book, if not a straight adaptation at least it was the companion piece. Wilder's Wonka was subtly sinister, but in such a way that I only really notice watching the film as an adult. His eccentricity was beneath the surface, and all I tended to see was the polite, calm, unexcitable gentleman he seemed to be, the face he put on. Watching it this afternoon, I found his bored responses to the naughty children's fates rather inhuman, such as his monotone: "Help. Police. Murder." when Augustus Gloop was stuck in the chocolate river. I also found something slightly off-kilter about the chocolate room, which (possibly due to poor special effects when compared to what I'm used to) doesn't feel quite real, or quite imagined. The chocolate river, for example, looks like red-brown water and not melted chocolate at all. Not even a chocolate milkshake.

I say as an adult that I never noticed anything creepy about Willy Wonka when I was its target age group, but watching the film again I realise that isn't quite true. The added subplot character "Slugworth" was creepy enough to designate him immediate "villain" with his Demon Headmaster monotone, and I think it was actually quite late on that I understood that he wasn't a baddie but an actor hired by Wonka to test the children's trustworthiness. And as for the boat ride, why, I simply blocked the worst of that from my mind. Perhaps I remembered some of Wonka's poem "There's no earthly way of knowing..." and the flashing colours, but not Wonka's singing in a cold, thin, quavery voice, turning into a scream, and certainly not those awful, where did that come from?! hallucinations, images or whatever that was they passed. No explanation is ever given, but, boy, that is horrible!

Of the children, there was a certain star quality in Julie Dawn Cole's spoilt brat Veruca Salt, the only child (apart from Charlie) with her own song, "I want it now," sang in a mixture of bratty tantrums and (probably) drama-school trained RP calmness.

As well as the stories of the five children who win the golden tickets, the film shows little snippets from around the world of the less successful searchers to illustrate the international obsession with finding the tickets and winning the grand prize. As well as the forged ticket that does not appear in the book but is used in 2005 by Tim Burton, we witness the turmoil suffered by a woman trying to negotiate with the kidnappers of her husband.

Woman's Lawyer: "It's your husband's life or your case of Wonka bars!"

Woman: "How long will they give me to think it over?"

Among all the Wonkamania, it is as though chocolate itself is devalued by the sheer amount unwrapped and discarded. All anyone cares about is winning this golden ticket, and seeing inside the factory. Even the lifetime supply of chocolate seems like an afterthought. Charlie notices this and says,

"I bet those golden tickets make the chocolate taste terrible."

Even the Bucket family aren't immune. There is a slightly uncomfortable attitude that of all the people in the world (100 billion according to this film!) although there's no chance he'll ever find a ticket in his annual chocolate bar, Charlie deserves this prize, is entitled to this prize because he is poor and good:

"A little boy's got to have something in this world to hope for. What's he got to hope for now?"

Well-meaning, but somewhat melodramatic even in the Buckets' poverty, I feel. Besides, in this version, Charlie is not as good as all that. It could be argued that he's no better than the other four children because of the scene in which he and Grandpa Joe steal fizzy lifting drinks, and are only saved from a gruesome fate by chance. He is redeemed by showing remorse at the end when Wonka finally shows his human emotions of disappointment and anger.

The 2005 film, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is a film by Tim Burton, so naturally it is more overtly surreal. It came out at a time to make people who savoured Dahl's weirdness celebrate the Tim Burton/Johnny Depp (and Helena Bonham Carter) collaboration, before we started to feel a little weary of their becoming inseparable. The set is full of Burton's trademark twisty designs, garish colours (and a realistic-looking chocolate river!) and an unearthly soundtrack thanks to Danny Elfman (another of Burton's little gang.) Depp's Wonka is in many ways the polar opposite of Wilder's: while Wilder is understated, Depp is immediately bonkers, with a feminine bobbed hairstyle and zombie-grey skin of someone who hasn't seen the sunlight in fifteen years. His childish excitement, childish manner and voice reminiscent of Michael Jackson serve to make his Wonka seem less like an eccentric genius and more as though there is something missing in the connections of his brain.

Yes, Depp's Wonka is creepy when he is clearly not all there, and creepier still when he is. When Veruca Salt is throwing a tantrum at her father demanding a squirrel, Wonka listens intently, and his expression turns to realisation and horror when Mr Salt starts to indulge her, firmly taking parenting into his own hands by refusing to sell the creatures. A moment later, she has fallen down the garbage chute and Wonka's face as he lets Mr Salt in afterwards is beyond creepy. There is something evil about it.

Where Willy Wonka gave Charlie some mischievous traits to prevent him being too much of a goodie-goodie, Burton's Charlie retains his goodness, and we get to see that it is a little sickly-sweet. These Buckets aren't too caught up in Wonka-mania:

"Whatever happens, you've still got the candy."

 When he wins it, Charlie even considers selling his ticket so that the family can eat something other than cabbage soup. The Buckets, getting so little chocolate between them, really savour every bite. Family is what is important to Charlie and the Buckets, and the rather unnecessary backstory (but containing Christopher Lee!) hammers home that value, as well, perhaps, as a moral about having a healthy relationship between chocolate and toothpaste.

The Charlie music is possibly better than Willy Wonka's, especially regarding the Oompa-Loompa's songs, which come in a variety of musical genres and take their lyrics directly from the book, yet they are less memorable than the simpler classic, "Oompa-Loompa-Doopity-Doo." Perhaps that goes for the film as a whole. I would be reluctant to judge which of the two adaptations is better, or more faithful, because they are just so different. To me, Burton's Charlie is slicker than Willy Wonka, and yet it is not the real version. Charlie is a faithful yet wacky re-imagining of the story, while Willy Wonka is the definitive adaptation.