Here’s Ed and I walking out of the movie theater after seeing Robin Hood.
Ed: Well . . . I have one good thing to say about it.
Me (brightly): Oh, yeah? What’s that?
Ed: It employed 855 people.
Lately, Ed has been making a habit of counting the names in the credits at the end of movies. Maybe because I make him sit through them all. So it’s his way of entertaining himself. If I remember right, Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus was 700, Alice was around 800 and Avatar was a whopping 1400 and something. So that’s where Robin Hood stands on that score.
I guess Ed didn’t like the movie much. I wouldn’t say my feelings were quite so extreme. I had a good time. It had some great actors. Most notably, Cate Blanchett, Eileen Atkins, Max Von Sydow, William Hurt (nice to see him on the screen again) and a personal heart throb of mine – Matthew Macfadyen (although under-utilized in this film). Russell Crowe, at this point, is a given in Ridley Scott films so not too many surprises there.
I also enjoyed seeing yet another interpretation of life during the medieval era. All earthy and ragged with the barest touches of color and class. These characters had less greasy hair, I noticed, than some medieval envisionings, but more body odor. A particularly nice touch, I thought, was the way the “epic” battle scenes were at the same time kinda small. The castles were very compact. The armies were a manageable horde. The roads through the dark woods were rather narrow. Kind of adds to the primitive feel, reminding us that we took up a lot less space on this planet, once upon a time.
I certainly acknowledge, however, that the script fell short of its mark, so to speak. Despite efforts on the part of the producers to spin it so, this film is not Gladiator In Tights. I had already gleaned as much from the lackluster reviews, much to my disappointment. So, by the time I got to see it, my intent was not so much to have a surpassing experience as it was to discern what it’s mistakes might have been.
One of Ridley Scott’s hallmarks as a director is the thinking person’s action film, Thelma & Louise and Black Hawk Down being two good examples. But those were both explicitly topical, meaning that the action was there to serve the intellectual query. Are women justified in responding to male aggression with aggression of their own? Should America intervene in internecine foreign conflicts for humanitarian goals?
The greater challenge is to make a thinking person’s action film that is conceived as pure entertainment. How do you make a film that is high-octane spectacle while also working in some aesthetic layering, human resonance and greater meaning than all the slash and burn? This is the apotheosis that Scott was able to reach with Gladiator. However, in doing so, he set the bar very high for himself. Sadly, he did not meet his own standard with Robin Hood. I think this is at the core of all the collective moaning about this film.
[The following discussion assumes you have seen the film. If you haven’t you can skip down to the Gladiator part of the discussion, assuming you’ve seen that film.]
So to restate the question I’m exploring here – What exactly is it that makes Gladiator a thinking person’s action film whereas Robin Hood is not?
The answer, in a word, is theme, an essential ingredient in any thinking person’s film and the level on which Robin Hood misfired badly. This is particularly unfortunate since the Robin Hood legend is nothing if not thematic, operating, as it does, from the premise that it is justifiable to steal from the over-fed rich if you are doing so to serve the starving poor.
But, in my observation, theme is not something you want to have just statically sitting on top of your story. You don’t want to just take it as a given that Robin Hood is the guy who stole from the rich to give to the poor. This is, in fact, a limitation of the Robin Hood story, as it has always been told. It becomes monotonous. How many times can you watch the Merry Men carry out their escapades before it just becomes the same old story over and over again. Redistributing wealth is indeed a noble pursuit, but seen it once, seen it a dozen times, and then it’s just a bad 1950s perpetually-happy-ending TV show. (Fine for little boys reading Hardy Boys novels, but not the makings of a thinking person’s action film.)
Theme is best utilized when it is made active, which is to say when it has a progression from beginning to end. So Ridley Scott’s instincts were correct to explore the events in Robin’s life that lead him to become Robin Hood. Then you have someplace to go thematically, not to mention characterologically, because, presumably, he hasn’t decided yet that this is what he’s going to do. The overriding question becomes, How did he get there? How did he get to this particular moral stance?
Most of us will stand up for what’s right if directly exposed to an injustice suffered by one who matters to us, and we are the only one who can help and we have the means with which to make a difference. But taking a stand when we don’t have to? When no one’s looking? For a complete stranger? Just for the hell of it? No thanks. Think I’ll just stay here in my comfy little life. So why does this Robin Hood guy do all that running around taking a stand against injustice and helping people in need just for the hell of it?
There’s a question to explore! And what are we given in this film as an answer for it? First, we see Robin Longstride being asked by King Richard if God would have approved of the Crusades. Robin says no, and describes a moment when an old Muslim woman, about to be slaughtered, looked on him with pity because she knew they had become godless. The King responds by calling him honest, brave and naïve.
Oops, now we have a problem. The man is highly principled at the outset. And aware of his principles and willing to take a stand against the King for them. Where are we going to go from here? It’s that self-awareness thing again. Too much, too soon. I would have rather he started out all wrapped up in his comfy little self-protective values, just like me. Then I might have been genuinely surprised to see him gradually metamorphose into someone who goes out on a limb for others. And I might have even been inspired by it.
This is the other problem with Scott’s Robin Hood: In a word, character. We don’t see any character progression in the course of the story. One measure of this is, as already noted, he is as earnest and principled in the beginning as he is at the end. Another measure is that all of the gains he does achieve are external – bringing the barons and king together to defeat the French, saving the village from the plunderers, winning the affection of Marian and creating his outlaw do-good community. So we have accomplished much in the area of plot and action. But we haven’t gone anywhere with either theme or character.
Remember back in college English class reading Shakespeare’s Henry the Fourth, Parts One and Two? . . . No? . . . Me neither. I read them much later. Anyhow, perhaps you’ve heard of the scallywag Prince Hal and his sidekick Falstaff who spend almost the entire first play getting into trouble in brothels and taverns while Hal’s earnest, kingly father is out tending to the very serious business of defending his crown. At the end of the first play, young Hal finally proves himself in battle and is reconciled with his father. Then, in the second play, Hal distances himself from the profligate Falstaff and begins assuming the responsibilities of being a king. And in the third play (Henry V), he proves to be a very effective king, something few would have predicted in his youth.
Part of what makes Robin Hood so irresistible in the legend is the mischievous and delighted way in which he goes about his redistribution program. What if his pre-enlightened self was only mischievous and self-satisfied without the noble purpose? And what if under all that fun-loving roguery, he was actually a very angry young man? Then we would have a distance to travel with him. What if, to take this even further – and I’m going to make a huge leap here – part of why he’s so angry is because he is the illegitimate son of Richard the Lionheart? And what if everyone knows it because the resemblance is so stark. (Of course, then the film would have to be cast with Charlie and Martin Sheen or Keifer and Donald Sutherland or the like. Hmm. Might have to rethink that one.)
I could see creating a Robin Hood who is merely irresponsible and roguish to start. Then, when external circumstances bear down upon him, such as being wronged by Prince John and such, he becomes outwardly angry and dour. This is compounded when he begins to get weighed down by the injustices in the world. He feels powerless, and becomes bitter and resentful. Then he has his first opportunity to steal from the rich (such as reclaiming the seed corn from the church) and he has fun for the first time in months (or years). This is the beginning of his new career path. And we have a merrier Robin than Russell Crowe was able to give us.
This is the big advantage of working off the Robin Hood legend – no one knows who he really was or where he came from. So why not pose a “what if?” that gives him plenty of reason to have a chip on his shoulder? Some people are born to be leaders, most people are not. So in Robin we have a born leader who, if born legitimately, would have been a perfect heir to the throne. Meanwhile, Richard has no legitimate heir, so the fate of the people falls into the hands of that miscreant Prince John. See how this makes the conflict with Prince John personal? That lends considerable help to the external conflict, as well as being grounded in Robin’s internal life.
But I’m just playing around here. Monday morning quarter backing, as it were. I don’t presume to know what actually would have saved this film. What I do know, however, is exactly how and why it is not Gladiator.
It so happens just a couple of weeks ago, I analyzed Gladiator in my class. This was not entirely of my choosing. I was asked to cover it. Actually, that’s not true. I was asked to cover an action film. And from a short list I was given, I chose this one on an instinct that there was more going on in it than the average actioner. By now, having lectured on it three times in the last year, I have developed a great fondness for it, despite all the blood spurting and body slicing.
Here’s the first thing that sets Gladiator apart from Robin Hood: The conflict of the plot is grounded in a conflict in political philosophy. Marcus Aurelius wants to transition Rome from an empire to a republic. He has chosen Maximus as the person to entrust with that task. His son Commodus, meanwhile, wants to keep Rome as an empire to secure his place in power. Maximus is caught between the two. No shortage of tension in this situation.
The plot conflict in Robin Hood, on the other hand, is just the warring interests of three self-serving kings. No philosophy or other sort of larger ideas behind it. No wonder Robin Hood washes his hands of the whole thing when he leaves London for Nottingham. And, indeed, he is free to do so. Not a lot of tension there.
Here’s the second thing: Maximus’ internal conflict is that he wants to go home to rejoin his wife and son. But his emperor/mentor/father figure has asked him to do one more thing for him. One more tiny favor. Just go to Rome and steward this humongous, creaky, groaning ship of state as it makes a slow delicate left turn away from the volatility of monarchic empire to come to rest in the security of democratic republic. Can you do that one thing? Please?
Remember, Maximus has made it clear from the start that as soon as this damn war is done, he’s out of here. He says repeatedly that he plans to go home. Now, if Marcus Aurelius had not asked him for this one last favor, in the process expressing his will for Rome to become a republic, Maximus would have been free to go home, regardless of Commodus’ power plays. Whether Rome remained an empire or became a republic would not have been his problem. He’s going home to Spain, far removed from all the political machinations. So his internal conflict of whether to go home to his wife and son or to serve Rome in one more capacity is created by his bond with Marcus Aurelius. That makes the empire vs. republic debate personal to him. This is quite an internal bind.
As for Robin Hood’s internal bind? I’ve only seen the film once, but I can’t think of anything quite so compelling as what Maximus is faced with. Can you?
So it’s also Marcus Aurelius’ request, drawing as it does upon Maximus’ bond with him, that drives Maximus to reject Commodus’ demand for allegiance and lands him in front of the execution squad. He wriggles out of that one and races home, but it is too late. His wife and son have been killed. Now his desire to go home has turned metaphoric. Now he wants to go (((Home))), as in heaven, to join his wife and son.
There’s just one itty bitty problem with going (((Home))). In ancient Roman culture, dying is not a simple matter. There are Good Deaths and Bad Deaths. The best kind of death is in the glory of battle, as we learn from Maximus when he addresses the cavalry. Later, we learn what makes a bad death from Juba, the African slave. “Don’t die,” he says to the caged, delirious Maximus. “They will feed you to the lions.”
So what’s at stake in this story? Maximus is not negotiating the usual action hero tension between life and death. He has lost everything – wife, son, home, position, community – such that he wants to die. What’s at stake for him, instead, is if he will still manage to achieve a Good Death, despite having given up on life. This is a problem that is highly individual to Maximus. Thus, we have a nicely complex character.
Don’t recall any such complexity in Robin Hood. Do you?
Now, here’s the third thing that sets Gladiator apart: the thematic conflict between satisfying personal wishes and serving the common good. Let me lay out the thematic progression for you:
Your emperor/mentor/father figure asks you to defer your personal desire in favor of serving the greater good. You say no at first, but you know you will have to say yes. This is your mentor and he is speaking on behalf of the greater good. Then, you are all ready to defend your mentor’s wishes when you are told your family is about to be killed. Well, that trumps the greater good, for sure. Now you have to go save your family. This is an unquestionably justifiable reason for putting your personal needs first.
But you fail. Your family is dead, your home burned. Further, you’ve lost your exalted position in society and have been taken into slavery. Okay, no call to serve the greater good now. Surely, such unimaginable loss justifies living in service to personal desires. The Fates have been cruel to you. How much can one be expected to suffer and still prioritize the greater good? You are sure now that life is just every man for himself and you are completely in the right to simply serve your own impulses. “I’m going to get my revenge,” you decide. “To hell with Rome, the Republic, democracy, the people. To hell with Marcus Aurelius!” You resolve to kill your adversary.
And you are justified in killing Commodus. He deserves to die. It’s the right thing to do. But the Fates have another idea. Doing the right thing is important. But by itself, it’s not enough to get you a Good Death. You have to do the right thing for the right reason. And vengeance is the wrong reason.
What we have here is Maximus being pulled in two directions by the secondary characters surrounding him. On the one hand, Commodus pulls him towards base-impulse reptilian revenge. On the other, the memory of Marcus Aurelius, and his current advocate in Lucilla, pulls Maximus towards saving Rome. That’s where his soul hangs in the balance. Will he succeed in moving beyond his lower impulses so he can do the right thing for the higher purpose of saving Rome? Ultimately, that’s what he does. And that’s when he can, finally, go Home.
On the plot level, Maximus has gone from seeing Rome lost to a self-serving emperor, to being the one who ensures Rome’s future as a republic. On the character level, he has gone from wanting to die at any cost, to having the Good Death that will free his soul. And on the theme level, he has gone from wanting to only satisfy his personal desires to joining Lucilla in serving the common good.
Do I have to bring this discussion back to Robin Hood? Or can I just leave it here.
Think I’ll just leave it here.