Robin Hood has always been a folkloric hero standing for justice, until now

When you hear “Robin Hood”, what’s the image you conjure in your mind?

Cary Elwes and his merry band of men in tights? Errol Flynn, the swashbuckler and sex predator (among his “conquests” was his last girlfriend, who was 15 when he started dating her at 48 years old, how charming), feather in his cap, lethal smile on his face?

Kevin Costner as romantic lead? Or is it a wily cartoon fox, his big bushy tail coming out of his green tunic?

The folklore legend has for centuries captivated audiences with tales of his derring-do, heroics and above all, the fight for justice.

Appearing in ballads as early as the late 14th century, the stories usually place Robin Hood as a figure in the 12th century. The details vary and some have the likes of Maid Marian, Little John and Friar Tuck, but almost all depict him as an oppositional force to tyranny.

Academics and historians have posited that the character served a purpose in framing discontent over the Norman Conquest of 1066, which concentrated power among the elites and stripped away people’s rights, especially to that of roaming the countryside after vast swathes of land had been declared royal forests, which forbade commoners from them.

In that sense, Robin Hood’s association with Sherwood Forest, as an outlaw who resided within these lands, represents that hostility to those rules.

The Middle Ages in Europe was an extremely difficult time to live through as a peasant, and the existence of folk heroes such as Robin Hood provided a figure to believe in, one who encapsulated justice in the face of corruption.

The Sheriff of Nottingham and King John, then, came to represent the brutal medieval feudal system — endless taxes and few rights.

Some versions of the story painted him as an ally of Richard the Lionheart, and could be read less as political revolution and more as a cautionary tale in support of benevolent power — and if you’ve seen Disney’s 2025 live-action remake of Snow White, that instinct to uphold monarchical rule as long as it does “good” is still alive and kicking.

The story of Robin Hood’s death dates back to a 17th century ballad which reworked the ending of one the earlier, foundational texts about the folk hero, and suggests that a betrayal by a prioress had led to his demise.

This is what sparked the film The Death of Robin Hood, which is released this week and stars Hugh Jackman as a weary, old and grizzled Robin — and looking a bit like Sam Neill from certain angles.

But in this film by Michael Sarnoski (Pig, A Quiet Place: Day One), Robin Hood is no hero. He is an ultra-violent bandit and outlaw who holds little value for human life.

In the opening sequence, Robin kills a young woman who, perhaps in his defence, was trying to sneak up on him. He does not spare her, and we also discover he has a mixed reputation, and a long trail of bodies in his wake.

The film requires both an iron stomach (at least for the first 30 minutes as blood flows freely) and the patience of a saint (to put it generously, it has a restrained momentum). It spends a lot of time pondering … something.

Legacy? Purpose? Contrition? All those things and maybe none of those things.

But the more interesting thing is this film fits into oeuvre of storytelling which deconstructs the myths of heroism.

It wants to ask the question of what we gain and lose by placing our collective faith in these tales and representations – and Robin Hood and what he represents is one of the most enduring.

What does it mean that in 2026, Robin Hood is made over as someone who is not a symbol of justice but one of violence? Do we not deserve heroes anymore?