Few filmmakers have won me over as quickly as Michael Sarnoski.

His feature debut, Pig, remains my favorite film of 2021 - a profoundly moving meditation on purpose and human connection disguised as a Nicolas Cage revenge thriller. Watching him jump straight from that intimate character study to the franchise spin-off machinery of A Quiet Place: Day One could have easily diluted the qualities that made his work special. Instead, Sarnoski delivered proper blockbuster spectacle while retaining the emotional sensitivity and patience that defined Pig.

With The Death of Robin Hood, his third feature, he once again returns to deep emotional territory, using one of history's most famous folk heroes as a vehicle for examining guilt, violence, and the stories that live beyond us.

It's a fascinating premise. Rather than presenting Robin Hood (played by a grizzled and haunted Hugh Jackman) as a charming noble champion of the oppressed, Sarnoski's version finds the aging outlaw at the end of his life, exhausted by the consequences of his actions. When Jackman's weathered Robin reflects on his legacy, he offers no romanticized version of the man. "He was not a hero," he insists. "He robbed and killed for the joy of it."

From the opening moments, set against a harsh Irish winter in the year 1247, The Death of Robin Hood establishes itself as a meditative eulogy rather than any sort of swashbuckling adventure. The sweeping mountain ranges and coastal landscapes are breathtaking, but they're also cold and ominous. Robin wanders through them like a man with half of himself already in the grave.

One of the film's most compelling qualities is its refusal to glorify violence. The action scenes aren't really action scenes at all. They're ugly, exhausting struggles where every swing of a blade or loose of an arrow feels painful and every death leaves a void behind. Generations of Robin's victims have come seeking vengeance, and the film treats those grudges as brutally justifiable.

Robin's final journey alongside his longtime partner-in-crime Little John (Bill Skarsgård) only reinforces this idea. While John remains more willing to embrace the life they've lived, Robin is consumed by regret. He repeatedly describes himself as tired. If not physically, then certainly spiritually. Their attempt to reclaim John's family and home spirals into tragedy, setting the stage for the film's second half, where Robin is brought to a remote coastal priory to recover from devastating injuries.

This section contains some of the film's strongest material. The towering cliffs surrounding the coastal priory are stunning, and Sarnoski once again demonstrates an exceptional command of silence. Entire scenes unfold with little dialogue, allowing the score's pulsing drums and traditional Irish strings from composer Jim Ghedi to fill the emotional space alongside the gorgeous cinematography of Sarnoski’s frequent collaborator Pat Scola. Robin's interactions with prioress Sister Brigid (Jodie Comer), a mysterious leper (Murray Bartlett), and an orphan named Little Margaret (Faith Delaney) gradually transform the story into something more reflective than plot-driven.

Thematically, the film is quite rich. Characters repeatedly wrestle with forgiveness, redemption, and whether stories help inspire people or simply justify further violence. Robin argues that stories are dangerous because people use them to excuse terrible things. Others insist that stories can also inspire compassion. It's an intriguing debate, and one that directly interrogates the legend of Robin Hood itself and similar tales as well.

The problem is that The Death of Robin Hood takes an awfully long time to arrive at conclusions that feel apparent from the start. The film is relentlessly somber, offering virtually no levity across its two-hour runtime. Every conversation circles the same ideas of guilt, trauma, and redemption. While the performances, music, production design, and photography remain consistently excellent, the slow pacing becomes increasingly difficult to ignore. One unfortunate audience member at my screening fell asleep and began audibly snoring during the final stretch; a reaction that, while admittedly funny, wasn't entirely surprising.

There are some meaningful late-film revelations that further contextualize things, particularly the character of Sister Brigid, and Sarnoski ultimately lands the emotional ending he spends so much time building toward. Yet the journey often feels longer and slower than necessary, and its central ideas never evolve beyond familiar territory. The film's message is heartfelt, but it's also fairly obvious and occasionally heavy-handed.

Thankfully, Hugh Jackman remains a magnetic presence throughout. He fully commits to portraying Robin as a broken man confronting the wreckage of his own mythology, carrying the film through stretches where its deliberate pacing threatens to stall completely. It's the kind of performance only a genuine movie star can give, and one that keeps you invested even when the narrative itself begins to drift. Keep your focus on his eyes throughout this film; he’s delivering some astounding work even when there's no dialogue at all.

I admire The Death of Robin Hood more than I outright love it. It's a thoughtful, mournful deconstruction of a beloved legend filled with beautiful imagery and sincere ideas. But despite all of its craftsmanship and ambition, it often feels like well-traveled ground explored by more engaging stories before it. Still, even when Sarnoski doesn't fully connect, he and his cast and crew are operating on a wavelength few modern filmmakers can get close to, and that's enough to make The Death of Robin Hood worth remembering.

‘The Death of Robin Hood’ is now playing in theaters.