Americans instinctively ally themselves with the British rebel in green who stands up for the rights of every citizen, and does so with swash buckling bravado and breathtaking marksmanship. Tiger Aspect doesn't disappoint us with their version of Robin Hood. We're given everything we are meant to expect with a delightful twist, this medieval tale is told with an allegorical edge.
The first episode, "Will You Tolerate This?" sets up the scenario. The intrepid Alan-a-Dale (this time armed not with a lute and a ready ballad but with a proficiency at lying and an earnest demeanor) is about to be separated from one of his digits for the heinous offense of trying to poach one of King Richard's deer. Richard, ostensibly in the Holy Land waging war on the infidel, has little use for the deer personally, but that's irrelevant. In his absence strict laws have been enacted and are enforced with brutal pleasure.
Men from the Sheriff's patrol imprison unlucky Alan by the arms, while another soldier pins his hand to a tree, wielding his axe with a wicked grin. Alan is having second thoughts about sacrificing his finger and the guards are gleefully denying him the right to appeal when their fun is interrupted by a volley of arrows flying out of the forest. Each one landing perfectly and highly improbably within millimeters of every finger of the soldier with the axe.
At this point I can't decide if the soldier is more brave or stupid, because rather than dropping the axe and ducking for cover because there's a sniper in the woods he looks to his commander for instructions. Robin calls out a warning in a light-hearted and easy going manner that belies the menace in his actions. He claims he's missed his target and doesn't want to be forced into taking another shot in case he misses again.
The commander demands that their attacker show himself and we are given our first appearance of young Jonas Armstrong as Robin Hood. Even with his charismatically expressive countenance completely hidden inside an enveloping hood Robin makes an impressive showing. The last time he was in England poaching was punished by a tanning or a spell in the stocks and he calls the soldiers on their barbaric senses of justice. The commander is non-plussed. He doesn't make the rules; he enforces them.
Robin demands that Alan be released, and with a cleverly judicious usage of some shrubbery, a bit of string and his companion, Much, he convinces the soldiers that they are surrounded by his men. The commander is disinclined to be impressed but Robin launches another arrow into the air that ends up piercing the commander's saddle rather than his family jewels and he is compelled to change his mind.
Alan is freed and the soldiers are deprived of their prey, for the moment anyhow. All is well that would end well, insofar as Robin is concerned, until an emboldened Much can't seem to resist popping up out of the bushes to taunt the retreating guards. He refers to him and Robin as "My master and I," leading the commander to understand that "there are only two of them" whereupon he turns his men around to pursue the spoilers of their fun in the forest.
The Sheriff's soldiers are several arrows shy of a full quiver. Only two of them? Were they not paying attention? One of them could have taken out every man as easily as he draws a breath. Luckily for them Robin's not in a killing mood. He and Much break for cover instead.
So, apparently the Sheriff is having some difficulty with the recruitment of quality minions. Have all the good ones gone off to fight in the Holy Land? Perhaps he should change his employment criteria from "dull-witted, but sadistic" to "obtains a shred of common sense."
Robin, on the other hand, is clever, preternaturally gifted with his bow, and a man who is used to getting what he wants but won't hurt anyone unless he has to. And some things haven't changed...he's still a fox. Already we see that the Sheriff will have his work cut out for him now that Robin has returned.
Having escaped their encounter unscathed, well, scathed, very scathed, but mostly hungry, Much and Robin continue traveling the long road home. We discover as they walk that they aren't just two weary and foot-sore travelers, they are soldiers returning home from war. They have been fighting for King Richard and England in the Holy Land. Much cannot wait to get home and eat. Robin cannot wait to get home before Much breaks out into song. They emerge into a clearing with a strange looking structure and Much entreats Robin not to stop, and for pity's sake no more heroics.
However it is Much that decides to stop, the smell of roasting pork has dulled the receptors in his brain and even though Robin points out that they are nearly home he begs to be allowed to stay and assist a cloth merchant with digging a ditch in exchange for a pork dinner. Good natured Robin agrees and Much is prompted to offer a heart-felt, "I love you. Have I ever said that?" Robin takes the accolade as his due. Used to being adored are we, Robin? That's sweet. But I am wondering: Why is a cloth merchant digging a ditch? Why does he have his cloth suspended from the rafters of an open-air structure exposed to the elements? And why is his daughter cooking a pig in the barn?
Never mind. We find that Robin isn't afraid to get his hands dirty. He's the master and Much is the servant but they dig with equal fervor to the tune of, "roasted pork, roasted pork." The cloth merchant isn't much impressed by either of them, first he thinks they're itinerants on the run, then he accuses them of being under worked lackeys. So far England hasn't offered two world-weary soldiers a terribly congenial welcome home.
Robin returns two tankards to the cloth merchant's daughter in the barn and finds that his welcoming committee has arrived in a party of one. The girl is a bosomy, over-sexed wench, painted like a tart, but he likes her in spite of it. Or perhaps he likes her because of it. In either case she makes her move and with very little resistance Robin finds himself engaged in a hearty lip-lock with his host's offspring. To be fair she does inquire if he has anybody at home waiting for him in Locksley, but he doubts it. They're good to go.
Except that Much, engaged in conversation with the cloth merchant about the onerous taxes he's been subjected to and the difficulties he has doing business these days, is distracted by the sight of his master's butt in the grip of a country girl and can't seem to concentrate. Busted.
The merchant, seeing his hospitality so egregiously abused, busts a nut. Robin knew it was coming, it was only a matter of time. He neatly ducks the enraged father's attack, puts the poor guy's boastful claims with the sword to shame, and then adds insult to injury by kissing the girl one last time before catapulting acrobatically off the barn's second story. Robin, can you spell "show off?"
What have we learned? A new Sheriff is in town making things tough on the peasants and merchants alike. Robin could be as lethal with his sword as with his bow and he likes the ladies almost as much as they like him. When Much is hungry he doesn't think clearly. Oh, yeah, and there's a creeping sensation building up here that Much and Robin aren't in Kansas anymore.
That night in the forest Much huddles beneath his cloak, he looks aggrieved. Robin crouches down before the fire, his breath frosts the air. If it weren't for Much's insatiable appetite they'd be sleeping at Locksley. If it weren't for Robin's inability to keep his lips to himself they'd be bedding down in the merchant's barn, filled with pork. They are both culpable in their current predicament and a quarrel could be brewing. A veritable plethora of rebukes are hovering on the edges of Much's tongue. Yet all he can muster is a disgusted, "I'm not saying anything." To which Robin replies by making a face and mimicking him. Ahhh, now I get it. These guys aren't master and servant. They aren't friends. And they definitely aren't a good basis for slash fan-fic. Robin and Much have become family. They are as related by shared experience as any two people ever could be by blood.
Morning finds them at Locksley, a miraculously surreal moment they certainly had believed many times would never happen. Overjoyed to finally be home Robin and Much embrace and head into the village. They are surprised and delighted by the magnitude of their welcome home, the parade, the banners, the fife and drum corp, the...scurrying and ducking peasants who refuse to speak or meet their eyes? Wait a minute. Did they sign up for this?
Robin spies a familiar face. Old Dan Scarlett greets them properly despite the fact that his right hand is conspicuously absent. Robin wants to know what's going on. Dan imparts the info that Guy of Gisbourne has been running Robin's estates in his absence. Dan's sons went to steal some game, Dan tried to stop them but not before Gisbourne caught them. Rather than see one of his young sons maimed for life Dan sacrificed his hand. Robin is horrified. Only a moron/mercenary sadist would maim a skilled carpenter just for stealing food.
Enter the moron/mercenary sadist. Gisbourne swoops down on Locksley while Robin is digesting the fact that Dan's wife starved to death. As per usual, it would seem, the peasants greet Gisbourne with the sort of enthusiasm usually reserved for the plague. He's in a tizzy over a few missing grain sacks and determined to sort out the culprits. As Robin watches befuddled and dismayed, Gisbourne's men roust the villagers out of their homes and "assemble" them before the Black Bombshell. The grain sacks are found and a teenage boy is dragged before Gisbourne who is confident the lad has accomplices. He offers the possibility of leniency to those who confess. Apparently the peasants have had a belly-full of Gisbourne's leniency because no one steps forward.
Except for Robin. In a moment of majesty Robin addresses Gisbourne by name and is firmly reproached by a guard to bow to and address his lord. Which he does with mocking good grace. Just before issuing this zinger, "I am Robin, Earl of Huntington and lord of this manor. Your services here are no longer required." Much acquires a rabbit skin, drapes it around Robin's shoulders and every peasant bows willingly to the real lord of Locksley. Gisbourne looks (as he often does) as if he's just taken a whiff of raw sewage. Huntington has a lot of nerve returning alive from the crusades, expecting to come back and manage his own affairs. He's all but spoiled Gisbourne's day. In fact, he has spoiled Gisbourne's day.
Now in a bit of a snit, in addition to his tizzy, Gisbourne follows Robin up to the the big house where Robin has just greeted his steward, Thornton, and informed him that Much has been made a free man in return for his service in the Holy Land. Much has gone upstairs to eat, bathe, and start living the life of a lord like he's been promised. Gisbourne whinges that he'd like a little bit more respect in front of the populace. Robin makes it quite clear that he has no use for a man who hasn't earned that respect for himself already. Gisbourne is free to leave at anytime, in fact Robin's servants will help him pack.
Before he leaves, however, Robin and Gisbourne have a portentous exchange about affairs in the Holy Land and the success of King Richard. Robin has learned that little can be achieved by bloodshed, Guy doubts the accuracy of that lesson. In addition, Guy doubts that Robin really believes what he says because he's seen him fight. When Robin asks for specifics Gisbourne pretends he can't recall. Robin warns Guy that he'll expect his peasants waiting in Nottingham's dungeons to be freed and Gisbourne all but laughs and wishes him luck with the new Sheriff.
Meanwhile Much is in the bath, attended by a serving girl who invites him to share the horrors of the war with her. Gentle soul that he is Much replies, "War is for men. You would be upset little one." Then he partakes of a plate of rose petals intended for the bath. The serving girl leaves laughing at his naivete. In his moment of solitude Much clutches the chain around his neck, (It's not just me is it? Those look like dog tags? I thought so.) and reliving the horrors of the war in his mind starts to cry. In a single scene his character becomes three-dimensional. He is more than Robin's faithful friend and comic foil. Much is a man haunted by war, a gentle soul who prefers the comforts of home and hearth but has put on a very brave front for his crusading master.
Who, at that very moment, spoils Much's single moment of privacy by barging in on his bath and demanding that he get dressed and follow him to the old Sheriff's house for a visit. Hold up there, Locksley. Didn't Robin just say that Much isn't his servant anymore? Old habits die hard, huh? Still, it must be said that Robin is nothing if not fair. He made a promise and he'll keep it. Much doesn't have to come if he doesn't want to.
Well, of course he wants to come. Didn't I just tell you that they've become family? He can't leave Robin to go alone. Much abandons his bath and hits the trail with Robin again. This time to Knighton Hall to shake down the old Sheriff and get the skinny on what's happening with the new one. Just as he expected the old Sheriff flings open the door and greets Robin and Much with open arms, in addition to a lot of violent gesticulating and loud insistance that he go away and leave them alone.
Okay, at this point I am a little puzzled. What exactly has Robin done to deserve this sort of treatment? Has word gotten out that he was rude to Gisbourne and tossed him off his lands? How was that, by medieval pony express? And even if that news had come around why would it induce the old Sheriff to react so violently? Robin's not an enemy of the state, yet. He hasn't done anything wrong.
Strange. Not so strange, though, is the spectre of a thin-lipped girl hovering behind her father with a loaded long-bow pointed at Robin's head. It's good-old Marion and Robin is delighted to see her. Is this the girl he doubted was waiting for him in Locksley? I have some news for him, he was wrong. She's been waiting a good long while to tell him to get lost. The door to Knighton Hall is shut on their faces. Much is astounded, Robin speculative. Much claims that the old Sheriff used to treat them like sons, something is terribly wrong. Robin has figured out that Marion is still single, something has finally gone right (if you discount the long-bow pointed at his head that is). Much is annoyed, and quite reasonably so, he abandoned his bath to accompany Robin on a fact-finding mission and instead finds himself checking up on Robin's old girlfriend. Nice one, Hood.
Returning to Locksley finds them greeted by a now well-fed peasantry, thanks to Robin's orders before he left that everyone be brought up to the big house to eat. He's treated fondly by the grateful serfs and experiences a moment of warm fuzziness before being brought up short by the sight of Dan Scarlett crying. His sons have been taken to Nottingham, implicated in the grain theft. Robin promises to help.
Onto Nottingham the next day. Robin and Much travel through the castle gates and are perplexed by the fact that it's market day and there is no bustling market to be had. They travel by the gallows which seems to have taken up a new preeminence in their absence. The scene is filled with foreboding.
Undaunted, or at least utterly unwilling to display any daunt, Robin struts into the council of nobles as if he has a right to be there. Hang on. He does have a right to be there. Of course you wouldn't guess that by the looks on their faces. He throws off his sword and settles down to have a little chat with the Sheriff. When he observes that things don't seem to be changing in England for the better the Sheriff reminds him that they are a country at war. Robin should understand that sacrifices must be made, wars are expensive. "Ahh," Robin replies, "but is it our war? Or George Bush's...er...Pope Gregory's war?" The Sheriff is dismissive. What difference? England stands shoulder to shoulder with the United States...er...Rome.
And falls shoulder to shoulder too, says Robin. Indeed, Robin, indeed. You have seen it with your own two eyes and all of those over-dressed and well-fed men sitting around that table would benefit a lot from your wise council, but they think that you're just a young upstart trying to cause trouble and quite frankly if you were being interviewed by Fox News' Bill O' Reilly he would have questioned your patriotism and cut your mike by now. Just because you were actually in the Holy Land, literally making the sacrifice rather than simply paying lip service to it...well that doesn't give you any special privileges to speak and be heard does it? And why should any of them care anyway. They're all still making money.
Still, Robin comes off looking rather well. He challenges the Sheriff, twists his own words and stuffs them right back into his mouth. Irritates him enough, in fact, that the Sheriff is prompted to flounce off into his study and take revenge on another bird. One that he can wrap his hands around and squeeze the life out of.
Marion takes a moment to waylay Robin and let him know that her father feels the need to speak to him. She cautions him to be careful, come late at night and not be seen. Robin tells her not to worry, he can take care of himself. Guess what? She knows that you num-nut. Haven't you been off in the Holy Land taking care of yourself for the last five years? (read 'not taking care of anybody but yourself', if you will). She's worried about protecting her father. You could be carted off by the whole Saracen army right now and she wouldn't even blink an eyeball. At least you wouldn't catch her blinking an eyeball.
Our Robin, he's plucky though isn't he? Doesn't like to take no for an answer. He lays on the charm and sweetens it up with a few sticky compliments, but Marion isn't falling for it today. Oh, yes, one definitely gets the impression that she's fallen for it before. But now she has his number, and she won't be ringing it. Have to say I love the part when she tells him he's "peddling the same old drivel."
Hey, Robin, have you calculated the cost yet? Going to war: mismanaged estates, and a freed man-servant. Coming home from war: a cheesed off ex-girlfriend. The look on your face when she walks away? Priceless.
Next we are given a grim tour of Nottingham's dungeon. Nice place to visit but I wouldn't want to be tortured there. Robin interviews his three serfs from Locksley, Will and Luke Scarlett, and Benedict Giddons. Here we learn that Will has some pluck of his own. He's not afraid to tell Robin exactly what he thinks of the Sheriff and his policies. Of course he's going to hang in the morning, so we'd better not get used to liking him.
Just when Robin thinks things can't possibly get any worse the guards drag in a fourth man and surprise, surprise it's the troublesome Alan-a-Dale. He figures Robin saved him once, he'll do it again. Only this time Robin isn't nearly so confident of success, he tells Alan he's probably doomed himself by claiming to be a peasant from Locksley and Alan is only too glad to back-peddle his story to a guard who isn't interested in listening.
Night falls and Robin has the pleasure of attending a feast, or is it a roast? in his honor. The Sheriff, with Gisbourne smirking over his shoulder, tells Robin that he's been voted in abstentia to oversee the hanging of his own peasants. Oh, and by the by, rumor has it that war has weakened him, perhaps he isn't quite strong enough to take over the management of his own estates.
While Much fumes in barely silenced dissension, and Robin looks about ready to skewer the Sheriff on the spot, Marion walks in and is requested by Gisbourne for the "pleasure of her company." Death wish tonight, Gisbourne? He ought to be the one looking over his shoulder as he strolls off down the stairs with Marion on his arm, but it's Marion who looks back and catches sight of Robin's lethal gaze. Guess what, Marion? I think he still likes you.
After midnight Robin raps on the Knighton Hall door and Marion answers it. She bids him to enter before the Sheriff's men come by. Robin, irritated over the impending death of his innocent serfs, his impotency in the eye's of the Sheriff, and anything and everything to do with Guy of Gisborne, lifts an eyebrow and retorts, "And what? You'll give them the pleasure of your company?"
There you are, Marion, you've been waiting five long years to give Robin an earful and here he is standing on your doorstep, just begging for a set down. Go on, whip out that stinging rebuke. Pardon? Did you just tell him to, "Grow up?". Grow up? Speaking of pathetic drivel. Have we just been transported to the Spring Fling at the Nottingham Middle School gym? How old are you? I think what you meant to say was, "Well, Robin, if you cared as much about me as you do the King it might have been you I was pleasuring tonight." Or, "If you were as adept with words as you are with a bow Gisbourne wouldn't stand a chance." Girl, if "grow up" is the best you can come up with I'm not surprised he deserted you for the Holy Land.
Once inside the old Sheriff apologizes for behaving like a ranting looney before. He doesn't offer any excuses for his behavior or give reasons why he has to pretend he hates Robin now, but he does apologize. Clearly, he's not nearly as miffed with Robin as Marion is. The Sheriff tells Robin that Prince John deposes the old and brings in the new in Richard's absence. He is building an alliance of officials who will be loyal to him and are willing to prove it. Robin has to play the game, forget right and wrong, just dive into politics and pretend to be one of the good old boys. In time there will be a chance to take a stand, but not now.
Robin insists he can't wait. Now may not be the perfect time, but after four innocent men are hanged at his word he feels the timing is going to be even worse. Marion insists that Robin must let the men die, he cannot go up against the Sheriff. The old Sheriff silences Marion but tells Robin he agrees with her. If he goes against the Sheriff he's going to lose everything.
What to do, what to do? Robin spends the night alone sitting in front of the fire at Locksley, the very image of a young man wrestling with his conscience. Does he sacrifice everything for four lives, or does he sacrifice four lives for everything? Gee, Robin, aren't you glad you came home?
In the morning Robin stands on the steps beside the Sheriff and Gisbourne looking wretched and out of place. His serfs are marched into place on the gallows, bags over their heads and ropes around their necks. The scene is truly disturbing, Alan is a young man, Will and Benedict little more than boys and Luke a mere child. The Sheriff is erotically charged by the pall he's cast over the town. Having Robin standing next to him, prepared to read out the sentencing on his own men almost has his eyes rolling into the back of his head with pleasure. In addition, he's anticipated trouble on Robin's part, as a precaution he's had Much seized by the castle guard and suspended precariously over the embattlements. If Robin acts up, his friend dies. If we had any doubts that the Sheriff is a seriously disturbed individual they are all gone by now.
Gisbourne is smirking, Marion looks out from a tower window seeming as if she might be ill at any moment. We think all is lost, Robin reads the sentence, but before the men hang there's a last minute delay. One of the Locksley villagers, dressed as a friar, claims that the men are under the protection of the church and cannot be punished by secular law. Nice try, Robin. Not only doesn't the Sheriff buy that, he tells Robin he knows he was behind the scheme and he'll pay for it.
The men fall, and we hear Dan Scarlett screaming and sobbing to his sons that he loves them. Another surreal moment and we see Robin relieved in a glow of saintly white, he has flashbacks, Alan, the villagers, the spring flowers blooming on Locksley's trees...and he makes his decision. With his quick reflexes Robin overcomes the nearest guard and seizes his bow. He compels the citizens of Nottingham to join him in rebellion as one arrow after another launched from his bow severs the ropes around the victims neck and saves their lives.
The citizens spring into action and assist the prisoners in escaping. Robin continues to fight, but is interrupted by Much's cry for help from the embattlement. Robin sacrifices his sword to save his friend and stands alone, and unarmed, in front of a soldier with a loaded bow aimed at his heart. Lucky for Robin, Marion anticipated just this very thing and dressed her hair that morning with exceptionally sharp and heavy hair pins. She surreptitiously pulls one out and launches it at the soldiers arm, dislodging his aim and giving Robin a chance to get away. Surprised at still being alive Robin looks up to see who aided him and finds Marion looking at him with a "I couldn't help myself" expression on her face. Yeah, Robin, it's safe to say that she still likes you. A little.
Robin, Much, Alan and Will escape the castle on horseback and settle down for the night in their new lodge, Sherwood Lodge. It's not Locksley but it beats the Nottingham dungeon all to hell. Things might not be as bad as they seem...until Robin looks up and realizes that they are surrounded by outlaws.
No comments:
Post a Comment