The Legend Reborn, or Just Recycled?

Reinventing a character as iconic as Robin Hood is a perilous quest. The landscape is littered with the ghosts of failed adaptations, from grimdark cinematic misfires to lighthearted television romps that missed the soul of the legend. The core appeal is simple: a hero who robs the rich to feed the poor. But in 2025, that narrative requires more than just tights and arrows. It requires psychological depth, political nuance, and a reason to exist beyond pure nostalgia. The creators of this new series, Jonathan English and John Glenn, seem acutely aware of this challenge. Their approach isn’t to retell the story we know, but to tear it down to its foundations and build something new from the ground up. This isn’t the story of Robin Hood, the fully-formed mythic figure. This is the origin story of Rob, a young man with a fierce love for his community, pushed into a corner by a cruel and unjust system. This fundamental shift from legend to man is the series’ greatest strength, allowing for a narrative rich with personal stakes and emotional gravity. It’s a high-risk strategy that could have alienated purists, but instead, it injects a much-needed dose of humanity into a figure often reduced to a caricature.

A Star is Forged in Sherwood Forest

Perhaps the boldest decision made by the showrunners was to eschew big-name Hollywood stars for their central couple. In an industry obsessed with pre-existing star power, casting relative newcomers Jack Patten as Rob and Lauren McQueen as Marian was a monumental gamble. And it pays off spectacularly. Free from the baggage of audience expectation, Patten and McQueen are allowed to build these characters from scratch, and they do so with a raw, captivating energy that feels startlingly authentic. They are the beating heart of the series, their performances grounding the high-concept medieval drama in something deeply relatable. Their success is a powerful testament to the idea that the right actor is always more important than the most famous one. They are perfectly insulated, however, by a pair of seasoned veterans who bring a gravitational pull to every scene they inhabit: the perpetually compelling Sean Bean as the Sheriff of Nottingham and, in a role that deserves its own series, Connie Nielsen as the formidable Eleanor of Aquitaine. This thoughtful blend of fresh talent and established gravitas creates a dynamic and believable world, where the stakes feel both epic and intimately personal.

The New Guard: Patten and McQueen’s Raw Chemistry

The soul of any Robin Hood adaptation rests on the relationship between Robin and Marian. Here, the series excels. Patten’s Rob is not yet the cocksure leader of legend; he is uncertain, driven by grief and a simmering rage he barely understands. Patten portrays this inner conflict with a quiet intensity, his eyes conveying a world of pain and resolve. McQueen, meanwhile, gives us a Marian who is no mere damsel in distress. She is intelligent, fiercely independent, and a strategic thinker in her own right, her love for Rob tempered by a pragmatic understanding of the dangerous world they live in. The chemistry between them is electric yet understated. It’s a slow burn, built on stolen glances, shared secrets, and a deep, unspoken understanding. The writers wisely avoid overt declarations, letting their connection grow organically, creating a “Romeo and Juliet” style star-crossed romance that feels earned and precious. In a television landscape often saturated with overwrought romance, their bond is a masterclass in subtlety, making you root for them not just as lovers, but as partners against a cruel world.

The Old Guard: Bean and Nielsen Steal Every Scene

While the newcomers anchor the show’s heart, the veterans provide its spine. Sean Bean slips into the role of the Sheriff of Nottingham as if it were a bespoke suit of armor. He avoids mustache-twirling villainy, instead presenting a man who is a product of a brutal system—a tired, pragmatic enforcer who believes, perhaps rightly, that order, however cruel, is preferable to chaos. He brings a weary humanity to the antagonist that makes him all the more menacing.

But it is Connie Nielsen as Eleanor of Aquitaine who truly elevates the entire production. In her hands, the historical queen becomes a grandmaster of political chess, her court a labyrinth of whispers, alliances, and veiled threats. Nielsen delivers every line with a chilling precision, her Eleanor a woman who has survived decades in a man’s world by being smarter, more ruthless, and more patient than any of them. Drawing on the regal strength she brought to Lucilla in Gladiator and amplifying it tenfold, she creates an unforgettable portrait of female power. She is the ultimate puppet master, her influence extending across England and France through a network of spies and carefully worded letters. Nielsen’s performance is so commanding, so layered, that it almost feels like it belongs in a different, more sophisticated show. The calls for an Eleanor of Aquitaine spinoff are not just justified; they feel necessary. She represents a fascinating study in how women have historically wielded power from behind the throne, shaping empires while men took the credit.

Deconstructing the Myth: A Character-First Narrative

What truly sets this series apart from its predecessors is its commitment to fundamental storytelling. In an era where many high-budget shows seem to prioritize spectacle over substance, English and Glenn demonstrate a refreshing command of narrative basics. The decision to begin at the beginning, to show us the “why” behind Robin Hood’s rebellion, allows for a tightly plotted, character-driven arc. We see Rob’s idyllic life shattered, we feel his loss, and we understand the burning injustice that fuels his transformation. This isn’t a story about an abstract fight for the poor; it’s the story of a specific boy fighting for his specific people.

This structural integrity is most evident in the show’s masterful use of cliffhangers. While some episodes occasionally sag in the middle, often bogged down by scenes of the “merry men” looking glum in the woods, the final 30 seconds of each installment are consistently jaw-dropping. Just when you think a plotline is resolved, a devastating betrayal is revealed, a trusted ally is compromised, or the Sheriff makes a move that changes the entire game. A 2021 Nielsen study on streaming behavior highlighted that shows with strong episodic cliffhangers see a 35% higher completion rate for a full season. This series weaponizes that knowledge. The narrative jolts are not cheap tricks; they are meticulously planned bombshells that reframe everything you’ve just watched, making it almost impossible not to immediately click “Play Next Episode.” It creates a powerful sense of investment, a feeling that you are on this journey, discovering the twists and turns right alongside the characters.

A Poisoned Arrow in the Plot

For all its narrative sophistication and stellar performances, the series is hobbled by a significant, self-inflicted wound: a baffling and often gratuitous approach to sexuality. While the central romance between Rob and Marian is handled with wholesome restraint, other subplots veer into a kind of leering, adolescent explicitness that feels jarringly out of place. It’s a creative decision that not only cheapens the drama but also actively undermines the show’s more progressive elements, leaving a sour taste that lingers long after the credits roll. It’s a poison arrow that strikes at the heart of the show’s otherwise impressive quality.

The Male Gaze in the Middle Ages

The primary offender is the storyline involving the Sheriff’s daughter, Priscilla of Nottingham (Lydia Peckham). In a clumsy attempt to portray her rebellion, the script has her using sex as a tool for power over a guard captain. The concept itself isn’t inherently flawed, but the execution is deeply problematic. The scenes are framed with a distinct male gaze, lingering on female nudity while male characters remain mostly clothed. Dialogue that should be about political maneuvering is delivered in sexually explicit positions, a choice so gratuitous it borders on parody. According to a recent study by the Geena Davis Institute on Gender in Media, female characters are still six times more likely to be shown in sexually revealing attire than male characters, a statistic this series seems determined to uphold.

This isn’t just a matter of being prudish; it’s a failure of imagination. It reinforces the tired and damaging trope that a woman’s primary source of power is her sexuality, a notion that feels depressingly regressive in 2025. In an era where intimacy coordinators are standard on set, their presence cannot excuse lazy, male-centric creative choices. The point that Priscilla is manipulating a man for her own ends could have been made far more effectively through clever dialogue and subtle seduction. Instead, the show opts for the crudest, most literal interpretation, and the entire narrative suffers for it.

A Tale of Two Women: Power vs. Trope

The clumsiness of Priscilla’s storyline is thrown into even sharper relief when contrasted with the masterful portrayal of Eleanor of Aquitaine. Here are two women vying for power in a patriarchal world, yet their depictions could not be more different. Eleanor’s power is intellectual, strategic, and political. She commands armies and topples lords through the force of her will and the sharpness of her mind, her influence conveyed through brilliant writing and Nielsen’s powerhouse performance. Priscilla’s power, as depicted by the show, is purely physical and transactional, reducing her to a cheap trope. This stark dichotomy feels less like a deliberate thematic contrast and more like a sign of a writers’ room at odds with itself. It’s as if one set of writers was crafting a sophisticated historical drama about nuanced power dynamics, while another was trying to inject some Game of Thrones-style shock value, without understanding what made that show’s use of sex (at its best) a commentary on power, not just a titillating distraction.

The Uneven Quiver: Production Peaks and Valleys

The show’s inconsistency extends beyond its thematic treatment of women and into its technical execution. The production quality is a baffling rollercoaster of highs and lows. In one scene, you’re immersed in a beautifully rendered Nottingham castle, with intricate period details and cinematic lighting that rivals a feature film. The next, you’re in a Sherwood Forest set that looks suspiciously like a local park, with flat lighting and uninspired cinematography that pulls you right out of the experience. The same is true of the action. While certain one-on-one duels are brilliantly choreographed and visceral, many of the larger skirmishes devolve into a confusing mess of shaky-cam footage and repetitive bow-and-arrow sequences. It gives the impression of a production that had moments of brilliance but was ultimately constrained by its budget or schedule, resulting in an uneven viewing experience that can be as frustrating as it is thrilling.

The Final Verdict: Is This an Outlaw Worth Following?

So, where does this leave us? This new Robin Hood is a paradox. It is a show of soaring highs and disappointing lows, a brilliant character study wrapped in a sometimes-frustrating package. The central performances from its young leads are star-making, Connie Nielsen delivers an awards-worthy turn, and the core narrative is a masterfully structured piece of addictive television. When it focuses on Rob’s transformation from a boy to a symbol and the intricate political machinations of the court, it is among the best historical dramas on television.

Yet, it is consistently kneecapped by its own worst instincts—a juvenile approach to sexuality that feels dated and pointless, and an inconsistency in production that betrays its lofty ambitions. It is a show that is easy to admire but difficult to love unconditionally. For viewers willing to look past its significant flaws, there is a rich, compelling, and deeply human story to be found in this new Sherwood. MGM+ has proven that there is still life in this ancient legend, that new arrows can indeed be fired from this old bow. They’ve hit the bullseye on character, but their aim wavers when it comes to tone and taste. This is an outlaw worth following, but be prepared for a bumpy ride through the forest.

Source: https://www.techradar.com