If you see Robin Hood, make sure and stay for the end credits. They are colorfully animated like expressionistic paintings come to life that retell the basic plot of the movie in about two minutes. They are bold and exciting and bloody. And did I say colorful and vibrantly so?
At movie’s end, I sleepily pried myself from my seat, but then those images made me pause. Two minutes later I felt like applauding. I was smiling. I was in a state of bliss. Too bad only four other moviegoers enjoyed this little masterpiece with me – and two of them were necking, experiencing their own different sort of bliss.
Alfred Hitchcock once said, “The length of a film should be directly related to the endurance of the human bladder.” And by the end of Robin Hood I could really relate. I really needed to pee something awful by the end. Of course, the even longer Avatar had the same effect, but having a good time makes one forget about such things.
At 140 minutes, Robin Hood really felt long. The first half hour especially dragged as it labored to set things up. This is one of those movies that opens by filling the screen with stuff to read and when it goes away, dang it, it’s replaced by more stuff to read.
I’ve long thought that most movies could be improved by getting rid of everything that happens before, you know, something good happens. The snaky, love to hate him villain of the piece doesn’t begin to pose a problem until about the half hour mark. Why not start there? That would bring the length down to less than two hours.
I admit – and feel free to disagree – that I don’t care for Russell Crowe. And I think he’s horribly miscast here. Sherwood Forest is filled with trees. And any one of them would’ve been a better match for his wooden acting abilities. *