The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938)

Robbing the Rich to Feed the Poor...

‘the late 12th Century, albeit the late 1930s…’

And now for something different. Let’s leave the 1970s and 80s behind and travel back in time to the late 12th Century, albeit the late 1930s. Just before the outbreak of the Second World War. When colour films were made using the Three-Strip Technicolor process. It’s a slightly complicated — and remarkable — technology, involving beam-splitting prisms, colour filters and dyes, but let me do my best to explain. A special Technicolor camera shoots three rolls of black and white film simultaneously, each recording the different colours of the spectrum: red, green and blue. During development, the filtering dyes are then washed off. The result is a glorious, fused whole in richly saturated colour. This, of course, is an oversimplification, but hopefully, you get the gist.

‘charred parchment scrolls…’

I adore the 1930s reinvention of 'Merry Olde England': the stuff of parchment scrolls, quills, suits of armour, coats of arms, heralds, turreted castles, jousting and fair maidens; England's Green and Pleasant Land. When real men wore tights. It's a similar trend to the obsession with piracy, again toute la rage in the 1930s: charred pirate maps, treasure chests, galleons, Pieces of Eight and the Spanish Main — no coincidence that Buccaneer (Waddington's board game) came out in 1938 — with both themes lingering on after the war, well into the 1950s: I'm thinking Disney's innovative Sleeping Beauty (1959), an 'artistic', if splendidly kitsch, recreation of 15th century illuminated manuscripts (Duc de Berry's Book of Hours), set to a sub-Tchaikovsky soundtrack and currently my all-time favourite Disney. All this is a sort of mid-20th century romantic fantasy (encouraged, I think, by developments in colour film and printing) what the Middle Ages were supposed to be like, actually the final fag-end of the Arts and Crafts movement, the Pre-Raphaelites and all that came with it, which began, all those years before, with the antiquarianism of the 1830s, as a reaction to rapid industrialisation.

‘Basil Rathbone: marvellously urbane…’

And I’m also fascinated with the legend of Robin Hood. Roger Lancelyn Green’s The Adventures of Robin Hood (1956) remains a childhood favourite, read to us at school — for which I remain grateful. Lancelyn Green, who died in 1987, was a splendid antiquarian, the squire of Poulton Hall, Cheshire, a manor house his ancestors had owned for more than 900 years. His books (the tales of Arthur, the Ancient World and Norse mythology) are well worth collecting. There’s also Professor Sir James Holt’s Robin Hood (1982), published in a snazzy De-Luxe edition by the Folio Society in 2010, considered to be the definitive work on the historical Robin Hood, the result of thirty years of research.

Which takes us to Warner Bros.’ swashbuckling romp, The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938). Errol Flynn’s Sir Robin of Locksley is the leader of a Saxon uprising against their Norman oppressors. The happy go lucky Saxons are the good guys; the uptight Normans the baddies, led by a deliciously slimy Prince John (Claude Rains) and the dastardly Sir Guy of Gisbourne (Basil Rathbone). Luckily, they all speak American. Actually, in the late 12th century, the upper class Normans (i.e. the knights) spoke a sort of bastardised Anglo-Norman French, and everybody else Middle English, with an Anglo-Saxon vocabulary, heavily influenced by Anglo-Norman and Norse (in the North of England). At the same time, under the unpopular Forest Laws, introduced after the Conquest, anybody caught hunting deer might be put to death, although this was alleviated, to some extent, by the Charter of the Forest of 1217. Which explains why the Saxons are so upset with the Normans. Then add to the mix punitive taxation (the usual grumble) plus a dollop of unsavoury wenching (horribly unfair).

That said, I do sympathise — to some extent — with the Normans. Why they get a bit uppity. With Robin. I mean, Errol Flynn interrupts their civilised feast, uninvited, saunters into the hall like the Cock o’ Sherwood, throws a deer carcass onto the High Table, insults Prince John to his face, and finishes the whole thing off with a display of appalling table manners. And Basil Rathbone (aka Philip St. John Basil Rathbone MC) is marvellously urbane too, a foil to Robin’s facetiousness. I love the banqueting scene (I have a quirky little interest in Medieval cookbooks); seriously folks, it’s a work of art; it’s all there: the hog roast, the spits, hooded falcons, kitchen skivvies, lute-playing minstrels, braziers, gold, heraldry and guttering candles. Acrobats seem to be the only thing noticeable for their absence, but then, perhaps it was their day off.

‘Claude Rains: deliciously slimy…’

Sunny California does well for Rainy Old Blighty. The Medieval forests look like Medieval forests. The Medieval brooks look like Medieval brooks. The castles look like stucco. The rather beautiful painted backdrops evoke a mysterious, misty, almost Arthurian Albion. And of course, the film is beautiful to behold. Especially the colour. Claret, pouring from a barrel, is a deep cerise, almost purple. The Lincoln Green is green; it might do Kermit proud. And we need to discuss Olivia de Havilland, who plays Marian Fitzwalter, a Norman ward of Good King Richard and Medieval posh totty to Robin’s rebellious bit of rough, or at least aristo gone rogue: ‘Why you a knight should live here like an animal in the forest?’ Olivia’s great. Especially in her slick silvered getup, supposedly Medieval, perhaps more Deco — like something from Flash Gordon (1936).

‘Olivia de Havilland: Medieval posh totty…’

And for those of us who appreciate the fine art of swordsmanship, the final duel between Flynn and Rathbone is to die for. Rathbone won the British Army fencing championship twice over and was considered by many to be the ‘finest swordsman in Hollywood’. As you’ve probably gathered, I’m a massive fan of Basil, and as superb as Jeremy Brett is in Granada’s wonderful television series, for me Basil Rathbone will always remain the Sherlock Holmes.

And that bit, towards the end, when Good King Richard returned from the Crusades, throws off his disguise to reveal the three lions of England emblazoned across his chest, is genuinely moving — or at least, it brings a lump to my throat, enhanced especially by Erich Korngold’s stirring score.

So there you go. The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938). It’s one of my favourite films. It’s magnificent. Perfect escapism for a rainy Sunday afternoon, or a Bank Holiday Monday. I watched The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938) on Amazon digital download, which from memory, cost me £7.99. A great investment. It is, of course, also available on DVD and Blu-ray. If any film is going to look good on Blu-ray, I suspect this is going to be the one, and the Warner transition, I gather, takes the film back to 1938, with rich, vibrant colour, sourced from the original Technicolor.

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Normally I would write a post for Sunday, but because of my poor father’s recent death, I’m afraid that I’ll have to give it a miss. There’s an awful amount to deal with when somebody dies. But the good news is that I will be back to normal next week, with the Friday post for ‘paid subscribers’ and the Sunday post available for all. No idea at the moment what I’m going to write about, but it will come. Until then. Adios.