To the Sunny Colch Odeon! …on Monday afternoon for the latest instalment in the cheap as chips grubby fiver bum dosser’s deal. I’ll have you know it’s a growing club.
Booked in for our bargain £5 ticket this afternoon was The Death of Robin Hood. Blimey. Talk about spoiler alert.
For once we arrived on time. I try and plan these visits to perfection so that I avoid all the shitty adverts and also some of the SHOUTY SHOUTY trailers that just do me nut in.
But wait! What’s this?
The film was advertised as a 2 pm start, which usually means you’ll see trailers until 2:15, followed by the film. We were in our seats by 2 pm. Fifteen minutes later there was still the crappy music being played with nothing on the big screen.
I felt for the poor Odeon flunky who had to go to the front of the auditorium and make an announcement that the film had been delayed for technical reasons and would start soon.
“Skip those crappy trailers. Get on with the bloody film.”
…came the shout from the cheapo seats. This wasn’t from me, by the way, but the sentiment remained the same. Sod the adverts. Cut to the film.
The audience flunky was in agreement. A few minutes later we had the recommendation flashing on screen that this is a film for 15 or over.
Which actually seemed a little benign. The death of Robin Hood is an absolute bloody glory fest. More than once I had to look away and just listen to the excruciating sound of humans inflicting pain on others to imagine what was happening.
But first how about a little seat confusion? I would say the Odeon was about a tenth full. We had an entire row to ourselves and so did the fella sitting in the adjacent row. This didn’t stop him, ten minutes into the film, snuggling up beside us to make it a threesome.
Study the buffers, fellow grubby fiver bum dosser.
This lasted for around ten seconds or so and then he said his apologies and moved back to his original seat. I don’t think it was that kind of film, mate.
As mentioned it was an incredibly violent film, especially in the opening twenty minutes or so, which sets up the plot.
tl;dr. Robin Hood is ageing. He’s gone around killing pretty much all of his enemies and he then becomes a bit of a cropper himself. He needs some rest. During this time he reflects upon what he’s done with his life.
That’s how I felt last week to be honest.
I always gauged the success of a Robin Hood film using the barometer of a Nottingham accent, m’duck. This was tricky to try and work out.
Hugh Jackman wasn’t exactly coming live and direct from NG1. It was some kind of Northern accent, but most definitely not a Nottingham one. These things matter.
The physical appearance of Jackman, however, was incredibly ropey. It was fitting that for a bum dosser audience, we were watching a bum dosser on screen. We might as well have been staring at a mirror. Think Ian Beale around his breakdown time when he turned into a tramp.
The more serious side of the film makes you forget all the myths of Robin Hood. This most certainly isn’t Men in Tights. It’s a man who recognises that he’s a brutal killer and is only in it for himself.
It all got a little trippy towards the end with some dream sequences and prolonged death scenes. Can you guess who was lying on his deathbed at the end?
Oh yeah, SHOUT OUT to the other grubby fibre bum dosser who was sitting a couple of rows in front of us. She spent the entire film with her face pinned to her phone, scrolling away and munching on a giant bag of Monster Munch.
What’s the fucking point?