Robin Hood review – Sean Bean gifts us the most gloriously bad TV offering of the year

Robin Hood Review: A Delightfully Camp Return to Sherwood, Sans Wigs and Shame

Autumn is fading, winter is creeping closer, and with it comes that time of year when audiences crave a touch of fantasy, a hint of folklore, and a generous serving of medieval chaos. Enter Robin Hood, this season’s most gloriously self-aware, unintentionally hilarious gift to television.

Let’s begin with the essentials: Sean Bean plays the Sheriff of Nottingham (yes, really), and brace yourselves, there are no wigs. None. Someone in wardrobe clearly made the boldest creative decision of the century by sparing us from the cursed “stringy Yore-hair” that has haunted so many historical dramas. Just that alone earns Robin Hood my undying respect.

But it gets better. The opening caption alone deserves a standing ovation:

“Many years have passed since the Norman Conquest. England is ruled by Henry II. Norman laws and Christianity have been forced upon the Saxon people who must pay taxes and give deference to their new masters.”

Before you can even question whether “give deference” is the right phrase, another line gallops in: “Over time, more and more Saxon lands and estates are taken over by Norman laws as England is subjugated to its new rulers.” It’s like historical fiction by way of a high school PowerPoint, earnest, clunky, and somehow perfect.

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From there, Robin Hood does exactly what you expect and then some: Norman soldiers in chainmail get taken down by honorable Saxon arrows, a young Robin learns archery, and faeries with suspiciously bare chests flit through the forest. Hugh of Locksley (Tom Mison) teaches his son to aim true, while Robin’s mother (Anastasia Griffith) dreams of her boy making it at court.

Then, in true TV fashion, little Robin and little Marian grow up hot. Played by Jack Patten and Lauren McQueen, the duo share the kind of soulful glances that make you root for them even as the dialogue makes you wince. “Just call me Rob,” he says, bravely trying to make his name sound less like a barista’s nickname.

Meanwhile, Sean Bean’s Sheriff chews the scenery like a man fully aware he’s paying off a mortgage or bankrolling a passion project. His daughter, Priscilla (Lydia Peckham), is a medieval nymphomaniac who somehow manages to find time between seducing guards to eavesdrop on political plots, a multitasking queen.

There’s also a Spirit of the Greenwood, summoned by Robin’s dying mother to protect him (because of course there is), and some impressive CGI castles that look like where all the saved wig money went.

By the end of two episodes, Rob hasn’t even gone full outlaw yet, but that’s fine. We still have Connie Nielsen’s Eleanor of Aquitaine waiting in the wings, plus the expected introductions of Little John, Friar Tuck, and King John to look forward to.

Objectively, Robin Hood is bad. The pacing is off, the writing wobbles, and yet… subjectively? It’s glorious. It’s self-serious in all the right ways, the kind of show that’s best enjoyed with friends, laughter, and a mug of something warm.

So yes, by all measurable standards, Robin Hood is a glorious mess. But it’s a mess without wigs, and for that, we must truly rejoice.