As the leaves turn and winter looms, there’s nothing quite like a hearty dose of medieval mischief to warm the soul. But here’s where it gets controversial: Robin Hood, the latest TV offering, is a gloriously bad romp that somehow manages to be utterly delightful. Yes, you read that right—delightful in its sheer audacity. And at the heart of this folkloric frenzy? None other than Sean Bean, donning the mantle of the Sheriff of Nottingham. It’s a casting choice so bold, so undeniably Sean Bean, that it’s impossible not to grin. But that’s not all—brace yourselves—there are no bad wigs. In fact, there are no wigs at all. A small miracle, you say? Absolutely. Someone behind the scenes clearly decided that authenticity, or at least the illusion of it, was worth more than a barrel of medieval hairpieces.
Let’s dive deeper, shall we? The show opens with a caption that’s both a history lesson and a masterclass in setting the stage. It tells us, in no uncertain terms, that this is a world where the Norman Conquest has left its mark, where Saxon lands are under the boot of Henry II, and where taxes and deference are the order of the day. And this is the part most people miss: the caption doesn’t just inform—it assures us that we’re in for a ride, no prior knowledge required. It’s a bold move, and one that pays off, especially when you realize the show is fully committed to its own brand of chaotic charm.
From chainmailed Norman soldiers falling to Saxon arrows to the inexplicable yet delightful presence of faerie boobs, Robin Hood ticks all the boxes of a fantastical adventure. We’ve got Hugh of Locksley (Tom Mison) teaching young Robin the art of archery, speeches about Saxon resilience, and even a prepubescent Robin meeting his future love interest, Marian. Fast forward a few years, and the duo (now played by Jack Patten and Lauren McQueen) are as hot as they are star-crossed. Oh, and did I mention they’ve cleverly renamed Robin to Rob? Because, let’s face it, Robin just doesn’t scream ‘hero’ in the way Rob does.
But here’s where it gets even more intriguing. The Sheriff’s daughter, Priscilla (Lydia Peckham), is a medieval nymphomaniac—a bold choice that raises as many eyebrows as it does questions. And then there’s the Spirit of the Greenwood, complete with faeries, who’s poised to play a pivotal role in Robin’s journey. The pacing? It’s more of a leisurely canter than a gallop, but that just gives us more time to appreciate the CGI castles and manor houses. By the end of the first two episodes, Rob is only just dipping his toes into outlaw territory, leaving us eagerly awaiting the introductions of Little John, Guy of Gisborne, Friar Tuck, and even Eleanor of Aquitaine herself.
Here’s the kicker: Objectively, Robin Hood is a mess. The dialogue wobbles, the plot meanders, and the emotional acting? Well, let’s just say it’s a work in progress. But subjectively? I’m having the time of my life. It’s the kind of show that embraces its flaws with such gusto that you can’t help but root for it. If you’re not on board, that’s fine—Sean Bean will undoubtedly be off saving the world (or funding his next passion project) in no time. But for the rest of us? No wigs, no worries. Rejoice, indeed.
Now, here’s a question for you: Is Robin Hood a masterpiece of bad television, or a guilty pleasure that’s too much fun to resist? Let’s hear it in the comments—agree, disagree, or just share your favorite Sean Bean moment. The floor is yours.
