SWORD OF SHERWOOD FOREST: Blu-ray (Hammer/Columbia, 1960) Twilight Time
Director
Terrance Fisher makes the least of a polite retelling of the time-honored fable
of Robin Hood in Sword of Sherwood
Forest (1960), a production that, while far from glamorous, nevertheless
retains a faint air of respectability for this green-tights-wearing outlaw who
presumably steals from the rich to satisfy the poor. On this outing, political
intrigue fuels the narrative of Alan Hackney’s screenplay, or rather, weighs it
down in abject tedium, interpolated by some featherweight exchanges of dialogue
between the boisterous Robin of Locksley (Richard Greene) and his band of
rather prissy ‘Merry Men’. Greene, a promising Fox contract player, whose
career as a male ingenue dated all the way back to 1934, had had a good run as
the jovial prince of the forest on television, the series running from 1955 to
1959. So, the big screen launch/reboot was considered something of a foregone
conclusion, produced by the Hammer Films as a way to capitalize on the
franchise’s popularity. Alas, the results here are less than impressive, partly
because Greene is older, and partly due to the fact his middling acting
talents, while suited for the small screen, get perpetually lost in the vast expanses
of this Megascope production. Greene is just not enough of a presence to pull
it off. And while kiddies of a certain post-war generation were weaned on his swashbuckling
in their living rooms, for oldsters – and yours truly – the likely opinion held
by anyone over the age of thirteen was that Greene was no Errol Flynn, whose
incarnation in Warner’s big and glossy 1938 Technicolor masterpiece, The Adventures of Robin Hood will
likely remain the exemplar for all screen re-incarnations yet to follow.
Sword of Sherwood Forest is not a
terrible movie. It simply fails to distinguish itself from the other ‘Robin
Hood’ movies come before and since; and this, despite some excellent British
talent hired on for authenticity. The roster includes Peter Cushing as a predictably
vial Sheriff of Nottingham; Niall MacGinnis - a bumbling Friar Tuck; Richard
Pasco, the enterprising Edward, Earl of Newark; Jack Gwillim, a sobering Hubert
Walter Archbishop of Canterbury, Nigel Green, a robust Little John, and Sarah
Branch, reconstituting Maid Marian Fitzwalter as a sort of curvaceous sexpot
with a decidedly sixties bob that looks hopelessly out of place in this 16th
century tale. The story, such as it is, takes far too long to get off the
ground; the action sequences that gradually build to a not-so-grand finale,
shot with pedestrian verve by cinematographer, Ken Hodges and rarely to jangle
the nerves. Worse, Greene and his cohorts appear as though to have never picked
up a sword before the moment the cameras began rolling. A screen duel is only
successful if the audience believes the combatants are in real/reel mortal
peril with every clash of steel. By contrast, Greene is a poseur, going through
the motions of his first fencing lesson; each thrust, done with an
over-emphasized theatricality to stymie the thrills. Greene has better luck with
his bow and arrow, during an archery competition with the Earl of Newark, who
marvels at Robin’s skill as he is put through a series of exercises, puncturing
pumpkins, shooting bullseyes through moving targets and cleaving anemic branches
off a distant twig of a tree. We will admit and forgive the fact, Greene likely
did not do his own stunts here. But the staging of the tournament and director,
Fisher’s pacing capture at least a hint of exhilaration wholly absent from the
rest of this movie.
The machinations
in Hackney’s screenplay really do not add up, beginning with Marian’s mistaking
Robin and his men for the murder of one of the Archbishop’s emissaries (Desmond
Llewellyn), when only moments before he was mortally wounded by the Sheriff’s
posse while trying to escape with a message for His Grace. Never you mind. This Marian is defiant,
willful and pretty much unamused by our Robin’s jovial attempts to ingratiate
himself into her company. Given her immediate aversion to him, it seems more
than a tad odd that a short while later, Marian sends Robin a message to meet
her at the nearby Owl Inn. Little John advises Robin to ignore the invite as it
is so obviously a trap. Nevertheless, Robin arrives at the Owl; first attended
by Marian, then the Sheriff of Nottingham. The Sheriff offers Robin a small
ransom for the return of the Archbishop’s wounded man. Unbeknownst to either
Marian or the Sheriff, the man they seek to bargain for is already at death’s
door, having forewarned Robin he must get to a small village several miles away.
Marian coaxes the Sheriff to offer Robin his most regal bargain – a full pardon
in exchange for the prisoner. Robin refuses, knowing well the Sheriff has no
intentions of honoring this generous offer.
Sure enough, as
Robin departs the inn he is confronted by the Sheriff’s posse. Narrowly
escaping, Robin returns to his ‘merry men’ deep in the forest. The encampment
quickly packs up and departs. Not long thereafter, the Sheriff and his men
arrive to inspect the former camp site, taking as their prisoner one Martin of
Eastwood (Derren Nesbitt), whom the Sheriff extends an as gracious offer – to
spare Martin’s life if he will betray the whereabouts of Robin and his
entourage. In a moment of weakness, Martin reveals Robin’s plans and is
executed shortly thereafter. Having witnesses this heinous betrayal firsthand,
and knowing now Robin was quite right in not accepting the Sheriff’s pardon –
as he is clearly not the enemy of the people – Marian quietly realigns her allegiances.
Not long thereafter, the Archbishop comes upon the Sheriff and his men
attempting to whip an innocent man in a diabolical plot to claw back land
grants for the purposes of building another castle. The Archbishop orders the
Sheriff to release the tortured man. As his authority is law, the Sheriff
begrudgingly complies. But now he begins to formulate a more devious and
sinister plan with Edward, the Earl of Newark to rid themselves of the
Archbishop’s nobler influences. Not long thereafter, Robin makes his journey to
Friar Tuck’s modest cottage in the woods. He is intercepted by Edward and his
travelling contingent to include the rather pompous, Lord Melton (Oliver Reed).
Toting a falcon
on his arm, Melton demands that Robin attend him with a drink of water. Rather
insolently, Robin approaches with a pitcher, then deliberately spills its
contents into Melton’s boot. This infuriates Melton, but amuses Edward, who
inquiries whether Robin is as competent with his bow and arrow. As proof,
Edward orders Melton to release his falcon. He then commands Robin to shoot it
from the sky. If Robin misses, Edward will allow Melton his revenge. Alas, for
Melton, Robin knocks the bird out of the sky.
Impressed, Edward invites Robin to his castle for a series of exercises
to further prove his shot of the falcon was not merely a fluke. The tournament
clearly illustrates Robin’s archery prowess in full flourish – precisely the
man Edward is looking to join his forces. Regrettably, the Sheriff arrives.
Recognizing Robin, he attacks. Robin again escapes. Meanwhile, the Sheriff
hatches a diabolical plot, disguising his posse as Robin’s merry men, sent to
ambush the Archbishop and Marian as they travel across the countryside.
Learning of this plot, Robin and his men intercept Edward’s entourage and save
the day. The Archbishop and Marian take refuge inside a nearby convent. They
are taken in for the night by the Portress (Maureen Halligan) who, unbeknownst
to either, is in cahoots with Edward. Meanwhile, having tired of the Sheriff’s
repeatedly bungled attempts to carry out his dark purpose, Edward has him
executed by Lord Melton.
Robin arrives at
the convent but is unable to convince the Portress to allow him to speak with
the Archbishop. As the nuns gather in the chapel for prayers, Robin and his
men, disguised as monks, quietly form a ring of protection around the
Archbishop, who is still oblivious to the dangers that await him. Robin
whispers to the Archbishop to arm himself with a sword Robin has smuggled in
beneath his robes. At that moment, Edward, Melton and the rest of his men
invade the chapel. An all-out confrontation erupts as each side clashes in a
display of swordsmanship. Little John is
wounded, but survives. Edward is not so lucky. Moreover, his men are defeated; the Portress,
rushing to Edward’s side as he expires, thus revealing her part in this
treason. Not long thereafter, the Archbishop and Lady Marian accompany Robin
and his men back to Sherwood forest. Marian makes good on her claim to have the
late Martin of Eastwood’s properties rightfully restored to his widow and young
son. The Archbishop also issues Martin a full posthumous pardon. However, he is
unable to do as much for Robin as – technically – Robin remains an outlaw. The
Archbishop does promise to attend to the matter at his earliest convenience
when King Richard returns from his crusades. And thus, the Archbishop casually
suggests Friar Tuck confer his marital blessings on Robin and Marian, who are
so obviously in love. Thus, concludes our tale, with a reprise of the ballad
warbled by Alan A’Dale (Dennis Lotis) – previously heard over the main titles.
Sword of Sherwood Forest is not an
altogether prepossessing story. The adventure yarn falls flat, or rather, gets
repeatedly deflated by interludes of exposition that only muddle the story line.
The romantic entanglement between Robin and Marian is paper thin. The
performances are uniformly cordial with a faint whiff of embalming fluid
creeping in from the peripheries of the screen. Richard Greene’s Robin of
Locksley is a genial sort – but one who rarely smiles, except when exercising a
sort of smug superiority to outfox and counterbalance Peter Cushing’s beady-eyed
and perpetually scowling Sheriff of Nottingham. In point of fact, Greene’s hero
is never quite heroic enough, and Cushing’s villain is just a little too reserved
to be truly wicked or menacing. Ken Hodges’ cinematography makes the most of
the leafy green foliage of this fictional Sherwood setting, shot primarily at
Ardmore Studios in Bray, County Wicklow, in Ireland for the Hammer Film
Corporation. But John Stoll’s Art Direction leaves much to be desired,
capturing neither the earthiness or grandeur of feudal England. The costumes
are obvious hand-me-downs; Rachel Austin, awarded the title of ‘wardrobe mistress’ and John McCorry getting
the nod as ‘costume supervisor’. In
the end, Sword of Sherwood Forest
did respectable box office – most likely with the kiddie sect. Today, it is a
minor diversion at best, and a forgettable bit of B-grade fluff and nonsense at
its worst.
Twilight Time’s
association with Sony continues to trundle out the goodies from their deep catalog,
although I sincerely wish they would focus more on the great Columbia classics
still MIA in hi-def: including You Were
Never Lovelier, The Talk of the Town,
the original My Sister Eileen, The Three Stooges’ shorts (all of
them), Queen Bee…and on and on. Sword of Sherwood Forest arrives on
Blu-ray in a very pleasing 1080p transfer. One thing that must be said of
Grover Crisp’s supervision of the studio’s deep – and deeply flawed archival
materials; Sony’s home video division, under Crisp’s guidance is at the
forefront of film preservation. So, Sword
of Sherwood Forest looks fabulous; a very clean image with robust colors, a
light smattering of film grain indigenous to its source, and wonderfully
nuanced contrast. Fine details abound. There is certainly nothing to complain
about here. The 1.0 DTS mono audio is adequate for this presentation. TT gives us
an isolated score and SFX track, celebrating composer, Alun Hoddinott’s
contributions. Bottom line: a barely passable entertainment with a fabulous
looking transfer. Judge and buy accordingly.
FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)
2.5
VIDEO/AUDIO
4
EXTRAS
1
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