Tuesday, June 30, 2009

TV That Makes Me Happy, Part 2

Some stories never get old. People do not tire of their different incarnations. (Usually...) They carry on through years and years; sometimes they are told traditionally, and sometimes the storytellers see fit to tweak the original details. These types of stories, I think, may be the only things that have shelf lives longer than the shelf lives of Twinkies.

One of these stories, and today's topical show: BBC's Robin Hood.


I watched this show, from its beginning, back in the day when I lived at home and I had access to cable. (Specifically, to BBC America.) Its reviews were glowing; although it contains echoes of the original story, this Robin Hood isn't (to use a cliche) your father's Robin Hood. He's not much like the Kevin Costner incarnation from Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, nor is he much like the Cary Elwes incarnation from Robin Hood: Men in Tights.

This Robin, originally a landed noble, has come back from the Crusades to an England much different than the one he remembers. And this Robin makes a choice to become an outlaw. While he could reclaim his title and lands, he also has a fine-tuned sense of justice and cannot stand to live in wealth while people around him suffer. Ergo, he becomes an outlaw and forms his "gang" of men.

His right-hand man, Much, fought with him in the Holy Land. And both of them have come back different men: the show recognizes the effects of PTSD anyone who has fought in a war may have suffered. And this Robin Hood, with his fine-tuned sense of justice, has come back wondering whether the Crusades themselves are justified: he wanted to understand his enemy, so he's read the Qur'an.

Maid Marian is delightfully anachronistic as a feminist character who has become independent; while her almost-betrothed fought abroad, she has been fighting (in secret, of course--she's not stupid) for the people at home. When he returns, she is far from ready to fall swooning into his arms and madly declare her love. (Instead, she tells him when he first starts fighting the sheriff, that he's being stupid. And she's right.)

But enough background. This is why I like this show. The Sheriff of Nottingham and Guy of Gisborne are just the sort of deliciously campy villains that you love to hate. (And, in the sheriff's instance, that you will often find yourself laughing at.) It plays out much like a traditional serial, with the exception of the anachronisms. (Which the show doesn't try to hide, something I find incredibly charming. The show isn't out to stay true to nitpicky details.)

The bad guys wear black. The good guys wear earth colors. The bad guys tend to use swords; the good guys rely first on bows and arrows, staffs, and axes. Nary an episode passes by without Robin delivering several cheeky one-liners and a few wonderfully bad puns. And Guy of Gisborne is delightfully complex: while he looks black and greasy (and I do mean black and greasy...the Sheriff frequently jokes that Guy should bathe himself and change his clothes periodically; Guy always sports greasy dark locks and a suit made entirely of black leather), he occasionally shows surprising spurts of humanity.

Very few episodes end in a surprising fashion, but I've found that the older I get, the far more I'm interested in how a show reaches its resolution. Not whether a show reaches resolution. And this show twists just enough in surprising ways that I can't help smiling.

And it's not just Robin, Marian, Much, Guy, and the Sheriff who are worthwhile characters. The other members of the gang: Little John (who wields a staff), Will (a handy carpenter who wields and ax), Djaq (a Saracen woman who joins them partway through the first season), and Allan (a cheeky thief who starts most of his sentences with the phrase "I'm not bein' funny, but...") each have their fair share of comedic moments (a personal favorite of mine is an exchange between Allan and the always-so-serious Will when Allan asks Will if he--Will--is thinking what Allan is thinking and Will doesn't hesitate at all before saying, "No. I don't think like you.") and of dramatic moments (a woman in camp, especially one as enterprising as Djaq, leads to problematic love triangles).

I readily acknowledge it's campy. But it's campy in the best way possible. Trust me. You'll see.

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