Robin of Sherwood: Approximately Two Dimensions: Chapter 4 Part 2 of

THE BIG PICTURE: A POST-JUNGIAN MAP OF GLOBAL CINEMA

by James Whitlark, Ph.D.

The Robin of Sherwood Series: Approximately Two Dimensions

“Belleme’s possessed,” said Hugo, pouring himself a goblet of wine.
“He’s insane.”

—Richard Carpenter, Robin of Sherwood




A more-complex category is the stereoscopic, being able to see the world from two perspectives. In the Grimms’ “Hänsel and Gretel,” for instance, the Witch manages behavior described as “friendly” (freundlich) and “wicked” (böse, 105). In addition to her straight line at the level of evil, she can imagine virtue accurately enough to simulate another one at that level. Ironically, she does much good, saving the children from starvation and leaving her fortune to them, albeit unintentionally. Since the story’s narrator is at stage 4, even the stage five of the children and their father is presented as suspect, and the still-more-complex witch as an abomination. (People tend to classify stages they have not yet reached as weak, sinful, insane, or stupid.) In the twentieth century, however, stage-six writers (whose empathy have a stereoscopic structure) have begun rewriting fairy tales, changing the villains with their own fractal dimension into protagonists (e.g., Gregory Maguire’s Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister).

Kurt Vonnegut, one of the most prominent champions of stage six, has revealed that all his novels are disguised fairy tales (Whitlark . Not only does his using this disguise involve a stereoscopic structure, but he builds the plots with that dimension to expose traditional ethical judgment as simplistic. His Mother Night (filmed in 1996), for instance, has a heroic American spy tried for treason because, despite shortening World War II through his espionage, the Nazi role he assumed publicly did at least as much harm as any good he accomplished secretly. To take moral responsibility for the evil he never intended, he kills himself—an immoral act.

The Robin of Sherwood series constitutes and apotheosis of the stereoscopic. Made for British television and video release during the mid 1980s, it not only has disguised characters but some inspired or possessed by a greater variety of gods or devils than any single movie could contain. In Robin and the Sorcerer (1983), which begins the series, Azael, prince of devils, possesses Little John (so he cannot be held accountable for his actions in that state). Once a pentacle is washed away from the man’s chest, he returns to normal consciousness. On the side of virtue, the Horned God (Herne the Hunter) enters his channeler, who between trances acts as the local blacksmith. Guided by this pagan priest, Robin, depicted as a Savior (“Herne’s Son”), also has Herne-inspired visions (while a novelization talks of his having had them all his life).

Hardly a later episode, most about an hour each, lacks some shamanic trance by the Herne priest or Robin. These devotees, however, are not the only ones affected. When the Sheriff impiously touches the Sephir Yesirah (a text of Jewish mysticism), he goes mad, with a waking nightmare of serpents and decay. Under the power of Herne, Guy of Gisborne (the Sheriff’s lieutenant) runs crazed through the forest. In the second hundred-minute episode (The Swords of Wayland, 1986), Morgan, priestess of Lucifer, bewitches all the Merry Men. In the third movie (Herne’s Son, 1986), a hideous Welsh priest places a love spell on Maid Marian. Furthermore, being “Herne’s Son” does not protect Robin from seizures by other gods as when a priestess of Azael transforms him to her love slave. Temporarily serving the Irish god Crom Cruac, the aforementioned Welsh priest also entrances Robin. Even a pig herder named Mab, who first seems merely insane, turns out to be a daemon–possessed witch, able to kill at a distance and unlock her cell at a mere command through the power of the old religion. Unlike The Devi, where Kali is an absence, these deities are very much present, vastly complicating the lives of those they possess.

Ecumenical Olde England?

These supernatural interventions into Medieval Britain accord equal belief to various mutually exclusive world views—most obviously Christianity and various other faiths. Admittedly, some churchmen of the Middle Ages were as lax as the program’s Abbot Hugo who says he doesn’t care what the people worship so long as they come to mass. More enthusiastic Medieval Christians, however, treated such pre-Christian figures as Herne the Hunter as either nonexistent or demonic. Herne, though, is the program’s hero, the only persevering power for good. The Sheriff murders the original Robin (Michael Praed), yet the series continues because Herne immediately possesses a new Robin (Jason Connery). Herne works miracles, including instant healings of Robin and Marian, the latter almost dead.

Many episodes denounce the Christian establishment, but the god Crom Cruac, an enemy of Robin, is defeated with Christian holy water. Friar Tuck and Robin coexist ecumenically. Robin will bless in the name of Herne and Tuck answer “Amen.” The Herne priest marries Robin and Marian; Tuck joins Alan à Dale with the Lady Meredith. If asked, Tuck will fulfill other Christian offices, such as confession, the secrecy of which he devoutly keeps, despite Robin’s trying to pry.

What is the relationship of Christ and Herne? In one episode (“The Inheritance”), Herne alludes to a greater power than he. Some further allusions to this being sound as if the entity were Christ. The power greater than Herne turns out to be King Arthur, apotheosed in Avalon. So there is no clear-cut relationship mapped out between any of the gods, except perhaps Herne and King Arthur—who is not usually considered a god at all.

Mummery

During the fifteenth century, Robin became an important figure in British May Day celebrations, which included vestigial pagan customs (Holt 1989, 159). (Part of that celebration appears in the series, including a mummer’s play about a resurrection.) Based on the May Day celebration and a few other clues, in her influential books on witchery, Margaret Murray argues that the Merry Men were a pagan cult serving the Goddess and Herne the Horned God. This may seem an odd addendum to Robin’s legends, but probably everything famous about him was. While the earliest ballads place him under “Edward our comely king,” his flourishing at the time of King Richard comes from an unproved guess in John Major’s sixteenth-century History of Greater Britain (Holt 1989, 40-41). If Robin lived at all, it was more likely to have been in the late thirteenth or early fourteenth century than King Richard’s twelfth. The historian John Bellamy, for instance, dates Robin to 1323 when Edward II was king (Bellamy 114). Even robbing from the rich to give to the poor does not occur in the original ballads. Maid Marian joined the legend during the Renaissance. Stripped to historical probability, Robin Hood would be dull indeed.

What today necessitates yet another reinterpretation is that audiences have more global concerns than previously. Take, for instance, the silver arrow won by Robin at a fair. When that was introduced into the legend, listeners understood why a man would risk his life for a bit of silver. Again, when Errol Flynn Robin Hood hoped for a kiss along with the arrow, fans could imagine him acting for love. In the present age of planetary news, however, no object or passion seems worth a human life unless it is vastly important; thus, the arrow becomes magic. If Belleme captures it, he will rule the world. In one episode, he uses it to resurrect himself from the dead and become the incarnation of destruction, “Azael’s son.”

That devil’s enemy, Herne, is a fertility god of woods, of hunting, and, in a certain sense, of the seasons. At the right time, he must bless the crops, or the next year will be fruitless. None may kill on his holy day. Robin risks his life to preserve that peace. Thereby appeased, Herne maintains temporal continuity.

The Patterns of Time

In describing the original ballads, Roberta Kevelson thus outlines the struggle between sacred and profane modes of continuity :


Play (sacred law) Practice (profane law)
Flux (maya) State (Institution)
Law By Chance Law By Precedent
Common Law King’s Law

(Kevelson 66).



To her, Robin stands for the chaotic left column, the Sheriff for the orderly right. The country was coming more and more under the strictures of written, systematic law taking the place of the trials by chance (i.e., by God or gods) of an older worldview). What Kevelson finds intimated in the ballads manifests clearly in the Robin of Sherwood series. It contrasts stage-four legalism with chaotic, supernatural interventions into the world where opposites converge.

A straight-line (i.e., consistent) villain, The Sheriff embodies linear order, the new literate rationality. He is seen more often at a writing desk than on horseback. A reader of old manuscripts, he calls religion his “hobby-horse”; it fascinates him because rules are his business; he must know them to break as many as possible.

In contrast, the televised Robin is characterized by contact with magic. Although he no longer attends Christian mass, he ministers his own rites, both seasonal and daily. Sometimes with the congregation repeating “Blessed be,” he consecrates Herne’s cup. Even King Richard drinks from it. Also serving for prophecy, the cup is a fixture, its blessing and passing in communion a regular ritual that cannot be defined as good or evil.

More spectacular is his tie with myth, Albion, one of seven swords made by Wayland. That legendary Norse smith (mentioned in Beowulf) was probably a Teutonic god. Holding Albion gives Marian a prophetic vision. Gisborne tries to use it to kill Robin, but knowing the latter to be its master, the sword possesses Gisborne, leaving him on the floor twitching hysterically. Satanists, nonetheless, use Albion and Wayland’s other blades to summon Lucifer. Herne, though, reassures Robin that they are not inherently one or the other.

The series’ religious images tend to be two-faced. Consider, for instance, “we have signed a treaty with death and with hell we have a pact.” Since this line comes from Isaiah 28:15, one might expect it on the lips of the devout, denouncing the inherent sinfulness of mankind. Instead, it forms the wording of a covenant with Lucifer—recited by nuns. Frequently, villains pray or quote scripture directly before revealing their malice, such as Abbot Hugo saying to a band of soldiers: “May God’s peace go with you. Don’t take any prisoners.”

All the major images are used in more than one way: the arrow for Herne’s white magic and for Azael’s black or Albion for good and evil. In one episode, even Herne’s cup is desecrated with a drug. Sometimes a figure with a stag’s head is the costumed blacksmith; other times, evidenced by disappearing miraculously, he is presumably the god himself. Usually the wicked are at least nominally on the side of Christianity. Feuding with a virtuous abbot, the Sheriff, however, has Gisborne steal a Christian relic, the cross of St. Ciricus.

Images of possession act as leitmotifs, unifying the series while their changing meaning fragments it. Aside from this, with directors coming and going, continuity depended largely on Richard Carpenter, who wrote most (not all) episodes. Yet there was the usual collaboration, even with the actors, whose survival in the series sometimes depended on twisting the course of the action, thereby contributing to the heterogeneity. Mark Ryan, who played the Moslem assassin Nasir, for instance, was originally hired only for the opening movie, but induced the producer to continue him by building up his character through researches into the Shiite sect of Islam that gave rise to the Hahishins (Airey 31).

When Kevin Costner et al made the much advertised Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves (1991) the title character had a Saracen ally, something unknown before the televised Robin of Sherwood. Furthermore, Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves includes other borrowings from the series, notably a coven of Satanists and a bastard brother of Robin. Although the imagery of the series is heterogeneous, it has entered the legend by its sheer magnitude of creative revision, its chaotic vividness. In addition to a webring of sites, several role-playing games, and various e-mail groups, the series has inspired so many fan magazines that the best each year compete for gold, silver, and bronze awards at the annual convention called “A Weekend at Sherwood.”

Continue to THE BIG PICTURE Chapter 4 Part 6




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