Alan Dwan | Robin Hood / 1922

another version of the truth

by Douglas Messerli

 

Douglas Fairbanks (as Elton Thomas) (story), Kenneth Davenport, Edward Knoblock, Alan Dwan, and Lotta Woods (uncredited screenplay), Alan Dwan (director) Robin Hood / 1922

 

Far different from the enjoyable 1938 spectacular, The Adventures of Robin Hood, starring Errol Flynn, Allan Dwan’s 1922 silent film begins on the eve of Richard’s departure for the Crusades, and establishes a close relationship with the Earl of Huntingdon, later known as Robin Hood, and Richard before King John’s evil attempt at usurping the crown. In the later film, the Earl of Locksley (Robin Hood) has already established his Sherwood Forest group before the film begins, but in the earlier version, a larger portion of the film is devoted to the Earl’s development, including his sexual education. Huntingdon (Douglas Fairbanks) reports that he is “afeared of women,” as they chase the handsome knight, particularly when he out-joust’s Guy of Gisbourne (Paul Dickey). To escape the flock of pleading women, all desperate to award him their scarves, Huntingdon dives into the castle moat.

     It’s quite clear from the very beginning of the Robin Hood myth as presented on film, that the outsider hero was not fully heterosexual, and that he quite preferred the company of his “merry” men than to be women, which is why I have included it in this volume.

     This leaks over into even the later, more robust and macho vision of him in the 1938 version. Although neither the 1922 or 1938 film version might be properly described as gay or LGBTQ+ oriented; after all, the traditional narration requires him to end the film as a happy heterosexual with Marian on his lap. But particularly the 1922 film is permeated by alternative gay possibilities, part of the almost comic later versions of men in the forest dressed in green tights. And it is perhaps only Richard’s command that Robin Hood find himself a woman, that perhaps changes his sexuality. Even in the time of Richard himself, it was rumored, become of his close relationship with King Phillip II of France, that the Lionheart himself was homosexual. Richard Howden, a commentator of the day, noted “Richard and King Philip II of France "ate every day at the same table and from the same dish, and at night their beds did not separate them." Many critics today, however, suggest it was all a misinterpretation of medieval customs. Although, the myth also made its way into Richard Goldman’s script of The Lion in Winter (1968), and Richard is said to have admitted in confession to the sin of sodomy for which he did severe penance.

     Richard (Wallace Beery), in this version is presented as a far more sensual being than is Ian Hunter’s more religious and monkish King in the 1938 version. We witness Richard’s hearty appetite at the very beginning as he launches into a mutton hock; and as the night’s celebrations progress he orders Huntingdon to find himself a woman, an unthinkable command in the later film. Again, Huntingdon is bashful, modestly rejecting the women’s attentions until he glimpses Gisbourne stalking Maid Marian Fitzwalter. Springing into action, Huntingdon blocks Gisbourne’s path to her bedroom chamber, and when lauded by Marian (Enid Bennett) for his deed, suddenly finds himself falling in love.

     So too is Marian a very different woman in the silent version from the damsel in constant distress in the Michael Curtiz and William Keighley swashbuckler. Here Marian is a stronger being: an artist, she draws Huntingdon’s portrait from a silhouette the sun creates against a wall; she is also an outspoken figure, who will later report John’s evil doings to Huntingdon, and even speak out in support of the people of England to John. For her outspokenness John does not simply threaten to imprison her or marry her to Gisbourne, but condemns her to death. With her servant, Marian escapes on horseback, John’s men running in hot pursuit. But when they reach a small cottage, Marian’s companion calls their attention to a cliff, from which, she claims, Marian has fallen to her death. The trick works, and for much of the rest of the film Marian is free, hiding in a nearby nunnery.

     Again, unlike the later film, in Dwan’s version Huntingdon joins Richard’s forces en route to the Crusades, and for a long while proves himself as one of the most capable of the King’s soldiers. But when he receives a message from Marian explaining that John has taken over and is brutally taxing and torturing the people, he comprehends that he must return to England, while keeping the facts from his King so that Richard can proceed in his “holy” task.

     Huntingdon begs for permission to return, but Richard perceives it to be a cowardly desire, based on Huntingdon’s love. As a traitor, he is locked up in prison, and as Richard moves on, it becomes likely that we will lose our hero before he can accomplish anything, since John has sent along Sir Guy, whose orders are to murder both Richard and Huntingdon. Gisbourne sees to it that Huntingdon is fed nothing and left to starve. Fortunately, our hero is saved by his companion, and can proceed to England, transforming himself into the Sherwood Forest bandit, Robin Hood.

     The 1938 film spent a great deal of time establishing the figures of Robin’s merry band of men, but here a multitude of men and women have already retreated into the forest before Robin’s return, and the relationship with him and the others is left vague. We see only a couple of their encounters with the Sherriff of Nottingham and with John. Dwan and his writer (Douglas Fairbanks himself) focus more intensely upon the two major figures, as Marian is discovered and forcibly returned to the castle for punishment, Robin rushing to her rescue.

    Although Robin is a forceful battler, he is not the great swordsman or acrobatic escape-artist that Errol Flynn plays, and for a few minutes it appears that both he and his lover may be trapped. To the rescue, finally, come the army of Robin’s men, including, hidden behind a helmet, the returned Richard himself. John’s evil kingdom has finally come to an end.

     I love the 1938 adventure film, but the silent version, in my thinking, is far more intelligent and believable. Despite the silent work’s early claim that it will depict a scene of “legend and chronicle,” its whole method of telling comes down more on the side of history (chronicle) instead of the legend. Certainly, the marvelous castle scenes are something whipped up by the Pickford-Fairbanks studio in Hollywood, but the first time we enter the fortress we observe the chain bridge as it opens, falling toward our heads. And with that we recognize instinctually that despite its fantastical beauty, within its vast halls lurks real danger. Indeed, upon witnessing the vastness of the castle, Fairbanks himself must have sensed something fearful, since he was on the verge of cancelling the production. Between that castle and the realistic 12th century village of Nottingham, much of the set designed by Lloyd Wright, lies another version of the truth.

     This movie, the first motion picture to have a Hollywood premier, held at Graumann’s Egyptian Theatre on October 18, 1922, was the apogee of Dwan’s notable career, which extended into the late 1950s.

 

Los Angeles, July 20, 2011

Reprinted from World Cinema Review and Reading Film: My International Cinema (Los Angeles: Green Integer, 2012).