![]() ![]() ![]() The story may be scandalous, but it’s also unacceptable, and thus undermines its motives before even circling the main subtext, i.e., Flynn’s fancy for girls who are barely, if ever, legal. ![]() So it’s hard to get on board with co-writers and co-directors Richard Glatzer and Wash Westmoreland’s late period biopic of the long gone cinematic swashbuckler. Nowadays, someone like Flynn would be sitting in a jail cell somewhere, his penchant for young girls a guilt-producing given. You see, we are sitting in 2014, not 1950-something, and for the last 30 plus years, we’ve gone out of our way to put such slick, shifty predators behind bars. No matter the times or the temperament, no matter a mother who basically pimps her child out for a possibility at fame (and the accompanying fortune) or the studio system and media, which sheepishly look the other way, can a film like this work? The answer, once you’ve seen The Last of Robin Hood, is “No.” Can a serious movie be made about a May/December romance where one party is in his late ’40s and the other is only 15? Can the “he”, a former dashing matinee idol (Errol Flynn) who already escaped one accusation of statutory rape really be seen as sympathetic, or even socially acceptable, given his proclivities? Can the “she”, a teenager of suspect talents (Beverly Aadland) be anything other than a victim? ![]()
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