Everything it does, it does it for you.

1991 saw a clash of outlaws, with not one but two Robin Hood films galloping into cinemas within months of each other. It was one of Hollywood’s all-too-frequent double-ups, joining the ranks of Deep Impact vs Armageddon or Volcano vs Dante’s Peak and, more recently, Oppenheimer vs, er, Barbie. On one side stood the more serious, grittier Robin Hood starring Patrick Bergin and Uma Thurman. On the other: Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, Kevin Reynolds’ swashbuckling, star-studded epic. Hardly a fair fight to begin with, what with Bergin’s Robin Hood originally envisioned as a TV movie that belatedly got upgraded to a theatrical release, Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves not only trounced its rival at the box office, it carved itself into pop culture legend.

Kevin Reynolds’ version didn’t just resurrect the medieval outlaw on screen–it catapulted him into a grungier, more morally ambiguous era. Released in 1991, the film is a product of its time in the best (and, occasionally, most absurd) ways possible. But beyond the mullets, slow-motion horseback riding, and Alan Rickman’s scenery-devouring Sheriff of Nottingham, Prince of Thieves manages to tap into the heart of what makes the Robin Hood legend endure: rebellion, romance, and, of course, sticking it to the man.

It’s difficult to overstate how much of a cultural touchstone this film was at the time. The omnipresent Bryan Adams’ ballad “(Everything I Do) I Do It for You” not only dominated the airwaves but solidified the romantic soul of the film in the popular imagination. The soundtrack itself, by Michael Kamen, is a sweeping, soaring orchestral masterpiece that feels like the heroic theme of a movie far grander than its occasionally kitschier moments might deserve. But for all the film’s occasionally jarring tonal shifts, it works in a way few other adaptations have, largely due to its heart and sheer entertainment value. Robin Hood: Prince Of Thieves is almost more pantomime than movie, and I mean that as a sincere compliment.

Costner’s Robin Hood may lack the aristocratic air some expect, but that’s precisely the point. His down-to-earth, occasionally bewildered performance fits a version of the character who isn’t born to lead but rises because he must. The film humbles Robin early on, stripping him of privilege and recasting him as a scrappy rebel – a man fighting not for legacy, but for justice. Accent quibbles aside, Costner throws himself into the role with enough conviction to carry the film’s blend of sincerity and swashbuckling spectacle.

Still, it’s impossible to talk about Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves without mentioning the force of nature that is Alan Rickman’s Sheriff of Nottingham. Rickman’s performance is a masterclass in over-the-top villainy–gleefully wicked, irreverent, and never afraid to dial up the melodrama while not just chewing the scenery but devouring props whole. There’s an understanding between Rickman and the audience: we all know the Sheriff is terrible, but he’s so much fun to watch that you almost root for him – almost. Whether he’s cancelling Christmas or threatening to carve out someone’s heart with a spoon, Rickman injects the movie with a palpable sense of chaotic energy, which often lifts it above its slower or more self-serious moments.

The supporting ensemble cast, too, adds a certain richness to the proceedings. Morgan Freeman’s Azeem brings gravitas and a cool, outsider’s wisdom, while Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio’s Marian isn’t simply a damsel-in-distress but a woman capable of defending herself and standing up to tyranny. Even Christian Slater’s half-brooding, half-hammy Will Scarlet has his moments, channelling that early-’90s teen heartthrob energy with just enough Gen-X swagger to make his angst feel era-authentic, particularly when the film leans into its familial tensions, giving Robin’s band of Merry Men a more personal dynamic.

Yet, Prince of Thieves isn’t just a showcase for standout performances–it’s also an ambitious, sweeping epic that makes the most of its medieval setting. The lush, misty forests, the iconic Sycamore Gap – a real-world landmark that until recently was etched into the Northumberland landscape and British cinematic memory alike – the imposing castles, and the clashing of swords in the film’s numerous action sequences all contribute to its grandiose sense of adventure. Reynolds and his team crafted a gritty, lived-in world where the grime under the heroes’ fingernails is as much a part of the scenery as the towering oak trees. While other adaptations have opted for a more polished or whimsical depiction of Sherwood Forest, Prince of Thieves leans into the dirt, the blood, and the hardship of Robin’s rebellion. It’s a rougher, darker Robin Hood, which in many ways reflects the sensibilities of early ‘90s blockbuster filmmaking, albeit with just a soupçon of Return of the Jedi‘s Ewok Village aesthetic.

There’s an undeniable campiness to some of the film’s choices–particularly in the stunts and Costner’s at times bewildered expressions–but that’s part of the charm. It may not be as tight or as polished as later Robin Hood iterations, but it doesn’t shy away from being an earnest, larger-than-life adventure. The stakes feel real, the risks are tangible, and even with its occasional pacing issues or narrative hiccups, the movie’s relentless energy carries it forward.

A key part of the film’s lasting appeal is how it struck a balance between dark, grittier material and broad, crowd-pleasing spectacle. For every menacing Rickman moment or gritty forest ambush, there’s a gallant rescue or rousing speech about freedom and justice. There’s a palpable sense that the filmmakers wanted to capture the swashbuckling adventure of earlier Robin Hood adaptations while also grounding it in something more visceral. That mix of tones gives the film a flavour all its own, standing out against the countless Robin Hood adaptations that have come and gone since.

As with any Robin Hood story, the film is ultimately about right and wrong–standing up against oppression and protecting the downtrodden. Prince of Thieves might not always hit the mark in terms of historical accuracy or tonal consistency, but it doesn’t matter. What makes it work is the sheer earnestness of its execution. You believe in Robin’s cause because the film believes in it. You want to see the Sheriff brought down because Rickman makes him such a magnificent monster.

And just when you think the film has played all its cards, it delivers one final treat. In a surprise cameo at Robin and Marian’s wedding, none other than Sean Connery appears as King Richard himself. Connery’s royal charm and knowing grin is the cherry on top, lending a cheeky gravitas to the final moments, as well as giving Costner’s accent a pass given King Richard’s decidedly incongruous Celtic brogue. It’s a fittingly fun and regal conclusion to a film that never shies away from embracing both its epic ambitions and its blockbuster thrills.