If you’re keeping tabs on current releases, you might know something about Paul Greengrass’ “The Uprising” (2026) without having seen a minute of it; I certainly did. For one, its release was positioned perfectly to preview during showings of “The Odyssey” and “Spider-Man: Brand New Day” (both 2026), meaning even those with no interest in Greengrass’ film might have caught glimpses of it anyway. For my part, the movie landed on my radar when a last-minute marketing strategy yielded disastrous results — but more on that later.
“The Uprising” concerns the Peasants’ Revolt of 1381, a significant shake-up in English history following the Black Death. To the film’s credit, it focuses on this event almost exclusively, though its choice of characters to follow is questionable. While some of the revolt’s main leaders — John Ball (Jamie Bell) and Wat Tyler (Cosmo Jarvis) — are supporting characters, the film is led by the “Ploughman.” The character, played by Andrew Garfield, is known exclusively by his occupational title — “I am what I do,” he says. Immediately, a question arises: if the historical event’s real instigators are featured in the movie, why is this nameless country farmer so central?
Despite this choice of protagonist, the perspectives of English commoners only make up half the film. “The Uprising” allows a peek into the inner workings of London’s royal council, led by Richard II. Woody Norman portrays the “boy king” in the early years of his reign, and despite many costume difficulties (a damaged prop crown and robes that weighed as much as he did), he paints a compelling picture of Richard’s turmoil. He and the Ploughman share a few scenes, and their interactions are enhanced by a number of thematic parallels; it’s one of the only interpersonal dynamics in the movie that carries any weight.
Some might argue this tedium is by design: it’s this grim and tiresome reality of everyday life in the Middle Ages that inspires our protagonists to take action against the wealthy nobles in London. That said, there are plenty of ways for a narrative to remain interesting and fresh without sinking into bleak and gloomy monotony. But to its advantage, the film commits hard to its dull atmosphere — it’s almost entirely devoid of humor, and it doesn’t shy away from showing the more gruesome parts of the revolt on screen, like sickles across throats, brutal decapitations, and severed heads on pikes.
It’s one of these atmospheric choices that was the most criticized: director Greengrass’ signature “shaky cam.” While I didn’t find it incredibly obstructive to the film’s quality, those more prone to nausea might disagree. What I found more strange were the frequent and out-of-place zooms (maybe a holdover from Greengrass’ documentary days, though it read more like “The Office” than National Geographic). This, along with a few other aspects, like the unconvincing sets for the streets of Medieval London, undermines the gritty, realistic tone “The Uprising” tries its best to emulate.
But even with all of these issues, it was the final twenty minutes that really lost me, which seems to be the trend this year. The film’s “one year later” epilogue features a brief glimpse into Richard’s reign after the Peasants’ Revolt. As his carriage rolls through Sherwood, a group of commoners ambush Richard, including the Ploughman, who is now clad in a green hooded cloak … wait, was he supposed to be Robin Hood this whole time?
The marketing did not make this twist clear at all — unless, of course, you caught the social media buzz in late August about the film apparently adding a subtitle: “The Rise of Robin Hood.” Bafflingly, the film’s UK distributor responded to the change with a statement: “‘The Uprising’ is a historical epic about the Peasants’ Revolt of 1381, not Robin Hood … Marketing materials posted by other countries that may appear in the UK online and on social media referencing Robin Hood are not issued or approved by us.” As alluded to earlier, this confusion caused much controversy. It’s not even the first Robin Hood movie this year — in the spring we saw Hugh Jackman in “The Death of Robin Hood” (2026). So before the week was up, the subtitle had been dropped, and all traces of Robin Hood erased from the advertising.
For a marketing strategy that ultimately backfired for the film’s popularity, I’m led to wonder: why?
If “The Uprising” was supposed to be a Robin Hood story all along, why would its UK distributor deny this claim so fervently? Furthermore, why would the narrative choose to center on the Peasant’s Revolt and not the traditional setting: the reigns of Richard I and John? Why would it choose not to allude to Robin Hood in the slightest until the very end? In fact, my friend — who saw the movie with me and had no idea about the controversy — couldn’t tell the Ploughman was meant to be Robin Hood, and I can’t blame her at all.
If “The Uprising” was never meant to be a Robin Hood story, and the subtitle debacle in August was nothing more than a marketing gimmick, why would it choose to focus on the “Ploughman” instead of any of the more compelling historical figures involved? Why would it choose to include a Robin Hood-inspired epilogue sequence in the first place? (At first I thought this was a later addition in shooting, but an interview with Woody Norman revealed that they filmed the epilogue first.) And, most interestingly, why was the film’s original title “The Hood”?
By all accounts, I do not think “The Uprising” is a bad movie, nor an altogether confusing one — for the most part — though I can understand how the quagmire surrounding its marketing might put some people off. Still, if you distance it from Robin Hood altogether, it’s a perfectly serviceable depiction of the unrest in Medieval England. (I personally find the unrest among the king’s court a more engaging story than the advertised narrative of the common folk — there are only so many times they can air out their grievances before it gets a bit repetitive.) At the end of the day, I think the compelling lead performances at its core are probably enough to make it worth your while.
