“Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?” This is one of the culminating lines from Lin-Manuel Miranda’s smash hit 2015 musical “Hamilton,” but it’s also the animating force behind Michael Sarnoski’s “The Death of Robin Hood,” starring Hugh Jackman in the title role. This legendary figure of English folklore has a specific meaning attached to his name, which is synonymous with the altruistic impulse to redistribute wealth. But in his take on the tale, focusing on the end of his life, Sarnoski suggests that perhaps Robin Hood wasn’t such a good guy, even if he was robbing from the rich to give to the poor. It all depends on who’s telling the story, right?

Sarnoski burst onto the scene in 2021 with his debut feature “Pig,” in which he outfitted Nicolas Cage with a long gray wig and sent him on a dangerous quest (to find his beloved, valuable pet). He does something similar in “The Death of Robin Hood,” outfitting Jackman in a long gray wig and sending him on a quest (to achieve some kind of salvation).

But first, Sarnoski has to establish that this Robin Hood isn’t the one we remember from the movies — he’s not the dashing cartoon Disney fox, or Errol Flynn, or Kevin Costner, or Cary Elwes, or Russell Crowe, or even Taron Egerton. No, this Robin Hood is much worse, sleeping in matted filth on the moors, reduced to a feral life of constant vigilance against murderous revenge-seekers for the years of evil deeds he’s carried out with his compatriot, Little John (Bill Skarsgård).

Now called Edward, Little John has achieved some measure of domesticity, but still, he and Robin go a-murdering once again, resulting in a yet another vengeful attack from a relative of their victims. A wounded Robin ends up in an idyllic priory on a coastal island, tended to by a healer, Brigid (Jodie Comer), learning the ropes from the local leper (Murray Bartlett). In this oasis, Robin’s identity is unknown, and he finds the space to embrace a gentler side of himself, particularly with Little John/Edward’s daughter, Little Margaret (Faith Delaney).

Set on the misty outlying islands of the North Atlantic, with its blend of bloody, brutal violence, primitive spirituality and meditative tone, “The Death of Robin Hood” is situated in the realm of films like David Lowery’s “The Green Knight” and Robert Eggers’ “The Northman.” Cinematographer Pat Scola pulls some arresting images out of the fire and fog, and the score of largely traditional Celtic music by Jim Ghedi is easily one of the best of the year. The film is a fine showcase for a different kind of performance from Jackman, and Comer is always a compelling screen presence.

But “The Death of Robin Hood” isn’t as hallucinatory or weird as it could — or should — be. Sarnoski gestures at bleakness but feints from full existential crisis; he tries and fails to be witchy. Despite all the mud and blood, nothing about this film is particularly earthy or embodied. It ends up as this profoundly dull and utterly pointless commentary on the concept of narrative and mythology. “What if Robin Hood was a bad guy?” OK, what of it? The best concept that Sarnoski presents here is the hell of living in an endless cycle of vengeance, but he allows his anti-hero to escape that all too cleanly and conveniently. This Robin Hood is just an old, tired man who ultimately finds some peace at the end of his life, even if it’s unearned.

As an audience, we’re left wondering what all of this is for, and who it’s for. Why trouble the Robin Hood myth at all, and why now? One can’t help but cynically wonder if the inspiration for this project was merely the convenience of recognizable intellectual property and available financing from Screen Ireland. This theory might be creatively pessimistic, but it is a nagging question, especially when the ones posed by the film are already so stale and tired. Expect no revelations from “The Death of Robin Hood” except the one that’s announced in the title.

‘The Death of Robin Hood’

2 stars (out of 4)

MPA rating: R (for strong bloody violence)

Running time: 2:03

How to watch: In theaters June 19

Lots of disturbing movies take place at summer camps. “Friday the 13th,” “Sleepaway Camp,” “Care Bears Movie II: A New Generation,” the list goes on, and it just keeps going because shoving dozens of kids into an emotional pressure cooker at the edge of civilization with minimal supervision and no escape is usually a bad idea. And that’s before you give them all bows and arrows.

Avalon Fast’s sophomore feature isn’t a typical summer camp horror movie. It’s a trippy, melancholic tragedy about healing psychic wounds, and finding out they’re already infected. Try to imagine an angsty, indie teen drama that’s parasitically burrowing its way into a Florence + The Machine music video. Now imagine it’s in theaters now and it’s called “Camp.”

“Truth or Dare” is a crappy game, even on “Love Island,” but it’s even crappier at the start of “Camp.” The halfhearted young friends of Emily (Zola Grimmer) can barely muster enough gusto to come up with a dare, and when they give up, their fallback “truth” is just asking her for her biggest regret. It may have been a haircut. It may have been the time she ran over a four-year-old with her car. Either way it’s a lousy icebreaker.

As if her night couldn’t get any worse, Emily’s best friend overdoses in her car, sending her spiraling into grief and misery. Months go by and her father arranges to get her a camp counseling gig, looking after other troubled youths at a place called only “Camp.” (I’d say the least plausible part of Fast’s film is that the domain name “camp.net” wasn’t already taken, but shut my mouth, because it really isn’t.)

The kids are non-entities, a vague distraction from her worries, but her fellow counselors are badasses. They smoke. They drink. They say things like, “I feel like doing drugs” and look, you gotta give ‘em credit, when they say they’re going to do something they do it. I can’t even take the recycling downstairs most of the time and here these girls are, saying they feel like doing drugs and then doing the damn drugs, making me feel like a lazy jerk.

There’s just one problem. Or maybe there isn’t. Emily’s new cohort, led by the alluring and oddly motherly Clara (Alice Wordsworth), begins each summer with a ritual to make their wishes come true. Nev (Lea Rose Sebastianis) wishes to have sex with their boss, Dan (Austyn Van De Camp), “really, really hard” and wouldn’t you know it, her wish was essentially a command.

Avalon Fast knows that’s wrong, but she knows her characters don’t care very much. Dan starts trudging across the camp grounds, confused and disturbed. He was saving himself for marriage, the poor guy, and looks like he’s on the verge of something terrible. But sacrificing Dan’s virginity gave Emily and her friends a taste of power, and it manifests in sparkly animated hand flourishes, which do nothing, it seems, except look cool. But it’s their power and they’re taking it, and they’ll take a lot more.

The problem with describing the plot of Fast’s “Camp” is that it places way, way too much emphasis on the plot. This movie doesn’t run from scene to scene, it gradually sinks into emotional rot. Emily thinks she’s getting better, finding friends and — in her own way — finding her spirituality. It’s just a selfish, detached spirituality and sees no value in anyone else’s feelings. Or anything else about them. What looks like a film about finding your way back from the darkness is, instead, a labyrinth that Emily probably can’t solve. She may not even want to.

“Camp” is a dreary, disturbing day dream of a movie, the kind you have when you’re all in your feels and close to getting heatstroke. It’s not about getting better, it’s about getting worse, and how that sometimes feels like getting better. You may not have worked through your baggage, you may not have processed your trauma, but at least everything looks simple. You can just while away your days with excess, abandoning all empathy, even for yourself.

It’s a sad film, “Camp,” and it’s a little tricky. Fast is working with familiar horror movie clichés, and falling into the old routine where witchcraft is initially empowering, then horrifying, and that probably doesn’t do real-life witches many favors. Then again, neither do a lot of the classic witch films — especially “The Craft,” the goth 1990s elephant in the room — and most of them aren’t as emotionally salient as Fast’s interpretation, although they’re typically more “fun.”

“Camp” isn’t a fun movie. That’s not a criticism, it’s just the way it is. Avalon Fast’s gloomy, lo-fi aesthetic occasionally segues into ornate, gorgeous imagery, proving the filmmaker — and cinematographer Eily Sprungman — are in total creative control. Fast wants us to feel Emily’s despair and the futile moral ambiguity of her distractions. It’s a cautionary tale, perhaps, about not hanging out with the wrong crowd, or taking solace in mind-altering experiences, but more than anything it’s a sympathetic mirror, and it’s pointed at anyone who ever got lost.