When Hollywood announces new film adaptations of classic or well-loved works of literature, alarm bells instantly begin ringing for many conservatives — or even just normal people, honestly. What woke perversions will this rendering of my favorite book portend? How will money-hungry film studios subvert the timeless messages or meanings of this or that foundational text of Western literature? What blatant revisions of historical fact will feature in the latest Hollywood retelling of some historical hero’s life?

There are many recent examples of this trend, but one that stands out is the recent film “The Death of Robin Hood.” Starring Hugh Jackman, the film recasts the legendary outlaw as a murderous villain, trying to survive both old age and the manifold attempts at revenge carried out by the sons or even daughters of the innocent folk he has slain. The film’s tagline literally reads, “He was no hero.” The film is a grim pastiche painted in varying shades of black, blue, and grey, with blood and fire often representing the only splashes of color throughout the film’s more-than-two-hour runtime.

Tales of Robin Hood first appeared in the early 15th century, although perhaps even earlier, as earlier documents reference such tales. In early folklore, Robin Hood was most definitely a hero. Sometimes portrayed as an unjustly persecuted nobleman but more frequently a member of the English yeomanry, Robin Hood followed a doctrine of “rob from the rich to feed the poor,” a policy which was presented as a form of Christian virtue in contrast against the tyrannical rule of King John of England, whose appetite for wealth and inhumanly high taxes prompted even the landed gentry to revolt against him, siding with the Catholic Church and pressuring John to sign the Magna Carta, guaranteeing the protection of rights for peasants, barons, and the Church.

Robin Hood was generally cast as an ally of King Richard the Lionheart, who his brother John allowed to languish in Turkish prisons during the Crusades, while the latter effectively usurped the throne. In later tales of Robin Hood, from the 16th century onwards, he is often depicted as a fellow crusader who served under Richard before returning home to find John and his henchmen, like the cunning Sheriff of Nottingham, abusing the people of England in Richard’s absence, even imprisoning peasants who cannot afford to pay the erstwhile king’s ridiculously high taxes.

Far from being a grim, grey, murderous outlaw, Robin Hood was known for wearing a lively shade of Lincoln Green and accosting corrupt nobles and agents of King John with his band of “merry men.” Even in the earliest legends, Robin Hood was a devout Christian with a particular affinity for Mary, Christ’s mother, and a dedication to defending the honor of women, especially maidens.

While Hollywood filmmakers may love their craft, their constant subversion of classic texts, age-old tales, and historical episodes — whether reframing legendary heroes as bloodthirsty villains or casting ethnic minorities as real-life historical figures who were demonstrably not ethnic minorities — evinces a simmering hatred of Western culture and all that it produces. As a result, many of these subversive, revisionist films are just… bad. The late comedian Norm Macdonald, speaking of bad impressions of President Donald Trump, iterated that in order to do an impression (or an adaptation) well, the impresario (or adapter) has to like the person or work being impersonated (or adapted). “The problem with, if you do an impression of someone, you have to, uh, like that person, you know, because you’re playing the person and people like themselves,” Macdonald observed. “So, uh, you can’t play someone and have contempt for them at the same time. You know, it doesn’t work as an impression.”

Just so, those who have contempt for Western culture and Western literary classics cannot properly adapt Western history and Western literature for the screen; their contempt seeps through. Ridley Scott’s “Napoleon” film portrayed the French leader as little more than a selfish, delusional dictator who happened to also be a military genius. In point of fact, Napoleon Bonaparte was widely lauded as a hero during his reign. In the wake of the slaughter, chaos, and confusion of the anti-Christian French Revolution, Napoleon rose as a force of order, restoring sanity, vision, and ambition to the governance of France. Yet Scott, in his contempt, depicted a dysgenic, dysfunctional little man crippled by psychological flaws, not a man whose name is still associated with power, grandeur, and triumph centuries after his death.

How refreshing, then, to have the beloved “The Lord of the Rings” series entrusted to the care of someone who genuinely loves the source material. Filmmaker and actor Andy Serkis, who famously portrayed Gollum in director Peter Jackson’s “The Lord of the Rings” films more than 20 years ago, will be returning author J.R.R. Tolkien’s Middle-Earth to the big screen with the pseudo-prequel film “The Hunt for Gollum,” largely understood to be centered on Aragorn’s and Gandalf’s quest to find Gollum shortly before Frodo Baggins sets off on his journey to Rivendell and, eventually, Mordor.

Serkis is more than just an adept filmmaker. Widely regarded as the master of motion-capture acting, the British actor is also a great lover of Tolkien’s work. In addition to playing Gollum in both the celebrated “The Lord of the Rings” trilogy and Jackson’s later and lesser multi-film expansion on “The Hobbit,” Serkis has personally narrated the unabridged audiobook versions of “The Hobbit,” all three volumes of “The Lord of the Rings,” and “The Silmarillion.” His passion for Tolkien’s work is clear in his own work.

Recently, Serkis responded to backlash from the subversive, revisionist woke crowd for featuring an all-white cast in “The Hunt for Gollum.” Instead of caving to astroturfed public pressure and cries of “racist,” Serkis defended his decision, pointing to his understanding of and love for Tolkien’s world. “Tolkien himself was influenced a lot by Norse mythology, there’s a lot of that feeling,” Serkis told BBC regarding his casting decisions. “The Shire feels very, very much like a very, a very white, you know…” BBC wrote that Serkis trailed off for a moment before “continuing, with greater certainty: ‘They’re not very concerned about what goes on beyond the borders of The Shire, but they know they don’t want people coming in.’”

Serkis acknowledged that “there have been criticisms” of the casting in both “The Lord of the Rings” films and in his “The Hunt for Gollum.” He explained, “This particular film is somewhat acknowledging that. But I don’t think we will be doing a politically correct just-casting-for-the sake-of-casting-and-ticking-boxes version of the film. So, it’s where relevant basically.”

In his letters, Tolkien described Middle-earth as more than just some mythical or fairy tale land of make-believe. The mythology of Middle-earth is intricate and detailed, rooted in Christian understanding of the creation story. The author and Oxford professor explained in letters to family members and editors that he sought to create a uniquely English mythology; he noted that legends like those of King Arthur are shared with the French via the Norman Conquest, but that Middle-earth is a blend of the Anglo-Saxon world of the early medieval ages and the culture and mythos of the Nordic peoples, many of whom assimilated to Anglo-Saxon culture, including Christianity, under King Alfred the Great of Wessex and his successor, King Aethelstan of England. In a 1951 letter to American biographer and historian Milton Waldman, Tolkien expressed his desire to create a body of mythology, through Middle-earth, which he could “dedicate simply to: to England; to my country.”

In “The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring,” the reclusive Elves of Lothlórien provide the members of the Fellowship with cloaks, brooches, and gifts of astounding beauty and craftsmanship. One of the Elves, while dressing the hobbits in their near-enchanted cloaks, says, “Leaf and branch, water and stone: they have the hue and beauty of all these things under the twilight of Lórien that we love; for we put the thought of all that we love into all that we make.”

If the contempt and loathing that many Hollywood folk harbor in their hearts for Western culture, Western literature, and the Christianity upon which the West is founded seeps through in their subversive, revisionist, woke work, then it may be hoped that the love which those like Serkis have for the works of literary giants like Tolkien may also shine forth, that they may “put the thought of all that [they] love into all that [they] make.”

Would that more filmmakers, men of vision and clarity and skill, bore in their hearts a love for the Western world. Then movie theaters might once again be places where crowds could gather to watch their heroes on the screen: men like King Alfred the Great (actually portrayed fairly and respectfully in — of all things — the Netflix series “The Last Kingdom”), King Arthur, Charlemagne, Roland, Robin Hood, Richard the Lionheart, King St. Louis IX, Jean de Valette, George Washington (who did just get an excellent treatment in “Young Washington,” featuring Serkis in a supporting role), Thomas Jefferson, Daniel Boone, Jacques Cathelineau, Horatio Nelson, Davy Crockett, Andrew Jackson, and so many other men who made the West great.

One may hope and pray that the next generation of filmmakers will, like Serkis, love the stories that they tell and will “put the thought of all that [they] love into all that [they] make.”