When I think of Robin Hood, the mischievous outlaw of Nottingham, I usually think of Errol Flynn. He was a jolly, swashbuckling sort, taking from the rich with a smile and a swagger, giving to the poor with a wink and a nod. He was the Dark Ages’ original antihero, playing to a crowd still reeling from the Great Depression. (Funny, how Robin Hood usually shows up during economic doldrums.)

What I didn’t know—and didn’t realize until channel-surfing last weekend, coming upon Ridley Scott’s TV documentary “The Real Robin Hood”—was the true story (admittedly a compilation of numerous tales of Middle Age derring-do) behind the myth that Flynn so admirably brought to life back in 1938.

I only wish I’d seen “The Real Robin Hood” before I saw Scott’s theatrical version. Because Scott’s revisionist—yet apparently far more accurate—tale would likely have scored a more heartfelt resonance.

It isn’t that Scott’s made a bad

“Robin Hood,” just that this new lad is far less jovial or swashbuckly, and few things are as I remember from Errol’s day. Sure, this modern adventure has its share of noble gallantry, of clashing swords, of double-crossing aristocrats, just . . . well, is it really “Robin Hood”?

Nay, I say. I think not. But it is a decent, 140-minute prequel.

I’ll admit that Russell Crowe makes a fine Robin Longstride (aka Robert of Loxley) and that Cate Blanchett makes a somber yet fetching Marion. But the Sheriff of Nottingham is merely glanced upon in passing, as are Robin’s merry men and the meadmaking Friar Tuck—apparently all held at arm’s length until Robin’s sequel, which I suspect (box office receipts permitting) will be soon forthcoming.

My biggest problem with “Robin Hood” is what I didn’t see in the theater. Anybody familiar with Ridley Scott knows that far too much of the necessary stuff ends up on the cutting-room floor—or at least in the director’s private stash. In 2005, Scott’s admirable, underappreciated, 140- minute “Kingdom of Heaven” became a far better 192-minute director’s cut DVD.

I suspect no less will happen with Robin. Too many subplots are whittled down to the nubbins—including, surprisingly, Robin’s tryst with Marion. And what about those mysterious orphans hiding in the forest? Yes, this one’s a grandiose tale, but one that also suffers at a mere two hours and 20 minutes.

I await both the director’s cut and the next installment with cautious optimism. Until then, if you can catch The History Channel’s “The Real Robin Hood” before venturing to the theater, you’ll find this Nottingham fable a far more incredible tale.

Every so often comes along a film about nothing in particular— no plot, no story—that manages to capture the imagination, or at least the attention, of filmgoers unafraid of venturing into that mysterious “art-house” realm where things seldom detonate and zombies don’t roam the landscape in search of a human feast.

“Babies” is one such effort: a plotless, wordless (there’s a bit of ambient talking in various languages) documentary about four ordinary babies—one Japanese, one Mongolian, one Namibian and one American. “Babies” is a loose chronology of their first year, a mostly playful, loud, thirsty (yeah, there’s nudity, but it’s that National Geographic type of nudity) visual montage of ba- bies being babies.

The real intrigue here (because “Babies” isn’t America’s Funniest Baby Videos, nor is it Uncle Joe’s home movies of all your cousins being—ick!— born) is the environment in which these kids find themselves. Hattie (San Francisco) and Mari (Tokyo) seem destined to enjoy a typical, day-care-centered, upscale life. But Bayer (Bayanchandmani) and Ponijao (Opuwo) offer extraordinary looks into growing up “out there somewhere” on the sparse plains of Mongolia or in a mudthatched hut in the African bush. Not a Toys R Us in sight.

Caught in a series of simple, casual (and occasionally humorous) moments, we’re not just observing babies, we’re glimpsing a nuance of life we seldom observe or even remotely consider.

For those germaphobes among us, terrified of anything less than a spick-and-span environment, watching an infant gnawing happily on an animal bone in the dirt is a fascinating (and, yes, ordinary for some), eye-opening experience.

And so is “Babies.” Nope, it’s not for everybody, maybe not even for most of us; this one’s a sweet, languid Zen film, a French feel-good documentary—from director Thomas Balmes— that is what it wants to be, nothing more, nothing less. Just like real babies.