It's my own private theory that the decade between roughly 1966, and roughly 1976, represents not just a sea-change/high-point/Belle Epoque of the arts in this country, but the duration of a force-field imposed by aliens who briefly took over our bodies and spent a long arts and crafts holiday here, giving us 2001 and REVOLVER and BREAKFAST OF CHAMPIONS and CLOSE TO THE EDGE and CHINATOWN and much more in the process; and when they left at last for their home world, the bodies they inhabited reverted right back to their true selves. In the case of Mel Brooks, through whose corporeal shell the Visitors had crafted THE PRODUCERS, BLAZING SADDLES and YOUNG FRANKENSTEIN, that means a pushy, tiresome, obnoxious hack.
Well, it's as good an explanation as any, right? Brooks so totally lost the plot from the latter half of the 70s on that bodysnatching aliens and Faustian bargains spring naturally to mind as reasonable explanations: that's how fast, and far, he fell off the cliff. There isn't a single funny moment in his ROBIN HOOD spoof, but this is far worse than simply "unfunny". Few things in life are as painful to endure as third-rate comedy performed badly, by incompetents incapable of timing a gag or delivering even a throwaway line without stepping on the joke. Not that this is measurably worse than the half-dozen or so lead balloons Brooks made prior to this. On the other hand, it's every bit as wheezingly unfunny as they were. If it wasn't, would Dick van Patten even be in this? Yeah.... when I think of freewheeling, anything-goes absurdist satire, Van Patten's the first name that comes to mind.
Oh, yeah....about those jokes. They're about on the level of a Bob Hope Special from 1971, only with the racier, edgier material cut out.
"And this is my friend Will Scarlet."
"Well, Scarlet's my middle name. (pause) My full name is Will Scarlet O'Hara. (longer pause) We're from Georgia."
That's one of the better ones, folks. And even though the joke as written is terrible, and could never be made funny no matter how it was read, the tortuous Pasadena Playhouse pauses actually make the thing even worse than it already is. Which is pretty much this movie in a nutshell - bad ideas, made worse by terrible writing, further doomed by an unsuitable cast, all of whom flail away helplessly without any sort of competent direction.
If you must see this, see it on basic cable so you'll at least have the cell-phone and diet soda commercials to look forward to. And maybe you, too, will wonder how it was possible anybody ever thought Mel Brooks was a genius, and how in the world did he keep getting money to make these godawful comedies. I can't help you with the second question, but as far as the first goes, trust me; it was the aliens.