Jonathan Rhys Meyers as Henry VIII and Natalie Dormer as Anne Boleyn in Showtime's sexy new miniseries "The Tudors." Jonas Armstrong is Robin in BBC America's "Robin Hood."

On a list of things I thought I could become obsessed with, British costume dramas would have fallen somewhere between "Designing Women: The Collected Rants of Julia Sugarbaker" and anything having to do with Anne Heche.

That's why I'm as surprised as anyone to be this wrapped up in "Robin Hood" (9 p.m. Saturdays, BBC America) and the Henry VIII miniseries "The Tudors" (premieres at 10 p.m. Sunday, Showtime).

Both are so compelling, they've got me wanting to go medieval on something.

At least I think that reference is right. From what I remember of British history, the medieval period covered everything up until Charles Dickens started writing "Oliver Twist," at which point all the knights came in out of the forest to trade their suits of armor for top hats and walking sticks at Ye Olde Galleria.

Needless to say, I can't vouch for the historical accuracy of either series. Especially since they both unfold with thoroughly modern touches. Sometimes too modern.

Robin of Locksley (Jonas Armstrong), a war hero injured during controversial fighting in the Middle East, returns to find his village in ruin. Most of the suffering has been caused by cruelly high taxes, established by the new Sheriff of Nottingham (Keith Allen), to pay for the Crusades, the war to which Robin now objects.

For standing up to the sheriff, Robin has been held without trial as an "enemy of war," which caused Maid Marian (Lucy Griffiths) to argue that justice shouldn't be ignored at home because of a war in the holy land. And the sheriff has spoken of winning "hearts and minds" in his fight against Robin and his men, which he has referred to more than once as a "war on terror."

"Robin Hood's" less-than-subtle anti-war message got to be a bit much over the weekend in its fourth episode -- you can catch up with a Tax Day Marathon at 10 a.m. April 15 -- when Robin inspired his men by quoting from the Quran.

At this point, I'm waiting for the sheriff to prematurely unfurl a "Mission Accomplished" banner, or tell his villagers, "We're fighting the enemy over there in Sherwood Forest so we don't have to fight them at home in Nottingham."

The thing is, "Robin Hood" would be so much better without those distractions.

The sheriff is appropriately nasty, having peasants' tongues cut out or their hands lopped off, although never on camera. This "Robin Hood" likes its violence nonviolent, with a lot of sword handles to helmets and kicks to the backside. Even the killings are bloodless.

And while his "Merry Men" aren't all that merry, newcomer Armstrong has the rakish swagger and sense of mischief -- not to mention a consistent accent -- that have eluded previous Robin Hoods (see Costner, Kevin).

Swagger also is a defining characteristic of "The Tudors' " Henry VIII (Jonathan Rhys Meyers). For the record, that's King Henry VIII, not the protagonist from the Herman's Hermits song. (Thanks, "American Idol," for getting that stuck in my head.)

Everyone thinks they know Henry. As in, Henry's so fat, when he sat around Whitehall Palace he sat around Whitehall Palace. But leave it to Showtime -- home of the new porno-reality series "Debbie Does Dallas Again" -- to transform Henry VIII from a fat ass to a badass.

The 10 episodes of "The Tudors" cover the brash, young king's courtship of Anne Boleyn (Natalie Dormer) as he tries to have his marriage to Katherine of Aragon (Maria Doyle Kennedy) annulled.

The epic miniseries is never less than visually stunning, from its elaborate sets to its luxurious costumes that require more velvet than all the paintings at all the flea markets in all the lands.

"The Tudors" even has the right pedigree -- creator Michael Hirst also covered roughly the same era in his Oscar-nominated "Elizabeth."

But the real attraction is Rhys Meyers' buff, dangerous Henry. Combining a very Joaquin Phoenix-in-"Gladiator" vibe with a bit of the sneer left over from his Golden Globe-winning performance as another King -- Elvis in the CBS miniseries of the same name -- Rhys Meyers creates a Henry VIII that's better suited to a night at Pure than the food court around the corner.

Maybe I'm growing as a person. Or maybe it's all the sex, violence and palace intrigue thrown into the mix. But I'm no longer turned off by fanciful language and elegant costumes.

Anne Heche, though, that's another story.

Christopher Lawrence's Life on the Couch column appears on Mondays. E-mail him at clawrence@reviewjournal.com.