Paramount Pictures’ planned a 25th anniversary big-screen return of the 1995 film Braveheart, but with theaters closing across the country it’s doubtful that is going to happen. Maybe that is the bright spot in all this crisis- at least you don’t have to sit through it. All this has caused me to think back on two like-minded films.
Have you ever been to Scotland? Well, after two-and-a-half hours of Rob Roy and almost three hours of Mel Gibson’s Braveheart, if I ever see the rolling hills and sweeping vistas of the land that made plaid a color again, it will be too soon.
When I saw Rob Roy, I was under the mistaken impression that I was going to see the biography of the man who created the recipe for the drink, not the heroic tale of Robert Roy MacGregor, the legendary figure of 18th-century Scottish folklore. This overlong, tedious movie starring Liam Neeson and Jessica Lange did make me yearn for one though, and here’s how to make it:
1-1/2 oz. Scotch whisky
¾ oz. sweet vermouth
1 dash orange bitters
Stir with cracked ice, strain into a cocktail glass.
Both Rob Roy and Braveheart open with shots of happy, hard-working Scottish farmers. Ruddy children scamper about and women throw out pans of water around thatch-roofed dwellings. At night there are the inevitable roaring bonfires and lots of singing and dancing over the moonlit hills. But all of this “coming through the rye” is short-lived. The dastardly lords are nearby. In Rob Roy, the Marquis of Montrose, played by John Hurt (who had to be tired of playing these roles), lords over the MacGregor clan, ruling with an uppity raised little finger. Into his domain comes the foppish villain Cunningham, played with manic glee by Tim Roth (who acts like he’s in a nelly version of Dangerous Liaisons). When Robert MacGregor (Neeson) comes to Montrose to borrow money to invest in a moneymaking enterprise. Cunningham hatches an evil scheme to steal the money to finance his extravagant lifestyle. It works too well, forcing Macgregor to become a fugitive and live up in the hills, away from his wife and family. He wages a private war on Montrose and Cunningham, and after 134 minutes he succeeds in clearing his name and cutting the creepy Cunningham in twain with a mighty sword.
Liam Neeson is a perfect choice for the lead- after all he was able to play the mythic, tragic character of Darkman, while wearing a gunnysack over his head. But this movie stacks the deck: he’s beyond good. He’s a great father, a great leader, a great lover- he’s Christ in a tartan, and handsome to boot. After a while it’s all too much. Jessica Lange as the loyal, brave wife hangs around to class up the filthy hovel they live in and gets raped by the dastardly Cunningham. If your idea of fun is to watch the Oscar and Emmy-winning Lange washing her privates in a lake (actually Loch Morar, the deepest lake in Scotland), then by all means watch Rob Roy. (No, that’s too mean- instead, seek out the amazing 1984 TV movie of Tennessee Williams’ Cat On A Hot Tin Roof, with Tommy Lee Jones, Rip Torn, Kim Stanley, just to see Jessica Lange give a staggering, sensual, fearless portrait as Maggie “the cat”).
They also have this annoying habit of saying their entire name when they speak to one another. “I love you Robert MacGregor,” Lange says on some gorgeous bluff as she stares into Neeson’s tough but tender eyes while reaching lasciviously under his kilt. “I love you, Mary MacGregor,” he lovingly replies. You try saying that with a straight face with somebody’s hands fiddling with your balls.
You’ll need a thermos of Rob Roys to get through Mel Gibson’s quest for sainthood in Braveheart. Robert MacGregor may be a Christ-like figure to the clans, but Gibson’s William Wallace, who single-handedly mobilized the Scottish people to revolt against their English oppressors and win their independence, is definitely God-like. The movie opens with a young William witnessing first-hand the brutality and deceit of the English as they massacre a whole village. When his own father is murdered, he is taken in by a gruff, one-eyed uncle who teaches him to use his head before he uses his sword. He also teaches him Latin and French, and before long he matures into the rakishly handsome Mel Gibson, sporting the silliest long hair on screen in some time- he looks like an aging New Jersey heavy-metal fan. He returns to his village to live the simple farm life but falls in love with the same “lassie” who handed him a purple thistle at the grave of his father many years ago. Before you can say Loch Ness, his ladylove is murdered by English soldiers, and Wallace rises up in a bloody rampage against her killers. Eventually clan after clan joins him and the war is on.
Elaborate battle scenes dominate most of the movie. Having obviously studied the films of Akira Kurosawa, in particular Ran, director Gibson shoots these massive skirmishes with great relish. Utilizing thousands of extras, swords slash and hack, horses catapult to the ground, armor clangs and clashes, axes are lodged into heads, blood spurts and flows freely over the heather. Brigadoon it aint.
Back in London, the news of each victory cause Longshanks, aka King Edward I (Patrick McGoohan), to plot Wallaces’ downfall. In typical fashion, Gibson, the renowned homophobe, has audiences snickering in contempt at the weakling queer son Prince Edward (Peter Hanly). He even evokes a rousing cheer when the Prince’s boyfriend is thrown out the castle window. No, this is Scotland, where men are men who feud, fight, fuck women and wear skirts to battles.
This is the movie Kevin Costner would have killed to make. Gibson has fashioned a populist epic by fusing elements from his Mad Max films with the rousing flair of an old Errol Flynn swashbuckler. The audience is immediately taken in by Gibson’s colorful band of “merry men.” His own character is so brave, honest, trustworthy and loyal, after a while you want to scream every time he races to the top of a mountain and gazes lovingly down on his Scotland, as the music swells. Every time he cracks that boyish grin you’re made to think, “This guy may paint half of his face blue during battles, but underneath he’s just a regular guy.” I was rooting for the English after the first half hour.
Braveheart is disheartening in ways indicative of movies of the 90’s that are molded by superstars given free rein to create bloated, three-hour pageants to their own unquenchable egos. Not content to make a good movie, they have to create the ultimate movie starring themselves as the consummate heroic figure. They’re like children in a multimillion dollar playground playing cowboys and knights, imagining the world swooning at their feet as they watch their deeds of derring-do. How much homage do we have to pay these insatiable ham bones? Perhaps we should, like at the end of Braveheart, just draw and quarter them and send the parts to the four corners of the earth as a warning to others.
Or maybe just have a Rusty Nail:
1-1/2 oz. Scotch whiskey
1 oz. Drambuie
Serve on the rocks.
This made me laugh hard!
Brilliant and hysterical, Dennis! You (rusty) nailed it!
Gerri