No recent cultural artifact has had a greater influence upon the public’s perception of both William Wallace and Robert the Bruce than Mel Gibson’s 1995 film Braveheart, scripted by Randall Wallace. The film was nominated for 10 Academy Awards and won 5 of them. John Toll won the Oscar for Best Cinematography, Gibson won Best Director, and the film took home Best Picture. While the film could not really be considered a blockbuster (it earned around $75.5 million at the box office in the United States and $133.4 million internationally), it seems to be in constant rotation on cable channels in the United States.89 And even though its running time of 177 minutes may be a tad too long for those audiences whose ability to remain focused and attentive is lacking or limited, Gibson’s film has enough action, romance, gore, and shouting to capture viewers’ attention.
Even today, it is not hard to see why the film was so popular among critics as well as audiences. First and foremost, we have Gibson as Wallace himself. As a leading Hollywood star for the better part of the 1990s, Gibson was and remains firmly entrenched within Western popular culture (though in recent years he has become more notorious for his behavior and disparaging comments about homosexuals, women, African Americans, and Jews). Early in his career, he had starred in a handful of critically well-received films, such as Gallipoli (1981) and The Year of Living Dangerously (1982). The Mad Max and the Lethal Weapon films, however, propelled him into the spotlight as a box-office draw and a leading man who equaled in many ways Harrison Ford’s popularity of the 1980s and 1990s. Braveheart was the film that gave Gibson both critical and commercial success. And because Braveheart is so firmly ingrained within our popular culture, it is difficult for many to see Gibson as anything other than the fighter/lover that he created in his character of William Wallace.
Like Blind Hary’s Wallace, Gibson’s Braveheart is an interesting mixture of fantasy, history, folklore, legend, romance, and artistic bravado, though much of the history in the film is seriously flawed.90 Moreover, as a film, Gibson tried to do far too much with the life and times of Wallace, even with the film’s almost three-hour running time.
The film begins with an interesting back story of the murder of Wallace’s father and brother at the hands of the English. As a result, young William is sent to live with his learned uncle. Some 20 years later, Wallace returns to his native village; he is now fluent in a handful of foreign languages (which comes in handy when trying to court his childhood crush), and he knows of the arts of war and government (which comes in handy when he decides to fight the English and join forces with Robert the Bruce). The turning point in the film occurs early. Wallace’s love Murron (played by Catherine McCormack) is publicly executed for her assault on one of the king’s soldiers who attempted to rape her. It seems that there was a conscious effort by the filmmakers not to name her “Marion,” as Hary does in his poem; after all, Robin Hood’s love interest is Maid Marion/Marian, and confusion might have set in. Wallace revenges this act by killing the English garrison commander who had executed Murron, and thus begins a series of well-orchestrated battles both large and small.
The clean-shaven, blue-eyed Wallace of Gibson’s film is a stark visual contrast to his enemies and even his supporters, and the outlaw’s exterior is almost certainly one of the many ahistorical elements of the film. Wallace’s fellow Scottish nationals are almost all bearded, and the Irish force presents a rugged appearance. Gibson’s exterior, including his two-toned painted face at the battle of Stirling Bridge, allows his face to stand out as the hero of the narrative’s. In contrast, of course, is Edward I, “Longshanks,” as portrayed in menacing style by Patrick McGoohan, who is complete with fierce eyes, severe countenance, and an almost pathological personality.
Gibson’s choice to portray the blood and nastiness of warfare in a number of the battles but to eschew the gore of Wallace’s execution was an interesting move. The scene had been filmed in graphic detail, but test audience reaction was negative. Thus, in the final version for cinema release, while we do see Wallace on the rack and witness one of the torturers wield the hook that will disembowel the hero, the camera focuses on faces: those of Wallace, the crowd (which at first delights in the torture), Wallace’s cloaked supporters in the square, the executioner, a gravely ill Longshanks, and the loves of the hero: Princess Isabelle (played by Sophie Marceau) and the ghost/hallucina-tion of Murron. Gibson’s Wallace shows no weakness whatsoever in the film; even in death, he is strong and heroic. The death of Wallace in Gibson’s film is in many ways Christ-like. Indeed, many of the shots and framings that the filmmaker used in the execution scenes were again used in the torture and crucifixion scenes in his later movie The Passion of the Christ (2004). The possible conflation of these two filmic interpretations of historical figures is inherently problematic.
The story of Robert the Bruce in Braveheart is pushed to the backburner (behind Wallace’s military exploits and the two romantic subplots), even though this is a film that is ostensibly about Scotland’s freedom from English governance and oppression. The Bruce is played by Scotland’s own Angus MacFadyen. The voiceover that begins the film is the voice of the Bruce; however, the audience does not yet know this. In this narration, the character of Robert the Bruce addresses the issues of historical truth, though not convincingly: “Historians of England will say I am a liar. History is written by those who have hanged heroes.” Some, like Wladyslaw Witalisz, have interpreted this voiceover as a means for filmmakers, much like medieval historical writers, to give themselves open license to interpret and represent history as they see fit: “From the beginning of the film, when the narrator assumes his critical stance toward written history,” the audience participates in or listens to “an official, private story. The character of the hero is thus made more real and tangible, unlike the hypostatized figures of epic and heroic discourse.”91 Perhaps the character of Robert the Bruce can be interpreted by audiences as more “realistic” than Wallace; however, we are still working within the medium of film, in which representation and interpretation are highly subjective.
That Gibson’s film begins with Robert the Bruce’s narration and ends with his first charge at the battle of Bannockburn is a fine example of film unity and cohesion. In the final scene, the Bruce is shown caressing Wallace’s love token, which he has hidden inside his armor. This is the same embroidered kerchief that Murron gave to Wallace and which he let fall the instant the axe came down on his neck. Apparently, the Wallace’s supporters were able to smuggle it out. It is a rather odd moment, and it is one of many ahistorical details that appear to be added for the sake of sentimentality, romance, and nostalgia. The final scene of the film is, in many ways, an open door for a possible sequel. After all, the real success story of Scottish independence is not Wallace’s but rather that of Robert the Bruce. The Bruce’s story, apparently, does not present the fodder for an appealing Hollywood story: he was not as much an underdog as Wallace was, his historical personage is at times duplicitous and sinister, and there are far too many concrete details of his life (as opposed to Wallace’s life and times, which is itself based mainly on legend and historical literature).
Upon the film’s release, it was met with cheers and jeers from a variety of political and social movements that saw something uplifting or offensive in the film and its characters. Michael Sharp has noted that the Scottish National Party (SNP) seized upon the emotional and rational argument for Scottish independence but that in the United States the Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation (GLAAD) staged numerous protests in which the organization objected to the depiction of Edward II, which was seen as homophobic.92 Sharp argues, indeed convincingly so, that Gibson plays Wallace and the Scots as natural in their sexuality, while the English are a collection of closeted gays, rapists, men who are keen on incest, and misogynists. According to Sharp, the film uses women “to mark Wallace as fair, honest, and enlightened, and to mark the English as abusive and duplicitous.”93 The union of Wallace and Isabelle in the film is one that suggests how Scotland may indeed persevere and overcome England. In a remarkable turn, Isabelle informs Longshanks on his deathbed that the child whom she is carrying is perhaps Wallace’s, since apparently the prince could not impregnate her. Thus, Wallace and the Scots can beat England externally on the field of battle and also biologically through an apparently half-Scottish illegitimate heir to the throne of England.94
In the end, Braveheart is one more repository of semi - and non-historical evidence for the lives of William Wallace and Robert the Bruce. The outlawed Wallace and his guerrilla army are portrayed is such a favorable light that audience members often delight in the savagery on the field of battle that is inflicted upon the English. The iconic image of Gibson’s two-toned face, sword in hand, may in fact become the dominant image that comes to be associated with the Scottish outlaw. Gibson’s film did indeed bring the figure back into the public consciousness. Just as there are few who wish to read the adventures of Robin Hood in Middle English, there are perhaps fewer still who wish (or can) read Wallace’s acts and deeds in Middle Scots. In many respects, the dissemination of the narratives of the two Scottish national heroes in Brave-heart has made the icons more accessible and available to a far wider audience than any previous medium was able to do. Part of the popularity of the icons today (and especially Wallace) can be attributed to the power of film and its ability to connect with a global audience.
THE BRUCE (1996)
The year after the release of Braveheart appeared a rather different sort of film, The Bruce, that was based on the story of Robert the Bruce. This full-length feature film was produced by Cromwell Productions, an independent filmmaking company known primarily for documentary videos on historical topics, and released on VHS. The Bruce was made on a shoestring budget of approximately $500,000 (Braveheart’s was approximately $53 million), partially raised by guaranteeing small investors from the general public parts as extras in the battle scenes. The film was directed by Bob Carruthers and David McWhinnie and featured Sandy Welch, a minor Scottish actor (mainly on TV), as Robert the Bruce. Oliver Reed as Bishop “Wisharton”95 and Brian Blessed as a booming King Edward I added some name recognition to the cast. Despite the best intentions, The Bruce cannot be judged a success. The script is often melodramatic; the acting is generally poor, as are the sound quality, continuity, and other production values; the battle scenes are not as impressive as the filmmakers claimed; and unnecessary liberties are taken with historical facts and events. Nevertheless, The Bruce remains interesting as a cheap, almost homemade foil to the expensive, Hollywood Braveheart.
World History
