The summer of 1995 provided moviegoing audiences with a third Die Hard movie, Casper, batnipples, Disney’s problematic Pocahontas, Apollo 13, Waterworld, and one of the most understanding children’s films of all time in Babe. That is a busy summer to say the least. Amid that clutter, one of the most successful movies of that period could not possibly have been made now, let alone find the audience it did twenty-three years ago. Released by Paramount in North America and 20th Century Fox internationally, that film is Mel Gibson’s Braveheart, a thirteenth-century war epic about Scottish knight William Wallace (played by Gibson) taking arms against King Edward I of England in the First War of Scottish Independence. Braveheart was Gibson’s second directorial work after more than a decade as a figurehead for 1980s Australian cinema and presence in the Lethal Weapon series. This is a visually striking, technically accomplished film rife with homophobia, misogyny, and historical howlers that continues to sharply polarize viewers about its cinematic merits. Through the fires of these controversies, the extremely violent Braveheart has bludgeoned its way to becoming an iconic fixture of 1990s Hollywood.
It is 1280 in Scotland. As a child, William Wallace survives King Edward “Longshanks” (Patrick McGoohan) invasion of Scotland. Following Scottish defeat, Wallace is taken on a European journey by his uncle Argyle (Brian Cox). Years later, Wallace (Gibson as an adult; James Robinson as a child) will return to his village and marry childhood friend Murron MacClannough (Catherine McCormack as an adult; Mhari Calvey as a child). But Longshanks has granted his English nobles in Scotland right of the first night, and Wallace’s successful attempt to save Murron from rape eventually ends in her execution. Enraged, Wallace – assisted by his fellow villagers – massacres the English forces sent to his hometown and drives the remaining English military from Scotland. Longshanks will not take military defeat without response, ordering Prince Edward (Peter Hanly) to quash the rebellion. War and royal intrigue breaks out, leading to Edward’s wife, Isabella of France (Sophie Marceau), being sent to negotiate with Wallace and the two falling for each other far too quickly.
With that plot in mind, viewers should understand that the only historically accurate aspects of Braveheart are the names of the historical figures involved and place names – really, that’s it. The Scots wear kilts, despite the fact kilts would not be invented for another several hundred years. If one wants to understand the First Scottish War for Independence and the history surrounding this era, read a book instead. Screenwriter Randall Wallace admitted that his script was based less on history than on the epic poem The Actes and Deidis of the Illustre and Vallyeant Campioun Schir William Wallace, written by Blind Harry in the fifteenth century.
In its medieval swordplay, Braveheart has more to do with Spartacus (1960) than anything in a 1930s-40s 20th Century Fox or Warner Bros. swashbuckler. The film’s enormous battle scenes – shot in Ireland with over 1,500 members of the Irish Army Reserve participating on both sides of this cinematic conflict – are excellent collaborations in deploying men on foot and horseback smashing into each other on a grassy plain with a frantic camera attempting to make sense of the scrum. The use of 200-pound mechanical horses running on nitrogen cylinders even fooled an animal welfare organization that decided to investigate the film because of the effect’s realism. When not indulging in ill-advised slow-motion, these battles, perhaps too frequently placed into the film to the point they becoming fatiguing, are spectacular in their choreography. The collaborative effort between Gibson, cinematographer John Toll (1994′s Legends of the Fall, 1998′s The Thin Red Line), editor Steven Rosenblum (1989′s Glory, Legends of the Fall) and second unit crew members contributes to a blood-soaked, crashing symphony of mangled limbs and human brutality that no other film depicting medieval warfare has since equaled – especially the Battle of Stirling Bridge, which is horrifying in its impact despite the absence of the crucial, eponymous bridge. Many films since Braveheart portraying contemporary war likewise pale in comparison.
Braveheart would be a disastrous film without John Toll’s cinematography, whether in action sequences or peaceful moments. The use of natural lighting and the on-location shooting in Ireland and Scotland appeals to Toll’s strengths for exterior shots, lending Braveheart a near-mythical angle amid large landscape shots blessed with eerie cloud covers and looming, verdant mountains. Toll makes Scotland a place of dreams – especially in the blue of twilight when the sun’s reds have retreated westward, welcoming the cool and comfort of the evening. This suits the film, as Gibson is not filming a historical drama. No computerized flourishes or too many swooping helicopter-aided vistas pry the viewer from the film. Toll’s camera for these landscapes and shots of the village (reportedly built by the production crew to Toll’s specifications) remain still or are gently heightened or lowered by crane shots. Close-ups are mercifully spare, reserved almost entirely for violent scenes.
The word “freedom” is tossed around with such promiscuity and depthlessness that Braveheart’s 178 minutes cannot be justified. Wallace’s screenplay touches lightly on the era’s politics, Wallace’s love life, and the ideas why Scotland should be independent from England. Political philosophy this is not. Look elsewhere for films of military leaders with a wracked conscience, psychologically impacted by the slaughter they have initiated. Instead, we are presented with anachronistic dialogue like this:
WILLIAM WALLACE: Before we let you leave, your commander must cross that field, present himself before this army, put his head between his legs, and kiss his own arse.
Sure, dude. If possible, maybe that commander might have a future as a contortionist.
Braveheart presents William Wallace as a man on a revenge-fueled mission who will consider all possible means to liberate his people – he has an irreverent sense of humor that makes given scenes a tonal mishmash. Wallace’s romantic interludes with Murron and Isabella? Gibson, McCormack, and Marceau, respectively, are all unconvincing – despite an enormous assist from Toll in these passionate scenes.
Casual homophobia is directed toward Prince Edward (later King Edward II), the son of Edward Longshanks (Edward I; who was a bellicose monarch, but becomes a cartoonish archetype in this film). Prince Edward is depicted as effeminate and gay, and his lover Philip (Stephen Billington) is killed by defenestration. The film further compounds this depiction by associating the Prince’s homosexuality to his ineffectual character – Longshanks constantly chastises his son’s lack of masculinity and Princess Isabella also disapproves of her husband for those qualities. This is not to say homophobia did not exist in the late thirteenth century, but that Gibson and Wallace are doubling down on the Prince, making him a punchline puppet of a leader because of who he is. Aggressive masculinity and sexual expressions inundate the battle scenes, too – swinging swords should be interpreted as one might think.
Women have almost zero agency in Braveheart, as they are depicted as sexual vessels to remain pure and chaste while the men fraternize and fornicate all they wish. Wallace’s campaign of violence begins not because the English lords have invoked right of the first night (prima noctis) for other women, but because prima noctis has been invoked for Murron (whose sexual faithfulness is idealized after her death in a pair of visions Wallace – who, by sleeping with Isabella, does not return that same faith – has). One of the few topics that women speak of throughout the film is sexual interest/satisfaction or lack thereof – Isabella’s only purpose in the film is to bang Wallace so that she can deliver an inflammatory piece of news to Longshanks on his deathbed.
Other than Toll, another craftsperson showcases their mastery in this film. That master is composer James Horner (Glory, 1997′s Titanic). 1995 proved to be a career year for Horner, having composed the scores for Apollo 13, Balto, and Casper. His second-best score of the year behind Apollo 13, Braveheart’s score is mostly devoid of the wanking masculinity described above, combining cultural elements that might seem inappropriate for a film about Scottish warriors – given the use of Japanese woodwinds in Legends of the Fall (a generational epic drama about a Montana ranching family), Horner’s instrumental appropriation knows no bounds, for good and ill. Along with the requisite bagpipes (rather than the Great Highland bagpipes that are generally associated to be “bagpipes”, Horner utilizes Uilleann pipes – Irish in origin, Uilleann pipes are softer and considered to produce a less harsh sound than Great Highland Bagpipes), this heavily orchestral score also benefits from a boys’ choir reminiscent of Casper, Horner’s affinity for Irish music, and quena (an Andean flute) for “The Secret Wedding”.
Three major motifs exist in Horner’s score: for Wallace, Murron, and Isabella. Wallace’s motif is first in the main title through the Uilleann pipes and will be the most-repeated theme in the film, fragmented up by percussion in the battle scenes, and often accompanied by strings in melodic unison (most heroically at 6:05 in “Freedom/The Execution Bannockburn”). Murron’s motif assumes melodramatic, (and very quickly afterwards) tragic connotations upon its most memorable appearance on quena in “The Secret Wedding”, chorally reprised at 3:10 in the “End Credits”. Dominating the final third of the film is Isabella’s motif, best outlined in “For the Love of a Princess” by the entire orchestra, and containing echoes of “The Ludlows” from Legends of the Fall. Credit the London Symphony Orchestra for providing a gorgeous recording, even if Horner’s score to Braveheart is not the most musically interesting effort of his career.
Producers Bruce Davey (Gibson’s longtime producer) and Alan Ladd, Jr. (son of legendary Paramount contracted actor Alan Ladd) navigated numerous obstacles at 20th Century Fox and Paramount to complete the film. This enormous, nearly three-hour production of a time period unfamiliar to North American moviegoers could not be produced at this scope today. A 2018 Braveheart would require even more major studios from various nations to finance the project, as epic films have all but disappeared from the multiplex because of their forbidding costs and lack of action star/superhero connections. Gibson’s ambition is staggering here. Yet Braveheart is let down by Gibson’s hypermasculinity and homophobia – reflective of his troublesome political dimensions.
The film’s cultural importance when it was released is unquestionable, but it remains to be seen how time will treat Gibson’s directorial breakout work. By being released in the mid-1990s, it is among the last Hollywood epic films largely untouched by excessive CGI – the effects are gruesome because they are practical. Though the characterizations are simplistic, Braveheart is an effective character piece for many, if not for this writer. Caught between the praises of fanboys of a certain demographic and those who loathe Gibson and/or Braveheart, I can neither adulate nor dismiss this movie outright. Bring on the insults on my manhood, but say it with a Scottish accent, would you kindly?
^ Based on my personal imdb rating. Half-points are always rounded down. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found here.