BRAVEHEART. Mel Gibson’s Historical Epic Demystified

Braveheart is a typical example of Hollywood creators’ nonchalance towards history: crafting the plot to achieve the intended effect without regard for inaccuracies and distortions. The first words spoken by the narrator (who, as it turns out later, is Robert Bruce, a man inspired by Wallace’s deeds) are: I will tell you the story of William Wallace. Historians from England will say I am a liar. But history is written by those who hang heroes. From this point, we know that the story being told is not a reliable chronicle but a legend where facts and myths intertwine. It is the story of an eyewitness, a direct participant in events, not an unengaged observer. Thus, he does not present objective judgments.

In the light of historical facts, Wallace turns out to be a mysterious figure, with many unknowns in the accounts about him, which only makes it easier to adapt the film story to specific needs. It seems that the epic by Blind Harry, according to which Wallace was the greatest hero of Scotland, might have had a greater influence on the script than the accounts of professional historians. The story of the Scots’ liberation from English rule is presented in the film very unequivocally.

Braveheart is based on a clear dualism of good and evil

Wallace’s main opponents – King Edward I and Robert Bruce’s leprosy-stricken father (a hidden enemy – this character symbolizes the entire Scottish nobility) – desire only power and privileges, while the Scottish rebel fights solely for freedom. To further emphasize the contrast, the filmmakers portray Wallace as a poor and relatively simple Scotsman. Although he is educated, knows several languages, and emphasizes at every step that the ability to think is more important than muscle strength, his affiliation with the common people provides the contemporary mass audience with a greater possibility of identification. But these are not the only measures aimed at “exalting” the hero. In one scene, he is compared to the biblical David, who was to become the Jewish king and unite the scattered nation. Here, William is challenged to a duel by a large, well-built peasant. Wallace loses in a strength competition of stone throwing, but when he challenges his opponent to try to hit him with the stone, the peasant misses. Then Wallace pulls out a previously hidden small stone and hits his opponent straight on the forehead, stunning him. The fight is resolved, and cunning triumphs; the smaller one defeats the giant. This peasant, named Hamish, becomes Wallace’s friend and one of his best warriors.

The comparison to the biblical David implies Wallace’s extraordinariness, who, like a superhuman, is capable of performing the boldest deeds thanks to his bravery, which the creators confirm in many scenes. At one point, he is betrayed (not for the last time) by the Scottish nobility. One of the traitors dreams of Wallace galloping on a horse, coming to take revenge. This scene is surreal, with slow-motion shots, a horizon bathed in fire, and Wallace making an inhuman sound. The dream continues in the real world: William indeed rides into the nobleman’s bedroom on horseback and kills him with an iron ball strike. The hero is depicted here as a true god of vengeance, possessing almost supernatural abilities.

Wallace’s actions are mainly motivated by a desire for revenge

This method of tying the plot often appears in blockbusters. The desire for revenge sprouts from William’s youth when he witnesses a massacre on a neighboring clan, and it intensifies with the death of his father, who set out to avenge his kinsmen. However, another event is the direct cause of the fight for freedom. The reason is a woman, which is also in line with the conventions of blockbusters. The death of his beloved becomes the romantic spark for a conflict that will engulf the entire country. Its consequences will reach even further, as other nations will join the fight. Importantly, these international alliances concern both sides of the conflict, but in accordance with the positive message of the film, only Wallace treats this help with due respect. A single (sic!) Irishman joins the Scottish camp, motivated by the opportunity to kill an Englishman. In contrast, Edward I sends an army consisting of Welsh archers, Irish conscripts, and French soldiers against Wallace’s warriors. For a moment, it seems that the power of unification is on the side of the enemies of the revolution, but when the battle begins, the Irish troops join the Scots. Only Wallace can achieve real unification. This scene is a direct reference to the recent history of Great Britain and the ongoing conflict concerning Northern Ireland.

The viewers’ sympathy for the Scots is not diminished even by their cruelty

During battles, Wallace and his troops are ruthless, exterminating the English to the last man. However, Edward’s cruelty is depicted in a much more brutal way, as unlike Wallace, he has no respect for the lives of either his enemies or his own people. This is perfectly shown in the battle of Falkirk, where the English king squanders the lives of soldiers. First, by sending infantry forward instead of using archers because, as he says, arrows cost money, […] dead bodies cost nothing. Later, when his army clashes with the Scottish forces on the battlefield, he orders the archers to shoot, not caring that both sides will perish as a result. Victory at any cost is the motto of the English in this film. The king himself, according to modern principles of warfare, leads his troops from a hill, issuing orders, while Wallace stands on the front line to fight with his people. All the rules of the art of war are on Edward’s side, yet the viewers’ sympathy lies with his opponent, who does not hesitate to sacrifice his life for the cause and personally join the fight.

Not only the king is portrayed negatively in the film; this applies to all the English. They are repulsive types (not only morally but also physically) who take every opportunity to further oppress the Scottish people. When Edward I restores the so-called right of the first night to, as he claims, eradicate Scottish blood, the English nobles immediately take advantage of this opportunity. The viewer has no doubt that in the event of an English victory, these nobles will not follow the method of Alexander the Great, who guaranteed the preservation of culture to every conquered state, but rather will exterminate all Scots. Edward’s son is depicted in the film as an effeminate youth with homosexual tendencies, who, despite his preferences and frail physique, is just as cruel as his father. Here we have another contrast, between the brave and valiant, though simple Scottish rebel, and the cowardly and unmanly heir to the throne, Prince Edward II. William’s father could be proud of his son, while Edward I feels only shame. A similar technique is used among the Scottish nobility, led by Robert Bruce’s leprosy-stricken father. This man is literally rotting, symbolizing his moral decay as well. He, like Edward I, represents the old generation that must depart, having forgotten the mythical ideals, to be replaced by a new generation, symbolized by Bruce and Wallace. The former still needs to learn what is truly important, while the latter serves as a model of such behavior.

The only bright spot in the English court is the character of the French (!) princess Isabella, who is forced to marry Edward II, but helps Wallace by warning him twice of impending danger. A romance also develops between them. This character somewhat justifies the actions of the rebels and their killings. In one scene, Isabella’s maid recounts the story of Wallace’s beloved being murdered and his attack on the English garrison. Isabella is almost delighted by this “romantic” love story and finds the Scot’s actions fully justified.

William Wallace would have “single-handedly” liberated his people if not for the betrayal of the nobility. He is captured and sentenced to death, but even during torture, he does not renounce his ideals. Along with him, Edward I and Bruce’s father also die (the latter’s death is not shown directly, but can be inferred from his health condition); the hero has perished, but so have his greatest opponents, and now everything depends on their successors. Robert Bruce rises to the occasion and takes over Wallace’s legacy. Although he is not as great a leader as Wallace, evidenced by his less impressive speech to the troops compared to Wallace’s, he eventually leads the armies to victory. The film ends with the narrator’s words: In the year of our Lord 1314, patriots of Scotland, starving and outnumbered, charged the fields of Bannockburn. They fought like warrior poets. They fought like Scots. And won their freedom.

As we can see, this is an example of a conventional way of describing history within the framework of the historical epic genre, where monumental characters clash on the stage of history, and the fate of the world depends on them, with a single decision potentially affecting entire nations. Slogans such as love, brotherhood, courage, and, most importantly, freedom, are elevated, and it is worth fighting for them at all costs. This is an example of the typical Hollywood ideology flowing from such films. Often, official authority is the source of conflict, an old system in which there is no place for any principles, and an evil person in power is worse than the greatest cataclysm. Such a direct appeal to basic feelings and emotions and the obvious conclusions drawn from them make this film quite old-fashioned. As Jerzy Szyłak writes in his book Cinema and Something More: Works that resort to outdated ways of influencing viewers, using what has been treated as manifestations of the mythology of art, cannot be taken seriously. This mainly concerns the too literal (stereotypical) approach to these basic human values, which in the postmodern era are not pure. Braveheart is a film, as Szyłak would probably say, “well-made,” based on the principles of zero-style cinema, that is, non-artistic film. However, looking at the box office results, most of the viewers’ “metaphysical yearnings” are still based on such schemes, entirely in line with the formula of the film epic.

Despite these criticisms, the film’s reception extends far beyond the film world. After its premiere, Braveheart found widespread resonance in two areas that also operate on the same black-and-white principles: politics and tourism. In the UK itself, the film’s reception was quite critical, with accusations of inciting nationalist animosities, portraying the English in an exceptionally bad light, and presenting Scotland through the prism of kilts, bagpipes, and treacherous nobility. By creating the character of Wallace as the sole Scottish hero, the film diverts attention from other equally deserving figures, not to mention all the historical inaccuracies. Despite this, interest in Wallace and Scotland suddenly surged, with many political groups (e.g., the Scottish National Party) incorporating references to the great leader into their speeches, depicting his character similarly to the film’s creators. Questions about Scottish national identity began to arise: Is it worth identifying with a figure so distant in history, who was also an example of strong nationalism? Voices of opposition to the way this topic was presented in the film grew louder. The portrayal stereotypically depicted both the fate of the uprising and the concept of Scottishness as a continuous struggle to preserve one’s identity. These discussions can be directly related to the definition of identity proposed by Joan W. Scott:

Identity […] is not a fixed set of attributes assigned to us at birth; it is rather a concept consisting of many factors, even mutually exclusive ones, that depend on context and change.

In this sense, Mel Gibson’s film can paradoxically pose a threat to identity, as it itself uses rigid attributes defining Scottishness. However, according to the above definition, such an approach must also be considered in identity studies, and the film, by sparking so much discussion, contributed to raising the issue in the public forum. Its stereotypical nature is just as significant as the statements of historians and sociologists who want to debunk this stereotypicality. The more voices in a given matter, the richer the discussion will be.

I wrote earlier about the “classical” nature of the film Braveheart, about its almost perfect fit within the framework of the historical epic. However, this does not mean that nothing has changed in this genre over the past forty years. In a sense, the film about the liberation of Scotland from English rule introduced a new quality. This became the naturalism of the depicted events. Nothing in this film is smooth and perfectly beautiful. The battle scenes are drenched in blood, and no death comes easily. The protagonists of the spectacle are dirty, wearing old, worn-out clothes. The coldness of Edward I’s castle is almost palpable, and the Scots’ villages look very primitive. In the classic period of American cinema, all of this was much smoother and more beautiful. Rather than poverty, opulence was shown.

Starting with this film, the poetics of brutality and naturalism would remain (to varying degrees) in every subsequent work. Instead of aiming for historical truth, the creators moved toward the most faithful depiction of the cruelties of ancient wars. This reflects the brutalization of American cinema that has taken place over the years, to which viewers have already become accustomed. Technology has also developed, allowing for such naturalistic, yet very spectacular, depictions of great battles. The creators could not afford to weaken this impression, as it would equate to losing authenticity—the most prestigious element of such spectacles. The epic is meant to affect the viewer in such a way that they think they are witnessing an exact reconstruction of events.

What was considered extreme realism in the sixties no longer holds water today

The lack of blood and somewhat theatrical, even “elegant” death scenes now seem anachronistic. This means drawing conclusions from the evolution of westerns (especially those directed by Sam Peckinpah) and war films. However, I believe that in the case of epics, this does not carry as far-reaching consequences as it does for these two genres. Peckinpah showed the dark side of the western, where there are no simple decisions or one-dimensional characters, and the sheriff may not differ so much from the bandit. Within such frameworks, the aesthetics of brutality are strongly motivated, one of the key means of expression serving a polemic with the myth of the genre.

On the other hand, war cinema, through naturalism, shed the label of adventure cinema (like The Dirty Dozen, dir. Robert Aldrich, 1967) or patriotic cinema about great heroes. Many war films, led by Platoon (dir. Oliver Stone, 1986) and Saving Private Ryan (dir. Steven Spielberg, 1998), showed the horrors of war in stark contrast, changing the message of these films to anti-war. The epic is closer to this second approach, but ancient wars seem to have less “impact” than contemporary ones. The epic has matured formally, but its content message remains naively positive, which does not challenge the genre itself but is merely an expression of slow development. The creators probably realized this ambiguity, as films made after Braveheart and the later Gladiator were much less violent.

Words: Sebastian Pyka