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Just wanted to let you all know that I’m taking a bit of personal time off from the blog for family. I’ll be back in a couple of weeks. Thank you for your support of FlicksChick.com!

Sarah

Braveheart is one of the best movies ever made. And now, let me share what I dislike about this film.

William Wallace, real-life hero, larger-than-legend man, and protagonist of this week’s BP, has a serious set of morals. These morals most likely stem from his Christian beliefs (he evinces a faith in God several times in the film) as well as his upbringing by first his father and then his Uncle Argyle, who both emphasize honesty, integrity, and the use of one’s mind (before weapons) to solve problems. Wallace grows up and returns home to live at peace with everyone. He reconnects with the woman he’s dreamed of apparently all through his adolescence and early adulthood (even though she’s a small child when he leaves his original home) and marries her secretly because the diabolical English king has reinstituted prima nocta (jus primae noctis, for those of you pickier than Braveheart about proper Latin-isms). In case you’re not familiar with medieval laws, the (most likely) historically inaccurate law of prima nocta allows a lord (an English one, in this case) to sleep with any common girl on her wedding night. What an awesome society.

Wallace and his new bride, Murron, seem to have successfully avoided such a revolting situation by conducting their nuptials in the woods at dark, and we viewers are apparently supposed to rejoice when they consummate their marriage in the following scene. For me, here’s where Braveheart first gets a bit dicey as far as upholding the morals which it so highly totes. I mean, I get it. Two people love each other, get married, and have sex. That’s the normal way of the world. But do I have to watch it? Wallace is so passionate about not sharing his wife sexually with anyone else (that’s legitimate), but we the viewers share her with him. In the post-wedding scene, both characters are unclothed, but it is Murron whose modesty is violated by the camera. Who cares if an overly hairy Mel Gibson shows up shirtless? It’s a different thing for a woman to take her shirt off and face the camera. In short, what the film purports to be lovely is tarnished by our forced voyeurism.

Murron really gets the short straw in this movie (spoiler alert!). Not only is she exposed sexually, but she’s also brutally executed after she and Wallace maim some guards who try to assault her. For the rest of the film, avenging Murron’s death is Wallace’s main motivation in his quest to overthrow English domination and establish a free Scotland under its own king. Wallace is portrayed as determined, valiant, ingenious, and undeterred by others’ lack of faith in his cause. What a great guy.

But then Wallace meets Princess Isabelle. She’s beautiful, caring, intelligent, and lonely. Her marriage to the Prince of Wales is basically just a formality. Plus, she’s heard all the tales about Wallace and his daring deeds. She’s putty in his hands. But it seems Wallace is also no match for Isabelle’s charms. After she warns him of danger a second time, Wallace tracks her to a secluded cottage in the woods where the two embark on a sexual relationship. This is where Braveheart really irks me.

I just don’t get the need for another woman. If Wallace is truly motivated only by the thirst to avenge his wife and to ensure that what happened to her never happens to another Scottish person, if he eats and breathes freedom, if he is so obsessed with vengeance that he sees and speaks to Murron in his sleep, then what in the world is he doing dallying with another woman? And here’s the kicker: Isabelle is married. Yes, I mentioned that earlier, but it’s so crucial. Since Wallace is particularly adamant about his wife only sleeping with him, doesn’t it make him a horrible hypocrite when he chooses to sleep with another man’s wife? Or does it not matter because Isabelle’s marriage isn’t great or because she’s technically on the English side (by marriage)?

I think it does matter. Greatly.

In Braveheart‘s famous final scene, there are obvious overtones of Christian symbolism: namely, the image of an innocent man dying on a “cross” for others’ freedom. I’ve always found this part of the movie incredibly beautiful and moving–especially when Murron (yes, she’s still dead) shows up right after Wallace utters his famous “Freedom!” line before his beheading. The whole scene is so gruesome, but it is so perfectly shot, and the score is so absolutely breathtaking–still, the fact that “Freedom” is the last word Wallace says seems to point to a higher cause for which he is willing to die, a cause that goes beyond him and his revenge quest. So again, why the other woman?

For Me Then…

Don’t get me wrong. I love this movie. It is one of my all-time favorites. And while I struggle with the roles of the film’s female characters and how they (especially Isabelle) damage the integrity of Wallace’s character, I still think Braveheart offers its viewers a higher calling and deeper meaning than most movies do.

I don’t enjoy all the film’s violence, but there is a point to (most of) it: Freedom is costly. It is difficult for many of us today to truly value freedom because we don’t actually understand what it means or what it’s worth. Some Americans dishonor our flag and our national anthem because they say our country isn’t free enough for them. Ironically, they can only say these things because in the past someone died for our right to freedom of speech.

In Braveheart, William Wallace uses his dying breaths to cry out for freedom–but not for himself. Obviously, he will never live under the rule of a Scottish king, but he knows that all his sacrifices might give another person the chance for freedom. To me, that kind of selflessness is mind-blowing. It’s also inspiring–especially because there is an easier way out for Wallace in the end. If he just swears loyalty to the English king or begs his forgiveness or kisses the royal seal, he could forego all the torture and go straight to the beheading. But Wallace knows he has to make a point to those witnessing his death and to his countrymen who are often tempted with alternatives (like land and titles) to the discomfort and trauma of fighting for what one believes in. Robert the Bruce is one of those countrymen who vacillates between one side of the conflict and the other. He “want[s] to believe” in and commit to Wallace’s cause, but he does not and he cannot–until Wallace gives the ultimate sacrifice for those he leaves behind. To the Bruce and to Wallace’s comrades, freedom becomes equal to the worth of the life of a dear friend, which is a hefty pricetag. What would one not give for the life of a friend?

As the film closes and the Scots, “starving and outnumbered, [charge] the fields of Bannockburn” to “[fight] like warrior-poets” and to “[win] their freedom,” Wallace is deceased but not gone. His presence is symbolized in his sword that his friend Hamish throws onto the battlefield before the Scots advance. The sword goes before the host of Scotland, just as Wallace went before them to open their minds and hearts to the cause of freedom. Braveheart isn’t a tragic romance about Wallace and his wife and their deaths. It’s a victory song lauding the gift one person made of himself to the cause of liberty. It’s a challenge to ignore voices that tell you to give up your dream of something higher than yourself. And it’s a call to step away from what is easy, pursue the right, and confront the opposition. For only then will we actually be living, and we have nothing to lose that is worth keeping.

A Scottish local once asked Mel Gibson why he had filmed the Battle of Stirling Bridge on a plain and not at the bridge itself. Gibson told him that “the bridge got in the way.” The Scot responded, “Aye…That’s what the English found.” This comical exchange highlights most people’s biggest complaint about Braveheart (1995; Icon Productions, Ladd Company, Paramount): its lack of historical accuracy. As one critic wrote, “The events aren’t accurate, the dates aren’t accurate, the characters aren’t accurate, the names aren’t accurate, the clothes aren’t accurate—in short, just about nothing is accurate.” But even though Braveheart‘s storyline isn’t absolutely true, one can’t really deny that the film is compelling and beautiful.

In 1983, Randall Wallace, Braveheart‘s screenwriter and no relation to the film’s hero William Wallace, took a trip to Scotland to explore his Scottish roots. Randall walked into a castle and was confronted with two statues, one of Robert the Bruce, Scotland’s most famous king, and the other of an armor-clad warrior with only the name “Wallace” at its base. The castle guard told Randall that Wallace was Scotland’s greatest hero, and the encounter moved Randall to first wonder how such a hero’s story had never been told to the wider world and then to launch himself into researching what was known about Wallace. Supposedly, Randall couldn’t find very many hard facts about the historical William Wallace, but he did discover a fifteenth-century epic poem called The Actes and Deidis of the Illustre and Vallyeant Campioun Schir William Wallace by a poet known as Blind Harry. Blind Harry’s work, though very popular in Scotland, was known to be historical fiction; but it inspired Randall, who commented later, “Is Blind Harry true? I don’t know. I know that it spoke to my heart and that’s what matters to me, that it spoke to my heart.” Randall then attempted to craft a film that spoke in the same way to its viewers’ hearts.

Interestingly, though, the grand scale of Braveheart was unique for its time. In fact, the years preceding Gibson’s film hadn’t been much inclined toward epics, but the success of Braveheart launched a spate of visually stunning historical movies, namely 1998’s should-have-been BP Saving Private Ryan and 2000’s BP Gladiator (which shares a number of similarities with Braveheart). To me, this trend of violent, yet deeply moving films is just another avenue through which people around the turn of the century/millennium were attempting to understand both the past that had shaped their lives and the chaotic present that they were learning to navigate.

Braveheart is famously about freedom–what it costs, what it’s worth, who should have it, how to get it, etc. As the twentieth century came to a close, people, of course, seemed to be looking back over the past 100 years or so to glean what meaning they could from the century’s events (we saw this in Forrest Gump last week as well). Although Braveheart‘s historical (or not-so-historical) events are set in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, the concepts of oppression, violence, and liberty that feature so prominently in the film were major features of the twentieth century as well with its two World Wars and countless other major military conflicts. Various people groups (such as Jews during the Holocaust, African Americans prior to the Civil Rights Movement, and the people of Eastern Europe and Russia behind the Iron Curtain) experienced severe subjugation and abuse prior to their quests for freedom. Braveheart, then, with its emotionally stirring score and memorable, impassioned speeches about fighting for one’s rights and freedoms resonated with many viewers in the mid-1990s.

In a year in which Apollo 13 was viewed as the frontrunner for Best Picture, Braveheart swept in to the Academy Awards and took home five Oscars for its ten nominations, winning for Cinematography, Sound Effects Editing, Makeup, Directing for Mel Gibson, and Best Picture. It most notably (in my mind) failed to win for Music (Original Dramatic Score) for James Horner’s stunningly gorgeous composition, a score that still finds itself on many critics’ list of greatest movie music of all time (Horner would blow his competition away two years later with his work for Titanic). Braveheart also was not a winner for Sound, Costume Design, Film Editing, and Writing (Screenplay Written Directly for the Screen).

Whatever the number of Oscars or the amount of criticism over its lack of accuracy, to me Braveheart is one of the best films ever made. In its (almost) pre-CGI purity, the film encapsulates a dying era in movie-making and a lost art form. It just seems way more real (and, hence, more meaningful) than all the sci-fi/super hero stuff that studios churn out to “inspire” us nowadays. If we take Braveheart for what it is–a story that plays with legend and truth, that blurs medieval romance and epic violence–we can begin to appreciate the brilliance of each shot selection, the alternately heart-wrenching and rousing score, and the ability of the script and actors to move us emotionally.

For more thoughts on Braveheart and its significance, please check out this weekend’s post!

Some people live extraordinary lives. The fictional Forrest Gump is one of those people. Despite Forrest’s early physical impairment with his legs and his lack of mental acuity, which other characters repeatedly emphasize, the title character of this week’s BP manages to (spoiler alert!) graduate from high school, become a college football star (and earn a college degree), win the Medal of Honor for his service in Vietnam, morph into a superstar table tennis player, captain a shrimping boat, become a millionaire, inspire America with his cross-country running adventure, win the heart of the woman he’s loved for almost his whole life, and raise his son Forrest Jr.–all while hobnobbing with U.S. Presidents and rock and roll superstars during some of the twentieth century’s most dynamic events.

But…Forrest doesn’t dwell on any major incident for very long. He whips through the happenings of his life as fast as he famously runs. In fact, he never seems to grasp the importance of the events he witnesses and in which he plays a role. Instead, his mind returns time and time again to two people: his mother (and the words of wisdom she passes down to him before her death) and Jenny, his best friend from childhood and his eventual wife. Each grand occurrence in Forrest’s life–historical and personal–is judged by how those two women respond to it and/or how each incident makes Forrest think or feel about his two leading ladies. And those ladies couldn’t be more different.

Mama Gump is endlessly supportive of Forrest and determined that her son’s physical and mental challenges will not limit anything he wants to do. She tells him early on in the film after some people stare at Forrest’s new leg braces, “You’re the same as everybody else…You are no different.” The film’s viewer knows this statement isn’t exactly true. Forrest is different from everyone else he encounters in the movie. However, Mama’s words do give Forrest the confidence to live as if what she said is true. Throughout the film, Forrest informs us viewers of what Mama says about everything, including normalcy, wealth, miracles, destiny, and dying. Her words lay the foundation of how Forrest lives his life. For that reason, many of Forrest Gump‘s most memorable lines come from Mama, as recited by Forrest: “Stupid is as stupid does.” “Life is like a box of chocolate. You never know what you’re gonna get.” On the surface, these sayings seem to be simple wisdom for a simple-minded man, but there’s no denying the depth of either Mama’s words or Forrest’s mind.

On the other hand, Jenny, Forrest’s childhood friend and later lover/wife recognizes throughout the entire movie that Forrest is different from everyone else. She doesn’t harp on this fact, but rather accepts that Forrest operates in a unique way and attunes herself to his quirks. Jenny is able to do this because she also is at a disadvantage in the larger world. Although not physically or mentally challenged like Forrest, Jenny is emotionally and psychologically scarred from the abuse she suffers as a child. Her early years cause her to grow into a restless, promiscuous, and easily influenced young adult who cannot settle in one place for very long. Despite Forrest’s best attempts to protect Jenny, she leaves him to embark on her next “adventure” every time.

Jenny and Forrest both run throughout the movie. Jenny runs away on buses and in cars with strangers, endlessly trying to escape her haunting past. Forrest literally runs everywhere because it’s one thing he excels at and enjoys. No running is necessary once Jenny and Forrest decide to be together toward the end of the film. Forrest tells us that he and Jenny “[go] together like peas and carrots.” What he means to say is that they are two peas in a pod, but what he actually says implies that their differences make them fit together. With Jenny, Forrest feels understood and complete. Apart from Jenny, Forrest can only talk about how he misses her and wishes he could share his life’s events with her.

(Spoiler alert!) When Forrest experiences the deaths of people close to him, namely his mother and his Army friend Bubba, he stops after relating the fact of their deaths and says, “That’s all I have to say about that.” Forrest doesn’t process those deaths out loud in his narrative on the bus stop bench. But after his marriage to Jenny and her death, Forrest visits her grave and updates her on how he and little Forrest are doing without her. He is able to talk to Jenny although she is gone. They are still bonded together, like they were throughout Forrest’s life story even when they were physically apart. And I suppose that gives a satisfactory ending to Forrest’s account of his colorful life.

For Me Then…

Mama Gump’s asking “What’s normal anyways?” really sums up this film for me. Clearly, Forrest is unique. He knows it. His mother knows it. Jenny knows it. Forrest’s listeners on the bench know it. We the viewers know it. But what appear to many characters in the film to be Forrest’s disadvantages really end up being his strengths. His simplemindedness allows him to forget himself and constantly focus on the well-being of others and how he can contribute to that well-being. He is selfless, courageous, and compassionate–all positive attributes that diminish the importance of the fact that Forrest has a low IQ.

Furthermore, not too many other characters (if any) in the film are exactly “normal.” Jenny has a multitude of issues stemming from her childhood experiences. Lieutenant Dan struggles after losing his legs in Vietnam. Bubba seems to have some mental impairment (or at least some sort of bizarre obsession with shrimping). Mama herself doesn’t exactly fit in with her society. But all these disadvantages are okay. We the audience come to know and love each of these characters because their issues make them seem like real, complicated, flawed people. Anyhow, who wants to live in a world where all the people are the same? Besides, intelligence, physical perfection, social acceptance, etc. are all fleeting and don’t matter as much as our cultures and societies tell us they do. Forrest Gump shows us that other things are more important. “I’m not the smart man. But I know what love is,” says Forrest. And maybe that makes him intelligent after all.

I didn’t plan it this way on purpose, but Forrest Gump (1994; Paramount) is about the most perfect Best Picture winner one could watch during the week of the Fourth of July. As the movie sweeps through a stretch of time from the 1950s to the 1980s, the film’s title character, a kind and gentle man with a low IQ, finds himself a participant in and witness to some of the most important/memorable happenings in twentieth century American history. Forrest meets several U.S. Presidents, Elvis, and John Lennon; plays football for National Champion Alabama Crimson Tide; fights in the Vietnam War; and experiences the unrest of the 1960s and 70s through the flower child/hippie indiscretions of Jenny, his best friend from childhood. In short, what we get with Forrest Gump is a tender story of the lives of two American kids, both underprivileged in certain ways, who grow up before our eyes while we feast on a picnic of American history worthy of the holiday we’ll celebrate tomorrow.

The year of Forrest Gump‘s release saw its own smorgasbord of events that helped to define the century. 1994 commenced with a crowbar attack on Nancy Kerrigan (and the denials of Tonya Harding) that gave us all a glimpse into the circus that is the world of figure skating. There was also the Los Angeles earthquake that killed 60 people. In May 1994, Nelson Mandela was inaugurated as the first black president of South Africa. The following month Nicole Brown Simpson was murdered, and O. J. Simpson took off on his now-famous “slow-speed” chase. Major League Baseball went on strike in August, which meant there was no World Series for the first time in 90 years. And by the end of the year, Russia had invaded Chechnya.

1994, then, was a busy year–and a good year for film as well. Forrest Gump defeated some major motion pictures to claim the year’s top prize–including a couple of films that seem to always find themselves on lists of movies that should have won BP. Some big-name competitors were: The Shawshank Redemption, Pulp Fiction, The Lion King, Legends of the Fall, Little Women, Speed, Interview with the Vampire, and The Mask, to name a few. Despite the tough competition, Forrest Gump won 6 Oscars for its 13 nominations: Film Editing, Writing (Screenplay Based on Material Previously Produced or Published) for Eric Roth’s adaptation of Winston Groom’s 1986 novel of the same name, Visual Effects, Directing for Robert Zemeckis, Actor in a Leading Role for Tom Hanks as Forrest Gump (Hanks had also won Best Actor the previous year for Philadelphia), and Best Picture. The film failed to take home Academy Awards in the following categories for which it was nominated: Art Direction, Makeup, Cinematography, Sound, Sound Effects Editing, Music (Original Score), and Actor in a Supporting Role for Gary Sinise as the unforgettable Lieutenant Dan Taylor.

What made Forrest Gump stand out from the crowd of contenders? Good question. Personally, I think Forrest Gump encapsulates what people thought about the 1990s themselves–it was a lighthearted time threaded through with some really dark, sad, and ominous stuff. Forrest Gump is the same way. It’s much funnier than I remembered it being from my previous exposure to it, but it has undertones of some pretty raunchy stuff (such as child sexual abuse) and some not as subtle inclusions of drug use and meaningless violence. Plus, after Schindler’s List won BP in 1993, it is possible that Academy voters were looking for something that was a bit lighter but still meaningful.

Today, as we approach the twenty-fifth anniversary of the film’s release (this coming Saturday, as a matter of fact!), Forrest Gump still shows its relevance through its portrayal of ordinary people finding themselves part of larger-than-life events–and, ironically, that kind of sums up every Fourth of July for most of us. The United States as an idea, an ideal, a wild experiment in liberty, and a glorious celebration of the rights of humanity eclipses our ordinary holiday barbecues, parades, and fireworks shows by which we mark the country’s birthday. Still, like Forrest, we find ourselves participants in the greatness of America–and maybe tomorrow we should celebrate that fact as well.

For more thoughts on Forrest Gump and its significance, please check out this weekend’s post!