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!