Showing, Telling, and Mel Gibson
Braveheart (1995) and The Patriot (2000) are not only both violent epics very loosely based on historical events, but their protagonists are very similar up to a point. William Wallace declares that he has returned from years abroad "to raise crops and a family. And if I can live in peace, I will." Benjamin Martin also cites family commitments in his refusal to support South Carolina in seeking independence from British rule: "My wife is dead. I have seven children. Who will care for them if I go to war?" Numerous critics describe The Patriot as "American Braveheart" emphasizing the themes of vengeance and national identity that drive both films. Superficial similarities aside, these films are very different, and the main difference comes down to the protagonists themselves. Through consistent characterization, Braveheart is able to show that Wallace is who he says he is, something The Patriot fails to replicate in Martin.
We are introduced to Wallace as a little boy who is horrified by the excessive cruelty English king Edward III visits on the Scots, and he grows into a man who is is horrified by the excessive cruelty English king Edward III visits on the Scots. Apart from gaining an education and a whole lot of muscle mass, Wallace does not change much within the first half hour of the film. In fact, he has not changed much by the end of the film's nearly three hour run time. Some cite his lack of development as a writing flaw, but simple characters can still be effective. And one thing Wallace certainly is capable of is learning.
One scene that particularly highlights this is the wedding that occurs shortly after Wallace's return and after King Edward has reinstituted the right of nobles to the first night with any bride on their land. When the English lord comes to claim this right, some men in attendance get agitated and a violent conflict seems imminent until the bride offers herself up to save her husband. Wallace watches these events unfold and decides that he and Murron will marry in secret. He is, after all, trying to live in peace! But then the English target her with harassment and eventually kill her because, as the film has painstakingly established numerous times already, they are excessively cruel. This is the event that inspires Wallace to take a leadership role in the Scottish rebellion, and he never looks back.
The seeds of the man Wallace will grow into are sown in the first twenty minutes of so of the film, not only his horror at British treatment of Scots but his affection for Murron as well. And adult Wallace maintains an almost childlike inability to grasp the nuances of politics in his dealing with Scottish lords like Robert the Bruce. In short, Wallace feels like the same person over the course of thirty years, if we accept the character as being the same age as Gibson at the time of filming. The Martin who stays out of the war to protect his children and the Martin who abandons his children multiple times years later do not feel like the same person. The Martin whose shirt is splattered with the blood of wounded British soldiers he helps and the Martin whose face is soaked in the blood of a British soldier he hacks to mincemeat just a few minutes later do not feel like the same person. Given the time it takes Martin and Villeneuve to recruit and train the militia, it is well within possibility that one or more of the men whose wounds he treated were later killed while trying to surrender by men under his command. What the fuck, Benjamin?
These drastic, Jekyll into Hyde transformations Martin undergoes may well be meant to come across as complexity but succeed in giving us a hero who gets to have his cake and eat it too. A war criminal in the streets who is also, we are told, a loving father plagued by nightmares in the sheets. The problem is, we actually see the first part. The harrowing story Martin tells us about his actions at Fort Wilderness reinforces the unhinged violent personality we see in his treatment of the last British soldier in his one-man massacre and the surrendering British troops. And while he said before the war that he would prioritize his children's safety, we never see him actually do that. He asserts to General Cornwallis that British officers are continuing to target civilians but is then as shocked as anyone when a British officer actually does that. The work of anchoring his characterization is shouldered almost exclusively by characters close to him, who insist that he "has changed," that he is "a good man."
Okay.
I've often wondered since rewatching Braveheart how different the wedding scene and Wallace's reaction to it might have gone in the hands of The Patriot's filmmakers. I imagine something like this: Wallace watches, shocked, as the English carry off his friend's bride. He turns to Murron. "Murron, this is terrible . . . for them. Nothing like this will happen at our wedding, though. We're built different. The English would not dare!" And then at their wedding, the English ride up to collect Murron, and Wallace watches shocked, shocked that this would happen . . . again. Braveheart may be heavy-handed on some points, but give me heavy-handed consistency over wild characterization inconsistencies duck-taped together by other characters' comments any day.
Before I rewatched Braveheart, I had not seen a Mel Gibson movie--besides the one I write about all the time--in at least a decade. I avoided him because I had the idea that most of his roles are variations on a character I generally find uninteresting: unhinged man bent on revenge. And it could be said that Martin is not only the "middle" role by film release date but also the bridge in the gap that separates Wallace, a man without children, and Graham Hess of Signs (2022), a man without a vengeance arc. I would argue, instead, that Martin is the weak link in Gibson's filmography, a man who lacks both Wallace's purity of purpose and, as we'll see in my next post, Hess's humility.
