
Blood of Kings: A Comprehensive Look at the Filmmaking Techniques
of Russell Mulcahy’s Highlander
By
Danel Griffin
Note:
This essay was written as a thesis paper for a Film Studies class
that I completed a few months before I started running this website.
I ultimately decided to use it as a springboard to begin Film
as Art: It was the first article that I posted here, and has
since become one that I am often asked about since it contrasts
in both length and the use of cinematic terms from my other reviews.
More of an in-depth article about the language of film than an
official "critique," I chose to include it here because
it presents a clear idea of the overall cinematic knowledge that
I apply when I write about films. As a friend once told me, this
is a good review to start with when reading my site because it
really reveals what I am about (thanks for that perspective, Gary).
I am grateful for the interest that my readers have placed on
this essay, and I am happy that it has found a home here on a
site that stresses film for its artistic and literary merits.
Always more than a cult-film, Highlander remains a much-overlooked
classic of its genre, and it is my hope that this article correctly
points out the cinematic techniques that helped shaped it into
the truly great film and superior entertainment that it is. However,
because of the nature of this review, I will warn my readers with
a high spoilers alert: This
article heavily discusses major plot points in the film, and it
is one that should be read after viewing the film, not before.
I unashamedly admit that I am the biggest movie snob that I know.
Ever since I was a pre-teen, movies have been my biggest hobby.
My friends call me a walking encyclopedia of film knowledge. I
have seen thousands of movies. I play Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon
so well that no one ever wants to compete against me anymore.
I often grumble random movie quotes under my breath, and my family
has come up with a game in which they give me a word, and I quote
a line from a film using that word (currently, the only word that
has thus far continued to stump me is “artichoke”).
I run a film review website sponsored by my university,
and I am currently in an undergraduate program looking to further
my goal of becoming a full-time movie critic - one that is becoming
realized as I begin my website. I am currently the only film critic
that I'm aware of living in Juneau, and I might be the biggest
cinematic geek on this side of the state. I'm not bragging; I'm
simply stating a fact.
Of
course, anyone with a knack for anything always has a starting
point. While I was always an avid movie watcher as a child, they
were little more than time-filler in my elementary years. That
changed when I watched one particular film that I first saw when
I was barely twelve, and my love affair with cinema began. It
was a film that filled me with such awe—a film that moved
me to such a point where I thought no movie could ever possibly
move me—that I knew that for the rest of my life, I wanted
movies to be a part of me. That movie was Highlander.
Introduction:
Highlander
was directed by Russell Mulcahy, a little known Australian director
who made his mark in the MTV world for being the first music video
director to incorporate widescreen. Highlander was his
second film, preceding a tiny-budgeted Aussie horror film
Razorback. Mulcahy would later go on to direct other genre
favorites such as The Shadow and Ricochet, and
recently, he has won acclaim for directing the HBO series "Queer
as Folk."
As
was the case with many great science fiction/fantasy films (namely,
2001,
Alien, Blade
Runner and Dark
City) when Highlander first opened in 1986,
it was a victim of negative critical notices and poor box office
returns. Only through VHS did its popularity spread, mainly through
word-of-mouth, and slowly but surely, it gained a reputation as
a cult-classic. Nearly twenty years later, Highlander’s
fame has widened to the point that is considered one of the greatest
fantasy films of all time, and the critics who first scorned it
now generally agree that among genre films, Highlander
has few equals in terms of creativity and durability.
Thesis
and Purpose of this Essay:
Highlander
is a film that asks the question, “What is it like to live
forever?” Much like the greatest of the Greek and Shakespearian
tragedies, the film then proceed to reveal a premise which covers
a multiple of themes through the experiences of realistic and
dynamic characters. It tells the story of a small group of Immortal
gladiators locked in a Game to be the final one of their kind
(so as not to give the film away, I refuse to reveal any more
plot points), and it focuses on one particular Immortal’s
perception of this game—Connor MacLeod—and his five-hundred-year
journey from a ruffian from the Scottish Highlands in the 1540’s
to an antique dealer in 1980’s New York City living in seclusion.
While the cult-following that has surrounded the film focuses
primarily on its well-filmed action scenes, Highlander’s
durability is in its themes and unique approaches to looking at
them. Mulcahy utilizes every creative trick in the book to present
ideas that are certainly traditional and archetypal (true love,
good versus evil, immortality), but the approach to these ideas
and the story that has been written around them are ultimately
so ingenuous and refreshing that the film ends up being not so
much a movie but an experience—not so much a painting to
look at, but a landscape to see, hear, feel, smell, and touch.
The
key to Highlander’s success is in its approach
to its subject matter. What could have been a premise that breathes
cliché (as sort of a fantasy twist of Rocky) is
given a fresh approach due to Mulcahy’s unique directing
style and a cleverly-written script. The central premise is not
so much about the Immortal Game as much as it is the perception
of the Game through the participant Connor MacLeod (played by
Christopher Lambert). Even before we are completely sure where
the film is taking us, Mulcahy has set the tone enough to notify
us that the themes will be dark. Indeed, Highlander could
easily be considered an anti-epic, meaning that it has all of
the qualities of an epic (grand, sweeping extreme shots, a larger-than-life
story and a detail-filled set design), but Mulcahy inserts so
many dark, film noir-elements into the mix that we as viewers
are immediately made aware that the film is going to be much more
complex than the average men-in-kilts-holding-swords movie. Any
beautiful Scottish landscape that we see is downplayed by the
fact that something sad is happening on screen. Every extreme
shot is used to remind us of the curse of immortality. Battle
sequences happen in dark, depressing areas, often soaked in mud
and rain or closed off in dark alleys or underground parking lots.
Highlander could very well be the only existing attempt to
mix film-noir and the epic (epic-noir?). It works because it succeeds
in blending them.
While
Highlander is without a doubt one of the few great fantasy
films (it certainly merits a four-star
rating), this article is not a general review of the film
but rather a deeper look at the use of the movie-making techniques
that shape its greatness. The purpose of this essay is to analyze
and discuss how Mulcahy and his team use these techniques to create
a great film that is set apart from the rest of its kind. Thus,
I have divided this essay up into several seperate sections, in
order to thoroughly discuss each technique as clearly and as effeciently
as possible.

Writing:
Highlander’s greatest strength is the unique approach
to the writing of the script. Instead of taking the time to explain
the premise in a standard, three-act story-arc, the writers (Gregory
Widen, who wrote the original premise as a college senior thesis,
with Larry Ferguson and Peter Bellwood) place the viewer foremost
in the Game’s final stages, leaving an intentional sense
of mystery and confusing for the viewer. In other words, the film
starts in the last chapter of the history of the Immortals and
works backwards. Only slowly, through flashbacks of various points
in MacLeod’s five-hundred year life and bits of explication
which only come a few lines at a time, does Highlander
reveal its plotline and conflicts fully. Along the way, we are
slowly introduced to all of the key players, many of whom are
as confused by what is happening as we are. By the film’s
halfway mark, the viewer is finally completely informed of the
premise, and by this time, they are so sucked into the themes
and the characters, Highlander has become irresistible
and intoxicating. This approach, which is reminiscent of such
classic cinema as Citizen Kane, has rarely worked so
well in telling an effective story. This might be the first fantasy/science
fiction film to utilize this approach, though the modern sci-fi
classic Dark
City effectively used the structure again twelve years
later.

Highlander’s
writers always succeed in creating exceptional characters. The
key to Highlander’s success is the intelligence
of its inhabitants, in particular the Immortals. Here are beings
that have existed among humans for centuries. Yet, they are completely
separated from these “worthless mortals” (as the main
villain of the piece refers to them). Which Immortals are “good
guys” or “bad guys” is determined by the Immortal’s
view of the mortals, and what type of mortals they choose to surround
themselves with. Note the scum that the Kurgan (Clancy Brown),
the antagonist, chooses to associate with. They are drug addicts,
hustlers, and prostitutes. He considers these mortals below him,
and they exist only to suit his needs, so he can rule them later
if he happens to collect the Grand Prize of the Game (which is,
according to one Immortal, “power beyond all imagination”).
Connor, on the other hand, is much more sympathetic. He is still
detached from the mortal world and living mainly in seclusion,
but he is willing to interfere if he feels there is need. He rescues
a Jewish orphan from the Nazis in World War II, who he raises
as a daughter. Throughout the centuries, he engages in some romantic
relationships with mortals, including a wife, Heather (Beatie
Edny), in his early days as an Immortal. Clearly, the Kurgan sees
mortals as his cosmic playthings, while Connor at least reaches
out of his world of seclusion to help mortals from time to time.
Because
the central Immortals’ perception of the mortals is so pivotal
to understanding their characters, the mortals themselves must
be finely drawn. The writers succeed in loading every mortal in
the film with interesting personality quirks. The more central
characters, such as the sword specialist Brenda (Roxanna Hart)
and the confused police officers investigating a murder case tied
to MacLeod, are written with wit and intelligence, but even those
with only a few lines are given attention. When the Kurgan hijacks
a car by pulling the husband out, he barks, “MOM!”
at the wife, who is a passenger. As the vehicle screeches off
(and the wife screams for help), the husband chases after them
and demands that the Kurgan return his vehicle—seeming to
have little interest in the safety of his spouse. In a massive
battle scene between two rivaling Scottish clans, a priest sneaks
up behind an enemy fighter, slices his throat, and then blessed
the corpse. These are just a few examples—there is no character
in Highlander who is not have a personality of his own,
no matter how small the role.
While the narrative is mostly from Connor MacLeod’s perspective,
the film is told in an omniscient point of view, with all the
chief characters reaching their own points of revelation. Thus,
sub plots that would naturally arise in a film with this particular
premise are handled properly. Certainly, the idea of immortals
hunting each other through the centuries, lopping off each others’
head, is preposterous, and we are given two police detectives
(Alan North, Jon Polito) who investigate the matter. They exist
for continuity’s sake—murders of this magnitude in
New York would not go unnoticed. But instead of being stock characters,
they have charm and personalities uniquely their own, and they
represent the voice of the viewers, who are trying to piece together
the mystery of the film just as they are. Once the audience comes
to understand what is happening fully, their subplot is dropped
and they disappear, appropriately. Brenda is of course the love
interest for the modern-day setting, and she is also given a subplot
involving a search for an ancient sword. In order to keep her
developing a relationship with MacLeod, all the clues to finding
this sword point to him. Once a romance begins between then, however,
that subplot is also dropped. There’s no reason to maintain
it—the point of Brenda’s character has already been
established. She is to fall in love with MacLeod, and the subplot
allows her to do so. When it is no longer needed, it is discarded
so as not to slow down the momentum of the main premise.
The true genius to the characters, however, lies in the guidelines
that the Immortals must follow. Ramirez (Sean Connery), MacLeod’s
teacher in ancient Scotland, supplies most of this exposition,
in which we are told that the Immortals can never fight on Holy
Ground because “it’s tradition.” In addition,
they appear only to be able to fight with swords, and in the end
of the Game, “there can be only one” Immortal left
standing (they can die, but only when decapitated by another Immortal).
Where did the Immortals comes from? Why does this Game exist?
At what point do the Immortals stop aging? Why can’t they
fight on Holy Ground? Why can they only battle with swords? These
questions are never answered. Upon Highlander’s
initial release, critics of the film complained that these plot
points were never developed, but time has proven the film’s
power is in its mystery. We are never told the details of the
Immortal’s game, or the reason for the rules. We simply
must accept them.

If
the unexplained mystery of the Game is frustrating for the viewer,
they are not alone: As Highlander progresses, it is made
clear that the Immortals are as confused about the rules as we
are. They do not know why they are Immortal and others are mortal,
or why the Game exists the way it does. The only explanation regarding
their existence and the Game come from Ramirez: “Why does
the sun come up? Or are the sky just pinholes in the curtain of
night? Who knows?” The ambiguity of the Game actually makes
for strong character development for the participating Immortals.
As they continue to live through the ages, they must adjust to
who they are and the puzzle of their existence in different ways.
Ramirez is flamboyant, and has accepted his Immortal role by assuming
the role of a teacher for younger Immortals just beginning in
the Game. The Kurgan has allowed years of bloodshed and his obsession
with the Prize to drive him over the edge, and throughout the
film, he transforms from menacing but intelligent to bloodthirsty
and insane. Despite his lust for evil, we eventually pity him
more than we fear him. Kastagir (Hugh Quarshie) dreams of parties
and alcohol. Before we see whether or not he wields a sword, we
see him drinking his bottle of “boom boom.” MacLeod
is haunted by his painful past—particularly the death of
his first wife—and has chosen to stay out of the limelight,
living a life of isolation. Still, he has accepted his identity,
and he is a noble warrior. With these characters, and the structure
of the storyline, the writers have created a world in Highlander
that stands completely on its own, and entices the viewer to become
absorbed into this universe. Certainly no film after Star
Wars had achieved this level of imagination before this film.
Acting:
The
universe within Highlander could not have reached this
level of success without a talented group of actors to breathe
life into these characters. Once again, this film comes through
with flying colors. For the most part, the acting is set by the
tone of the film. As said above, we are given realistic characters
trapped in a preposterous premise, and the players handle themselves
accordingly. Highlander was Christopher Lambert’s
third widely-distributed film, and only his second English-speaking
role. Lambert’s realistic approach to MacLeod became his
signature role, and it was well-earned. Lambert portrays Connor
as ultimately isolated and lonely, but only because he has chosen
this way of life after centuries of heartbreak. He is a rebel
without a cause, but unlike popular approaches to such a character,
Lambert portrays this hero as perfectly aware of the absurdity
of the Game he is trapped in. Throughout the film, MacLeod transitions
from youthful and naïve in 1500’s Scotland to a deadly,
wise gladiator in modern day New York City. The transformation,
which takes centuries of fighting in the Game, is absolutely believable.
At no point do we ever consider Lambert’s MacLeod anything
less than a timeless, realistic Immortal. Consider the opening
scene in which Connor is fighting another Immortal in the parking
lot below Madison Square Garden. This Immortal takes it upon himself
to do a series of ridiculous black flips all around the floor.
This comes across as incoherent lunacy to the audience. Interestingly
enough, it does to MacLeod as well, who peers from his hiding
spot into the shadows and frowns at the spectacle. He is certainly
just as aware that his opponent's hand-springs make absolutely
no logical sense as we are. Lambert throws in all sorts of quirky
touches like this, to give us a truly three-dimensional action
hero.

The chemistry between MacLeod and the other characters is essential
to Highlander’s success, and the actors are accomplished
in their roles. The scene in which the still youthful Connor hold
a dying Heather in his arms, who is at last succumbing to her
age, could have been over sentimental and overacted, but the subtly
displayed between both actors is completely believable. There
are no tears, no sobs. Lambert and Ednie’s eyes are sad,
but instead of being overcome with emotion, the actors show an
almost unnerving restrain. Her death is a truth that they have
both accepted years ago, and it is simply a moment in which Connor
has to say goodbye and move on. In addition, Rachel and Connor’s
relationship is a complex one. She has been Connor’s adopted
daughter for most of her life, and now, she appears almost as
a mother figure, offering him advice and expressing her concerns
about his isolation. The scenes between them are extremely complex,
because the viewer has to believe that this older woman is the
daughter of a man clearly younger in appearance. With gentle mannerisms
and smiles between them, this is never in question. Connor touches
her face and grins weakly, and she melts into his intense gaze.
She is taken with him, as a daughter is taken by a father. It
is one of the great onscreen relationships in the history of the
fantasy film.

The pivotal scene that showcases Lambert’s brilliant acting,
however, is in the confrontation on Holy Ground between Connor
and the Kurgan. By this point in the film, they are the only two
Immortals left on earth, and they have met in a place of Holy
Ground, where they cannot fight. The subtle intensity in both
characters, who so desperately want to kill each other, is approached
only with menacing looks and the slightest movement. The Kurgan
sits behind Connor, and Connor only turns his head towards his
foe while maintaining a respectful sitting position, understanding
that they are in a place of reverence. The Kurgan puts his feet
on the pew in front of him and kicks back, as if he understands
that very soon, this silly Holy Ground rule will no longer matter.
The key moment in this scene comes when the Kurgan unwittingly
reveals that hundreds of years before, he had raped Heather, believing
her to be Ramirez’s woman. The beat here showcases Lambert’s
acting. At first, Lambert seems to show no intense rage which
could trigger an outburst; he simply glances away from the Kurgan
with an expression that conveys first surprise, then horror, and
then, a deep internal hatred. At this point in the scene, the
audience realizes that the Kurgan has lost the Game, and that
no matter what it takes, Connor is determined to defeat him. Eventually,
there is an outburst of sorts, in which MacLeod simply rises to
his feet and grips the Kurgan’s neck and whispers, “I’ll
be out front.”
The Kurgan senses Connor’s rage, and for the first time
in the entire film, here is a subtle look of fear on his face.
It is only a flash, but the Kurgan’s denial to Connor’s
invitation for battle tells us that this beast, who has yet to
turn down a good fight, understands what is at stake here. As
the Kurgan, Clancy Brown (who would later go on to win acclaim
as the equally menacing Captain Hadley in The Shawshank Redemption)
gives us what is perhaps the subtlest over-the-top performance
in cinematic history. Brown understands that the Kurgan is larger
than life in his own mind, but that in reality, he is slowly driving
himself mad because of the endless killing. The Kurgan’s
growl and his hulking presence have been much imitated by other
films, but what these copycats do not understand is that the Kurgan
is far from a static character. While these rip-offs focus simply
on aggression and over-the-top insanity, the Kurgan makes a subtle
progression throughout the course of the film. He begins as a
cold and calculative killer in ancient Scotland. Only through
the course of the film does he begin to lose his mind. By the
end of the film, as the Immortal population becomes slimmer and
slimmer, his sanity fails him completely. He threatens everything
that moves. He laughs maniacally and licks a priest’s hand.
He drives through New York and hits pedestrians. He is no longer
concerned with the world of mortals. The Kurgan of the first act
of the film would not have taken these risks, but the viewer will
probably not consciously realize this. Brown’s approach
is a quiet one, even if his character is loud and powerful. The
approach works as a perfect foil for Lambert’s Connor, who
is subtler and is at all times in control of his wits.

Lambert and Brown are the highlights, but there is no actor who
is not in top form, down to the last extra (some of whom, in the
ancient battle sequences, were actual Scottish locals). Sean Connery
is, of course, perfectly Sean Connery-ish, but who would want
it any other way? He brings his typical flair as the Immortal
sage Juan Sanchez Villa-Lobos Ramirez who takes Lambert under
his wing, and he is provided with some the film’s best lines
(“You have the manners of a goat, you smell like a dung
heap, and you have no knowledge whatsoever of your potential,”
Ramirez retorts, before plunging Connor into a freezing lake).
As Ramirez’s personal history is vague, by my speculation
this might be the only film which features a Scotsman playing
an Egyptian trying to sounds like a Spaniard. Because he is Connery,
however, we don’t care about the inconsistency. Ramirez
remains one of Connery’s most famous roles, probably because
this is the first film in which he plays a wiser, older mentor
to a younger, more rebellious hero—a part he would continue
on in The Untouchables, Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade,
and Finding Forrester. As Heather, Beatie Edny is enchanting,
representing innocence in a world of dueling Immortals. Roxanna
Hart, as Brenda, brings a sarcastic and intelligent edge to a
role which could have easily just been a thankless “love-interest”
character. Sheila Gish, as Connor’s daughter Rachel, is
complex and subtle. James Corsmo plays a role nearly identical
to his role in Braveheart nearly ten years later as Connor’s
brutal clansman Angus, who is sympathetic towards the protagonist’s
struggles. The rest of the cast, particularly Polito and North
as the police detectives and Quarshie as the alcoholic Immortal
Kastagir, are effective in smaller roles.

Photography:
Photography
is also crucial to any film’s success, as it visualizes
the tone that it is trying to convey. As I already noted, Mulcahy
utilizes just about every trick in the book in order to express
the characters and premise via the camera. He gives us the look
of an epic, but the tone of film-noir. Consider the establishing
shot of the film, which takes place in Madison Square Garden.
We are given a combination of extreme shot and crane shot, as
the camera circles around the entire dark stadium, which is filled
with people watching a wrestling match (in the original script,
it was a hockey match, but the NHL pulled out, citing that they
didn’t want their sport to be associated with violence).
Slowly, the camera slows down and zeroes in on a single spectator
sitting in the balcony, MacLeod, and it zooms in on him and becomes
a close-up of his face. While most crane/extreme shots exist to
give a film a sweeping, glorious effect, the chaotic noise and
the ocean of people instead give off a darker, claustrophobic
feel. Thus, the shot works inversely, and it sets up the attitude
that will follow this entire film: the premise is epic, but the
themes are not. As there have been thousands of years of history
of the Immortals, yet the film chooses to focus on the history
of one particular Immortal, this opening scene shows thousands
of people in a room, and zeroes in on a sad-faced, lonely MacLeod.
Indeed, the photography of this scene is the main character.
From this point on, the camera continues to give us essential
character details. Connor, when he is alone in a scene, is almost
always given extreme shots, emphasizing his loneliness and isolation
in an unkind world. Inversely, the Kurgan’s shots are almost
always close-ups or medium shots, shot from the ground up, emphasizing
his towering presence. He fills up a shot the same way he perceives
himself as closing in on the world of mortals, as he gets closer
and closer to his goal of being the final Immortal left and receiving
the Prize.
In addition to establishing characters, Mulcahy never ceases to
use photography to establish the themes. He continues to utilize
extreme shots that are essential to epics, but in every shot like
this, there is a dark note that is also expressed. Take for instance
the opening shot of Connor’s museum. In the back of his
antique shop, there is a large, circular room in which he keeps
his oldest artifacts (in another nod to the writers, doesn’t
it make sense that an Immortal would make a wonderful antique
dealer?). We are shown him entering into the room with an extreme
shot that encompasses him and the entire room, and the shot is
certainly breathtaking. Before we can be too impressed, however,
we realize that this room is where he is reminded of all of the
eras that he has lived. Thus, he is reminded of the horrible Game
that he is trapped in. The scene, instead of giving us the sweeping
feeling of an epic, only emphasizes Connor’s isolation and
cursed existence. Every previous and subsequent scene featuring
an extreme shot contains this dark edge, with the notable exception
of the training sequences between Connor and Ramirez, which are
as bright, humorous, and lush as the best extreme shots of the
epics of old. Perhaps this is because that these sequences, in
which Connor comes to learn that he is cannot die, are when he
is happiest in his life. He has yet to learn that Immortals cannot
have children, and he is married to his beloved Heather while
she is still young and beautiful, living in a castle in his native
Scotland. He had yet to learn the responsibilities of his Immortal
lifestyle, and he is youthful and free. As soon as reality sets
in, the dark tone returns, giving these brighter scenes an inverse
effect. As a result, the final flashback sequences that take place
in Scotland retain their bright, extreme-shot photography, but
within the story, there is always something negative happening
to Connor during these shots, whether it be his wife growing older,
or his peering at his ruined castle after the death of Ramirez.
The final sword fight is also intriguing. At long last, the final
battle for the Immortal’s Prize has come after thousands
of years. The winner will have the power to rule all of mankind.
Where does this cosmic battle scene take place? In a dark, abandoned
warehouse in the middle of the night, while New York sleeps outside.
We are given another combination of the extreme shot and the crane
shot to showcase the energy of the two dueling Immortals, and
in the darkness of the building, only their silhouettes are visible
in the light of the large window behind them. The point to Mulcahy’s
filming approach? The most crucial moments in history take place
behind closed doors, with the world being completely ignorant
of what is happening.
Mise
en scene:
Because of Mulcahy’s approach to the extreme shot and the
subsequent dark tone of the entire film, the mise en scene only
compliments this style. There is a notable contrast between the
mise en scene in Connor’s scenes and the mise en scene in
the Kurgan’s world. In Connor’s universe, we are given
rooms or landscapes that are gigantic in nature, but with dark
elements scattered throughout. Consider the interior of his gigantic
castle in which he and Heather live in solitude. Birds fly throughout,
and the ground consists only of a dirty table. There is a small
loft somewhere above, and a towering but fragile stairway that
ascends up the castle wall but seems to lead to nowhere. There
are only a few small windows, so the castle is only dimly lit.
Moss grows all on the walls. The interior of the castle is given
extreme shots from the ground up, showcasing its bizarre, gothic
spectacle: Grand, but dark. Exactly like Connor’s world.

Now, contrast Connor's castle with the Kurgan’s scenes.
His frames consist of deep-focus shots and tight frames, in which
he generally takes up around eighty percent of the screen. In
his hotel scene, in which he is assembling his sword, the furniture
is closed in around him, and most of the shots are either long
shots in which he encompasses most of the frame or close-ups,
focusing on him staring longingly at his sword, looking forward
to the heads he will take with it. In particular, when the prostitute
enters and introduces herself, we are treated to a deep-focus
shot, in which his right eye takes up all of the screen except
for a tiny section on the left side, in which we clearly see the
prostitute’s entire body. He is the imposing Immortal, and
she is his insignificant mortal play-thing. The mise en scene
in this shot effectively establishes the Kurgan’s view of
mortals, and his superiority complex.
In the scene in the cathedral, there is an interesting contrast
as these two adversaries meet. The cathedral is certainly represents
Connor’s world, as it is huge and spacey, with a large,
dome ceiling, yet scattered with dark, depressing elements such
as stain glass windows and only a few rays of light peering here
and there. When the Kurgan enters, we see only his back side,
which again takes up nearly eighty percent of the screen, walking
towards Connor. The Kurgan then sits behind Connor, and the emphasis
changes from the size of the church to the pews where they are
sitting. The Kurgan encompasses his pew, looking entirely too
large to be able to fight comfortably in such a tightly-fitted
seat. Connor, who is in front of him, suddenly looks tiny and
frail sitting there in comparison. The placement of these pews
at first gave us Connor looking on,into this gigantic cathedral.
Now, they showcase the Kurgan towering over Connor. The contrast
of the mise en scene in this film, which changes it appearance
in a matter of a few camera angles, effectively establishes the
difference of personality between these two Immortals.
Costume/Production
Design:
The production design is essential to establishing the personalities
of Connor, the Kurgan and the others, as the Immortal's choice
of surrounding certainly give insight into their characters. In
particular the costumes greatly define the Immortal characters.
Besides the ancient Scottish attire in the scene’s flashbacks,
which from what I can tell are historically accurate, the clothes
worn by Connor in the New York scenes reflect his lonely spirit:
a dull, tanned trench coat, white sneakers, and a five-o’clock
shadow that never seems to disappear from his face. This get-up
is drab and uninspiring, and that Connor has lived for hundreds
of years and has no sense of fashion only indicates that his sense
of connection to the world is failing. More interesting is the
Kurgan’s choice of clothing: leather and chains, reminiscent
of a typical 1980s punk rocker. Many critics initially
attacked the Kurgan’s character for this reason, reasoning
that a man thousands of years old would probably be too sophisticated
to dress like a punk-rocker and shout obscenities. I would argue
that this characterization makes perfect sense; after all, the
Kurgan has no interest in the mortal world. Why would he ever
strive to become be anything higher than the lowest common denominator?
Besides, a head-hunting Immortal certainly wants to keep a low
profile, which he would certainly maintain more living as a street-punk
than a tycoon.

Other Immortals do have a stronger sense of culture, such as Ramirez
and Kastagir. Ramirez never steps out of his ancient, Spanish
attire, which includes a dashing red suit and a feathered hat.
This choice of clothing indicates a man very much in touch with
the world around him and its culture. Kastagir is dressed in an
odd combination of African clothes and modern attire, giving us
an Immortal who has not let go of his roots, but has accepted
the changing world around him to some degree. The mortals’
costumes also reflect their personality to varying degrees, whether
it be a Vietnam survivor wearing a “Hey Moscow, Up Yours!”
shirt or Brenda attempting to look stunning for a date, but being
so consumed in her quest to find an ancient sword that she simply
looks tacky.
Set wise, the film compliments the director’s vision and
photography well. More than anything else, the locations for the
fight sequences are crucial. The Scottish Highlands are dirty
and rainy in fight sequences, with mud and blood effectively covering
every character, leaving the scenes with a chaotic feel. The duel
between the Kurgan and Kastagir takes place in a dark alley, revealing
the secrecy of the Game that they are playing. The first New York
confrontation between Connor and the Kurgan takes place in a similar
location, which is swarming with mist. Strobe lights fill the
frame, revealing only the Kurgan’s silhouette. This type
of filming is essential, because despite the Kurgan’s menacing
appearance, only being able to see pieces of him coming out of
the mist creates a much more menacing adversary for Connor. The
effect is the same for the scene in which Connor and the Kurgan
are waste-deep in water, and Connor is searching desperately for
his foe, only to have the Kurgan rise quietly behind him out of
the water with his sword raised high, in what is an effective
homage to Alien.
The set design is also important for establishing Connor’s
personal life. His antique shop, which is filled with many rooms
of antique artifacts and books, lets the audience know from the
first moment we see it what Connor has been doing for a living,
even before we fully understand who he is and what is going on.
Eventually, we come to understand that this shop only encloses
him more in his Immortality, as he finds himself trapped in the
remnants of his life. The Kurgan’s lack of a home is also
important: much of his screen time is spent traveling on wet,
dark streets in his imposing Firebird, with tainted windows. Here
is a man who lives in the streets, who understands what it means
to have power. His very car creates his character, long before
his character is fully developed

Editing:
The narrative structure of Highlander is the movement
between flashbacks to Connor's life in Scotland and his adventures
in modern day New York, editing plays a crucial role in effectively
holding the film together. The transitions that Mulcahy employs
from present day to ancient Scotland and back again are breathtaking,
and are now vastly considered the benchmark from which other films
using flashback transitions take notes from. There is a particular
scene in which Connor is sitting in his home in New York, and
is recalling a training session between him and Ramirez which
took place on a boat in the middle of a lake. To transition, Connor
glances over at gigantic his fish tank, and the camera suddenly
switches to the Immortal’s point of view. The camera pans
from the bottom of the tank to the top, and when it reaches the
water’s end, the surface of the tank’s water becomes
the surface of an ancient Scottish lake, and we see and extreme
shot of Connor and Ramirez in a boat. The effect is breathtaking
and absolutely seamless.
There are other good examples of interesting transitions from
the past to the present. In one scene, we see a body lying dead
in ancient Scotland. It begins as a close up of the dead man’s
face. It slowly pans up to a long shot, and we see bright flashing
lights of a camera. Before the viewer has time to realize that
no cameras exist in 1500’s Scotland, we cut to a crime scene
in 1980’s New York, in which photographers are taking pictures
of a headless corpse the same distance from the camera as the
Scottish corpse had been. Mulcahy utilizes one image—camera
flashes—to cut these two scenes together. Once again, the
approach is seamless. Other transitions, such as the image on
the screen exploding with the sound of a bomb falling and the
new screen created behind it being World War II war footage, are
both original and invigorating. I often found myself watching
carefully to see how creative the next transition would be, but
by the time we have moved from the past to the present, the movement
would be so seamless that I hadn’t even noticed the change.
This is the mark of a good editor.
Of course, because the Immortals battle with swords, the fight
sequences must also be well-edited. For the most part, Mulcahy
seems uninterested in losing the momentum of the drawn-out sword
fights, and keeps them in the confounds of a few long takes. The
camera simply follows the warriors via crane to and fro, cutting
only occasionally to show a different angle. The effect works—instead
of giving us tricky camera angles, Mulcahy allows the energy in
these fight sequences speak for themselves. The viewer gains a
better understanding of just what is at stake between the characters,
and who at what point in the sword fight has the upper hand.
Music/Sound
Effects:
The
music and sound effects in Highlander consist of a balance between
past and present, and they successfully reflect the centuries
that the movie spans. The legendary rock band Queen provides the
songs for the film (which would later all be included on their
album A Kind of Magic), and late, popular Hollywood score
writer Michael Kamen (who would go on to write music for the Lethal
Weapon films, Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, and
X-Men) provided the orchestration. The combination between
classical music and modern rock balances the ancient and contemporary
settings, and the results are arguably one of the greatest collaborative
soundtracks in movie history. Queen’s anthem “Princes
of the Universe,” playing over the film’s opening
credits, certainly sets the stage for the events to follow with
Freddie Mercury’s classic voice raging “I am Immortal.
I have inside me blood of kings. I have no rival; no man can be
my equal. Send me to the future of your world.” Queen continues
to be effective, bringing us songs which showcase the personalities
of the protagonist and the antagonist. The Kurgan’s song,
which the character actually pops into his tape player in his
Firebird, is “Give Me the Prize,” in which the lyrics
read, “I am the one, the only one. I am the god of kingdom
come, Give me the prize!” That line sums up the Kurgan’s
entire personality and frame of mind better than any words that
I could add. In addition, a heart wrenching song, “Who Wants
to Live Forever,” is played over the scene in which Connor
says his final goodbye to his dying wife Heather. This song is
so powerful that between it and the wonderful acting that Lambert
and Edny bring to the screen, the scene remains one of the film’s
most powerful moments.

As
the composer, Michael Kamen actually utilizes the melodies of
some of Queen’s songs, particularly “Who Wants to
Live Forever,” the tune of which plays over the film’s
love scenes. In addition, Kamen brings us a riveting score which
brings to mind the excitement of the best Errol Flynn swashbucklers.
He is particularly effective in the final battle scene, in which
quick-paced brass music is played over the Immortals’ final
battle to be the last man standing. The effect is actually opposite
of the feel that Mulcahy seemed to be going for. As I have noted,
the final battle sequence is small and contained, as the fate
of the world is being determined without anyone else ever knowing
it. The music, however, knows what is at stake, and gives us a
fun, flamboyant score more in common with a pirate movie than
a dark, film noir-styled film like this one. Thus, while the battle
is in secret, we as viewers are reminded of the significance of
this battle in relation to the fate of the world by the musical
score.
Besides the music, the bizarre sound effects and sound morphing
are significant in telling us what is happening in the story.
As Connor is fighting his first major battle in the Scottish Highlands,
amidst thousands of other warriors, the noises of battle seem
distant and largely silent. Thus, we understand that we are seeing
this war from Connor’s point of view, and he is confused
and frightened, so that the events around him seem far away and
separated from his mind. In addition, scenes transitioning to
flashbacks are often given a loud, high-pitched noise that tells
us that we are entering into a memory in Connor’s mind.
Because we don’t understand at first what is happening in
the film, such noises are pivotal book marks for the audience,
to remind them that another shift in time is about to occur.
The most crucial sound effect, however, is in the indication that
another Immortal is near. Immortals can feel each others presences,
and whenever they are a short distance from each other, an alarm
goes off in their heads. This alarm is given to us as viewers
in the sound that is the combination of slurred, high-pitched
whispers and the sound of hollow thunder. When this sound comes,
and the Immortal suddenly perks up and begins to scan his surrounding
area, the audience understands that there is about to be a confrontation.
The sound effect builds tension effectively, as is showcased in
the fight scene between Ramirez and the Kurgan. Ramirez and Heather
sit at a table inside Connor’s castle (Connor’s whereabouts
in this scene are unknown, and are often debated by Highlander’s
legion of fans). They are sharing dinner and speaking cordially,
when the noise is suddenly heard, and Ramirez’s eyes become
filled with concern. Now, we understand as an audience that this
is not an actual sound, but rather our indication that there is
another Immortal near. It might be Connor, but we don’t
know for sure. And neither does Ramirez. Slowly, he rises to his
feet, picks up his sword, and tells a confused Heather to leave.
Of course, the Kurgan eventually comes bursting through the door,
but without this noise alarming us that something was coming,
we as the audience would be just as confused by Ramirez’s
actions as poor Heather. As a result of this sound effect, however,
we know exactly why Ramirez is concerned, and the tension is allowed
to build before the crucial confrontation takes place.
And
In Closing:
One of my favorite sayings about today's cinema comes from the
great German director Werner Herzog, who lamented that we live
in an age starved of new images and ideas. If this is the case,
then Highlander stands as a towering achievement of storytelling
and imagination. The themes—good versus evil, immortality,
survival of the fittest, and true love—are certainly not
original ideas. They are timeless, archetype stories that have
been told since the beginning of time. Highlander’s
effectiveness lies in its approach to the material. Russell Mulcahy
has assembled a talented group of film makers that have created
an experience that breaths new life into the themes that Highlander
conquers, in a premise that is both original and well-written.
The famous film maker Howard Hanks famously defined a good movie
by saying that it will have three great scenes, and no bad scenes.
With this is mind, Highlander contains so many wonderful
scenes that continually strike the right note, that there is little
wonder why the film, after nearly twenty years, is still one of
the most popular fantasy movies of all time, joining the ranks
of Metropolis,
2001: A Space Odyssey, Blade Runner, E.T.,
Alien, and Star Wars. I speculate that the reason
it received bad reviews and poor box office returns upon its initial
release is because it was simply ahead of its time—utilizing
camera tricks and a type of story telling that the public simply
wasn’t ready for yet in a decade of spandex and big hair.
On the other hand, Francis Ford Coppola has noted that the measure
of a great film is not whether or not it was received warmly by
the critics, but whether or not it is still be watched years after
its release. Considering this, Highlander is certainly
a classic film that will continue to be cherished and watched
as the world of movie making continues to grow and change. It
is a triumphant example of the art of cinema, and watching it
reminds us all of why we like going to the movies in the first
place.

Highlander, directed
by Russell Mulcahy. Starring Chrisopher Lambert, Sean Connery,
Clancy Brown. Producers: Peter S. Davis and William N. Panzer.
Writers: Gregory Widen, Peter Bellwood, and Larry Ferguson, from
an original screenplay by Widen. Original U.S. release date: 3/4/86.
116 minutes.
Questions? Comments? E-mail
me: danel_the_tinman@hotmail.com
Visit the Official
Highlander website.
(Much thanks to the Connor
MacLeod Homepage for most of the pictures!)