Rob Roy
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Scots films and English reviewers 
Part 2: Scott of the Arctic

I suppose it was inevitable that I would eventually see the Scots film - Rob Roy. Oh dear. I watched the cut version. From the first half hour I gathered that -

the Scots are bluff, tough and gruff, and some of them steal sheep (goats? oxen?);

the English are swines and thought to be given to bugg***;

shagging in the open in Scotland can give you a bad cold.

From the second half hour I gleaned that -

there's a lot of shagging in the open in Scotland;

Rob Roy McGregor is a tuogh man and takes no shit, is a man of honour and not to be trifled with or demeaned in any way;

the English are swines (see above) and drink too much;

there are three days every year in Scotland when it does not rain (much).

The third half hour enlightened me as to -

the habits of English aristocracy and their lackeys vis-a-vis oppressed serving wenches;

why some serving wenches are terminally thick and seem to get what they deserve;

the advantages of having the IMF handle bad debts;

the likelihood of becoming rich from raising cattle in Western Scotland;

By this time I thought it was perhaps a trailer for some much greater epic and went to make myself a cup of tea and get Charlotte's bottle. When I returned, at 90 mins into the pic --

old honour britches was up the Khyber running through Scotch mist on Ben Nevis and cursing the Duke of Montrose;

somehow, old Cunningham Tim Roth had settled his debts (heh, heh, heh Muttley);

the English were still swines (see above);

Emm, got lost a bit here; I think Mrs. McGregor got raped somewhere down the line;

there's nothing like honour demeaned to pull together a bunch of Scotsmen in defence of something some other Scotsman says he lost and persuade them to spend six weeks in the cold Scotch rain and mist tossing their claymores at passing elk;

religion got involved a bit here, and Bonny Prince Charlie for good measure, all to give the good old Protestant English a good excuse to bash up the Scots (again) for being Catholic sympathisers and sheep shaggers; someone called the Duke of Argyll was very cross about something.

It was now 1 a.m. I think I switched over temporarily to watch the news (I left the video running so as not to spoil the impetus) where Bill Clinton was about to climb down an airplane ladder at Heathrow airport. All very exciting. Anyway, when I switched back, I think it was still the same film, but anyway, Liam Neeson (is that an anagram?) was now also very cross about something and much threatening and cursing; much talk about honour and "ya'll no' doo tha' agin' hea' ya' thievin' biusdvb' ek.jbn' jjvasdfeo' !!!"; Such a charming language, Gaelic. Anyway, back to the plot - isn't it amazing how long these videos can be on these new machines! - I discerned --

a BIG FIGHT was about to happen (167th minute) and much come-uppance about to be got (boo, hissss, it's the English);

McGregor was captured on the bridge and threw this thievin' Sassenach over to throttle on his woggle cord and ran off so as not to miss the BIG FIGHT; (must have dozed off a bit here)

the big fight, and someone (the baddie?) got killed;

(732nd minute) sort of a happy ending à la Walter Scott (he was definitely paid by the line) with the hero apotheosed into a Scotch mist fetish.

It was now 4 am and the chickens in the farmyard next door were getting restless. Charlotte had long since finished her bottle, and Alex was asleep in a heap on the floor. Caruso had given up and was asleep on the door with his head tucked into his wings. I was beginning to feel a little tired. I couldn't stay awake for the coda. What a night! Substitute weeks for the minute marks and you have the equivalent of reading the book: you grow old. Very slowly. You can see why it was thought to be GOOD FOR YOU to read such books, as they were about honour and decency and ra ra other good boyscout things like sleeping in the rain and catching flu from shagging in the open on Scottish moors.

Review of Braveheart

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