A Kind of Magic E-Book

Jonathan Melville

• Herausgeber: Polaris
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Seitenzahl: 509

Beschreibung

The story of an immortal Scottish warrior battling evil down through the centuries, Highlander fused a high-concept idea with the kinetic energy of a pop promo pioneer and Queen's explosive soundtrack to become a cult classic. When two American producers took a chance on a college student's script, they set in motion a chain of events involving an imploding British film studio, an experimental music video director still finding his filmmaking feet, a former James Bond with a spiralling salary, and the unexpected arrival of low-budget production company, Cannon Films. Author Jonathan Melville looks back at the creation of Highlander with the help of more than 60 cast and crew, as they talk candidly about the gruelling shoot that took them from the back alleys of London, to the far reaches of the Scottish Highlands, and onto the mean streets of 1980s New York City. With insights from Queen's Brian May and Roger Taylor on the film's iconic music, exclusive screenwriter commentary on unmade scripts, never-before-seen photos from private collections, and a glimpse into the promotional campaign that never was. If there can be only one book on Highlander then this is it!

Leseprobe

‘An engrossing read with plenty of on-set anecdotes and insight’

Neil Smith, Total Film

‘A definitive history . . . which every fan should read’

Scott Varnham, Starburst

‘Jonathan Melville has done it again with yet another deep dive into a cult classic. His ability to dig out the facts is truly admirable. I thought I knew all there was to know about Highlander, but A Kind of Magic proves just how wrong I was’

Mike White, The Projection Booth Podcast

‘Jonathan Melville rounds up a huge number of key players and mixes his new interviews with plenty of material from the archives . . . impressive’

SFX

‘An absolute joy to read and an absolutely essential purchase for any Highlander fan’

David Geldard, We Are Cult

‘There really can only be one Highlander . . . and you’re highly unlikely to find a better account of it’ 9/10

Paul Simpson, Sci-Fi Bulletin

This paperback edition first published in 2022 by

POLARIS PUBLISHING LTDc/o Aberdein Considine2nd Floor, Elder HouseMultrees WalkEdinburghEH1 3DX

www.polarispublishing.com

First published in hardback in 2020

Distributed byBIRLINN LIMITED

Text copyright © Jonathan Melville, 2020, 2022

ISBN: 9781913538446eBook ISBN: 9781913538156

The right of Jonathan Melville to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form, or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher.

The views expressed in this book do not necessarily reflect the views, opinions or policies of Polaris Publishing Ltd (Company No. SC401508) (Polaris), nor those of any persons, organisations or commercial partners connected with the same (Connected Persons). Any opinions, advice, statements, services, offers, or other information or content expressed by third parties are not those of Polaris or any Connected Persons but those of the third parties. For the avoidance of doubt, neither Polaris nor any Connected Persons assume any responsibility or duty of care whether contractual, delictual or on any other basis towards any person in respect of any such matter and accept no liability for any loss or damage caused by any such matter in this book.

This is an unofficial publication. All material contained within is for critical purposes.

Every effort has been made to trace copyright holders and obtain their permission for the use of copyright material. The publisher apologises for any errors or omissions and would be grateful if notified of any corrections that should be incorporated in future reprints or editions of this book.

British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication DataA catalogue record for this book is available on request from the British Library.

Designed and typeset by Polaris Publishing, EdinburghPrinted in Great Britain by MBM Print SCS Limited, East Kilbride

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

ONE:CREATING THE LEGEND

TWO:REWRITING HISTORY

THREE:KING OF THE POP PROMO

FOUR:SETTING THE SCENE

FIVE:CHRISTOPHER AND CLANCY

SIX:COMING OUT FIGHTING

SEVEN:BONDING IN SCOTLAND

EIGHT:HOLLYWOOD IN THE HIGHLANDS

NINE:PREPARING FOR BATTLE

TEN:LONDON CALLING

ELEVEN:NEW YORK STATE OF MIND

TWELVE:IMMORTAL COMBAT

THIRTEEN:SETTLING THE SCORE

FOURTEEN:MAKING THE CUT

FIFTEEN:GETTING ANIMATED

SIXTEEN:SELLING THE STORY

SEVENTEEN:BUILDING A FRANCHISE

EIGHTEEN:HIGHLANDER’S LEGACY

EPILOGUE

AFTERWORD

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

REFERENCES

For Mum and Ron

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

The MacLeods make their way into battle. © David James/STUDIOCANAL

Supporting artists gather in the newly-built Jedburgh. © David James/STUDIOCANAL

Christopher Lambert and Sean Connery between takes. © Staff/MIRRORPIX

Glenfinnan is constructed at Eilean Donan Castle. © Tim Hutchinson

Director Russell Mulcahy prepares to shoot. © David James/STUDIOCANAL

Bob Anderson waits while Sean Connery, Christopher Lambert and Russell Mulcahy discuss a scene. © David James/STUDIOCANAL

Russell Mulcahy and Christopher Lambert pause during the Glencoe battle sequence. © David James/STUDIOCANAL

Cast and crew gather for a photo as Clancy Brown watches on horseback. © David James/STUDIOCANAL

The Kurgan (Clancy Brown) observes the clashing clans. © David James/STUDIOCANAL

Sean Connery poses in full Spanish peacock garb. © David James/STUDIOCANAL

MacLeod (Christopher Lambert) says farewell to Heather. © David James/STUDIOCANAL

Producers Peter Davis and Bill Panzer observe filming. © David James/STUDIOCANAL

Christopher Lambert on the beach. © John Hancock

A candid moment between Christopher Lambert and Beatie Edney. © David James/STUDIOCANAL

Clancy Brown resplendent in his armour. © David James/STUDIOCANAL

Christopher Lambert is carried

To the shore of Loch Shiel. © David James/STUDIOCANAL

Beatie Edney takes her position in Glencoe. © John Hancock

Hugh Quarshie, Jon Polito and Christopher Lambert film inside the Dugout. © David James/STUDIOCANAL

Flyer delivered to thousands of apartments in Manhattan before filming on Silvercup. © Edwin Atkins

Bedsoe (Jon Polito) visits Nash (Christopher Lambert) at his store in a deleted scene. © David James/STUDIOCANAL

Lt. Moran (Alan North) visits Rachel (Sheila Gish) as Nash’s store burns in a deleted scene. © David James/STUDIOCANAL

The Kurgan (Clancy Brown) prepares to behead Yung Dol Kim in a deleted scene. © David James/STUDIOCANAL

Christopher Lambert and Roxanne Hart pose for a portrait session. © Georges De Keerle/Getty Images

One of animator and storyboard artist Ravi Swami’s early sketches of MacLeod for the final sequence. Ravi Swami

Early concept poster art for Highlander’s UK release created by artist Mike Bell in 1986.© Phil Howard-Jones / Head of Creative Services at Thorn EMI Screen Entertainment

Nick Maley’s original vision for the Kurgan at the end of Highlander: Lost Kurgan. © Nick Maley

Clancy Brown returns to Scotland for the 4K Highlander premiere at Edinburgh International Film Festival, 18 June 2016. © Jonathan Melville

Christopher Lambert and Clancy Brown reunited at a 30th anniversary screening of Highlander at London’s Prince Charles Cinema, 26 June 2016. © Dave J Hogan/Getty Images

INTRODUCTION

The first time I saw Highlander was in a cinema, but not on its original UK release in August 1986.

At that time I was ten-years-old and in the month the film was released here I’d moved from the family home in the city of Edinburgh to a new life in the Highlands of Scotland. The nearest cinema was in Inverness, a couple of hours away by train or car, and we didn’t have a car. We also didn’t have a video recorder, although the film wouldn’t arrive on VHS until 1987 and the choice of titles available to rent in the local corner shop was limited to seemingly endless Police Academy sequels and low-budget action films.

Not that it mattered much as I don’t recall hearing about the film at school. It would be a few years before I started reading Starburst magazine, a title that would become my gateway into the world of science fiction and fantasy news, previews and reviews years before the internet arrived. Instead, it would take eight years from its UK release for this cinemagoer to discover the film back in Edinburgh, where I’d moved back to as a student in 1994.

Rather than spend my evenings in the student union stocking up on cheap pints and vodka, I was more likely to be found in my flat, watching videotapes of old sci-fi series or more recent action films, either on my own or with flatmates. One of them was far more up on his horror films than me, and his nocturnal trips to the local garage for cigarette papers and tobacco meant he was usually to be found watching videos until the wee small hours.

Study time often became cinema time at our local, the Cameo, an Edinburgh institution which prided itself on its eclectic programme of films, and it was here I’d see the likes of Shallow Grave, Ed Wood, Pulp Fiction and The Limey in their opening weeks, while trips to the now long-gone Odeon in South Clerk Street were reserved for bigger films like Die Hard With a Vengeance, The Rock or The Matrix. I’d like to say I spent just as much time seeking out the latest Peter Greenaway or Werner Herzog, but in those days I was devouring Empire magazine rather than Sight & Sound.

One memorable aspect of the Cameo’s eclectic scheduling was its series of weekend late screenings on Friday and Saturday nights in Screen 1. For just £3.50 you could turn up from 11.30 p.m. and expect a double bill of vaguely thematically linked films, such as Reservoir Dogs and Miller’s Crossing, Dazed and Confused and Slacker or Goldfinger and Dr No. It was on 29 October 1994 that I headed along to the Cameo with my flatmate to witness one of the finest double bills ever scheduled: The Crow and Highlander.

The Crow was only a few months old at this point and had made headlines thanks to the tragic death of its star, Brandon Lee, in a freak on-set accident, something which gave its plot an added poignancy. In the film, Lee’s character, Eric Draven, is killed by thugs before returning from the dead to avenge both his own death and that of his fiancée.

The Crow’s partner that night was an update of the traditional sword-and-sandal epic which combined battle scenes in medieval Scotland with skirmishes in 1985 New York, throwing in a thumping soundtrack from the world’s biggest rock band, Queen. The American-born, Swiss-raised actor Christopher Lambert played the Scottish Connor MacLeod, while local lad Sean Connery (born just around the corner from the cinema in Fountainbridge) was the Egyptian Ramirez, complete with strong Edinburgh accent. Wrapped in the astonishing visuals of Australian director Russell Mulcahy, in Highlander you had a film ready to collapse at any moment under the weight of its own ambition.

Needless to say, I loved it.

Stumbling out into the bracing October night at 3 a.m. and heading back to my flat, my head was spinning with imagery and ideas from both films, realising that although each was rooted in fantasy, they also spoke to the universal themes of death, fear, hope and love. They also had some pretty cool fight scenes and Sean Connery looked amazing, so there was something for everyone.

Much as I loved the original Highlander, I never became an obsessive fanboy, for a few reasons. Firstly, in the nineties it was hard, though not impossible, to find others with similar niche interests in a particular film. The internet wasn’t easy to access, and even if you could you weren’t guaranteed that anyone had created a web page about something you were interested in.

Secondly, the sequels just weren’t very good. I remember renting Highlander III: The Sorcerer (or whatever it was called that week) on VHS soon after its release in 1995 and being underwhelmed by the plot and the action scenes, while it took me another few years to see Highlander II: The Quickening and to be equally disappointed. I appreciate that saying a Highlander film isn’t great in a book about Highlander may not be a good sales technique, but it’s best to be honest from the start. If this leads to me having a yoke tied to my back and being forced out of the metaphorical Highland village by Highlander III fans, then so be it.

In 2000 I headed to Australia for a year and, fearing homesickness for Scotland, took a copy of Highlander on VHS along with me in my backpack. In hostels from Brisbane to Coober Pedy I’d suggest my fellow travellers relax with a few beers and a screening of the film, if not reminded of home by Christopher Lambert’s accent, then certainly by the visuals of lochs and mountains. Looking back, I can see that a picture book of Scottish vistas may have been more appropriate to take with me, but it would have been far less enjoyable.

Fast-forward ten years or so and by the early 2010s I was a freelance film journalist and wannabe author, dabbling in writing features for SFX magazine on films such as Tremors and Short Circuit while working for various arts-related companies. Whether that meant writing blog posts, penning a weekly column for a local newspaper or organising a film festival for a mobile cinema travelling the Highlands and Islands of Scotland, there was usually a film connection. I’d even started my own film website, looking at film and TV from a Scottish perspective.

One thing that always struck me about Scotland’s attitude to cinema was that we were forever looking over our shoulders at what had gone before while fretting about the future. Despite much hand-wringing about the state of Scottish film production, Scotland has never had a film studio. We’ve been content to host productions from around the globe while our own film-makers struggle for funding from national bodies such as the British Film Institute or Screen Scotland and Creative Scotland, while the BBC, STV and Channel Four nurture local talent in fits and starts depending on their budgets.

We’ve always had plenty of talented writers, directors, actors, producers, camera operators and best boys, but we haven’t necessarily always had a glut of productions to keep them all gainfully employed throughout any given year. The early 1980s saw a bright light flicker briefly in the shape of writer-director Bill Forsyth, whose unique brand of whimsy had seen films such as That Sinking Feeling, Gregory’s Girl and Local Hero appear between 1979 and 1983, before he made a few films in America towards the tail end of the decade.

While these films stand shoulder to shoulder with anything produced outside of Scotland, they remain something of a high-water mark for Scottish cinema, a period regularly referred to as a Golden Age by writers including myself. “Where’s the next Bill Forsyth?” we ask, whereas we probably mean, “When will we have some successful homegrown films again?” That’s not to denigrate the work of current independent production companies who are working hard to bring new films and TV to our screens, it’s just a comment on the fact that few of them have had the global success of Local Hero, which to this day has fans around the world keen to travel to Scotland to visit that phone box.

All of which means that we Scots embrace almost any film that has a local connection, including Whisky Galore! (an Ealing Studios production shot on location on the island of Barra), Braveheart (which had a few scenes filmed in Scotland while the majority was shot in Ireland) and Brave (the Disney animated film set in Scotland). It’s not so much that we ignore the questionable attempts at Scottish accents or decisions to mess around with historical fact to make the fiction more exciting, more that we revel in seeing some sort of reflection of ourselves on the cinema screen rather than yet another superhero film set in New York.

Though Highlander is about as Scottish as The Simpsons’ Groundskeeper Willie or Star Trek’s Scotty (actually, we’ll claim them for our own as well), and despite being savaged by critics through the years (the Los Angeles Times announced it was “stultifyingly, jaw-droppingly, achingly awful” on its release in 1986, while Variety reckoned director Russell Mulcahy couldn’t decide whether he was “making a sci-fi, thriller, horror, music video or romance”), we still hold it close to our hearts.

If it really is so bad, why has Highlander refused to simply disappear into the Scotch mist since its somewhat bungled initial release? Despite Russell Mulcahy being accused of directing “little more than an everlasting [music] video”, why did the Edinburgh International Film Festival celebrate the film’s 30th anniversary in 2016 with a premiere for a newly restored version of the film, complete with an appearance from star Clancy Brown? And why do fans from all around the globe still make pilgrimages to Eilean Donan Castle each year to see the ‘birthplace’ of Connor MacLeod, before heading further west to run along a remote beach in the footsteps of their hero?

These are just a few of the questions I’ve been curious about since I started writing about Scottish film, and to answer them I decided to talk to the men and women who put months of their lives into making the film back in 1985.

Jonathan MelvilleEdinburghSeptember 2020

ONE

CREATING THE LEGEND

To walk through the corridors of the Tower of London is to walk through a thousand years of history. It was in the late 11th century that William the Conqueror, the first Norman king of England, ordered the Tower’s construction, an opportunity to show Londoners that their new rulers meant business.

In subsequent centuries it would be known variously as a palace, a prison and a fortress, while in the 15th century a royal armoury was established to procure equipment in times of war. Opening to the public as a tourist attraction in the 16th century, its displays of armour were immediately popular with visitors, and by the 20th century the Tower allowed visitors from around the world to marvel at weapons of war and oppression, before stopping off in the cafe for tea and scones.

One tourist who wandered the corridors and anterooms in 1980, gazing at relics from centuries past, was an 18-year-old high school graduate, Gregory Widen, a native of Laguna Beach, California. “They have the world’s largest collection of armoury,” explained Widen many years later. “I was walking through it and I thought, What if you owned all this? Then I thought, What if you wore all this? And then I thought, What if you never died and you were giving someone a tour saying you owned all this?”

Despite the teen’s interest in the military history surrounding him, it could easily have been a passing thought, instantly forgotten as he left the building and continued with his holiday, before he headed home to California.

Already one of the youngest paramedics in Laguna Beach, Widen now had his sights set on becoming a firefighter, a competitive role not commonly held by teenagers. In Southern California, the fire department and the ambulance service were one and the same, meaning the same people who rode on the fire engines also drove ambulances. With paramedic training under his belt, Widen impressed those in charge of admissions and duly won his place as a firefighter.

By 1981, following stints as a disc jockey and broadcast engineer for ABC TV, Widen decided to sign up to UCLA’s (University of California, Los Angeles) advanced graduate course in screenwriting, paying for his education by working as a firefighter. Said Widen, “On the one hand, I was going into burning buildings, then I was going to class talking about Japanese cinematographers.”

Looking back on the work of his one-time student, Professor Richard Walter explains that each week for ten weeks during the academic quarter (of which UCLA has three annually instead of the more traditional two 15-week semesters), Widen and seven other young screenwriters would meet under the tutelage of various instructors, including Walter himself, whose credits include the earliest drafts of 1973’s American Graffiti.

According to Walter, who describes himself as a “working stiff” writer, all instructors are members of the Writers Guild of America West, and “all bring to the table a vantage that is not exclusively intellectual and analytical, but also a hands-on familiarity with the nuts and bolts and slings and arrows and meat and potatoes that constitute the professional writing life”. The group would work on their assignment, a feature-length screenplay, with Walter emphasising the importance of economy in a script. The professor explains that he and his colleagues are “story hard-liners” who think that success in dramatic narratives is all about writing a strong story. “My teaching also involves one-on-one tutorial sessions in which the writer and I review the notes I’ve made after reading his or her pages.”

Searching for ideas to turn into his first screenplay, Gregory Widen settled upon memories of the trip to England he’d made a few years earlier, specifically to the Tower of London where he’d been surrounded by swords and armour. The young writer was also inspired by the 1977 film, The Duellists. Directed by Ridley Scott from a Gerald Vaughan-Hughes script, itself based on a Joseph Conrad short story, the film follows two soldiers in the French Hussars, Keith Carradine’s d’Hubert and Harvey Keitel’s Feraud, who become mortal enemies after a seemingly minor altercation. The pair end up fighting each other in numerous duels at various points through the subsequent decades.

Feraud is the traditional ‘baddie’, although Keitel avoids the temptation to play him as an over-the-top villain. Carradine’s d’Hubert, the younger of the pair, is as baffled as the audience by the reasons behind the feud and it’s him that the viewer spends most time with. “To me, that was a very classic dilemma for the main character, how you interact with a person like that,” said Widen. “Could you be that person in another guise?”

Combining the themes of The Duellists with the idea of someone living forever, a classic concept stretching back to Greek myth, led Widen to start his script, initially titled ‘Shadow Clan’. Another likely source of inspiration for Widen was American author Joseph Campbell, who in his 1949 book The Hero With a Thousand Faces outlined the journey taken by heroes found in world myth. Campbell’s theory – that the hero begins his journey in his everyday life, before he’s introduced to “a region of supernatural wonder”, encounters strange forces, wins a victory and returns from his adventure a better man – fits the basic plot of ‘Shadow Clan’ perfectly.

In his 1992 book The New Screenwriter Looks at the New Screenwriter, one of Widen’s former tutors, William Froug, painted a picture of a serious student who rarely spoke in class but listened attentively. Wrote Froug, “There was earnestness about him, and self-assurance without arrogance, that let you know that he was a man who kept his own council [sic].” According to Froug, Widen’s early work also showed self-confidence. “As a teacher I knew he would come in with a solid, workable screenplay, and indeed he did.”

Recalling one of the first rules of screenwriting, to “write what you know”, Gregory Widen cannily used his London holiday as material for a new script, outlining a plot that would see a young 15th-century Scottish clansman, Conor MacLeod, realise that he was no ordinary warrior, but an Immortal destined to battle his way through the centuries against an evil foe, the Knight.

Where the script veered away from more typical sword and sorcery fodder was in the decision to set much of the story in present-day Washington DC, juxtaposing MacLeod’s early life as a novice Immortal with that of a more world-weary veteran who had lived, loved and lost and who displayed the scars, mental and physical, of a long life. The hero was tormented by the presence of the Knight, whose only goal was to kill his rival and become the last Immortal.

As well as attending classes, Widen also spent some time with Richard Walter in one-on-one tutorial sessions, during which the pair reviewed notes made by the tutor on the ‘Shadow Clan’ script, teasing out some elements and discarding others. Though Walter recalls that his student’s writing was “overly descriptive”, he felt that it still worked and that it was his favourite kind of script: a rule-breaker. “It was a gripping read from the start and I told him he should keep on doing whatever he was doing. Widen was a standout among standouts.”

While there are numerous differences between ‘Shadow Clan’ and what would later become Highlander, it’s clear to see what fascinated Richard Walter about his student’s work and the following overview is designed to highlight some of the similarities and differences between the earliest draft and the finished film. One of the biggest differences is the spelling of the lead character’s first name, which is Conor here rather than the Connor of the film – he’ll be referred to as Conor in this chapter.

The plot

Opening in present-day Washington DC with a brief confrontation between Conor MacLeod and fellow Immortal Iman Fasil in an alley outside some side street porno houses, the former takes his rival’s head in decidedly unheroic fashion; it’s dark and the pair can barely make each other out.

The first flashback takes the reader to MacLeod’s home in 15th-century Scotland and introduces his father, Ian, his mother and a young child who is almost certainly his brother. MacLeod’s father is keen to send him to battle for the Duke against the Clan Sutherland, and he’s soon sent off with some clansmen to make his family proud. Unfortunately, the Knight is also on the battlefield and he attempts to kill MacLeod, whispering a phrase before he does so that would go through some subtle alterations in subsequent drafts: “There can be but one.”

The fight is intercut with police officers, led by Detective Lt. Moran, in Washington apprehending Richard Taupin (MacLeod’s 1980s persona) in an alley after they find him near the headless body from the start of the script. From here, the film flips back and forth through time between Scotland and Washington, the Highlander meeting his mentor Juan Cid Romirez and discovering his true potential, while the police in the 1980s investigate a spate of murders involving headless corpses and query the possible involvement of Richard Taupin.

Taupin’s/MacLeod’s 1980s love interest is Brenna Cartwright, the niece of the District Attorney, who is working as a historian at the Smithsonian museum. MacLeod must face the Knight as part of the Gathering, their final battle taking place at the Jefferson Memorial.

Had Widen’s script been faithfully adapted for the screen, it’s likely it would have been a curious modern take on the sword and sorcery epic. Rather than a Conan the Barbarian-style rampage through a faux-Middle Age backdrop, with limbs being chopped off by muscle-bound actors, Widen adds depth to his central character while also throwing in obligatory fight sequences. It’s questionable whether a mainstream audience would have responded well to the dialogue-heavy nature of the film, but Widen’s version would undoubtedly have found a welcoming fan base.

Conor MacLeod

While Highlander fans will see much that is familiar in Gregory Widen’s vision of the universe, there are also many subtle differences, particularly with regard to familiar characters.

Conor MacLeod was born on 11 December 1408 in the village of Ardvreck on the Highland plain of Strathnaver. In reality there is no village named Ardvreck in Scotland, though there is an Ardvreck Castle in Sutherland, which may have been Widen’s reference point. MacLeod has parents who worry after him and his first love interest is Mara.

Having been apprehended by police following the discovery of Fasil’s body, Taupin/MacLeod is interrogated by Moran at the police station, during which he admits he has American citizenship – Fasil is identified as having been Syrian. More of MacLeod’s backstory is revealed by Widen, with a number of flashbacks filling in gaps in his life. He tells Brenna that he has “served in the armies of twelve nations, married nine women, fathered 38 children and buried them all”.

At one point, MacLeod assumes the role of Major Dupont, a member of the French infantry in the 18th century, who encounters another young Immortal, Private Mulet, during an inspection. When Mulet confronts Dupont about them both being the same, Dupont warns him about threatening a senior officer, to which Mulet retorts: “Threats and nothingness. It’s what we live for.”

More light is cast upon MacLeod’s early life when the story moves to the small Pennsylvanian town of Worstick. MacLeod lived in Worstick in the 1800s as William Taupin, earning himself a reputation as a ladies’ man and antagonising local men who feel he’s stealing their girlfriends and wives. By the 1980s, Taupin lives in New York and runs an antiques shop, with at least one member of staff, a receptionist who is given no name and who could be male or female.

The Knight

The story in Widen’s script belongs to MacLeod, with the Knight showing up at inopportune moments to remind the young Immortal that he’s only alive because the Knight allows him to be. Going by the alias Carl Smith, the Knight is a believer in tradition and knows Latin, which he recites in church after a fight with MacLeod which leaves him badly wounded. No backstory is given for the Knight; he’s simply fighting to be the last Immortal and has no qualms about it.

The nature of the ongoing battle between MacLeod and the Knight is addressed by the Scotsman in an exchange with Brenna, who wonders what could be worth all the murder and destruction. “Sometimes I think it’s just for something to do,” admits Conor. “A conquest to be the last. Something to hold on to while everything else around you withers and blows away. Something to replace the love that can never work.”

Romirez

Juan Cid Romirez introduces himself as “chief surveyor and alchemist” when he first meets MacLeod at the latter’s blacksmith shop five years after he left his village. The Spaniard had been sent to Inverness by the King of Spain as a consultant on matters of metal, learning during his travels of MacLeod’s recovery from certain death “by powers not of this Earth”.

Romirez recognises MacLeod because of a flow that he feels pushing against him. Immortals feel this when another is nearby and the sensation lessens. “We are brothers,” says Romirez to MacLeod at the latter’s home. The Spaniard explains MacLeod’s place in the world and introduces him to The Game, “the one continuity and tradition” Immortals know, before skewering him through the heart with his sword and “killing” him for three days.

Romirez goes on to tell MacLeod that as long as they are alive then the Knight cannot have it all. MacLeod learns more basic rules from his mentor, including the need to avoid attracting attention to himself and to “keep his soul sewed to the earth” by avoiding greed. Says Romirez, “Life without morality, without the ability to truly taste the sweetness of wine and love, is no life at all.” Soon after, the Knight finds Romirez inside MacLeod’s home, severing his head and escaping just before the younger Immortal returns and begins sobbing.

Exploring the Immortals

It’s fascinating to get a glimpse into Widen’s take on the concept of Immortals fighting through the centuries to be the last man (there don’t appear to be any female Immortals) standing. In Widen’s script, once a head has been chopped off, bodies simply fall to the ground.

However, there’s more to a beheading than meets the eye, with Romirez helpfully explaining to MacLeod that there is a power divided between each Immortal “like cuts in a pie”, though Conor and the Knight have more power than most. By staying alive, Conor is preventing the Knight from prevailing.

MacLeod bumps into Ling Kahn, an Asian Immortal who knew to look for the former in a bar that sold lager and lime, the Highlander’s drink of choice. Kahn enjoys getting drunk with MacLeod each time they meet and the pair spend some time kicking around Washington after dark, reminiscing about the old days. “Tasting and enjoying life is the only thing of value we have,” explains Kahn to MacLeod; “everything else is just marking time.” The Knight kills Kahn off-screen later in the script, presenting his head to MacLeod before they fight.

The final battle

As the final battle between the Knight and MacLeod at the Jefferson Memorial begins, the Highlander has little fight left in him, resigned to the fact that he’s in the weaker position. The Knight still believes in tradition, and demands the “little boy” fight him properly.

MacLeod is injured early in the fight, the Knight slicing through his shoulder, chest and stomach. It’s thanks to the intervention of Detective Lt. Moran, who shoots two bullets into the Knight, that the Immortal is weakened. Though Moran dies by the Knight’s sword, MacLeod is able to surprise his foe, slicing into his chest before putting his sword to the Knight’s throat and reciting Latin, “Requiescat in pace” or “Rest in peace” before cutting the Knight’s head off with his sword. This doesn’t stop the Knight’s headless body from grabbing Brenna, while his head smiles at her from the floor before dying.

Later, having closed up his shop and home for good, MacLeod/ Taupin meets Brenna at the Washington Mall, and explains to her that rather than inheriting power and control, he now has a better understanding of life, and he can also die.

TAUPIN

Life is only life when it is bounded by death. The inheritance is death. The gift is the finality of life. To be part of the fabric. The inside.

(turns to Brenna)

I love you Brenna.

He then goes on to state that:

TAUPIN

It will be horrible. The future. I may die tomorrow or 10,000 tomorrows. I can promise you nothing. Nothing but a moment. Maybe two. But a moment of love, is that not worth a lifetime?

The pair then hold each other, as a jogger runs past them, “unaware of any life but his own”.

Selling the script

Gregory Widen’s script was renamed ‘Highlander’ during a brainstorming session with his two UCLA roommates, Ethan Wiley and Fred Dekker, who would both go on to collaborate on the screenplay for 1987’s House and forge their own successful careers in writing and directing. “We went through endless lists of titles,” revealed Widen to Cinefantastique. “We originally had a joke one – Sword of Bad, which you have to say fast to appreciate.”

Despite the script’s originality, it was still only a class project, read by a handful of fellow classmates and his tutor. Luckily for Widen, Richard Walter liked what he was reading in the early drafts and as it neared completion was its biggest supporter. “I knew after reading the first half of the first page that Greg was a writer who was engaging and compelling,” Walter tells me. “By mid-script I was on the phone to a major agent suggesting he let Greg send him the script.”

In Walter’s screenwriting book, Essentials of Screenwriting, he discusses his feelings about the script and even includes the query letter written by Widen that helped secure representation. “I was always taught that you can only get an agent through a referral,” said Widen. “But I didn’t know any better, so I got a list from the Writers’ Guild and literally sent ‘Highlander’ out with a cover letter. I said, ‘Hi, my name is Greg. Please represent me.’ And a handful of them wrote back.”

At the same time as Widen was busying himself looking for an agent who would help him get his script seen by producers, those same producers were keeping an eye on what was happening at LA’s film schools.

Two such men were the team of Peter Davis and William [Bill] Panzer, who had been working together since the mid-1970s, after being introduced by an ex-partner of Davis. Davis was a former New York City mergers and acquisitions lawyer who had also run a steel company, while Panzer was a graduate of New York University Film School who had worked as a cameraman and editor, but who was keen to move into feature films. Each man brought different skills to the partnership, with Davis’ financial nous complementing Panzer’s production knowledge on their first picture, 1976’s The Death Collector, which the pair produced for just $175,000.

Films such as Stunts (1977), Steel (1977), Gas (1981) and O’Hara’s Wife (1982) followed, the pair turning down offers to work for film studios, preferring to go independent with their own company, Davis-Panzer Productions. “Early on we recognised that we are just not corporate types,” explained Panzer to Screen International in 2005. Davis-Panzer were determined to find an original work that they could bring to the sales market circuit and raise the necessary funds for their next film. “We learned by going to the markets that it pays to be making a film that is original,” continued Davis. “These types of projects take a long time to sell, and you don’t want to be pushing a flavour of the month.”

Bill Panzer’s introduction to Gregory Widen’s script began with lunch at the legendary Hollywood Boulevard restaurant, Musso & Frank’s, during a conversation with agent Harold Moskowitz, who according to Panzer used to cruise film schools looking for material. “He said, ‘I don’t think this is the best script I’ve ever read, but [it’s] a really good idea.’ It did have some of the principal characters in it and the idea of immortality, the idea of Immortals in conflict, but it was much darker. And it was less romantic.”

“We like adventure movies and ‘Highlander’ seemed to have a lot of elements that coalesced well to appeal to a wide audience,” added Peter Davis. “The script spans every area – fantasy, romantic adventure, contemporary comment, even period comedy.”

Davis-Panzer went on to option the rights for $1,500 from Widen in 1982, with the writer noting that “the option money for Highlander was very, very minuscule”. Widen would receive a few thousand dollars a year from the producers until they managed to set the picture up with a studio. Any deal that followed would go on to make him substantially more money, with his payment index linked to the film’s eventual budget. This payment would only be made when the film finally went into production.

Bill Panzer and Peter Davis’ next move was to take the bare bones of the original ‘Highlander’ script and craft it into something more palatable for the sales market, who in turn had their sights firmly set on audiences sitting down to enjoy a movie at the cinema on a Friday night.

TWO

REWRITING HISTORY

“Happy to provide the real story of Highlander,” emails screenwriter Larry Ferguson in response to my request for an interview, “since much of what’s out there is just patently wrong.”

It’s the summer of 2017, and as we exchange details to arrange a suitable time to chat by conference call with him and his one-time writing partner, Peter Bellwood, I learn that the 77-year-old Ferguson has left behind the bright lights of Hollywood and is living on the edge of a rainforest in his native Oregon. “I came here to write a novel, which is nearly finished, and I’m going to stay.”

Ferguson has come home after decades spent as a screenwriter in California, though his early life on a farm near Klamath Falls didn’t hint at a career in show business. After graduating from the University of Oregon’s College of Arts and Sciences in the early 1960s, he moved to California to pursue a career as an actor and wound up repossessing cars. He then found himself cast in a play at the University of California, Davis, west of Sacramento, before enrolling there on an MA in Theatre and Dance. After a few seasons at the American Conservatory Theater in San Francisco, the 1970s found the actor moving to New York to work on Broadway, before Hollywood came calling.

“An agent from Los Angeles saw me, and said, ‘You should be a movie star.’ I moved my family from New York to LA, and was excited about the whole idea of it. I called the agent when I got there, but he didn’t remember who I was and told me to come back later.” Undeterred, Ferguson opened a conservatory in Los Angeles and penned his own screenplay, which he eventually sold to Paramount for $125,000.

English-born Peter Bellwood had studied History at Cambridge University at the tail end of the 1950s, before going on to join Footlights Dramatic Club in 1959 after impressing its president with his ukulele playing skills. Bellwood became Footlights president in 1960, the same year John Cleese arrived at Cambridge, becoming friends with Peter Cook just as the club’s fame grew with the establishment of the Beyond the Fringe stage revue featuring Cook, Dudley Moore, Jonathan Miller and Alan Bennett.

After his time at Cambridge, Bellwood moved into advertising, making TV commercials for soap company Procter & Gamble until he was invited by Peter Cook to write and perform with Beyond the Fringe when it moved from London to New York. When that finally closed its doors and returned to England, Bellwood remained in New York, continuing to write scripts for TV specials while also becoming a theatre producer, moving into screenwriting in the 1970s. It was as a screenwriter that Bellwood first encountered producers Peter Davis and Bill Panzer on the 1979 drama, Steel.

By the end of the 1970s, Ferguson and Bellwood had joined forces and were hired by Davis and Panzer to write a script based on the real-life events leading up to the eruption of Mount St. Helens in Washington in 1980. The aptly named St. Helens, starring Art Carney and David Huffman, was filmed between November 1980 and April 1981 and broadcast as an HBO TV movie on the first anniversary of the disaster, 18 May 1981.

Happy with the collaboration, Davis and Panzer approached the two screenwriters again in late 1982 to work on a rewrite of Gregory Widen’s ‘Highlander’ script. “We were given an outline and we turned it into a green-light movie,” states Ferguson simply, referring to the industry term for a studio deciding to go forward with production on a new film. “In other words, they had secured the rights but they did not have a whole bunch of finances and said, ‘It’s a great idea; can you turn it into a commercial screenplay?’”

Widen was ready for changes to his script long before Peter Davis and Bill Panzer came calling. Film school may have been a place to learn about the craft of screenwriting, but it was also somewhere to learn about the realities of trying to get a project moved from words on a page to flickering images on a screen. “I was a young, green college kid and the producers ultimately didn’t trust my instincts,” said Widen matter-of-factly. “That is their right.”

Richard Walter, Widen’s UCLA teacher, tells me that he advises students to “pray their work will be taken from them and changed for the big screen. The worst thing that can happen to a writer is to be ignored. Screenwriting is collaboration. That is not its downside but its special nature, its joy. If you can’t stand that, write novels. Collaborate comes from ‘co’ which means ‘with’ and ‘labour’ which means ‘work’. Screenwriting is about working with others: directors, actors, editors, costume designers, hairdressers, carpenters, electricians and even lawyers.”

“We were in a position where we’re taking a 62-page document that was Widen’s and turning it into a script of epic proportions,” says Peter Bellwood. “Which is the reason the film has done so well, if I may be so bold as to say.”

Ferguson and Bellwood have an easy rapport, with the former doing most of the talking during our conversation. Although neither is keen on using online services to chat (“Over the years I’ve made a ton of concessions to tech, but I’ve drawn the line at Skype,” states Ferguson), I’m using it to call them, leading to a couple of unfortunate program crashes which don’t faze them. “One of the reasons we’re talking to you is that once the pop culture really began to embrace the movie, there were people who were secretaries to somebody who was a driver who claimed credit for a lot of stuff on that film,” explains Ferguson.

When I ask about the pair’s working process, Ferguson is quick to respond. “I don’t think in a million years I could describe to you how magical it was. We each had different roles. Peter could type so much faster than I could, so I’d walk around and talk and supposedly he was writing down what I was saying. But I would say something like, ‘George answers no’ and 15 minutes later Peter was still over there typing, and I knew he was putting in something more than ‘George answers no’. It was one of those things where it just clicked for us.”

In early 1983, the pair began to forensically dissect the original ‘Highlander’ script, spitballing a number of potential directions in which the film could go. Initially they considered more of a science fiction approach, but that was quickly rejected by Panzer and Davis. “I think by page three, we’d spent around $200 million,” says Ferguson. Although unwilling to be drawn any further on the finer details of the draft, clarifying that it was “more of a template to do a lot of different things”, he does add that he recalls “entering the room, looking at [the producers] and they didn’t have any blood in their faces”.

Making changes

Following their hastily aborted science fiction approach, the decision was made by the writers to be more faithful to Gregory Widen’s vision without being sentimental about any single part of it. If it made sense to retain something then so be it, otherwise they’d try something fresh.

For their earliest drafts, the writers started addressing the characters, making changes to names, backstories and motivations. As a result MacLeod’s first name changed from Conor to Conner (which is how he’ll be referred to in this chapter), while his 1980s alter ego changed from Richard Taupin to Russell Nash. “With Taupin, I think one day Peter asked me, ‘Isn’t that a pig?’” laughs Ferguson.

It was decided that the Knight would become the Prussian Count Von Krohn, while his 1980s alter ego was now Victor Kruger. Other characters to receive name changes included MacLeod’s first love, who now became Kate instead of Mara; his modern-day love interest was no longer Brenna Cartwright but Brenda Wyatt; the Asian Ling Kahn swapped race to become the African Sarto Kastagir; and Juan Cid Romirez was now Juan Sanchez Ramirez. They also introduced a new love interest, Heather. In addition, the MacLeods now battled the Clan Fraser in flashbacks, erroneously spelled ‘Frazer’ in the script.

The action was moved from present-day Washington DC to New York, for the simple reason that the Big Apple is a more cinematic backdrop, with the opening confrontation between MacLeod/Nash and Iman Fasil expanded to give viewers a more energetic introduction to the world of the Immortals. Rather than taking place outside a porno house, the first scene was established at Madison Square Garden during a hockey match between the New York Rangers and the Edmonton Oilers.

The fight between MacLeod and Fasil is short and violent, leading to cars being pulverised and stone columns being bathed in a shower of sparks. While the confrontation is already more action-packed than Gregory Widen’s draft, it also differs in the aftermath of Fasil’s beheading by MacLeod. Rather than simply falling to the ground, a crystal-green cloud floats from Fasil’s body, enveloping him. “He starts to glow,” says the script, as the pair of Immortals are witnessed by a group of teenagers.

As in Gregory Widen’s script, the storyline continues to switch between 16th-century Scotland and 1980s New York, with MacLeod being stopped by police as he tries to leave Madison Square Garden, before we meet him in 1536 in a flashback. MacLeod’s place of birth changes from Ardvreck to Loch Shiel, in the shadow of Glamis Castle. Clearly this is some alternate universe version of Scotland, as in reality Glamis Castle is more than a three-hour drive from Loch Shiel, but if the reader is willing to accept immortal warriors then anything is possible.

As they began to immerse themselves in the finer details of the story, Bellwood and Ferguson knew they had to make changes to the overall tone of the piece. “It was just unalterably grim. People don’t mind going into the darkness, but there has to be a reason for it and there was never any reason for what Gregory Widen had written as the Knight.”

When Count Von Krohn is introduced he is reminding the clan chief, Lord Murdoch, that he’s helping the Frasers on the condition that Conner MacLeod is his. When Von Krohn later drives his sword into MacLeod’s stomach on the battlefield, MacLeod responds by “piledriving his sword into Von Krohn’s armour, opening him like a tin can” before the enemy retreats into the mist, reminding the Scotsman that “in the end, there can only be one”, a slight change from Widen’s “there can be but one”.

In the present day, Detective Frank Moran is introduced alongside Leon Brewster and Walter Bedsoe as three of the officers investigating Fasil’s beheading. As news crews jostle for a view of the carnage, the cops are joined by Brenda Wyatt, assistant director in the Department of Forensics, along with her assistants, Greg and Ralph.

While MacLeod/Nash waits to be interviewed by police back at the station, he has a flashback to Nazi-occupied Budapest in 1942, where under the name Wallingford Benoit he’s trying to help save the lives of 11 children who are hiding under a trapdoor in an apartment. MacLeod/Benoit bursts into the apartment, killing soldiers before securing travel permits for the family from a Gestapo officer, Vogel. As Benoit attempts to push the soldiers into the trap, Vogel states that Benoit will need to shoot him first. “Whatever you say, Jack. You’re the master race,” replies Benoit, before killing Vogel and kicking him into the trapdoor.

Later, as MacLeod/Benoit attempts to move the family across the Swiss border, he’s shot by soldiers in front of one of the children. Hurling himself on top of the girl, the blood on Benoit’s body reverses itself and the wounds disappear. “Why didn’t you die?” asks the girl, to which Benoit replies, “Don’t be afraid. It’s a kind of magic.” One of the children saved by Benoit/MacLeod is Rachel Ellenstein, who stays with MacLeod and becomes his surrogate daughter. By the time of the Gathering, Rachel is 60-years-old and working as his secretary.

The police interrogation from Gregory Widen’s script turns up in the new draft, this time carried out by Detective Moran and Brewster, with some of the script’s most offensive language cropping up as Brewster asks, “Are you a faggot, Nash?” before asking if he’s “cruising for ass?” This scene would broadly remain the same in subsequent drafts.

Introducing the Quickening

An Immortal who receives more attention in Bellwood and Ferguson’s script than Widen’s is Ramirez, who reveals that his real name is Tak Ne, born in Egypt 2,437 years earlier, rather than Spain.

Ramirez is a useful tool for the screenwriters, providing an explanation for the strange energy clouds that depart the body of Immortals once they are beheaded, and the odd feeling that comes over them when another of their kind is nearby, occurrences known as the Quickening. This is a Ferguson and Bellwood concept that didn’t exist in Gregory Widen’s script, an idea that adds another layer of mysticism to the idea of immortality.

“The Quickening has a literal meaning: it’s the first movement of a child in the mother’s womb,” explains Larry Ferguson. “Evidently a lot of people who talk about the movie didn’t know that. I remember Peter and me discussing the Quickening and what it was. We were able to come up with something that had a meaning if somebody wanted to check it out.”

A few years after creating the Quickening, the writers elaborated on its meaning in a memo entitled ‘The Legend of The Prize’ to Bill Panzer, Peter Davis and director Russell Mulcahy dated 15 April 1985. According to Ferguson and Bellwood, “each Immortal, at the moment of his death, surrenders all his Quickening to his opponent. It is this transfer of telepathic Quickening that is dramatised in the energy exchange between a decapitated Immortal and the victor.” The memo notes that “nature has created an indeterminate number of Immortals. These Immortals are not the result of extraterrestrial influences . . . they are a natural phenomenon, the result of genetic misfunction. These Immortals can all be killed by a sword chopping off their heads, and each possesses a ‘sixth sense’ called ‘The Quickening’. ‘The Quickening’ is a TELEPATHIC PHENOMENON”.

Bellwood and Ferguson’s April 1985 memo outlines the path to the Prize, making it clear that the only way it can be won is for the last six Immortals remaining in the world – each one possessing the telepathic energy of the Immortals they have killed – to take part in the Gathering. “THE PRIZE” IS 100% OF THE TELEPATHIC PIE – 100% OF “THE QUICKENING”.

The first draft not only added more depth to the Immortals than existed in Gregory Widen’s script, it also introduced new Immortals that wouldn’t find their way into the film itself. Firstly, mention is made of a Bulgarian Immortal killed by Von Krohn in New Jersey, Osta Vazilek. In one scene, Von Krohn pulls out a vellum envelope with photographs of four Immortals described in the script as:

No. 1. Yung Dol Sing, an Oriental on a freighter in New York Harbor.

No. 2. Sarto Kastagir, a suave African leaving the Russian Tea Room.

No. 3. Russell Nash, hailing a cab on Park Avenue.

No. 4. Ivan Timoshenko, a security guard, sitting at TV monitors under a sign: MALABAR, INC.

Von Krohn, disguised as a guard, opts to pursue Timoshenko at the Malabar building, while MacLeod, having escaped Bedsoe at the museum, is revealed to be fighting Yung Dol Sing in an abandoned warehouse by a river. At one point, despite having the upper hand, MacLeod/Nash shows that he’s not interested in winning by refusing to kill Sing, saying:

NASH

To hell with the Prize. 400 years’ killing is enough. I give you your life. Take it and leave.

Sing doesn’t take him up on the offer and tries to kill MacLeod as he walks away. The Scotsman is too fast for his rival and takes his head, a crystal-orange cloud rising from the corpse and engulfing MacLeod, who begins to glow.

Back on the 40th floor of the Malabar building, Von Krohn goads Timoshenko into destroying desks, phones and a coffee machine. “You fight like an old woman,” says the Prussian before taking the Russian’s head. A crystal-blue cloud rises from Timoshenko, causing Von Krohn to glow.

Later, MacLeod again makes it clear that he’s not interested in the Prize, suggesting to Sarto Kastagir that the pair join forces to fight Von Krohn. When Kastagir asks about tradition, MacLeod/ Nash replies:

NASH

Screw tradition. Sometimes I think I’m losing my mind. I never know where I am. Past, present and future – they’re all jumbled up.

Kastagir LAUGHS, sitting on a swing.

KASTAGIR

I feel the same. It goes with the territory. My memory’s always being triggered by something.

This could be seen as a metatextual comment on the style of both the script and the editing of what would be the final film. While the constant flashbacks and flashforwards are a visually interesting way of telling the story, it seems they’re also a glimpse into the head of Conner MacLeod, a way to understand what being an Immortal might mean to the subject’s mental process. Unfortunately for MacLeod, Kastagir isn’t keen on his proposal, and the latter comes to a nasty end by Von Krohn’s sword, emitting a crystal-orange cloud when he dies.

Fleshing out the characters

In one scene, MacLeod, Brenda and Rachel have dinner, the latter encouraging the Highlander to tell the story of the time he fought a duel with a man called Bassett on Boston Common in 1797. At one point Rachel shows Brenda some of MacLeod’s wealth, accumulated through the centuries and stored in banks around the world. Apparently he’s lost track of how many. Rachel is also given her own subplot when she meets Detective Moran for the first time in MacLeod/Nash’s shop. He asks her out for a drink, which she accepts towards the end of the script, though they enjoy a cold beer together at Moran’s apartment after Rachel burns down MacLeod’s shop, part of his plan to leave his old life behind.

Larry Ferguson mourns the loss of a moment between Conner and Brenda, which referenced the work of cardiac surgeon Christiaan Barnard, who performed the world’s first heart transplant in 1967. It comes soon after MacLeod has given her a dagger to hold, before he takes her hand and plunges it into his heart to prove his immortality. The pair then have dinner and make love, resulting in Brenda confronting MacLeod about the difficulty he’s had falling in love with another woman after losing Heather centuries before.

“We had a discussion between the two of them where she’s talking about the fact a guy has invented a way of transplanting a human heart,” explains Ferguson. “MacLeod says, ‘I don’t have heart problems,’ and she says, ‘Yes you do.’” Brenda explains that while Barnard couldn’t guarantee a long life for his patients, he could guarantee them freedom from pain. “What is your point?” asks MacLeod.

BRENDA

My point is, Ramirez was wrong. Just one year of love, though it ends in death, is better than an eternity alone.

Brenda’s dialogue riffs on one of the last lines in Gregory Widen’s script, which found MacLeod asking Brenna “A moment of love, is that not worth a lifetime?”, and it clearly resonated with Bellwood and Ferguson. “The beauty I found, and could never duplicate, was the extreme fun that I had with Peter when we were sitting there talking about what is a metaphor for this man and what is happening to him,” says Ferguson. “He’s being drawn back into something he’s sworn he will never experience again. It’s one thing, as Gregory Widen did, to have him say something, but it’s another thing for him to take and put a dagger in her hand and pull that dagger straight to the stabbing of his heart. That’s a wonderful metaphor.”

MacLeod and Brenda’s relationship is given more depth in the script, the pair walking through Bronx Zoo as Brenda opens up to MacLeod and explains that she’d had a plan to move on from forensics into a lectureship at Columbia, before marrying and having a couple of kids.

Gregory Widen had created a romantic subplot for MacLeod in the shape of Katherine, but the new writers opted to replace all events that took place in the town of Worstick, instead introducing a new love interest, Heather. One of the most important decisions made by Ferguson and Bellwood was to add a short scene emphasising the effect that the death of a human might have on an Immortal. Taking place in MacLeod and Heather’s hut, the couple look back on their life together as Heather wishes she could have given her husband children, her life gradually ebbing away as he cradles her in his arms.

In more new dialogue, MacLeod recalls his friend Ramirez as he buries Heather:

MACLEOD

You were right, haggis. I cheated her. Robbed her of a full life. There will be no more.

MacLeod vs Von Krohn

In Gregory Widen’s script the final confrontation between MacLeod and the Knight took place at Washington DC’s Jefferson Memorial, but the move to New York required a different location. This time, Von Krohn lures MacLeod to Coney Island Amusement Park, where the pair proceed to demolish roller coaster pilings, arcades and Ferris wheel chairs, battling beneath a giant fruit with the words ‘Fun in the Big Apple’ emblazoned upon it.

During the course of their fight, MacLeod realises that his opponent is scared of him and that rather than running away from Von Krohn through the centuries, it was actually Von Krohn who was running from the Scotsman, terrified to face him. “You’re not the perfect killing machine. You’re a coward,” says MacLeod to Von Krohn, before slicing off his enemy’s head and watching a crystal-purple cloud leave the Prussian’s corpse and swirl around MacLeod’s body. Brenda then watches as MacLeod glows all the colours of the rainbow. According to the script, “His hair stands on end. Color erupts from his eyes. He’s like a Roman candle against the waves. The wind howls.”

In Ferguson and Bellwood’s 1985 memo, they have more to say about the Prize, noting that each Immortal “has within him the combined Quickening of all his fallen opponents, and their fallen opponents, and their fallen opponents, and so on . . . [MacLeod]