Rob Roy Blu-ray delivers great video and solid audio in this enjoyable Blu-ray release
In the highlands of Scotland in the 1700s, Rob Roy tries to lead his small town to a better future, by borrowing money from the local nobility to buy cattle to herd to market. When the money is stolen, Rob is forced into a Robin Hood lifestyle to defend his family and honour.
Ah, 1995—the year that two Scottish folk heroes ambled wide-legged onto the silver screen, utterly unencumbered by pants. Of course, I'm talking
about Braveheart's William Wallace and the titular Rob Roy, who jointly inspired the most ridiculous and regrettable fashion statement
of last 50 years: the Utilikilt, that modern-day man-skirt whose motto may as well be, "You can take away our land, but you can never take away our
freedom…to wear Men's Unbifurcated Garments!" Not all kilt flicks, however, are regarded equally, especially not these two. While Braveheart
went on to win five Academy Awards and linger in the public consciousness as the film most likely to make grown-ass men choke back hot wet tears,
Rob Roy faded into relative obscurity, consigned to be remembered only as that other Scottish highland epic from the mid-1990s. Which is
somewhat unfair. Although Rob Roy lacks the sweep and pomp and sheer length of Mel Gibson's tartan opus, it certainly has its merits as a
sword 'n' skirt movie.
Rob Roy
The setting here is Scotland's craggy, heather-covered hills circa 1713, a time when many Scots were beginning to relocate to America, causing the
disintegration of the ancient clan system. Carrying the torch is Rob Roy (Liam Neeson), a kilted cattleman and clan leader who only wants to do right
by his people, a poor but hearty tribe who live in filth while their English next-door neighbor, the Marquis of Montrose (John Hurt), flitters away his
life in gilded opulence. Hoping to bolster the clan's cattle business, Rob secures a 1,000 pound loan from the Marquis, using his land as collateral and
his word as his bond. Upon seeing the chance to scam a simple rube, however, accountant Killearn (Brian Cox) conspires with Archibald Cunningham
(Tim Roth)—the Marquis' foppish, psychopathic, and perpetually-in-debt swordsman—to steal the coinage and leave Rob in default. When Rob
refuses to take the blame for the money's disappearance—he knows something's up—he's forced to hide in the hills as an outlaw while Cunningham
and his English troops storm the clan's village by order of the Marquis, who refuses to believe that his own men could have devised a scheme to steal
behind his back. Of course, there's more at stake for Rob than just his land; it gets personal after Cunningham rapes Rob's wife Mary (Jessica Lange),
setting the rest of the revenge drama in motion.
The story yields no great surprises—you'll see each twist of the plot coming a mile away—but Rob Roy's effectiveness is in pitting its dignified, honor-
bound hero against villains so callous and ruthless that we're willing to sit through some soap opera-ish melodrama just to see them get their
inevitable comeuppances. John Hurt plays his Marquis as pinched and severe, a cold materialist who cares for little beyond expanding his own wealth.
Likewise, Tim Roth is wickedly good here, playing a bastard aristocrat who gets his jollies being sexually malicious to women. ("Love is a dunghill," he
says to one devastated conquest, "and I am but a cock that climbs upon it to crow.") You really can't wait for our hero to wipe that toothy, smugly
salacious grin off of Cunningham's face. That said, there's something about the portrayal of the antagonists that's just as off-putting as their
actions.
Like Braveheart, Dances with Wolves, or The Last of the Mohicans—other movies from the 1990s that fall into the same
general "manly-but-sensitive action epic period piece" category—Rob Roy is a film ruled by a traditional sense of masculinity and family,
whereby good men are stout-but-romantic breadwinners and avengers who believe, as Rob puts it, that "honor is a man's gift to himself," and
women are somewhere between being queens and scullery maids, keeping the affairs of the home in order and making sure their husbands are
satisfied in the boudoir. The early scenes establish Rob as the perfect husband (affectionate and loyal, a ruggedly handsome provider) and Mary as
the ideal wife (passionate and devoted, a sensual helpmate). The corollary, in this case, is that the two main villains are prissy and effete; in other
words, thinly guised homosexual stereotypes. John Hurt's cruel, sneering Marquis always has a young African male attendant conspicuously by his
side, and Tim Roth's Cunningham—where to begin?—is a preening, sycophantic, limp-wristed dandy, dressed perpetually in pastel, cupcake-colored
costumes. Someone could write a thesis about Hollywood's unfortunate tendency to give antagonists barely veiled gay traits—I'm sure somebody
already has—and while I don't want to dwell on the matter, it is worth pointing out that these kinds of films do typically cater to—and are embraced
by—a largely conservative audience, both morally and politically. (See also: themes of the noble individual vs. the corrupt government, unbridled
patriotism, and dying honorably for a cause.) I'm not trying to stoke any flames; I'm just pointing out what I see as a predisposition common to this
particular genre.
Regardless, if you're willing to let the film get away with some overly campy characterization, Rob Roy offers gorgeous cinematography of
the Scottish highlands, fine performances from its leads, and a few scenes of nearly unparalleled swashbuckling. Liam Neeson, in a role that would've
gone to a Douglas Fairbanks-type in days gone by, saunters through the picture with a gruff, uncompromising seriousness, except when he's
lounging with an earthy Jessica Lange on a scenic hilltop, where the two indulge in some joyfully lusty, let's do it while the wee ones are off
playing in yonder meadow lovemaking. Their relationship is the film's unifying force—that is, it's why we care, as an audience—and they have a
magnetic attraction toward one another that's nearly palpable. In the end, however, it all comes down to Rob and Cunningham, facing off against
one another in a brutal, tension-filled duel to the death, Rob with a broadsword and Cunningham—appropriately—with a rapier. (He's all about
violent penetration.) Unlike most movie swordfights, this one has real weight and physicality, and it doesn't reek of showy choreography. The
duelers, evenly matched, trade blow after tiring blow until the best man wins. And I think you know who that is.
Don't be concerned when you boot up this disc and are confronted with a static menu image that's smeary, oversharpened, and heavily photoshopped;
the movie itself, graced with a solid 1080p/AVC-encoded transfer, looks quite natural and filmic, with no signs of excess DNR or unnecessary edge
enhancement. (Okay, maybe a few signs of slight edge enhancement.) While Rob Roy hasn't been fully restored—white flecks
occasionally smatter the print—the film looks wonderful in high definition, especially when it lingers on the craggy verdant hills of the Scottish highlands.
Greens are especially lush here and give some vividness to an otherwise intentionally dreary—but dense—palette of neutrals. (Tim Roth's flamboyant
outfits also break up the drab 18th century monotony.) Black levels can get a bit hazy during darker scenes, but there's no rampant crushing of shadow
detail at least, and contrast during the daylight sequences is more than adequately punchy. Although clarity varies somewhat—you'll spot some scenes
that look softer than others—overall, there's an appreciable amount of fine detail, most notably in the actors' faces and the textures of the rustic
costuming. Finally, placed on a roomy, 50 GB dual-layer disc, there's no evidence of harsh over-compression. Fans should be pleased.
Depending on your expectations, you might be slightly less impressed with the film's DTS-HD Master Audio 5.1 surround track, which capably handles
the essentials—namely, clear dialogue—but doesn't offer much in terms of immersion or engagement. You'll hear some rain pounding in the rears, the
roar of a waterfall, and a few other instances of quiet ambience, but the surround channels don't get nearly as much activity as they could've had. Even
the film's big battle scene—when Cunningham's men descend upon Roy's house—lacks intensity. Another odd choice here is that nearly all of the bullet
sound effects are identical. There are a few cross-channel musket shots, but they literally all sound the same. In all other respects, however, this is a
proficient—albeit underwhelming—mix. The music is rich and full—expect lots of undulating female voices—and dialogue is always crisp and intelligible.
This disc is the very definition of bare-boned. There's not even a theatrical trailer here. All you get is the film, the ability to search by scene or bookmark,
and a set-up menu from which to choose audio and subtitle options.
If you're into epic movies about masculine individuals defending hearth and home and avenging their kin, Rob Roy is certainly worth another
look. The film got overshadowed by Mel Gibson's Braveheart in 1995, but it doesn't deserve to be left completely in the dark. While it may seem
slightly dated—all of the those mid-1990s male-centric period pieces do—there's plenty of swashbuckling action and tear-jerking drama for fans of the
men-in-kilts genre. While MGM's Blu-ray release comes with exactly zero bonus features, the strong high definition image may be enough to provoke an
upgrade from those still holding onto their Rob Roy DVDs.
