Highlander Script
1 EXT. STREET - NIGHT 1
Garish purple light spills out of side-street porno houses,
illuminating a silhouette, and little else, of a MAN leaning
against an alley wall.
He is waiting.
Another silhouetted FIGURE appears and approaches the first.
They size each other up as best they can.
FIRST MAN
MacLeod.
The second nods.
The first without hesitation raises a sword, the intended
thrust interrupted by his own death as the second with a flash
of metal severs the agressor’s head.
2 INT. HUTCH - MORNING 2
A 15th century Scottish home.
A haggard WOMAN, her small CHILD clinging to a tattered apron,
stands hunched over a glowing hearth. Her veined hands drag
a wooden spoon around and around through a soot-covered pot
of grey soup.
From an adjoining room CONOR MACLEOD, a young man dressed up
in his best traditional Celtic tartan, enters.
MOTHER
My, but are you the
picture.
CONOR
(surveying himself)
It’s a bit tight.
His FATHER enters with a pail of milk.
FATHER
Ah, Conor, how you look
a man.
MOTHER
Have you time for some-
thing to eat?
CONOR
No, Mother. They’ll be
here shortly.
Conor’s father looks him over with pride.
FATHER
Your grandfather wore
that in his service to
the King, and I to fight
for the Duke.
MOTHER
Must he go?
FATHER
Aye. It is his duty. All
of ours.
MOTHER
But Ian, he’s still but a boy.
FATHER
He’s a MacLeod.
CONOR
I’ll be fine Mother.
3 EXT. HUTCH - MORNING 3
Several HORSEMEN gallop up through the early morning fog to
the cottage door.
Conor’s father steps out to meet them.
4 EXT. HILLTOP - MORNING 4
A massive KNIGHT sits astride his horse, moorish dew cling-
ing to his helmet and breastplate. A CLANSMAN hikes up the
heather-carpeted slope to him.
CLANSMAN
They march.
KNIGHT
Is the boy among them?
CLANSMAN
Aye.
5 EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT 5
The second kneels to examine the headless body of the first.
With a CLACK a window, high on the alley wall, closes.
6 EXT. HIGHLAND PLAIN - MORNING 6
The DUKE is leading a brigade of CLANSMEN out onto the plain.
Mounted VASSALS ride back and forth inspecting the line. The
low fog makes it impossible to see beyond a few yards. There
is an erie, smothering silence.
VASSAL #1
Is a bad day for this.
VASSAL #2
The Duke has been compro-
mised. He will have his due.
VASSAL #1
By day’s end he will have
our heads.
VASSAL #2
We ride against the Suther-
lands. That is all that
matters.
VASSAL #1
This makes no sense to me.
CONOR
And a friend are marching through the moist heather.
FRIEND
The fog is bad. We cannot
even see the sides of our
own ranks.
Conor’s nervousness is showing.
FRIEND
Is this your first?
CONOR
Aye.
SHOUTING is heard on the plain.
FRIEND
It’s begun.
7 EXT. HILLTOP - MORNING 7
The Knight, above the fog, hears the battle commence below.
He spurs his horse and starts down into the mist.
8 EXT. PLAIN - MORNING 8
The two opposing clans are now one confused mass of tartan
and clashing swords. The air is charged with SHOUTS of ex-
citement, agony, and the SHRILL of bag pipes.
The fog has made each man’s battle his own, each isolated with
his opponent.
THE KNIGHT
Rides calmly through the fracas. He strikes and kills those
that assault him, but appears disinterested in battle.
He is looking.
CONOR
Is standing above the twitching body of his friend.
Alone and confused, Conor has become seperated from the clan.
He stumbles through the fog, seeking help.
Suddenly he is alone with the Knight.
The face of iron locks its gaze onto the boy. His fear turned
to panic, Conor turns and flees.
The Knight, his resolve steeled in a raised sword, kicks his
horse into persuit.
Conor is easily overtaken and on his first pass the Knight
brings his blade down hard into Conor’s shoulder, slicing
open most of the boy’s back and knocking him face-first into
the heather.
As Conor watches his own blood spew forth, he rolls over in
time to see the Knight dismount and start for him.
THE KNIGHT
Leans down next to Conor, his metal face nearly against the
boy’s. His voice slithers out of the iron in almost a whisper.
KNIGHT
There can be but one.
A CLANSMAN
Charges out of the fog and attacks the Knight, who cuts him
nearly in half. ANOTHER wanders in and meets the same fate.
The battle is shifting to where they are.
Not finished yet with Conor, the Knight is finding himself
forced into retreat from an ever increasing number of assail-
ants.
A VASSAL
Sees his men being hacked apart trying to stop the now-mounted
Knight.
VASSAL #1
Leave him!
The clansmen obey.
With the slap of an armored gauntlet against his steed, the
Knight disappears into the fog.
The Vassal surveys the carnage before him. His eyes fall a
moment on the moaning, gurgling Conor.
The Vassal turns and leaves the boy for dead.
9 EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT 9
A patrol car pauses at the mouth of the alley.
The figure considers his situation, then quickly shoves his
sword into a near-by drain. He straightens up and waits.
AN OFFICER
Steps out of his unit and cautiously walks forward. His PARTNER
switches on the patrol car’s side lamps, bathing the alley
in a harsh glare.
MAN IN ALLEY
For the first time we can see his face. RICHARD TAUPIN, clad
in a well-cut business suit, looks exactly like Conor.
The police officer, upon seeing the body, grabs instinctively
for his pistol. He yells to his partner now coming into the
alley.
OFFICER #1
Kevin! Get is a backup.
TAUPIN
I was merely walking by
when-
OFFICER #1
Don’t move.
The officer has his pistol out and leveled.
His partner runs up, shotgun in hand.
OFFICER #2
They’re on their way.
His voice cuts short as the blood flows against his shoe.
OFFICER #2
Christ.
10 INT. HUTCH - NIGHT 10
Conor lies moaning on a cot. Makeshift bandages wrap his
body, stained and pasted by thick, dried blood.
The family surrounds their dying son.
A PRIEST is delivering the last rites.
PRIEST
...Libera Domine Animan
servi tui sicut libertasi
David de manu regis Saul...
His sobbing mother holds a compress to Conor’s forehead.
PRIEST
...In mamus tuas domine
commendo spiritum meum...
11 EXT. HUTCH - NIGHT 11
A Vassal rides up to the hutch, dismounts, and approaches a
CLANSMAN standing in the open doorway.
VASSAL #1
Has the boy died?
CLANSMAN
He is having the last rites
now. It should be over by
morning.
VASSAL #1
Never seen anybody cut as
bad live so long. He should
have died on the field.
CLANSMAN
Tonight or tomorrow, it’s
all the same.
The Vassal peers inside at the priest administering the
sacraments.
PRIEST
...Auditorium nostrum in
nomine domini...
VASSAL #1
This has been a dark day.
PRIEST
...Requiescant in pace...
12 EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT 12
There is a bustle of activity. Setting up barricades, uni-
formed OFFICERS are trying to keep NEW CREWS and curious
ONLOOKERS at a distance.
DETECTIVE LT. MORAN
Lean, fortyish, and comfortable with the gore in front of him,
is inspecting the corpse with a MEDICAL EXAMINER.
EXAMINER
(studying body)
Real clean. No sawing
action at all. Whatever
it was did it in one
swipe.
(looks up at Moran)
Like the other one.
Moran gestures to a sword, wrapped in plastic, lying nearby.
MORAN
What about that?
EXAMINER
Hasn’t any blood on it.
MORAN
(looking around)
About the only thing
that doesn’t.
EXAMINER
I’ll give it a closer
look when I get back.
BRENNA CARTWRIGHT
Pretty but not beautiful, thirtyish, she exudes a sort of
insolent intelligence.
An OFFICER sees her duck under a police barricade.
OFFICER #3
Come on Brenna, you know
better than that.
BRENNA
I’m invited.
She walks to where the medical examiner is organizing his
equipment.
BRENNA
(greeting)
Mr. Levine...
The examiner turns and smiles.
EXAMINER
Hope this isn’t past your
bedtime.
Brenna looks to the now-sheeted corpse, blood flowing from
where the head should be.
BRENNA
Doesn’t have a head,
does he?
EXAMINER
This one came unassembled.
Lt. Moran is standing near.
MORAN
(no warmth)
Just show her what she came
for, Tom.
EXAMINER
(stands, taps Brenna’s arm)
Come on, this is more
your line of work.
Brenna and the examiner walk the few yards from the corpse
to the sword.
EXAMINER
How’s your uncle? I hardly
ever see him anymore.
BRENNA
Fine.
The examiner stops and gestures to the weapon clothed in
forensic plastic.
EXAMINER
There you go.
Brenna’s expression changes to interest as she kneels down
beside it.
EXAMINER
Didn’t look like it came from
"Toys-Are-Us", that’s why I
called you.
BRENNA
(looks up in Moran’s direction)
Didn’t think it was my
buddy over there.
EXAMINER
Figured you knew more about
swords than I did.
BRENNA
Claymore.
EXAMINER
Huh?
BRENNA
Scottish claymore. Take
a French epee, add twenty
pounds of ballast so it
means business, and you’ve
got a claymore.
EXAMINER
You’re the expert.
BRENNA
(runs hand along hilt, slightly
confused)
It’s in good condition.
RICHARD TAUPIN
Is being put in the rear of a patrol car. Brenna studies his
face in the half-gloom. There’s something different about him.
A steadiness.
13 INT. POLICE INTERROGATION ROOM 13
Richard Taupin is seated at a graffitti scrawled table in a
room otherwise bare of furnishings. He seems unphased by his
surroundings.
The door opens and Moran enters with bag and notebook. He
picks up Taupin’s wallet on the table top and checks the
driver’s license.
MORAN
This your present address?
TAUPIN
Yes.
MORAN
Mr.-
(looks at license)
Taupin, what were you
doing in that alley?
TAUPIN
I was walking by when I
heard a shout. Your men
came right after.
MORAN
Did you know the victim?
TAUPIN
No.
MORAN
His name was Iman Fasil
if that jogs your memory.
TAUPIN
It doesn’t.
MORAN
He was carrying a Syrian
passport and had been in
the country less than a week.
Taupin’s face is stoic and controlled.
MORAN
Two days ago a Bulgarian
national was murdered the
same way. He’d also been
in the country less than a
week.
(beat)
What is your citizenship?
TAUPIN
American.
Moran paces to a corner of the room.
MORAN
Do you make a habit of
hanging out in that neigh-
borhood at night?
TAUPIN
What are you getting at?
MORAN
Let’s just say that in my
years with this department
I’ve seen more than one well
dressed business man look for
a hand job on 14th Street.
Moran places both hands on the table and leans across it.
MORAN
What were _you_ looking for?
TAUPIN
That’s none of your business.
MORAN
You’re wrong.
Moran reaches into a bag on the table and removes a large
broad sword; old, but in mint condition.
MORAN
Do you know what this is?
TAUPIN
I presume it’s a sword.
MORAN
A claymore to be exact. You
wouldn’t know anything about
it would you?
TAUPIN
Your murder weapon?
MORAN
It was covered with Mr.
Fasil’s fingerprints, but
none of his blood.
TAUPIN
A mystery.
MORAN
For the moment.
Moran turns the sword over in his hand then sets it down.
He rises and opens the door.
MORAN
All right Mr. Taupin, we’ll be in
touch.
Taupin passes through the doorway without comment.
14 EXT. POLICE STATION - NIGHT 14
Taupin out into the crisp night air. His eyes search out the
darkness.
DISSOLVE TO:
15 EXT. CONOR’S FAMILY HUTCH - DAY 15
A medieval sun beats down on an OLD TRAVELER making his way up
the MacLeod home. Conor’s mother, scrubbing clothes in a
bucket, smiles in recognition.
MOTHER
Ah Steven, it is good to see you.
TRAVELLER
I only just heard of Conor. I came
up from Catroch as soon as I could.
MOTHER
You’re a kind man to be sure.
TRAVELLER
I thought it only proper to pay
me last respects to the family.
MOTHER
Steven, Conor didn’t die.
TRAVELLER
But I had heard his wounds were
mortal.
MOTHER
They were Steven, they were. It’s
been a miracle it has. He lasted
right through and healed. No one
in the village has ever seen anything
like it. Ever.
16 EXT. MEADOW - DAY 16
Perched on a heather-carpeted rise above the village a young
woman, MARA, sits contemplating the intricaces of a daffodil.
Balancing on a shepard’s staff, Conor limps over and puts
his lips to her ear.
CONOR
You’re pretty today.
Mara is silent. Distant.
CONOR
I’m your future husband, remember?
MARA
I have no future husband.
CONOR
I don’t understand. Not a week
ago your father gave us his blessing.
This is difficult for her. Tears well in her eyes.
MARA
My future husband died in battle
against the Sutherlands.
CONOR
What are you saying? I’m standing
here as real as you.
MARA
You cannot be real, Conor. You had
the last rites. No man has been cut
half as bad and lived.
CONOR
But I did live.
MARA
Live? In less than a week you’re
prancing about the country like a
squirrel.
CONOR
So why the crazy talk? It’s a
miracle it is. Saint Andrew has
smiled on me. On us.
MARA
Some think not.
CONOR
Who?
MARA
There’s rumor in the village.
Some call it magic.
CONOR
That’s mad. Surely you don’t
take their word?
MARA
I don’t know, Conor. It’s not
natural. Maybe something has
touched you.
CONOR
You’re sounding like that mad
woman, Widow Baggins.
MARA
Me father has taken back my
hand.
He puts a hand to her cheek.
CONOR
Ah, Lassie...
She steps back.
MARA
Please not be touching me, Conor.
CONOR
I’ll not take that kind of talk
from you. From those others
below, maybe. But not from you.
MARA
Leave me alone, Conor. Please.
CONOR
You’re not talking sense, Mara!
Anger tumbles into exasperation.
CONOR
I’m sorry.
He steps for her. She moves away. Conor’s face hardens with
resentment.
CONOR
If you send me away now, Mara,
I’ll not come looking for you.
MARA
(crying)
Do what you must.
Resigned, Conor turns and limps away.
DISSOLVE TO:
17 INT. ANTIQUE SHOP - DAY 17
Classy antiques. Unusual. Clocks, tables, chests. Small and
personal.
Richard Taupin enters and sheds his overcoat.
RECEPTIONIST
Mrs. Thompson agreed to settle for
fifteen, Melvin’s wants to make a
pick-up at three o’clock, the coffee
machine’s broken, and there’s a
Miss Cartwright from the Smithsonian
in your office.
Taupin is hardly in the mood.
18 INT. TAUPIN’S OFFICE 18
Brenna Cartwright stands in Taupin’s cluttered surroundings
admiring a bagpipe set neatly on a shelf.
BRENNA
Do you play?
TAUPIN
Yes.
BRENNA
Very traditional.
Taupin sits down and begins sorting through a stack of papers
on his desk.
TAUPIN
(impatient)
Miss Cartwright, what is it I can
do for you?
BRENNA
I’d like to ask you about the
claymore.
TAUPIN
It’s not mine.
BRENNA
It’s quite rare you know, some-
thing so common in its time so
well looked after all these years.
TAUPIN
Miss Cartwright, unless you have
come here to sell the sword,
there’s very little I can help
you with. Now if you will excuse
me, I have a great deal of work
to do.
Brenna has taken a carving from the shelf.
BRENNA
Byzantine?
TAUPIN
Basil the II.
BRENNA
Charming guy, Basil. Once after
beating an army of Serbians he
blinded all but-
TAUPIN
-All but one out of a hundred, I
know. All left to be led like
donkeys back home. Now if you will
please-
Brenna suddenly tosses the carving at him. Taupin snatches it
out of the air with lightning precision.
BRENNA
Good reflexes.
TAUPIN
Good day, Miss Cartwright.
19 INT. SMITHSONIAN MUSEUM DEPARTMENT OFFICE 19
A lonely, ancient room full of equal parts dust and oaken
study tables.
The department SUPERVISOR sits at his desk surrounded by a
handful of his staff RESEARCHERS - Brenna included. A faded,
stern portrait of some forgotten curator presides over propped
up feet, cold coffee, and half eaten sack lunches.
BRENNA
I don’t believe him.
SUPERVISOR
Why?
BRENNA
He’s too cool. Too sharp. I
think he’s got something to
do with it.
RESEARCHER #1
Oh, has your penetrating research
on 9th Century Lithuanian dildos
suddenly made you an expert on the
criminal mentality?
BRENNA
Screw off, Larry.
The men, LAUGH. They delight in baiting her.
Researcher #2 opens a Budweiser and pours the beer into a medieval
mug he’s borrowed from the collection.
RESEARCHER #2
The cops bought it. They let him
go.
BRENNA
What could they hold him for? I
think they’re just waiting for
something concrete before they
haul him in for real. We should
look into it. He had to have
gotten that sword from somewhere.
SUPERVISOR
Hang on a sec, you did your little
favor for the boys downtown, I’m
sure your uncle and the rest are
perfectly capable of taking it
from here.
BRENNA
I’ve seen nobleman swords that
weren’t as well preserved. It’s
just a hunk of peasant iron. Why
would he be carrying it around
in an alley?
RESEARCHER #1
Here we go. Everytime there’s a
murder in town we have to put up
with junior D.A.
RESEARCHER #2
Must be genetic.
BRENNA
Someone should check him out.
Maybe a collection somewhere
got knocked over. He has one,
he might have two.
SUPERVISOR
You see that desk? _Your_ desk? You see
the crap piled up on it?
BRENNA
Give it a rest Ned, huh?
RESEARCHER #2
Might be interesting to see what
his family connections are. That’s
a hell of a piece to be just chuck-
ing around in an alley.
SUPERVISOR
(sighs)
I swear to God Brenna, between you
and Thompson’s novels I’m going to
get a bloody ulcer.
Researcher #2 lifts the mug of beer to his mouth.
CUT TO:
20 INT. TAVERN 20
An empty mug is set on the counter of a medieval drinking
establishment.
CLANSMEN, their faces and clothes smudged with a day’s work in
the fields, relax and enjoy the company of their fellow VILLAGERS.
No longer requiring the use of a cane, Conor enters.
CONOR
(to owner)
Evening, Douglas.
DOUGLAS
Conor.
The tavern goes silent. Wary. The attention is on Conor.
CONOR
Ale suits me.
The owner unenthusiastically fills Conor a mug. Conor takes
it and walks to where four other VILLAGERS sit.
TAVERN MAN #1
We rather you not be sitting with
us, Conor.
Conor looks to the next table.
TAVERN MAN #2
We be drinking alone as well.
The entire tavern spells the same sentiments.
CONOR
&nb