It might shock you to know that I was given permission... I think. I could use some help though. When you see *** that's something I couldn't parse.
1.1. Highlander: The Lesson
Released April 2009
Written by Trevor Baxendale
Cover Artist Martin Stiff
Director Sharon Gosling
Executive Producer Jason Haigh-Ellery
Music Jamie Robertson
Producer Sharon Gosling
Sound Design Richard Dolmat
Written by Trevor Baxendale
Line Producer David Richardson
Product Format: 1-disc CD (jewel case)
Number of Discs: 1
Duration: 60 minutes
Physical Retail ISBN: 978-1-84435-358-3
Production Code: BFPHLCD01
Starring
Adrian Paul (Duncan MacLeod)
Trevor Cooper (Pieter Gatlan)
“I first met Pieter Gatlan in 1868. It was a beautiful, warm sunny afternoon when he first tried to kill me.”
Of all the sword fights Duncan MacLeod has fought over the centuries, the toughest have been against an Immortal named Pieter Gatlan. Every ten years, Gatlan searches Duncan out – and every ten years, Duncan is defeated… but not beheaded. What is Gatlan’s grand plan? And this time, will the Highlander triumph?
"I am immortal. Born four hundred years ago in the highlands of Scotland. I'm not alone. There are others like me. Some good, some evil. For centuries I've battled the forces of darkness, with holy ground my only refuge. I cannot die... unless you take my head, and with it, my power. I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod! The Highlander! In the end, there can be... only one."
The Year 1868
I first met Pieter Gatlan in 1868. It was a beautiful, warm sunny afternoon when he first tried to kill me. It was... a close thing. And I've seen a few of those in four hundred years. I can still remember the cool breath of his Toledo steel saber as it slashed past my face, [swish] with barely an inch to spare. Well, I say an inch. In the heat of the fight I didn't realize that the tip had sliced open the skin between my jaw and throat, missing the jugular by, ooh, by a gnat's wing. It was a hot night. And anyway, you really don't feel those things properly until the duel is finished, if you survive it. I was on my knees by the end of it, my sword lying in a roadside ditch, well out of reach. I was panting, exhausted, waiting for the end to come. Gatlan stood over me, already smiling because he knew he'd won, and touched the tip of his blade against my chest.
"You are bleeding."
I looked down. The front of my shirt was bright red, soaked through, and in that instance I suddenly felt the hot stinging pain in my neck. With each huge beat of my heart, I felt more blood surge out of the cut, and run down my collar.
"A close one, hahah, I'll give you that!" I replied. I sounded a little rougher than I intended. It's hard to be 'cool' when you're about to be decapitated.
"You're not wrong, Highlander. Half a step closer and I would be savoring your death like the taste of a fine wine by now."
[shaky] "The Quickening," I gasped. I was frightened. I was about to die or so I believed. My heart was racing and I could feel the life pumping out of my neck. What would it be like? Quick, painless? Or long and agonizing... I was beginning to suspect the latter. Gatlan did a strange thing then.
Still keeping the tip of his sword pressed against the blood-sodden material of my shirt, he squatted down on his haunches and looked me straight in the eye.
"The Quickening. Yes... That. All your life-force; your energy; your soul... Everything that makes you, you. All pouring out of your severed neck; bursting out of it like a fountain, straight into me. I'd like that!" Then he winked. "But not yet." He stood up, kicked me full in the face, [grunts of pain] so I sprawled backwards like a drunk in the gutter. The pain from my wound felt like someone was trampling bits of broken glass into my throat. He stood over me, still smiling. His blue eyes twinkled. "All that blood, Highlander! You must've lost a pint already, but that's nothing. It won't kill you. You could bleed like that all night. I could hang you up by your feet and drain you like a slaughtered pig, but it still wouldn't matter. You can't die! Not unless you lose your head." [Final line said perhaps in imitation of Sean Connery as Ramirez]
"Why won't you do it then?"
"You're not ready yet, Highlander. You need to play the Game a while longer. But one day... One day."
Duncan's Boat in Paris
People sometimes say you should "take the long view", or "look at the big picture". They mean you should ignore the trivia; don't get caught up with the detail, or you lose your way. It's easy for an Immortal. The bigger picture and the long view are the things that come simply to someone who can live forever. In fact, the real danger for Immortals is to lose sight of the details; the small things in life that actually give it meaning. You have to be careful not to end up playing the Game as The Long Game. It can happen. And it's a lesson hard-learned.
[water lapping] I came out of the boat to find an overcast sky which looked more like it belonged over London than Paris at this time of year. It was going to rain, that much was obvious. I pulled on my long coat and then spotted the knife.
Like I said: you should never lose sight of the details.
It was sticking out of the side of the cabin, the blade buried deep into the wood. It had a bone handle carved into a grip, the pommel inset with pearls. A pretty little weapon. Probably worth a fortune. And someone had used it to stick a note to the side of my boat.
It was a piece of stiff paper, flapping slightly in the cold river breeze. I tore it free and held it up to read, as the first raindrops began to hit. [rip noise]
"Time for your lesson, Highlander," it said.
I felt the familiar knot form in my gut. Funny how five simple words can be enough to turn your world around in a second.
A Spanish Bar in 1878
It'd been the same for one hundred and forty years. Every decade, on the anniversary of our first duel, he had invited me for another lesson.
The first time we met again, in 1878, had been an accident. I'd been idly whiling away an evening in a rowdy Spanish bar, but as soon as I felt that pull at the end of my senses, that knowledge that another Immortal was near...
Gatlan! [noise of something hard hitting something]
I stood up so quickly that the stool crashed to the floor, attracting the attention of everyone around me.
There was silence.
Gatlan turned to face me. He'd been standing at the bar, wearing the same long leather coat he'd worn the first time I'd met him. It was a good coat; I'd pick it out of a crowd anywhere. It was made of a soft Chamois, light-colored, but tooled with a swirling pattern in black stitched all over the shoulders and down the lapels. Gatlan's blue eyes saw me and he smiled, a big, wide, welcoming smile.
"Duncan! Duncan MacLeod as I live and breathe! What a surprise."
He ordered another drink from the bar and brought it over to me.
I pushed away the girl I'd been with that night, and whispered that I'd see her again in the morning. She caught the look in my eyes, though. I tried to keep one of grim determination but, in all honesty, it probably had a little fear in it, too.
Gatlan spun a chair around with his boot and sat. He put the drink on the table before me and raised his glass. "To your good health, Highlander! You know - [lowers voice] I thought I felt something when I came in."
"What are you doing here?"
"Passing through. I hear there's trouble brewing in France so that's where I'm headed."
"Trouble?"
"There's bound to be a Gathering. Immortals are drawn to conflict like moths to candles, Duncan. You know that. I'm head-hunting."
[slight shake to voice] "You won't... get mine." I tried to hold his stare. I was deadly serious. It was ten years since he'd best me in that first duel, and I'd learned a lot. I had my sword with me of course; every Immortal keeps his blade close to hand, day and night. He smiled, his eyes glistening like ice in the heat of a dark tavern.
"Are you scared, Highlander?"
[childishly] "No!"
"That's a lie."
"It's not! You have both hands on the table, Gatlan. My hand is on my sword. I could cut off your head right now and there's not a damned thing you could do!"
[laughs] "Hah, you'd commit cold-blooded murder in the middle of a busy tavern?"
I didn't say anything. I kept his gaze. He knew I was right, so why wasn't he worried, damn him?!
"Leave your sword where 'tis. We'll fight, but not here. We'll do it quietly, and alone. Like lovers."
I drew the sword an inch from its scabbard, [hiss of steel] letting him see the steel.
[laughing] "You're really frightened, aren't you Duncan! I can see it in your eyes. [lower] I can see it in the way you touched your neck before you touched your sword. Does it still hurt, that little 'love bite'?"
I stood up again and then walked out.
1.1. Highlander: The Lesson
Released April 2009
Written by Trevor Baxendale
Cover Artist Martin Stiff
Director Sharon Gosling
Executive Producer Jason Haigh-Ellery
Music Jamie Robertson
Producer Sharon Gosling
Sound Design Richard Dolmat
Written by Trevor Baxendale
Line Producer David Richardson
Product Format: 1-disc CD (jewel case)
Number of Discs: 1
Duration: 60 minutes
Physical Retail ISBN: 978-1-84435-358-3
Production Code: BFPHLCD01
Starring
Adrian Paul (Duncan MacLeod)
Trevor Cooper (Pieter Gatlan)
“I first met Pieter Gatlan in 1868. It was a beautiful, warm sunny afternoon when he first tried to kill me.”
Of all the sword fights Duncan MacLeod has fought over the centuries, the toughest have been against an Immortal named Pieter Gatlan. Every ten years, Gatlan searches Duncan out – and every ten years, Duncan is defeated… but not beheaded. What is Gatlan’s grand plan? And this time, will the Highlander triumph?
"I am immortal. Born four hundred years ago in the highlands of Scotland. I'm not alone. There are others like me. Some good, some evil. For centuries I've battled the forces of darkness, with holy ground my only refuge. I cannot die... unless you take my head, and with it, my power. I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod! The Highlander! In the end, there can be... only one."
The Year 1868
I first met Pieter Gatlan in 1868. It was a beautiful, warm sunny afternoon when he first tried to kill me. It was... a close thing. And I've seen a few of those in four hundred years. I can still remember the cool breath of his Toledo steel saber as it slashed past my face, [swish] with barely an inch to spare. Well, I say an inch. In the heat of the fight I didn't realize that the tip had sliced open the skin between my jaw and throat, missing the jugular by, ooh, by a gnat's wing. It was a hot night. And anyway, you really don't feel those things properly until the duel is finished, if you survive it. I was on my knees by the end of it, my sword lying in a roadside ditch, well out of reach. I was panting, exhausted, waiting for the end to come. Gatlan stood over me, already smiling because he knew he'd won, and touched the tip of his blade against my chest.
"You are bleeding."
I looked down. The front of my shirt was bright red, soaked through, and in that instance I suddenly felt the hot stinging pain in my neck. With each huge beat of my heart, I felt more blood surge out of the cut, and run down my collar.
"A close one, hahah, I'll give you that!" I replied. I sounded a little rougher than I intended. It's hard to be 'cool' when you're about to be decapitated.
"You're not wrong, Highlander. Half a step closer and I would be savoring your death like the taste of a fine wine by now."
[shaky] "The Quickening," I gasped. I was frightened. I was about to die or so I believed. My heart was racing and I could feel the life pumping out of my neck. What would it be like? Quick, painless? Or long and agonizing... I was beginning to suspect the latter. Gatlan did a strange thing then.
Still keeping the tip of his sword pressed against the blood-sodden material of my shirt, he squatted down on his haunches and looked me straight in the eye.
"The Quickening. Yes... That. All your life-force; your energy; your soul... Everything that makes you, you. All pouring out of your severed neck; bursting out of it like a fountain, straight into me. I'd like that!" Then he winked. "But not yet." He stood up, kicked me full in the face, [grunts of pain] so I sprawled backwards like a drunk in the gutter. The pain from my wound felt like someone was trampling bits of broken glass into my throat. He stood over me, still smiling. His blue eyes twinkled. "All that blood, Highlander! You must've lost a pint already, but that's nothing. It won't kill you. You could bleed like that all night. I could hang you up by your feet and drain you like a slaughtered pig, but it still wouldn't matter. You can't die! Not unless you lose your head." [Final line said perhaps in imitation of Sean Connery as Ramirez]
"Why won't you do it then?"
"You're not ready yet, Highlander. You need to play the Game a while longer. But one day... One day."
Duncan's Boat in Paris
People sometimes say you should "take the long view", or "look at the big picture". They mean you should ignore the trivia; don't get caught up with the detail, or you lose your way. It's easy for an Immortal. The bigger picture and the long view are the things that come simply to someone who can live forever. In fact, the real danger for Immortals is to lose sight of the details; the small things in life that actually give it meaning. You have to be careful not to end up playing the Game as The Long Game. It can happen. And it's a lesson hard-learned.
[water lapping] I came out of the boat to find an overcast sky which looked more like it belonged over London than Paris at this time of year. It was going to rain, that much was obvious. I pulled on my long coat and then spotted the knife.
Like I said: you should never lose sight of the details.
It was sticking out of the side of the cabin, the blade buried deep into the wood. It had a bone handle carved into a grip, the pommel inset with pearls. A pretty little weapon. Probably worth a fortune. And someone had used it to stick a note to the side of my boat.
It was a piece of stiff paper, flapping slightly in the cold river breeze. I tore it free and held it up to read, as the first raindrops began to hit. [rip noise]
"Time for your lesson, Highlander," it said.
I felt the familiar knot form in my gut. Funny how five simple words can be enough to turn your world around in a second.
A Spanish Bar in 1878
It'd been the same for one hundred and forty years. Every decade, on the anniversary of our first duel, he had invited me for another lesson.
The first time we met again, in 1878, had been an accident. I'd been idly whiling away an evening in a rowdy Spanish bar, but as soon as I felt that pull at the end of my senses, that knowledge that another Immortal was near...
Gatlan! [noise of something hard hitting something]
I stood up so quickly that the stool crashed to the floor, attracting the attention of everyone around me.
There was silence.
Gatlan turned to face me. He'd been standing at the bar, wearing the same long leather coat he'd worn the first time I'd met him. It was a good coat; I'd pick it out of a crowd anywhere. It was made of a soft Chamois, light-colored, but tooled with a swirling pattern in black stitched all over the shoulders and down the lapels. Gatlan's blue eyes saw me and he smiled, a big, wide, welcoming smile.
"Duncan! Duncan MacLeod as I live and breathe! What a surprise."
He ordered another drink from the bar and brought it over to me.
I pushed away the girl I'd been with that night, and whispered that I'd see her again in the morning. She caught the look in my eyes, though. I tried to keep one of grim determination but, in all honesty, it probably had a little fear in it, too.
Gatlan spun a chair around with his boot and sat. He put the drink on the table before me and raised his glass. "To your good health, Highlander! You know - [lowers voice] I thought I felt something when I came in."
"What are you doing here?"
"Passing through. I hear there's trouble brewing in France so that's where I'm headed."
"Trouble?"
"There's bound to be a Gathering. Immortals are drawn to conflict like moths to candles, Duncan. You know that. I'm head-hunting."
[slight shake to voice] "You won't... get mine." I tried to hold his stare. I was deadly serious. It was ten years since he'd best me in that first duel, and I'd learned a lot. I had my sword with me of course; every Immortal keeps his blade close to hand, day and night. He smiled, his eyes glistening like ice in the heat of a dark tavern.
"Are you scared, Highlander?"
[childishly] "No!"
"That's a lie."
"It's not! You have both hands on the table, Gatlan. My hand is on my sword. I could cut off your head right now and there's not a damned thing you could do!"
[laughs] "Hah, you'd commit cold-blooded murder in the middle of a busy tavern?"
I didn't say anything. I kept his gaze. He knew I was right, so why wasn't he worried, damn him?!
"Leave your sword where 'tis. We'll fight, but not here. We'll do it quietly, and alone. Like lovers."
I drew the sword an inch from its scabbard, [hiss of steel] letting him see the steel.
[laughing] "You're really frightened, aren't you Duncan! I can see it in your eyes. [lower] I can see it in the way you touched your neck before you touched your sword. Does it still hurt, that little 'love bite'?"
I stood up again and then walked out.
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