Rob Roy Page #3

Synopsis: 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.
Director(s): Michael Caton-Jones
Production: MGM Home Entertainment
  Nominated for 1 Oscar. Another 2 wins & 2 nominations.
 
IMDB:
6.9
Metacritic:
55
Rotten Tomatoes:
73%
R
Year:
1995
139 min
873 Views


than three candidates for my paternity.

The Earl of Rutland.

Now, there's a name for a whore master.

A secretary to the Spanish Ambassador

whose name she hazarded as Ferdinando

and some young buck she never saw

who raised her skirts|at the masked ball.

He ravished her?!

I would put it no higher|than surprised.

Archie, take me with you.

Wherever.

Whatever.

Take me away with you.

I am away, Betty,

and God help me,|this is where I've landed.

You think me a gentleman

because I have linen|and can manage a "lisp".

I am but a bastard abroad,

seeking my fortune|and the favours of great men,

as big a whore as my mother ever was.

I'm pregnant by you, Archie.

Well.

When it asks for its father's name,

at least you'll have it to give.

Mr Cunningham, it's me... Killearn.

A word with you.

Don't let him see me.

You are a carbuncle|on this arse of a country.

And if you ever inform against me|to His Lordship again,

I'll squeeze the pus out of you

with my bare hands.

My, Archie,

but you have a rare contempt in you.

I gave you no leave|to call me familiar.

Could I pay for the privilege?

At a fair price.

What are you gibbering about?

Money, Archie. Money. What else?

How much money?

Let's talk inside over a dram.

It's chill on the stairs.

Say what you have to say.

I am engaged within.

Ah, you've Betty on her back.

How much money?

1,000.

1,000.|What does 1,000 look like?

Will we have enough ponies to carry it?

Not coin. A note of credit

drawn on His Lordship.

- What interest, Rob?|- One fifth.

And he gets 200 profit for three months?

Aye. That's the price of cash,

and we must plan the matter|to the last penny.

When Alan returns,|he'll take three of you,

and you'll go to Creiff.

There you'll bargain with the drovers

and have the herd assembled|when I come with our kit for the drive.

How big a herd?

And whatever we can acquire|along the way.

No harm if a dozen or more stick.

We'll drive them into Carlisle like an army.

So, let's have all hands to it.

We'll stay warm this winter,|within and without.

To celebrate, we'll hold a gathering

and drink to our success!

Right, McKinness.

That's two shillings still owing.

- Next.|- Colqhoun.

Colqhoun, what have you got? A rabbit?

You're still a week behind, Colqhoun.

Must I wait all day|for my note, Killearn?

Patience, McGregor's man.

Your turn is marked.

Take you that goat to the pen.

Come, young Davey Wilson.

What have you got for me?|Another rabbit.

- Does nobody have any money?|- No, sir. Only a rabbit.

Dreaming of the New World, were we?

I hear tell in the New World

they have tribes of noble savages

with paint on their faces

and skins on their backs.

You'll be well at home among them.

Enough of this tripe.|Have you the note?

His Lordship is to Edinburgh|for the Assize,

then to London direct.

Great doings at the Court.

And he's away without signing the note.

The best I can do for you is coin.

This was not agreed.

Agreed or no, there's 1,000 here.

Take it or leave it,|it makes no difference to me,

nor to His Grace.

Aye, it's a terrible shock,

the sight of such a fortune|within reach, is it not?

It's just as well you have|the trust of the McGregor

or I'd be hard pressed|to sign it over to you.

Angus.

A great gathering, Rob.

Oh. That Alasdair Roy|is a fierce dancer.

The last time|I saw you in such a lather,

- You were flat on your back.|- Ooh!

Do not affront me afore these folk.

Rob, do you know why Calvinists|are against shagging standing up?

No, Coll. I do not.

They fear it might lead to dancing.

Stay back,

or by God, I'll shoot you dead.

For a moment there, I thought|you might take the road to Greenock

with your 1,000.

Killing is not so easy as it seems.

La.

He sat out there all day,|pondering on this.

- You gave him coin.|- He insisted upon it.

When I told him His Grace|hadn't signed the note,

he said you must have it,

or the beasts could not|be bought at the best price.

I'm hard put to see you|hand over such a sum

to one who couldn't bear the debt.

He was your man,

present at your signing of the terms,

ordered by you to wait.

For a note, not a bag of guineas!

It was not all guineas.

These farmers pay in small coin,|I assure you.

He signed for this bag of coin?

Indeed.

He did.

Almost as bold a hand as yourself.

There best be no skulduggery here,|Killearn.

Alan McDonald|stands under my protection.

Well, that's a great comfort|to us all, I must say,

what with 1,000 at risk.

Now, listen. We must search for Alan.

I fear he's come to mischief hereabouts.

I say we look in Greenock.

It comes quickly to your mind|that he has robbed us.

He spoke of the Americas often enough.

And he walked|to Greenock from Buchlyvie

and sent his pony home without him?

1,000 would be enough|to buy him 10 ponies.

Alan McDonald did not betray me.

Now to it and find his trace.

Come on! To it!

Go to Greenock, then

since you have that stink in your nose.

But, brother,

bad enough that it might be so|without you wishing it.

Rob.

Well, what news?

The ship sailed|the day before I got there,

and McDonald's name

was not on the harbourmaster's list.

But he wouldn't have|likely used his own name

and him run off with... 1,000...

Aye.

Your Lordship,

the Duke of Argyll this way comes.

John, you look like a man|who means to play hard.

Do not presume to speak|above your station, sir!

I will have my rank from you!

Your Grace.

I have word from Court|that you're saying I'm a Jacobite,

as one who would rise for the Stuart|should he land here to claim the throne.

Great men such as yourself

draw rumours as shite draws flies.

You are the shite, Montrose,

and the flies upon it!

For all the flowers|in your great gardens,

I know you in my nose.

Keep your stink off my name,

or by God, I will clip you|as close as one of your gelded trees,

and this carrion you keep|will not come between us!

What pride to use|a fellow peer in public so!

Damn his pride!

Forgive me.

Damn His Grace's pride.

Why is it so beyond your belief

that he might have yielded|to the sight of all that money?

Unguarded, unasked, but there

a lifetime's wages in a bag.

Because I know him.|I know him more than half his life.

But was he ever handed 1,000 before?

He was handed a hundred times more.

He was given trust, and he repaid in kind.

Why do you not believe me?

All right, Rob.

He did not steal from you.

But he has gone, the money's gone,

and Montrose will not care|if you believe one thing or the other.

- That's another matter.|- No. That's the only matter now.

For all our sakes, Robert,|you must take off your high hat,

and make what terms you can.

Else our home is lost|and ourselves His Lordship's tenants.

Ah, here comes the bold Highlander.

No arse in his breeks

but too proud to tug his forelock.

No doubt the rogue seeks|to blame his servant

for I hear there|is no word of the man.

I see you're back in favour|with your tailor, Archibald.

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Alan Sharp

Alan Sharp (12 January 1934 – 8 February 2013) was a Scottish novelist and screenwriter. He published two novels in the 1960s, and subsequently wrote the screenplays for about twenty films, mostly produced in the United States. more…

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Submitted on August 05, 2018

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