Original subtitles

[music playing]

[music playing]

-Did you get my tape?

I'm Jerry.

Jerry Verity.

In the confusion, love a man, not an illusion.

-I could never be all that you dream.

Is that that?

-You listened to it.

-I thought it was good.

Come on, Jerry, let's go for a ride.

-This is for real.

-As real as it gets.

[music playing]

-Come on, Jerry.

Spit out the fear and taste the glory.

Just one more step.

-Help!

-Feel it, Jerry.

Revel in it.

This to be mortal, and to seek the things beyond mortality.

The world is watching, Jerry.

Can you fly?

-Sure.

Can we talk about the music?

-Are you ready?

-Huh?

First we jump.

Then we lay down some tracks.

You and me, Damon and Pythias.

Batman and Robin.

All you need to do is soar, Jerry.

Like an eagle.

If you're not living, you're dying, Jerry.

-[CHANTING] Jerry!

Jerry!

Jerry!

-I'm cool.

-Good.

-Batman and Robin?

-No guts, no glory.

Geronimo!

That was a very good try.

[laughing]

NARRATOR: He is Duncan MacLeod.

The Highlander.

Born in 1592 in the Highlands of Scotland

and he is still alive.

He is immortal.

For 400 years, he's been a warrior.

A lover.

A wanderer, constantly facing other Immortals in

combat to the death.

The winner takes his enemy's head, and with it, his power.

I'm a Watcher, part of a secret society of men and

women who observe and record, but never interfere.

We know the truth about Immortals.

In the end, there can be only one.

May it be Duncan MacLeod.

The Highlander.

[MUSIC - QUEEN, "PRINCES OF THE UNIVERSE"]

[music playing]

-This kid's great.

-Well, we picked him up in London.

Came to every show, every night.

[buzzing]

-Well, oh, well.

Look who's here.

-Good to see you, man.

All right.

-Byron?

-Lord Byron?

-Hey Doc.

-Hey.

-It's been a long time.

-You've become kind of famous again.

-Yeah, I, uh, just can't seem to shake it.

-Duncan MacLeod, Joe Dawson.

-Any friend of Doc's.

Now that kid's not bad.

Who is he?

Ah, that's Mike.

He's from London.

-You were great, Mike.

-It's a rush.

-Beautiful.

-Thanks Joe.

-Great job, kid.

-I'm sorry, hold on a minute.

You're who I think you are, aren't you?

I've got every CD.

Imports, everything.

Man, I've been a fan of yours forever.

-You mean to tell me you knew him all this time and you

never told me.

MACLEOD [OFFSCREEN]: Yeah, Doc?

[yawning]

-It seems the good doctor grows weary of our

entertainment.

-A spectator, surely.

As participant, never.

-Dr. Adams, your affrontery shocks me.

-You aren't shocked, are you?

You would be if you saw him at his

labors, cutting up corpses.

Up to his elbows in rotting flesh and maggoty entrails.

-There are some questions about life that only the dead

can answer.

-Only the dead and poets.

-Well, then I shall have my answers when

the Shelleys arrive.

-Or rather, Percy Shelley and that woman Mary he calls wife

that he seems so interested in seducing.

[giggling]

-Hello Lord Byron.

-What do we have here?

-A poem!

-This band, which bound thy yellow hair

is mine, sweet girl.

Thy pledge of love claims my warmest, dearest care.

Like relics left of saints above.

[squealing]

-Hold onto this forever.

[sigh]

-Whoa!

[buzzing]

-You know him?

-Hans Kershner.

He thinks I slept with his wife.

-Did you?

-Of course.

-Hold on.

KERSHNER [OFFSCREEN]: Hold it there, you scoundrel!

You can't escape!

-Come on.

Go on!

[music playing]

-Let's have him for dinner.

KERSHNER [OFFSCREEN]: You can't escape, boy.

-Next time, send your wife.

Ah ha ha!

Am I as dangerous as my reputation, doctor?

-You are mad, sir.

You trying to get us killed?

-You speak of death, yet note how quickly your heart beats.

You seem more alive than ever, sir!

So to the last.

And in the verge of our decay, some phantom lure such as we

sought at first, but all too late.

So, are we double cursed?

Love, fame, ambition, avarice.

'Tis the same.

Each idle, and all ill, and none the worst.

For all are meteors with a different name and death the

sable smoke who vanishes in the flame.

It's all drivel!

My god, I bore even myself.

-I thought it was wonderful, Lord Byron.

You are too critical of your poetry.

And, for the evening's entertainment.

It'll take more than Morpheus' smoke to

quiet me today, Shelley.

-I trust you had a pleasant journey this afternoon, sir.

-Only if one enjoys dancing near the halls

of death, Mrs. Shelley.

-I love to dance.

-What have you to quiet a troubled soul, doctor?

The mind has been wounded in life's battles.

-You cannot wound a spirit.

How ridiculous, Lord Byron.

-Shall we test your theory, my little nymph?

Shall I kill you here and now?

-Lord Byron, no.

-I think you've taken this jest far enough.

-Shall I watch your spirit rise up before me, and pluck

it from the air?

-I only--

-Shelley.

The laudanum.

Next time, reserve your a ignorance for one more

deserving than I.

Is there no relief to this eternal boredom?

We need better diversions.

-What exactly did you have in mind?

-New stories.

I say we call forth the armies of the night and do them

battle, soul to soul, 'til they or we cry hold enough and

give over the field.

-Sounds thrilling.

-Sounds morbid.

-Stories of horror.

To bring forth our own ghosts from deep within us.

Those dead humors, rattling around the

midnight of our souls.

-Yeah.

Except who shall be first to amuse and frighten us tonight?

The quiet Mrs. Shelley, perhaps?

-You mock me, sir, yet--

Yet I have felt death.

I've held it in my arms.

I hope never to feel the like again.

-Yes, but feel it you did.

In tasting grief, in tasting fear, is that not the time we

truly live?

And so, fair muse, what ghosts have you to share tonight?

-I'm--

I'm afraid my imagination fails me at present.

-Oh, but look, dear lady.

Your neighbor greedily gulps the nectar

of creativity itself.

-Drink the laudanum, my love.

Drink.

To stimulate your imagination, my dear.

[coughing]

-What melodrama is this?

-Your wife has had enough sir.

-Take care of her, good doctor.

Into your hands, I commend her spirit.

[crying]

-Clara?

[scream]

-My baby Clara.

I dreamt she came back to life.

She had a beak for a mouth.

And I was in the forest.

I was a man, a monster, a beast.

I couldn't tell what it was.

Sometimes--

Sometimes I w--

I wonder who's more unhappy.

Those who die or--

or those who live.

-Perhaps, dear Mary, death is not truly journey's end, but

just another turn in the road.

If we believe that, We can live without fear.

BYRON [OFFSCREEN]: Bravo.

Bravo.

-Be still.

-Still.

So still.

Almost like death.

Yet look, she stirs.

Is she not beautiful?

-That she is.

Now let her rest.

-Does she want to rest?

I say we take her, and push the bounds of our passion to

heaven itself.

-And I say we leave before we push the bounds of decency.

-Decency means nothing.

All that matters is this moment.

The three of us, here in this room.

Look at her.

Feel her hunger.

-What is the point of living if we don't taste what life

has to offer us?

-Enough.

I said enough.

-How dare you?

This is my home.

My life.

I will do with it as I chose.

Unless, of course, you choose to stop me.

-Put it away and let her be.

I would rather have your poetry than your head.

-Very well.

As a favor to you.

[music playing]

-Man, that was amazing.

It's like Jimi Hendrix is in my head and I was

just playing along.

-You wanna open for us tomorrow night?

Maurice says it's OK.

-Of course, man.

I'll do it.

I'll do whatever it takes.

-Well, you already did what it takes.

-All right, so come by in the morning, we'll run a couple of

tunes, and we'll see how it feels.

-Hey Mike, you wanna come jam?

-You serious?

-I'm only asking once.

-Yeah, sure.

-OK, I'll see you in the morning, all right?

-I'll be there, man.

I can't believe this is happening to me.

-Take it easy, all right?

Don't get crazy.

-Now or never, Mikey.

-OK.

Yeah.

I gotta go.

-He's an arrogant son of a bitch.

-A lot of geniuses are.

He's connected.

He could make that kid's career with one phone call.

-Yeah.

He's in the big time now.

-Woo!

-How do you feel?

-I'm too scared to think.

-Of course you are.

You're scared to death!

Suck it in, man!

Savor the fear!

-Jump!

-You can do this.

Look deep.

Let it fly!

That's it!

Life!

Death!

Fear!

Hang on, Mike!

Now you're alive.

Now we play.

[music playing]

-Yeah!

Oh, yeah.

[moaning]

-Bravo.

You're the man.

-Play with me, Mikey!

-You really think so?

-I said so, didn't I?

Didn't I say say?

-I'm gonna come play with you.

Oh, yeah.

-So uh, you gonna run by the studio tomorrow night and lay

down a few tracks?

Meet some people?

-You know it, man.

-Nightcap, anyone?

-No, I'm OK.

I'm OK.

I got to get going.

-That's cool.

-Mikey!

-So what time tomorrow?

-Actually, tomorrow's a little busy.

So, uh, maybe I'll get my manager to send by a couple

tickets for tomorrow night's show.

-Mikey, stay and play.

Won't you play with me?

-You don't know what you're missing.

-Come on, baby!

-You're the man.

[music playing]

-Hi.

-You're late, brother.

-Sorry.

-You know, you don't want to do this, we don't have to.

-No, no, no.

I'm ready.

I'm ready.

See, look?

-Come on, tune it up.

OK?

[guitar music]

-You with us?

-Yeah.

I'm here.

-All right.

Let's give it a whirl.

2, a 1, 2, 3.

[music playing]

[music playing]

-What?

-Why don't you get a little sleep, OK, Mike?

We'll try this later.

-Tough night?

-No, I, uh, yeah.

Yeah.

It was hot.

Byron thought I was great.

I was playing.

-You know, it looks like you still are.

-He, uh, he give you a little something to help you fly?

-What are you trying to say?

-Look, maybe it's none of my business.

-We're talking about Byron here.

You should be happy for me, not bitching at me, all right?

I'm out of here.

-Take five, guys.

Boy, oh boy, I sure screwed that up.

-Or somebody did.

I'm gonna talk to Byron.

-Wait.

I'll go with you.

Worried about the kid, huh?

-Yeah.

He's in a tough spot.

-To make great music, you have to experience life.

-The good and the bad, huh?

Hallelujah.

-Sometimes the man is not as strong as the music.

-Life, my friend, is in the details.

I like almonds, not cashews, almonds.

Shelled, roasted, unsalted.

And fed to me by women.

Tall, beautiful women with long black hair.

I know you want to make me happy.

Afternoon, boys.

-Still lacerating the help, I see.

-It's good being a star.

-Yeah, you and Mike had quite a session last night.

-Yeah.

Kid's got a good shot.

-That's why we're here.

-Got to rev the engine, or you're just idling.

Don't understand how you guys can live without it.

-Just fine, thanks.

So did Mike, until last night.

-Oh, that's better.

Immortality gets pretty damn dull after the first couple of

centuries, doesn't it?

What's the secret, doc?

What do you do when there's nothing left but the dark,

cold emptiness that stretches out for centuries behind you?

And when you look in the mirror, all that you see is

the abomination that you are?

-Shall we?

-I confess, I'm afraid to go in.

-It's just his way of being entertaining.

They're only ghost stories.

-Told by master wordsmiths.

Lord Byron's words will live forever.

What have I to offer in such company?

-Your heart.

Your dreams.

Your nightmares.

-Is that where you found your story?

Pray, tell me.

-Not now.

Come.

You'd best show Bryon and Shirley that they do not have

the only creative minds of the day.

[giggling]

-Hah!

We had almost despaired your company!

Hark, Percy, the good doctor is in love with your Mary.

What do you say to that?

-I say run, and fleet be thy feet, fly from love at horned

beast that impales all men.

[buzzing]

-It seems my desinty awaits.

With your permission, my friends, I take my leave.

-Jealous husband?

-Uh-huh.

My good friend.

Come in, man, and warm thy sodden self by my fire.

-That is for my wife.

And this is for me.

Defend yourself.

-Alas, my good man.

I am but a poet, not a warrior.

-What you are is a cuckolding cripple.

-You're not ready for this.

Give way.

-Try me, and you shall see a poet's mettle!

-Think, man, who you would kill!

Would you be Lord Byron's murderer?

-He shall be Lord Byron's first conquest.

-Well, then, try me, boy.

[groaning]

[gasp]

-He liv Yet I saw--

-It was a trick of the storm.

-I'm not Claire.

Do not speak to me like a fool.

I've seen him die and live again, while my daughter Clara

lies buried in her grave.

How can he live while my flesh and blood turns to dust?

Explain.

-There is no explanation.

He is not governed by the rules of mortal flesh.

He is of a different kind.

-How do you know this?

How can you know it?

-Because I am like him.

Immortal.

I beseech you, tell no one of this.

We must live in secret.

-Well, you would be hunted.

-For the perversion of nature that we are.

-Poor, tormented creature.

The sad hero of a never-ending storm.

Resurrected by lightning to eternal life, and eternal

loneliness.

-An interesting bit of entertainment

this was, I'll wager.

Come.

There's a fire inside, and stories to tell.

If you have one.

-I do.

Mine will be about the anguish of immortality.

-What will you call your story, Mary Shelley?

-Frankenstein.

The Modern Prometheus.

A man born of fire.

-Light, feeling, and sense will pass away.

And in this condition must I find my happiness.

Frankenstein, gentleman.

Mary Shelley's greatest work.

The point is that we are all Frankenstein's monster, doomed

to walk the frozen tundra for eternity.

Or the streets of Paris, as the case may be.

But at least at this gives us the illusion of life.

-If you think that's what life is all about, then you're

already dead.

-So speaks the hero.

-You listen to me.

This is no illusion, no poetic fantasy.

This is real, and it's a warning.

-Leave the kid alone.

-Your friend's a mess.

-He's a genius.

-He's pathetic.

-Very easy to think that way.

Did you ever starve to death, MacLeod?

Byron feels hunger like that every day.

20,000 people screaming his name, it's not enough to fill

the hole inside of him.

He always wants more, he always needs more.

You should try it sometime.

-Yeah?

Well, I know what it's like to be empty.

It's no excuse.

-She walks in beauty, like the night of cloudless climbs and

starry sky.

-And all that's best of dark and bright meet in the aspect

of her eyes.

Yes, I know the poem.

-How do you think like that?

How do you write like that and not be a

little larger than life?

You know, Charlie Parker, Van Gogh, Mozart, messed up guys.

-Yeah.

Da Vinci, Bach?

Normal guys.

And still great artists.

-And Byron is also for great artist.

He's given the world great poetry.

-But at what price?

[screaming]

-Come on, old man!

Come and get me!

Are you still there?

Missed me!

That's the difference between you and me, kid!

I embrace life, and you run from it!

Daddy doesn't want you playing in my sandbox!

-I didn't tell them to come.

I swear!

-Details, kid!

-They just don't get it.

-Well, of course they don't get it.

They never will.

Because they're dead, and they don't even know it!

The world is full of small men with small dreams.

What do you want, Mike?

Are you ready to grab onto life with both hands and

squeeze it 'til it screams for mercy?

-I'm ready.

-I don't think so.

You want to play in the big time, you've

got to be a big boy.

Go home, kid.

I said, go home!

Come on!

What are you waiting for!?

Yeah!

-Hey.

Thanks for nothing, guys.

-What's the problem?

-Did I ask you to mind my business?

Stay the hell out of my life.

If he wants to play in little clubs like this for the rest

of his life, that's fine.

That's fine.

OK?

I'm not, all right?

-Hey, Mike.

Mike.

You think Byron gives a damn about you?

You think he cares whether you live or die?

-This is my shot.

-Yeah, maybe.

Hey, Mike.

You're still opening for us in a couple of hours, all right?

[music playing]

-So, mommy say you could come out and play?

-I don't need anybody's permission.

-By george, I think he's got it.

Let's celebrate.

Name your poison.

Now, Mike.

I hope you're not going to let me down again.

-Mike never show up?

-No.

What the hell, I should have figured.

I mean, who would choose my life over Byron's?

-You would.

-Yeah, but he wouldn't be in this spot if it wasn't for me.

-Don't hold yourself responsible for it.

-Hey, you would.

-I'll see you later.

Damn him.

Damn him!

[cheering]

[door opening]

-Hey Doc.

It's gonna be a killer show tonight.

-I'm not here for the show.

-Well, uh, party doesn't start until later, but, uh, hey.

Make yourself at home.

-Leave town.

-Say what?

-MacLeod's gonna be coming here.

I'm telling you as an old friend that it would be a good

time to go on tour, in another country.

-And disappoint my fans?

I told you I've got a show to do.

-Used to be more than a show.

There was a time when you were reaching for the heavens.

-There is no heaven.

It's just an illusion for fools and innocents.

I have no hope.

No dreams.

No poetry left.

All I feel is this raging hunger, and all I hear is my

own voice screaming my failure.

You know what I've become.

-Yes, I know.

-But you know who you are, Doc?

Hey?

You're the guy in the audience, and I'm the guy on

the flying trapeze.

Who do you think's having more fun?

-Who do you think's gonna live longest?

-Who cares?

-I do.

-Do you want a tombstone that says, he lived for centuries,

or do you want that says, for centuries, he was alive.

-You're not listening to me.

I don't want a tombstone.

[music playing]

-You hear that?

-They're playing my song.

-Paladini's dead.

I know.

Byron didn't force him to do anything.

-That's a load of crap.

Mike's dead because of Byron.

-No.

Mike is dead because of Mike.

MAN [OFFSCREEN]: Buddy.

Coming through, Bud.

-The kid idolized him.

Maybe he didn't pull the trigger, but he sure put the

gun to his head.

To live like me, you have to be like me?

Come on, Methos.

Mike couldn't do that.

He wasn't immortal.

-Which is not Byron's fault.

Mac.

Mac, wait!

Think.

Think.

Think about the poetry.

Think about the music that he's made. think about the

music that he will still make.

You gonna kill all that as well?

-What about Mike?

What music could he have made?

[buzzing]

-I'm gonna take care of it.

Leave me.

Go on.

MAN [OFFSCREEN]: All right, let's get out of here.

-Let me guess.

You want an autograph?

You hear that?

They love me.

-Doesn't help though, does it?

Tell me, is there anything you despise more than yourself?

Guess you won't be needing this.

Makes us even.

-No.

Now we're even.

Foiled, bleeding, breathless, furious to the last.

Full in the center stand the bull at bay!

-[CHANTING] Byron.

Byron.

Byron.

Byron.

Byron.

Byron.

-Mid wounds, and clinging darts, and lances breast, and

foes disabled in the brutal fray.

And now the matadors around him play.

Shake the red cloak and poise the ready brand.

Once more, through all, he bursts his thundering way.

Vain rage.

-The mantel quits the cunning hand.

Wraps fierce eye, 'tis past.

He sinks upon the sand.

[music playing]

[music playing]

-Matter and antimatter.

Byron knew that too.

His life has become one long tragedy.

-We all know how those end.

BYRON [VOICE]: My task is done.

My song has ceased.

My theme has died into an echo.

It is fit.

[MUSIC - QUEEN, "PRINCES OF THE UNIVERSE"]