Inside Arts

Local Hero’s messages pack a bigger punch than ever, writes Brian Ferguson

There was something telling about sweating it out in a traffic jam in Edinburgh’s West End as the minutes ticked towards the film festival screening I was trying to get to. Thankfully, I scrambled up the steps of the Filmhouse a couple of minutes before the curtains opened on Local Hero, arguably Scotland’s greatest cinematic achievement, 35 years on from its release. And as the fictional West Highland village and its characters began to cast its spell on the audience, my traffic jam woes swiftly vanished.

A rare opportunity to see Bill Forsyth’s masterpiece on the big screen was too good to miss, but the director was also due to make a rare public appearance, to discuss not only the original film, but his involvement in the forthcoming stage adaptation.

Despite numerous viewings since first seeing Local Hero at the Filmhouse as a student in the early 1990s, its magic has never waned. But a reunion on the big screen was a reminder of its many quirks, curiosities, vignettes and mysteries that I’d somehow forgotten.

The plot is simple enough: two oil company executives, one American (Mac), one Scottish, (Danny), arrive in a remote Scottish village to try to secure a buy-out for an oil refinery – only to find themselves charmed by the landscape, the locals and the realisation they may just be in love. When Happer, the billionaire owner of the oil company (played by Burt Lancaster), flies in to finalise negotiations, he has to deal with Ben, Fulton Mackay’s beach hermit, who is refusing to sell his rights on the land.

Exactly what is said between the two characters to persuade Happer to set up an observatory in the village is one of Local Hero’s many unresolved mysteries. I left last week’s screening more convinced than ever that the village was an other-worldly, supernatural place, like Brigadoon.

Although there are obvious elements which date the film, it is remarkable how relevant Local Hero still remains on so many levels.

This weekend has seen a number of revelations emerge about Donald Trump’s sustained efforts to buy property in Scotland, before securing the two golf resorts he now owns.

While some remote Highland communities have undoubtedly benefited from big business since Local Hero was released, others are still heavily reliant on absentee landlords and political decisions made hundreds of miles away.

Then there are the pressures and anxieties linked to the tourism industry. While its rapid growth has undoubtedly been good news for some parts of the Highlands and islands, it has sent hotel prices spiralling, led to locals unable to find housing due to the growth of the Airbnb market, and infrastructure struggling to cope with the number of cars, coaches and motorhomes on the road. Ironically, two of the worst affected areas are the Isle of Skye and Glenfinnan, both within a short drive of Local Hero’s famous beach locations.

As for the film’s ending – when Mac returns to his empty apartment in Houston, Texas, takes in the smells of the sea-shells he pocketed, and retreats to his balcony, accompanied by the sounds of the city – it has always been memorable, despite the loose ends left tantalisingly dangling. But, in an increasingly bewildering world dominated by big business and the creep of technology into every corner of our lives, I surely can’t have been the only one left thinking Local Hero’s messages about place, priorities, work-life balance and seizing the moment pack a bigger emotional punch than ever.