Astin Stumbles But Still Manages to Shine as Sam

While I am a voracious reader, or was once anyway, the vast majority of my reading falls in the realm of fiction or fantasy, often on the young end of the spectrum. But since my favorite book, Lord of the Rings, gave way to the cultural phenomenon that is the film trilogy, works having to do with Tolkien’s masterful world have popped up in all sorts of sections. I admit I have yet to read many of Tolkien’s own books, but I won’t feel too badly about running out to buy an autobiography of the actor who portrayed my most beloved Samwise Gamgee. I love all things Sam and regret that I didn’t buy the remarkable statue depicting him with the pony Bill before it was sold out – an odd monument, since their relationship was cut almost entirely from the movie. At least we got to see him reluctantly bid Bill farewell outside the mines of Moria, but the scene lacked much in emotional impact since we didn’t even know up until that point that the pony had a name, let alone how much Sam cared about him. But I digress. I was intrigued to see what Sean Astin had to say about playing this character, and I melted when I saw the cover shot of Sam under which was printed, in a regal golden-hued font, the noble title “There And Back Again: An Actor’s Tale.”

The first quarter of the book contains no more than a few passing references to Lord of the Rings. Instead, it concerns itself with Astin’s early career. Though he does later mention some of his work as a child actor, his chronology primarily begins in 1989 with his filming of Memphis Belle. He proceeds from there to the small film Where the Day Takes You, discussing the merits of both movies and the learning experiences the filming afforded him. He recounts the ups and downs of the decade between Memphis Belle and Lord of the Rings in a rambling, nonlinear fashion. To be honest, I found his writing style, or at least his sense of direction, frustrating. He begins a story, goes off on one tangent and then another, and by the time he gets back to the original story you’ve almost forgotten about it entirely. One appealing aspect of Astin is the clear importance family holds to him. He speaks fondly of his own family as well as his in-laws, and he never tires of relaying his love for his wife and daughter. There is also his ambition to receive a full education, act in quality movies, and achieve status as a film-maker. These goals, however, are difficult to realize, especially since it seems Astin often lacked the patience and judgment to make these dreams become a reality.

Less than appealing is the constant psychological conflict that plays itself out in the pages of his autobiography. He constantly betrays a range of negative feelings ranging from worthlessness to entitlement and then gives the reader whiplash by immediately apologizing for his negativity before stating it again. He rants and raves about his hatred for the movie Encino Man, though he acknowledges it was a financially prudent venture. He moans about being used by Warren Beatty while working on the film Bulworth but says that just the fact that Beatty was interested enough in him to approach him made the ordeal worth it. Even while he describes Rudy as a nearly perfect moviemaking experience, he admits to becoming extremely depressed because he couldn’t imagine landing a role that could top it. Once in a great while, he adds, in a footnote, an apology for a remark that may sound self-indulgent or unkind, but this seems entirely superfluous since he so often implants these disclaimers in the text itself. In spite, or sometimes because, of the constant addendums, Astin comes across as extremely insecure and dissatisfied.

I think I had a slight expectation, after reading everything leading up to his involvement with Lord of the Rings, that this project would come along and change everything for him. After all, this was a monumental movie, both in its construction and its final form. And Astin got to play the character who is, in many ways, the emotional heart of the entire trilogy. I’d already heard, on a DVD extra, how Astin’s initial interest in the project stemmed not from the source material but the director. I’ll admit I cringed a little every time I heard one of the main actors say how little familiarity they had with Lord of the Rings beforehand, as if this project was so sacred it should have only been taken on by fans. But they all became fans soon enough, Astin included, though his lack of knowledge was such that he’d never even heard of Tolkien or Lord of the Rings before. It was endearing to watch him fall in love with his character for the first time and become truly passionate about the role he hoped to inhabit, and that enthusiasm never really died for the duration of his involvement. But the feelings of inadequacy and being unappreciated, the depression partly brought on by overeating – in this case required by the role… all the problems that plagued him before surface again in the later part of the book, and it’s sad to realize that he probably prevented himself from enjoying the experience as much as he could have. Of course, he did not hinder himself as much as Stuart Townsend, the original Aragorn, did. It was interesting to hear a bit about the reasons behind Townsend’s dismissal and what he might have brought to the role had he stayed on.

Reading Astin’s descriptions of his fellow actors as well as Peter Jackson and many of the other crewmembers are interesting, though these observations follow his now-established pattern of compliment-insult-disclaimer. The compliments generally outnumber the complaints, though. In spite of concerns that Jackson didn’t know what he was doing and complaints that he didn’t give Sam enough to do in the beginning, Astin continually acknowledges his brilliance, his vision and his decentness. Though he sometimes seems to think “the boys” – Elijah Wood, Dom Monaghan, Billy Boyd and Orlando Bloom – are too vulgar and carefree, he describes Wood as a consummate professional; Monaghan as an incredibly brave and down-to-earth individual; Boyd as a man whose voice is magic and whose acting ability is tremendous; and Bloom as a young actor able to deal gracefully with his sudden teen idol status. While he accuses Ian McKellen of indulging in diva-like behavior, he also has untold admiration for his acting abilities.

One of Astin’s greatest frustrations during the filming was that Sam played such a minor role in Fellowship of the Ring. I agree, though I would have enjoyed more insight into what Sean wanted to see more of and how he wanted his character to develop. He was incensed by the depiction of Sam in Ralph Bakshi’s film, and I can’t say I was all that crazy about it either. I wonder, though, if he saw the Rankin and Bass version; I’ve always found Roddy McDowall’s take on Sam most endearing. Astin didn’t have the confidence to approach Jackson with very many suggestions on how to work the character more to his liking, which may or may not have benefited the production in the end. I don’t know how I would have felt about his ideas, but I can’t say I was very satisfied with Sam as he appeared in the film. I would venture a guess that some of that stems from Astin’s attitude at the time. I was aghast at the fact that Sam spent that bulk of his time in Fellowship angry, petrified, frustrated or depressed. Sam is a person incredibly at peace with himself and willing to shoulder the burdens of others. The Sam in the book never would have complained about a root sticking into his back or quailed at the thought of following Frodo out of the Shire or been too lilly-livered to ask Rosie (in the book a farmer’s daughter and his childhood playmate) for a dance or impudently asked Galadriel if he could have a dagger instead of the rope she had given him. I think Astin’s dissatisfaction with his role during this stage of the project showed on the screen, to the movie’s detriment. When Bilbo grumbles, it’s entirely appropriate to his endearingly curmudgeonly nature. For Sam, however, it’s out of character and most unwelcome. It’s my biggest beef with Fellowship and perhaps one of Astin’s many regrets. When given the chance in the second and third movies, however, Astin shines, to the point that late 2003 disappeared for him in a blur of Oscar buzz. While he didn’t win the Oscar, he won the hearts of millions and the gratitude of those who had already loved Sam for years.

Astin shares some interesting anecdotes about his time in Sam’s shoes (or lack thereof), but for the most part he is very introspective, concentrating more on his own struggles and insecurities than the details of what was happening with the filming of the movie. A lot of the details he did divulge had already been hashed over in magazine articles and on DVD extras, so I didn’t feel as though I got a great deal of new and exciting information. His rambling style continues through the end of the book, making it hard to keep track of what he’s talking about sometimes. In addition, though it hardly happens every page, Astin indulges, unnecessarily I think, in swearing. I guess I’m just a real prude when it comes to this stuff, but I am no fan of profanity. Tolkien, it seems, wasn’t either, and I am most grateful Jackson and his fellow script-writers honored the integrity of his language by keeping the films free of such earsores. But reading it on the page of a book dealing largely with Lord of the Rings was distracting and unpleasant.

I’m curious about the fact that this is a co-authored book. It seems many celebrity autobiographies are written this way, apparently because said celebrities haven’t the talent to write 300 pages of prose worth reading. But what does that mean exactly? It Joe Layden just a glorified editor? What exactly was his contribution? It makes me uncomfortable not knowing who wrote what. There and Back Again is a long, rambling tale, a must-read for devotees of the film and an interesting source of insight into the actor who brought one of the greatest characters in literature to life. It didn’t contain nearly as many revelations as I thought it might, and it left me wondering wistfully what brilliant scenes never made the light of day and never will. Though I would first recommend Andy Serkis’ fascinating book on the creation of Gollum on film, fans of the movies will want to read There and Back Again.