There were several films this summer that I knew about and was looking forward to for months in advance: Shrek 2, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, The Village…
But one movie appeared to me out of nowhere on a television preview in
May, and since then it has topped my list of movies to see this summer.
The title: Two Brothers. The first preview I saw led me to
believe that the brothers in question were a tiger cub and the young boy
with whom he lived. I soon learned that this commercial had only shown
half the story, and the other brother was, in fact, another tiger cub,
which only increased my desire to see the movie. So when it showed up in
our dollar theater last week, I jumped at the chance to go see it.
I can’t help it. I’m a sucker for animal movies. In this one, the two
tigers truly are the stars. At the beginning of the film, we are treated
to several majestically photographed scenes of the cubs and their
parents romping in their Edenic little corner of the jungle. Each of the
tigers has a distinct personality, with Kumar, future circus tiger, a
little daredevil and Sangha, future cherished pet, a timid Mama’s boy.
Their idyllic lifestyle is shattered when, as is too often the case in
such films, humans show up and ruin everything. Famed hunter Aidan
McRory (Guy Pearce) is in the area, searching this time not for wildlife
to shoot down but artifacts to cart away and sell at auction. As it
happens, though, the tigers live in an ancient temple, leading to an
inevitable encounter that leaves the father tiger dead and Kumar in the
hands of McRory.
In spite of his reputation, McRory is a very
likable character throughout the film. When he comes upon Kumar, he
treats the cub with great gentleness, eventually earning his trust. A
life with this hunter, it seems, would not be such a bad one for the
young tiger. But circumstances forbid this, and instead the cub winds up
with a group of not-so-friendly circus folk determined to turn him into
the ruthless beast their ancient tiger has never been. Sangha,
meanwhile, is left alone with his mother, who eventually succumbs to a
trap, leaving the cub to be discovered by Raoul (Freddie Highmore), the
sweet, adorable son of the Administrator with whom Aidan has a working
relationship. While Kumar is miserable in his new circus cage home,
Sangha has a pretty comfortable life with the boy he has grown to love
until an unfortunate accident sends him packing to be part of the
emperor’s managerie.
The majority of the film follows the
tigers’ storylines separately. It alternates back and forth until the
climactic moment when the two are finally reunited, a year later, in
what is intended to be a fight to the death. This film includes quite a
bit more dialogue than The Bear, director Jean-Jacques Annaud’s
earlier film in a similar vein, but it still relies very little on words
to convey the story. The most heartfelt moments need no words at all.
The tigers are expressive enough in their natural state.
Humanity on the whole doesn’t come off so well. We see people acting in
cruel and destructive ways throughout the film and are told at the end
that fewer than 5000 tigers remain in the wild. But individuals fare
much better, especially Aidan and Raoul. Both come across as very
honorable, kind-hearted people, with Aidan having the additional virtue
of having his worldview changed as a result of his relationship with
Kumar, to the point of vowing to lay down his gun permanently. Yes, the
movie does preach, and yes, the tigers are a bit anthropomorphic at
times. But the gorgeous cinematography, the tigers’ engaging
personalities, the heartwarming story and the worthwhile message combine
to create a film well worth a trip to the theater for the whole family.
Monday, July 26, 2004
Wednesday, July 14, 2004
Yodeling Rustlers and Udderly Tasteless Jokes
There was a time when my family never missed a Disney feature animated
film in the theater, but lately we’ve been more likely to catch their
latest movies on video or DVD. There are still a couple I haven’t
watched at all. So I was glad when I was presented with an opportunity
to go see Home on the Range with my brother last week. Dad came
along, and the three of us made up half the audience in the dollar
theater, leaving me freer to react to some of the film’s wackiness in
kind.
The first striking thing about Home on the Range is the animation. It was the animation style, along with the Disney name, that most attracted me to Brother Bear as well, though that animation is much more lush and realistic. Home on the Range has a retro look reminiscent of 101 Dalmatians or The Aristocats but even more exaggerated. The characters, particularly the barnyard residents of the ranch known as Little Patch of Heaven, are stylized with lots of distinct shapes and bright colors. The soundtrack appropriately features a number of country stars, and it was nice to see music a bigger part of this movie than it has been in most recent films.
The story focuses on three heroic heifers: Mrs. Calloway (Judi Dench), the stuffy matriarch of Little Patch of Heaven; Grace (Jennifer Tilly), a timid and gentle cow with a fondness for singing off-key; and Maggie (Roseanne Barr), the spunky newcomer to the ranch who hatches their plan. Little Patch of Heaven is about to be auctioned off because the owner, Pearl (Carole Cook), can’t afford the $750 payment needed to keep it. Everybody in these parts is suffering because a low-down cattle rustler named Alameda Slim (Randy Quaid) has swiped everybody’s herds. When Maggie learns that there’s a $750 reward out for him, she’s all too eager to make chase. Not only would the money save the farm, she would have her revenge on the man who ruined her former owner.
The three cows are different enough that there is plenty of opportunity for some entertaining banter among them. They also have a friendly rivalry with Buck (Cuba Gooding, Jr.), the self-important horse belonging to the kindly sheriff (Richard Riehle) who idolizes bounty hunter Rico (Charles Dennis). Other characters include Lucky Jack (Charles Haid), a peg-legged jackrabbit who helps the ladies in their rustler-catching endeavors; Audrey (Estelle Harris), an abrasive chicken with a tendency toward panic; Jeb (Joe Flaherty), an ornery old goat who fights with the barnyard youngsters, particularly the adorable triplet piglets; and Junior (Lance LeGault), a deep-voiced buffalo who guards the entrance to Slim’s lair. The film is mostly comedy, with plenty of pratfalls and fast-paced action, particularly a sequence toward the end in a mine shaft. It’s hard to take a movie with martial arts-performing cows too seriously.
I’m not sure what to make of the fact that Disney seems to be moving away from G-rated films. There was a spattering of adult humor in Home on the Range, just enough to move it out of the G range. Is it really necessary to have cheap shots like udder jokes? I don’t think they enhanced the movie at all. Probably I got the biggest laughs out of the villains. I loved the Willies (Sam Levine), Slim’s identical triplet sidekicks with blond bangs covering their eyes. These three don’t talk much, and when they do they tend to say the same dumb things over and over. They are clearly not very bright but they don’t seem to be malicious either. They’re just working with Slim because he’s their uncle. Slim, meanwhile, threw me for a loop. The first impression of him is of a menacing, glowering presence, nobody you’d want to cross paths with. He comes across as a pretty intimidating villain until he unexpectedly breaks out into exuberant yodeling while psychedelically flashing, googly-eyed cattle parade across the screen. This musical sequence struck me as so ludicrous that I found myself in tears, falling off my chair, while my dad and brother looked at me worriedly.
I don’t think Home on the Range is going to go down in history as a great Disney classic. It lacks the fluid animation and emotional resonance of The Lion King and other animated features whose place in the Disney canon is assured. But it was an entertaining film, certainly worth the dollar we paid to see it. And any movie that includes a psychedelic yodeling sequence is okay by me.
The first striking thing about Home on the Range is the animation. It was the animation style, along with the Disney name, that most attracted me to Brother Bear as well, though that animation is much more lush and realistic. Home on the Range has a retro look reminiscent of 101 Dalmatians or The Aristocats but even more exaggerated. The characters, particularly the barnyard residents of the ranch known as Little Patch of Heaven, are stylized with lots of distinct shapes and bright colors. The soundtrack appropriately features a number of country stars, and it was nice to see music a bigger part of this movie than it has been in most recent films.
The story focuses on three heroic heifers: Mrs. Calloway (Judi Dench), the stuffy matriarch of Little Patch of Heaven; Grace (Jennifer Tilly), a timid and gentle cow with a fondness for singing off-key; and Maggie (Roseanne Barr), the spunky newcomer to the ranch who hatches their plan. Little Patch of Heaven is about to be auctioned off because the owner, Pearl (Carole Cook), can’t afford the $750 payment needed to keep it. Everybody in these parts is suffering because a low-down cattle rustler named Alameda Slim (Randy Quaid) has swiped everybody’s herds. When Maggie learns that there’s a $750 reward out for him, she’s all too eager to make chase. Not only would the money save the farm, she would have her revenge on the man who ruined her former owner.
The three cows are different enough that there is plenty of opportunity for some entertaining banter among them. They also have a friendly rivalry with Buck (Cuba Gooding, Jr.), the self-important horse belonging to the kindly sheriff (Richard Riehle) who idolizes bounty hunter Rico (Charles Dennis). Other characters include Lucky Jack (Charles Haid), a peg-legged jackrabbit who helps the ladies in their rustler-catching endeavors; Audrey (Estelle Harris), an abrasive chicken with a tendency toward panic; Jeb (Joe Flaherty), an ornery old goat who fights with the barnyard youngsters, particularly the adorable triplet piglets; and Junior (Lance LeGault), a deep-voiced buffalo who guards the entrance to Slim’s lair. The film is mostly comedy, with plenty of pratfalls and fast-paced action, particularly a sequence toward the end in a mine shaft. It’s hard to take a movie with martial arts-performing cows too seriously.
I’m not sure what to make of the fact that Disney seems to be moving away from G-rated films. There was a spattering of adult humor in Home on the Range, just enough to move it out of the G range. Is it really necessary to have cheap shots like udder jokes? I don’t think they enhanced the movie at all. Probably I got the biggest laughs out of the villains. I loved the Willies (Sam Levine), Slim’s identical triplet sidekicks with blond bangs covering their eyes. These three don’t talk much, and when they do they tend to say the same dumb things over and over. They are clearly not very bright but they don’t seem to be malicious either. They’re just working with Slim because he’s their uncle. Slim, meanwhile, threw me for a loop. The first impression of him is of a menacing, glowering presence, nobody you’d want to cross paths with. He comes across as a pretty intimidating villain until he unexpectedly breaks out into exuberant yodeling while psychedelically flashing, googly-eyed cattle parade across the screen. This musical sequence struck me as so ludicrous that I found myself in tears, falling off my chair, while my dad and brother looked at me worriedly.
I don’t think Home on the Range is going to go down in history as a great Disney classic. It lacks the fluid animation and emotional resonance of The Lion King and other animated features whose place in the Disney canon is assured. But it was an entertaining film, certainly worth the dollar we paid to see it. And any movie that includes a psychedelic yodeling sequence is okay by me.
Thursday, July 1, 2004
You'll Find Few Fish Flicks to Top Finding Nemo
Cinematically speaking, 2003 was all about one thing for me: the 12-month-long hiatus between The Two Towers and The Return of the King. Fortunately, there were a few films throughout the year that helped keep my mind off the wait. Second-hand Lions, featuring the formidable triple-threat of Haley Joel Osment, Robert Duvall and Michael Caine. From Justin to Kelly, by the sheer virtue of negative comparison. And then there was a little flick by the name of Finding Nemo…
I’m an unabashed Disney enthusiast, though I’ve tended to find the quality of their recent output largely unpredictable. I can no longer assume that I will enjoy most of the movies that bear the Disney label. Disney / Pixar, however, is another matter. This is a glorious collaboration that unfortunately is coming to an end after a string of masterpieces. When Toy Story first hit the theaters, computer animation as it was utilized in the film was a novel concept. By last year, audiences were fairly used to the medium, but Finding Nemo presented the most gloriously eye-catching animation yet. As one friend of mine put it, the film was visually very “pleasing.” All that ultramarine water through which the movie’s brightly-colored inhabitants traveled was just the ticket to cool off an audience wilting their way through a sweltering summer.
Finding Nemo focuses on two complementary quests: little clownfish Nemo’s (Alexander Gould) efforts to escape from the aquarium in the office of the dentist who swiped him from the ocean and his father Marlin’s (Albert Brooks) journey, aided and hindered by the forgetful blue tang Dory (Ellen Degeneres), to get his son back. Because Nemo is the lone survivor of a predatory attack that killed his hundreds of unborn siblings and his mother, he bears the distinguishing mark of an undersized fin. While this gives the neurotically protective Marlin another reason to fret about his son’s fragility, it only serves as an obstacle for Nemo to overcome.
After his first attempt to prove his courage landed him in the aquarium, Nemo must rely on his resourcefulness and his new friends to help get him out again. Among his colorful companions: Gill (Willem Dafoe), moorish idol with scars recalling his days out in the ocean; Gurgle (Austin Pendleton), a gramma obsessed with cleanliness; Peach (Allison Janney), a starfish who serves as tank lookout; Bubbles (Stephen Root), a yellow tang in love with the aquarium’s bubbles; Jacques (John Ranft), a shrimp who makes it his business to clean everything in the tank, including his companions; Bloat (Brad Garrett), a puffer fish who has a tendency to expand into a sphere when he’s stressed out; and Deb (Vicki Lewis), a damselfish who believes her reflection in the aquarium glass is actually a twin sister named Flo.
The tank is a pleasant enough place on the whole, but Nemo misses home. His desire to leave is lent urgency when the fish discover the dentist, a man who comes across as decent enough but dim-witted, announces his intention to present Nemo as a birthday present to his niece, who is notorious for shaking her previous pets to death. Led by Gill and aided by Nigel (Geoffrey Rush), a bumbling but magnanimous pelican willing to help any creature in need, as long as it isn’t a seagull, he plots a daring escape.
But the main storyline involves the quest of Marlin and Dory. Together, the wimpy clownfish and ever-bubbly tang encounter a number of frightening situations. They find themselves in the company of a group of sharks, led by the charming Bruce (Barry Humphries), who have difficulty abiding by their encouraging mantra of “Fish are friends, not food.” They are lured into the clutches of a grotesque bottom feeder. They must cross a stretch full of jellyfish after failing to follow the advice of a school of silver fish, whose leader is voiced by Pixar regular John Ratzenberger. They fall in with a group of turtles whose easy-going leader, Crush (Andrew Stanton), teaches Marlin something about letting go. They even make the useful acquaintance of a whale, thanks to Dory’s hitherto unknown linguistic talents. Their adventures are perilous, but there is always enough humor to balance out any overriding sense of danger. Degeneres is the standout cast member here; she makes Dory an incredibly likable and memorable character who provides most of the film’s biggest laughs. Her unlikely partnership with Marlin is very touching.
Finding Nemo broke box office records and became the most celebrated movie of the summer. The film lent itself especially well to the big screen, where its bright palette of colors could be best appreciated. But the story is just as charming and the animation just as superb on a television screen. While the adventure and colorful characters enthrall children, clever dialogue reels in the adults, making it a film to be celebrated and cherished by people of all ages. It’s just a shame the partnership is coming to an end…
I’m an unabashed Disney enthusiast, though I’ve tended to find the quality of their recent output largely unpredictable. I can no longer assume that I will enjoy most of the movies that bear the Disney label. Disney / Pixar, however, is another matter. This is a glorious collaboration that unfortunately is coming to an end after a string of masterpieces. When Toy Story first hit the theaters, computer animation as it was utilized in the film was a novel concept. By last year, audiences were fairly used to the medium, but Finding Nemo presented the most gloriously eye-catching animation yet. As one friend of mine put it, the film was visually very “pleasing.” All that ultramarine water through which the movie’s brightly-colored inhabitants traveled was just the ticket to cool off an audience wilting their way through a sweltering summer.
Finding Nemo focuses on two complementary quests: little clownfish Nemo’s (Alexander Gould) efforts to escape from the aquarium in the office of the dentist who swiped him from the ocean and his father Marlin’s (Albert Brooks) journey, aided and hindered by the forgetful blue tang Dory (Ellen Degeneres), to get his son back. Because Nemo is the lone survivor of a predatory attack that killed his hundreds of unborn siblings and his mother, he bears the distinguishing mark of an undersized fin. While this gives the neurotically protective Marlin another reason to fret about his son’s fragility, it only serves as an obstacle for Nemo to overcome.
After his first attempt to prove his courage landed him in the aquarium, Nemo must rely on his resourcefulness and his new friends to help get him out again. Among his colorful companions: Gill (Willem Dafoe), moorish idol with scars recalling his days out in the ocean; Gurgle (Austin Pendleton), a gramma obsessed with cleanliness; Peach (Allison Janney), a starfish who serves as tank lookout; Bubbles (Stephen Root), a yellow tang in love with the aquarium’s bubbles; Jacques (John Ranft), a shrimp who makes it his business to clean everything in the tank, including his companions; Bloat (Brad Garrett), a puffer fish who has a tendency to expand into a sphere when he’s stressed out; and Deb (Vicki Lewis), a damselfish who believes her reflection in the aquarium glass is actually a twin sister named Flo.
The tank is a pleasant enough place on the whole, but Nemo misses home. His desire to leave is lent urgency when the fish discover the dentist, a man who comes across as decent enough but dim-witted, announces his intention to present Nemo as a birthday present to his niece, who is notorious for shaking her previous pets to death. Led by Gill and aided by Nigel (Geoffrey Rush), a bumbling but magnanimous pelican willing to help any creature in need, as long as it isn’t a seagull, he plots a daring escape.
But the main storyline involves the quest of Marlin and Dory. Together, the wimpy clownfish and ever-bubbly tang encounter a number of frightening situations. They find themselves in the company of a group of sharks, led by the charming Bruce (Barry Humphries), who have difficulty abiding by their encouraging mantra of “Fish are friends, not food.” They are lured into the clutches of a grotesque bottom feeder. They must cross a stretch full of jellyfish after failing to follow the advice of a school of silver fish, whose leader is voiced by Pixar regular John Ratzenberger. They fall in with a group of turtles whose easy-going leader, Crush (Andrew Stanton), teaches Marlin something about letting go. They even make the useful acquaintance of a whale, thanks to Dory’s hitherto unknown linguistic talents. Their adventures are perilous, but there is always enough humor to balance out any overriding sense of danger. Degeneres is the standout cast member here; she makes Dory an incredibly likable and memorable character who provides most of the film’s biggest laughs. Her unlikely partnership with Marlin is very touching.
Finding Nemo broke box office records and became the most celebrated movie of the summer. The film lent itself especially well to the big screen, where its bright palette of colors could be best appreciated. But the story is just as charming and the animation just as superb on a television screen. While the adventure and colorful characters enthrall children, clever dialogue reels in the adults, making it a film to be celebrated and cherished by people of all ages. It’s just a shame the partnership is coming to an end…
Wednesday, June 30, 2004
A Treat for Young Musicians Everywhere
The Remarkable Farkle McBride is John Lithgow’s first book and
first collaboration with C. F. Payne. Although I’d heard of it, I just
read it for the first time yesterday. I enjoy Lithgow’s style very much,
so I would like to read all of his books, but Farkle
particularly intrigued me because Payne did the illustrations. Lithgow
has written five books, but Payne has worked with him on only two. This
story concerns a young boy named Farkle whose prodigious musical talents
leave him unsatisfied with each of the instruments he masters.
The narrative style of Farkle is similar to that of Micawber, the first Lithgow book I read. Lithgow creates an aurally appealing story with a recurring pattern of rhyme. Most of the book features a 3-page cycle: Farkle picks up a new instrument (ABAB), Farkle plays the instrument (AAA (musical sounds) BAAAB), Farkle discards the instrument (ABAAAB). Although it includes a few upper-level words – prodigy, beseeching, rhapsodical, notwithstanding - for the most part the vocabulary is fairly simple. I would say that this easier, more predictable narration places this book toward the lower end of the picture book age range, while Micawber is geared toward the higher. Both books have a slightly PBS-ish quality about them, trying to get children interested in art and music. Another of his books involves the American Museum of Natural History, while the other two feature two unusual animals: a kangaroo and a manatee. Lithgow’s passion for entertaining seems to be coupled with a passion for education.
Payne’s illustrations are enjoyable and entertaining, though Farkle isn’t nearly as cute as Micawber. I suppose I’m prejudiced, though… He’s actually a rather odd-looking boy, who is somewhat reminiscent of Alfred P. Neuman, particularly in his cover appearance. His head often seems disproportionately large, but maybe that is supposed to be a visual nod to his genius. Up until the last few pages, each two-page spread contains a picture on one side and text, with a backdrop of musical notes, on the other. Payne captures Farkle’s endearing mix of dedication to his instrument and frustration with its insufficiency. His exasperated tantrums remind us that in spite of his talent, he’s still just a kid.
Instruments appear on each page, and when Farkle is playing, he seems to be in perfect concert with those around him. Not only do we see him playing with the orchestra, we see a bird sing along with his flute and a butterfly perch on his trombone. I love the perplexed expression on the family dog’s face as it inspects Farkle’s smashed violin and the sad open mouths of the fish that welcome Farkle’s flute to the bottom of the lake. The illustrations are rich and detailed, a perfect combination of astonishing realism and amusing caricature. Farkle in general seems to grow more cartoonish in his looks as the book progresses.
Although I did not enjoy it quite as much as Micawber, I nonetheless found Farkle to be a story of high quality and both educational and entertainment value. I hope these two collaborate again. I would recommend Farkle for younger children, particularly those interested in music. They may find inspiration in a reflection of themselves – let’s just hope it doesn’t inspire anyone to smash their violin!
The narrative style of Farkle is similar to that of Micawber, the first Lithgow book I read. Lithgow creates an aurally appealing story with a recurring pattern of rhyme. Most of the book features a 3-page cycle: Farkle picks up a new instrument (ABAB), Farkle plays the instrument (AAA (musical sounds) BAAAB), Farkle discards the instrument (ABAAAB). Although it includes a few upper-level words – prodigy, beseeching, rhapsodical, notwithstanding - for the most part the vocabulary is fairly simple. I would say that this easier, more predictable narration places this book toward the lower end of the picture book age range, while Micawber is geared toward the higher. Both books have a slightly PBS-ish quality about them, trying to get children interested in art and music. Another of his books involves the American Museum of Natural History, while the other two feature two unusual animals: a kangaroo and a manatee. Lithgow’s passion for entertaining seems to be coupled with a passion for education.
Payne’s illustrations are enjoyable and entertaining, though Farkle isn’t nearly as cute as Micawber. I suppose I’m prejudiced, though… He’s actually a rather odd-looking boy, who is somewhat reminiscent of Alfred P. Neuman, particularly in his cover appearance. His head often seems disproportionately large, but maybe that is supposed to be a visual nod to his genius. Up until the last few pages, each two-page spread contains a picture on one side and text, with a backdrop of musical notes, on the other. Payne captures Farkle’s endearing mix of dedication to his instrument and frustration with its insufficiency. His exasperated tantrums remind us that in spite of his talent, he’s still just a kid.
Instruments appear on each page, and when Farkle is playing, he seems to be in perfect concert with those around him. Not only do we see him playing with the orchestra, we see a bird sing along with his flute and a butterfly perch on his trombone. I love the perplexed expression on the family dog’s face as it inspects Farkle’s smashed violin and the sad open mouths of the fish that welcome Farkle’s flute to the bottom of the lake. The illustrations are rich and detailed, a perfect combination of astonishing realism and amusing caricature. Farkle in general seems to grow more cartoonish in his looks as the book progresses.
Although I did not enjoy it quite as much as Micawber, I nonetheless found Farkle to be a story of high quality and both educational and entertainment value. I hope these two collaborate again. I would recommend Farkle for younger children, particularly those interested in music. They may find inspiration in a reflection of themselves – let’s just hope it doesn’t inspire anyone to smash their violin!
Bubba Gump's Knows Everything There Is To Know About the Shrimpin' Business...
When I went to Chicago for a visit with two friends of mine, one of the
stops we intended to make was to Bubba Gump Shrimp Restaurant and
Market. Though we passed the restaurant the day before when we spent the
afternoon at Navy Pier, we saved this unique dining experience for our
last excursion on the trip. I’m kicking myself that I didn’t get a
picture of the exterior; I intended to, but it was too crowded at the
time for me to get a good shot of anything. While there is a large
dining area inside, the tables out on the pier are ideally located for a
nice summer day. Benches adorned with Forrest’s sayings create a nice
effect. On the inside, the restaurant is filled with memorabilia and has
Forrest Gump playing constantly.
The menus feature photos and quotes from the film and food related to the characters. I got the Bucket of Boat Trash, a combination of shrimp, lobster and fish alluding to a scene at the beginning of Forrest’s shrimping career, and a Run Forrest Run, a smoothie consisting of oranges, strawberries, bananas and raspberry frozen yogurt. Other themed menu items included Mama Gump's Garlic Bread Basket; the Run Across America platter featuring Bubba's Far Out Dip (with spinach, roasted red pepper, artichokes, shrimp and Monterey Jack cheese) and Chips, Chilly Shrimp (peel and eat southern-style shrimp), Greenbow Tenders (Cajun chicken strips with blue cheese sauce) and Mama Blue's Fried shrimp; Jenny's Favorite, a smoothie with cranberry juice, strawberries and raspberry frozen yogurt; the Alabama Sweet Smoothie, made of peanut butter, chocolate and vanilla frozen yogurt; a variety of shrimp options from Shrimp Shack Pasta to Dumb Luck Coconut Shrimp; Gumpberry Cobbler, consisting of seasonal berries and apples with ice cream, drizzled with raspberry sauce and walnut cookie crumbs; and Forrest's Dr. Pepper Float, in deference to Forrest's favorite beverage.
The food was delicious, and as we ate we looked around at the decor and were entertained by our waiter, a very affable fellow who quizzed us on Forrest trivia whenever he stopped at our table. How frequently he stopped was up to us. We were provided with two license plates; most of the time we kept the “Run Forrest Run” plate in view, but if we needed anything we switched to “Stop Forrest Stop.” It was a simple touch but added to the fun of the meal.
It’s a shame Bubba Gump doesn’t have more locations. I would love to go there with my family sometime. The high-quality fare makes it worthwhile for any seafood lover, while the restaurant’s theme is a special treat for fans of the film. Forrest Gump is one of my favorite movies, so I found it doubly enjoyable. This isn’t a place where you would dine frequently, but it’s a fun novelty restaurant along the lines of Hard Rock Cafe or Planet Hollywood, just with a narrower focus. Prices, while not unreasonable, are a bit hefty, and if you do go you’ll probably want to take home a reminder of your trip. I purchased a t-shirt featuring cartoonish renditions of moments from the movie. A variety of “Gump gear” is available, from t-shirts and glasses to playing cards and stationery.
Bubba Gump’s is now in nearly 20 locations – none of which, oddly enough, are in Alabama. If you happen to be in the vicinity of a Bubba Gump’s, I would certainly recommend stopping there for a leisurely lunch or dinner, particularly if you are a Forrest Gump enthusiast. The Chicago branch is open from 11 am to 11 pm Sunday through Thursday and an hour longer Friday and Saturday, though hours vary. The restaurant offers an opportunity to bring a piece of cinema to life in a most delicious manner.
The menus feature photos and quotes from the film and food related to the characters. I got the Bucket of Boat Trash, a combination of shrimp, lobster and fish alluding to a scene at the beginning of Forrest’s shrimping career, and a Run Forrest Run, a smoothie consisting of oranges, strawberries, bananas and raspberry frozen yogurt. Other themed menu items included Mama Gump's Garlic Bread Basket; the Run Across America platter featuring Bubba's Far Out Dip (with spinach, roasted red pepper, artichokes, shrimp and Monterey Jack cheese) and Chips, Chilly Shrimp (peel and eat southern-style shrimp), Greenbow Tenders (Cajun chicken strips with blue cheese sauce) and Mama Blue's Fried shrimp; Jenny's Favorite, a smoothie with cranberry juice, strawberries and raspberry frozen yogurt; the Alabama Sweet Smoothie, made of peanut butter, chocolate and vanilla frozen yogurt; a variety of shrimp options from Shrimp Shack Pasta to Dumb Luck Coconut Shrimp; Gumpberry Cobbler, consisting of seasonal berries and apples with ice cream, drizzled with raspberry sauce and walnut cookie crumbs; and Forrest's Dr. Pepper Float, in deference to Forrest's favorite beverage.
The food was delicious, and as we ate we looked around at the decor and were entertained by our waiter, a very affable fellow who quizzed us on Forrest trivia whenever he stopped at our table. How frequently he stopped was up to us. We were provided with two license plates; most of the time we kept the “Run Forrest Run” plate in view, but if we needed anything we switched to “Stop Forrest Stop.” It was a simple touch but added to the fun of the meal.
It’s a shame Bubba Gump doesn’t have more locations. I would love to go there with my family sometime. The high-quality fare makes it worthwhile for any seafood lover, while the restaurant’s theme is a special treat for fans of the film. Forrest Gump is one of my favorite movies, so I found it doubly enjoyable. This isn’t a place where you would dine frequently, but it’s a fun novelty restaurant along the lines of Hard Rock Cafe or Planet Hollywood, just with a narrower focus. Prices, while not unreasonable, are a bit hefty, and if you do go you’ll probably want to take home a reminder of your trip. I purchased a t-shirt featuring cartoonish renditions of moments from the movie. A variety of “Gump gear” is available, from t-shirts and glasses to playing cards and stationery.
Bubba Gump’s is now in nearly 20 locations – none of which, oddly enough, are in Alabama. If you happen to be in the vicinity of a Bubba Gump’s, I would certainly recommend stopping there for a leisurely lunch or dinner, particularly if you are a Forrest Gump enthusiast. The Chicago branch is open from 11 am to 11 pm Sunday through Thursday and an hour longer Friday and Saturday, though hours vary. The restaurant offers an opportunity to bring a piece of cinema to life in a most delicious manner.
Tuesday, June 29, 2004
Graphic Novel Paints a Beautiful But Painful Picture
I’m expanding my literary horizons. Or so I’d like to think. The truth
is, although I’ve always been a bookworm, I haven’t been much of a
voracious reader lately, so when two of my friends suggested I read the
book Blankets, which they and two other friends had already read
in the space of three weeks courtesy of the library, I agreed less
because it was a graphic novel than because it was something.
Books fill the hallway, spilling off of the shelves that cover the
walls, and it takes somebody else’s library book to get me to sit down
and read…
Still, the fact that it was a graphic novel intrigued me. I’d first encountered the term when reading about Road to Perdition. When I saw the Tom Hanks film was based on a graphic novel, I figured that meant it included liberal doses of the sorts of scenes I generally try to avoid. As it turned out, that description would have been entirely applicable, but by proper definition a graphic novel is written in comic book format and driven as much by the pictures as the words. When I began working at Waldenbooks, I noticed teenagers gravitating toward a particular type of graphic novel: Manga. I recently confessed my lack of familiarity with Manga to a new co-worker who cited an appreciation for the books. I admitted the thought of reading a book from back to front rather intimidated me, and he suggested I begin with Tokyo Pop, which publishes Manga-style books that read from front to back. Just two days later my friends placed this book in my hands, and while it is not Manga, having read it may prove an effective intermediate step. Or perhaps not. But even if I never read another graphic novel, Blankets was well worth the time it took me to read it.
Author and artist Craig Thompson relates a deeply personal account of his youth, focusing largely on his relationships with two particular people. Much of the novel relays events occurring when the author was in third grade, and most of these scenes involve Craig’s little brother, Phil. The two bicker incessantly, and yet there is such closeness between them that the gift of separate bedrooms becomes more a burden than a blessing to them. They would rather wrestle over the blankets than lie alone in the dark.
The scenes taking place late in Craig’s high school career revolve around Raia, a lovely young woman he meets at Bible camp, corresponds with regularly, and visits for two weeks. During that time he gains valuable insights into his relationship with Phil by observing Raia’s interactions with Ben and Laura, her devoted developmentally disabled siblings, and grows simultaneously closer to and more distant from the girl he has come to love. Blankets tells that almost necessarily bittersweet tale of first love, running its course from exhilaration to obliteration. Perhaps most fundamentally, it is a novel – perhaps memoir is a more appropriate word – about change and the cruel domination of time, a book born of the same authorial anguish that drove the 21-year-old Paul Simon to pen the worrisome words of Leaves That Are Green. “Time hurries on, and the leaves that are green turn to brown.” All that is good must fade.
For Craig, and for most who must endure the trials of growing up, this means losses on many levels. A loss of innocence. A loss of brotherly comradeship. A loss of love. A loss of faith. Religion plays a major role in Blankets, as Craig grew up in a very religious home and spent most of his childhood surrounded by fundamentalist Christians. He feels a strong sense of spirituality, a powerful call to do God’s will, but the cruelty and hypocrisy he witnesses in his fellow Christians gradually gnaws away at him, leaving him with a profound emptiness.
As I read through Blankets, I was struck by Craig’s similarity to my youngest brother. Not only did I find them physically similar, particularly in the teenage scenes, but Craig’s personality and interests are very much in tune with my brother’s. As brooding artists who tend to prefer solitude and rather like being considered oddities, I think the two would get along very well. Craig’s artistry is impressive. I was disappointed at first to discover that the book was all in black and white, but he manages to be very expressive without a wide color palette. The prominence of snow in the book sets up an interesting contrast. Many of the scenes are physically white, but there is a psychological darkness to much of the book. Craig details very dark times, and in spite of the fact that his childhood was often traumatized, his toughest trials come when he reaches the threshold between childhood and adulthood and must cross it.
Before they handed the book off to me, my friends warned me that Blankets had a few scenes that could be considered objectionable. I assured them that my college English courses had desensitized me to literary occurrences I would have found shocking in high school. Blankets does have its share of R-rated moments, from occasional strong profanity to molestation by a babysitter, but nothing that prevented me from enjoying the book. Although much of the book features Craig as a young child, I think Blankets is best reserved for those old enough to identify with the teenage Craig as well. I must admit that I felt rather depressed after I finished reading it, but I admire the author’s integrity and courage to bare his soul so honestly. His struggles with growing up resonated with me, even though my childhood bears little resemblance to his. In bemoaning the ravages of time, he celebrates life and the sacredness of each moment, making Blankets a coming of age tale to treasure.
Still, the fact that it was a graphic novel intrigued me. I’d first encountered the term when reading about Road to Perdition. When I saw the Tom Hanks film was based on a graphic novel, I figured that meant it included liberal doses of the sorts of scenes I generally try to avoid. As it turned out, that description would have been entirely applicable, but by proper definition a graphic novel is written in comic book format and driven as much by the pictures as the words. When I began working at Waldenbooks, I noticed teenagers gravitating toward a particular type of graphic novel: Manga. I recently confessed my lack of familiarity with Manga to a new co-worker who cited an appreciation for the books. I admitted the thought of reading a book from back to front rather intimidated me, and he suggested I begin with Tokyo Pop, which publishes Manga-style books that read from front to back. Just two days later my friends placed this book in my hands, and while it is not Manga, having read it may prove an effective intermediate step. Or perhaps not. But even if I never read another graphic novel, Blankets was well worth the time it took me to read it.
Author and artist Craig Thompson relates a deeply personal account of his youth, focusing largely on his relationships with two particular people. Much of the novel relays events occurring when the author was in third grade, and most of these scenes involve Craig’s little brother, Phil. The two bicker incessantly, and yet there is such closeness between them that the gift of separate bedrooms becomes more a burden than a blessing to them. They would rather wrestle over the blankets than lie alone in the dark.
The scenes taking place late in Craig’s high school career revolve around Raia, a lovely young woman he meets at Bible camp, corresponds with regularly, and visits for two weeks. During that time he gains valuable insights into his relationship with Phil by observing Raia’s interactions with Ben and Laura, her devoted developmentally disabled siblings, and grows simultaneously closer to and more distant from the girl he has come to love. Blankets tells that almost necessarily bittersweet tale of first love, running its course from exhilaration to obliteration. Perhaps most fundamentally, it is a novel – perhaps memoir is a more appropriate word – about change and the cruel domination of time, a book born of the same authorial anguish that drove the 21-year-old Paul Simon to pen the worrisome words of Leaves That Are Green. “Time hurries on, and the leaves that are green turn to brown.” All that is good must fade.
For Craig, and for most who must endure the trials of growing up, this means losses on many levels. A loss of innocence. A loss of brotherly comradeship. A loss of love. A loss of faith. Religion plays a major role in Blankets, as Craig grew up in a very religious home and spent most of his childhood surrounded by fundamentalist Christians. He feels a strong sense of spirituality, a powerful call to do God’s will, but the cruelty and hypocrisy he witnesses in his fellow Christians gradually gnaws away at him, leaving him with a profound emptiness.
As I read through Blankets, I was struck by Craig’s similarity to my youngest brother. Not only did I find them physically similar, particularly in the teenage scenes, but Craig’s personality and interests are very much in tune with my brother’s. As brooding artists who tend to prefer solitude and rather like being considered oddities, I think the two would get along very well. Craig’s artistry is impressive. I was disappointed at first to discover that the book was all in black and white, but he manages to be very expressive without a wide color palette. The prominence of snow in the book sets up an interesting contrast. Many of the scenes are physically white, but there is a psychological darkness to much of the book. Craig details very dark times, and in spite of the fact that his childhood was often traumatized, his toughest trials come when he reaches the threshold between childhood and adulthood and must cross it.
Before they handed the book off to me, my friends warned me that Blankets had a few scenes that could be considered objectionable. I assured them that my college English courses had desensitized me to literary occurrences I would have found shocking in high school. Blankets does have its share of R-rated moments, from occasional strong profanity to molestation by a babysitter, but nothing that prevented me from enjoying the book. Although much of the book features Craig as a young child, I think Blankets is best reserved for those old enough to identify with the teenage Craig as well. I must admit that I felt rather depressed after I finished reading it, but I admire the author’s integrity and courage to bare his soul so honestly. His struggles with growing up resonated with me, even though my childhood bears little resemblance to his. In bemoaning the ravages of time, he celebrates life and the sacredness of each moment, making Blankets a coming of age tale to treasure.
It's Got Questions, You've Got Answers
When I was on the phone with a friend of mine last week and, as is not
unusual for a shoddy conversationalist like myself, running out of
things to say, I happened to recall a book that had kept my best friend
and me entertained throughout several get-togethers in middle school. It
was a book we had first encountered in guidance class, when the teacher
used its contents to provoke discussions. I have no idea how I happened
to get my hands on it, but it was one of those school discoveries, like
the game Play It By Ear, that became a sleepover staple. On a whim, I
ventured out into the bookshelf-lined hallway, and lo and behold, there
it was: The Kids’ Book of Questions. Filled with 260 questions
intended to inspire thought and conversation, this handy little book
kept us talking for another couple hours, with plenty of other questions
left for another day.
Written by Dr. Gregory Stock, this book presents open-ended questions intended particularly for a juvenile reader base. Looking through the book again this time, I discovered that it followed a bestselling book simply entitled The Book of Questions. I was unaware of that book’s existence, but now I might have to see if I can find it. I can use all the conversation starters I can get. Unfortunately, because this book is geared towards kids, many of the questions don’t apply very well to adults. Many of the queries have to do with parents, teachers and “grown-ups” in general, often setting up a contrast between these people and whoever is answering the questions. Questions such as “What is your ideal bedtime?” and “What would you do if you woke up and had been magically changed into an adult?” are pretty irrelevant for a 23-year-old, but most of the questions can be altered in such a way that they suit adults as well as children. For the rest, I can just answer in retrospect.
But this book of questions was written specifically with children in mind, and for that age group the queries are especially meaningful. Some are light-hearted, while others demand more serious answers. Topics range from bullies, fears and career aspirations to censorship, religion and the perks of being an adult. Some of the more off-the-wall questions:
* If you went to the beach and discovered people there were swimming nude, would want to stay and watch or leave?
* Would you go to the mall with your dad if he dyed his hair green or would you be too embarrassed?
* If a rich kid wanted to buy your parents, how much would you ask for them if you were willing to sell them?
* If you could pick an age to be for your whole life, what age would you pick?
* If you could be invisible for a day, what would you do?
This book is not memorable for what it contains but for the aftermath of reading those questions. Great for a class or a one-on-one discussion, The Kids’ Book of Questions is a sure-fire way to get even the most reluctant conversationalist talking.
Written by Dr. Gregory Stock, this book presents open-ended questions intended particularly for a juvenile reader base. Looking through the book again this time, I discovered that it followed a bestselling book simply entitled The Book of Questions. I was unaware of that book’s existence, but now I might have to see if I can find it. I can use all the conversation starters I can get. Unfortunately, because this book is geared towards kids, many of the questions don’t apply very well to adults. Many of the queries have to do with parents, teachers and “grown-ups” in general, often setting up a contrast between these people and whoever is answering the questions. Questions such as “What is your ideal bedtime?” and “What would you do if you woke up and had been magically changed into an adult?” are pretty irrelevant for a 23-year-old, but most of the questions can be altered in such a way that they suit adults as well as children. For the rest, I can just answer in retrospect.
But this book of questions was written specifically with children in mind, and for that age group the queries are especially meaningful. Some are light-hearted, while others demand more serious answers. Topics range from bullies, fears and career aspirations to censorship, religion and the perks of being an adult. Some of the more off-the-wall questions:
* If you went to the beach and discovered people there were swimming nude, would want to stay and watch or leave?
* Would you go to the mall with your dad if he dyed his hair green or would you be too embarrassed?
* If a rich kid wanted to buy your parents, how much would you ask for them if you were willing to sell them?
* If you could pick an age to be for your whole life, what age would you pick?
* If you could be invisible for a day, what would you do?
This book is not memorable for what it contains but for the aftermath of reading those questions. Great for a class or a one-on-one discussion, The Kids’ Book of Questions is a sure-fire way to get even the most reluctant conversationalist talking.
Lithgow and Payne Set the Stage for a Squirrely Good Time
I love squirrels. I’ve spent leisurely mornings at my grandparents’
house gazing out their sliding back door at the squirrels scampering
through the trees and fighting over space in the birdfeeder. I’ve
accompanied my dad on the four-hour drive to his faculty senate meetings
in State College just so I could spend the hour or so during his
meeting outside tossing peanuts to the insatiable rodents, which are so
used to people in that location that they sometimes take nuts right out
of my hand. I’ve been the proud but frustrated owner of a squirrel
feeder since middle school. For some reason the bushy-tailed bandits
don’t like to venture into our yard; it may have something to do with
the cats…
At any rate, I am magnetically drawn to these critters, so when I first spotted Micawber, John Lithgow’s delightful tale of an artistically inclined squirrel, I was enchanted. At the time, my only familiarity with Lithgow was as an actor, and I wondered whether his authorship had more to do with the perks of his fame than any particular writing talent. My fears were immediately allayed as I settled into the cadence of his cleverly rhymed story. I have always been a fan of books in rhyme, and Lithgow has particular skill for this brand of writing. He begins with a simple ABAB scheme, which he works from throughout the remainder of the tale, expanding it when appropriate. There is a musical quality to his lines, their intricate internal rhymes, alliteration and rhythm providing a feast for the ears to match the visual glory of the illustrations.
Authors such as J. K. Rowling refuse to shy away from the use of advanced verbiage in writing intended for children; Lemony Snicket even manages to work in overt vocabulary lessons in his Series of Unfortunate Events. Despite the brevity of this book and its placement in the young children’s section of the bookstore, its lexicon is befitting a book concerning itself with the fine arts. Delicious terminology leaps out from the page, some of which I’d never even encountered before. Rare is the picture book that will incorporate such words as appraise, scrutinize, beguiler, cadmium, vermillion, alizarin, transom and the incomparable peregrination, not to mention the squirrel’s unusual nomenclature.
C. F. Payne’s delightful artwork has graced the back page of Reader’s Digest for months, and his engaging blend of detail, emotion and humor brings to mind Norman Rockwell. The comparison is especially appropriate here, as the book’s final image is a brilliant parody of Rockwell’s famous self-portrait, with Micawber peeking at his reflection in the mirror, glasses and all. Payne has a knack for capturing ordinary moments with extraordinary splendor, and Micawber springs to life under his worthy hand. The squirrel’s bright eyes and beguiling face grace the cover, his paint-dipped tail providing a clue as to the direction the book will take.
Several two-page spreads feature a full-page illustration facing a white page containing only a few lines of text and several spatters of paint. Micawber appears in every picture, though it is sometimes hard to spot him, sneak that he is. We watch as his eyes light up with inspiration after witnessing a local artist imitate the works in the art museum he loves. His innate sense of mischief is most perfectly displayed towards the middle of the book, when he discovers color. His hands clasped together gleefully, face set in a slightly demonic smile, he surveys the results of squeezing several tubes of paint onto a waiting palette. Payne also charmingly captures the oblivious nature of his benefactor, a bespectacled woman with plenty of art supplies to spare.
This book sold me on Lithgow and Payne. Their combined talents create one of the most beguiling books I have encountered recently, and I commend them both. Micawber is sure to delight rabid squirrel fans like myself and appreciators of fine art, but its witty style and lavish illustrations are sure to draw in fans from all walks of life.
At any rate, I am magnetically drawn to these critters, so when I first spotted Micawber, John Lithgow’s delightful tale of an artistically inclined squirrel, I was enchanted. At the time, my only familiarity with Lithgow was as an actor, and I wondered whether his authorship had more to do with the perks of his fame than any particular writing talent. My fears were immediately allayed as I settled into the cadence of his cleverly rhymed story. I have always been a fan of books in rhyme, and Lithgow has particular skill for this brand of writing. He begins with a simple ABAB scheme, which he works from throughout the remainder of the tale, expanding it when appropriate. There is a musical quality to his lines, their intricate internal rhymes, alliteration and rhythm providing a feast for the ears to match the visual glory of the illustrations.
Authors such as J. K. Rowling refuse to shy away from the use of advanced verbiage in writing intended for children; Lemony Snicket even manages to work in overt vocabulary lessons in his Series of Unfortunate Events. Despite the brevity of this book and its placement in the young children’s section of the bookstore, its lexicon is befitting a book concerning itself with the fine arts. Delicious terminology leaps out from the page, some of which I’d never even encountered before. Rare is the picture book that will incorporate such words as appraise, scrutinize, beguiler, cadmium, vermillion, alizarin, transom and the incomparable peregrination, not to mention the squirrel’s unusual nomenclature.
C. F. Payne’s delightful artwork has graced the back page of Reader’s Digest for months, and his engaging blend of detail, emotion and humor brings to mind Norman Rockwell. The comparison is especially appropriate here, as the book’s final image is a brilliant parody of Rockwell’s famous self-portrait, with Micawber peeking at his reflection in the mirror, glasses and all. Payne has a knack for capturing ordinary moments with extraordinary splendor, and Micawber springs to life under his worthy hand. The squirrel’s bright eyes and beguiling face grace the cover, his paint-dipped tail providing a clue as to the direction the book will take.
Several two-page spreads feature a full-page illustration facing a white page containing only a few lines of text and several spatters of paint. Micawber appears in every picture, though it is sometimes hard to spot him, sneak that he is. We watch as his eyes light up with inspiration after witnessing a local artist imitate the works in the art museum he loves. His innate sense of mischief is most perfectly displayed towards the middle of the book, when he discovers color. His hands clasped together gleefully, face set in a slightly demonic smile, he surveys the results of squeezing several tubes of paint onto a waiting palette. Payne also charmingly captures the oblivious nature of his benefactor, a bespectacled woman with plenty of art supplies to spare.
This book sold me on Lithgow and Payne. Their combined talents create one of the most beguiling books I have encountered recently, and I commend them both. Micawber is sure to delight rabid squirrel fans like myself and appreciators of fine art, but its witty style and lavish illustrations are sure to draw in fans from all walks of life.
Saturday, June 26, 2004
Return a Glorious Conglomeration of Triumph and Tragedy
The Return of the King is both the shortest and the longest installment of The Lord of the Rings.
Although it contains the fewest pages of narration, it includes upwards
of a hundred pages of appendices. These informational additions deal
mainly with history and language, and while they are illuminating,
they’re also pretty dry. For the most part, they read like a textbook.
The most interesting histories, at least for me, involve the further
exploits of characters who play a major role in Lord of the Rings. Following the appendices are four indexes, each of which is quite handy.
But it’s the story that I’m really interested in, and Tolkien brings us into it right away – though, frustratingly, he again leaves us to wonder for half the book what Frodo and Sam are up to. This is particularly disheartening in Return, as Two Towers leaves them in such a dire situation. The first part of Return is filled with grand battles against fierce enemies. It seems that while Frodo and Sam are quietly inching their way toward Mount Doom, the rest of the world is engaged in a fierce cosmic conflict. The discouraging truth is that no matter how valiantly Gandalf, Aragorn and the rest hold back the enemy, they cannot defeat it. The fate of the Middle-earth rests in the hands of two hobbits… and, perhaps, a third.
Return finds the steadfast pairs of Merry and Pippin and Frodo and Sam split up for the first time in their quest. This separation is grueling but in three out of four cases allows them to discover untapped reserves of valor. Pippin finds himself in the service of Denethor, degenerate steward of Gondor, and bonds with Beregond, one of the guards. When Denethor’s addled wits lead him to order the immolation of himself and his son, Faramir, Pippin must depend upon his own sense of discernment and his newfound friend in order to save Faramir. Merry pledges himself to a gentler monarch, the fatherly Theoden, and obtains the unexpected assistance of a mysterious soldier named Dernhelm when his lord forbids him to prove his loyalty in battle.
Sam now emerges as the true hero of the book, the one who must somehow rescue his master and sustain him through the treacherous trek to Mount Doom. He remains the least changed of the four companions, yet he displays courage that never would have been required of him before his departure from the Shire. In the opening pages of the second part of Return, we are struck with the sense that this has become Sam’s story. This is re-affirmed later when he lovingly restores the beauty of the Shire Saruman so nearly destroyed, when he inherits the book containing the account of their quest, and when he ends the most complex of tales with the simplest of comments: “Well, I’m back.”
Although this quest belongs most fundamentally to the hobbits, most of the characters contribute in some way, whether by intention or not, to its completion. The most powerful figures for the side of good in Return are Gandalf, returned to Middle-earth for the purpose of seeing the conflict through to its conclusion, and Aragorn, who must assume his kingly role in order to lead the charge against the enemy, heal the most grievous of his comrades’ injuries and prepare for the restoration of Gondor. Gandalf’s prediction that Gollum would have some role to play yet is seen to fruition in a most unexpected manner that is equally triumphant and tragic. The quest succeeds because people are good but also because they are fallen.
Oddly enough, while the military maneuverings of Rohan and Gondor fill half the book, the all-important final leg of Frodo and Sam’s journey takes only three chapters. The most frequent complaint I heard and read about Jackson’s final film installment was that there was too much movie following the destruction of the Ring. In the book, this gradual ending makes up the greater portion of the second part of Return. Moreover, the battle is not over after the Ring is destroyed. The hobbits are heartbroken to discover their own pristine homeland tainted by Saruman’s malice, and while Frodo is too weakened to play a very active role, Merry, Pippin and Sam must purge the Shire of its evil. We also see that Frodo is most fundamentally altered by his experience, to the point that he can no longer feel at home in the Shire he sacrificed so much to save.
Return is a glorious ending to Tolkien’s masterpiece. The book ends as we think it ought to, but not entirely. Tolkien presents us with an enchanting land and shows its magic gradually slipping away, a tragic process that cannot be amended with the destruction of the Ring. Indeed, in some ways the quest’s success hastens such changes, as it robs the Elves of their ability to maintain in Middle-earth an environment suitable for their ethereality. Frodo’s departure is elegiac, a tribute to his effort but a reminder of his failure. Yet it seems a harder blow to Sam than Frodo, who always seemed a bit aloof and more deeply fond of Bilbo and Gandalf than even his faithful servant. That the three should leave together is fitting. And though the Fourth Age promises to be far less enchanting than the Third, Tolkien’s decision to leave us with Sam instills hope that many good times are yet to come.
But it’s the story that I’m really interested in, and Tolkien brings us into it right away – though, frustratingly, he again leaves us to wonder for half the book what Frodo and Sam are up to. This is particularly disheartening in Return, as Two Towers leaves them in such a dire situation. The first part of Return is filled with grand battles against fierce enemies. It seems that while Frodo and Sam are quietly inching their way toward Mount Doom, the rest of the world is engaged in a fierce cosmic conflict. The discouraging truth is that no matter how valiantly Gandalf, Aragorn and the rest hold back the enemy, they cannot defeat it. The fate of the Middle-earth rests in the hands of two hobbits… and, perhaps, a third.
Return finds the steadfast pairs of Merry and Pippin and Frodo and Sam split up for the first time in their quest. This separation is grueling but in three out of four cases allows them to discover untapped reserves of valor. Pippin finds himself in the service of Denethor, degenerate steward of Gondor, and bonds with Beregond, one of the guards. When Denethor’s addled wits lead him to order the immolation of himself and his son, Faramir, Pippin must depend upon his own sense of discernment and his newfound friend in order to save Faramir. Merry pledges himself to a gentler monarch, the fatherly Theoden, and obtains the unexpected assistance of a mysterious soldier named Dernhelm when his lord forbids him to prove his loyalty in battle.
Sam now emerges as the true hero of the book, the one who must somehow rescue his master and sustain him through the treacherous trek to Mount Doom. He remains the least changed of the four companions, yet he displays courage that never would have been required of him before his departure from the Shire. In the opening pages of the second part of Return, we are struck with the sense that this has become Sam’s story. This is re-affirmed later when he lovingly restores the beauty of the Shire Saruman so nearly destroyed, when he inherits the book containing the account of their quest, and when he ends the most complex of tales with the simplest of comments: “Well, I’m back.”
Although this quest belongs most fundamentally to the hobbits, most of the characters contribute in some way, whether by intention or not, to its completion. The most powerful figures for the side of good in Return are Gandalf, returned to Middle-earth for the purpose of seeing the conflict through to its conclusion, and Aragorn, who must assume his kingly role in order to lead the charge against the enemy, heal the most grievous of his comrades’ injuries and prepare for the restoration of Gondor. Gandalf’s prediction that Gollum would have some role to play yet is seen to fruition in a most unexpected manner that is equally triumphant and tragic. The quest succeeds because people are good but also because they are fallen.
Oddly enough, while the military maneuverings of Rohan and Gondor fill half the book, the all-important final leg of Frodo and Sam’s journey takes only three chapters. The most frequent complaint I heard and read about Jackson’s final film installment was that there was too much movie following the destruction of the Ring. In the book, this gradual ending makes up the greater portion of the second part of Return. Moreover, the battle is not over after the Ring is destroyed. The hobbits are heartbroken to discover their own pristine homeland tainted by Saruman’s malice, and while Frodo is too weakened to play a very active role, Merry, Pippin and Sam must purge the Shire of its evil. We also see that Frodo is most fundamentally altered by his experience, to the point that he can no longer feel at home in the Shire he sacrificed so much to save.
Return is a glorious ending to Tolkien’s masterpiece. The book ends as we think it ought to, but not entirely. Tolkien presents us with an enchanting land and shows its magic gradually slipping away, a tragic process that cannot be amended with the destruction of the Ring. Indeed, in some ways the quest’s success hastens such changes, as it robs the Elves of their ability to maintain in Middle-earth an environment suitable for their ethereality. Frodo’s departure is elegiac, a tribute to his effort but a reminder of his failure. Yet it seems a harder blow to Sam than Frodo, who always seemed a bit aloof and more deeply fond of Bilbo and Gandalf than even his faithful servant. That the three should leave together is fitting. And though the Fourth Age promises to be far less enchanting than the Third, Tolkien’s decision to leave us with Sam instills hope that many good times are yet to come.
Two Towers May Muddle Your Mind a Bit, But It's Worth It
If you loved The Hobbit, then Fellowship of the Ring is a natural progression, lengthier, more difficult, more complex than the former, but not entirely foreign. The Two Towers
brings readers into new territory. I sometimes think of it as the
muddle in the middle, though any muddling has only to do with my limited
capacity for readerly multi-tasking. Tolkien toiled for years on this
portion of his book, and it is only fitting that it is the most
difficult volume for his audience to digest.
Two Towers begins shortly after the breaking of the Fellowship. Frodo and Sam have set out on their own, though Tolkien tries his readers’ wills by abandoning the Ringbearer and his faithful servant until the second part of the book. His first focus is on the small party of Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli. After a wrenching scene in the opening pages in which Boromir succumbs to the fatal wounds incurred during his efforts to save Merry and Pippin, the man, the elf and the dwarf set off in hot pursuit of the hobbits, who have been captured by Orcs. Meanwhile, the hobbits manage a clever escape, only to find themselves in the foreboding Fangorn Forest, where they are soon met by Treebeard the Ent, an enormous tree-like creature whose job is to act as shepherd for the trees. It takes quite some time before these two separated parties reconvene, and when they do it is with a powerful new ally: Gandalf, returned from the abyss and given the title Gandalf the White.
In addition to the Ents, this volume introduces Theoden, the king of Rohan who has sunken so deeply into despair that he is no longer capable of ruling his country. Instead, he relies upon Wormtongue, his corrupt advisor, who is himself answerable to the wizard Saruman. We also meet Theoden’s nephew Eomer and, more importantly, his niece Eowyn, a valiant woman who quickly develops a crush on Aragorn. Tolkien also introduces us to Faramir, brother of the fallen Boromir, while bringing the character of Gollum, lurking in the background throughout Fellowship, into the forefront.
There’s an awful lot going on in this book, and the events are grander than those in Fellowship. Merry and Pippin play a part in a major battle at Isengard, Saruman’s stronghold, while the others muster their strength to battle the Orcs that have laid siege to the fortress of Helm’s Deep. When we finally get back to them, Frodo and Sam have a quieter journey to make, but no less treacherous. They reluctantly find themselves in the company of Gollum, with the untrustworthy creature acting as their guide. As Sam’s mistrust and jealousy increases, Frodo’s self-control begins to slip, and the success of the mission grows more unlikely with each passing day.
Two Towers is grim, with few reprieves in the darkness that begins to encompass the remaining members of the Fellowship. There are moments, though. I loved Merry and Pippin’s stay in Fangorn when Dad read it to me, complete with Treebeard’s deep, rumbling voice, a tribute to Tolkien’s close friend and fellow fantasy writer C. S. Lewis. He is one of Tolkien’s most unique and enjoyable characters, with his long, rambling speech and his mixture of grandfatherly charm and ageless tragedy. His agonizingly unhasty manner of speaking is as entertaining as his account of the lost Entwives is heartbreaking. There is also Gandalf’s glorious reappearance, as awe-inspiring as his apparent death was devastating.
Merry and Pippin’s characteristic levity elicits smiles throughout the first part of the book. Their ability to adapt cheerfully to dire situations – particularly when they have one another for support – is especially evident after they escape the Orcs, but perhaps their most unabashedly gleeful scenes occur upon their long-awaited reunion with Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli. In the second part of the book, Gollum, the agonized creature who is perhaps the most morally ambiguous of Tolkien’s characters, provides a few laughs. But while amusement at Merry and Pippin’s antics stems from their carefree camaraderie, Gollum’s utter desolation and degradation almost requires that any laughs he garners be tinged with pity. It’s difficult to determine how to react to this throwback to The Hobbit. Although he was depicted as sinister and an obstacle to Bilbo, Gollum always struck me as more pitiable than threatening. Here, he alternates between submissive and menacing – “Slinker” and “Stinker,” as Sam puts it. While he plots to reclaim the Ring, he develops some degree of devotion to the hobbit who continues to offer him mercy and understanding.
Gollum’s dynamic struggles are my favorite part of this installment. Unfortunately, his presence brings out the worst in Sam. Their food-related quarrel in Of Herbs and Stewed Rabbit is amusing, but it underscores their mutual animosity. Although Sam is looking out for Frodo and much of his disdain stems from a warranted distrust of Gollum, his barely submerged envy is a large contributor to his behavior. Sam’s best moments here occur when he is separated from Gollum, particularly in the presence of the noble but initially intimidating Faramir and, at the end of the book, when he is left alone. His worst may have proven the ultimate stumbling block to Gollum’s redemption.
Two Towers is the bridge between Fellowship and Return of the King, and within its pages lie brilliant new characters and cataclysmic events. Although I would probably have to say that this second installment is my least favorite of the three, I still love it. You may struggle with it a bit more than Fellowship, but stick with it. You’ll be glad you did.
Two Towers begins shortly after the breaking of the Fellowship. Frodo and Sam have set out on their own, though Tolkien tries his readers’ wills by abandoning the Ringbearer and his faithful servant until the second part of the book. His first focus is on the small party of Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli. After a wrenching scene in the opening pages in which Boromir succumbs to the fatal wounds incurred during his efforts to save Merry and Pippin, the man, the elf and the dwarf set off in hot pursuit of the hobbits, who have been captured by Orcs. Meanwhile, the hobbits manage a clever escape, only to find themselves in the foreboding Fangorn Forest, where they are soon met by Treebeard the Ent, an enormous tree-like creature whose job is to act as shepherd for the trees. It takes quite some time before these two separated parties reconvene, and when they do it is with a powerful new ally: Gandalf, returned from the abyss and given the title Gandalf the White.
In addition to the Ents, this volume introduces Theoden, the king of Rohan who has sunken so deeply into despair that he is no longer capable of ruling his country. Instead, he relies upon Wormtongue, his corrupt advisor, who is himself answerable to the wizard Saruman. We also meet Theoden’s nephew Eomer and, more importantly, his niece Eowyn, a valiant woman who quickly develops a crush on Aragorn. Tolkien also introduces us to Faramir, brother of the fallen Boromir, while bringing the character of Gollum, lurking in the background throughout Fellowship, into the forefront.
There’s an awful lot going on in this book, and the events are grander than those in Fellowship. Merry and Pippin play a part in a major battle at Isengard, Saruman’s stronghold, while the others muster their strength to battle the Orcs that have laid siege to the fortress of Helm’s Deep. When we finally get back to them, Frodo and Sam have a quieter journey to make, but no less treacherous. They reluctantly find themselves in the company of Gollum, with the untrustworthy creature acting as their guide. As Sam’s mistrust and jealousy increases, Frodo’s self-control begins to slip, and the success of the mission grows more unlikely with each passing day.
Two Towers is grim, with few reprieves in the darkness that begins to encompass the remaining members of the Fellowship. There are moments, though. I loved Merry and Pippin’s stay in Fangorn when Dad read it to me, complete with Treebeard’s deep, rumbling voice, a tribute to Tolkien’s close friend and fellow fantasy writer C. S. Lewis. He is one of Tolkien’s most unique and enjoyable characters, with his long, rambling speech and his mixture of grandfatherly charm and ageless tragedy. His agonizingly unhasty manner of speaking is as entertaining as his account of the lost Entwives is heartbreaking. There is also Gandalf’s glorious reappearance, as awe-inspiring as his apparent death was devastating.
Merry and Pippin’s characteristic levity elicits smiles throughout the first part of the book. Their ability to adapt cheerfully to dire situations – particularly when they have one another for support – is especially evident after they escape the Orcs, but perhaps their most unabashedly gleeful scenes occur upon their long-awaited reunion with Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli. In the second part of the book, Gollum, the agonized creature who is perhaps the most morally ambiguous of Tolkien’s characters, provides a few laughs. But while amusement at Merry and Pippin’s antics stems from their carefree camaraderie, Gollum’s utter desolation and degradation almost requires that any laughs he garners be tinged with pity. It’s difficult to determine how to react to this throwback to The Hobbit. Although he was depicted as sinister and an obstacle to Bilbo, Gollum always struck me as more pitiable than threatening. Here, he alternates between submissive and menacing – “Slinker” and “Stinker,” as Sam puts it. While he plots to reclaim the Ring, he develops some degree of devotion to the hobbit who continues to offer him mercy and understanding.
Gollum’s dynamic struggles are my favorite part of this installment. Unfortunately, his presence brings out the worst in Sam. Their food-related quarrel in Of Herbs and Stewed Rabbit is amusing, but it underscores their mutual animosity. Although Sam is looking out for Frodo and much of his disdain stems from a warranted distrust of Gollum, his barely submerged envy is a large contributor to his behavior. Sam’s best moments here occur when he is separated from Gollum, particularly in the presence of the noble but initially intimidating Faramir and, at the end of the book, when he is left alone. His worst may have proven the ultimate stumbling block to Gollum’s redemption.
Two Towers is the bridge between Fellowship and Return of the King, and within its pages lie brilliant new characters and cataclysmic events. Although I would probably have to say that this second installment is my least favorite of the three, I still love it. You may struggle with it a bit more than Fellowship, but stick with it. You’ll be glad you did.
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