Smile Tries to Encourage Teens to Take Charitable Action

The other day, we sat down to watch The 12 Dogs of Christmas, which I had rented from Netflix. One of the previews, for a movie called Smile, caught my mom’s eye, so I went to see whether I could put it in my queue and discovered that it was available for Instant Viewing. So we got to watch it even more quickly than she’d anticipated.

Smile is the lone film project of writer-director Jeffrey Kramer, and it seems to have been produced mainly for viewing in high school classrooms. Like the old after-school specials, this is a movie with a message, and it’s really more like three messages. Primarily: Don’t be apathetic. You may live in a world of fancy cars and swimming pools, but there are many people throughout the world who are not so privileged. Sprinkled in are messages about not being ashamed of one’s appearance and not becoming sexually active just because one‘s peers seem to expect it.

The protagonist is Katie (Mika Boorem), a pampered teenager with a long term boyfriend (the rather obnoxious Chris, played by Erik von Detten) who begins to wonder if there’s more to life after her teacher Mr. Matthews (Sean Astin) hands her a pamphlet about Doctor’s Gift, a charity that provides operations for children with deformities. Eventually, she decides to go on the trip to China, along with her smitten classmate Ted (Jonathon Trent), who happens to be king of community service and is noticeably nicer than Chris, who is pressuring her to take their relationship to the next level. While there, she particularly hopes to meet Lin (Yi Ding), a young woman who shares her birthday and who has spent her life keeping her face covered due to a facial abnormality.

I recognize many of the actors in this film: Boorem from a memorable guest stint on Touched By An Angel lasting three episodes; von Detten from The Princess Diaries (in which he played practically the same character); Cheri Oteri (the nurse who oversees Katie and Ted once they reach China) from Saturday Night Live; Beau Bridges from any number of roles, most recently in my favorite episode of Desperate Housewives; Linda Hamilton from Terminator and Beauty and the Beast; and, of course, Astin from Lord of the Rings. While this movie undeniably has heart, I think it also suffers from poor direction and dialogue, because every one of these accomplished actors comes across as something of a novice here.

Bridges is the least jarring, but that’s probably because his character, Katie’s dad, is so level-headed. The movie is filled with angry outbursts followed by awkward pauses, and much of the dialogue is repetitive. Katie, for instance, must mention about five times how unreasonable Chris is for being annoyed with her for keeping him waiting in his car for 15 minutes after school (though, in her description, it’s always reduced to “one or two”). Chris is set up from this moment as the Evil Boyfriend, but frankly, I’d be a little irritated too. Couldn’t she have at least called him to let him know she’d be late? It seems a little unfair to pin all the blame for the incident on him, noble as her reasons were for staying.

Boorem and Hamilton, as Katie’s mother, are the worst offenders when it comes to getting huffy or screechy, and it’s especially jarring when they argue with each other because neither responds quickly enough to make it seem like a natural conversation. Astin’s role is briefer than I imagined it would be, since he doesn’t join his two students in Shanghai. For the most part, he’s fine, but there’s something very odd about his delivery in the flashback scene in which Lin and her father arrive too late for the surgery. He’s intended to come across as sympathetic, but instead he seems condescendingly incredulous, as in, “What’s the matter with you showing up here now? All the doctors went home!”

Oddly, I generally prefer the performances of the actors I don’t recognize: Trent as Good Potential Boyfriend Ted and especially Ding as the sweet, sheltered Lin, but most of all Luoyong Wang as her father Daniel. From the beginning of the movie, his story is interspersed with Katie’s. We first see him finding Lin as an infant, then we witness the disastrous seventh birthday party when his wife decides that she and their son can no longer share this home with Lin, whom she views as an interloper. As Lin nears adulthood, we see him continue to nurture his adoptive daughter, even as he grows frustrated with her fear of having the operation that would allow her to live a more normal life.

Generally, I prefer these scenes to Katie’s, even though many of them are subtitled and even though Daniel’s wife, while clearly not giving Lin a proper chance, may have had a point about his giving her preferential treatment. We don’t really see enough of the family dynamics to be certain. Nonetheless, he reminds me of Mr. Kwon, the Korean fisherman and adoptive father of Jin who is one of my favorite flashback characters on LOST, and I find him the most endearing character in the movie.

I don’t know how effective this movie is in convincing teenagers to get involved in charitable causes; I suspect many will find it hokey, but if it stirs even a few into action, then it’s a worthwhile movie, stilted dialogue and all.

Mount Doom Sam Declares, "I Can't Carry It For You, But I Can Carry You!"

The Return of the King, the final installment in Peter Jackson's epic film adaptation of J. R. R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings, is filled with moments that took my breath away. Many of them involve innocent young Pippin: his traumatic departure from best friend Merry, his golden-voiced recitation of an old hobbit walking song, his discussion about death with the sage Gandalf. But if I had to pin the "most iconic" award on any one scene in the film, its star would be not Pippin but Samwise, which is something of a relief to me, as Sam has always been my favorite character and I hated to see him overshadowed entirely.

I speak, of course, of the instance capturing both Sam's rustic simplicity and his heroism, which is inspired by fierce loyalty. As the putrid air of Mordor threatens to engulf them, Sam takes comfort in his recollection of the bucolic Shire. "Do you remember the taste of strawberries?" he asks the tormented Frodo, who doesn't. And that's when Sam's great Hero Moment comes. After appealing to his master to be rid of the Ring once and for all, he bellows, "I can't carry it for you, but I can carry you!" And he does, as noble music swells. Several years ago, I purchased a poster-sized calendar in which the photo for the month of January featured this scene. That calendar hangs on my wall today, still reading January 2005; I never turned the page.

On my recent trip to Salem, Massachusetts, I found myself in Harrison's, a comic book store with the most magnificent assortment of geeky collectibles I've ever seen, short of eBay or Amazon. Their Lord of the Rings selection was especially impressive, so I spent some time looking through the figures. I'm glad I took the time to take each box off the peg rather than simply trusting, as was my initial impulse, that everything behind the front figure was the same. If I hadn't done some digging, I never would have found Mount Doom Sam, the one action figure in the bunch whose allure I absolutely could not resist. Even before I activated the sound chip, I suspected that I would be taking Sam home with me, but when a touch of the button hidden in the rocky brown base yielded "I can't carry it for you, but I can carry you!" my decision was made.

That sound clip is probably my favorite part of the figure. I only wish that Sam, like the larger LOST figures I have scattered around my room, played more than two clips. The other is the panicked "Throw it in the fire!" which is certainly fitting, but I would have loved the inclusion of the wistful "Do you remember the taste of strawberries?" That would have made this figure just about perfect. (Upon investigation, I see that Mount Doom Frodo is available online, and for about half what I paid for Sam; I'm mightily tempted to unite these bosom buddies, especially since Frodo's lone quote - "I'm glad to be with you, Samwise Gamgee, here at the end of all things" - is my favorite of his lines from the Mount Doom portion, and maybe the whole film.)

As the box announces, Sam boasts 29 points of articulation, including the neck, shoulders, elbows, wrists, middle, legs, knees and ankles. The only problem with all the articulation is that the presence of so many hinges makes the figure look a tad clunky in places, like the abdomen and the knees. His feet come equipped with holes that allow him to fit on pegs on the plastic base, but there's no need to keep him there, as long as you understand that getting him to stand up properly on his own two feet is tricky. Of course, like the LOST figures, his feet are a bit ornery about staying in place on the stand as well, though I eventually got them to cooperate.

Sam stands about four and a half inches tall, maybe a quarter of an inch shorter than MacFarlane's Charlie Pace, but Charlie is seated and hunched over. So Sam is considerably smaller than those figures, and consequently not quite as detailed, though the likeness is still quite acceptable. His feet are dirty and covered with hair, and his hands are grimy. On his face is a rather blank expression; I'd read it as determined, but it's rather nondescript. Sam's hair is a wavy brown, and he wears dark pants and suspenders and a lighter shirt and vest. All are so dingy that color is hard to determine, but varying degrees of brownish-green probably covers it. Attached to his shirt is the sheath for the dagger Sting, which is as good as a sword to a hobbit. Sting itself is included too, but you have to get it out of the packaging and stick it in the sheath yourself. If you choose, you can also equip Sam for battle by placing Sting in his hand.

I'm not one to leave action figures pristine in their packaging, but I would recommend hanging onto the cardboard portion of the box. On the front, behind the area where Sam is encased in plastic, is a nifty map of Middle-Earth. The back, meanwhile, includes a description of the circumstances in which this version of Sam finds himself. I can just hear the strains of Shore's majestic score rise up as I read the paragraph, which concludes, "His love for his friend is true, and the commitment to his promise to Gandalf will not be broken." The most pressing reason to keep the cardboard, though, is the instruction on how to install the three LR44 button cell batteries.

Mount Doom Sam is a hardy toy that I expect to have standing on my piano for years to come, with the occasional adventure to more exotic locales, like our neighbor's flooded front yard, where I took him yesterday. (I snapped a picture of him on his base surrounded by water, but I placed the base on an upside-down bowl to ensure the sound mechanism wasn't damaged.) When I was at Harrison's, I think I saw at least four different Frodos, so I suspect there may be as many Sams out there, though it's probably best if I don't look into the matter more closely. If I'm going to have one Sam, this is the one I would have wanted: Samwise the Brave. His proudest moment. I paid 14 dollars for him, and I saw him online for ten. A fair price, I'd say, for my favorite literary character at his finest.

Ringers' Enthusiasm Rings True for This Tolkien Fan

In 1999, just before I graduated from high school, I went to Barnes and Noble and was shocked by the sight of a display inviting me to enter a sweepstakes for which the prize would be a trip to New Zealand to get a behind-the-scenes peek at the filming of The Lord of the Rings. "They're filming Lord of the Rings?" I gasped before putting in my entry and hoping for the best. Alas, the dream vacation went to someone else, but I spent the next two years in eager anticipation of what I hoped would be a cinematic masterpiece worthy of my favorite book. As I perused the Internet for news, I discovered just how vast the fandom was. I may have felt rather isolated as a Tolkien enthusiast growing up, but the movies brought millions of fans out of the woodwork. And as much as I adore the good Professor and the fantastical realms he created, I quickly learned I was not his most ardent admirer. Not by a long shot.

Ringers: Lord of the Fans, written by Cliff Broadway and Carlene Cordova and produced in association with TheOneRing.net, taps into the frenzy Tolkien has inspired for seven decades. It's narrated by Dom Monaghan, who was catapulted from relative obscurity to superstardom with 2001's The Fellowship of the Ring, in which he portrayed the endearing hobbit Merry, constant companion of the mischievous Pippin, played by Billy Boyd. While Monaghan has the largest role in the documentary, Boyd, Elijah Wood (Frodo), Sean Astin (Samwise), Ian McKellan (Gandalf), Viggo Mortensen (Aragorn), Orlando Bloom (Legolas), Andy Serkis (Gollum), John Rhys-Davies (Gimli) and John Noble (Denethor) all offer commentary, as do director Peter Jackson, screenwriter Philippa Boyens and producer Barrie Osborne. Moreover, the film cuts periodically to a theater where fans in elaborate costumes are waiting five days to see the first showing of The Two Towers, and most of the fan testimonials focus on the movies.

Nonetheless, the movie works it way gradually to the present, so while we never forget about Jackson's epic, Tolkien's is still the primary focus. Monaghan recounts the publication of The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings, accompanied by a series of trippy Monty Python-esque illustrations. I'm especially amused by the trio of nay-saying critics - among whom is Harold Bloom, with whom I became intimately acquainted through several college English courses - who are silenced by the arrival of a winged C. S. Lewis and W. H. Auden singing Tolkien's praises.

Perhaps my favorite segment is entitled Of Hippies and Hobbits, which chronicles the profound influence Lord of the Rings had on the American counter-culture. Here we are treated to lots of video clips of sixties teens sitting around reading Tolkien and engaging in protests against Ace Books, which published unauthorized editions of the books, much to their author's consternation.

Tolkien societies, a gathering place for those caught up in what one observer called "intellectual hooliganism," began to form in this decade, and musicians incorporated Middle-earth themes and motifs into their recordings. Some, like many of Led Zeppelin's compositions, were impressive, while others - most notably Leonard Nimoy's ultra-campy The Ballad of Bilbo Baggins - were just silly. The marriage of music and Middle-earth has continued over the years, as demonstrated in a special feature that mostly includes footage scattered throughout the documentary itself. Among the contributors to these segments are Lemmy Kilmister of the band Motorhead and Geddy Lee of Rush.

Ringers makes note of the animated attempts at Tolkien - Rankin and Bass's The Hobbit and The Return of the King and Ralph Bakshi's The Lord of the Rings - but the tone is somewhat derisive. While I find Bakshi's vision a little too weird for my liking, he certainly gave it his best shot, and the documentary implies that he was denied the proper resources to do his project real justice. It's less kind to Rankin and Bass, as Monaghan and other commentators make cracks about Bilbo looking like a frog and ridiculous songs being forced upon people at the most inopportune moments. However, it also shows us some fans who cite The Hobbit as their all-time favorite movie, and we hear three different covers of songs from those films, including a haunting version of Leave Tomorrow 'Til It Comes that plays over the credits. I was interested to find out that this was not the first attempt at a film version of Lord of the Rings. One screenwriter got Tolkien's reluctant permission to give it a shot but couldn't find any interested parties, and in the sixties the Beatles put considerable effort into putting Lord of the Rings on the big screen, but their attempts were similarly fruitless. What a combination that would have been!

While Ringers is loaded with experts associated with Lord of the Rings is one way or another, many of the most interesting observations come from ordinary fans. Interviewer Cliff Broadway talks to fans in various locations, while a confessional booth records the ramblings of Comic-Con 2005 attendees, most of whom are garbed as various characters from Lord of the Rings, though there is the occasional Klingon or Jedi. The costumes are truly impressive, especially when we hear all the effort that went into them. My favorite was a Treebeard costume, which looked extremely realistic but difficult to walk and talk in. It's worth a look in the special features at a few of the more memorable Tolkien testimonials. These are undoubtedly some very passionate fans.

Some of them have stories to tell about brushes with Tolkien or folks involved with Jackson's film; others have unusual collections or have put their creativity to use in such famed works of fan fiction as Lord of the Peeps and The Original Pervy Hobbit Fancier's Journal. And then there's the woman in California who created Hobbiton, U.S.A., a walk through The Hobbit settled in an old stand of redwoods and featuring wooden representations of various locations in the book. It has a very homegrown look to it, nothing too fancy, but my eyes about popped out when I saw it, and it's definitely been added to my list of desired destinations.

If you've ever dreamed of moving to Middle-earth, spent a hundred dollars to look like an elf, rhapsodized for pages about your favorite hobbits or read Tolkien's masterpiece repeatedly, give Ringers a look and rest assured you are not alone.

Clay Aiken's Book Shows What a True American Idol Looks Like

Learning to Sing: Hearing the Music in Your Life, Clay Aiken’s memoir which came out this week, was one of two celebrity autobiographies I eagerly awaited this fall. The first, Sean Astin’s, was enjoyable enough but a bit of a disappointment. Clay’s, however, was everything I hoped it would be. It arrived in the Waldenbooks where I work five days before the release date, and I couldn’t help but read the first couple chapters on breaks in the back room. As it turned out, I didn’t work on Tuesday or the day after, so the book was not mine until Thursday. I came home and read the rest of it in one sitting.

Clay’s book is divided into twenty chapters, each of which is broken up into many easily digestible nuggets. Rarely does an individual section last more than a couple pages, making for very easy stopping points. Each chapter bears a metaphorical title. I suspect co-writer Allison Glock assisted with these; I’m still puzzling over what exactly her contribution was and how she happened to be selected for the job. I suspect it had something to do with the fact that she wrote one of the most lyrical and complimentary articles about Clay during 2003's media blitz summer. It’s frustrating for a Claymate not to know which words are his and which were crafted by a more seasoned writer. But whether most of the words are his or hers, the result is a memoir as witty and endearing as the singer himself.

I first heard of the project in the predictably cynical Entertainment Weekly; a blurb accompanied by a Clay caricature noted that he would soon publish an “inspirational memoir” and concluded with a snide remark. I was thrilled and a bit surprised. I had no doubts that Clay had the ability to write a book, as interviews have consistently revealed him as one of the most articulate musicians in the business, but I couldn't fathom where he could find the time. A friend of mine somewhat concurred with EW's opinion, at least as far as the title was concerned. “Isn’t that title terrible?” he urged me to admit. I’ll concede it’s a title that could have been culled from interior of a Hallmark card, but a sap like me won’t complain about that. The “inspirational memoir” bit does seem a tad over the top; he could have left his readership to draw their own conclusions on that score. But Clay’s book is a triumph, and I can’t help but smile to see copies of it peeking out at me whenever I come in to work. I hope it’s up with the bestsellers as long as The Da Vinci Code and The Five People You Meet in Heaven.

All of this, and I really haven’t said much about the book yet. In the first chapter, Clay reveals his trepidation with writing this volume and his uncertainties as he adjusts to life as one of the most adulated celebrities in recent history. As I pored over the pages in the back of Waldenbooks, I struggled to stifle my laughter as his wit rose to the surface immediately with examples of sentences his mom made him write hundreds of times as a child (“I will not say Granny’s face needs ironing”) and the trials he’s had to face living in California (“avocado on all the food”). Alongside it were reminders of the class and integrity that is every bit as integral to Clay’s success as his glorious voice. The chapter concludes with welcome reassurance that success has not corrupted the gangly geek with a heart of gold; he will always strive to wield his astonishing influence in the most positive manner possible. Part of that ideal must be attributed to his mother, Faye Parker, whose moral fortitude and devotion to her son have won the hearts of Clay’s fans. The second chapter focuses mainly on their relationship, and I could not help but hear the eerily autobiographical strains of Proud of Your Boy every time Clay acknowledged his indebtedness to his mother.

The book proceeds thematically, with each chapter focusing on particular people or a certain aspect of Clay’s life after being introduced with a quote from someone who knows Clay, usually his mother. The next folks to take the spotlight are Clay’s grandparents – not only his mother’s parents, whose last names now make up Clay’s full name, but the couple who sheltered Clay and his mother after they fled the man whose name Clay would eventually forsake. Other relatives score a passing mention here, most amusingly his great-grandfather and his brother. Both were accomplished folk musicians whose repertoires, which included songs as diverse as What a Friend We Have in Jesus and Intoxicated Rat, were recorded in the Library of Congress. But the chapter deals mainly with the differences between the two sets of grandparents and Clay’s desire to balance his love for them equally. It includes what I found to be one of the most moving passages of the book, in which Clay recalls evenings listening to the Grand Ole Opry with his grandfather -- his “papa” -- before flashing forward, revealing that his grandfather now has Alzheimer’s but still knows his grandson. Instead of the Grand Ole Opry, he now listens to Clay’s CD every night. “It’s as if I am still there,” he writes, “like I was as a child, lying beside him and singing him to sleep as the darkness falls.”

Later chapters delve into his notoriously troubled relationship with his biological father, Vernon Grissom. It was painful to read about such a compassionate child being rejected by his own father, but he had already exposed that aspect of his childhood in interviews and articles so it was not a shocking revelation. I think it was more difficult to discover that he and Ray Parker, the step-father of whom Clay had always spoken with such love, did not share the wonderful father-son relationship I had envisioned. It was, in its own way, equally strained, and perhaps more tragically so as Clay seems racked with regret over a closeness they might have shared had he been more open to it. There are several points in the book in which Clay hashes out his guilt, most gut-wrenchingly when he blames his sister’s suicide on his reticence. Such entries are reminders of his humanity, his vulnerability, moments of exposure that left me with the urge to envelop him in a big bear hug until the pain has receded.

While Clay notes with gratitude the devotion of his fans, he seems uncomfortable with descriptions of him that deny the patches of darkness in his soul. “Nobody is a saint,” he writes, “and if I had a halo it would be crooked.” The book is filled with examples of childhood mischief to back this up, but it generally comes across as innocent impishness. We get a glimpse of Clay’s rotten treatment at the hands of classmates, partly because he hadn’t yet developed the self-confidence that has helped him become so successful. He fights for what he believes in, but there was a time when he didn’t like who he was. Reading about his own personal journey of becoming comfortable in his own skin – content with his talents, his ideals, his looks – was far more inspiring than seeing the much-ballyhooed makeover on television. Some producers would have us believe that a new hairdo, a pair of contacts, and some fancy duds made the world fall in love with Clay. I say he would have worked his way into just as many hearts had he continued to look like a grad school librarian. I noted with satisfaction that although the cover shots of Clay are suave and debonair, inside he more often than not looks like the boy next door. My favorite photo in the book shows him, probably in his early teens, sitting in an old-fashioned car with a shy smile and a pair of glasses that would make Rick Moranis proud. Every time he shows up for a performance or interview wearing his glasses, I revel in his willingness to remain dorky. It all helps me to think of him more as a guy I would have palled around with at school that an untouchable celebrity, which is appropriate and comforting as he is the first musician I have admired who was not famous before I was born. It's easy to imagine that we could have been friends.

When I read Sean Astin’s autobiography last month, it was really Samwise Gamgee I wanted to hear about, so while I found the whole of his memoir enjoyable enough, the only part I really cared about involved Lord of the Rings. Clay does not linger very long on his experience with American Idol, and it doesn’t bother me a bit. It wouldn’t have mattered to me if he hadn’t mentioned it at all. Though many of Clay’s detractors still fail to see it, this young man is about so much more than a phenomenally popular television program. I find every aspect of his life fascinating, and if he spends more time diving into less familiar territory, so much the better. I did find it intriguing that Clay associates the song Solitaire with his birth father; though I’ve often read speculation that Clay is thinking of his father when he sings I Survived You, the connection with Solitaire had never occurred to me. I would have been interested to hear just how it was that Clay decided upon Bridge Over Troubled Water as his show-stopping final selection. I was one of many fans praying he would sing that, my favorite song, at some point in the competition. But the limited number of pages focusing on American Idol were no disappointment.

One aspect of Clay’s life that has been evident from the beginning is his commitment to children, especially those with special needs. The book chronicles his involvement with the YMCA, which eventually led to his placement as a teacher in a classroom full of autistic children, which in turn led him to study special education in Charlotte and work with Mike Bubel, whose mother suggested he audition for American Idol and would go on to help found the Bubel/Aiken Foundation. Seeing him fall in love with a disenfranchised portion of the population was one of the most inspiring aspects of the book. The effects of his championing these children are staggering. He has become a catalyst, inspiring thousands – maybe millions – to donate their time and money to worthy causes. As one who spent much of his childhood picked on by his peers, Clay now urges everyone to practice tolerance and inclusion.

Clay has managed to reach fans across a broad demographic. Many of his fans come from a Christian background, and sites such as claytonaiken.com, host of one of the first and largest forums dedicated to Clay, dub his faith one of his most laudable characteristics. Clay documents his struggle to remain a role model when fame has handed him opportunities to toss his integrity out the window. “If I’m going to remain a decent human being,” he writes, “it’s really up to me.” But he freely admits he doesn’t smoke, drink, swear or womanize, and it doesn’t appear he has any desire to. He refused to back down when RCA tried to fill his album with lyrics presenting messages that were less than G-rated. He included an overtly religious song – You Were There – in his set list during his first solo tour. But he doesn’t pretend to have all the answers. In spite of his deep faith in God, he became discouraged with church and stopped attending for a time. He wrestles with some of the methods and messages of his fellow Christians. “To me, God is about love, not condemnation,” he writes, striking the perfect balance between his faith and his desire to embrace all people. “I sincerely hope that people whom I love and care about who might be Jewish or Muslim or have different faiths and structure systems than I do also find peace in heaven. And I don’t think it’s my place to tell them they’re not going to.” Amen.

I left the book with a renewed appreciation for the unique, talented, passionate, compassionate gentleman who is Clay Aiken. I can’t wait to see what he does with the rest of his life. Whatever happens, I know that Clay’s time in the spotlight is far from up and the good ripples he causes will continue to expand. “My goal is to be triumphant in using where I am to do something bigger than what I am,” he writes. May God grant him a long and happy life doing just that.

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.

Return of the King One Film to Rule them All

Opening Remarks

All good things must come to an end. So it is with Peter Jackson's exhilarating adaptation of J. R. R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings, and it is indeed a bittersweet parting. While we still have the extended edition to look forward to, the two-year journey - twice the length of the quest itself - has ended. I can only imagine the emotions of those who immersed themselves in this, the finest of worlds, for several years.

But as King Theoden says as he prepares to lead his troops into battle against insurmountable odds, "If this is to be our end, then I would have them make such an end as to be worthy of remembrance!" In this, Jackson and his team have succeeded, meeting and, though it hardly seems possible, exceeding my astronomical expectations.

Picking Up the Slack

My biggest concern for The Return of the King was how they were going to squeeze in nearly half of The Two Towers. I needn't have worried. Though it necessitated some deviation from the book in terms of chronology, scriptwriters Jackson, Fran Walsh, and Phillippa Boyens interwove the crucial scenes of the epic’s final third with admirable skill. As a result of the shift, the most drastic character developments - particularly of the hobbits - are averted to the final film. Although I have spent time speculating on which scenes may be included in the extended cut, at no point did the theatrical version seem to me to be incomplete. In fact, it was the only one of the three films against which I could make no major complaint. Such was the insight of the scriptwriters and the talent of the cast that the changes upheld the integrity of the characters and heightened their emotional impact upon the audience.

The White Wizard

One of the trilogy's most complex and brilliantly acted characters, Gandalf (Ian McKellen) operates on a different plane than the rest of the Fellowship. Although he cannot bring about the destruction of Sauron, he remains the greatest power of good in the trilogy. Each of the films brings with it a new manifestation of this ancient being. In Fellowship, age and the troubles of the world seem to be taking their toll on him. He is bent, frazzled, weary. Awash with uncertainty, he becomes a rather curmudgeonly old man. Towers sees him renewed, elevated to the status of white wizard, blinding in his splendor. It is Gandalf, but he is detached, enveloped in a glowing mystique. He seems more supernatural ally than friend and mentor.

In Return, his personality begins to emerge once more. He is more human, deeply concerned about the fate of Middle Earth and of his friends in particular. Yet the weariness that encased him in Fellowship is absent here. He conjures no great magic in this darkest hour to counteract the forces of evil but stands as a stabilizing force, a calm amidst the storm.

This is the only film in which Gandalf's whereabouts are never in question. We know that his departure from Aragorn takes him directly to Minas Tirith. But he selects for himself an unlikely companion: Peregrin Took, with whom he has lost his patience on numerous occasions. It might even be argued that Pippin was responsible for Gandalf’s fall in Moria, as it was he who alerted the orcs and likely they, in turn, who awakened the balrog. Now, after so many false steps, Pippin has the chance to prove himself to Gandalf, and their developing relationship is one of the most tender aspects of the film.

The Future King

Aragorn (Viggo Mortensen), the monarch to whom the film's title alludes, must now step up and accept his destiny as King of Gondor, meanwhile convincing Theoden to honor the old alliance between Gondor and Rohan and come to Minas Tirith’s aid as it faces attack. So formidable is this foe that Aragorn risks calling upon the legions of dishonored undead to repay their debt by helping to defeat Sauron’s army. His authority established, he leads the troops into one last climactic battle, knowing that no military victory can succeed if Frodo fails in his quest but hoping to keep Sauron's Eye off of Frodo long enough for the task to be completed. His heart is burdened, meanwhile, with the knowledge that Arwen has chosen to seal herself to his fate and will soon die if the Ring is not destroyed.

A Fading Lord

As war rages and his idyllic realm darkens around him, the stoic leader of Rivendell (Hugo Weaving) must come to grips not only with the departure of his people from Middle Earth but with his daughter Arwen's (Liv Tyler) decision to forgo her Elven inheritance in favor of a mortal life with Aragorn. Call me unromantic, but I always found Arwen's choice terribly frustrating. I couldn't imagine turning my back on my people and on immortality for the sake of romance, even with one so noble as Aragorn. But until the films, I never stopped long to ponder the heartache she must have caused Elrond. Weaving brings the subtlest of nuances to this noble Elf Lord, allowing just the tiniest trace of emotion to carve his statuesque features. Yet in those moments, we can see how deep his love for his daughter runs. Of all the elves in Middle Earth, it is he who most moves me.

The Odd Couple

Speaking of elves, He Whose Likeness Must Be Attached To Tweens' Lockers nearly fades into obscurity here. Legolas (Orlando Bloom) elicits a sigh when his eager face and golden tresses grace the screen, but we see little of him beyond the battle scenes. Gimli (John Rhys-Davies) fares a little better, being the gruffer and more talkative of the two, but the pair are easily the least visible remaining members of the Fellowship in this film. The friendship Legolas and Gimli have developed is at the heart of most of their scenes here; in one exchange, when Gimli states his wonderment at the idea of dying fighting alongside an elf, Legolas replies with the query, "How about fighting alongside a friend?" For the most part, though, the elf is silent; I would be willing to bet Bloom had more lines in Pirates of the Caribbean than the whole of Lord of the Rings. However, Legolas provides a good sense of the solemnity and ethereal beauty of the elves, contrasting Gimli's earthiness. He also struts his stuff as a mighty warrior, particularly in one most unTolkienish but captivating stunt; his and Gimli's running tally of felled enemies is an amusing if slightly distracting affirmation of their unusual friendship.

The Steward and his Son

I always liked Faramir (David Wenham), so I was distressed when Towers presented him in such a largely unsympathetic light. Prior to seeing Return, I saw the extended cut of Towers and was pleased to see the Faramir I knew emerge from the added scenes. In Return, Faramir seems sinister no more. Rather, he is an ordinary man living in the shadow of Boromir (Sean Bean), the fallen older brother favored by his father Denethor (John Noble), steward of Gondor. He is desperate to win the love and respect of Denethor, who fears the rumors of Aragorn's return and refuses to acknowledge the inability of his forces to defeat the approaching enemy on their own. Blinded by his determination to break the ranks of also-random, Faramir follows his crazed father's orders to find his efforts a failure once more. One aspect of the novel that is left out of the film is the relationship between Faramir and Eowyn, yet another reason to feel sorry for Faramir; when Eowyn cannot have the man she loves, she settles for Faramir, letting him know yet again that he is second best. Faramir's lifelong misfortune seems to stem from the steward, who comes across as quite a vile character: dour, paranoid, and perfectly willing to tell Faramir to his face that he wishes it had been his younger son who died.

Warrior Princess

Women do not figure largely in Lord of the Rings, but when they appear they certainly make an impact. Frustrated by her inability to play a direct role in the defense of her people, Eowyn (Miranda Otto) has her opportunity to become the soldier her uncle will not allow her to be. Theoden (Bernard Hill) only wishes for his niece's happiness but does not understand that she will never be satisfied with staying behind when there is a battle to be fought. Crushed by the realization that Aragorn's heart lies elsewhere, she pours her energy into readying Merry for battle, only to discover that he, too, is deemed unfit to ride. At once, Merry becomes a metaphor for herself and a fellow outcast. Inspired by his valor, she sneaks the two of them into the ride for Minas Tirith, where both will have the opportunity to prove their worthiness. While her comradeship with Merry is touching, it is around the relationship with her uncle that her shining moment truly revolves.

Nasty Hobbitses

In Fellowship, Gandalf would probably be considered the standout character. In Towers, it is Gollum (Andy Serkis), the centuries-old wretch who "loves and hates the Ring as he loves and hates himself." In the second installment, he is constantly at war with himself; the vindictive Gollum begins to weaken as the gentler Smeagol is awakened by Frodo's empathy. We watch as Frodo painstakingly earns his trust, only to have it shattered when Faramir tricks him into luring Gollum out of the Forbidden Pool to be brutally interrogated. If Gollum was on the road to eventual redemption prior to this, he takes a U-turn in Return. He becomes cruel and conniving, intending to lead the hobbits to the lair of a ravenous spider. Sam, however, proves a stumbling block to his plans, and we see how malevolent Gollum can truly be in one of the trilogy's most wrenching scenes. Yet it is still difficult not to feel pity for this creature, a computer-generated character brought to life with astonishing realism by Serkis and dozens of animators and technicians. We witness his transformation from Smeagol to Gollum and understand the power the Ring holds over him. His life is a tragedy, but it ends in an ironic moment of triumph and the revelation that without Gollum, the quest probably could not have succeeded after all.

Concerning Hobbits

Although the film's title would indicate that Aragorn is the key figure here and that the focus should be upon the epic battle scenes accentuated in the previews, at its heart Tolkien's tale is about peace and the preservation of a simple life. Thus it is that the hobbits are truly the heroes of the trilogy, which Aragorn acknowledges in a most dramatic and inspiring manner. After all, the first step in Tolkien's journey that would eventually lead to the writing of his epic were the words "In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit."

The Bearer of the Ring

Return is a dark time for Frodo (Elijah Wood), who spends the majority of the film under the Ring's growing weight. As a result, he is generally not a pleasant person; indeed, poisoned by Gollum's lies, he turns on the one person without whose devotion he never would have gotten this far. Wood does a fine job of conveying this deterioration, sprinkled with lucid moments filled with guilt and exhaustion. Frodo, too, is a bit of a tragic character, as his experience as Ring bearer leaves him too changed to enjoy the Shire he toiled to save. And yet the result is less sacrifice than reward, a final peaceful voyage fit for one who has endured so much.

Pint-sized Valor

Throughout the trilogy, Merry (Dominic Monaghan) operates largely as a foil to Pippin. Although both are young and mischievous, Merry is slightly more mature and realizes much earlier the gravity of their situation. As his constant companion, he strives to keep Pippin in line but cannot always protect him from his Tookish impetuousness. Early in the film, another of Pippin's foolish whims lands him a fix from which Merry realizes, to his dismay, he cannot extract him. Up to this point, Merry and Pippin have always been together; their separation is touching and traumatic, and Merry's concern for his friend is tangible as Pippin is whisked away to where he cannot follow.

Yet this is also Merry's chance to emerge as the valiant soldier he wishes to become. We catch a glimpse of this spirit in his impassioned speeches to Treebeard and Pippin in Towers, and in Return he takes it one step further by gearing up to fight in Theoden's army. Finding an ally in Eowyn, he has his moment of victory; together they take on a foe against whom it was thought there could be no successful attack. When at last he and Pippin are reunited, it is Pippin who must care for him in the aftermath of battle.

A Fool's Hope

Ah, yes, Pippin (Billy Boyd), that rogue with the brogue who upstaged Sam in Fellowship. In all of literature, I have never found a character with whom I am more in love than Samwise Gamgee. Yet Pippin has always followed close behind. Thanks to the films, I'm afraid I must have divided affections, for it seems that Pippin has caught up. I suppose I can live with that, since Sam is already spoken for...

Although all of the hobbits are innocent prior to their departure from the Shire, Pippin is the embodiment of naivety. Oblivious to the magnitude of danger facing them and possessing an uncanny magnetism toward mischief, he accidentally endangers his companions time and again. Yet he hasn't a malicious bone in his body. Sweet and good-natured, a laugh and a half, and deeply dedicated to his friends, he can hardly help that trouble is always nipping at his heels. Throughout the bulk of the first two movies, he is virtually unaffected by the unfolding chaos around him; although he does display some courage and good sense after his capture by orcs, his adventures don't seem to make him any more careful or careworn.

At the beginning of Return, he is still the happy young hobbit fooling around with Merry and enjoying a bit too much of the South Farthing's best tobacco. But when his curiosity gets the better of him once again, it leads to a terrifying scene in which he comes into direct contact with the Dark Lord himself. Shell-shocked but rapidly recovering, he does not understand what the consequences of his actions will be until the last minute. In the dreadful moment when he realizes he and Merry are about to be separated, possibly never to meet again, he becomes a frightened child, finally torn from his lifelong friend and only link to the Shire. Without Merry, the prospect of home fades into the distance, along with Pippin's innocence.

Yet just as Merry has a chance to show what he's really made of once he's on his own, a more somber Pippin balances out his prior indiscretions under Gandalf's watchful eye. During this unlikely partnership with the wizard so often confounded by Pippin's foolishness, he earns the respect of Gandalf, who twists the term "fool" to the hobbit's benefit in one of their best scenes together. By the end of the film, Gandalf’s affection for Pippin is as apparent as his affection for Frodo has always been. As I said, I've always loved Pippin, but the scriptwriters and Boyd truly let him shine in the films, particularly this third one. And I don't suppose that exquisite accent hurt, either...

Samwise the Brave

So now we come to him, the fiercely loyal hobbit who, to my mind, has always been the true hero of the trilogy. After Fellowship, I was worried that Sam (Sean Astin) would not be given his due, but Return makes up for his inauspicious debut in the trilogy. The beginning of the film finds him with the difficult task of keeping Frodo from succumbing to the Ring's malevolence as they draw closer to Mordor. Making this especially hard is the fact that Gollum, whom Sam still does not trust, continues to lead them onward, and it seems Frodo's loyalties lie more fully at this point with Gollum than with Sam. The heartbreaking reality of this reversal becomes clear when Gollum tricks Frodo into believing that Sam has stolen their provisions and will soon steal the Ring itself. The anguish of Frodo's rejection is nearly too much for Sam, and the audience, to bear.

But he presses on, devoted to Frodo despite the betrayal, summoning all of his courage to come to the Ring bearer's aid. Frodo's strength is nearly spent at this point, his soul so burdened that he cannot even remember what the Shire looks like. It's up to Sam to do what his master cannot, even to the point of bearing the Ring himself when he mistakes Frodo for dead. After leaving the film, my brother and I both agreed that the one scene we would most like to see in the extended edition is Sam's temptation by the Ring once he decides to carry it. Nonetheless, it feels like the right decision to have left it out of the theatrical version, shortening Sam's solo scenes - re-watching the Rankin and Bass version of Return, even I began to get slightly tired of all of Sam's talking to himself - and heightening the tension by not letting the audience know where the Ring is.

Although Lord of the Rings begins as a heroic endeavor on which the selfless Frodo must embark, it is Sam who comes closest to fulfilling his part in the intricate epic. Only a humble hobbit, accustomed to tending gardens and pining after Rosie Cotton, he musters up the resolve to see the quest completed, no matter what the cost. He snatches Frodo from the jaws of death time and time again and lets his strength compensate for Frodo's weakness in the final leg of their journey. Yet for all his grand deeds, he remains the simple fellow who followed Frodo from Hobbiton, and the task falls to him to preserve the Shire's way of life and keep the story of the quest alive. It seems telling that of all the major characters in the trilogy, he is the only one with a name one would encounter in the world today. And ultimately it is plain old Sam who concludes the masterpiece with the most appropriate of afterthoughts, ready to ease the segue into the Fourth Age.

In the Background

I find it ironic that an epic which contains so many allusions to the evils of technology should require such technology in order for it to be translated to the big screen. The film is gorgeously rendered, thanks in part, of course, to the natural beauty of New Zealand, a place I am now most eager to visit. But a blend of many technologies helped the film to achieve its incredible feel of realism and majesty. From the lighting of the signal fires along the mountaintops towards Rohan to the ominous march of the oliphaunts to the arrival of the fleet of undead, the cinematography and special effects worked side by side to create an impeccable whole.

Howard Shore's score enhances the film immeasurably, somehow capturing the feel of each group of characters and occasion. When the familiar strains of In Dreams swell one final time as our friends part company at the most beautiful and bittersweet of endings, the emotional impact is staggering. The soundtrack itself is well worth purchasing.

Many Partings

Return's three and a quarter hours are filled with many emotional partings before the film brings us to the grandest departure of all, a conclusion truly fit for such a magnificent trilogy. Although very few films have caused me to shed tears, this one did on several occasions. But as Gandalf advises his friends as they see him off for the final time, "I will not say do not weep, for not all tears are an evil." The mere memory of some of those scenes mists my eyes all over again. I have heard many complaints that the ending was too lengthy, but I would not omit one moment from the climax to conclusion. We have, after all, invested nine hours in these characters, more if you count the extended editions. Can't we at least stick around long enough to give them a decent farewell?

Final Thoughts

No book will ever hold a greater place in my heart than Lord of the Rings, and as far as I'm concerned, no film or series of films will ever conquer Jackson's adaptation. He brought to life a world I have always loved but never experienced so fully until now, and I salute him and everyone involved. Now, if he could only manage another foray into Middle Earth with The Hobbit. He's taken me there; I want to go back again.

"Well, I Have Two Major Gripes with The Lord of the Rings...

The first is that I wasn't asked to be involved!"

Confessions of a Rabid Tolkienite

A month ago, I never would have thought that by the time we saw my uncle, whose love of Tolkien surpasses even that of my dad, during our Christmas travels, we would not have yet seen the movie which I had anticipated for three long years. I fully expected to be one of those ardent fans lining up outside the theater in a Gandalf costume hours before the first showing. But in the pre-Christmas crunch, we chose patience over fanaticism, and it was two weeks before I stepped into the theater and shared in the conviction of my uncle’s sentiment. A two-fold sentiment: I wish I’d been involved because it was so awesome; I wish I’d been involved because it could have been more awesome. Most Tolkien fans would probably agree.

My uncle flashed a list of grievances he had made during his second viewing of the film, and I believe that most Tolkien purists were compiling lists of their own, whether written or mental, of the most serious deviations from the book. And each list, no doubt, is different. So, keeping in mind the limited amount of time which necessitated many revisions and the impossibility of pleasing all Tolkien fans all the time, I have no reservation whatsoever in giving The Fellowship of the Ring my highest recommendation. My personal grievances are not enough to weigh this movie down.

Hobbiton: When Do I Move In?

Visually, the film could not have been better. I never realized how gorgeous New Zealand is. The Shire is exactly as I imagined it, as are Rivendell and Lothlorien. Sheer visual perfection, from the landscape to the architecture. The less than pleasant places are also impeccable, particularly Moria and the Khazad-dum bridge. I could scarcely keep my eyes on the screen without shuddering. The scenes of Frodo with the Ring on are particularly chilling and effective. Frodo’s mithril coat, the glow of the elves, the magnificent display of fireworks which Gandalf provided, the disgusting orcs and horrifying balrog, the blazing Eye of Sauron... I really don’t see how any of it could have been better. No complaints there.

Can They Pull it Off?

I was worried about the cast. It seems to me that when I first saw the pictures of the cast members on the website, Gandalf (Sir Ian McKellen) was about the only one who looked right. I guess the pictures didn’t do them justice. Not all of the characters looked exactly as I’d pictured them, but they all looked right, despite Frodo’s (Elijah Wood) initial appearance causing deja-vu and hearkening back to Wood’s younger days as Huck Finn. No worries, though; I forgot Huck as soon as Frodo started to speak. And, granted, I’d never pictured Pippin (Billy Boyd) with a Scottish brogue, but it suits him perfectly. Neither did I see hobbits as having pointy ears; did I miss that? I thought that was an elf thing. But it fit. Gandalf conveys power and vulnerability, wisdom and irritability, agelessness and mortality. Aragorn is moody and noble, Borimir well-meaning but weak, Galadriel regal and tortured. The cast is dead on.


Concerning Hobbits

I instantly fell in love with the adorable Pippin, the cheeky scamp who manages to upstage my beloved Sam in the film. The actor playing him nailed him. I get the feeling the director (Peter Jackson) wanted to milk him for all the comic relief he was worth, beginning with an incident involving Merry and fireworks purloined from Gandalf. This was definitely not in the book, but it was enjoyable nonetheless and I couldn’t begrudge the departure. Pippin is definitely the most visible of the three hobbit companions of Frodo. Merry is the least visible. He is Pippin’s companion and little else. More sensible than Pippin but still immature, his personality is about right; he just doesn’t get a whole lot of air time. Their joining up with Frodo is amusing and certainly efficient; it saves a great deal of time to have them stumble across him in Farmer Maggot’s cornfield as they’re stealing his crops. However, it doesn’t say a whole lot about their character. They’re troublemakers from the beginning, and their genuine concern for Frodo is far less evident at this juncture than in the book.

It is Sam (Sean Astin) that upsets me the most. I was more worried about him than anyone else. He is my favorite character in The Lord of the Rings, and it seemed to me that it would be very easy to screw him up. He’s the type of character who could be easily undervalued. And I’m afraid my fears were confirmed. It’s not Astin that bothers me. He did great with what he had to work with. But many of the book’s most emotional moments and lines of most brilliant dialogue involved Sam, and almost all of it was cut for the film. Sam does not dote on Frodo as he should; his contributions are minimal, his personality is smothered.

As soon as I saw Gandalf order Sam to join Frodo on the quest, I knew he would be a disappointment. He shows no inclination to follow Frodo and no excitement at the prospect of seeing elves. His adulation of the mystical beings is mentioned only once, in passing, by Frodo, when Sam tells him in Rivendell that he can’t wait to take off and go home. Wrong! All wrong! And they show Sam releasing Bill the pony outside Moria, but we never see him get Bill in the first place. There’s no mention of Bill Ferny, and Sam’s Radar-esque love of animals is almost entirely ignored. We also don’t know he’s a gardener, and we never hear about the Gaffer, Sam’s beloved father about whom he talks endlessly. He has no poetry, no funny sayings, and not enough depth of feeling. I can only hope that the next movie will make up for it; Frodo and Sam are all alone, so Pippin won’t be able to upstage him this time.

Okay, enough of my hobbit gripes. I can’t complain about Frodo. He’s perfect. My doubts departed very early on. Frodo’s youthfulness is replaced with grim determination, and though his burden is heavy, he never shies away from his duty for more than a moment. Wood’s intense eyes provide windows to Frodo’s soul on several occasions, displaying his struggle against the Ring and his deep concern for those he loves, particularly Bilbo (Sir Ian Holm) and Gandalf. Finally, Bilbo is a pure delight. We don’t get to see him much, which is as it should be, but when he’s around, he’s as charming and witty as the Bilbo I love. From doddering around Bag End trying to convince Gandalf to consume more than just tea to blowing smoke rings, from embracing Frodo to regaling bug-eyed toddlers with his adventures, Bilbo is exactly right. And he gets to say my favorite line of his in the trilogy: “I know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve.” Bravo!

Of Wizards and Men

Gandalf, as I said, is impeccable. I loved him in the beginning especially, reminiscing with Frodo and Bilbo, impressing the children with fireworks, bearing the disapproving glances of the gentry, bumbling about in the comparatively tiny Bag End, and laying down the law when certain hobbits get out of hand. We don’t have The Hobbit to compare him to here, but he conveys a sense of exhaustion which was not present upon his first meeting with Bilbo. He is the clear leader of the Fellowship immediately after Rivendell, and the Fellowship cannot survive long without him. But he is also cantankerous, cursing irritably to himself after hours of failed attempts to open the doors to Moria and withering Pippin with his rage after Pippin’s clumsiness gives away their position.

Saruman (Christopher Lee), too, is most effective. His part is more extensive than it ought to be at this point, but the scene of his betrayal of Gandalf is very impressive. He is calm, cool, and clearly in charge as he oversees the preparations for battle, which include developing Uruk-hai, a human-orc hybrid. Most of all he is cruel, turning his back on the good for which his white cloak stands and embracing the enemy.

Aragorn (Viggo Mortensen) is appropriately dark and brooding. Choosing the life of a ranger over royalty, he is a loner but a leader, instrumental in getting the hobbits from Bree to Rivendell. I missed Frodo’s line at the Prancing Pony, when Aragorn introduces himself as Strider, that a friend of the Enemy would “look fairer and feel fouler” than Strider does. Their meeting is too brief to elicit the necessary trust in this mysterious stranger, especially since there is no letter from Gandalf to corroborate the story. All the same, Aragorn is an impressive figure essential to the Fellowship until the end of the film, when Jackson inexplicably decided to have Aragorn see Frodo leave and let him go. This is very much out of character, and it was the second major gripe my uncle had with the movie.

However, this does allow for a scene involving Borimir (Sean Bean) which does not occur in the book but is very moving. In fact, I prefer this part to the book, as I was never able to react appropriately to the comparable scene in the book. I could never bring myself to like Borimir enough to agree with my dad that his death was the saddest occurrence in the first half of the trilogy. Now I must read it again, with renewed determination to like Borimir. In the movie, it is easy to distrust Borimir and feel fond of him at the same time. His lust for the Ring is borne out of good intentions, and his affection for Merry and Pippin makes it very difficult to dislike him entirely.

Glimmering White and the One Dwarf

Ugh. What was that? The reason I don’t usually subtitle my reviews, I guess... Legolas (Orlando Bloom) and Gimli (John Rhys-Davies) don’t get a whole lot of air time here, Legolas in particular. Both look exactly as I would have pictured them. The stocky dwarf Gimli hides behind an enormously bushy beard and speaks with a gruff Scottish accent. He wields an axe and is fiercely proud of his kinsmen who work in the mines of Moria. Legolas the elf is bright-eyed and slender with long golden hair. He is soft-spoken and gorgeous but deadly with a bow in hand. Both he and Gimli are eager warriors, but they clash because of their prejudices against one another. Though their rivalry contributes to a fistfight in Elrond’s council (not in the book), it doesn’t come to light very often. Their climactic moment of animosity in Lothlorien and ensuing friendship do not carry over to the screen, but I suspect they, too, are developed more fully during the second installment.

Arwen (Liv Tyler) and Galadriel (Cate Blanchett) are very well done. Arwen’s role is bigger here than in the book; she scarcely makes an appearance in the book at all. But she’s only present in Rivendell, and I didn’t mind the increase in her role nearly as much as I thought I would. Besides, it gave me a chance to hear the Elven tongue properly spoken. Anyone who can do that has the nod of approval from me. Lady Galadriel is as ethereal as I had imagined, and her moment of trial with the Ring is terrifying but dead on. My only complaint here is that we didn’t get to see all of the characters’ reactions to her. Most missed is Sam’s, as his interaction with the Lady of the Wood and her mirror is nearly as revealing as Frodo’s. Lord Celeborn (Marton Csokas) looks right, if you’re quick enough to catch him. He’s on the screen for about five seconds. Elrond (Hugo Weaving) looks younger than I would have thought, but his somber face is just what I pictured.

Wrapping it Up...

Had enough? If you’re still with me, you’re probably ready to kill me. I guess I’m making up for lost time here. It’s my come-back review after an unpredictably impossible semester. I promise this isn’t a pattern. It’s just that I have so much to say about this movie, and if this is more in-depth than my review of the actual book, it’s because I have a basis for comparison now. The filmmakers changed a lot, and as a Tolkien devotee I’m going to notice that.

I’m going to note Galadriel’s ten minutes of exposition at the outset of the film, whereas the book began with the preparations for Bilbo’s party and dropped the history bit by bit along the way. I’m going to grumble that Gollum’s history in the film involves his always having been a slimy creature named Gollum, when it seems an important detail that he was originally a hobbit named Smeagol. I’m going to lament the loss of Fatty Bolger, Old Man Willow, and Tom Bombadil... nah, Tom we could do without. But they missed a lot of good stuff in the beginning. I’m going to pine away after Sam’s ballad of Tom and the troll, my favorite song in the book, despite the fact that its only real relevancy is to establish Sam as a poet. I’ll compile a list of grievances a mile long in one lobe of my brain, and in another I will stay riveted to a movie that actually manages to do justice to the finest piece of literature ever written. And when my dad says it just may be the best movie he’s ever seen in his life, I won’t be astonished to hear it.