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TOLKIEN
TRANSCENDED : PETER JACKSON’S RETURN OF THE KING
by
Neil Young
For once, the
global hype is justified: this last and longest instalment of Jackson’s
epic J R R Tolkien adaptation is also, without any doubt, the best of
the three. The Fellowship
of the Ring and The
Two Towers, while far from flawless, were undeniably impressive
achievements. But now we can see that they were (extremely) elaborate
preludes to this spectacular – and spectacularly entertaining –
pay-off. The two main plot-strands – the against-all-odds quest of
hobbits Frodo Baggins (Elijah Wood) and Sam Gamgee (Sean Astin) to destroy
the all-powerful Ring in the fires of Mount Doom, and the great battles
between good (led by Viggo Mortensen’s Aragorn) and evil on the plains
and in the cities of Middle-Earth – finally reconverge at the climax
of a film which is itself one long, thunderous climax.
As before,
Jackson and script-collaborators Fran Walsh and Philippa Boyens can’t
(or perhaps won’t) quite alleviate the welter burden of Tolkien’s semi-intelligible,
mumbo-jumbo-laden, cod-Arthurian/hake-Shakespearian/mackerel-Wagnerian
dialogue. Nor do they water down the the books’ hysterically monarchist,
anti-democratic subtext (as the title implies, it’s all a Restoration
fantasy) which is most crudely expressed* here in the figure of Denethor
(John Noble), ‘steward’ of Gondor in the absence of the territory’s king
(Aragorn). Not being of royal blood, the Cromwell-ish Denethor isn’t just
an unworthy ruler – he’s incompetent, cowardly, decadent… and, worst of
all, a messy eater: we get extreme close-ups of his fruit-guzzling, juice-dribbling
mouth.
This time,
however, it is much easier to overlook the dodgy political angles
that mar so much of the source- material (and if he can do this with
JRRT, incidentally, what on earth is his King Kong going to be
like?). Because, while Jackson is so often held back by his fan-boy fidelity
to Tolkien, he has much more scope than before to let his imagination
run wild - with some truly stunning results. Some striking sequences are
relatively quiet and elegant: a series of warning beacons being lit across
the mountain-tops to warn of impending peril. Others are more operatic
in their sturm-und-drang, including Denethor’s fiery demise – as
he falls in flames from the vertiginous battlements of his snow-white
mountain-side city Minas Tirith, he’s blithely ignored in the tempestuous
wider scheme of things as war rages below: a witty touch that presumably
nods to Brueghel’s Landscape
with Fall of Icarus (as described in Auden’s poem Musee
des beaux arts.)
Jackson’s frame
of reference isn’t usually so high-falutin’, of course: many sequences
involving monsters (including giant-spider Shelob), ghouls (there are
plenty of uglies on both sides this time) and assorted goblins
remind us that he’s fundamentally a horror-movie director with a distinctly
weird, B-horror sensibility. But given a huge budget, an un-improve-able
cast, and astonishing New Zealand locations skilfully augmented by CGI,
he soars to new heights – quite literally so during the ballista-dominated
siege of Minas Tirith, when the camera takes to the air alongside the
pterodactyl-like Fell Beasts (recalling the aerial shots from the fortress-under-siege
sequence in Tarkovsky’s Andrei
Rublev). But it’s during the ensuing centrepiece battle of Pelennor
Fields that Jackson goes into full-tilt overdrive: his jaw-on-floor visuals
(in collaboration with cinematographer Andrew Lesnie and an army of computer
programmers) explode across the screen, exceeding anything previously
attempted in the action/fantasy/war genres.
 Return
of the King makes just as much impact in the ‘smaller’,
character-based moments, however: the showstopping, nonchalant dismount
of elf-archer Legolas (Orlando Bloom) from the mighty ‘oliphaunt’
he’s just slain; warrior-princess Eowyn (Miranda Otto) fearlessly
confronting the seemingly-invincible Witch-King (Lawrence Makoare) at
the frenzied height of the Pelennor battle; Sam tirelessly carrying the
knackered Frodo up the mountain on their journey’s final leg.
Over the course
of these 200 amazing minutes, the director himself displays the graceful
aplomb of a Legolas, the plucky audacity of an Eowyn, the fat-kid-comes-good
endurance of a Sam – not to mention the serene magic of wizard Gandalf
(Ian McKellen), the flinty good humour of dwarf Gimli (John Rhys-Davies)
and the born-to-do-it confidence of king-in-waiting Aragorn. Jackson’s
achievements here set a benchmark against which all future blockbusters
will be measured - and, surely, found severely wanting.
Comparisons
with other stand-alone films aren’t really fair or possible, of course
– The Lord of the Rings must be assessed as one single, unprecedented
work running 560 minutes, but released in three annual chunks because
of commercial requirements and the physical frailties of its human audiences.
This explains why The Return of the King may seems to drag towards
the end – this isn’t just the conclusion of a single film, but
of the whole ginormous trilogy. And as a film, it doesn’t stand alone
– there is no recap of events for audiences who haven’t read
the books or seen episodes one and two.
Even at 200
minutes, there’s also no space for Saruman (Christopher Lee), one
of the main villains in the first two films, nor for ‘lesser baddie’
Wormtongue – only relatively briefly seen in Two Towers, but
a role in which Brad Dourif delivered arguably the trilogy’s finest
single performance. Honours are fairly even this time, though a supporting-actor
Oscar-nomination for Astin wouldn’t be misplaced – it’s
possible to actually interpret the whole trilogy as Sam’s tale: the
story of a young lad who must to perform heroic, globe-trotting deeds
so he can pluck up enough courage to ask a lass out in his local.
Saruman and
Wormtongue may, of course, pop up on the DVD – all three films also
exist in ‘extended versions’ which push the total running time
beyond the ten-hour or 600-minute mark. The trilogy’s enormous running-time,
vast budget and general hugeness are somewhat ironic given the recurrent
David-vs-Goliath theme that runs through so many of the films’ clashes:
time after time, some lumberingly enormous monster or army of evil is
bested by smaller but more nimble and intelligent agents of good. Despite
the bigger-isn’t-better theme, and the conspicuously emphasised prominence
of the tiny hobbit heroes (to whom all, even the King, eventually bow)
The Lord of the Rings is, ironically, something of a colossal behemoth
itself: dauntingly gargantuan in scope, length and ambition.
In terms of
value-per-minute (and outlay), it’s arguable that Peter Greenaway’s
12-minute, hobbit-sized miniature Water Wrackets (1978) –
a deadpan-parodic but dazzlingly original re-imagining of Tolkien’s
world – is actually superior as a film, and certainly closer to Tolkien’s
desire to create an emphatically English (i.e. not Celtic) mythos.
It’s now
available on one of the recent DVDs featuring Greenaway’s early
shorts, but was difficult to see for many years. There’ll be no escaping
The Return of the King for some time, of course - but, if we must
have mega-hyped blockbusters, we might as well have visionary, intelligent,
wonderfully satisfying ones such as this. Best Picture at the Oscars is
the least it deserves. And if, as seems possible, Titanic’s
long reign as all-time box-office champ is usurped, surely no-one will
bedgrudge Peter Jackson his crown.
12th
December, 2003
click
here for Neil’s hobbit-sized review of Return
of the King
* Apparently
the fault here lies more with Jackson than Tolkien: “Denethor got a hatchet
job done on him” according to one
LOTR expert
by Neil
Young
Buy Return of the King
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