Falling In Love With A Totally New Hobbit

One of the seminal events of my life was when a friend loaned me his paperback copy of The Hobbit in Junior High.  While I had read Fantasy novels before, J. R. R. Tolkien’s story was wholly different from anything I had encountered before.  One of the first things I did, after I finished the book and gave it back to him, was buy my own copy.  Then I read it again.

Perhaps because the story remains so precious to me, I felt somewhat reluctant to see "The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey" in the cinema.  This is nothing against Peter Jackson: I had, for the most part, enjoyed his adaptations of The Lord of the Rings.  Of all the filmmakers out there, he was the one I most trusted to bring Tolkien’s story to the big screen.  Yet I told myself not to expect too much from the adaptation, and put off seeing it. 

Sitting in the cinema, there were aspects of the movie I loved, such as the look of Bilbo’s house and Hobbiton.  I loved the way Jackson brought the dwarves to life, giving them each their own personalities.  I loved the way he way he captured the silliness of the dwarves’ song as they hurled Bilbo’s precious plates and saucers while they clean up after themselves.  I loved the visual scope of Bilbo, Gandalf, and the dwarves journey across the incredible landscape of Middle Earth (which some insist is really New Zealand). 

Yet, there were also aspects that kept me at a distance from the movie as I watched it.  By adding so much to the story, it seemed as if Jackson slowed the pace to a crawl.  Perhaps because I saw it in 2D, or because it had been filmed at 48 frames per second, I felt like I was seeing too much: every scene looked like it was taking place on a set, and refused to blend into the background.  He added extra characters and situations that I didn’t remember, that made the movie darker, and more in keeping with the tone of The Lord of the Rings.  But most of all, I kept on expecting certain scenes to play out a given way, only for the characters to surprise me, and resolve the momentary conflict in a different fashion.  I couldn’t believe my memory of those scenes was faulty: clearly Jackson was tinkering with Tolkien’s story, changing those precious moments in a way he felt superior for moviegoers.

How dare he tamper with Tolkienian perfection!

Although I wasn’t anxious to see it again, my wife asked for "The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey" for her birthday.  As we don’t have a 3D TV or Blu-ray player, we watched the 2D version of the film.  With this second viewing, I found that everything I loved about the movie remained the same, yet those aspects I had disliked faded away.  The pace seemed well adjusted to the story, and the additional scenes and characters, no doubt drawn from sources such as The Silmarillion, blended better into the overall story.  Likewise, the foregrounds and backgrounds blended together on my smaller screen, so I no longer felt as if I were watching actors on a physical set.  Most important, this time I found myself more accepting of the different way certain key scenes played out (at least from the way I remember them). 

I don’t know why, but sometimes aspects of a movie I disliked at first fade away with a repeated viewing.  If you love the novel, but experienced a similar reaction to "The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey" in the cinema, I suggest that you try a second viewing.  Perhaps, like me, you’ll find you enjoy it more the second time around.  As for me, watching the movie again made me want to read The Hobbit again.  I don’t think I will, because I don’t want to be comparing the novel with the second and third films while in the cinema, but now I feel drawn to make that second attempt at (and actually read all the way through) The Silmarillion.  I also want to read Terry Brooks’ High Fantasy novels again, like The Sword of Shannara.  Ooh, and I’d also like to reread Jim C. Hines' humorous Goblin trilogy, and…

Dragon Dave

The Power of a Beloved Name

During our recent vacation, we stayed in St. Pete Beach, a resort town on Florida’s gulf coast.  In order to get anywhere, we had to drive through a number of towns.  The one we passed through most was South Pasadena.  Now, this name is evocative for me, as my grandparents attended a church in South Pasadena, California when I was growing up, and it was a special place, filled with great people.  In my time there, I gained friendships that lasted for years, and a few that still stand today. 

As we drove along, I noticed that most of the signs for streets, hospitals, schools, and businesses had Pasadena in the title, not South Pasadena.  I found this even more evocative, as my grandparents lived in Pasadena while I was growing up, and I remember their house as a place of warmth, contentment, and love.  Despite everything else that changed during my childhood, their home remained my special place, and spending time with my grandparents during the summer the best vacation I could imagine. 

Suddenly, with so many signs proclaiming Pasadena, I thought, “I should take a few photographs to share with my mother.”  Soon I was hunting down any example of Pasadena-this-or-that that didn’t flash past too quickly for my camera’s shutter.  I was smiling as I hunted down any building or signage containing Pasadena.  So what if most of the pictures didn’t turn out: I was having a blast!  Later on, I realized that my mother probably had little interest in seeing these photographs: really, I had taken them for the pleasure of doing so.  While it would be easy to dismiss my actions as temporary insanity (or an indication of a permanently unbalanced mind), I have to think that what really prompted my actions was the tremendous power of a familiar, beloved name.

Like Nicholas Meyer (in yesterday’s blog), I sometimes wonder why TV or movies portray a cherished fictional character in a particular manner.  Occasionally, the portrayal veers so far from the original conception, or my favorite adaptation, that watching this new version makes me depressed or angry.  In the instances that the latter incarnation proves popular, this makes me feel alone and unwanted. Yet, even if the character or story portrayal is the opposite of the way I believe it should be, I try to be tolerant of those adaptations.  For one of the signs that a given character or story is important to humanity is its ability to survive so many reinterpretations, and emerge just as vibrant and popular as the original portrayal.  To quote Zach Snyder, the director of this year’s upcoming movie “Man of Steel:” “Superman is still the greatest superhero, no doubt.  Our job is to make him even greater by finding the version of him that we want and need now.”  (Entertainment Weekly Issue #1242, January 18, 2013)  Or, as Nicholas Meyer said in his article for the Los Angeles Review of Books, each portrayal of a fictional character “is informed by the form and pressure of the age in which he lives, what society values or condemns or overlooks.”

All of us are individuals, and our tastes will occasionally diverge from the norm.  When it comes to a character or story we really care about it, it’s easy to cry, “Please, don’t change it.  Keep adhere to the portrayal I like the best!”  But forms and archetypes don’t exist solely to serve individuals.  They serve societies as well.  As painful as it may be, we sometimes need to step back, look around us, and say, “If that’s what others need to make it through the day, and to empower them to benefit their world, then fine.  Best of luck to them.”

Otherwise, the relentless tide of life will roll over us, crushing and shattering us like statues made of glass. 

Dragon Dave