From The Imaginative Conservative
By Joseph Pearce
I’ve just completed the sixteen-hour marathon, run over three consecutive Tuesday evenings at a friend’s house, watching all three extended editions of Peter Jackson’s movie magnum opus, The Lord of the Rings. I’ve already shared my impressions of watching The Fellowship of the Ring and The Two Towers for the first time in possibly ten years or more, perhaps longer. Now, on the morning after The Return of the King, I’m processing my impressions of the third and final film.
Once again, and to my surprise, it was
the extramural interpolations of Mr. Jackson and his co-writers which
caught my attention and stole the show. The interwoven subplot of
Aragorn’s betrothal to Arwen was handled dexterously and decorously,
centred on the question of whether Arwen would choose to depart for the
Undying Lands with her elven kinsfolk, thereby leaving Aragorn, or
whether she would choose “death,” to use her father’s words, by
remaining in Middle-earth, in the realm of mere mortals, exiled forever
from her kin but united with Aragorn in marriage until Aragorn’s
inevitable death parted them. This “will she or won’t she” subplot added
emotional depth to the story and heightened the viewer’s awareness of
Aragorn’s loyalty and chastity, particularly in the manner in which he
conquered his evident attraction to the infatuated Éowyn, remaining
loyal to his love for Arwen in spite of his belief that she had chosen
to depart for the Undying Lands.
The most powerful of these extramural
moments was Arwen’s vision of an older Aragorn playing joyously with
their future son, a son who would never be given the gift of life should
Arwen choose to leave Middle-earth with her kinsfolk. The moment when
the unborn child looks directly at the mother who might choose to refuse
to conceive him is one of the most striking pro-life images that I’ve
ever seen on screen.
A further extramural aspect of The Return of the King is
the wonderful Pre-Raphaelite cinematography with respect to the manner
in which Arwen’s dilemma is presented. In one particular scene, she
looks strikingly like Sir John Everett Millais’ Mariana, robed
in mediaeval dress, amidst gloriously golden autumn leaves, looking
longingly for the love from whom she is separated. Whether this was
intentional on Mr. Jackson’s part, the intertextual connection between
Arwen and the character depicted by Shakespeare in Measure for Measure
and by Tennyson in his poem, “Mariana,” which had inspired Millais’
masterpiece, is striking, though the roguish man to whom Mariana is
betrothed is almost the antithesis of the noble and chaste Aragorn.
If the subplot between Aragorn and Arwen
is handled well, the same cannot be said of that between Aragorn and
Éowyn. Whereas I had very much enjoyed the way that Éowyn’s role is
depicted in The Two Towers, the sexual tension or “chemistry”
between the yet-to-be-crowned king and the infatuated shieldmaiden of
Rohan is often clunky and even verging on schmaltzy in Mr. Jackson’s The Return of the King. Particularly noticeable is the absence of the dignitas, gravitas,
and restraint that Tolkien employs in the dialogue between these two
characters, an aesthetic sin of omission, which is truly reprehensible.
Take, for instance, Tolkien’s handling of the moment when Aragorn
informs Éowyn that he intends to take the Paths of the Dead. Éowyn
stares at him “as one that is stricken.” Believing that Aragorn is going
to certain death in taking such a path, she asks nonetheless, her eyes
“on fire,” whether she can ride with him.
“Your duty is with your people,” Aragorn replies.
“Too often have I heard of duty,” she exclaims bitterly. “May I not now spend my life as I will?”
“Few may do that with honour,” says Aragorn.
What a perfect response! Indeed, what a
perfect riposte to all those who demand their rights over their
responsibilities, doing their “own thing” to the detriment of the common
good.
Then comes one of my favourite parts of
the whole book. When Aragorn tells Éowyn that she has “no errand to the
South,” she replies that neither do the others whom Aragorn has
permitted to accompany him. “They go only because they would not be
parted from thee – because they love thee.” She then turns and vanishes
into the night. We know that what she has just said, without actually
saying it, is that “I would go with thee because I would not be parted from thee – because I love thee.” The power and the glory, and the repressed passion and tension, is in what is not
said but which we know she is saying. This would have made for a
perfectly marvelous and poignant scene in Mr. Jackson’s movie but,
instead, we are given dialogue between the two that is relatively trite
and poorly written compared with the literary strokes of the master
storyteller.
Whilst I’m griping, succumbing to the
spirit of invective, it must be said that Mr. Jackson overdoes the
cliffhangers, literally. There are far too many scenes of hobbits
hanging precariously from cliffs. Such scenes have power in moderation
but become mere melodrama when employed too liberally. The same can be
said of the use of computer graphics, which very quickly become the most
dated aspects of the film; the up-to-date quickly becoming out-of-date
as newer technology supplants its antiquated forebears. One example is
the ridiculous episode in which Legolas singlehandedly takes down an
Oliphaunt in a manner that looks more Mickey Mouse than Middle-earth.
Such reservations aside, The Return of the King deserves its status as a movie masterpiece, alongside the other two films.
Let’s conclude with the joy of the happy
ending, or what Tolkien called the eucatastrophe, which is not the
departure of Frodo and Bilbo to the Undying Lands, a scene which is
tinged with melancholy, but with Sam’s return home to the Shire. As he
gets home, his daughter runs to greet him, and she is soon joined by his
wife, Rosie, who is holding their baby son in her arms. They would go
on to have thirteen children. The film ends therefore with the happy
family smiling at the camera, a pro-life tableau which shows, as Sam
tells us himself in one of the darkest moments of the story, that “above
all shadows rides the sun.”
This essay is the third in a series on Peter Jackson’s cinematic adaptations of The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien. The first can be read here, and the second here.
Editor’s Note: The featured image is a still from The Return of the King (2003), and has been slightly modified for color.
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