Sometimes
I like to see a movie twice; once to watch the movie, and once to
watch the audience. You can learn a lot from watching the audience,
how involved they are, how restless, how they breathe, when they
lean over to talk to each other, when they don't understand something.
I saw
'The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring' once
early in the movie's run, in a packed house, and concentrated on
watching the movie. Watching movies is an uneasy process for me,
since I am observing with a lot of agendas most movie-goers don't
have. I am watching professionally, both as a writer judging a fellow
of the craft and as a worker in the film industry who needs to keep
up on trends and be able to debate points with colleagues and bosses.
Every movie becomes a tool or a weapon whose success or failure
you use to prove your point and defend the movie you want to make.
Every movie is evidence. I also watch with the eye of a teacher
and lecturer and have to keep track of plot points and running times
and earmark potential clips to illustrate ideas I talk about. To
top it off, I'm scanning every movie for points of correspondence
with my theories about the Hero's Journey and the archetypes that
I see pervading everything. I'm especially interested in things
that seem to contradict, plot elements or editing choices that defy
either my perceived patterns or Hollywood's unwritten but standardized
code of story development.
'The
Fellowship of the Ring' is so loaded with Hero's Journey 'evidence'
that I don't need to dwell there. Suffice it to say that reading
the books as a teenager was one of my first experiences of modern-day
myth-making, showing me how a writer could revive the potency of
mythic patterns. When I was trying to work out and systematize those
patterns for myself in my twenties and thirties, 'The Lord of the
Rings' was a major source of orientation, providing vivid examples
of the heroic way stations, such as the selection of the hero in
the Ordinary World, the Call to Adventure, the fateful meeting with
a Mentor, and so on. It's all there, big and obvious, in fact so
obvious that it must have been a worry for the filmmakers. Because
everyone from George Lucas to He-Man, Master of the Universe to
Dungeons and Dragons has been feasting all these years on the archetypal
imagery in LOTR, mining its icons of demons and dwarfs and wizards
with pointy hats, wouldn't it seem, well, a little old hat?
Looks
like it's going to hit $300 million in its first run, so I guess
not. Timing is everything, and they may have been lucky to come
along at a time when the world imagination is bruised by reality
and desperately seems to need the Tiger Balm of myth to ease its
pain. I like to think the movie would have worked at any time because
there was a commitment, in the books and in the faithful adaptation,
to giving depth and dimension to the archetypes that have been turned
into clichés by other hands.
What
was interesting was how the movie seems to challenge some of the
unwritten rules of Hollywood development. These are truisms that
everyone quickly learns and, most of the time, they are true and
useful, but like any convention they can stultify creativity. There
will always be an embattled borderline between common sense and
artistic risk-taking.
It's
hard to imagine 'The Fellowship of the Ring' surviving a conventional
Hollywood development meeting. For one thing, it doesn't have a
happy ending' and, in fact, leaves matters unresolved in a way that
is quite risky. The filmmakers are gambling that people are willing
to wait two years to resolve an overall dramatic question: Will
Frodo resist temptation and survive Orc attacks to fulfill his mission?
It's more radical than the story links that Lucas plants in the
'Star Wars' movies, like Darth Vader surviving the Death Star battle
or Luke Skywalker getting a wink from Princess Leia that lets you
know there'll be a sequel.
Lucas
ends each movie on an upbeat, celebratory note, evoking a sense
of community or group spirit. By contrast, at the end of 'Fellowship,'
the heroic team is scattered and grieving, the principal hero isolated
and uncertain. Not the sort of thing that reassures movie executives.
I can hear the dialogue in the story meeting: 'The characters keep
talking about this place Mordor for 125 pages, and you're telling
me we don't even get there until the third movie?!'
Another
element that would have provoked vigorous objections in a story
meeting is the fact that there are two of everything. What I noticed
on the first viewing was how polarized this story is, how shot through
with duality, pairing and twinning. It's not only split into the
two obvious camps of good and evil, but further polarized into pairs
and twins at every level, the ultimate buddy picture.
There
are two pairs of Hobbit adventurers, two lanky-haired human warrior
nobles, two white-bearded wizards, two races of monstrous Orc warriors,
two otherworldly women and two elaborate sets depicting shimmering
Elvish dreamworlds. Even the taciturn elf Legolas and the sputtering
dwarf Gimli make a Mutt and Jeff pairing of opposites. All this
doubling would probably be the first thing the execs would want
to change. 'Hm. We have two of everything. Why don't we combine
the two human warriors into one guy? And just have one girl. And
one monster. And one set.'
Thankfully
the development of 'The Lord of the Rings' went on mostly outside
the Hollywood arena, for doubling and twinning have their value.
Ask Buñuel, ask Hitchcock. In movies like 'That Obscure Object
of Desire' or 'Strangers on a Train,' they used doppelgangers to
give resonance and a sense of life's mystery to their works. Polarization
and doubling are great engines of conflict, allowing the audience
to experience contrasting reactions by different characters to the
same situation and tugging on conflicting drives and desires within
each person viewing the story.
Hollywood's
cookie-cutter narrative conventions don't apply when a film has
a broader vision. The fellowship of artists and craftspeople bringing
forth this version of 'The Lord of the Rings' are working, like
Lucas in the 'Star Wars' movies, on an epic canvas. An epic is a
series of adventures linked together by a single great struggle
or quest, some unanswered question weaving many threads of narrative
into a coherent tapestry that will bear being told over a long period
of time. Repetition, doubling, twinning, echoing and mirroring are
the instruments of epic, bringing out the music and magic power
of names and probing the mysteries of identity. Hollywood thinking
may say the doubling is redundant, but an epic marches to a different
heartbeat.
The
episodes or chapters of an epic like 'The Lord of the Rings' may
not require the usual neatly wrapped, but often sterile, resolution
of Hollywood conventional thinking. The filmmakers are signaling
the audience that it's going to be a long ride with a bigger vision
than a single blockbuster Friday night opening.
Wait;
doesn't this long-term storytelling fly in the face of the famous
short attention span of modern audiences? Don't they want instant
gratification? Maybe the impatient choppiness of current entertainment
and the breathless pace of technology have generated a desire for
something to countervail, something patient and deep, something
willing to work in you over a long time, something to link the parts
of your life. It will take three Christmas seasons to unfold the
full epic of 'Lord of the Rings' and with 'Star Wars,' most of our
lifetimes. Audiences, young and old, are saying 'That's OK. We like
that once in awhile.' There's something reassuring about the artist
who thinks we're going to live long enough to enjoy all this story
in the post 9/11 world.
The
repetition, the doubling and the long strands of interconnected
narrative all mean something. They say that life is a series of
cycles, and that we will likely meet the same kinds of archetypal
guardians, opponents and allies at various stages along the way.
But the nature of the conflicts changes as you age and grow over
the span of an epic. Reading 'The Lord of the Rings' in my 20s,
I was inspired by its idealism, but also terrified by its vision
of middle life and old age as a patient, plodding struggle against
the mundane grinding of evil. Seeing the movie meant something else
to me from my current perspective, around the corner of age fifty,
reminding me that the raw intensity of youthful dreams still has
purity and power. At the same time, I felt the death of comrades
in the movie keenly, for comrades have started to fall around me,
and I looked to the story for the courage to continue the struggle
without them.
Like
any good mythic cycle, J. R. R. Tolkien's 'The Lord of the Rings'
keeps drawing parallels appropriate to every time and place. In
creating the story, Tolkien was reacting to the hammer blows of
industrial revolution and world war on his beloved English countryside.
In the 1950s, the books seemed like a prediction of the uneasy struggles
of the Cold War, and in later decades, strangely reflected both
the trippy odysseys of many hippies and the harrowing battle experience
of grunts in Vietnam. Today, the first installment of the movie
version resonates with the titanic, polarizing struggle against
terrorism and, like the events of September 11, invites consideration
of what's human, heroic and evil in our fellow man. The image of
the Twin Towers shadows the movie (and all movies for awhile) like
a ghost, forcefully brought to mind by the looming presence of Saruman's
dark tower, a true axis of evil. Eerily, Tolkien titled the second
book in his trilogy 'The Two Towers,' providing the title for the
next movie episode that will come out this December.
My
first viewing of 'The Fellowship of the Ring' had another impact
on me, quite a physical one. It gave me a complete spinal adjustment;
so bone-shakingly righteous was the battle against the monsters
in the depths of Moria Mines. I actually felt my vertebrae snapping
into alignment, making eight bucks admission seem like a bargain
compared to a session with the chiropractor. It was the most physical
catharsis I've had in the movies in years.
I depend
a lot on bodily reactions to evaluate a movie or a script. My mentor,
popularizer of myth Joseph Campbell, used to say the archetypes,
symbols and narrative patterns of myth operate on the organs of
the body, triggering physiological reactions. When I had to evaluate
a great many scripts as part of the studio assembly line, I depended
on my body to tell me whether the thing was any good or not. My
criterion became 'It must stimulate two organs of my body to get
a positive recommendation' and when I reported verbally to executives
on scripts I'd read, I would describe its physical effect on me
-- it made my blood run cold, it made my heart pound, I choked up,
I laughed out loud, etc.
So,
hoping for another spinal crack, I came back a second time later
in the run of the movie, but, instead of a lumbar release, I got
to see how the movie was playing for young American manhood. This
was my viewing to watch the audience.
The
theatre was empty but for me and a scattering of young males, who
reflected the ethnic diversity of Los Angeles, prime cannon fodder
for the war against terrorism. I sensed they were either just out
of the military or thinking about signing up; there was a certain
professionalism about their running critique of the movie.
Since
it was just us guys in the theatre, they felt free to loosen up
and react loudly and enthusiastically; in short, they were a good
audience. It's as close as I can get in L.A. to the conviviality
and involvement of a pre-Giuliani 42nd Street grind house where
the audience talked back to Clint Eastwood and Sly Stallone.
With
warrior eyes, the eyes of young men who had survived the streets
of L.A., my audience rated the weapons and tactics of the little
band of brothers on the screen. The Elf Legolas, looking like a
slender surfer dude, got top marks for his awesome archery, handling
his bow like a machine gun and even flinging an arrow bare-handed
in a pinch. A good man to have on your squad. They gave Boromir
his props for the way he went down fighting impossible odds, like
Roland in the pass of Roncesvalles or the doomed Rangers in Mogadishu.
My
fellow movie-goers weren't just hooting and hollering through the
battles, however. They were struck to respectful silence by the
spell of Elvish magic and the ethereal radiance of the two Elf women,
Arwen and Galadriel, portraits of idealized womanhood such as Henry
V's knights would paint on the inner surface of their shields. When
the gallant Arwen defied the Ringwraiths at the river crossing,
the young could-be warriors in the darkened theatre had to furtively
dab the corners of their eyes. Tears fell again as Samwise Gamgee
grieved over his comrades' capture and death and the utter failure
of his mission. The characters of fantasy didn't seem so distant
from the lives and emotions of these young men, who might soon be
facing opponents no less dangerous than those on the screen. Clearly,
the revival of Tolkien's mythic creation in this time of terrorism
was serving the purpose the myths have always served, to present
role models and ideals, to give signal lessons in tragedy and triumph,
to give orientation and anchorage in the stormy seas of
life. It's also a pretty good manual of close combat at the squad
level. My audience might have been escaping into a fantasy, but
they also were drinking up this stuff with an eye on reality, looking
for ways to carry themselves in battle and on the street.
'The
Lord of the Rings' speaks of vast conflict and shattering polarization,
but tells us there is power too in unity, and that behind the masks
of dualism we are one. People of good will can band together like
the heroes of the tale, putting aside differences in common cause,
trying to make the world a little better despite immense forces
to the contrary. Against darkness and apparent evil, we have the
shield of fellowship and the comfort of unity and community.
As
the legend says, 'One Ring to rule them all and in the darkness
bind them.' We were certainly bound in the darkness, me and that
afternoon's audience for the first chapter of 'The Lord of the Rings,'
fellow travelers on a long journey together, seeking meaning for
our shadowed world in the mirror of a myth, just as humans have
always done.
Source:
http://www.writersstore.com/article.php?article_id=82
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