MACARONI # 62     Spring 2004

Film

I read the Tolkien trilogy as a teenager—in fact, it was the first book that I can recall becoming deeply immersed in—and I therefore consider myself sympathetic to that world. Yet at this late date I can no longer remeber much about either the tone or the details of the book. I approached the films, therefore, much as any other sympathetic “outsider” would, and I came away both pleased and entertained.

This is perhaps a slight understatement. Before viewing the second installment I watched the first part again on tape, to refresh my memory; and when the third part arrived in the theaters I watched the extended version of the second part again, and also the two-DVD “making of” material. The next day, after seeing the last installment, I thought it might be interesting to see the first part all over again, where the pre-history of the region is cryptically related. It was. This made for a heavy Lord of the Rings weekend, though I wasn't bored for even an instant. I'm not sure it qualifies me as a true-blue fan.

The world of LOTR, like that of Saint Simon's Memoirs, Wagner's Ring Cycle, or Don Quixote, that is so vast, sprawling, and fully realized that it's easy to spend time there—lots of time—without becoming overly concerned about the quality or the significance of the tale itself. And it is to the credit of Peter Jackson and his associates that he has brought a story to life on screen that effectively conveys the grandeur and intricacy of the original. The most serious criticism that I've heard leveled against the film version by serious fans is that it largely lacks the book's songful, poetic, frolicking Tom Bombidil aspect. On the other hand, even the most dyed-in-the-wool fans are willing to admit that in some ways the restructuring of the narrative strengthens the tale's coherence and flow. The music is lovely, the landscapes are stunning, the sets are magnificent, and the special effects are beyond criticism. In fact, it's not easy to imagine anyone making a fantasy of comparable length and quality for a long time to come. If there is a single criticism that gnaws at the back of the mind as we watch this titanic conflict unfold, it lies less in specific qualities of the film itself,   than in the very nature and potentialities of the genre.

The pleasures of a fantasy derive to some degree from the magical, fairy-like atmosphere in which it takes place, where hard questions remain unasked, and moral complexities and conundrums take a back seat to improbable coincidences, death-defying escapes, undying fortitude against all odds, erotic enchantment, talking animals and trees, bizarre metamorphoses, and abrupt, unexpected twists of fate. Fantasy can also draw upon a battery of images—fountains, roses, deep dark forests—that evoke pleasantly elusive subconscious meanings. Even at its worst, fantasy can still be appealing on the sensual level, while providing a backdrop for personal qualities—fortitude, self-sacrifice, etc.— that often stand out most clearly in situations where good and evil are easy to distinguish.

What fantasy can't do is bring us into the thornier realms of real life, where the stuff of genuine tragedy, for example, is to be found. This is why a film like LOTR must take its place in a category alongside The Adventures of Robin Hood and The Count of Monte Cristo, rather than Unforgiven or Shindler's List .

There is a good deal of good-and-evil talk in LOTR, of course, but it remains on a primitive Manachean level. As near as I can make out, some very powerful somebodies made a bunch of power rings long ago, some of which were lost or stolen or poorly distributed, and especially the ring of rings, which eventually fell into the hands of a mild-mannered little creature named Golem. This very powerful ring has a mind of its own, and it wants to return to its maker. If this happens, however, the world is doomed. Yet anyone who happens to possess the ring for any length of time is driven into frenzies of power lust. To save the world, the ring must be destroyed, by being cast into the fires of a barren and distasteful realm called Mordor (which is where it came from) but who could possibly carry out the task without turning from the purpose in pursuit of personal gain? No one, evidently, except an unusually agreeable Hobbit named Frodo.

Meanwhile, there are kings who don't want to be king, immortal elves who want to quit the scene entirely, good wizards who inexplicably join the ranks of the evil forces, and in general, very few good bets to save the earth from destruction. What does it all mean? That power is evil and the best hope for mankind lies in antique trees and innocent Shire-folk who smoke a delightful weed and giggle a lot?

I for one, don't buy this premise, and I'm not entirely satisfied with a plot built around a hero who's only goal is to toss something into a volcano, rather than to build something new. But there is no need for us to ponder the subtle valences of the story's underlying structure. The beauty, drama, and intricacy of the film as it develops offers more than enough to hold our interest, and stories of this kind, which are rooted in a kind of manufactured mythology, benefit from both the evokative haziness of the dim past and the lurking presence of things wicked and incomprehensible.

LOTR takes cinema to new levels of fantasy, adventure, pageantry, and the Arthurian-style romance which is mostly battles and parting kisses. I'm sure I'll watch the whole thing again some long winter evening, and be no less mesmerized than the first time around.

   Now that I've finished casting aspersions on the underlying structure of LOTR, I must come clean and admit that I spent the winter avoiding a long line of heavy gut-wrenching films with awesome performances by the Hollywood elite. (LOTR had no awesome performances by anyone, nor were any required.) I simply had no real desire, for example,   to see a film about a slovenly prostitute who murders twenty or thirty of her customers. ( Monster ) Nor did that film about murder and child abuse in Boston intrigue me much. (Mystic River ) The heart-transplant patient who murders the guy who murdered the guy who provided him with a heart didn't really tickle my fancy. ( Twenty-One Grams .)   I certainly had no desire to expose myself to Mel Gibson's version of the Easter story. ( The Passion .) And somehow the thought of Jude Law, Rene Zelwiger, and Nicole Kidman in a CIVIL WAR drama sounded just a little too bizarre. What's more, no one I know gave me any strong indication that any of these films were essential viewing.

  Thus, my year in films ended in a vacuous tangle of idle thoughts about the relative merits of two films about ships, Pirates of the Caribbean and Captains & Commander , and of two films starring Scarlett Johanson, Lost in Translation and Girl with a Pearl Earring .

Lost in Translation appeared on more ten-best lists last year than did any other film by a wide margin (321 to Return of the King 's 277). I went to see it with three friends one afternoon in January, when the hype was still fairly moderate, and of the four of us walking back to the parking ramp after the show I was the only one who liked it even a little. It struck me as pleasantly moody and intermittently funny, but largely lacking in substance. I found it difficult to believe that a young woman with a degree in philosophy from Yale would find it so difficult to think of things to do in one of the world's largest cities, and I also found the ennui of an actor who's making 2.5 million dollars for a one-week shoot a little hard to take. With that kind of money he could become chief administrator of his own charitable foundation, and revivify his self-esteem in an instant.

  Defenders of the film say “Well, she was lonely. Well, his wife was a schrew.” This is where the weakness of the screenplay, which advances these premises with only a few mechanical and unconvincing episodes, becomes glaring. For the most part our interest is sustained only by Scarlett Johannson's shrewd and enigmatic beauty (convincing) and Bill Murray's laconic and self-pitying dolor (unconvincing.) It's easy to see why Murray would have been intrigued by the part—his own career has been largely headed downhill since an Oscar-caliber performance as the stoned greens-keeper in Caddyshack . Here he does well in the widely scattered comic moments, but for the rest he remains simply, well ....Bill Murray.

  Johannson was good in Lost in Translation, but she was better, I think, in Girl with a Pearl Earring . This film meticulously recreates the ambiance of a seventeenth century Dutch town, and the household of a talented painter by the name of Vermeer. Once again the central pull of the drama is between an older man and a younger woman, but that relationship takes a back seat to the artist's obsessive interest in beauty and light.   Vermeer's relations with his wife have long since receded even further into the background of his awareness, and the innocent young servant, dependent on the family for her livelihood, becomes the center of a heated family melodrama. Colin Firth, who plays Vermeer, doesn't have quite the intensity to flesh out the role of the irascible genius convincingly, and several other parts of the story remain unduly sketchy, but considered as a whole, the film is a subtle and unusual little gem.

Master & Commander is a film that I'm temped to describe as flawless. A gripping tale, a good story well told, a meticulous recreation of sea-faring life in the Napoleanic era. Four or five interesting and well-drawn characters, nerve-wracking battles and storms at sea. There are no women in the film, which may count as a defect, and give the film a vaguely hollow or unsatisfying flavor in retrospect. On the other hand, I half-expected to win a special technical award for advances in the representation of flying wood-chips!

Pirates of the Caribbean , on the other hand, is a Saturday matinee kind of film, with plenty of comedy, romance, and daring-do. In times to come cineastes may find it curious that Johnny Depp received a Best Actor nomination for his role here as the drunken pirate, while Russell Crowe was overlooked as the master and commander of the powerful Peter Weir creation. Pirates also suffers, as do most modern films, from a kind of cinematic diarrhea that stretches every good scene ten minutes longer than necessary—the director should have watched Captain Blood a few times before arriving on the set. That having been granted, there is still plenty of material for a rousing good time.

In America is a little film with a big emotional impact. A couple with two small girls moves to New York City from Ireland, and rents an apartment in a building full of junkies and ex-convicts. This may sound a little grim, but the film is largely made up of pleasant and incidental events involving home decorating, Halloween parties, acting auditions, circus games, air-conditioners, and the scary black man who lives downstairs. In fact, the less than sunny tone of the family's daily life is attributable less to their somewhat insalubrious surroundings than to the unshakeable shadow of a son who died a few years ago. The two girls (sisters in real life) are splendid, their ostensibly cheerful and optimistic father is very life-like, and Samantha Morton is outstanding as the mom.

Love, Actually is a blatantly--I might even say an aggressively--feel-good film, and it's pleasant stuff, for the most part. Big British stars, multiple plot-lines, holiday emotions. The director is actually so intent on avoiding dull patches that the film seems a little keyed-up at times, while most of the stories remain a little thin in texture. Solution? Remove the episode of the innocent porno pair and devote greater time to the most dramatic of the threads--with Alan Rickman cheating on his wife Emma Thompson in a somewhat inexplicable fit of absent-mindedness.

But no recent feel-good film can compare in impact with Touching the Void. Two young men attempt to climb a difficult face in the Peruvian Andes, and the enterprise ends in disaster. We know they make it out alive--they're being interviewed on camera--but the experience is grueling to watch all the same, and this, it seems to me, is a beautiful testament to both the power of images and the natural capacity of human beings to empathize.