Return of the King (2003), d. Peter Jackson.
I know, I know. In a film translation from literature to cinema. never let your memory of the book sully the movie. I thought I could do that. Honest. I only whined a little bit about Two Towers, and just the teeniest bit about Fellowship, but, alas, it's impossible for me to do so about Peter Jackson's version of the third book in the Lord of the Rings trilogy, the Return of the King.
Don't be mistaken by my negative tone. This film is a marvelous achievement. As spectacle, it's as grand as it gets. It's a technical wonder. It has great performances. Wonderful scenery. And I loved the first two movies. Yet for some reason it just didn't work for me as well as either Fellowship or Two Towers. It has a lot of wonders, but there are also a lot of little things that niggle at me.
Let's start with the good stuff. You know the part that I loved most in Return of the King? Bernard Hill, magnificent as ever as Théoden King, standing before his army, giving the "sword day/red day" speech, and knocking each of the spears in turn as he parades. Wow. It's a moment of grand emotion that just clicks perfectly. When the disguised Eowyn shouted ?death!? I wanted to scream it too. This is an absolutely amazing scene.
So where's the problem? It's in the set-up. In the book, the Ride of the Rohirrim at the start of the Battle of the Pelennor isn't a great scene; it's one of the high points of the narrative. This is what every single guy in Gondor has been asking Gandalf and Pippin since they arrived in Minas Tirith: "when is Rohan arriving?" In Chapters One and Three, that's pretty much all that people say. Unfortunately, in the film, no one asks it. Why? Because we don't get to really know anyone in Minas Tirith. No one except Denethor and Faramir. As a result, we don't get a sense of the stakes, or what the people have invested in the arrival of the Rohirrim. I never would have guessed that the one character I'd miss most from the books would be Beregond. Never. But there's a great big hole in the heart of Return of the King, and Beregond and the other missing people of Gondor are at the heart of it.
Worse, the arrival of the Rohirrim are no longer a desperately looked for event, but pretty much turn up uninvited after Gandalf conspires to light the signal fires. And they play second fiddle to the army of the dead anyway, who go far beyond their book role in capturing the ships of the Corsairs; they end up single-handedly winning the Pelennor themselves. (Pity the poor Rohirrim. First they need elves at Helm's Deep, then they need ghosts on the Pelennor. It's a wonder the Dunlanders haven't enslave the lot of them a long time ago.)
Even so, the Ride of the Rohirrim is so magnificently staged and performed that it wins its rightful prominence in the movie - it may rank among the greatest moments in the entire history of film. I only wish that this - and many of the other high points and sequences - had been better supported by the narrative. And moreso here than in any of the previous two films, I wish that the creators had a little more faith in the original material, that Denethor had been subtler, cleverer, and had waited until he was on his pyre before spilling the fact he knew about Aragorn - it made no sense for him to bring it up with Gandalf as soon as they meet and never talk about it again. I wish that Jackson had slapped himself when he thought of ?Frodo kicks Sam off the island for stealing lembas? deviation - yes, the original story where Frodo and Sam get separated is awkwardly written, but this is much, much worse: it's Middle-earth 90210, especially when Sam **gasp** finds the stolen lembas bread and realizes what Gollum's done.
I wish they'd had a Mouth of Sauron to give the final battle a more human face, and to build the tension before the battle. There's a lot of battle sequences, but their setup and context need work. If anything keeps Return of the King from being the masterpiece it deserves to be, it's that the bits work better than the whole. The film's length works against it - it's so long that it's no wonder the studio balked at including more material, and it definitely suffers for it. It needs quiet moments between the jam of spectacle, to keep the pacing steady. Here, with a few exceptions, it bounces from set piece to set piece. This has been a problem for the entire series, but it's worse here.
And I really wish Jackson had dialed down the emotions one or two notches. The Elrond/Arwen and many of the Frodo and Sam sequences are running at a James Cameron/Titanic levels of overwrought silliness. Frankly, in ten years, this movie's going to be best remembered for the number of bad Sam/Frodo slash parodies it'll have inspired. Jackson overuses the elegiac slow motion effect to the point of ridiculousness, especially when Frodo wakes up on the Field of Cormallen. Admittedly it's overly easy to spot homoeroticism in entertainment these days - we live in snickering times - but Jackson's style has made it very difficult to ignore.
One of the things that's interesting (and to some a little maddening) about Tolkien is that he's willing to provide substantial variations in tone and theme. Middle-earth has noble knights and kings, but it also has commoners and people who chatter on for hours in pubs With only a few exceptions throughout the series, when Jackson's narrative has deviated from Tolkien, he's been less subtle than the source.
This is not a flaw of a director's who's playing it safe; and that's both Jackson's chief virtue and his biggest problem: Jackson's eye for spectacle and aesthetics is greater than his eye for subtlety, and sometimes Tolkien works best when he's being subtle or whimsical. Or at least mundane; for every Aragorn, you need some glimpse of a Butterbur so you know what he's protecting; for every Faramir, you need a Beregond so that you can see the loyalty he inspires.
However, in terms of overall vision, Rings requires an epic vision, someone who's willing to walk the razor's edge between heightened drama and camp. At this moment in time, Jackson is clearly the right man for the job. His team has engineered a marvel of mood, highlighted by a spectacular vision and attention to detail, augmented by dramatic performances of a Shakespearean caliber and temper that are usually shunned by today's cinema. If Jackson occasionally stumbles onto the wrong side (or the dramatic norm eventually turns against him and the films are eventually consigned to camp) he should be forgiven. Despite its flaws, at its worst Return of the King is a magnificent conclusion to one of the greatest epics in the history of cinema. It's the weakest film of the three, but that's still praising with a very faint damn.