Grand and glorious beyond belief
IT IS TRUE what you've heard so far of Lord Of The Rings: The Return of the King. It is a stupendous piece of filmmaking that fulfills and amplifies the promise of its two great predecessors. Taken together, Peter Jackson's film trilogy of Tolkien's literary masterpiece represents an incomparable achievement in the history of popular cinema.
As things stand now, The Lord of the Rings qualifies as the greatest mainstream film trilogy ever, in terms of sustained cinematic vision and excellence.
Think about it. For close to three decades Francis Ford Coppola's The Godfather series has stood at the apex of pop cinema, held up as the avatar of serial moviemaking at its finest.
But only The Godfather 1 and The Godfather 2 are true classics; the third installment is a flawed ending to the trilogy.
Let's not get started on Star Wars. George Lucas directed only the first installment of the first series, and while the other two may be competent at best, we all know what has happened to the prequel.
The Matrix? Indiana Jones? Batman?
Part of the thrill of watching The Lord of the Rings unfold on our movie screens for the last three years is the realization that cinematic history is being made with this trilogy. The achievements of Jackson and his team are so overwhelming, so singular across all fronts that they have set the benchmark for grand-scale moviemaking for years, perhaps even decades, to come.
But, no, contrary to what people may think, special effects are the least of these achievements. The true triumph of The Lord of the Rings is how it uses special effects in the most imaginative, intelligent way possible--that is, not as technological wonders but as sleights of hand that arise organically out of the material.
Visual tricks
As with its two predecessors, there is not a scene in The Return of the King that calls attention to lab-generated visual tricks. Everything looks and feels germane to the story rushing headlong onscreen, as when the camera swoops and glides over the breathtaking white-marbled city of Minas Tirith, or when the fleet-footed Legolas (Orlando Bloom, rampaging beautifully) swings and bounces all over a fearsome pachyderm like a Tarzan in blond locks.
For all its explosive battle scenes (and they are amazing in sweep and scope), the film's most terrifying moments happen in a dark, dank cave, where Frodo (Elijah Wood) is hunted by Shelob, a hideous giant spider.
Like the yolk-skinned, emotionally expressive Gollum, even this spider has character. In its horrible clicking stride you sense the weight of ancient lonely evenings in that cave. And for bringing the saga to its most heart-stopping moment, it gets rewarded not with death, but with a wound it can survive.
Always, always, a headlong galloping to shattering moments, to scenes of sustained mayhem and heroism the authentic likes of which we haven't seen in movies in a long time, only for Jackson to scale back, slowly ride the crest to more intimate, heartbreaking codas. As when a deranged Denethor (John Noble) sends his one remaining son, Faramir (David Wenham), to certain death while he gorges on fruit and basks in a mournful dirge sung by Pippin (Billy Boyd).
The soundless sight of the beleaguered warriors hurtling to their deaths stabs at the heart, and makes for the film's most transcendental moment.
Pale shadow
The characters have grown spectacularly into their roles. Elijah Wood as Frodo is a pale shadow of his happy Shire self, tortured by the corruptive powers of the ring. Aragorn (Viggo Mortensen) is now every inch a king, regal in his fortitude, and while his battle speech may not be Henry V's St. Crispian's Day exhortation by any stretch, Mortensen invests his ascendant monarch with galvanizing nobility.
Sean Astin, too, as Sam, delivers a performance worthy of commendation. That tender moment when Frodo collapses and gives up hope just yards away from the mouth of Mount Doom, only for Sam to declare, "Once and for all... I can't carry it (the ring), but I can carry you!" and then proceeds to heave Frodo on to his shoulders like Aeneas carrying his father Anchises out of burning Rome, is touching beyond belief.
Ian McKellen as the stalwart Gandalf, Bernard Hill as King Theoden and Miranda Otto as Eowyn (fierce, lovely and deserving of her own soaring moment in the battlefield) round up the dream cast. This is simply the most seamless ensemble work in a movie of this magnitude in years.
A bittersweet, autumnal air pervades The Return of the King. It's as if Jackson and his team had wrapped the film in the elegiac sentiments they must have felt now that their epic project was about to end.
Like the Age of Men that dawned with the defeat of Sauron and the ascension of Aragorn to the throne of Gondor, the post-Rings days would be a time of sadness and ambivalence, a return to a grown-up world without the magic of wizards and the loveliness of elves.
New Year in these parts would certainly not be the same without a new Tolkien installment thrilling the very marrow of our bones.
But for the three years of cinematic glory that restored our belief in the essential grace and purity of mainstream movie entertainment, that redeemed a perennially bastardized genre and made it fresh again for our battered sensibilities, and that reanimated Tolkien's work with heroic passion and fidelity--thank you, Peter Jackson and company. We are eternally grateful.
(Philippine Daily Inquirer, 5 January 2004)
As things stand now, The Lord of the Rings qualifies as the greatest mainstream film trilogy ever, in terms of sustained cinematic vision and excellence.
Think about it. For close to three decades Francis Ford Coppola's The Godfather series has stood at the apex of pop cinema, held up as the avatar of serial moviemaking at its finest.
But only The Godfather 1 and The Godfather 2 are true classics; the third installment is a flawed ending to the trilogy.
Let's not get started on Star Wars. George Lucas directed only the first installment of the first series, and while the other two may be competent at best, we all know what has happened to the prequel.
The Matrix? Indiana Jones? Batman?
Part of the thrill of watching The Lord of the Rings unfold on our movie screens for the last three years is the realization that cinematic history is being made with this trilogy. The achievements of Jackson and his team are so overwhelming, so singular across all fronts that they have set the benchmark for grand-scale moviemaking for years, perhaps even decades, to come.
But, no, contrary to what people may think, special effects are the least of these achievements. The true triumph of The Lord of the Rings is how it uses special effects in the most imaginative, intelligent way possible--that is, not as technological wonders but as sleights of hand that arise organically out of the material.
Visual tricks
As with its two predecessors, there is not a scene in The Return of the King that calls attention to lab-generated visual tricks. Everything looks and feels germane to the story rushing headlong onscreen, as when the camera swoops and glides over the breathtaking white-marbled city of Minas Tirith, or when the fleet-footed Legolas (Orlando Bloom, rampaging beautifully) swings and bounces all over a fearsome pachyderm like a Tarzan in blond locks.
For all its explosive battle scenes (and they are amazing in sweep and scope), the film's most terrifying moments happen in a dark, dank cave, where Frodo (Elijah Wood) is hunted by Shelob, a hideous giant spider.
Like the yolk-skinned, emotionally expressive Gollum, even this spider has character. In its horrible clicking stride you sense the weight of ancient lonely evenings in that cave. And for bringing the saga to its most heart-stopping moment, it gets rewarded not with death, but with a wound it can survive.
Always, always, a headlong galloping to shattering moments, to scenes of sustained mayhem and heroism the authentic likes of which we haven't seen in movies in a long time, only for Jackson to scale back, slowly ride the crest to more intimate, heartbreaking codas. As when a deranged Denethor (John Noble) sends his one remaining son, Faramir (David Wenham), to certain death while he gorges on fruit and basks in a mournful dirge sung by Pippin (Billy Boyd).
The soundless sight of the beleaguered warriors hurtling to their deaths stabs at the heart, and makes for the film's most transcendental moment.
Pale shadow
The characters have grown spectacularly into their roles. Elijah Wood as Frodo is a pale shadow of his happy Shire self, tortured by the corruptive powers of the ring. Aragorn (Viggo Mortensen) is now every inch a king, regal in his fortitude, and while his battle speech may not be Henry V's St. Crispian's Day exhortation by any stretch, Mortensen invests his ascendant monarch with galvanizing nobility.
Sean Astin, too, as Sam, delivers a performance worthy of commendation. That tender moment when Frodo collapses and gives up hope just yards away from the mouth of Mount Doom, only for Sam to declare, "Once and for all... I can't carry it (the ring), but I can carry you!" and then proceeds to heave Frodo on to his shoulders like Aeneas carrying his father Anchises out of burning Rome, is touching beyond belief.
Ian McKellen as the stalwart Gandalf, Bernard Hill as King Theoden and Miranda Otto as Eowyn (fierce, lovely and deserving of her own soaring moment in the battlefield) round up the dream cast. This is simply the most seamless ensemble work in a movie of this magnitude in years.
A bittersweet, autumnal air pervades The Return of the King. It's as if Jackson and his team had wrapped the film in the elegiac sentiments they must have felt now that their epic project was about to end.
Like the Age of Men that dawned with the defeat of Sauron and the ascension of Aragorn to the throne of Gondor, the post-Rings days would be a time of sadness and ambivalence, a return to a grown-up world without the magic of wizards and the loveliness of elves.
New Year in these parts would certainly not be the same without a new Tolkien installment thrilling the very marrow of our bones.
But for the three years of cinematic glory that restored our belief in the essential grace and purity of mainstream movie entertainment, that redeemed a perennially bastardized genre and made it fresh again for our battered sensibilities, and that reanimated Tolkien's work with heroic passion and fidelity--thank you, Peter Jackson and company. We are eternally grateful.
(Philippine Daily Inquirer, 5 January 2004)
