The Secret Garden: Will a Filmmaker Ever Get it Right?

My latest A-Z List is about characters who transform. The Secret Garden has lots of such characters! Before posting about a few, I am posting about the book and its movies. 

Frankly, most of the movies are fairly dreadful because they mostly miss the point. Although the book is classified (by some) as "fantasy," it isn't. Colin talks about magic, but his belief system is part of the Bohemian, pre-Progressive philosophies that show up later in the writings of people like Charlotte Perkins Gilman. Nothing "magical" happens in the book unless one counts dreams. The entire point--the entire point--is that the natural processes around Colin and Mary are precisely and exactly that: natural. 

The second point that is almost always missed is how hard Colin and Dickon and Mary work to restore the secret garden. The fact that they don't have to start from scratch is entirely due to Ben Weatherstaff having visited the garden and done a fair amount of work pruning and such over the 10-year break (which Dickon acknowledges). But there's still more to be done. 

The story is not about cutesy children "playing." They are outside doing a job. The job is what gives them a new outlook on life and burgeoning sense of purpose. 

The book also isn't Freudian despite the desperate attempts of various filmmakers to make it Freudian. Mary isn't traumatized. She is angry. Archibald Craven isn't excused as a bad father due to his terrible trauma. He just is one. He is also rather pathetic which is why Colin could want to impress his father and then move on with his life.  

The story is about children being children, not children being a mental mess.  

This past summer I watched and rewatched some of the films--

Secret Garden (1949): The best thing about this version is Dean Stockwell and Margaret O'Brien screaming at each other. They are both professionals (at age 13 and 12) and have the right look. In fact, I think O'Brien would have done a better job if she had been allowed to act as tough as Mary does in the book (she clearly had the ability) instead of descending into 1940s maudlin-triteness. Dean Stockwell has less to do but is exactly on-target. 

Secret Garden (1987): The actress who plays Mary (Gennie James) is quite good. Unfortunately, the movie is entirely ruined by the actor (Jadrien Steele) who plays Colin. 

He is just about the healthiest, sturdiest "sickly" youngster I've ever seen on television. He also looks like an English squire, on the verge of shouting, "I say--what what--bring me a brandy--what what." 

Not exactly a boy with "a sharp, delicate face, the colour of ivory, and [agate-grey] eyes too big for it," who has a penchant for philosophy and cries out when he enters the garden, "I shall live forever and ever and ever."

I couldn't help but wonder if Barret Olivier, from Neverending Story, who does a decent job as Dickon (standing in the back), was supposed to be Colin--except he shot up several feet before filming. He has the right type of face. 

Secret Garden (1993) is the best of the lot. The characters are well-cast. The children work in the garden at least. The philosophical magic is replaced with an invented ritual, but the idea is the same. The reveal is nicely done (though I still believe that the book does it best). The movie doesn't end with the bang it should, and I suspect the problem may be the book itself, not the movie. 

I review Secret Garden (2020) here. In sum, it is lush and beautiful and completely misses the point. 

The next post will address Colin's transformation.  

Books to Movies: Sad Endings Versus Depressing Endings

I am generally not a fan of sad endings, mostly because I think they are cop-outs. Any struggling writer can earn instant accolades from daft critics by throwing in DARK scenes and TRAGIC denouements and LOTS OF JARGON with DEPRESSING ANALYSIS. 

So what? 

It is so much harder to successfully resolve problems in a reasonably happy way. I review romance novels in a connected blog. Because many of my reviews tend to be negative, it may appear that there are very few good romance novels out there. In truth, there are excellent romance novels available. They are simply harder to write and rarely earn critical (as in, higher academic) approval. 

I think The Hobbit only didn't end on a depressing note because one can go on to watch The Lord of the Rings. I write elsewhere about how Jackson should have paid off Tauriel better, even if he kept the book ending and (still) killed off Kili and Fili. 

The Lord of the Rings, in contrast, ends sadly but not depressingly. In fact, I'm not sure I would even call it "sad." The Japanese do a better job tackling the sad-but-not-right-and-fitting-and-lovely-while-aching:

Mono no aware. 

Frodo is the Fisher King, like King Arthur: the hero king or prince with a wound that never heals. He cannot stay. And however sad I find Tolkien's solution here, I also think it is more honest--in some ways--than fantasies that want everything to return to being EXACTLY THE SAME. They can't. Merry and Pippin and Sam have changed. The Scouring of the Shire changed Hobbit culture. The departure of the elves changes Middle Earth. It's good and bad. It's life. It's inevitable. 

Tolkien wasn't afraid of age or change. So Frodo leaves. 

I cry every time I read the book or watch the trilogy. But I am left feeling fulfilled because the ending is a well-written and appropriate ending.   

Books to Movies: Tolkien's Visuals

When evaluating movies, it is important to remember: film is about the visuals. 

Books can do things that film cannot, and the film will communicate in ways that books can't and don't.  

In Return of the King, for instance, Aragorn doesn't enter the White City until he is crowned--other than to heal various people. To enter as a royal would be the equivalent of a coup, and since Faramir is laid-up and can't formally step down as steward, Aragorn sets up in a tent outside the city. 

I agree with Jackson's decision not to have Aragorn set up outside the city, simply because it would throw yet another setting at the viewer that would have to be explained (and potentially achieve more importance than it actually has). So the conversation about what to do after the victory on the Pelennor Fields takes place in a throne room the viewer already knows--bringing home that Aragorn has good reason to be there. Not taking the throne while he is in the throne room brings home that he is biding his time. 

Likewise, one of the most stunning visuals in The Lord of the Rings occurs when everyone kneels to the hobbits. Frankly, it also isn't totally in keeping with Tolkien's vision. Frodo and Sam and Merry and Pippin are important, but they are part of their own history. They are honored but they don't supplant the importance of the High King's return. 

However, the visual is impressive and heart-stirring and underscores Jackson's homily: Even the smallest person can change the course of history.   

Books to Movies: The Great and Intelligent Excision from The Lord of the Rings

One of Jackson's most intelligent decisions was to not present the Scouring of the Shire.

In the book, Saruman--let go through mercy by Treebeard--alongside the still odiously sycophantic but increasing resentful Wormtongue make their way to the Shire and cause havoc. In the face of regulation-happy bullies, Sam, Pippin, Merry rally the "resistance" and defeat the bad guys. Frodo monitors the event and prevents it turning into a massacre. Wormtongue, as in the extended version of the trilogy, kills Saruman. 

It's a great sequence! And I'm frankly at a loss as to why people keep creating movies about everything BUT The Battle of the Shire--unless Jackson is saving it to do himself. 

However, it would have not only made a long trilogy already even longer, it would have turned the entire movie on its head. 

The pay-off in the movie is that the hobbits have directly and indirectly saved Middle Earth. The book's pay-off is the same, but Tolkien never forgets that real consequences exist for real actions. Everybody in Gondor is happy but the effects of peace and more stable times have not yet entirely reached beyond Gondor and Rohan (and even there, there's a great deal of clean-up, including rebuilding Osgiliath, tracking down prisoners in Mordor; besides which, Shelob survived--and confronting Shelob is another potentially great movie!) 

The lack of "okay, life is complicated and bad stuff keeps happening and people can't relax" doesn't make the movie shallow. As I remark elsewhere, movies are deep in a different way from books. I'll discuss imagery in another post. For now, I will state that deepness occurs in moments. 

The book can have more "where are they now" chapters; in fact, to an extent, books demand this kind of wrap-up. But for a movie, such an ending "reads" rather like an essay which brings up a completely different topic in the conclusion...and I turn the page, wondering where the next five paragraphs are. 

So not including the Battle of the Shire was remarkably smart. 

It would still make a fantastic movie of its own.  

Books to Movies: Return of the King & The Mouth of Sauron

In my review of The Hobbit: The Battle of Five Armies, I complain about the length of the battle. 

My biggest complaint, however, is that the 40 minutes contain way too many climaxes. There should have had two: when Thorin & Company emerge from the Erebor, and Thorin and Bilbo's final talk. 

Return of the King does much better. I know the movie was criticized for having too many endings--but I'm not bothered by THOSE extra 25+ minutes. I'm referring, rather, to the climax when the ring is finally destroyed. 

There is one "off" note in the extended version, which Jackson very smartly excised in the theater version: when Aragorn beheads the Mouth of Sauron. 

He was right to excise the scene because (1) it is a violation of the chivalric code that doesn't "shoot the messenger." I don't mind Han Solo shooting first because he is Han Solo and he does that type of thing. But Aragorn is supposed to be the high king of Middle Earth, and beheading any messenger is, in sum, "bad form." 

Jackson was also right to excise the scene because it is one too many climaxes. 

The climax of the entire trilogy is entirely dependent on Frodo and Gollum's struggle at Mount Doom. The ultimate rescue is one of Tolkien's eucastrophes. But the actual climax of book and film is the vanquishing of the ring. 

The entire sequence deserves two sub-climaxes and one major climax: Aragorn's speech; Sam's decision to carry Frodo; Frodo and Gollum's fight (which is itself the culmination of choices made by both characters). 

That's it!

Lobbing off the messenger's head is a spike in the overall climax and it gets in the way. That is, it creates a temporary feeling of relief when the entire sequence should be building up to Sauron's ultimate defeat. 

In the book, Gandalf seizes Frodo's "coat, cloak, and sword" from the Messenger and piles scorn on Sauron's minion. The Messenger retreats just as Sauron "sprang his trap." 

That is, Gandalf retrieves those things that belong to the Fellowship because Frodo was their companion, and he denounces Sauron. But in the face of what is to come, Gandalf's actions are more Norse than Greek myth--Thor raging at the dark rather than Zeus scattering evildoers. Our good guys are limited and they know it and they are doing what they do anyway. 

The triumph is all the more emphatic.  

Pacing truly is everything. 

Characters That Don't Change: Verne's Adventurers

It is a given in classical narration that the main characters will undergo some type of change. They will grow and develop and rejoice or despair and sink into disillusionment. They are occupants of Dante's circles, products of what they strove to become in the mortal realm. 

I more or less agree with the need for characters to change. 

There are, however, characters who remain entirely what the author established them to be. Verne's characters fall into this category. 

I write elsewhere how Jules Verne and H.G. Wells represent the two sides of the sci-fi genre. Verne belongs to the older side which focused on the world and discoveries around the characters. Wells, a decade after Verne's Journey, uses a modern approach with War of the Worlds, not only through first-person narration but through a detailed examination of the narrator's emotional state. Verne does not require this type of internal investigation. 

When Verne is put to film, however, the need for character change quite literally enters the picture. The Brendan Fraser version of Journey to the Center of the Earth provides a character searching for his parents and then having to deal with their loss. The 1959 version provides a villain and a romance as the main character, Lindenbrook played by James Mason, becomes more and more disheveled. 

Nearly every 20,000 Leagues' version stresses the choice Aronnax has to make between Ned and Nemo; in fairness to Verne, that choice is given space within the book; it just isn't as important as all the *wow* stuff Nemo drives his submarine through and around. 

The differences indicate several points: 

(1) film goers are products of a modern age that wants character development; we want more than simply a series of images or visual extravaganzas; 

(2) a liking for extravaganza lingers, however; a film that introduces us to an amazing world goes a long way to satisfying our desires--Jackson's Tolkien's films are some of the few I went to the theater to watch (rather than waiting for the DVDs) since I wanted to SEE big Middle-Earth; 

(3) nevertheless, a film requires story in a way that a book does not; I suggest one reason the book does not is not because people don't want characters to grow and change but because reading between the lines enables readers to identify characters with stories and personalities beyond what shows up on the page. 

Static characters have their place. Generally speaking, current writers need to know how to give characters weaknesses over which to stumble or conquer. But not all plots have made the same requirement because not all plots have had the same purpose. 

Laid-Back Hero: Justin of The Rats of Nimh

Justin is the Captain of the Guard in Secret of Nimh (movie) and a main character in Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH (book). He greets Mrs. Frisby, jokes with Mr. Ages, defends Nicodemus, and--in the movie--confronts the villain. 

He is a rat. 

He is an animated rat. 

Why is he so hot? 

There are two points here: one, as Wall-E shows, animated characters can be entirely personable. The beauty of a body in motion can be conveyed with pixels. Personality comes through body language, expression, and voice.

The second issue goes beyond the movie. In the book and the movie, Justin is the one Mrs. F(B)risby automatically trusts and turns to. She notes that Justin is handsome with "easy confidence." Multiple characters, including the children, note that he is nice. Justin was in NIMH and Nicodemus's descriptions make clear that Justin has always been alert, clever, curious, and reliable with a non-groveling deference to Nicodemus.  

In addition, in the book, Justin potentially sacrifices himself. In the sequels, written by Robert O'Brien's daughter, Justin has survived, which I find entirely plausible, namely because I don't think NIMH would kill the rats to begin with, whatever the lab told the farmer. In the sequel, a young character has a crush on Justin despite him being engaged. 

In other words, the print Justin is as attractive as the animated Justin. When I was younger, I was--like many readers--upset at Justin's potential death. Readers get attached. 

The loveliness of Justin is his humor coupled with his nobility. Consider the remarkable and touching goofiness of Wall-E that translates into pure noble action. Consider the utter coolness of a very different character, Saitama (sort of different), who looks like the guy hanging out behind the convenience store until he decides that a certain course of action is merited. 

Justin is sweet-tempered and heroic. A lethal romantic hero combination! 

Books to Movies: Theoden and Denethor as Ultimate Show Not Tell Characters, Why are They So Good?

Theoden and Denethor are a great example of how, ultimately, film should be a show-not-tell medium. The non-messaging of Theoden-versus-Denethor is extraordinarily powerful! It sells its "message" better than the pointed messages at the end of Two Towers. 

Why?

1. Actors equal in ability. 

John Noble and Bernard Hill are strong actors of equal ability. I'm not entirely sure I would put them on the same set together or put either of them in the same frame with Christopher Lee. There's only so much scenery to chew! 

But within their individual scenes, they hold the stage. They have powerful presences. They are also not afraid of tenderness or imperfection or scary weirdness (the same holds true for Lee, who suggested an extra scene in The Hobbit where Saruman is shown to fall under Sauron's influence--I sometimes think that villains are the most balanced actors in the world). 

2. Both actors have great action sequences, accompanied by great lines. 

In show-not-tell, HOW characters react to events matters, a point I will come back to when I discuss why the War of the Rohirrim fails. Granted, in real life, people's characters and personalities are often reflected in less emphatic experiences. But in truth, even in real life, how we handle a singular event can say a great deal about us.

Subsequently, it helps in film to give characters something to handle. 

Theoden has an angry wizard, a dead son, a march, a blockade, a final stand, a ride to Gondor, and a freaky dragon/dinosaur to handle. He is confused and hesitant, drawing inward as he contemplates that "the days have gone down in the West" and asks, "How did it come to this?" Consequently, his fierce determination at Helm's Deep and later on Pelennor Field is courageous and hope-filled. 

Denethor has a pissed-off wizard, dead son, Pippin, an attack, a second supposedly dead son, and a dying culture (Jackson's sets, inspired by Alan Lee and John Howe, are magnificent--Minis Tirith is redeemed at the end of the third movie, altering from almost a sepulcher to a shining city).  

Consequently, Denethor's vainglorious attempt to burn himself and Faramir alive is despairing and pathetic. In direct contradiction of his self-absorbed beliefs, barely anyone notices Denethor throwing himself off the top cliff of the city's plaza. There is a war going on, after all.  

As a comparison of honor and the need for hope, Theoden and Denethor are show-not-tell at its finest. 

Books to Movies: Return of the King and Emphasized Moments in Film

A common approach with film is for the scriptwriters to select out one minor reference and make it a focus. So, the lighting of the beacons is referenced in passing in The Return of the King. In the movie, it is a major moment (see below). In the book, Pippin is asked if he can sing but doesn't while in the movie, Pippin (Billy Boyd) renders a sad and beautiful dirge. (Another lovely moment in the movie is citizens of Gondor spreading flowers under the hooves of Faramir's doomed soldiers.) 

I find these moments particularly indicative of the difference between movies and books. A movie is about imagery, and the scriptwriters will focus on certain images precisely because of their charismatic quality. The lighting of the beacons is a fantastic example!

The only problem is that such a focus can take over. Jackson is quite skilled at investing each scene with "now, the characters must make a choice!" but too many scenes with choices distracts from the scene that really matters. Theoden has good reason to object to riding out to help Gondor but he keeps going over the decision again and again in the movie. Good theater but it runs the risk of detracting from the final decision.

One of the most thrilling scenes in all movies is when Mandy Patinkin's Montoya says to Count Rugen, "I want my father back, you son of a bitch."

Because there is no other swearing in the movie, the moment stands out and makes an impact.   

Books to Movies: Two Towers, Is Message Really Necessary?

The heavy-handed messages in the second film are the filmmakers' choice, not Tolkien's. When characters preach in his works, which they seldom do, they talk from within their own characterizations and knowledge. Manwe and Mandos (Maiar in The Silmarillion and therefore, minor deities) act as Manwe and Mandos, not spokespersons for Tolkien. 

In fact, Tolkien appears to believe quite emphatically that since people can't know the future, they should be careful about forcing a particular futuristic outcome--and their opinions about that particular futuristic outcome--on others.

Two Towers the film does have a message: Hope is better than despair and people should fight for it. 

I'm generally opposed to message-heavy fiction. It violates the principle of show-not-tell and depending on the message, it can come across as rather trite and preachy. 

I think Two Towers (barely) pulls off its messaging for two reasons: Bernard Hill and Sean Astin, who deliver the message speeches: 

Bernard Hill as Theoden: "Where is the horse and the rider? Fell deeds awake. Now for wrath, now for ruin and a red dawn." 

Sean Astin as Sam: "How could the world go back to the way it was?"

I think the (bare) success is because of the characters who make the speeches. First, their speeches don't sound trite.  Second, the speeches come from within their personalities. Theoden is a poet warrior. Sam has a liking for poetry and a disposition to reflect on stories and their meaning. And third, the poetry of the speeches is quite lovely (and drawn from Tolkien). 

Granted, Ian McKellen's White Shores description to Pippin in Return outshines the others because it is entirely Gandalf's reflection and wish. It is consolation, not a message. And, well... McKellen! 

I personally would have advocated for Sam's speech being slightly cut or split between Osgiliath and later. Films are a visual medium. If I want speeches, I can go on social media. (I don't.) 

Books to Movies: Keeping Characters Together in The Two Towers, Good and Bad

Since audiences invest in certain characters, keeping them together visually  makes sense. 

In the book, Eowyn does not go to Helm's Deep. In fact, the purpose for Helm's Deep is somewhat different in the book than in the movie. Theoden and his riders do retreat there--and women, children, and the elderly as well as goods are being safeguarded there--but only because Helm's Deep is one of many holdings. It is rather like British civilians retreating to the underground even though London wasn't exactly safe (people stayed in London anyway). 

However, it makes sense to bring together the main characters in this particular plot thread, so Legolas, Theoden, Aragorn, Gimli, Eowyn and the Rohan ride together. Unlike in the book, Eomer is absent, which makes for a great final scene in the film. In the book, Gandalf fetches a new character to ride to the rescue--but in a movie, again, the character who has already earned viewer investment is a better choice for a pay-off.

I think wanting to keep characters together--and in mind--is why the elves show up at Helm's Deep. And it makes for a great visual. 

And it makes me wince every time. 

Tolkien is extremely exact about distances and supply chains. There's a reason the Fellowship brings along Bill, and there's a reason Bill is sent away. Aragorn and others are constantly making decisions about goods versus weight versus travel time. There is a VERY good reason why Boromir was able to reach Rivendell without being pursued but 9 people setting out from Rivendell have to be more cautious. And an equally good reason why moving armies from, say, Rohan to Gondor is time-consuming and impossible to completely disguise. (Theoden's troops take a "back roads" approach to Gondor but once they reach a certain point, their presence is a known variable.) 

No matter how stealthy they were, I simply don't buy the idea that hundreds of elves from anywhere could just show up in Helm's Deep without the enemy being aware or, for that matter, Theoden's own scouts. 

The one reason I kind of let it pass is because it references a point not raised in the film or directly in the book (but brought up elsewhere). There were three fronts during the war, including Lothlorien. 

Of course, in reality, the elves should have stayed in Lothlorien to cover that "front." 

Oh, well. Visuals won over reality.  

 

Books to Movies: Two Towers, Sudden versus Gradual Change

In the book, Theoden is aging, bad-tempered, and querulous. He is under a spell but the "spell" is a good, flawed man who has listened to bad advice.

In the movie, he is senile and enspelled. Gandalf releases him at which point, in one of the most heartbreaking scenes in the movie, he asks, "Where is my son?"

In the book, Treebeard calls a conference at which Merry and Pippin speak. The Ents then decide to move against Saruman.

In the movie, the Ents determine to ignore Saruman. Merry then convinces Treebeard to directly witness the destruction Saruman has made of Fangorn, and Treebeard gets angry.

I agree with the first choice, not the second.

The first sudden change is dramatic. It avoided turning the sequence into a far longer arc than it needs to be. Theoden's internal arc of coming to terms with his age occurs later in the movie, as it should.

Treebeard suddenly getting angry, however, departs from his fundamental character. I understand the problem: Merry and Pippin are responsible for bringing Saruman's deceit to the forefront of Treebeard's mind. Watching diplomacy in action is far less interesting than watching a tree-man get wrathful.

However, the scene in the film could still have been dramatic. Merry and Pippin could have presented a kind of show-and-tell summary of their adventures to the Ents. The Ents could then have reached a decision through rational argument. The point of the Ents is that they are deliberately angry, not emotionally angry. They know exactly what they are doing.

Treebeard does get more wrathful as he sees the destruction wrought by Saruman--but, still, he sets out with a purpose. It is possible to take warlike action without being at the mercy of emotional upheaval.

In both cases, I appreciate that the movie provides visual representations of change rather than discussions of change. Gollum's change/non-change, for instance, is skillfully done. Could Gollum change? Does he, at first (before Faramir)? Is Sam right to be continually suspicious? Tolkien doesn't answer these questions or even imply a particular answer. Gollum is as ambiguous to the readers as he is to the characters--and to the viewer. 

The point here is that Tolkien and the trilogy rely on characters that change: change their minds, change their attitudes, change their lives. Those changes need to be shown visually, and Jackson uses multiple techniques to make the changes evident. Some techniques are better than others.

Joseph of Old: So Many Versions!

I keep moving this post around. To what author should Joseph of Old be assigned? 

I decided to assign him to "Mann" for Thomas Mann, who wrote Joseph and His Brothers and Joseph in Egypt. 

Joseph's story from the Old Testament is a fantastic one! It is one of the most intact of the narratives in Genesis and is considered by some scholars to be the Bible's Odyssey or Iliad: a seminal piece of literature that has been told and retold.

There are numerous media retellings out there. When I was growing up I adored a recording one of my brothers owned [borrowed] of Webber's Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat. I knew all the lyrics to every song. I saw the musical as teenager and naturally watched the Donny Osmond version.

I later watched a non-musical version with Ben Kingsley and Paul Mercurio. However, my favorite is the New Media Genesis Project version. Films associated with the project came out in the 1980s: Bible stories in which a narrator in English relays the story as the actors speak in Aramaic and other languages. One reason I like their Joseph interpretation is that the final scene isn't a joke. 

I do love the musical but the serious confrontation between Joseph and the Brothers--the building of tensions as Benjamin is accused of theft--turns into a calypso song, which irritates me. I don't care if people want to sing about famine--and I own the hilarious Quentin Blake book of the musical, full of skinny cows.

But the final set of scenes deserves something other than a joke. Joseph has reason to be uncertain of his father's survival, Benjamin's survival, and how his brothers will react to his reappearance. He is battling with lingering anger and uncertainty and the rationality that comes with age and forgiveness. He is a fully fleshed-out human being. Very relatable! 

There's a reason the tale lasted and got collected.  

Despise not caring for that scene, the Donny Osmond version that mixes the classroom with action and presents a delightful narrator is worth watching--one can see why Donny Osmond was such a hit!

 

Books to Movies: Two Towers and Where to Edit

The Two Towers tackles what I consider one of the more interesting problems for films and texts: how does one divide up scenes? 

All viewers likely remember episodes or movies where the scenes appeared to be cut out of order. There's an A&E Nero Wolfe episode which is skillfully cut but I can't shake the instinct that the scenes were originally (according to the script) supposed to go in a different order. Fritz starts an argument with Wolfe about meals; the episode cuts to the next day; in the next scene, Archie is then calming Fritz down as if the argument about meals just occurred. 

Tolkien's text of The Two Towers separates Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas's adventure from Merry and Pippin's adventures. Meanwhile, Frodo, Sam, and Gollum get their own book!

Jackson naturally sets the scenes with all the above characters side by side. He isn't strictly chronological. Tolkien was well-aware where each of his characters were day by day and hour by hour.

Jackson opts for balance rather than following an exact chronology--in the book, Frodo and Sam in the book reach the gate to Mordor after the battle at Helm's Deep. However, the gap in time would be too much for a film. The viewer needs to be reminded of Frodo's task. 

Interestingly enough, in terms of sustained interest, I think this division of scenes is one place where a film succeeds over the book. Tolkien, I posit, was wise to address Frodo and Sam's story separately rather than trying to juggle all three plot-lines at once. But in the film, the action is straightforward enough, the jump doesn't confuse (the extended version gets confusing since Jackson attempts to include a flashback, which I deem a mistake--otherwise, the three plots are quite seamless). 

But those decisions for scriptwriters can be just as daunting as for novel writers. Chapter break here? Or here? Or here?

Books to Movies: Tolkien and Left versus Right at Amon Hen

When Frodo and Sam cross, they end up in Emyn Muir.

The end of The Fellowship of the Ring, the movie, includes a great action sequence. 

And yet, it has always bothers me. (Possible solution at the end!)

The reason? The fellowship is on the west bank of the great river. They must decide whether to continue on to Minis Tirith or cross to the east bank and head towards Mordor. Frodo and Sam, of course, decide to break with the others, partly due to Boromir's actions but mostly because Frodo believes it is the right choice. 

Tolkien keeps exact track of where his characters are, not just in time but in space. What direction they are heading. Where the sun sets and rises. What they are near. Without being (necessarily) a military writer, he is well aware of natural barriers and the ability of troops to get access to supply lines. 

So it bothers me that the breaking of the fellowship appears to take place on the wrong bank.

The fellowship pulls up their boats at relatively flat ground, Palen Galen (again, Tolkien never forgot that characters can't simply get out of boats whenever they want). When Frodo escapes Boromir, he heads to Amon Hen (red star), which overlooks the falls and the small mountain-island Tol Brandir. When Frodo and Sam leave, they will head across the lake which is north of Amon Hen. 

And yet, in the movie, when Aragorn leaves Frodo at Amon Hen, he goes down the hill by turning away from the river and heading left.

An explanation for Aragorn's actions is below. It still drives me crazy. Based on the way the movie presents Amon Hen, Aragorn should head right, down to the flatter ground, away from the falls. 

After some reflection, I propose that Aragorn is heading south and west to fight orcs coming from Isengard. (There is level ground to the south.) I still have a problem with this explanation because Frodo appears to head in the same direction since he encounters Merry and Pippin. They are later defended by Boromir. Aragorn comes upon the confrontation between Boromir and the orcs without appearing to reverse course. 

The smaller map makes the above actions possible if both Frodo and Aragorn head south, encounter loads of people THERE and then Frodo heads east and north while Aragorn continues to head south and west. The bottleneck also explains how holding off the orcs helps Frodo and Sam get away.  

Except...how would Frodo get off Amon Hen in the face of the orc troupe without putting on the ring again (which he doesn't in the movie)? 

The implication, in the movie, is that Frodo initially came up the hill from the northeast--which means Aragorn should have as well.

I'm not sure I will ever be able to watch the movie without gritting my teeth at this scene. Tolkien never made mistakes about where characters are located/how characters move from Point A to Point B. In the book, Frodo meets no one--and Sam reverses course and returns to the lake--for a reason. The fellowship members have already scattered beyond Amon Hen. Getting down from Amon Hen is never the issue. Left or right, encountering the orcs there doesn't make any sense. 

But, yes, a good action sequence.

Books to Movies: Galadriel and Putting Characters Face to Face

I mention in my analysis of The Hobbit--regarding chase scenes--that I consider LOTR's chase scene in Moria one of the most pointless of all chase scenes in all action films. 

Overall, I think the Moria scenes are well-rendered, including Gandalf's confrontation with the Balrog. The scene near Balin's tomb is especially touching, now that viewers can associate Balin with Ken Stott.

But I don't have much more to say about Moria, so I'm going to skip forward to Lothlorien and Galadriel and a visual "solution" to separated characters in film.

For Tolkien, every character is limited by distance and knowledge. Characters in The Lord of the Rings continually state that they only know so much. They can't see ahead. They aren't sure what will happen when the one ring is destroyed. They are acting morally because they believe they should, not because they omnipotently know the outcome (even the books' Big Bad is limited, which is refreshing).

Even the Valar (the gods who work for Middle-Earth's God or Illuvatar), once they descend to Arda or Earth, must abide by the world's functions. They only know what is possible for them to know due to their wisdom or power but no more than that.

So, in LOTR, Galadriel  can only see within the borders of Lorien. That country is fading as is she. She is well-aware of her situation. She doesn't so much make a choice about the ring but accept a choice she made ages earlier.

Yet there is a strange scene in the film version of Towers, where Galadriel and Elrond speak by...telepathy? Not to forget: in The Hobbit, Galadriel suddenly becomes capable of transporting herself! 

What is fascinating to me regarding these scenes is that Jackson is obviously trying to solve a narrative problem: how does one create a visual scene with characters who are not present physically but are present in voice or thought or opinion?

The Thai drama My School President resolves this problem in a similar way to Jackson. The two young men start talking regularly on the phone after school. But watching people phone each other isn't as interesting as watching people interact with each other. 

So, the scenes will start with them on the phone and then move to them speaking face-to-face as their conversations become more personal and they imagine themselves face-to-face. The result is one of the most touching scenes in the series when Tinn comforts Gun after Gun relays the story of his father's death when he was young. 

It's a visual device that I give a pass to--

I ALSO would rather see characters interact face-to-face.