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.

Books to Movies: Fellowship, Bill the Pony, and Animals are a Lot of Work

In the movie, Bill the pony, shows up when the Fellowship leaves Rivendell. In the book, Bill shows up much earlier since he was obtained in Bree. (I will discuss much later how Tolkien never forgets the importance of supplies.)

Bill isn't used in the movie between when the four hobbits and Aragorn leave Bree and when Frodo arrives at the Ford. Having the hobbits and Aragorn trek through the area on foot makes more visual sense. It also emphasizes the horse chase when it does occur. 

And, too, it means not having to deal with an animal until necessary. 

Animals are notoriously difficult for filmmakers, rather like children on camera. Watch Adam and Jamie from Mythbusters try to get a duck to quack or a skunk to spray: their attempts bring home how suspiciously compliant animals on film appear to behave. Or, to be less cynical, how good their trainers are. 

In truth... 

Animals are not compliant at all! 

Plus there are the thousands of forms the filmmakers have to sign in order to be able to declare "No animals were harmed in the making of this movie..."

On that note--Bill, who is sent away before the Fellowship enters Moria, does survive in the book!  

Books to Movies: Fellowship, Keeping Characters Characters Plus More About Mary Sues

How much can you change until the character is no longer the character?

Scriptwriters and directors are constantly changing stories until they no longer even vaguely resemble the original plots. 

But what about characters? Most Miss Marples are decent representations of the type even when their movies are completely unlike the books. The movie Christmas with Holly based on the Lisa Kleypas's book Christmas Eve at Friday Harbor changes the brothers' ages and backgrounds but retains their relationship. 

What about The Lord of the Rings?

In the book, Gandalf--rather than Elrond--wants Frodo to be the ring-bearer. In the movie, Gandalf resists that suggestion and is pained by Frodo's decision. 

Frankly, I prefer movie Gandalf here. Book Gandalf seems a little too "I'm a wise wizard--I must prophecy." However, the underlying care for Frodo is consistent between movie and book as is the curmudgeonly wizard who cries, "Fly, you fools."

In both the book and movie, Boromir is belligerent with Aragorn--in the book, because he thinks Aragorn needs to prove himself; in the movie, because "Gondor needs no king." I think the objections, in both cases, come from the same sense of pride and tunnel-vision that characterize Boromir overall (plus his great honor and toughness).

Book and movie Aragorns are quite different in some ways. The Aragorn of the book has already accepted his role and fate. He isn't terribly concerned about the ring's power. He isn't uncertain or guilt-ridden about his role. He is, well, honestly, something of a Mary Sue.

However, Tolkien's Mary Sues aren't annoying in the way that many Mary Sues are--the sense of history throughout the books implies that although we readers may be meeting this character after the character has figured out a course of action, the character has paid for that knowledge and is willing to live with the subsequent fall-out.

Galadriel, for instance, is a saintly Elvin queen who rejects the ring. Of course, she does! But she also exudes a sense of sorrow or sorrow mixed with happiness. She made tough choices long before we meet her. She gave things up. She is now bearing the weight of her decisions.

Aragorn is the same. And he isn't entirely perfect. He becomes troubled near the end of Fellowship since he can't decide whether his duty calls him to help Frodo (as he and Gandalf planned for Gandalf to do) or to go to Gondor. When Merry and Pippin are carried off, Aragorn blames himself and his indecision for what happened that day. And at the end of the trilogy, though he is happily married to Arwen, he, like Galadriel, carries about him a sense of sorrow. Out of all the members of the Fellowship, he seems to bemoan its end the most. 

Duty is a positive in Tolkien's world--and duty is not incompatible with having to give things up. 

In general, Jackson and Jackson's scriptwriters do a decent job retaining the core of Tolkien's characters. The inner struggles, ambiguity, and range of reactions are in the book. The trilogy takes those elements and brings them to the fore.

Books to Movies: Fellowship--More on Excisions and Additions

Excising for the Sake of Focus

"The Sign at the Prancing Pony" and "The Knife in the Dark" contain far more information in the book than included in the movies. Jackson moves through both scenes very quickly by focusing on salient details. The ability to pick out salient details (and summarize them) is a skill that I spend a full semester teaching students. It is far more difficult than it sounds. A good summary is NOT a paraphrase (a blow-by-blow restatement of everything in a text) but a zeroing in on the stuff that actually matters. 

In Jackson's movies, the most important details in the two chapters are retained.

Unfortunately, a summary does mean eliminating beloved material. The radio dramatization offers a wonderful touching moment from the book in which Sam sings a poem taught to him by Bilbo about Gil-galad. It is a reminder that the landscape through which the characters move is full of history. The movie relies on its settings to convey the distant past instead. 

"The Council of Elrond" also contains information that is parceled out in the movie in other forms. The meeting basically comes down to Frodo's decision to take the ring, and that moment is impressively presented in the movie. The audience sees the council members arguing. Elrond slumps to the side, looking annoyed. Gandalf gets up to make his case. Frodo watches the members arguing, their images reflected in the ring. He makes his decision, and Gandalf--who both wanted and didn't want Frodo to accept--closes his eyes in pain.

Additions

Arwen is actually not an addition in the same way as Tauriel. In both cases, however, a female character is given a large role that includes fighting experience. Luckily, this is not out of sync with Tolkien's text. It doesn't feel heavy-handed. Plenty of Tolkien's female characters fight and plenty of his female elfs have been warriors.

That doesn't mean Tolkien would have necessarily approved of Jackson's use of Arwen. But it doesn't feel forced--as can sometimes happen with "historical" pieces (fantasy does have greater flexibility). Moreover, Tolkien's groups--human, dwarfs, elves--are varied enough within their borders that even hobbits of the Shire may have different expectations regarding gender roles than hobbits in Bree.

Arwen is a decent character and frankly her control of the river makes more sense than Gandalf being responsible--Gandalf is still missing when Glorfindel (the elf character in the book who finds Strider and the hobbits) locates Strider. (Granted, Jackson greatly shortens the amount of time it takes characters to walk anywhere--but who wants to watch a several week hike?)

So Arwen commanding the waters is more sensible an explanation.

And, as mentioned in another post, it is always good to give actors jobs.

Books to Movies: Fellowship of the Ring, Including Chases, Excisions, and Hints

Chases versus Suspense

In both book and movie, Frodo is chased from the Shire. In the book, Frodo finds himself pursued by Black Riders in the chapters,  "Three is Company," " A Short Cut to Mushroom" and "A Conspiracy Unmasked."

The difference between book and movie is not only time (17 years in the book between the party and Frodo's departure from the Shire) but one of tone. 

In the book, the tone is of creeping, horror-like suspense. In the movie, the tone is horror created by immediate danger (Wll they get caught?!) The latter is effectively done. However, it indicates an overall change between books and film--planning and contemplation from the books often give way, in movies, to impetuousness. Sometimes, the change works. Sometimes, not. I'll return to this issue with the Ents.

What's Left Out

Two of the major excisions from Fellowship's opening chapters are Frodo, Sam, and Pippin meeting Gildor on the road plus Frodo, Sam, Pippin, and Merry meeting Bombadil.

Both excisions are wise. Good grief, look what happened when Jackson included the eagles! Everyone started whining about Why couldn't the eagles be used to dispose of the Ring? (I address that issue here.) Introducing Gildor and Bombadil in the first film not only would have thrown off the pacing but would have raised the issue of "well, why not just give the Ring to those folks!?"

Real life is filled with all kinds of off-shoots and weird meetings and distractions and encounters that don't work out. A book can, to a degree capture all those random occurrences. A movie, which is deep in a different way from a book, runs the risk of going totally off-track if it introduces too many variables.

Hints that Satisfy the Fans

Jackson does do a fine job throwing in hints of the original text, such as Farmer Maggot as well as Pippin and Merry on a "shortcut to...mushrooms." Tom Bombadil is referenced much later in the scenes with Treebeard.

Books to Movies: Lord of the Rings, Background Information as Prologue and Action Plus Frodo's Age

Prologue:

As I mention with The Hobbit, I approve of background information being presented upfront. The selected material here is an impressive example of "how to summarize several 1,000 years of material" into less than 5 minutes. It presents the main characters and the problem.

In the book, this information is presented in "A Shadow of the Past," mostly through dialog. The movie divides up this information--partly through the prologue and partly through the scene where Gandalf returns to the Shire.

Likewise, background information about Gandalf's confrontation with Saruman, presented in the book as mostly exposition (in dialog form), is presented in the movie as visual action. And, yes, watching two classic old guy actors beat the crap out of each other is all kinds of fun!

The writing here is quite smart.

Frodo's Age:

In the book, Frodo is about the age portrayed in the movie at the time of "The Long Expected Party" (taking into account that hobbits age--in terms of social expectations--about 10 years behind humans, so Frodo's 33 is equivalent to the human age of 21).

He doesn't leave on his quest with the Ring until he is Bilbo's age in The Hobbit: 50 (about 40).

The younger age works, in part because Frodo is quite different in personality from Bilbo. They share qualities but Frodo is more bookish, more contemplative, more introverted, and more reserved. He also has a more authoritative aura, which Elijah Wood's Frodo doesn't always have. However, generally, I think Jackson's decision is the right one here.

For one, having a younger age (to begin) avoids the detective in long-lasting mystery series problem. Writers start a series with a detective who is about 40ish. By the time the series ends, the detective ought to be over 100!

A younger Frodo is not only quite attractive to watch and worry about, he invites the possibility of aging. In comparison, Bilbo's journey is not one of discovery but one of expansion or reckoning (mid-life crisis). Frodo, however, undertakes the classic hero journey in which characters discover more about themselves or undergo a metamorphosis (or become, in this case, the fisher king). Youth isn't a given. But it is often expected in myth and fairy tales.

Movie Versus Book Character: Tarzan as Entrancing Feral Boy

Tarzan is a good example of how the movie version may be more appealing than the book version.

Frankly, I consider Tarzan of the book something of a disappointment. He fits the genre and the time period but still--

He is brought up by apes, yes, and he retains some of those superhuman-animal qualities. But when he is discovered, his lordly, aristocratic nature shines through, especially once he dons his Western clothing. By the end of the book, he strikes me as a kind of James Bond character with a somewhat unusual past. 

However kitschy, George from the Jungle is closer to what I hoped to get with Tarzan: a guy who is more at home in the jungle than on city streets and who will interpret those city streets in terms of his extant knowledge. 

Burroughs and Jay Ward and Bill Scott are both right and wrong. (1) People do adjust quite rapidly to new cultural surroundings; (2) feral children do not.

That is, most feral children who are supposedly raised by wild animals or (more likely) locked up/neglected to the point of having almost no physical contact with other humans, have little capacity for speech, little capacity for touch, little capacity for bonding. 

Interestingly enough, if the feral state comes AFTER the age of four to five, the child may recover to the point of being able to live successfully among humans.

In sum, unless Tarzan's parents died when he was about three (at least), he would have little to no chance of interacting with any human with any degree of success--much less behaving like a master-of-the-universe. Even if they died later, when he was, say, closer to seven, he would have difficulty readjusting to human society.

Consequently, I consider Johnny Weissmuller's Tarzan to be a decent compromise. As John Taliaferro points out in his biography of Edgar Rice Burroughs, "Americans...viewed Johnny Weissmuller as the least inhibited man alive...Weissmuller...was clean-limbed in every sense. He gave the impression that he could have sold Bibles door to door wearing nothing but a G-string. Like Adam himself, he was naturally ideal and ideally natural. There was no hint of either embarrassment or braggadocio in his comportment." 

That is, Weissmuller plays Tarzan as the ultimate innocent--hot but, you know, not aware of it. Unlike George of the Jungle, who winks at the camera, Weissmuller's Tarzan seems honestly perplexed by how upset people get about things that are not that upsetting. 

He prefers nature. He doesn't command anyone. He is sweet-natured and impressively competent. He stays mostly unclothed.

That is, I think the Weissmuller movies capture what it is we viewers truly want. We don't want the aristocrat. We want the feral boy--only not a feral boy we have to feel bad about.