A-Z Characters & Transformation: Sam, Of Course

Sam from Tolkien's Lord of the Rings is another character who may not, on the surface, appear to transform. He remains steadfastly loyal and despite his momentary banishment in the movie, he never truly leaves Frodo's side. His personality remains steadfast, practical, virtuous, realistic--wonderful qualities that culminate in his decision to carry Frodo up part of Mount Doom. Some readers consider him the more heroic of the two since he never caves.

I don't agree since I think the burden Frodo carries is by necessity doomed to corrupt him. His heroism lies in choices made BEFORE the trek to Mount Doom, and in his remarkable endurance to keep stepping forward. He is the Fisher King. 

I also think that although the book culminates with Sam's decision at Mount Doom, his history--as written down by Tolkien--makes clear that Sam at the end is not the same Sam at the beginning. The journey did change him or, perhaps, crystallized those qualities that make him a capable and fair leader. He is voted as Mayor in the Shire up until he departs, in his elder years, for the Grey Havens. 

Sam is touched by grace in the same way as Frodo. Unlike with some of the other members of the Fellowship, he doesn't change direction or waffle over a decision or obviously gain experience--yet he comes out a hobbit who could not be anything but changed.  

Tolkien knew how to write heroism in everyday life.  

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.   

A-Z Characters & Transformation: Bilbo

A great deal has been written about Bilbo's handling of his midlife crisis. 

From a writing perspective, Bilbo is a transformative character par excellence, in part because he transforms without becoming someone else. 

The challenge of the transforming character is the problem of Scrooge (who will naturally come up later). If the character changes too much--like the Beast to the Prince--the audience might feel cheated or indifferent. After all, replacing Character A with Character B is not much of a transformation. It's just an exchange. 

Bilbo remains Bilbo. But much more Bilbo-ish than he might have been otherwise. 

From one of my Tolkien posts, I state: 

Bilbo remakes himself; he still values the comforts of the cozy life yet he is willing and able to appreciate the dangers he has experienced:

A pivotal moment echoed by the lines from the movie below.

Bilbo Baggins: No! I am glad to have shared in your perils, Thorin. Each and every one of them. It is far more than any Baggins deserves.

Bilbo Baggins: One day I'll remember. Remember everything that happened: the good, the bad, those who survived... and those that did not.

This is the Bilbo who will adopt and raise the near saintly Frodo, who saves not just hobbits but  the entire world. Could (would) Bilbo have done it otherwise?

The remarkable aspect of Tolkien's and Jackson's approach to this change is that while the redefinitions have epic results, the redefinitions themselves are human, ordinary, even small.

"He was my friend," Bilbo says of Thorin in the movie (reflecting the relationship in the book), a small declaration in which the entire Fellowship (and the future of the ring) is contained.

 

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. 

Héra: Lots of Action Doesn't Equate to a Deep Character

Apparently, the writers or producers or someone connected to the War of the Rohirrim believes that their main female character is a cut above all those other Tolkien female characters because she is a full character.

She isn't. 

Héra must be one of the most boring female characters I've ever watched. I kept the movie going but lost interest about 1/2 hour into the movie. It likely didn't help that I had just finished listening to Andy Serkis read The Simarillion, a tome that produces seriously complex villains and protagonists (and Tolkien accomplished this complexity despite focusing mostly on the mythic elements). The characters of War are lacking in complexity. 

Since I knew that the movie's writers and producers thought they had conquered some milestone with Hera, I had to ask myself, "Why? How could any decent writer not perceive how bland her character is?" 

Victorian explorer.

Remarkable personality!

I decided that far too many writers and producers mistake a character doing lots of things with a character having a personality. 

In the previous post, I comment that HOW Denethor and Theoden handle their despair reveals their character. 

In comparison, Hera spends the movie behaving like the good girl at the high school prom. 

Sure, she occasionally says, "Oh, no, should I really?" but she says it two seconds before she does it. The implication is that her strength comes not from facing and conquering challenges but from knowing exactly what to do when...

Uh, sorry writers of War of the Rohirrim but upperclass Victorian women trained in etiquette knew the same stuff (some of them had fascinating lives anyway!).

This "I always respond as I should" attitude is MILES away from Eowyn feeling trapped between her royal responsibilities and her warrior desires with the prior position having more merit in many ways. (In the book, Eowyn is left to rule over the king's people when he rides out to battle; she is put in charge of protecting the equivalent of the country's capital.) 

I think Arwen is a more static character. Jackson does a better job with Tauriel, who is also trapped between choices. Tolkien gives us Luthien who takes personal (not just daring) risks during her adventures. 

And even Arwen (of the film trilogy) is faced with despair and chooses to return and to hope in reaction to that despair. She appears to make choices, not to already know what all the choices are.

In comparison *sigh* Hera does stuff: this and then this and then this and then this. And then this. And then this. 

Stuff is important. But if the character doesn't have an underlying personality that determines HOW they do that stuff and why they struggle over doing it...

Doing lots of stuff doesn't equal a strong character. 

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.) 

Art for Art's Sake: Perfect Scene in The Silmarillion

One of the most remarkable aspects of Tolkien's Middle Earth theology is the preservation of the agency of the individual. Even the Maiar, those beings below Iluvatar who reside on the edges of Middle Earth, are separate sentient beings who must make their own choices. Their lack of knowledge; their idiosyncratic interests; even their preferences re: friendship are not perceived as sins or mistakes or failings. 

In fact, reading (or listening to Andy Serkis read) The Silmarillion brings home how often humans do unfortunately interpret "righteousness" as seamlessness or sameness. 

In contrast, everybody in Tolkien's universe has a unique and personal set of interests and hobbies and loves and wants. 

Consequently, one of the greatest scenes in the book occurs after Morgoth (Melkor) has stolen the Silmarils with the help of the ever-hungry Ungoliant. The Maiar Yavanna then commends the elf Feanor for creating jewels that could restore or replace the Silmarils. The Maiar ask for the jewels.

There was a long silence, but Feanor answered no word. Then Tulkas cried, "Speak, O Noldo, yea or nay! But who shall deny Yavanna? And does not the light of the Silmarils come from her work in the beginning?"

But Aule the Maker said, "Be not hasty! We ask a greater thing than thou knowest. Let him have peace for awhile." 

Love of one's creation is a state of mind deserving of respect. 

Over and over through The Silmarillion, Tolkien praises the desire to make stuff. Even when it goes wrong, the desire to build and fashion and write and produce is never in itself condemned. 

The view here agrees with both Tolkien and Lewis's attitudes toward art. They believed that God was the ultimate creator and when we try to create we are attempting to emulate God. Creation, even imperfect creation, is always the opposite of destruction and negation. It always bears about it the imprint of heavenly favor.

A glorious view of life and deity! 

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.

Horse Rescue Day & Shadowfax

The holiday refers to rescuing horses from slaughter. However, this post refers to a rescuing horse. 

My father is a fan of Tolkien but not a huge fan of movies. However, when Jackson's Lord of the Rings: Two Towers came out, he went to the movie with family members. Afterwards, he said,

"That movie was all about the horse!"

He was referring specifically to the scene where Shadowfax comes to Gandalf's call. Shadowfax arrives in slow motion. I don't honestly understand Jackson's choice here--except, okay, he is a beautiful horse.  

I suspect that this is one place where the visual film maker takes over from the storyteller. If a photographer can get an animal to do what the animal is supposed to do...

The photographer doesn't waste that moment. 

Shadowfax was played by Domero and Blanco. 

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.