Stop the Movie!

By Andy Rector

Back in the late eighties, my friend, Phyllis, and I had taken a college class called "Modern Christian Writers." As part of the course, our professor, Mr. Henderson, introduced us to The Lord of the Rings. We fell in love with the epic tale of Hobbits, wizards and orcs. Imagine my excitement, when, years later, I read an article on the Internet about LOTR being transformed into film. I dashed the article via email to my friend Phyllis.

"I’m so excited," replied Phyllis through email. "I can’t wait to see it. They’re my favorite books. Let’s see it together." I had read the series twice, but Phyllis was even more of a LOTR geek than I was. She knew details; she knew that Boromir and Faramir were brothers; she knew the difference between the cities of Gondor and Helm’s Deep; she knew that Gollum used to be named Smeagol. I just read the books for fun and enjoyment, not to nerdify myself with useless trivia.

Knowing about her unhealthy obsession with LOTR, I tried to warn Phyllis not to get her hopes up about movies that had been turned into film. The results were usually disastrous. My favorite novel, Dune, had been slaughtered when it had been made into a movie back in 1984. A complex story like Dune was impossible to compress into a two-hour movie. I didn’t even understand the film myself, and I had read the book at least three times by the time I watched it butchered on the screen. Characters had been deleted. The plot had changed. Details were left out. Would LOTR suffer the same fate? Phyllis and I took comfort in the fact that the story would be broken down into three films just like the original book had been broken down into three volumes; perhaps they would capture the epic feel of the world’s most famous fantasy by spreading it out.

Finally, the first film, The Fellowship of the Ring, was released. Phyllis and I stood in a line that wound up and down the hall of Tinseltown Theatres. Somehow, we managed to get into the back row of the stadium-seated room—our favorite place to watch movies. We called the first three rows the "Loser Seats" because you had to crane your neck up to watch the screen. By the end of the movie, your neck was sore. The actors looked distorted with lopsided faces and boobs. We took our place in the majestic back row, giddy with excitement. The movie would be spread out before us like a panorama. We were ready to dive into the dramatization and live the tale.

The Fellowship of the Ring fulfilled our anticipation. For the most part the film stuck closely to the first book. The actors had performed brilliantly; their costumes and makeup made you believe they were really hobbits, or elves, or dwarves. The cinematography used New Zealand as the backdrop; it was a perfect choice. Even the computer-generated scenes, like the elf-town of Rivendell, seemed credible. The satisfaction we received from this first film took our guard down by the time the second film, The Two Towers, hit the theatres.

Phyllis and I were nothing more than innocent lambs being led to the slaughter as we entered the theatre to watch The Two Towers. Again, we were as excited as two little kids getting to stay up past our bedtime. Assuming the faithful adaptation of the LOTR up to this point would spill over into this second installment, we giggled and made fun of the people sitting in the "Loser Seats."

I didn’t know any better as the film rolled, but I realized things were not going well. For at least the fifth time, I heard Phyllis whisper "That’s not how it happened in the book." Even I caught a few discrepancies myself, like Legolas the elf using a shield as a skateboard to glide down the steps of Helm’s Deep as he shot orcs with his arrow. At another point in the movie, I whispered, "I don’t remember Aragorn being pulled over a cliff by a warg and landing in a river."

"I know," whispered Phyllis loud enough for the lady sitting in front of us to turn and look. Poor Phyllis. She took these artistic liberties— these blasphemous inconsistencies —especially hard. At one point, I was afraid she was going to stand up and yell, "Stop the movie!"

Fortunately, the third installment of the LOTR— The Return of the King —made up for the second. Phyllis was able to forgive and forget. Overall, the trilogy was praised by LOTR fans, both veteran and newly-recruited. They— or the third movie, I’m not sure —won many Oscars, including best picture.

At first, getting upset over a movie adaptation of one’s favorite book might seem silly. Is it, though? For years, LOTR was unknown to most people. Eventually, it gained a following. Soon. it was destined to become a movie. A book like LOTR becomes almost a close friend. You love the characters. You endure the adventures, the heartaches, the struggles they endure. In your mind, you know exactly how they should look. You have certain quotes memorized. You have your favorite scenes you read over and over.

Phyllis and I enjoyed LOTR on a private level. Especially Phyllis. It was her private world. We both knew thousands and thousands of people loved LOTR like we did, but turning it into a movie felt like losing a friend to fame. It wasn’t "our own" anymore. This book would have to be shared with the general public. It seemed almost like a violation of one’s privacy.

So, when a book is transformed into a movie, and the movie doesn’t live up to your expectations, you feel like a relative or friend has been chewed up and spit out by Hollywood. Fame has used him or her. Fortunately, LOTR had been translated well for the screen. Sure, the nitpickers will gripe about this scene being left out, or how a certain character had a much larger role than in the book. Part of me does not blame them. I consider certain books to be like friends; books can be more than ink on paper when you let them.

Before the LOTR movies I felt about the story as my own friend. Now I have to adapt to sharing my friend with the general public. For example, when I took my eight-year-old neice to a fast food restaurant , she got a LOTR figurine with her children’s meal. The figurine was Legolas. My neice insisted Legolas was a girl, you know, with the long hair and all.

"No," I said, "Legolas is a boy."

"Sorry, girl," she insisted as she marched him across the crumb-covered tabletop.

I grumbled at the commercial toy that violated a beautiful classic, but then realized I probably would never would have had a discussion, as inane as it was, about LOTR with my neice if it weren’t for the movie. Many more people would read these classics because of the movies.

So that’s the quandary for those of us who love books which have been turned into movies. We like having the book as our own personal friend. We can’t wait to see it turned into a movie. Then we gripe when the characters don’t look like they are supposed to or the story is changed dramatically. We have to share our friend with the world and the world turns her into a whore. But deep down inside we are excited that the general public thinks our friend is good enough to be on the screen. It validates us. If nothing else we can say we knew LOTR before LOTR was cool.