The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies

You have no power here

By the mercy of the Valar, Peter Jackson’s (hopefully) final Tolkien adaptation is leaner and more concise than the previous two, yet highlights the exact problems with creating three films out of a shorter-than-most-novellas-and-many-poetry-collections novel for children.  Remember PJEs from last time?  As sad as I am to see them go, I am not sad to see them go.

The Battle of the Five Armies, previously entitled There and Back Again, begins with what should have been the final ten minutes of The Desolation of Smaug in place of the mindless “kill the dragon with the stuff he literally sleeps under” fandango: Bard (Luke Evans), temporarily incarcerated by the Master of Lake Town (Stephen Fry), breaks out of his flimsy cage and kills Smaug (Benedict Cumberbatch collecting his easiest paycheck yet) by firing the arrow we’ve heard all about into the hole in Smaug’s hide that we’ve heard all about, in the process using his young son as a stabilizer for his bolt – since this is mostly invention anyway, a way to create actual stakes would have been to have Bard’s son perish as the lifeless dragon plummets into the burning Dale, but then our Boring Hero would not have been quite so boring, and we can’t have that.

Bilbo (Martin Freeman) is now stuck inside the reclaimed Erebor with Scrooge – er, Thorin Oakenshield (Richard Armitage) and company, previously tricked by Gandalf (Ian McKellan) into becoming the company’s “burglar.”  Thorin has become obsessed with protecting his own gold, and refuses to aid the people of Lake Town in rebuilding, taking back his promise to fulfill their claim of Erebor’s treasure in the process.  The Mirkwood Elves led by Thranduil (Lee Pace) and including Tauriel (Evangeline Lilly) and Legolas (Orlando Bloom) also have a claim – some of their ancestors’ MacGuffins lie inside Erebor – and wait things out with Bard, but to no avail.  Bilbo, having had enough of Thorin’s crap, hands over the Arkenstone (one of the three main MacGuffins in Tolkien’s legendarium, after the One Ring and the Silmarils) to the allied Men and Elves, hoping that a ransom will do the trick.  But Thorin has to deal with his issues on his own, and while everyone argues, a massive army of CGI Orcs marches upon Erebor (their mischief quota for the decade has not yet been met, and now they can wipe out all of the do-gooders at once).

Unlike the second installment, this film actually feels finished.  It’s certainly not the “defining chapter,” but similar to An Unexpected Journey, the adapted parts turn out pretty well, specifically the expunging of Sauron (in animated GIF form) from Dol Guldur by the White Council, composed of Galadriel (Cate Blanchett), Elrond (Hugo Weaving), and the not-yet-corrupted Saruman (Christopher Lee).  Galadriel is given the task of banishing Sauron with her incredible power, while the others hold off the Nazgul (!), and what could have been a disastrous repeat of the Dol Guldur battle in the second film accomplishes quite a bit: Galadriel, one of the only two women among the film’s roughly thirty speaking roles, is given an important task to do while keeping in step with the mythology.  Her standoff, in “blue” form, with Sauron (which would be truly tense if not for the fact that we know she defeats him because we’ve already seen the “sequels”) illustrates exactly why she is so terrified of being offered the One Ring later.  Cate Blanchett slips back into the role as easily as if they’d filmed this in conjunction with The Fellowship of the Ring, and I almost high-fived the stranger next to me in the theatre when Galadriel casually strutted barefoot into the Orc-infested pits of Dol Guldur and began destroying enemies with the wave of a hand.

The film also highlights Thorin’s greed (albeit spinning its tires to the point of near-baldness to do so).  His decision to break his oath is worse than anything done by the film’s Orc villains, Azog and Bolg (calling them one-note would be an insult to stock characters).  This section, though, is one of the most egregious examples of how this film, 144 minutes, should have been even leaner.  Nearly every shot in the film is too long.  Every integral character has multiple closeups with serious looks on their faces whilst their hair blows in slow motion.  Conversations that already went on for too long are repeated in other characters’ heads later.  One of the film’s opening shots is a closeup of Tauriel that lasts for so long that one can almost hear the filmmakers saying, “Look! We got a woman to agree to be in this!”  Countless scenes are comprised of cliche’ non-Tolkien dialogue, including a dozen versions of this: That army was bred for one purpose. / What purpose? / (pause) War.  There are more villain-slowly-raises-weapon-to-kill-hero-leaving-just-enough-time-for-another-hero-to-stop-him scenarios than in every LotR film combined.  The eponymous battle looks like it’s about to end countless times, only for something to go wrong or another horde to show up.  The central fights in the battle (Thorin vs. Azog; Legolas/Tauriel vs. Bolg) start out well enough, tense enough, engaging enough, but employ misleads and “you only thought he was dead” moments ad nauseum.  The protracting of these scenes only highlights the series’s ongoing CG issues (cartoonish elf stunts, characters blipping across the screen, video-gamey movements, mounts appearing as blobs of color, etc.) and storytelling problems: after so much focus on the Erebor quest, why don’t we find out what happens to it and the Arkenstone after the battle’s end (in the novel, Dain, Thorin’s cousin, played here by Billy Connolly as a belligerent Irishman, takes over)?  Why is so much tension given to whether a battle will break out, when the title of the movie already gives that away?  Why isn’t Beorn (Mikael Persbrandt), one of the funniest and most important supporting characters in the book, not to mention completely unique compared to the dwarf/elf/human/orc archetypes that constitute the main cast, featured more?  Why does Tauriel care about Kili (Aidan Turner)?  What does she decide to do after deciding that love is nothing but pain?  In what ways is this almost-relationship meant to be a revelation (i.e. Thranduil knows about Beren/lLuthien and Aragorn/Arwen, yo!)?  Why isn’t Tauriel allowed to kill Bolg, when they’re both essentially inventions for this film, and when she’s the only one who has any real motivation to do so (besides just winning the battle)? Why do we see Legolas mourning a comrade’s death when The Fellowship of the Ring makes clear that he’s never had to deal with death before?  Why does he have to go hang out with Aragorn now?  Why does Bard’s son get involved in the fighting, but his daughters just make scared faces?  Why don’t we see the women (i.e. wives and daughters of the Lake Men) fight in the battle after they decide to fight? Why drag out the existence of made-up character Alfrid (Ryan Gage) and not have him do anything?  Maybe his scenes are misplaced attempts at humor, but his final sendoff, in which Bard essentially calls him a coward by calling him a girl, is in pretty poor taste.

The most important issue is one that bears repeating: you cannot create tension or stakes in a prequel by introducing material that has already been resolved in the originals.  If you drink a single milligram of arsenic every time this film focuses on a contrived lead-in to something that happens in the LotR trilogy, you will be dead before the credits.

The titular hobbit does a bit more this time around, and the film ends (as it should/must/etc.) with him.  The final scene takes a moment to reflect upon all we’ve been through with the movie versions of the hobbits, and then reminds us exactly where we began.  This is one of maybe two scenes that evoke any real emotion in the film, mostly because none of the characters have actually been characterized or deepened.  The other scene is Bilbo’s tearful farewell to dying Thorin, who apologizes profusely for his selfish actions earlier.  The scene works because Freeman and Armitage are adept actors who have spent a lot of time playing opposite one another; however, it falls slightly short because it mirrors the scene between Aragorn and Boromir in Fellowship, and the core issue is that it’s the same moment.

Many of the issues are with Tolkien, including the continuous exclusion of women (none appear in The Hobbit; none are a part of the Fellowship of nine, few do anything of importance in The Silmarillion besides die), but most of it is with the filmmakers.  The story could have been more succinct with one movie or even two, but three installments that all breach 2.5 hours actually lampshades the absence of character growth.  The most complete piece of the Hobbit film trilogy, The Battle of the Five Armies puts forth an (mostly) honest effort, and is, for the foreseeable future, the last one I’ll get a chance to look at.  Y’know, unless New Line greenlights an Azog n’ Friends spinoff.

Read my writeup of The Desolation of Smaug here, and An Unexpected Journey here.

Check out a Tolkien-based film I worked on here and here.

The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies (2014); based upon the novel by J.R.R. Tolkien; screenplay by Peter Jackson and Philippa Boyens, and Fran Walsh; directed by Peter Jackson; starring Martin Freeman, Ian McKellan, Cate Blanchett, Richard Armitage, and Evangeline Lilly.

The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug

What have we done?

I don’t know who’s paying reviewers to say that The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug is leaps and bounds better than the mediocre first film, but as they say, the money-hose runs long (actually, I just made that up).  I wrote a bit about narrative payoff in the newest Disney film, which seemed all well and validated until last night.  The Desolation of Smaug makes Frozen look like Pulp Fiction.

We joked all throughout the aughts about Peter Jackson’s love for All Things Orc, and when he shoehorned Orcs into the first Hobbit film (for the laymen: Orcs do not appear in Tolkien’s The Hobbit novel), even that seemed somewhat okay, since yes, the novel did have an army of Goblins (later referred to as a type of Orc in The Lord of the Rings) led by Bolg, the sworn enemy of Thorin Oakenshield (Richard Armitage in the films), son of Azog, the sworn enemy of Thorin’s ancestors, and as we all know, the Boring Hero of a fantasy film must have an appropriate foil.  But in the first film, it wasn’t Bolg; it was Azog, who in Tolkien’s mythology is dead a century before the novel begins.  Alright, I thought.  Maybe PJ liked Azog’s name better.  Bolg didn’t do much other than get squished by Beorn off-page, so no harm done.  But then I remembered how many Orcs and Uruk-Hai received their own scenes in the first trilogy of films.  I recalled lines like “We ain’t had nothin’ but maggoty bread for three stinkin’ days!” Okay, okay, I thought.  This is all because they’re making a trilogy, and need to have a bad guy to knock off in a duel at the end, so let’s stick it out until Azog bites it and Bolg takes over the army in the next one.  And then Azog did not die, and what’s worse, I hadn’t brought anything to throw at the screen.

The new film is All Orcs All the Time (actually a better title than the one it has).  The wonder and magic are gone, as are all attempts to adapt the novel.  Beorn (Mikael Persbrandt), one of the most interesting and important characters in the novel, and also the subject of one of the novel’s funniest and most involving scenes, receives two or three minutes onscreen, wherein he says and does nothing that makes any difference or sense, before being shoved aside for scenes of computer-generated Orcs saying corny bad guy crap to one another.  Remember Barrels Out of Bond?  That’s included, but it’s extended to about twenty minutes so that a thousand Orcs can be killed trying to stop the barrels from floating down the river while simultaneously battling other characters who are not in the novel, such as Tauriel (Evangeline Lilly) and Legolas (Orlando Bloom), whose makeup so heavily tries to hide how much older and differently built than he was in the LotR films that his face might as well be animatronic – in fact, most of his fighting is done by a CG version of him, and it’s some of the most embarrassingly bad CG that I’ve ever seen onscreen.  Even the dwarves in the barrels appear as blobs of CG color.  Did they dump the entire animation budget into Smaug, spitball this stuff together, and just say “Fuck it; the Ringers won’t notice or care”?  If there’s a chase scene, there are Orcs involved.  If there’s a narrow or dark passage, an Orc is lurking somewhere.  If a new set is introduced, you can bet the Orcs will want to visit it.  If someone is eating a cake, an Orc will pop out.

The overt “prophecy” stuff about the dwarves takes a front seat.  Thorin is supposed to retake Erebor and become King Under the Mountain.  He believes and pursues this without question, even referring to people who might be sacrificed in the wake of this pursuit by their races instead of their names, absolving himself of all blame for their deaths.  He has a scene wherein he becomes not unlike Sean Bean’s Boromir in a fumbling attempt to snatch the Arkenstone.  Here’s the problem: no one in the theatre – and more importantly, not even the lens of the film itself – seems to realize that Thorin is the villain.  He’s the one making all of these bad things happen.  His adventure is putting everyone in danger and bringing back to life a dragon so steadfastly evil that he actually utters the phrase “I am death” – and not even to intimidate anyone; he says it to himself!  Thorin will not succeed in the end, of course, but none of Tolkien’s (nor Jackson’s) narrative remotely suggests that he gets what’s coming to him.

There’s an unbelievable amount of focus on material meant to raise the stakes, but the film falls victim to an ancient blunder: you cannot raise the stakes in a prequel by introducing stuff that has already been resolved in the originals.  Gandalf (Ian McKellan) goes head to head with the Necromancer (Sauron) before getting captured at the end.  Is anyone truly afraid for him?  Similarly, when the One Ring rolls away, is anyone afraid that Bilbo (Martin Freeman) will not retrieve it?  In further distractions, even the barely-relevant Master of Lake Town (Stephen Fry, basically playing himself) has his own scenes with yet another Jackson-invented character, Alfrid (Ryan Gage), who essentially fills the “Wormtongue Lite” role.  Furthermore, an excruciating amount of screentime is devoted to Kili (Aidan Turner), who falls for the flawless Tauriel in much the same way that Gimli becomes infatuated with Galadriel.  But it’s different this time because none of this, including Tauriel, is in the book, and readers know that any nuance or depth concerning Kili’s character doesn’t matter much at the end of the next film anyway.

You’ll notice that I have barely mentioned Bilbo Baggins, the titular Hobbit.  That’s because his role, the essential narrative voice of the novel (albeit told in vintage Tolkien third-person) is relegated to cameo status here.  There were times that the film lingered so long on Orcs and dwarves that I actually forgot about Martin Freeman’s involvement.  He saves the dwarves’ lives more than once, but the profoundness of these feats is never mentioned by anyone (Gandalf at one point chalks everything up to Bilbo not being “the same Hobbit who left the Shire,” and we’re left to accept him as a generic warrior character to go with the other thirteen).

If you’ve made it this far, I’ll say this: Bilbo’s scene with the Mirkwood spiders is very good, and even includes the twisted speech of the spiders, and the horrifying revelation (to those who pay attention) that Bilbo’s desire to keep the ring is more than fairly similar to the spiders’ blind desire to feast on living flesh.  But it’s soon punctuated by yet another unwelcome and noncanon arrival of the Elves, whom Jackson shoved into Helm’s Deep (where they did not belong), and now has them rescue our gang from spiders and Orcs using painfully choreographed bull-shitsu, most of which is animated and not performed by the actors or stuntmen.  The involvement of Gandalf is well done, despite the fact that his trek to Dol Guldur is not shown in the novel, because it’s simple: he wants to check out a suspicious magician whom he (correctly) presumes to be Sauron.  So he joins Radagast (Sylvester McCoy, still covered in bird shit) and heads to the center of the problem.  It’s straightforward and mostly relevant.  Take a guess at whether he fights Orcs, though.

And then there’s Smaug (Benedict Cumberbatch), a creature so painstakingly created that he took the entire title of the film for himself.  The scene with Smaug is great in the novel not because we see a cool dragon or a battle, but because we see a genuine bit of characterization on the part of Bilbo: due to the Ring’s influence, he begins arrogantly taunting Smaug without even thinking about it.  In the film, he still refers to himself as Riddle Maker and Barrel Rider, but he does it all jittery-like, and both characters react to the other exactly as you’d expect characters in a fantasy movie, and not from the works of J.R.R. Tolkien, to react.  The wordplay soon moves aside in favor of a film-invented battle with the dwarves, whom, again, readers know will not succeed in melting Smaug’s indestructible hide with molten gold (although it takes us a half hour to get there before the film abruptly drops us).  Wherever there arises the opportunity for a cliffhanger, there will be one.  Even Legolas’s lakeside duel with Bolg ends in a stalemate.  Smaug, though, is expertly animated and acted, albeit at the expense of the filmmakers’ one true love: the Orcs.  Evangeline Lilly’s involvement is also a welcome breath, adding a feminine energy and voice that the story desperately needs.

The biggest chip I carry is that ever since the original Rings films, I have continuously suspected that Peter Jackson and Philippa Boyens, reread as they might, have no idea what Tolkien’s books were actually about, and this was Tolkien’s biggest fear and pet peeve when it came to adaptations of his work.  It’s so easy for someone with the money and fanbase of New Line to say that a certain addition is “in the spirit of Tolkien,” when in fact, there was a reason he did not write penis jokes, ten-page battles with Orcs, and a wrestling match atop Mount Doom.  Tolkien’s cultural insensitivity aside, he knew the workings of his own universe.

All things considered, I can say with genuine honesty that I think the final chapter (which should have been this one, considering the amount of taffy-style narrative stretching seen here) will be better in all ways, if we can find our way back to even a single facet of what makes the story resonate – the smallness of it all, the deliberate and unique narrative, the characterization of Bilbo.  Is it an “enjoyable” film?  Yeah, sure.  But as I’ve said, spectacle and entertainment do not make quality art.  Leave the enjoyment to the Wargs.

The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug (2013); based upon the novel by J.R.R. Tolkien; screenplay by Fran Walsh, Philippa Boyens, and Peter Jackson; directed by Peter Jackson; starring Ian McKellan, Martin Freeman, Evangeline Lilly, and Richard Armitage.

The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey

That’s what Bilbo Baggins hates

I’ll just say this right out of the gate: this is the only review of The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey that matters.  Why?  Not because I’ve written and directed a film based upon the works of Tolkien, but because I approach criticism from the perspective of a reader.  I’m more inclined to relate (not “compare,” of course) the film to its source material, not the indulgent Peter Jackson trilogy loosely based upon Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings a decade ago.  The media monkeys keep asking, “Does this movie live up to the original trilogy?”  I promise you that no one asking this question has any idea what they’re asking.

Jackson again plays somewhat loosely with the material, but overall, the story feels much leaner due to its focus on a single protagonist.  Bilbo Baggins (Martin Freeman), the titular Hobbit (as anyone who made it through fifth grade knows), lives at ease in the Shire, where he relaxes, blows smoke rings, keeps a pantry full of every food imaginable, and doesn’t mind eating alone.  A hobbit hole, as Tolkien writes, “means comfort.”  Why would anyone feel the need to go on an adventure and get into trouble?  Soon, of course, Bilbo’s way of life is subverted: Gandalf (Ian McKellan), a mysterious wizard, arrives at Bilbo’s door, claiming that he has chosen Bilbo to join in an adventure.  Bilbo refuses and thinks he’s off the hook, but after Gandalf engraves a strange rune into the front door, the hobbit is visited by thirteen dwarves led by Thorin Oakenshield (Richard Armitage), son of Thrain, son of Thror, the fabled King Under the Mountain, a descendant of the heralded Durin’s folk.  The dwarves, to Bilbo’s dismay, devour everything in his pantry, sing an impromptu song mocking the hobbit’s stuffy nature, and explain their plans to reclaim their gold from Smaug, a dragon left over from the First Age, who sacked their mountain a century ago and left their people ripe for an attack by Orcs. Jackson’s film version, before beginning the plot action, features an extensive prologue which not only explains the dwarves’ origin story – featuring Smaug’s sacking of Erebor and Thorin’s epic battle with Orc chieftain Azog (Manu Bennett) – but also an appearance by Ian Holm as the older Bilbo Baggins, who takes a break from his birthday preparations to write some more of his book.  He begins with the first line of the original novel: “This is a story from long ago,” and also gives us the first line of chapter 1: “In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.”  Smiles were abound.  Much of the opening dialogue between Gandalf and Bilbo is also preserved, including their “good morning” routine and the famous “I am Gandalf, and Gandalf means me.”

The film follows the events of the novel up to the beginning of chapter 6, and due to the employment of what I have come to call “Peter Jackson Elements,” it goes on for longer than it needs to and doesn’t cover half the book material that it could.  These PJEs include Azog, whose counterpart in the novel is killed 150 years before the story begins and whose son, Bolg, actually runs the goblin army.  Azog and friends stalk Thorin and company throughout the movie in order to provide a foil for the King Under the Mountain, but it’s completely unnecessary and panders to the action movie crowd.  It’s also a bit disrespectful to the original text – don’t you think Tolkien knew what he was doing?  One of the lore-related issues here is that Azog in the film is referred to as the “pale orc,” a unique characteristic making him mythically large and fearsome.  In the novel, there are no orcs.  These characters are all goblins, though Tolkien, after being pressured by his publisher to write a sequel, later retrospectively changed some of this material, making goblins a type of small orc – this and many other pieces of The Hobbit, including language, modern references, writing style, and changes in the lore, indicate all too clearly that The Lord of the Rings isn’t a direct sequel to this story.  Jackson not only tries to make it consistent with the later story, but also consistent with his own films, which perverted many elements of The Lord of the Rings beyond recognition.  To achieve this, he also includes scenes that build up to the story of The Fellowship of the Ring.  The White Council – Elrond (Hugo Weaving), Galadriel (Cate Blanchett), Saruman (Christopher Lee), and Gandalf meet in Rivendell to discuss the appearance of the Necromancer, a cryptic sorcerer who turns out to be the bereft Sauron, the main antagonist of The Lord of the Rings (lightweight compared to his predecessor in the First Age, but let’s not get into that).  The scene is satisfying in and of itself, and it’s a relief to witness the inclusion of Galadriel (the only female character in the film), but it’s ultimately a distraction, as is a divergent scene featuring Radagast the Brown (Sylvester McCoy), who investigates the Necromancer and reports his findings to Gandalf.  This is material best left to an extended cut.

The sections of the film that are actually adapted from novel material are wonderfully done.  The chapter Roast Mutton, in which three trolls capture the dwarves and discuss how to cook them while Bilbo attempts to buy time, is largely faithful, aside from the inclusion of a fight scene, with the trolls’ cockney accents preserved (a sad reminder of Tolkien’s intolerance for the English working class).  The Great Goblin (played by Barry Humphries) is deliciously repulsive, with goiters the size of your head, and the humor of his conflict with Gandalf remains, as does his song about “Goblin Town,” a carved out village in the pitch-black of the Misty Mountains.  The stone giants are included, though their proximity to the main cast is amplified in the film (and not to the detriment of the story).  The most love for Tolkien’s work, however, is displayed during the famous Riddles in the Dark, wherein Bilbo makes a deal with the gangling Gollum (Andy Serkis): if Bilbo can solve all of Gollum’s riddles without a single incorrect answer, he will be led safely out of the Misty Mountains.  If the inverse should occur, Gollum will eat Bilbo for dinner.  “Fair enough,” Freeman’s Bilbo flatly states.  This scene never cuts away and includes nearly every riddle from the book, and even most of the blocking.  Not only do Bilbo’s actions tie together some of the story’s themes, but this is also Gollum at his best.  He looks better, acts more like the novel’s Gollum and not a cartoon character, and doesn’t overstay his welcome.  When he screams and weeps after losing his “precious,” the audience feels some real sympathy at his plight: he may be grotesque and deceitful, but he’s still (or once was) a person, and this is all he has.  The scene is capped off with Bilbo losing his shirt-buttons while squeezing through an opening in the cave, an event in the novel that leaves him miffed for quite some time.

A common complaint is that the scenes in the Shire take too long.  False – sure, we spend a lot of time there, but if anything, Bilbo’s decision to go on the adventure is actually too abrupt.  There never seems to be a lack of urgency in these scenes if you know where to find it: Bilbo doesn’t want to go on the adventure.  That’s the conflict.  If he goes with the dwarves, he will almost surely die; even Gandalf does not deny this.  If by “urgency,” you mean there should be more battles and action and jump-cuts, you need to relax and open a book. Performance-wise, Freeman is the correct choice for Bilbo.  He’s satisfied with his life of solitude, somewhat of an oddball in Hobbiton, perpetually irritated with his predicament, and far more concerned with getting home to his hearth and a warm meal than with helping the dwarves reclaim their home.  He finds Sting (and the lore of Gondolin is preserved) but never shows any adeptness at swordfighting, and haphazardly swings it at any monster that comes near him.  He’s the lens through which we are introduced to Middle-earth, and sometimes we wish he would stop for a moment and try to appreciate some of the beauty around him.  McKellan shines once again as Gandalf, and it’s much more pleasant to see him on the small scale – taking meals, speaking intimately with Galadriel, and helping the group defeat trolls and goblins, never quite letting slip that he’s much more than a mischievous old man.  Armitage portrays Thorin as well as anyone could; in the novel, he has a relatively one-track mind and doesn’t care much for Bilbo.  This attitude is retained in the film without too many distractions (aside from the aforementioned inclusion of a sworn enemy).  As there must be character growth by the end of a film, however, Thorin’s tolerance of Bilbo, not to mention Bilbo’s discovery that his own soul houses at least a small bit of bravery, is pushed forward.  Make no mistake, though; their friendship will be more than tested once Erebor is taken back and the Arkenstone comes into play. The idea to split The Hobbit into three films is unforgivably ham-handed and serves two purposes: a money grab on the part of New Line, and a cushion for Jackson to build his own “film universe” with invented material.  Even the first installment features music from his The Lord of the Rings films, which feels out of place and seems at times like an advertisement for other movies.

The gap between releases is even worse.  Will the other films be good?  I’m hopeful.  Will they falter in their faithfulness to their source material as egregiously as The Two Towers and Return of the King did?  Let’s not even speculate yet. Here is the question you should be asking.  Forget other films.  Does this film live up to the spirit of the novel?  Yes.  That fact enough is worth a look.  A book, the most complex of art, can never be “made into” a movie (as so many like to say), only adapted, but this series can continue to retain the spirit of the novel by preserving the magic of Middle-earth’s more beautiful corners, by not getting caught up in battle scenes, by minimizing the PJE issues, and above all, by focusing on what the story is all about at heart.  As Tolkien wrote, “This is a story of how a Baggins had an adventure, and found himself doing and saying things altogether unexpected.  He may have lost the neighbours’ respect, but he gained – well, you will see whether he gained anything in the end.”

The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey (2012); screenplay by Fran Walsh, Phillippa Boyens, Peter Jackson, and Guillermo del Toro; adapted from the novel by J.R.R. Tolkien; directed by Peter Jackson, starring Martin Freeman, Ian McKellan, Richard Armitage, Cate Blanchett, and Andy Serkis.