Not An Oxymoron - Part One

The second installment of The Hobbit is about to hit movie screens everywhere, and I am dreading the event. Those who've read my Surprised by Books post understand my love of Tolkien, and that I am compelled to go see what the idiot savant Peter Jackson has done to one of the most endearing children's books – a book that today would fit into the young adult genre – of all time.

The Classic

Part of Jackson's problem plagues pretty much every Hollywood action writer drawing breath: grandiosity. In their work, these screenwriters have declared that only larger-than-life, spectacular events are compelling. The more improbable the event, they think, the more interesting. This could not be further from the truth. I would suggest that it is precisely the little things that transform a story from a sensory experience into an alternative reality that smells, feels and tastes like the stuff of life. Once realism is obliterated in a cascade of CGI stunts, then the truly heroic – essential to every fantastic tale – falls flat. 

This is counterintuitive but essential to good fantasy. The best fantasy is realistic. My reviews of fantasy going forward will pay homage to the achievements of writers in creating a fantastic setting that draws in the reader with its plausibility. And the success is in the mundane details.

The first installment of The Hobbit is an excellent case study (and why I so dread the second). Examine all the major rewriting of the master's original work, and you will hear in your head the same fatal declaration:

"This part isn't exciting enough and doesn't have enough action or drama to keep the audience engaged."

As a result, writers Fran Walsh, Philippa Boyens, and Peter Jackson – all who possess less storytelling skill in their entire family trees than Tolkien possessed in a single strand of hair – endeavored to transform elements of The Hobbit perceived to be insignificant into something momentous, and by doing so they transformed what was truly endearing into theater of the absurd. (WARNING: For those who have not suffered through The Hobbit movie, the following will not make much sense.)

Bert, William and Tom

1) To them, the classic scene of the three trolls discussing how to cook dwarves – whom they easily capture in the book – detracted from the powerful Thorin persona that the screenwriters wanted to project, and so they destroyed Tolkien’s lovely comedic touch that revealed the desperate immaturity of the company and the absurdity of their quest to dispatch a dragon – any dragon – let along one of the mightiest ever seen in Smaug.   

Realism – the audacity of a small band of tradesmen and craftsmen and one overwhelmed, out-of-place hobbit defeating a dragon that had destroyed a small civilization – gave way to the absurd: fierce dwarves, stunning fighting prowess, and a hobbit who – despite living 50 years of sedentary quietude with no more drama than how to avoid his annoying aunt – is fearless and bold under pressure. All of this is accomplished with the utter writing inanity of appealing to the (heretofore unknown and unimagined) latent hygienic concerns of creatures who have a history of happily eating anything raw: organs, intestines, mucus, blood, limbs, etc.

Rivendell

2) The journey from the butchered troll scene to Rivendell, even though it does not merit its own chapter in Tolkien's original, is apparently devoid of excitement. Thus, our merry band of writers ignore the carefully crafted cultural back story that sets Middle Earth apart (in this case, the geographic idiocy of wargs located in the region, ignoring that goblins loathe and have trouble functioning in daylight, that anyone would be even aware of this small band’s existence, etc.), and decide to drop a squad of sunlight loving, teleporting orcs west of Rivendell in a region patrolled by Dunedain (Rangers). To do such violence to the integrity of the story for the illogical thrill of once again overselling the prowess of this band of dwarves reveals that nothing is sacred to these writers except cheap thrills.

Realism – that simple tired exhaustion brought on by long, arduous trips on short provisions – gave way to the absurd: the necessary redefining of the strength of 14 children-sized persons and what it is to be an orc or to travel in the region west of Rivendell. All for an unrealistic thrill.

The ultimate shame is that Walsh, Boyens and Jackson don’t realize that the original tale – carefully told in all its realistic detail – would have been a tour de force.

Stay tuned - the Part Two of Not an Oxymoron has THREE more examples that I know you can't wait for!