No masterpiece, but there is much to enjoy in this return to Middle Earth
It is the case that Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings trilogy is to my generation what the original Star Wars trilogy was to the children of
the 70s and 80s. Every Christmas for three years, those films were amazing and
formative experiences, showing our young eyes what cinema was capable of. They
have swiftly become almost untouchable. I have never fully trusted anyone who
has said that they don’t really get The
Lord of the Rings. They seem like tricksy Hobbitses.
The LOTR/Star Wars analogy is most apt, because both
generations craved more and both generations have had their moment of truth.
With the Star Wars generation, it was a case of be careful what you wish for,
and the fear amongst Tolkien fans, who learnt from this travesty, is palpable.
After all, a slim volume has been transformed into not one, not two, but three
films, and we are terrified that we are not about to be transported back to
Middle Earth but rather to an accountant’s spreadsheet.
Of course, in such situations, the fanboy is his own worst
enemy. He lets his expectations rocket high into the stratosphere, preventing
himself from having the relaxed open-mind which let him fall in love with the
material in the first place. Given that, the usual reaction to such big
releases is torn between cries of “It’s a masterpiece!” and “It’s an
abomination!”
In the case of The
Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey, it is neither of the two. It is a fine
addition to the cinematic Tolkien saga, but it has its problems. These problems
are not insuperable, and when the initial furore has died down, it will be
evident that Jackson should have our faith that he can really hit top gear with
instalments two and three.
