Journey to the Center of the Earth: A review

In listening to Jules Verne's Journey to the Center of the Earth, I was struck by how much modern films like Raiders of the Lost Ark and National Treasure owe to this book. Although it was written way back in 1864, while the War Between the States was in full swing and the earth was a very different place, in many ways its thoroughly modern, at home alongside recent sci-fi novels like John Crichton's Jurassic Park.

In summary, Journey to the Center of the Earth is a fast-paced and lively pseudo science/exploration story that manages to be mostly interesting and entertaining. Unfortunately, it also crosses over into unbelievable territory about three-quarters of the way through and ends with a classic deux-ex-machina, but I found I can live with it.

Journey to the Center of the Earth takes aim at the theory that the earth grows hotter the nearer that you travel to its center. Verne posits the idea that the earth's core is inhabitable and houses massive cavities, caverns so huge that you cannot see their roof. At its center is a sea large enough that you can travel across it and lose sight of land all around. Science has of course since proven this idea impossible, but it makes for a fun story if you divorce it from reality.

Journey to the Center of Earth has a compelling opening that reminded me of The DaVinci Code--Professor Liedenbrock and his nephew Axel, the heroes of the story, find a coded note written in runes within the pages of an Icelandic saga. They puzzle through it and discover that it is a note written by Arne Saknussemm describing a passage he has found to the center of the earth. The opening is located in the interior of a dormant volcano in Iceland. Liedenbrock and Axel recruit an Icelandic guide and the three men embark on their journey.

I found Verne's descriptions of overland and sea travel to Iceland interesting, and the first scenes of the descent fascinating. Verne vividly portrays the vast depths and terrifying downward drops of the volcano shaft, and creates excitement and dread in two sequences in which Axel gets lost in the inky blackness and the three men nearly die of thirst.

Unfortunately I thought that the tale started to unravel once the men near the earth's center, which contains ice age creatures, dinosaurs, and even early men. If the story didn't literally jump a shark it certainly started to lose me once Liedenbrock and Axel's small boat passes very nearly over an Ichthyosaurus. I was also puzzled with the abrupt ending--Liedenbrock and Axel gain great fame from their expedition, while others treat their claims with skeptcism. But, inexplicably, no one ever bothers to re-trace their footsteps and verify their claims.

Still, you could do worse than pass the time by giving it the book a listen. It's also skillfully read by English-accented, professorial-sounding narrator Simon Prebble.

Note: This review is also posted on SFFaudio.com.

Pan's Labyrinth: Fantasy illuminates a dark period of real history

Warning: Spoilers abound in this review.

A long time ago, in the underground realm, where there are no lies or pain, there lived a princess who dreamt of the human world.

Two years after its release, I finally got around to watching Pan's Labyrinth. I wish I hadn't waited that long. Although I don't watch a lot of movies these days it's one of the best films I've seen in years.

At the beginning of the film a mother and a daughter are riding in the back of a car. The girl is reading a fairy tale and her mother looks on with disapproval. "Fairy tales--you're a bit too old to be filling your head with such nonsense," she says.

Director/writer Guillermo Del Toro then spends the next two hours proving her wrong, as well as the critics who hold fantasy in a similar regard.

We've all heard it before: Fantasy is for children. It's a tired and wrong-headed belief, yet too many of the literary establishment either ignores or treats works like The Lord of the Rings or The Chronciles of Narnia with outright contempt.

Should we see a few more films like Pan's Labyrinth, however, these arguments might dissipate forever. Pan's Labyrinth is not Narnia or Wonderland. It's concerned with the hard stuff of history, grim and painful and violent and adult, but there is magic and wonder at its heart, too. It's fantasy at its best: Impossible places and beings that, while otherworldly, allow us to see the real world in a sharper focus.

For those who haven't seen it, Pan's Labyrinth takes place in 1944 Spain after the Spanish Civil War. World War II is reaching a fever pitch and it's a time of incredible turmoil and violence in Europe. In Spain, fascists of the Francisco Franco regime are attempting to take control of the country.

In the midst of these violent times, Ofelia, a young girl with an active imagination and a love for fairy tales, and her pregnant mother Carmen travel to an outpost in the mountains where a ruthless fascist force led by Captain Vidal is trying to wipe out a pocket of guerilla resistance (Ofelia's father, a tailor, was killed in the war, and Carmen and Vidal have recently married).

The outpost is located near an ancient stone labyrinth, where Ofelia encounters a faun and some fairies. The faun tells Ofelia that she is a princess of a fantastic underground realm, accessible by a winding stair in the labyrinth's center. But before Ofelia can return she must complete three difficult tasks.

For the rest of the film Ofelia tries to complete her tasks as the bloody and terrible events of the real world unfold around her. A few members of the household covertly provide food and supplies to the rebels and Vidal mercilessly tortures and murders all those he suspects of aiding them. Carmen develops complications from her pregnancy and Vidal tells the doctor to save his son, not his wife, for whom he cares little. Vidal holds Ofelia in even less regard.

My only criticism was that the horrifying real world events at times threaten to overwhelm Ofelia's storyline and the fantasy elements. But Del Toro's master hand provides balance, using Ofelia's fantasy experienes to draw parallels with the fascist movement.

Del Toro never reveals whether Ofelia's "experiences" are the workings of her overactive imagination or real events. But he does hint that her fantasies are real, or at least have real world consquences. For example, Ofelia as one of her tasks has to recover a magic dagger from the hall of the Pale Man, a gruesome child-eating monster who sits motionless at the end of a long table overflowing with food, stirring only when someone eats his food. Ofelia fails to heed the faun's warning and eats two grapes. The Pale Man lurches after her, killing two of her fairy companions. In the real world, Ofelia's mother dies in childbirth and a freedom fighter is captured and killed.

Although the Pale Man is terrifying (it's worth watching Pan's Labyrinth for this scene alone), the real monster of the film is Vidal. Ofelia's struggles with the monsters of fantasy are all reflections of the evil inherent in her stepfather and fascism as a whole. In the end, Ofelia is required to murder an innocent infant to reach the underground fantasy realm. She refuses to follow orders, which is precisely what so many of the rank and file in Nazi Germany failed to do. The horrors of the Final Solution were the result.

Del Toro also includes some homages to his fantasy influences. These include Alice in Wonderland (Ofelia descends downwards into a hole) and the Wizard of Oz (a brief glimpse of red shoes when Ofelia crosses over into the land of fantasy). There's even a nod to Jackson's Lord of the Rings--In one scene nine fascist riders surround a woman working covertly for the freedom fighters, clutching a blade to her own throat as she prepares for suicide over capture. There's others that I probably missed. One viewing is not enough to take in all of the references and allusions in this film.

The end of the movie is heartbreaking, but also uplifting, as Ofelia returns to an underground realm "where there are neither lies nor pain." Is she in paradise, or is this "underground realm" merely the cold comfort of the grave? Del Toro does not provide the answer, but offers plenty of evidence to support either conclusion.

Suffice to say that I am now very much at ease with Del Toro directing The Hobbit. After watching Pan's Labyrinth, I have no doubts he can meet my and the rest of the Tolkien fanbase's lofty expectations for this film.

Through hell and into a vision of heaven: The journey of the Fellowship continues

The world is grey, the mountains old,
The forge's fire is ashen-cold;
No harp is wrung, no hammer falls:
The darkness dwells in Durin's halls;
The shadow lies upon his tomb
In Moria, in Khazad-dum.

So I have made it with the company (sans Gandalf) out of the long dark of Moria and into the golden wood of Lothlorien. The Great River and Amon Hen awaits.

In re-reading these scenes I was struck by their marked contrast, placed as they are by Tolkien back-to-back in the narrative. We literally go from "A Journey in the Dark" to the golden wood, from pitch-blackness into pure light.

Moria
Moria is a vision of hell, full of darkness and pits and of course, the fiery demonic Balrog. But it's also a proving ground, a place through which the fellowship must pass if they are to reach their ultimate goal. Even the bravest members of the Fellowship quaver at the thought of entering its gates, but you can argue that they emerge stronger, wiser, and more determined to reach their goal than ever. This resonates with me strongly: Don't we all have dark paths to trod, a fearful and unwanted voyage through the darkness that is nevertheless necessary if we're to reach our ultimate goal?

Some of my recent favorite scenes/remembered moments from Moria include:

The Watcher in the Water took Oin, according to the record of the fortunes of Balin's folk, the great damaged tome found by Gandalf in Balin's tomb. What an awful way to go for this jovial dwarf from The Hobbit, grasped by a writhing mass of tentacles and likely consumed beneath the dark waters at the Westgate.

The scaly green arm of the cave troll thrust through the door. Unlike the film version, which featured a wild battle against this monster, Tolkien gives us only a glimpse of the beast: A huge arm and shoulder, with dark skin of greenish scales, was thrust through the widening gap. Then a great, flat, toeless foot was forced through below. Frodo stabs the foot with Sting, forcing it back with a bellow, and we never hear from the creature again.

This description of orc laughter: There was a rush of hoarse laughter, like the fall of sliding stones into a pit. Tolkien can occasionally terrify, and this dark simile could be taken from a Stephen King novel.

Gandalf's struggle with the Balrog. Not at the bridge of Khazad-Dum (which is also a great scene), but previously, at the barricaded door of Balin's tomb. Gandalf uses a spell to hold the door and encounters a terrible force of evil will opposing him, one that is actually (and terrifyingly) stronger than his own: What it was I cannot guess, but I have never felt such a challenge. The counter-spell was terrible. It nearly broke me. For an instant the door left my control and began to open!

Gandalf is mighty but the Balrog is one mean dude. Fortunately the door shatters and the chamber collapses, else Gandalf may have lost this battle of wills and magic. He is later put to the ultimate test in the pit, of course.

Lothlorien
After Moria the fellowship enters Lothlorien. Whereas Moria is hell, the golden wood is heaven, the Garden of Eden before the fall. Tolkien writes that evil's influence is felt everywhere in Middle-Earth but not in the land of Lorien. This is the heart of the ancient realm, a last, timeless bastion of the elder days: No blemish or sickness or deformity could be seen in anything that grew upon the earth. On the land of Lorien there was no stain. Aragorn says that no evil in this land "unless a man bring it hither himself."

Yet even paradise is tinged with melancholy in Middle-Earth. If no sickness touches the earth here, the elves know it cannot last. Says Haldir to Merry: Some there are among us who sing that the Shadow will draw back, and peace shall come again. Yet I do not believe that the world about us will ever again be as it was of old, or the light of the Sun as it was aforetime.

Later Galadriel tells the company of her and the Lord Celeborn's long struggle against the darkness. "Together through ages of the world we have fought the long defeat," she says. This is hardly encouraging stuff, but its a point worth repeating and one overlooked by Tolkien's detractors, many of which criticize The Lord of the Rings for its fairy-tale ending. They are wrong. The war against darkness cannot be won, Tolkien wrote. Light is only granted a reprieve.

Winning the war against Sauron will start the march of Time and drive the magic from the world, Galadriel explains. This is Tolkien's view of progress as a double-edged sword: Root out evil and it is replaced by a more prosaic, banal form of evil, perhaps because there is no more need for heroes to stand against the dark.

Galadriel has the power to see into men's hearts and she searches each of the Fellowship with her mind, probing for their true motivations. "Yet hope remains while all the Company is true," she says. Her observation proves correct: Frodo cannot reach Mount Doom and destroy the Ring on his own. Even though the Fellowship breaks, Frodo's staunch companion, Sam, does not. He is Frodo's only "company" in the final stages through Mordor, and ultimately (in my opinion) proves to be the true hero of The Lord of the Rings.

Fair though it may be beyond surpassing, Lothlorien is unfortunately only a respite for the fellowship, whose course leads east.

Some cool bits rediscovered while re-reading The Lord of the Rings

So in case it's not already obvious, I'm currently in the middle of re-reading J.R.R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings. I'm not exactly sure how many times I've read it cover to cover, but I'd probably guess somewhere in the neighborhood of six or seven times at least, which includes a few occasions listening to it on audiotape.

Yet every time I read The Lord the Rings (I get the urge every few years, and seemingly more often as time goes by) I always find something new or remember bits and pieces I've forgotten. Here are a few "finds" from my latest trip into Middle-Earth, of which at the present time I'm currently standing with the fellowship at the gates of Moria:

The battle with the wargs outside Moria. I may have forgotten this because it was not included in Jackson's films, but it was neat to read about the Fellowship kindling their small fire into a blaze, and standing back-to-back in a circle of stones to defend themselves against an attacking pack of wargs. Gandalf, who always gets criticized by D&D geeks (like me) for his inability to cast fireball or chain lightning, shows off a few powers in this battle that I had forgotten:

In the wavering firelight Gandalf seemed suddenly to grow: he rose up, a great menacing shape like the monument of some ancient king of stone set upon a hill. Stooping like a cloud, he lifted a burning branch and strode to meet the wolves. They gave back before him. High in the air he tossed the blazing brand. It flared with a sudden white radiance like lightning; and his voice rolled like thunder.

"Naur an edraith ammen! Naur dan i ngaurhoth!" he cried.

There was a roar and a crackle, and the tree above him burst into a leaf and bloom of blinding flame. The fire leapt from tree-top to tree-top. The whole hill was crowned with dazzling light.

Earlier in the Fellowship of the Ring Gandalf also puts out some serious flame in his battle with the Ringwraiths on Weathertop.

By the way, Tolkien's wargs are wolves, save more bestial and intelligent and perhaps slightly larger. Jackson's wargs always struck me as too oversized, hyena-like, and comic-booky to wholly take seriously.

Three (and perhaps four) of the seven dwarven rings of power remain intact. In the chapter "The Council of Elrond," Gloin reveals that an emissary of Sauron came to Dain and the Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain to enlist their aid in finding the One Ring. The emissary says that Sauron will return these three rings to the dwarves if they find the hobbit who stole the One:

"As a small token only of your friendship Sauron asks this," he said: 'that you should find this thief,' such was his word, "and get from him, willing or no, a little ring, the least of rings, that once he stole. It is but a trifle that Sauron fancies, and an earnest of your good will. Find it, and three rings that the Dwarf-sires possessed of old shall be returned to you, and the realm of Moria shall be yours for ever.'"

Also, a fourth dwarven ring may yet survive in Moria, as it was on the hand of Thror when he was slain during his ill-fated adventure in the mines. Only three were actually destroyed, consumed by dragon-fire. My faulty memory had me thinking they were all annihilated.

Beorn (of The Hobbit fame) has a son named Grimbeorn, who is now the lord of many sturdy men and guards the land between the Mountains and Mirkwood. I always liked Beorn and I was pleased to see his name mentioned again.

Tom Bombadil raises Sam, Merry, and Pippin from the dead after they are slain by the barrow-wight. Previously I always assumed they were under a spell, or simply drained of life and cold but only deep in sleep. Now it seems as though they were actually dead when Frodo found them.

Here's my reasoning: The three hobbits disappear into the Barrow Downs mysteriously, "with a long wail suddenly cut short." All three are deathly pale and clad in white with a naked sword across their necks when Frodo finds them lying in the barrow. When Bombadil "awakes" them, he sings:

Warm now be heart and limb! The cold stone is fallen;

Dark door is standing wide; dead hand is broken.

Night under Night is flown, and the Gate is open!

This verse carries a double meaning. First the literal one: Tom breaks down the door of the wight's barrow to rescue the hobbits and destroys the wight's still writhing hand. Then the figurative one: The "cold stone" is a grave stone that Tom overturns; the "dark door" is the door to the afterlife which Tom opens with his singing, and the "dead hand" is death's grip.

Adding more weight to this argument, Merry remembers how the men of Carn Dum came on them at night, and one thrust a spear into his heart. Later he thinks that this may be a dream, but I'm not so sure. I think he, Pippin, and Sam were dead.

This line from Gandalf's letter to the hobbits, delivered at The Prancing Pony: I hope Butterbur sends this promptly. A worthy man, but his memory is like a lumber-room: thing wanted always buried. If he forgets, I shall roast him.

Frodo leaving dirty dishes for Lobelia after eating his last meal at Bag End, and also drinking up the rest of the Old Winyards. I laughed out loud to see Frodo stick it to the old crone.

... and some scenes I remembered but are nevertheless cool upon re-reading

"Come back! Come back!" they called. "To Mordor we will take you!" This famous line of the Ringwraiths uttered at the Ford of Bruinen I of course remembered (it's one of my favorites), but it was nice to read it again. I really missed this one from Jackson's films, and I give points to Ralph Bakshi's animated version for including it.

Fear! Fire! Foes! Awake! Awake! The Brandybucks were blowing the Horn-call of Buckland, that had not been sounded for a hundred years, not since the white wolves came in the Fell Winter, when the Brandywine was frozen over. Tolkien had the history of Middle-Earth largely mapped out long before he began writing The Lord of the Rings, and it shows in cool details like this.

Free will in Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings: Choice and persuasion in a fine balance

Note: I was driven to write the following (lengthy) essay out of my struggles with a simple question: Did Frodo succumb to the One Ring’s overbearing power at the cracks of Mount Doom, or did he falter because he lacked the will to complete his task? This debate will probably live forever amongst readers of The Lord of the Rings, but here I offer my perspective on the matter.

__________________

“Now at any rate he is as bad an Orc, and just an enemy. He deserves death.”

Deserves it! I daresay he does. Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgment. For even the very wise cannot see all ends. I have not much hope that Gollum can be cured before he dies, but there is a chance of it. And he is bound up with the fate of the Ring. My heart tells me that he has part to play yet, for good or ill, before the end; and when that comes, the pity of Bilbo may rule the fate of many—yours not least.

When Bilbo and Frodo’s instincts cry out for vengeance upon the creature Gollum, their heart—and Gandalf’s good counsel—stays their hands. This combination of free will and outside influence enables the destruction of the One Ring, saving Middle Earth from enslavement and destruction at the hands of Sauron.

J.R.R. Tolkien was deeply Catholic and The Lord of the Rings, despite its absence of God or modern conceptions of Heaven and Hell, is a religious work (Tolkien himself says as much in an oft-quoted letter to a friend). And just as God imbued his creations with free will, so too are Tolkien's denizens free to choose their own destiny.

But the hobbits, elves, dwarves, and men of Middle Earth do not operate in a vacuum. There are great powers at work that influence their choices for good or ill.

Manichaen vs. Boethian
In The Road to Middle Earth, a seminal analysis of Tolkien’s act of world-building, author Tom Shippey examines this tension of free will vs. larger forces in a discussion on Manichaen and Boethian views of good and evil. Shippey explains that the Manichaen view is one of palpable good and evil forces in opposition with one another. The Boethian view holds that evil is simply the absence of good, and because men are blank slates with no inherent good (or evil) qualities, evil acts are choices. More accurately, in the Boethian view, “evil” is a weakness of character since evil actions are committed by men who give in to their lesser, animalistic state.

Which view does Tolkien espouse? Shippey offers no answer and neither does The Lord of the Rings. Both are supported in the text. There is ample evidence that the Ring and its master, Sauron, are powerful evil forces able to assert their dominance and will over lesser beings. For example, in “The Shadow of the Past” we learn that even someone like Gandalf—very strong and possessed of the best intentions—will sooner or later be devoured if he should wield the ring. The One Ring seeks to enslave its wearer, violating the God-given (or, in Tolkien’s world, Iluvatar-given) gift of free will. These are all Manichaen forces.

And yet, those of sufficient strength and character can resist the Ring. Faramir and Galadriel resist it. And when Frodo chooses to keep the Ring instead of casting it into the fires of Mount Doom, note Tolkien’s deliberate use of the word “choose”:

“I have come,” he said. “But I do not choose now to do what I came to do. I will not do this deed. The Ring is mine!”

But even if it cannot dictate will, the One Ring is nevertheless a powerful and seductive weapon of evil. Opposing this evil are powerful forces of good such as Gandalf (who is actually a Maiar, a sort of angel sent to Middle Earth by the Valar) and the Dunedain, the rangers at the borders keeping out the encroaching forces of evil. (It’s interesting to note that good beings in Tolkien’s universe seek to uphold tradition and sameness, while “evil” forces bring about change). Many races of Middle Earth succumb to the evil and join Sauron’s side, swayed by power or fear, but others fight for the light.

An example of this larger, external clash of powerful forces is told in the creation and finding of the One Ring in “The Shadow of the Past,” the critical second chapter of The Fellowship of the Ring. When the One Ring abandoned Gollum and threatened to return to Sauron, a force of good intervened, causing Bilbo to pick it up. Says Gandalf:

"Behind that there was something else at work, beyond any design of the Ring-maker. I can put it no plainer than by saying that Bilbo was meant to find the Ring, and not by its maker. In which case you also were meant to have it. And that may be an encouraging thought."

One issue I remain unclear on is: who or what is the force of good that directs Bilbo’s hand to the Ring in the darkness of Gollum’s cave. The implications of it being Iluvatar, the maker, are enormous, as it implies that Tolkien's universe is essentially good and controlled by a beneficent God. I'm not entirely sure of that, given the tragedies of earlier ages and the departure of the elves. But that's for another post.

Regardless, Gandalf tells Frodo that one of these forces has chosen him to be the Ring-bearer. Although Gandalf doesn’t know who or what selected Frodo for this monumental task, or why, he explains that fate has dealt Frodo a hand that he must work with, for good or ill: “But you have been chosen, and you must therefore use such strength and heart and wits as you have,” Gandalf says.

Free will and fate
Thrust into the middle of these warring forces of good and evil is the free peoples of Middle Earth. Despite the fact that they live in a world of literal angels and demons in strife, the people of Middle Earth are possessed of free will.

Some have criticized Tolkien for creating unrealistically clear divisions between good and evil, but I would argue that The Lord of the Rings presents a much more complex and interesting dynamic. For example, even the iconic wicked characters—the Nazgul—are corrupted men, fallen under the influence of the ring due to their pride. They were not born into evil. Likewise, Gollum wrestles with his dark half—Smeagol—and nearly throws it off, but chooses the path of darkness after a harsh rebuke by Sam on the stairs to Cirith Ungol. Very few creatures, save perhaps the orcs and Balrogs, creations of the dark lord, are clearly wicked.

Because strife in Middle Earth is inevitable (“Always after a defeat and a respite, the Shadow takes another shape and grows again,” Tolkien writes), everyone—even the sheltered and peace-loving hobbits—must eventually take sides in the conflict.

“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo.

“So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

Note Gandalf’s use of the word “decide” in this seminal passage. There are times and circumstances thrust upon us beyond our control. Forces exist that try to exert or impose their will for good or ill. It is our lot to join the dark tide, or resist.

But while these forces can influence, they cannot wholly divest control from beings of free will. Bilbo and Frodo choose to let Gollum live, acts of Mercy that are beyond the striving wills of even the greatest powers. “For even the very wise cannot see all ends,” Gandalf says.

Predisposed toward good and evil?
So can the peoples of Middle Earth simply pick good or evil? This matter is complicated. Take Gollum: Even before he finds the One Ring, when he was still Smeagol, Tolkien depicts him as having some sinister characteristics: “He was interested in roots and beginnings; he dived into deep pools; he burrowed under trees and growing plants; he tunneled into green mounds; and he ceased to look up at the hill-top, or the leaves on trees, or the flowers opening in the air: his head and his eyes were downward.”

This seems to imply that Gollum was predisposed to the evil influence of the Ring, and indeed he murders his brother, Deagol, shortly after the latter finds it.

Contrast Gollum’s traits with Bilbo and Frodo. Unlike Gollum the two hobbits are fond of the open air, and gardens, and good company. Although they love home and hearth have a deep-seated love of adventure and foreign people and places (their Tookish) side. As a result Bilbo and Frodo are able to possess the Ring for years, suffering very little despite the Ring’s dark power. Possessiveness and worry for the Ring slowly influence them, and the Ring’s ability to confer long and unnatural life affects them physically. But they are not driven to commit evil acts.

Nevertheless, The One Ring’s power eventually proves too strong for even the good-natured Hobbits: Bilbo needs the strong urging (and borderline threats) of Gandalf to rid himself of it, and its influence proves too great for Frodo in Mount Doom.

There are weak people on Middle-Earth (just as there are in our own world), who are easy prey for charismatic, wicked leaders, or else commit crimes motivated by their baser instincts. Even the strong can falter. Are those who fail morally or spiritually to be pitied or cast out? Tolkien’s belief is quite clear.

Frodo’s “failure” and the choice of pity
An obvious yet often overlooked fact of The Lord of the Rings is that Frodo actually “fails” in his quest: He gives in to the temptation of the Ring at the (literal) precipice of the quest and refuses to destroy it.

If you are of the Manichaen view, Frodo failed because the Ring’s power (amplified by its location at the heart of Mount Doom) was simply too great: it will eventually corrupt even the greatest, as noted by Gandalf. The choice in the end was not Frodo’s to make. You can even argue that Frodo’s words “I do not choose now to do what I came to do” are the words of the controlling Ring; Tolkien mentions that Frodo speaks with a voice clearer and more powerful than Sam had ever heard him use when he utters that line.

If you are of the Boethian view, Frodo gives in to his own inherent weakness, the weakness in us all to covet. In this view, Frodo simply wanted the Ring and its power too much; he did not have the strength of will to cast it into the fire because he desired its power to fill a void within himself. In other words, his selfishness prevailed over the larger good.

My own opinion? I tend to side with the latter. There is too much evidence to suggest that free will cannot be wholly subsumed in Tolkien’s world, even by the strongest powers.

But I cannot fault Frodo for his ultimate “failure”—he had managed to bring the Ring further than any had dared hope. And he had already sewn the seeds of success by his mercy for Gollum, an act of free will influenced by good counsel from Gandalf, the avatar of good. Because Bilbo and later Frodo let him live, Gollum is there to tip the balance when he bites the Ring from Frodo’s finger, destroying it when he tumbles into the fires of Mount Doom.

“What a pity that Bilbo did not stab that vile creature, when he had a chance!”

“Pity? It was Pity that stayed his hand. Pity, and Mercy: not to strike without need. And he has been well rewarded, Frodo.”

Hail to the King, baby: Army of Darkness still holds up

A couple days ago I re-watched Army of Darkness with a buddy of mine (Scott of Scott's Thoughts). Scott had never seen the film previously and it had been years since my last viewing. I didn't know if he'd like it or if it was actually as funny as I remembered.

Man, was I thinking this one through way too much. I'm glad to say that this 1992 cult classic of comedic horror/action remains as hilarious and as quoteable as ever. It's no surprise that Scott is now corrupted: I've yet to meet someone who watches Army of Darkness without latching on to at least one of actor Bruce Campbell's famous one-liners. Sure enough the next day Scott was dropping lines like "that's just pillow-talk baby" and "You ain't leading but two things right now--Jack and shit," into casual conversation with our confused wives.

Mission accomplished.

I have a long history with the "Evil Dead" trilogy, of which Army of Darkness is the third (and arguably the best, though Evil Dead II with its Lovecraftian vibe is in the running). Although I'm not the type to shout "there first" with cult films and other media that become popular only years after their release, I can (and will) stake that claim that with the Evil Dead trilogy.

Travel with me back in time to 1989 or thereabouts. Neither I nor any of my friends had ever heard of The Evil Dead, nor the name of Bruce Campbell. One night while watching HBO late at night with my father, we happened upon a scene of a unconscious man on a dirty kitchen floor being dragged, painfully, on his face through a pile of broken plates--by his own possessed hand. We paused and watched. Seconds later the man--Campbell, of course--proceeded to plunge a knife through through his hand, pinning it to the floor.

"Who's laughing now?" he asked, grinning/grimacing through the pain. I was certainly laughing--howling, in fact--and by the time Bruce chopped off the infected member with a chainsaw, I was hooked. I watched the rest of the film in laughter and awe, and when the credits rolled I wrote down the name of the movie on a scrap piece of paper--Evil Dead II.

That weekend I hurried to the local video store (remember those?) and was thrilled to find a VHS copy of Evil Dead II in the horror section with its grinning skull-head on the cover. Soon I showed it to all my friends, and our own local chapter of the cult of Bruce Campbell was born. Needless to say I was pleased when these films became "cult classics" years later, and could smile inwardly knowing that I had been in on their coolness long before most of the horror underground discovered them.

Although I like all three movies in the Evil Dead trilogy, Evil Dead II and Army of Darkness are my favorites because of their bizarre humor. These latter two films' success owe a great deal to the talents of Campbell, who may not be a great (or even good) dramatic actor, but succeeds remarkably at playing Ash, a wise-cracking, arrogant, unlucky yet tough and resourceful anti-hero. Campbell can play other roles (he was great as "Elvis" in Bubba Ho-Tep), but he'll always be Ash, just like William Shatner will always be Captain James T. Kirk. And that's good enough.

Indeed, while watching Army of Darkness I was struck by how much this film's success depends entirely on Campbell. He's in virtually every scene, and has to carry Army of Darkness' mostly awful special effects (stop-motion animation? The 7th Voyage of Sinbad used this technique better in 1958). But he succeeds remarkably well, in my opinion.

No one's ever been better than Campbell battling the undead with a chainsaw and a sawed-off shotgun. Which gives me a lot of hope for My Name is Bruce.

Heavy metal heresies

Courtesy of my heavy metal (electric) eye in the sky, Falze, here are two recent items of metal interest too juicy to pass up.

1. Dio-slagging Black Sabbath review.

I'm normally a pretty level-headed guy, but there are a few commonly held misconceptions out there that are so wrong that I can't resist stomping them out whenever I see them rear their misguided heads. These include:

1. Fantasy is for children
2. Bruce Campell is not the best actor of his generation
3. The Dio Black Sabbath years sucked

It's the latter of these three which has my current ire, courtesy of this wrong-headed review of Black Sabbath: The Rules of Hell by AP writer Chris Talbott.

Now, I can't say I disagree with Talbott's central premise: that another best-of Sabbath album is not necessary. The only band less in need of another best-of album is probably KISS. So I'm good with the first two paragraphs.

Then we're hit with this monstrous stupidity:

Five-disc "The Rules of Hell" covers the overbaked Ronnie James Dio years, an exercise that wasn't really necessary for posterity's sake. By the time the band fired Osbourne, there wasn't much of interest left musically and Dio mostly disappoints.

Excuse me? Dio "mostly disappoints?" Has this dude heard of Heaven and Hell, for my money Sabbath's best album ever, or Mob Rules? "Wasn't much of interest left musically?" Dude, Sign of the Southern Cross and Children of the Sea were an evolution in structure and sound from the Ozzy years. They're musical marvels.

This next quip caused by blood to boil:

But there's no need to lob insults at the ever worshipful camp of Dio fans. Like those Van Halen fans who prefer Sammy Hagar over David Lee Roth, just smile and nod your head when they talk.

I don't know how to respond to this one, only to state the obvious: Dio is a metal god. If you think otherwise we will duel at dawn. With broadswords, of course.

I've got two words for anyone who thinks the Dio Sabbath years were overrated: Die Young.

Disclaimer: that's not a threat, it's a title of an excellent, Dio-fronted Sabbath tune.

2. Lindsey Lohan in an Iron Maiden t-shirt.

I'm conflicted about this. I don't know a darned thing about Lohan or her music tastes. She may be a raging metalhead for all I know, in which case she has every right to walk around with Eddie on her bosom.

But I seriously doubt that's the case. Come on, you expect me to believe that Lindsey Lohan belts out Hallowed be thy Name while tooling around L.A. in her sportscar?

Here's what I really think. Iron Maiden has become one of those "retro-cool" bands that

a. Are hip to reference; and
b. Are a fashion statement (in an emo-sense)

Of course, you must do both ironically. You can name-drop Iron Maiden or wear their t-shirts, but you have to laugh it off. And, you must not under any circumstances actually listen to their music or admit to really liking Iron Maiden, because, well, that would make you decidedly "uncool."

I get the strong feeling this is why Lohan is wearing this t-shirt.

On the other hand, she looks so damned good in it, twice as good as any chick I've ever seen at an Iron Maiden concert (or any heavy metal concert, for that matter), that I'm willing to give her a free pass.

Lindsey, rock on. I'll meet you at 22 Acacia Avenue.