Reviewed: The Hobbit Trilogy (2012-2014)

Okay, I know it’s been three weeks since my last post. I’m on holiday, my laptop decided not to boot, and I didn’t have the recovery tools on hand so it took me a few days and much nail-biting to fix it. Anyway, I’m finally able to access my scribblings again, so here’s a somewhat lengthy review of The Hobbit trilogy I was working on. I wanted to write more, but it was already a bit wordy for a review, so if you ever want to know my thoughts about something specific just ask. And barring further laptop problems, I’ll try to have another post up next week before resuming my once-per-fortnight plan. Anyway…

When Peter Jackson made film adaptations of Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings novels back in 2001-2003, it changed New Zealand’s whole reputation. Before those films, New Zealand was barely on the radar for most foreigners, except perhaps if they were rugby fans and knew of the All Blacks. After The Lord of the Rings, however, most of the world recognised New Zealand as “that place where Lord of the Rings was made,” with all the rolling landscapes and stunning vistas. It also did wonders for New Zealand’s tourism industry. The NZ tourism website remarks that in a 2004 survey, “One per cent of visitors said that The Lord of the Rings was their main or only reason for visiting. This one per cent related to approximately NZ$32.8m in spend.”

The Hobbit had a lot to live up to, then. Peter Jackson returning to the universe that made him and New Zealand famous? Regardless of the fact that The Hobbit is a much lesser story in scope than the trilogy that follows it, there was a lot of hype for Peter Jackson’s film adaptation. And I don’t think the film would have lived up to that hype if he’d just made a direct adaptation of the source material. As controversial as some of his additions were, they made a relatively humble story into a multi-film franchise that kept viewers coming back over three consecutive years. By pulling in plot elements from Tolkien’s other works (namely the Silmarillion), Peter Jackson created a trilogy that even challenged The Lord of the Rings for its massive success. In fact, the Hobbit trilogy grossed just $5 million less worldwide than The Lord of the Rings‘ US$2.9 billion – and it’s still in the cinemas, so there’s time yet.

But that’s all economics and politics. Were the movies actually good?

One of the things that has always drawn me to Tolkien’s works – and Peter Jackson’s associated films – is the clear depiction of good and evil. Middle Earth has always been about the fight between good and evil; the clash of light and darkness. For much of the Hobbit trilogy we see humans and dwarves and elves at each other’s throats and shifting alliances, yet we know that when the orcs turn up everyone will be fighting them instead, because they are the unquestionable evil that must be stopped.

It’s no secret that Tolkien was a Christian, so perhaps it’s no surprise that his fantasy works draw heavily from the biblical account of our own world’s creation. In particular, the genesis of Middle Earth almost directly mirrors the genesis of Earth. Stephen Colbert drew the parallels most clearly when he jocosely pointed out the differences between devils and balrogs:

Now, devils and Balrogs are totally different. Devils are angels who refused to serve God, and instead followed Satan into Hell. Balrogs are Maiar who refused to serve Eru, and instead followed Morgoth into Thangorodrim.

By that comparison, Gandalf (a Maiar) is the closest thing to an angel in Middle Earth. And he combats the evil works of Sauron (a fallen Maiar). Angels fighting demons, then. Granted, it’s not a clear parallel, but Tolkien was the guy who criticised his friend C. S. Lewis’ Narnia books for being theologically heavy-handed with their Christian themes (reference: here, page 2).

Regardless, both The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings are rife with Christian themes. For instance, just as Bilbo seemed an unlikely choice for the Company’s quest so too does God often choose unlikely individuals to fulfil his grand plans. Another related theme is touched on by Gandalf when he says:

Saruman believes it is only great power that can hold evil in check, but that is not what I have found. I found it is the small everyday deeds of ordinary folk that keep the darkness at bay. Small acts of kindness and love.

Similarly, God came into our world not as a conquering king but as a humble carpenter whose selfless acts of kindness and love rid Satan from the hearts of millions.

There are many other themes explored throughout the trilogy, too. Themes of love (both romantic and familial variants); greed and the corruption it breeds; friendship across social standings and tested by fire (literally, in some cases); finding identity and a sense of belonging to a location or culture; the fine line between righteous honour and conceited pride; and, perhaps most distinctly, the unthinkable consequences that a seemingly-noble quest may carry for those around you.

Since this is a review of The Hobbit films – says so in the title – I should probably include some traditional review jazz here too. I’m more interested in analysing the lasting impression it leaves than the trilogy itself, but suffice to say, each film competently displayed the level of all-round polish that we’ve come to expect of big-budget movies. In fact, it’s quite probable that more work went into these films than the original Lord of the Rings ones. And it shows.

Smaug is simply unforgettable, both as a character and as an unspoken threat looming over the rest of the characters. The special effects work on the dragon himself is top-notch, and Benedict Cumberbatch brings life (and death, lots of death) to the character like no other. Ian McKellen as Gandalf and Orlando Bloom as Legolas… These guys are old hands at this, and they bring their best game to the table once more. Despite being shoehorned into the narrative, Legolas is as resourceful as ever with his bow and the environment, and his screen-time during action scenes was always entertaining. The new blood – Martin Freeman as Bilbo, Richard Armitage as Thorin, Sylvester McCoy as Radagast, Luke Evans as Bard, Evangeline Lilly as Tauriel, Lee Pace as Thranduil, and all the dwarves among others – they all do a fine job of bring their characters to life. I don’t know what could possibly have possessed Tolkien to write so many dwarves as main characters, but they were each portrayed in a unique way even if I still can’t remember all their names. In the third film, Laketown advisor Alfrid’s frequent appearances (and convenient disappearances) were also a constant source of amusement.

The musical score this time around isn’t quite as memorable as that of The Lord of the Rings, but maybe it’ll just take a bit of time to grow on me. The Shire’s theme is back of course, and sounds as awesome as ever. There’s also distinct themes for Laketown, Smaug, the company of dwarves, and the line of Durin that I noticed, each appropriately upbeat or stirring in their own way.

Like Peter Jackson’s first trilogy set in Middle Earth, The Hobbit is an adventure. Its pacing stumbles at times, but I would nonetheless describe it as a wild ride that belongs on every fantasy aficionado’s “list of movies to watch before I die” (come on, we all have one of them, don’t we?). To assert that any singular message should be derived from the films would be to chasten the freedom of interpretation implicit in all art, so here’s what the trilogy meant to me: no evil is so great that it can’t be overcome with a little courage and a lot of perseverance.

My parting thought: really, Tolkien? Thirteen dwarves? That’s just too many characters.

The Narrative Structure of Every Film You’ve Ever Seen

Well, perhaps not every film. But certainly most.

Anyway, occasionally it’s useful to talk about movies in terms of their individual acts. But I’ve noticed that a lot of the time when I do this, people have no idea what I’m going on about. The concept of acts in a film is something I’ve always thought of as more or less self-explanatory, yet perhaps I’m mistaken with that. So here’s my understanding of what they’re all about, derived from personal speculation and various reviews I’ve read over the years.

A typical movie can be divided into three acts.
The first act: the premise. The overall premise is introduced to the viewer; the setting, the main character(s), their goals, the reason for their struggle, and so on. If the movie has a prologue, this is where it sits, but it’s not necessarily the entirety of the first act.
The second act: the journey. The whole narrative arc of continual conflict and resolution rises and falls while slowly escalating up to the ultimate crisis point, the apex of the journey. It’s at this highest point that the movie is led into the third act.
The third act: the resolution. The highest point having passed, the narrative begins to slow and everything that was established in the first act and explored in the second act is resolved or otherwise dealt with.

Now, these acts are only general guidelines – there’s usually not an exact moment in the film where the act transition occurs. It’s sufficient to say that one major event is part of one act, and the next major event is part of the next act. If you’re unsure of which act a particular event falls into, as a rule of thumb it’s usually the middle act.

So why do we even bother trying to compartmentalise a film into these acts? Well, breaking down a movie into these three acts allows us to then analyse how well each act works both individually and as part of the larger whole. An otherwise strong movie with a weak resolution will probably leave the viewer unsatisfied, feeling like their emotional investment in the prior events did not receive the closure they yearned for. Similarly, a weak middle act will likely leave the viewer thinking “that’s it?” by the time the credits roll, with no real sense of character or plot development. And a weak premise with a compelling journey and resolution will at best result in confusion as to what’s actually happening for most of the movie. At worst, the viewer will not empathise or relate with any of the characters and will not be intrigued by the setting or conflict.
So basically, each act is equally as important as the others.

The ideal three-act movie structure establishes a distinct setting with strong characters, a supportable conflict and a clear purpose for each faction or party. The journey is of satisfactory length – not too short as to feel unfulfilling and not too long as to lose your interest – and each main character experiences appropriate conflicts and struggles that develop their character up to the point where they are prepared for the third act to take place. The third act would then directly address the main conflict introduced in the first act, with the main characters each having their moment of glory or otherwise playing their role in the resolution. The resolution itself ties up most loose ends created by the second act, and throws in a few references or callbacks to earlier minor events for good measure.

So that’s arguably how a perfect three-act movie would be structured. But not all movies are of a three-act structure, and not all three-act structures are contained by a single movie. This brings me to the idea of trilogies.

A trilogy possesses the unique ability to envelop a three-act structure in larger (hence more epic) yet tidy format. The tidy part is important, because the three acts need to be sufficiently distinct yet seamless enough for the viewer to follow the whole narrative. Essentially, each act has a whole movie to itself – but more than that, each movie can contain another three-act substructure. So then you have this epic tale spanning three movies, while each movie retains the same coherency as a single three-act movie.

Trilogies can be very successful in this regard, but they can also easily fall over themselves if the narrative is weak in any of the acts.
The Lord of the Rings is a good example of a successful trilogy. You can clearly see that the first movie establishes the setting, conflict, and characters – the “fellowship” is formed, and Frodo sets out on his journey. The second movie details the journey, with many conflicts and partial resolutions along the way, and the third movie is where the physical destination is reached – Mordor – and where every other plot thread is concluded, such as Aragorn returning as king. It’s not a perfect three-act trilogy structure, because the individual films have less distinct acts than the larger trilogy, but the main three acts are solid so the trilogy as a whole works rather well.

Now imagine if you expanded the three-act trilogy structure into another trilogy, making nine films in total. This has never been done, to my knowledge, and it would be a monumental and very risky undertaking… But if it was done well, then we would have quite possibly the most epic saga in the history of film. Sure, there have been franchises with nine or more films, but not ones that hold together as a coherent narrative – they’re usually remakes or spin-offs or just an ongoing saga without any tangible three-act structure. Star Wars is probably the best bet for the moment – a new trilogy is set to be made, which with any luck will offer a better resolution to the saga than Episodes I-III did with the premise.

And now whenever you’re talking about a movie you didn’t like, you can discuss which act let the film down rather than just making a sweeping dismissal. And you’ll also just generally appear more informed about the movie-making business.

The Various Strengths of Different Entertainment Mediums

Movies. Books. Video Games. Those are probably the three most common entertainment mediums – and they are all bear very distinct characteristics.

I would argue that movies are the most effective form of entertainment – but for the same reason they’re also the worst, at least in terms of intellectual stimulation. Why, you ask? Because both visual and aural components are entirely controlled by the director. You only see and hear what they want you to experience. As an entertainment medium, this means they have great potential for everything from heart-stirring epics of love and loss to gloomy claustrophobic thrillers. For this reason I say they are the most effective form of entertainment – sure, different things are more scary for different people, and so on, but the same element of subjectivity is present in all mediums. So film as a medium has the potential to provide the most optimally-entertaining experience.

But this quality is a bitter pill. At the same time, movies also leave little to no room for viewer contribution. By this I mean how a viewer might use their own imagination to ‘fill in the gaps’ – to construct the film’s reality in their own mind, filling in any holes in the presented environments or events.

Next up we have video games, a relatively young entertainment medium. Video games, like movies, are presented through both visual and aural channels, but with the added aspect of player interaction. This is a great thing, because it means we can’t just vegetate on the couch while engaging in one (well, for the most part, anyway) – it keeps us engaged, on our toes, and involved in the experience. But is our imagination in top gear? Well, no. Some video games play out like an interactive movie; on the other end of the scale, like arcade games or twitch-games (named for the reaction times they require). The end result is the same – we see and hear things and respond to them. We might use some measure of creativity in determining the manner in which we respond, but that’s about the the limit of how we use our own imagination while playing them.

And then we have books. Reading books is, by far, the most productive pastime when it comes to entertainment mediums. While reading a book, your imagination is in full throttle – you are constantly imagining the scene and events in your mind, with no direct visual or aural cues as to how they should be constructed. You’re weighing up decisions and consequences, analysing behaviour and making predictions about how the story will unfold. That is to say, while reading a book, you are in fact creating more than you are consuming. And for the most part, you feel more fulfilled after a satisfying session of reading than you might after watching a movie.

But because the act of reading is so different from watching a movie or playing a video game, there’s a notable hurdle to the activity. It’s very difficult to immediately transition from a mindset of consuming – of passively watching a movie, for example – to a mindset of creating and actively engaging your imagination. There’s a hurdle when you try to transition from browsing the web, using your phone, or watching TV… to engrossing yourself in a novel’s fictional world. Reading doesn’t engage your senses like other forms of entertainment; it requires you to visualise things; to convert the words on the page into thoughts and images. Comparatively, other mediums deafen and blind the senses and make it nigh impossible to enter into such a state of serenity. This is a hurdle that few people seem to be aware of, and thus many disregard books entirely as being “not their thing”. Yet as the old proverb goes, those who do not read are no better off than those who cannot.

But games still have a powerful advantage that books do not. As an entertainment medium, video games have decent potential, if not as decent as films. As an educational medium, they have somewhat more potential, as they employ learning-by-doing techniques in addition to the obvious visual and aural elements. And by “educational medium” I’m not just talking about so-called educational games, but rather any game that might teach a useful skill or mindset. For example, many RPGs teach inventory management, which can (often subconsciously) be carried across to managing workloads or prioritising the use of your time.

As an ideologically provocative medium, however, games have immensely more potential. Games can present ideas and ideologies through the player’s own choices, and in doing so, force the player to actually think about their choices within the context of the game world and the consequences those choices have. For example, in Deus Ex: Human Revolution, the entire game world emulates a reality in which society adopts human augmentation. How do augmented individuals fit into the rest of society? What are the moral implications of being physically or mentally enhanced where others are not? What responsibility do corporations have to regulate the use of these augmentations? Are augmentations the next step in human evolution – a technology to be adopted as widely as possible, or simply a personal lifestyle choice? The game explores all of these questions, and through the player’s own actions, no less. It is then only natural for the player to consider the implications of these ideas in the real world. A game could just as effectively explore any other topic, prompting its players to think deeply about the issues portrayed. And that’s powerful.

I’m not going to contrive any sort of conclusion here, because there are always many factors in the worth of specific works of literature, film, or games. This entry serves more to explore the various strengths of each medium, which hopefully I’ve now done. (Each of those three mediums, anyhow – there are others I haven’t mentioned, like board games, physical games, and comic books.) That said, as a game designer my views are inevitably biased, so remember to have some salt.

The last three blog posts I’ve written have now all been about video games to some extent, and while that’s certainly not a bad thing (good things do come in threes, after all), this blog is at risk of becoming too focused on a single topic. So I’ll make an effort to write about something different next week. Until then, stay frosty!