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Atlanta Georgia, in the heady year of nineteen sixty seven: I was fourteen years old, and had come entirely under the spell of a world imagined by a kindly professor of philology in Oxford, England. Named John Ronald Ruel Tolkien, and understandably abbreviated J.R.R., he constructed a mythology set five thousand years ago in a place called Middle Earth. Inhabited by men, elves, hobbits, dwarves, wizards, orcs, trolls and untold, unthinkable creatures - this is where I grew up, or at least attained some semblance of adolescence. I was far more at home here than the purgatory of confinement, envenomed by mathematics, that was high school.
My mom - who actually read The Lord of the Rings in an attempt to understand (or at least communicate with) me - was the box office manager for the Atlanta Symphony, at that time under the direction of Robert Shaw. They were in transition from the Merchandise Mart downtown to The Memorial Cultural Center, being constructed on Peachtree Street in midtown, slightly north. We lived nearby in a duplex on the corner of The Prado and Peachtree Circle, where our basset hound, Snoopy, would occasionally make the Atlanta Journal's Street Scenes by sleeping in the intersection at rush hour ("...as traffic carefully cuts around him and his big, floppy ears."). The beginning of what would be called the cultural revolution was just reaching spring tide, referred to in the newspapers of that time as 'the hippie movement '. My mom and I were wandering one of the small side streets west of Peachtree Road - maybe seventeenth street. I have no recollection of what we were doing, but we discovered a small, nondescript shop, tucked away and almost hidden between two much larger emporiums. I was unaccountably drawn to this, and looked up to see the name: Middle Earth. (My mom would forever refer to this as 'the Hobbit Hole.' ) From a table holding a quantity of these items, I picked a small sphere of metal with a large pin running the length of the backside. Emblazoned on the front of this purple, circular button was printed FRODO LIVES - something I had never seen before. I gasped in astonishment.
Momentarily unbalanced, I felt like a refugee on a desert island who suddenly sees footprints in the sand and realizes: ' You are not alone! '
There were other people on the planet who knew about this? I reeled, grasping blindly for stability. Was it possible anybody else had these same emotions concerning this sprawling, compelling epic? I recovered a tiny portion of my equilibrium and clawed cautiously through the tray of buttons displayed before me. Slowly coming into focus, I found small, circular ransom notes demanding Come to Middle Earth, and Gandalf Lives. I was already there, and I KNEW he lived.
In one of those bizarre coincidences that must engender parapsychologists, I knew the owner of the store. His
name was Rick: mid twenties, bell bottom trousers, brown afro and a wispy mustache, long before anybody in Atlanta
had a mustache. Or an afro, for that 
matter.
He had worked three years before at Music City in Ansley Square, and had sold me my very first guitar. This was
a profoundly fecal twelve string made by Kent, with strings a full inch above the fretboard, and I am ashamed to
admit I bought it solely because I was reminded of one seen in a photograph, played by Paul Simon. I thought it
was beautiful to behold and hear, but this was long before the name Martin was part of my vocabulary. Now
Rick grinned at me in recognition and - with the clarity of hindsight - slightly glazed eyes, courtesy of cannabis
consumption. "Hey, man! How ya been?" he exclaimed.
"Great!" I replied. Mom glanced suspiciously sideways. "How long have you been here?"
"'Bout a month. Wattaya think?"
I shook my head in wonder. "Outrageous! I thought I was the only one who knew about this stuff. Frodo lives," I grinned.
Rick grinned back at me, teeth flashing white through his mustache. "Tolkien? Man, him and Heinlen are the GUYS."
An appropriate analogy is difficult to find. I felt like H.G. Wells' time traveler, or Sam Clemens' Connecticut Yankee. To a lesser degree, and in an altogether different idiom, I was a hooked fish. I knew I had been born long after there could be any touchstone for my life - how could I make sense of a world that produced a bomb that would winterize all of creation? - but Tolkien's world was irresistible to me. From the vantage point of thirty years later, a sword doesn't have greater validity - only a more personal sense of proportion - but this epic struck the heart of me, much more so than those of Homer. Elemental battles between good and evil coexisted with whimsy akin to Kenneth Grahame's The Wind in the Willows; ethereal beauty was matched with unimaginable horror. Think of the written version of The Wizard of Oz spanning fifteen hundred pages, and you have a vague concept of the emotional scope this book encompasses.
So naturally, when I heard some madman was making a film of the Trilogy, I was deeply suspicious. Ralph Bakshi's
abortion of an animated attempt in the mid seventies had run perilously close to heresy: it was evident he had
run out of time, money and inspiration in one massive stroke. (No - I am NOT referring to a stroke of genius.)
Rumor had it they were attempting to persuade Sean Connery to portray Gandalf in this new, live action version,
which intrigued me. Connery, like Gandalf, is larger than life, but I felt he might absorb the entire budget. As
it turned out, masterful performances were delivered from Ian McKellan as Gandalf and Christopher Lee as Saruman;
John Rhys-Davies as Gimli; Orlando Bloom as Legolas and Ian Holm as Bilbo - hell, everyone is wonderful. Viggo
Mortensen's portrayal of Aragorn son of Arathorn, Isildur Elendil's heir is perfect, in the way he unveils the
growth of power and majesty while giving multiple dimensions to the man who would be king. I have a vivid - not
to say overactive - imagination, but the Shire looked exponentially better onscreen than ever it did in my dreams,
and Andy Serkis as Gollum was mesmerizing! If he is ineligible for an Oscar, someone must CREATE a separate category,
just for him. I thought Spielberg would do justice to the material and honor the magic involved, but there was
no whisper of his involvement. Finally word trickled down concerning the director : Peter Jackson. 
"Peter Jackson?!" I exploded. "Who in for unlawful carnal knowledge is Peter Jackson?!"
Now we know. Jackson is a True Believer, possessing both the reverence and intimacy for the material AND the expertise and focus to accomplish the formidable task of bringing the mythology to life. The passion propelled him to fight for three separate three-hour films in opposition to bottom line driven executives, who also must be congratulated for trusting someone from a non A-List with such a mammoth financial undertaking. The first film of the trilogy, Fellowship of the Ring, is replete with magic inside and out.
Let me explain the magic remark. This is such a compelling tale, and it truly comprised my inner universe for an extended period. Tolkien's gift is to create a world that seems more a part of our past, some five thousand years ago, rather than a fantasy. It is elemental rather than fantastic, human and deeply emotional, rooted in friendship and not pinned to special effects. We all rejoice that the cast became family during filming and didn't want to say goodbye, and it is this magic that transcends - onscreen and off.
In what passes for my mind, I always envisioned Bilbo Baggins as Toklien himself,
and Ian Holm perfectly embodies him onscreen. Elijah Wood as Frodo Baggins takes the thankless job of portraying
an unrecognized hero in the central role, with luminous support from Sean Astin as Samwise Gamgee, Billy Boyd as
Peregrin 'Pippen' Took, and Dominic Monaghan as Meriadoc 'Merry' Brandybuck. 
Ian McKellan, as previously mentioned, perfectly balances the avuncular old
man masquerading as Gandalf with the powerful wizard concealed beneath his cloak. I was concerned about how The
Old Forest and Tom Bombadil would be displayed onscreen, and was not too surprised by their absence, but check
out the director's cut of The Two Towers on DVD for their reference within that masterpiece. Arwen's character
is significantly enhanced from the role held in the books, and Liv Tyler is
Arwen on the big screen, much more clearly than my own fertile imagination ever could hope: possibly the most perfect
representation of an Elf here. Rivendell and the Last Lonely House 
of Elrond (Hugo Weaving) are magnificent, where Orlando Bloom as Legolas Greenleaf and
John Rhys-Davies as Gimli son of Gloin are introduced at Elrond's Council. Moria and the Balrog are both brought
to the screen with spectacular finesse : their nightmare remains even after our eyes are opened, and the first
glimpse of Gollum - arguably the protagonist and antagonist of the books - is the unblinking, lamp like
eyes glimpsed through the mists that swirl in the caverns of Moria. Orcs are also first presented here, hideous
bastardization of the Elves that they are, and the looming cave troll. 
Lothlorien, the necessary Elvish antidote to the horror of Moria, is both dreamlike and crystal clear, bathed
in the golden light of that enchanted forest. Cate Blanchett shines in the impossible job of bringing Galadriel
to the screen. Then the Fellowship must reluctantly take their leave of Lorien and continue their journey: Frodo
and Sam break away together seeking Mordor; Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli follow the Orcs that have abducted Merry
and Pippen. 
The Two Towers is a much darker movie, devoted to the mustering of Rohan and Gandalf's wild ride to Minas 
Tirith in Gondor to ready the defenses there
: almost a three hour battle scene centered around Helm's Deep. Opening with a painful flashback to Gandalf's battle
with the Balrog as they plummet into the chasm of Khazad Dum in Moria, the story abruptly shifts to Frodo and Sam
and eventually Gollum as they cautiously approach the fringe of Mordor, in their quest to destroy the Ring in the
fires of Mount Doom. The pursuit of the two younger hobbits and their Orc abductors by the three - Aragorn, Legolas
and Gimli - is much is more epic in the books, but of course the movie would have been seven hours were it to include
everything. They meet Eomer and the riders of Rohan, who have destroyed the Orcs and presumably Merry and Pippen,
and hard choices are thrust upon them. The pursuers three trek to the great hall of Edoras to release Theoden King,
fallen under the spell of Saruman's lies via the serpent 
mouth of Grima Wormtongue. At Edoras they meet Theoden's neice Eowyn, the shield maiden of Rohan sumptuously
portrayed by Miranda Otto. Merry and Pippen escape the orcs intent on their slaughter, into Fangorn Forest, where
they are discovered by Treebeard and his Ent tree shepherds - another portrayal aspect that concerned me. Needlessly,
it turned out. 
The Return of the King may well be the crowning masterpiece, the culmination of the three films. Beginning with Smeagol's murder of Deagol and the genesis of Gollum - the finding of the Ring, and truly the very beginning of the epic - the story pans to Frodo and Sam, led by Gollum/Smeagol to the gates of Mordor.
You might be reading this because you A) Know me and have followed this link, or B) Wandered here through Google or happenstance. And you may be A) A Tolkien fan from the beginning, or B) A Philistine who doesn't know or want to know about this amazing world. In either case, you don't want my review of the movie as opposed to the book, so I will leave you here to extricate yourself, if you can. The movie, like the books, centers on friendship. And the inescapable fact that great gain is balanced with great loss. If you haven't read the books: I envy you, and the journey that will begin when first you turn the page.
"The road goes ever on and on...."JRRT
