Reviews: Les Miserables

 

            I love musicals, and my all-time favorite is Les Miserables; the epic stage adaptation of Victor Hugo’s masterpiece. As such, I looked forward to Tom Hooper (The King’s Speech)’s long-delayed big-screen adaptation with equal parts excitement and trepidation; would the story be too long and complex for the screen, necessitating lethal cuts? Would any movie be able to match the unique spectacle of the show’s famous rotating stage? Would the deep Christian themes be permitted to shine through? Most importantly, would they be able to find actors and actresses with both the acting ability and the vocal chops to carry it off?

            In post-revolutionary France, convict Jean Valjean (Hugh Jackman) is released on parole after nineteen years hard labor, all for stealing a loaf of bread. Unable to find work or lodging due to his status as a convict, he ends up staying one night at the home of a saintly bishop (Colm Wilkinson, who originated the role of Valjean on stage). Bitter and hateful after his long imprisonment, Valjean steals the bishop’s silverware, but when he is caught and brought back, the bishop surprises him by claiming that not only was the silverware a gift, but that he also gave Valjean two priceless silver candlesticks as well.

            Stunned by the man’s mercy, Valjean prays for forgiveness and vows to amend his life. From there he finds himself forced, time and time again, to choose between selfishness and mercy, while his story crosses with other miserable people such as Fantine (Anne Hathaway in the film’s stand-out performance), a single mother who ends up working as a prostitute to pay for her daughter, Cosette (played as a child by Isabelle Allen and as an adult by Amanda Seyfried), who lives with the crooked innkeepers Monsieur and Madam Thenadier (Sacha Baron Cohen and Helena Bonhem Carter) and their own daughter, Eponine (played as a child by Natalya Wallace and as an adult by Samantha Barks), and revolutionary students such as Marius (Eddie Redmayne) and Enjolras (Aaron Tveit). Meanwhile, his every step is dogged by the implacable Inspector Javert (Russell Crowe), who is determined to bring Valjean back to prison.

            The story spans some twenty years, during which Valjean rises from a penniless convict to a respected factory owner and mayor, until circumstances force him to become a fugitive again. The action finally all converges on Paris on the eve of a revolution.

            I’m being deliberately vague here because I suspect most people have some idea of how the story goes, and for those who don’t I’d just as soon let them discover it for themselves. Suffice to say, what emerges is an epic story of flight, revolution, freedom, mercy, tragedy, and, above all, love.

            It has been a long time since we’ve had a proper film-musical, and most of the recent attempts at reviving it have been flaccid efforts at best, such as the by-all-accounts lame Mamma Mia and the weird, trashy Chicago. Les Miserables comes, strips off the gloves, and reminds us just what a real Musical looks like. Almost the whole film is done in music, with only brief and occasional spoken lines. Sometimes the characters will talk to each other through song, other times the songs will give voice to their inner thoughts and struggles as they wrestle with themselves, or with God.

            The story, far from being cut, has actually been expanded in some places (including a whole new song not from the play), almost always to good effect. For instance, a new scene has Valjean show Javert mercy almost from the beginning, foreshadowing a much later, and more important scene. The staging of Fantine’s dismissal has been done in such a way as to mitigate somewhat Valjean’s crucial indifference, and an effective chase scene reemphasizes how dangerous Valjean’s life has become (ending with him seeking refuge in a monastery, where the sisters pray to the tune of the bishop's song).  

            Of course, the whole purpose of a film adaptation of a stage musical is to lend the visual power of the medium to the power of the music, and Tom Hooper, together with his talented ensemble, makes full use of his opportunity. For instance you could never have shown on stage the way Javert walks along the very edge of the parapet during his magnificent Stars number, visually demonstrating his own unyielding attitude toward life.  And even if you could, you would never be able to make it as powerful as it is here, where the camera shows Javert’s point of view as he calmly looks past his own feet to the long, terrible fall he is courting with each step. Nor could the stage ever have matched the poetry of the moment where Fantine, when she reaches out for her daughter, simultaneously reaches for the cross.

            The Cross is a recurring image throughout the film. When Valjean is first released, he pauses by a rough wooden cross on a snow-swept hillside to contemplate his position. When he swears unyielding hatred toward those who imprisoned him, the camera swings around so that the cross is no longer visible, but then when he starts to look to the future, it swings around again, bringing the cross back into view. Later, when Valjean is begging forgiveness after the incident with the silver, he not only prays before the altar but two broken crucifixes lay next to him.

            This, of course, points to the movie’s recurring emphasis on mercy and sacrificial love. Valjean is faced again and again with terrible choices, with safety and comfort on one hand, sacrifice and danger on the other. After becoming mayor, he discovers that the police have captured a man they took to be him; forcing him to give up everything he’s worked for to save an innocent. Later he finds himself torn between possibly losing his adopted daughter, the only person he’s ever loved, and breaking her heart.

            The wonderful thing is that each time, when he does the right thing, Valjean grows and becomes a better person. There is always some ‘hidden benefit’ in doing the right thing, and Valjean becomes increasingly saint-like as the story goes on, gradually shedding every ounce of the selfishness that he expressed in the opening scene, becoming by degrees humble, generous, loving, and merciful.

            The movie itself embodies its merciful themes. Almost no major or minor character is left wholly unsympathetic (the main exceptions being the amoral Thenadiers). Javert, ostensibly the story’s main antagonist, not only shows tremendous courage and dignity throughout, but also, in a truly moving moment, (not in the original play) even pauses to honor a fallen enemy. Likewise the national guard who battle the heroic revolutionaries are shown to just be ordinary people doing their duty, and the commander in charge has more than one humanizing moment that shows that he is troubled by what he has to do. Then there’s Marius’s rich, snobbish grandfather, who angrily tells his rebellious grandson that he is “shaming the whole family,” but who is later seen to truly love the young man. Rich or poor, royal or revolutionary, anyone can be damned and anyone can be a saint.

            As the above indicates, the movie is gratifyingly frank about its Christian and Catholic worldview. The cross, as noted, is a recurring motif throughout, while Valjean’s story-arch is that of a sinner becoming a saint and purging his soul of every disordered desire. All the characters pray and reference God frequently, and there’s even moments alluding to such theologically complex ideas as the intercessory prayers of the saints, the Beatific Vision, and clergy acting in persona Christi. At a time when the best Christians generally can expect from the movies is for them to not be actively insulting, Les Miserables is like a long drink of cool water to one who is dying of thirst.

            Hugh Jackman as Valjean is the crux that holds the whole film together, and he rises to the occasion marvelously. He sells Valjean’s tortured struggles to do the right thing, to cooperate with God’s Grace even in the face of terrible difficulties and seemingly impossible choices. What distinguishes Valjean from everyone else is that he keeps in mind the words of the Bishop, that his soul belongs to God, so in the face of every decision and struggle he keeps his eyes fixed on Jesus, and like St. Peter walking on the water, this allows him to do what seems impossible. Perhaps this is best symbolized in a scene late in the movie where Valjean ends up literally swimming through excrement in the sewers of Paris; he can be in unbearable situations without being of them.  

            I must admit, it took me a little while to get used to his voice. Not that it’s bad, of course; on the contrary, Jackman has a beautiful and powerful singing voice that shines in some of the film’s hardest numbers. However, his voice is on a much higher octave than I’m used to hearing Valjean’s part sung as, so it took a while for me to adjust. As noted, though, he sings up a storm, excelling particularly in the quiet, introspective numbers such as Who Am I and Bring Him Home.

            I was worried about Russell Crowe as Javert. Quite apart from his more limited musical range, he struck me as being too, well, nice-looking to play Javert, whom I always picture as being extremely stern and hard of face. Nevertheless, he performed the role admirably, giving it precisely the cold, blank, mask-like expression that Javert should have, while using his considerable sympathetic qualities to make us feel for the character in the moments where the mask slips. Musically, I was impressed; he acquits himself well, particularly in the ‘conversational’ songs like Confrontation (here re-envisioned as a sword fight, which lends extra power to the number, but alas denies us the song’s chilling final verses). His biggest problem was that he felt too constrained, as though he didn’t trust himself to sing some of the more difficult notes (like the climax to Stars, which is far too quiet). 

            The best performance in the film, however, is Anne Hathaway’s portrayal of Fantine. Hathaway embodies the character, perhaps the most miserable of all the miserable people in the story, so perfectly, makes her plight so heartbreaking, that she quite simply makes the film worth seeing just for her sake. Not only is her tragic, agonized performance guaranteed to bring tears to your eyes, but her rendition of I Dreamed a Dream is the highlight of the whole film. Raw, powerful, and perfectly sung in Hathaway’s gorgeous voice, it sets a new standard by which that song should be judged.

            Amanda Seyfried also impressed as Cosette. Cosette is usually a pretty dull character, but Seyfried invests her with enough life and loveliness that we can almost buy Marius falling in love with her at first sight (their romance, arguably the story’s weakest element, works much better on film than on stage, largely thanks to some judicious use of close-ups). She handles her comparatively few numbers well in her bird-like voice, and she and Eddie Redmayne work well together.

            Redmayne himself, meanwhile, makes for fine Marius, with a strong tenor voice and a more meaty character than the play allowed (his above-mentioned grandfather, for instance, is a helpful touch not found on stage). His best musical number is a haunting rendition of Empty Chairs at Empty Tables, which almost rivals Dreamed a Dream for the saddest and most moving song in the film.

 Aaron Tveit as Enjolras projects real revolutionary fervor, and belts his part out with considerable feeling. Daniel Huttlestone makes for a swell Gavroche, the street urchin: all devil-may-care, artful-dodger-style independence and earnestness (his voice is fine, though obviously immature, and Gavroche doesn’t have a whole lot of singing to do anyway). The rest of the revolutionaries, like in the play, don’t really come out as individuals, but they have some excellent moments (such as the way one of them frantically tries to call Gavroche back when he ventures beyond the barricade) and all of them are excellent singers.

             Newcomer Samantha Barks, who also played Eponine on stage, brings an effortless poignancy to the role. In particular, I want to note a scene where she is leading Marius (whom she loves) to meet with Cosette, and despite the fact that she’s taking him to another woman, whom he loves as he will never love her, she’s still all smiles and laughter just to be with him for this little while. Her rendition of On My Own is another film highlight, particularly her final, tearful repetitions of “I love him…”

            On the other end of the spectrum, Sacha Baron Cohen and Helena Bonham Carter as the Thenadiers are an absolute scream; all bawdy humor, broad slapstick, and sticky fingers. They sing their roles marvelously (though, if we’re honest, no one’s really thinking about musical tone during Master of the House), and I love how Thenadier keeps getting Cosette’s name wrong (something I loved in the stage performance I saw and haven’t seen in any other version).  

            Finally, little Isabelle Allen is both adorable and an absolute spitting image of the iconic Cosette picture that has long since been the image of Hugo’s novel and all adaptations.

            After Tom Hooper’s sedate, stylistically reserved The King’s Speech, some were wondering whether he had the right style for an epic musical like this. Rest assured, he delivers. The movie is visually engrossing from the very first shot of a discarded, floating French flag to the final, full-cast number on the barricade. Spectacular imagery abounds; the frozen, barren landscape Valjean journeys across upon being released (symbolizing the brutal barrenness of his life), the filthy slums where prostitutes lurk, the pit-like cabin where Fantine has her first customer, Notre Dame and the Paris skyline during Stars (which is symbolically reversed for a later Javert number), and, of course, the rough, cobbled-together barricade where the revolutionaries battle the national guard.

            Not only the imagery, but the blocking is remarkable. There isn’t much of what you would call dancing in this film (except, in the end, at a wedding feast), but Hooper comes up with some clever ways to marry music and motion, such as the way At the End of the Day matches the movement of the factory workers, or how some of the notes of One Day More are punctuated with rifles being loaded with ramrods.

            Of course, the songs are all spectacular, from the opening Work Song, sung by a baritone choir of prisoners, to the tremulous Come to Me, to the boisterous Master of the House, to the heart-stirring Do you Hear the People Sing. I am not the right person to attempt to describe the music, but the artistry, the lyrical power that goes into it is breathtaking. For instance, note the way certain tunes are reused in different songs, drawing attention to the repeated themes of, say, Valjean and Javert’s different responses to acts of mercy. The story, music, and writing are interwoven in a way that, in my somewhat limited experience, I’ve only occasionally seen in other musicals. What we have here is more than just songs set to a storyline; we have a kind of total art, marrying music, acting, poetry, and literature in one awe-inspiring package.

            So is it perfect? Sadly, no. While the movie only cuts one song in its entirety (Dog Eats Dog: no great loss), it often cuts large sections from the songs it does keep, depriving us of some of the most lyrically beautiful moments in the story, and occasionally making the songs feel a little choppy. A somewhat more serious problem is that, while I adored both Cohen and Bonham Cater as the Thenadiers, the Master of the House number was a little too broad, almost cartoonish, to the extent that it felt as though it were from another film entirely. Finally, Hugh Jackman barely looks his very handsome and youthful 44, meaning that, for the later scenes when Valjean is supposed to be an ‘old man,’ he looks entirely too young for the part (Russell Crowe’s Javert has a similar problem, though it’s less crucial for him). With all the excellent makeup showcased on screen, you’d think they’d have done a better job of aging the characters. Finally, as noted, Russell Crowe just doesn’t seem as comfortable with his musical part as he really should.

            Les Miserables is a feast for the eyes, ears, and the soul. It’s easily one of the best films of the year, and possibly one of the finest movie musicals of all time.

Final Rating: 5/5. Visually, aurally, emotionally, and spiritually, this movie is a triumph. 

Reviews: The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey

  
          Ever since Peter Jackson’s excellent take on The Lord of the Rings (2001-2003), it’s only been a matter of time before someone – preferably Jackson himself – tackled Tolkien’s prequel story The Hobbit. Now, after nearly ten years of waiting, the day has finally arrived; The Hobbit is here.

            The film opens early on the same day that The Fellowship of the Ring began: Bilbo’s birthday party. Here we see that, while waiting for Gandalf to arrive, Old Bilbo Baggins (Ian Holm) sat down and started to compose his memoirs, dedicated to Frodo (Elijah Wood). From there, the movie flashes back to an effective prologue of the Dwarven Kingdom of Erebor in the Lonely Mountain, which was destroyed and sacked by the dragon, Smaug. An undisclosed amount of time later, Gandalf the Grey (Ian McKellen) finds young Bilbo Baggins (Martin Freeman) sitting on his front lawn blowing smoke rings. Before Bilbo knows quite what has happened, he is playing reluctant host to a part of thirteen raucous dwarves: Fili (Dean O’Gorman), Kili (Aidan Turner), Oin (John Callen), Gloin (Peter Hambleton), Dori (Mark Hadlow), Nori (Jed Brophy), Ori (Adam Brown), Bifur (William Kircher), Bofur (James Nesbitt), Bombur (Stephen Hunter), Balin (Ken Stott), Dwalin (Graham McTavish), and, the leader of the company, Thorin Oakenshield (Richard Armitage). If you can’t keep those names straight, well the book was like that too.

            The Dwarves are planning to attempt to retake Erebor from Smaug, and Bilbo reluctantly joins the party as their ‘burglar.’ But not long after they set out, Gandalf receives news from his fellow wizard, Radagast the Brown (Sylvester McCoy) that a powerful evil force has arisen in the world…

            The first of a planned trilogy of Hobbit films is an engaging, but uneven effort that would have greatly benefitted from someone exercising a little restraint on the over-eager filmmaker. Jackson indulges in his love of excess far too much, constantly threatening to derail the story. The Hobbit is, when it comes down to it, a much smaller, more contained story than The Lord of the Rings, so much so that Tolkien himself (in the introduction to the latter work) said that the whole thing would hardly be worth mentioning in the annals of Middle Earth if it weren’t for the fact that Bilbo found the Ring along the way. Alas, Jackson refuses to see it that way, and the story has been padded out to be more or less the same length as the Rings films.

            This is a mistake. For Rings the problem was what to cut and what to retain. With The Hobbit the problem is clearly how to add enough to justify the new length of time taken. The result is film that feels padded and drawn out in a way the Rings films never did.

            Oddly enough, this also leads to the problem of the timeline being too compacted. Not only does Bilbo find the Ring, but the Necromancer first comes to Gandalf’s attention and the White Council (here comprised of Galadriel, Gandalf, Elrond, and Saruman: with Cate Blanchett, Hugo Weaving, and Christopher Lee reprising their roles from Rings) is called to discuss the problem. This means that Thrain was never imprisoned by the Necromancer and that the Greenwood becomes Mirkwood more or less overnight (in the course of the story). So, unlike in the books where Sauron re-entered the world slowly, by degrees as the watch of Gondor and the Wizards slowly slackened, here it happens all at once right under their noses.

            The subplot involving the Necromancer is only one of the examples of how Jackson pads out the story, an effort that sometimes works, and sometimes doesn’t; I didn’t mind the film pausing to give us a recap of how Thorin got his name (though it might have been staged better), but I do mind the fact that barely five minutes later it stops again to give us a scene with Radagast discovering the Nercromancer (Radagast in general is unnecessary to the story and should have been left on the cutting room floor).  Likewise, the film gives us a kind of secondary villain in the form of Azog (voiced by Manu Bennett), a Goblin chief who, in the book, was killed by Dain in the Battle of Moria (and whose son, Bolg, appears in the Battle of Five Armies). Here, however, he survives and stalks the Dwarves on their journey. He’s not a terrible addition (I would have gone with just sticking to Bolg myself; maybe they didn’t want to get into familial ties among Orcs), though the fact that he looks as if he just stepped out of World of Warcraft is distracting and, frankly, he wasn’t really necessary.

            Oh, dear; I’m sounding far too negative. Padded out as it is, the strength of the story and the skill of the filmmakers nevertheless make the experience worthwhile. In particular, the sense of comradery among the dwarves and Bilbo that was so evident in the book is captured almost perfectly; the dwarves are like a band of freedom fighters (I was reminded more than once of the students from Les Miserables), with Bilbo along for the ride, and their loyalty and devotion to each other is palpable. The story arch of this film is mostly about Bilbo being accepted into the group, and while this isn’t how the book played out I can accept the film’s scenario (particularly a touching dénouement between Thorin and Bilbo that nicely foreshadows later events in the story).  

            Likewise, I rather like how the troll episode is here re-imagined as a kind of hazing played on Bilbo by Fili and Kili (the trolls themselves mesh surprisingly well with the ones in the Rings films while still getting their ‘low-class-crook’-style dialogue). The movie’s explanation of the distrust between the Elves and the Dwarves also works (though it has Thorin take things a little too far, such as when he initially declines Orchrist solely because it’s an Elven-made weapon).  I also like the more streamlined version of how Bilbo became lost in the caves and met Gollum, which allows us to have the Riddle Game and the confrontation in Goblin Town play out at the same time. 

            On the other hand, this reworking robs us of one of the key moments of Bilbo’s character development, where, after escaping the caverns, he decides that he needs to go back in and look for his friends (he ends up not having to, but the fact that he had made up his mind to is a major turning point in the book). As a matter of fact, Biblo loses most of his transformative moments so far: his decision to stand up for himself and demand the dwarves take him seriously at the party, his reluctance to return from the troll escapade ‘empty handed,’ even his first use of Sting is here transposed to a fight with Wargs, robbing the future battle with the spiders of its importance as the first time he really ‘took care of himself’ (though it is nicely foreshadowed by an exchange with Balin about how swords acquire names by “doing great deeds”).

            To some extent we have the same problem that the Harry Potter films had; the filmmakers were so concerned about getting the images and events right that they lost track of the meaning of them.     

            Not all of the book’s themes were lost, however. In particular, the Dwarven Diaspora is depicted very well, as is the sense of homelessness and injury among them in its wake (which is constantly re-emphasized to great effect). As in the book, there is some subtext of equating the Dwarves with the Jews; another ‘people set apart’ whose homeland was usurped and destroyed, and who have suffered much wrong and insult in consequence. Thorin’s fierce pride and yearning for his lost throne, like a slightly darker version of Aragorn, is well portrayed by Armitage, and I look forward to seeing his character arch completed in the next two films.

            The ‘unlikely hero’ theme is on full display here too, with Gandalf and Galadriel having an exchange about how it’s the “small things…the simple acts of kindness and love” that “keep the darkness at bay.” Certainly that’s a speech Tolkien would have agreed with, and if Bilbo only gets a few chances to live up to it so far, we’ll take it as a promise of things to come.  

Galadriel herself, meanwhile, while not really necessary to the story, packs even more ‘Marian imagery’ punch than in the Rings films, with things like Elrond referring to her as a ‘higher authority’ and her telling Gandalf to call on her in need while he reverently bows his head (these don’t exactly square with who these characters actually are in the story, but I appreciated it nonetheless).

            Finally, there’s the fact that one of the book’s most crucial moments, where Bilbo has the chance to kill Gollum and spares him out of pity, is played absolutely perfectly. This was arguably the most important moment of this part of the story, and the movie nails it, from the way Gollum inadvertantly blocks Bilbo's escape, to Gollum’s tear-stained, anguished face as he looks, unseeing, straight into his own doom.

            The Goblin Town sequence, on the other hand, is an insane, over-the-top, almost cartoonish exercise in excess reminiscent of the appallingly absurd dinosaur stampede from Jackson’s King Kong. If it doesn’t quite plumb the depths of the earlier film’s stupidity, well, that might only be because none of the participants are forty ton animals running at full gallop to escape predators barely one-hundredth of their own size. Goblin Town isn’t quite that bad, but it is jarringly silly as the dwarves slaughter goblins by the hundred while making Rube-Goldberg-esque escapes on the wooden catwalks, before the whole ridiculous escapade finishes up with a shout-out to, of all things, Jason X (I solemnly swear that I am not making that up).

            While the Goblin Town chase is the most excessive of the film’s excesses, it is by no means the only one. Was it necessary, for instance, to have Radagast ride around in a sleigh pulled by rabbits? Or to have the same sleigh feature in a chase scene reminiscent of the ‘Flight to the Ford’ sequence in Fellowship? Or to have Bilbo unwittingly used as a handkerchief by one of the trolls? Or to have a fight between Radagast and a ghost (do you notice that Radagast shows up in a lot of these)?

On the other hand, there are moments when the film just plain works. The Riddle Game in particular is absolutely sublime from start to finish, giving us a good lot of those wonderful riddles straight from the book and providing a number of strikingly iconic images of the classic scene (though Gollum’s last vow of eternal enmity with Bilbo lacks the power and emphasis it should have. On the other hand, the moment where he realizes just what Bilbo has in his pocket is strikingly powerful).  The Dwarves get to sing part of their haunting “We Must Away ere Break of Day” song, along with the boisterously hilarious “That’s What Bilbo Baggins Hates.” And, while the “Goblin Town” song didn’t make the cut, the enormously grotesque Great Goblin does get a very funny song about torture devices that is in the same spirit (hopefully later films will give us more of Tolkien’s wonderful poetry).

Possibly my favorite bit, however, is the scene with the stone giants, only alluded to in the book, and here present in a scene that captures the feel of a true fairy tale better than any I’ve ever seen; the giants are literally pieces of the mountain that stand up and start fighting, representing in a dream-like fashion what the experience of being on a mountaintop in a storm might actually feel like.

Martin Freeman as Bilbo has been a dream casting of mine ever since I saw The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, and he doesn’t disappoint. Even though the film robs Bilbo of many of his best moments, Freeman still manages to project just the right blend of displaced middle-class Englishness and honest-to-goodness honor to convince us that this is Bilbo. As a matter of fact, I thought he was considerably better than Elijah Wood as Frodo (who, while he was effective, always seemed too young and lacking in the gravitas of the character). Freeman’s Bilbo is clearly an adult and his struggles with his doubts, fears, and sense of being out of his depth are consequently more engaging. The way Bilbo slowly comes to adapt to the life of adventures – strapping on a sword, shouldering his pack, thinking on his feet – is done very well, and much of the credit must go to Freeman.

Ian McKellen is as good as ever as Gandalf the Grey, although I must admit I felt that sometimes he lacked the effortless authority and strength he ought to have; he lets Thorin fluster him too much, for instance, and he only occasionally shows the casual lightheartedness Tolkien’s character had (and that he had in Fellowship). This Gandalf doesn’t casually mention the possibility of them all getting killed, or toy with the answers to serious questions. Even his introductory dissection of the phrase “Good Morning” lacks the playfulness it should have. On the other hand, he does get some good scenes, as when he recounts the story of how Bilbo’s great-great-uncle Bullroarer Took invented the game of golf, or when he surreptitiously engages in a bet with some of the Dwarves. Generally, McKellen is like the film itself; good, but uneven and often missing the point.

Of Richard Armitage I have only two complaints: he’s too young and his beard is way too small. Thorin’s beard should cover his whole chest like a grey shield, not stop just below the chin! Apart from that, however, I thought Armitage did a great job of communicating the spirit of Thorin; the sense of injury, pride, nobility, and ambition that bespeaks a deposed king. I certainly look forward to seeing how Armitage plays Thorin in the subsequent films, when his character really comes into his own.

Ken Stott as Balin is, fittingly, the second most important Dwarven character, and unlike Thorin he is pretty much perfect both in character and appearance. Balin is supposed to be the oldest of the dwarves and an old companion of Thorin’s, and Stott and Armitage have a number of nice scenes together emphasizing this. As depicted in the film, Balin acts as Thorin’s conscience and a soothing influence on the oft-hotheaded leader; a depiction that works very well and that Stott rises to admirably.

The rest of the Dwarves generally blend together (if you can remember who goes to what name after one viewing, I’m seriously impressed). Fili and Kili have more scenes than most, and of course Bombur is the subject of much slapstick, while Bofur has one very nice scene with Bilbo about what it means to “not belong anywhere.” I liked that the filmmakers clearly went to great efforts to give each dwarf a specific look, and that they preserved the mild humor of the book’s repeated, long-winded dwarvish roll-calls.

Andy Serkis as Gollum has only one scene, but it’s at the heart of the story. Of course he plays Gollum as well as ever, but I was particularly impressed at how they made Gollum into a real threat to Bilbo. Picturing the scene, I always had a hard time justifying Gollum as a genuine danger, since Bilbo had his sword and Gollum was unarmed. Add in the small, cringing version of Gollum of the movies and I wasn’t sure they’d be able to really convince me that he could actually murder Bilbo if he tried.

Well, Serkis and Jackson have convinced me, partly by emphasizing the advantage of Gollum’s ability to see in the dark, and partly by the simple expedience of having Gollum pick up a rock to bludgeon Bilbo with. Basically, Golllum comes across as nastier and more convincingly dangerous here than he did in any of the three Rings movies, which is just as it should be (reimagining him as a kind of ‘bottom feeder’ preying on goblins who fall off the catwalks was another great touch).

Other roles are generally the same as they were in the Rings movies; Hugo Weaving is effortlessly convincing as ever as Elrond. Christopher Lee gives a good turn as a pre-fallen (though still prideful) Saruman, and I actually think I liked Cate Blanchett’s performance as Galadriel better here than I did in any of the Rings movies; somehow she just seems more ethereally beautiful and Mary-like (as noted above) than she did before. Sylvester McCoy as Radagast (for all my complaints of the character) does as well as could be expected, and I admit that he does adhere pretty close to my image of Radagast as a slightly crazed hermit-wizard. The CGI-orc Azog makes little or no impression either as a villain or as a character. On the other hand, the Great Goblin (voiced by Barry Humphries) is a boisterously grotesque creature who seems like Tolkien by way of Charles Addams and is an absolute nauseating blast his whole time on screen (to the point that I wish they had dumped Azog and just made him the villain of the first film). Smaug, meanwhile, is here only present in tantalizing glimpses, but they promise a dragon that truly lives up to Tolkien’s description of him as “the chief and greatest of calamities.”

Tolkien’s Catholic Imagination is on good display here. Bilbo is essentially you average modern Englishman; insular, pampered, mildly materialistic, and without a shred of ambition or imagination to his name. Then, suddenly, he finds himself called upon to leave his comfort zone and go on a perilous journey with no promise of either success or survival, but one that will make him into a better and more ‘real’ person than he ever imagined he could be. It’s almost an allegorical representation of Tolkien’s friend, C.S. Lewis’s description of the Christian life, in which God refuses to allow us to simply remain ‘decent chaps;’ once you let Him in, He begins the painful and difficult process of turning you into a saint. Tolkien famously disliked allegory, but certainly his story is applicable to Lewis’s idea, with decent little Bilbo invited to leave his decent, respectable life and allow himself to be made into something great.

I already mentioned the powerful Marian imagery involved with Galadriel, and the famous act of mercy in which Bilbo, having Gollum in his power, stays his hand out of pity for his miserable enemy, even though Gollum both had intended to kill him already and was currently blocking his exit from the caves. The dangers of greed (foreshadowed here, but fully explored later), the importance of home, family, and tradition, and above all the preeminence of “everyday acts of kindness and love” are all on full display here. On the other hand Bilbo’s taking of the Ring here is staged in such a way that it feels much more like he actually did steal it. This may be an attempt to foreshadow the Ring’s corruptive power (with it tempting the normally-upright Bilbo into doing the wrong thing immediately), and in any case I thought it actually added resonance to Bilbo’s subsequent behavior towards Gollum, in that the Ring has already succeeded in tempting Bilbo to wrong Gollum once, but it fails when the time comes to do even worse. The fact that Bilbo took the one step but not the other down the road to evil is, in some ways, more impressive than if he had never started at all.

In summary, The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey isn’t as good as it might have been. It suffers from excessive padding, over-the-top absurdity, and a failure to grasp key points of the book. Nevertheless the end result is always entertaining and, on occasion, profound. It makes me excited to see how Jackson and Co. will tackle the rest of the story.

Final Rating: 4/5. Though suffering from Jackson’s overindulgent style, the strength of the story, occasional flashes of sublimity, and Martin Freeman’s excellent portrayal of Bilbo Baggins carry it past its flaws. Firmly recommended.