Since he began adapting the works of J.R.R. Tolkien, director Peter Jackson has faced numerous complaints from longtime fans of Middle-earth—some spurious, some more substantial. (He has also, of course, earned plenty of praise from that same group.) Tolkien devotees have pointed to various infidelities, deviations from the books that make Jackson’s movies crucially different from the world that the English author imagined.
And yet no one I’m aware of has pointed out one of the more glaring (literally) problems with Jackson’s Tolkien films, a problem that has become more evident to me with each installment. It’s the choice of his own native land, New Zealand, as the backdrop for these British stories. The island nation of swooping hills and glistening peaks isn’t merely an unfortunate choice—it’s one of the worst options I can imagine.
One of Tolkien’s great accomplishments was making Middle-earth seem vividly old. Wherever the reader looks, ruins and crumbling statues poke through the lichen. “Here and there upon heights and ridges they caught glimpses of ancient walls of stone and the ruins of towers,” writes Tolkien in an early chapter of The Lord of the Rings, describing his heroes’ eastward flight from the ghastly Ringwraiths. The towers, he adds, “had an ominous look.”
“Ominous” is a favorite Tolkien adjective, along with “gloomy” and “ancient.” Dreams, water, the sun—all are at least occasionally ominous in Tolkien’s universe. In The Lord of the Rings, especially, Tolkien’s prose veritably creaks with historical resonances; it’s no accident that the pivotal chapter in the first volume of LOTR is called “The Shadow of the Past,” a title that could have served for the entire novel. Here is a rheumy-eyed realm, slouching toward a drearier tomorrow. As Tolkien reminds us over and over, the mystical race of elves is forsaking Middle-earth, taking their magic and their wonder, and leaving glum, brutish mankind in charge.
Watch a Lord of the Rings recap, in running shots:
This sense of a world slowly decoupling from a more glorious past is pervasive. As Tolkien’s ragtag band of hobbits, elves, wizards, and warriors approaches the Misty Mountains in the opening volume of The Lord of the Rings, the reader is struck not by the glorious spectacle of the peaks soaring heavenward, but by the signs of decline that lie all around. “The Moon, now at the full, rose over the mountains, and cast a pale light in which the shadows of stones were black. Many of them looked to have been worked by hands, though now they lay tumbled and ruinous in a bleak, barren land.”
To do justice to Tolkien—to capture the essence of Middle-earth—a filmmaker needs to convey that sensibility. And the problem with New Zealand is that it is decidedly young—both geologically and as a place inhabited by people. It simply does not transmit the requisite aura of decay. The point is well-illustrated in the previous entry in Jackson’s series, The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey. As the protagonists—a band of dwarves, with titular hero Bilbo Baggins in tow—travel toward the Lonely Mountain, the kingdom from which the dwarves were usurped a generation previously, they are set upon by orcs and giant wolves (called wargs). In The Hobbit, Tolkien’s description of this region of Middle-earth is very specific: It is dark, dreary, and pockmarked with half-collapsed structures.
“[T]hey had gone on far into the Lone-lands where there were no people left, no inns and the roads grew steadily worse. Not far ahead were dreary hills rising higher had higher, dark with trees. On some of them were old castles with an evil look, as if they had been built by wicked people. Everything seemed gloomy.”
Jackson, however, shoots his segment in the sun-glazed grasslands around Twizel on New Zealand’s South Island. The smackdown with orcs and wargs is a departure from the book, presumably intended to add pep to what, on the page, can feel like a grim travelogue. Just as jarring as the insertion of the fight scene, though, is the shift in the landscape and the way it’s depicted. The bright and blue-skied backdrop is utterly at odds with the cheerlessness deliciously conjured by Tolkien. You are at all times aware that you are watching dwarves and giant wolves fight in postcard-gorgeous New Zealand. If Middle-earth can be described as a character in the books, and I would argue that it can, then Jackson has written it out of the story.
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