Jeffrey Mallinson, Assistant Professor
of History and Religion
Union College, KY
Abstract
According to Tolkien, the profound significance of
fantasy literature cannot translate to drama. After determining the
three main aspects of Tolkien’s books - archetypal characters, eucatastrophe,
and myth-creation - one wonders with the late master of fairy stories
whether cinematic adaptation of The Lord of The Rings
necessarily obscures the original medium’s religious value. Nevertheless,
once we consider the influence film has upon a culture’s imagination,
the translation process seems possible. Over time, the film adaptation
can perpetuate a shared myth and encourage audiences to transcend the
cinematic images, allowing them to contemplate the archetypes and eucatastrophe
of the original written version.
Introduction
[1] Vampires, they say, have no reflection in a mirror.
Could it be that, in a similar way, the fairies of Tolkien’s Lord
of the Rings are unable to reflect from the silver screen? New
Line Cinema and director Peter Jackson help us answer this question.
With the financing, thoughtfulness and technical effects of this trilogy,
we have perhaps the best case study in which to see if it is possible
for film to convey the religious significance of secondary worlds like
Middle-earth. We will examine three essential elements of Tolkien’s
story - archetypal characters, eucatastrophe, and myth-creation - and
then determine whether Jackson translates these to film.
The difficulty
[2] The difficulty at hand is distinct from the snobbish
contention that books are always better than movies. To be sure, when
novels are adapted for Hollywood, commercialism often forces out details
and alters plots; but the addition of visual and aural elements to a
narrative can also be effective. The list of novel-based films that
boast Best Picture Oscars includes Forrest Gump, Schindler’s List,
Silence of the Lambs, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, and Gone
with the Wind. It is arguable that these stories were no less influential
upon the Western psyche as movies than they were as novels. Further,
The Lord of the Rings films draw new readers to the original
Tolkien texts, in search of minute details and background. For example,
sales of Tolkien’s books have continued to soar since New Line Cinema
first announced their production of the trilogy.
[3] Likewise, our investigation must not be confused
with Tolkien purists’ obsessive insistence that all details of the screenplay
must correspond to the original. Jackson says he presents an interpretation(1)
of the film that remains as close as possible to Tolkien’s novel. The
one bold liberty he takes - adding material concerning the character
Arwen - is meant to enhance the narrative’s supernatural themes. Jackson
explains that, "To be able to show the essence of our story, which is
the love of an immortal for a mortal man, we have had to create more
material for Arwen."(2)
This alteration, he adds, is legitimate since it makes use of Tolkien’s
own appendix. Incidentally, Liv Tyler’s portrayal of Arwen is compelling,
especially in the "non-canonical," but strongly religious scenes, such
as when she prays for grace to pass from her to the wounded Frodo, or
when she calls upon a supernatural flood to stop pursuing Ringwraiths.
[4] We can let filmmakers and litterateurs debate
whether a novel can get through Hollywood without playing the harlot.
Our question is: Does the religious significance of Tolkien’s masterpiece
survive the translation from text to celluloid? For those who hope
such cinematic translation is possible, the challenge is daunting, in
light of the grim fact that Tolkien would have abhorred any dramatic
adaptation of his books. He writes:
Drama is naturally hostile to Fantasy. Fantasy,
even of the simplest kind, hardly ever succeeds in Drama, when that
is presented as it should be, visibly and audibly acted. Fantastic
forms are not to be counterfeited. Men dressed up as talking animals
may achieve buffoonery or mimicry, but they do not achieve Fantasy.(3)
Moreover, while one might argue that the digital effects
possible today can overcome the drawbacks of drama, Tolkien would not
have been so satisfied. Rather, he would see sophisticated effects
as part of the problem:
Drama has, of its very nature, already attempted
a kind of bogus, or shall I say at least substitute, magic: the
visible and audible presentation of imaginary men in a story.
That is in itself an attempt to counterfeit the magician’s wand.(4)
[5] In other words, a director might be trying his
hand at the wrong kind of magic when he pays attention to visual effects.
Tolkien is clear throughout his essay "On Fairy Stories" that Faërie
(the technical term he uses for such tales to distinguish them from
nursery rhymes) express truth, not delusions, though via a special,
literary manner. The true magic is the enchantment of a reader’s imagination.
Cinematic magic does all the work for the audience, bypassing the imagination.
Moreover, the images presented by a film can even drive out the pictures
painted by the imagination, which would be at odds with Tolkien’s original
purpose.
Tolkien’s purpose
[6] Criticism since deconstructionism has made it
difficult to investigate a writer’s original intent. Fortunately, however,
Tolkien made his purpose explicit: he wanted to convey the "philosophical
and mythical implications" of a story without "detracting from the surface
‘adventure.’"(5) In other
words, he deliberately intended to achieve the religious significance
common to all "true" fairy-tales. This significance pertains especially
to those in the postmodern world who seek to justify religious belief
via a subjective approach rather than the objective approach common
to such theologians as Thomas Aquinas.
[7] Tolkien explains that fairy-tales deal with a
kind of Magic. But this is where mistakes often creep in. It is not
a playful, silly magic. It is certainly not special-effects showmanship.
It is something solemn. And it has an end greater than itself: "The
satisfaction of certain primordial desires."(6)
These subconscious desires bubble up to the conscious surface of a culture
through literature, in the form of archetypes.
[8] Tolkien’s world is a land where archetypes of
the collective unconscious roam freely.(7)
To better understand religious importance of archetypes, consider Carl
Gustav Jung’s understanding of dreams. Jung argued that dreams are
attempts on the part of the unconscious self to break through to the
conscious mind. In particular, dreams "puncture rationalism" and "break
the ice of intellectual resistance."(8)
In a similar fashion, the archetypes of Tolkien’s stories assault a
rationalistic mind, i.e., one that refuses to consider the supernatural.
Like dreams, stories can awaken an otherwise unreligious person to religious
possibilities. Montgomery explicitly draws this connection in relation
to Tolkien and his literary circle: "As a dream while asleep can touch
the depths of our being, could not the literature of wakefulness shower
with light and supreme power the landscape of religious concern, and
provide the subjective attestation of Christian truth for which men
long?"(9)
[9] Just as Tolkien believed his stories could arouse
primitive religious archetypes, and open up a new world to rationalists,
he believed his stories could create in unsuspecting readers a spark
of profound joy. This joy, which he says is essential to all true fairy
stories, he calls eucatastrophe (literally, the good catastrophe).
It is "a sudden glimpse of the or truth underlying reality."(10)
For Tolkien, this underlying reality is the Christian Gospel. He explains
that, in this secondary world of fictional joy, "we see in a brief vision
that the answer may be ... a far-off gleam or echo of evangelium
in the real [primary] world."(11)
The connection between fiction and the biblical history of Jesus is
one of longing and fulfillment:
The Birth of Christ is the eucatastrophe of Man’s
history. The Resurrection is the eucatastrophe of the story of the
Incarnation. ... There is no tale ever told that men would rather
find was true, and none which so many skeptical men have accepted
as true on its own merits. For the Art of it has the supremely convincing
tone of Primary Art, that is, of Creation. To reject it leads either
to sadness or to wrath.(12)
[10] The non-religious may chide Tolkien for getting
so caught up in his fantasy world that his judgment is clouded concerning
"real world" facts. But make no mistake: Tolkien contends that the
Great Eucatastrophe is true in the primary world.
It is not difficult to imagine the peculiar excitement
and joy that one would feel, if any especially beautiful fairy-story
were found to be "primarily" true, its narrative to be history, without
thereby necessarily losing the mythical or allegorical significance
that it had possessed. ... The Christian joy, the Gloria,
is of the same kind; but it is pre-eminently (infinitely, if our capacity
were not finite) high and joyous. But this story is supreme; and
it is true. Art has been verified. God is the Lord, of angels, and
of men - and of elves. Legend and History have met and fused.(13)
[11] Now, if we properly understand eucatastrophe
and archetype for Tolkien, we will also understand that neither can
be achieved without the creation of myth. For, without this secondary
world, we care little about the characters who allegedly live there.
Without the secondary world, we fail to find a sense of joy when the
eucatastrophic "turn" in the fairy story is supposed to take place.
"Myth," says one scholar, "arouses desire for escape into a higher reality,
generates a recovery of appreciation for the world we know, and entices
with the ultimate consolation of a just, eternal reward."(14)
[12] Because secondary world-creation is the ostensible
purpose of cinema, and in this way is congruous with Tolkien’s purpose,
let us first consider whether archetypal characters and eucatastrophe
survive Jackson’s translation. After this, we will consider whether
Jackson’s secondary world is strong enough to make up for any deficiencies
in translating archetypal characters or euchatastrophe.
Archetypal characters on film
[13] According to the Christian doctrines of the Incarnation
and the Sacraments (doctrines affirmed by Tolkien), God uses matter
- even humble forms of matter - to convey His sublime mysteries. To
argue that religious archetypes cannot work on film simply because the
medium employs earthly instruments betrays a Gnostic disdain for matter.
No, if film is unable to convey the archetypes of Tolkien’s saga, it
is not because matter gets in the way as matter.
[14] Poor special effects may detract from archetypes
by ending the "willing suspension of disbelief." But far worse is an
over-reliance upon special effects, something Tolkien would call "bogus
magic." Peter Jackson’s decision to make The Lord of the Rings
look very much like a historical epic, rather than a cliché-filled fantasy
film is prudent in this regard. So is his decision to make Gandalf’s
powers subtle rather than spectacular. This is consistent with Tolkien’s
literary approach, as described by one scholar: "In fantasy literature,
the world is not simply left behind for pleasing visions of wonder.
... The promise of Faërie for Tolkien is a return to the world
from which we have become estranged."(15)
By restraining his use of visual effects, Jackson leaves at least
some room for imagination, for providence behind images, for Magic behind
actions.
[15] Directly representing an archetype is fatal,
according to Tolkien. Doing so is exactly what he calls "a potion too
strong."(16) When
The Lord of The Rings - in print - asks you to imagine a cave-demon
like the Balrog, your unconscious mind calls upon an archetype, perhaps
one you have neglected for too long. However, when The Lord of the
Rings - on film - depicts the Balrog, it does not ask you to recall
that archetype, it provides an image for you. Here, the cinematic image
may obscure the archetype Tolkien intended you to see and, hence, nullify
the most essential element of his narrative.
[16] Thus, the paradox, when attempting to translate
literary archetypes to film, is this: The extent to which a film
directly depicts an archetypal character is the extent to which the
archetype is obscured. Conversely, the extent to which a film
understates an archetypal character is the extent to which the archetype
is preserved. Granting this, even if we share Tolkien’s apprehensions
regarding drama, Jackson succeeds in conveying archetypes (though to
a diminished degree when compared to the book) by presenting his fantastical
characters behind a veil. Jackson’s relatively subdued approach is
thus in accord with good fantasy writing, which treats, as one scholar
describes it, a "longing for something which can only be glimpsed, but
never found, in the story itself."(17)
To be sure, many glimpses of magic are spectacular in Jackson’s film.
Examples include the brief exhibitions of power by Gandalf and Lady
Galadriel. According to our formula, these might go too far. Nevertheless,
displays of spectacular magic do not saturate the film, and this allows
archetypes to survive the translation to some extent.
Eucatastrophe on film
[17] A filmmaker can recreate literary eucatastrophe,
provided audiences care about the characters and their fate. An effective
example of cinematic eucatastrophe is the Coen brothers’ O’ Brother
Where Art Thou? This film successfully depicts unanticipated grace.
The protagonist, "a man of constant sorrows," constantly runs from the
Law’s hounds and faces a barrage of trials, only to receive a legal
pardon, evade the damning Law, and find salvation through a flood.
Another example is the eucatastrophe of Tom Tykwer’s Run Lola Run
(Lola rennt). In this film, a lover races against time and death
for her beloved. After she offers a prayer of desperation, Grace accomplishes
not only the reversal of death, but also a state of blessing that surpasses
all previous expectations. Each of these films achieves eucatastrophe
by using deus ex machina not as a cop-out, but as the story’s
crux.
[18] To convey eucatastrophe, The Lord of the Rings
must have a bittersweet conclusion, something that cannot be accomplished
until the third installment’s release. If successful, it will be sweet
when characters find redemption and grace in the shadow of doom. It
will be bitter, when the audience remembers that life does not
work that way in the "real world." Life - they will say - ends like
the film noir U-Turn, not like a fairy tale. Jackson must scandalize
the audience by tricking them into believing, if only for a moment,
that there is such a thing as divine rescue. As the audience sighs,
"If only that were true!" they must confront a very tough theological
question. How do things turn out? Are stories of grace and
redemption merely fiction? Effective eucatastrophe gets adults to think
like children on a kind father’s knee, hearing about elves and eternity.
Later, they may laugh it off as unhealthy escapism and regret their
momentary apostasy from nihilism, but at least they will have heard
rumors of a Great Escape.
[19] Although full eucatastrophe must wait until the
final film of the trilogy, there is evidence Jackson will succeed at
this level. Arwen’s rescue of Frodo gives us an indication of what
is to come. This example of unexpected deliverance from evil is complete
with tears and talk of grace and an elf reminiscent of the Virgin Mary.
Most important is that the escape is not only from death, but also from
a form of damnation. The poison killing Frodo, we are told, would also
turn him into a hollow spirit or wraith, without the aid of elvish medicine.
Another brief but moving example of eucatastrophe is the scene in which
Gandalf is rescued from imprisonment by a giant eagle. Scenes like
these are striking even for those familiar with the books.
[20] Thus, we affirm that Jackson is able to convey
both archetype and eucatastrophe. While archetypal characters on film
will always be inferior to archetypal characters on the printed page,
eucatastrophe suffers from no such handicap. Especially for younger
generations, film may pack more eucatastrophic punch. Nevertheless,
the foundation of this whole edifice is myth-creation. Without this,
the potential value of archetype and eucatastrophe is lost.
Cinematic myth-creation
[21] Most people born after the 1960s share a common
mythology in the Star Wars episodes. While few can identify
Perseus or Osiris, virtually no one is ignorant of Darth Vader or Luke
Skywalker. These films are not always consistent, nor do they score
the highest marks for dramatic achievement. Nevertheless, they successfully
won over the Western imagination and created a modern myth. In doing
this, they developed a secondary world. Had Jackson failed to captivate
audiences where Lucas succeeded, he would only have profaned the sacred.(18)
Jackson’s creation of a commercial winner will redeem any shortcomings
in his conveyance of archetype or eucatastrophe. Let us see how this
is so.
[22] To begin, Jackson successfully facilitates escapism.
"Escapist" was often hurled as an insult at Tolkien’s work. The author,
however, took this epithet as a compliment, citing a universal need
to escape. He asks, "Why should a man be scorned if, finding himself
in prison, he tries to get out and go home?"(19)
Tolkien identifies "prison" as human existence in the midst of death.
Thus, stories provide hope for the "fugitive spirit" and point us to
"the Great Escape: the Escape from Death."(20)
Thus, for Tolkien, a good secondary world-creator is obliged to evoke
the primitive desires of the fugitive spirit. The mythmaker must convey
the whole story as true in a "secondary" sense.(21)
The key phrase Tolkien used to describe a well-crafted fantasy story
is the inner consistency of reality. When this consistent secondary
world is presented in a commercially successful film, popular culture
obtains a common myth and, hence, a fertile ground for cultivating other
religious aspects of Tolkien’s work.
[24] Several factors help Jackson succeed as a mythmaker.
First and foremost, he is blessed with Tolkien’s ready-made world.
This depth is difficult to achieve when a film’s story is developed
"from scratch." Second, realizing the importance of characterization
to Tolkien’s writing, Jackson cast appropriate actors. Had Ian McKellen
been unable to represent Gandalf as simultaneously jovial and frightening,
the archetypal significance would have diminished. Had Elijah Wood
been unable to relate Frodo’s sincerity, we would care little for his
eucatastrophic rescue. Third, Jackson had the funding to complete all
three films. Had this not been the case, "consistency" in the film
would have been hindered. Actors might have died or walked out on their
contracts. Since the trilogy is complete, everything from casting to
post-production will remain seamless.
[25] Jackson’s ability to provide the "inner consistency
of reality" for a wide audience is the key to his translation of Tolkien,
since it offers an exciting possibility regarding archetypes. Indeed,
myth-creation may be the only antidote for "a potion too strong." Consider
once more the Star Wars saga. Because it has found a place in Western
popular culture, it has taken on a life of its own. Ben Kenobi may
have insufficiently represented an archetype on film. But characters
like Ben Kenobi now live in the cultural imagination, evoking archetypes
that may have been latent when the film premiered. By becoming part
of a new myth, Ben Kenobi may have merged with Merlin and Gandalf, though
he only resembled those wizards when Alec Guinness first played the
part. Similarly, Jackson’s ability to create a popular secondary world
will produce a cultural familiarity with the Tolkien myth. Archetypal
characters will now merge with archetypes hidden in the collective unconscious.
This, along with increased sales of the books, is producing a situation
in which Jackson’s films will do more to convey than to obscure Tolkien’s
religious significance.
Conclusion
[26] In sum, Jackson’s interpretation of The Lord
of the Rings proves it is possible to translate Tolkien to film,
but with varying degrees of effectiveness. Archetypal characters survive
the process only if they are understated; even then, their power is
diminished. Eucatastrophe is conveyed via film with relative ease,
and for some audiences, its power may be augmented in that medium.
Vital to all of this is Jackson’s ability to create a consistent secondary
world. Once the myth conquers the culture’s imagination, the problem
of weakened archetypes is overcome and eucatastrophic elements are immortalized.
In terms of the original question, translating Tolkien to film may at
first be "a potion to strong," but as its religious significance is
diluted throughout the culture’s imagination, it becomes a salutary
elixir.
Notes
(1) "You shouldn't
think of these movies as being The Lord of the Rings. The
Lord of the Rings is, and always will be, a wonderful book - one
of the greatest ever written. Any films will only ever be an interpretation
of the book. In this case my interpretation." (Peter Jackson, in an
interview August 30, 1998 with www.aint-it-cool-news.com.)
(2) Peter Jackson,
in an interview on the official film website, www.lordoftherings.net.
(3) J.R.R. Tolkien,
"On Fairy Stories," in The Tolkien Reader (New York: Ballantine,
1966), 49.
(4) Tolkien, "On
Fairy Stories," 51.
(5) Richard Purtill,
"Myth and Story," in Harold Bloom ed., J.R.R. Tolkien (Modern Critical
Views (Broomall, PA: Chelsea House, 2000), 151. As Purtill notes,
Tolkien is referring to a work by C.S. Lewis, but also communicates
his personal philosophy.
(6) Tolkien, "On
Fairy Stories," 13.
(7) See Timothy
R. O’Neill, The Individuated Hobbit: Jung, Tolkien and the Archetypes
of Middle-earth (London: Thames and Hudson, 1980).
(8) From "On Syncronicity"
in J. Cambell ed., The Portable Jung (New York: Viking, 1976),
512. On Jungian theory and film, see James F. Iaccino, Jungian Reflections
within the Cinema (Westport, CT: Praeger, Conn., 1998).
(9) John Warwick
Montgomery, "The Apologists of Eucatastrophe," in J.W. Montgomery
ed., Myth Allegory and Gospel: An interpretation of J.R..R.. Tolkien,
C.S. Lewis, G.K. Chesterton, Charles Williams (Minneapolis: Bethany,
1974), 20-21.
(10) Tolkien,
"On Fairy Stories," 71.
(11) Tolkien,
"On Fairy Stories," 71.
(12) Tolkien,
"On Fairy Stories,"72.
(13) Tolkien,
"On Fairy Stories," 72.
(14) Rolland Hein,
Christian Mythmakers (Chicago: Cornerstone,1998), 200.
(15) David Sandner,
"‘Joy Beyond the Walls of the World:’ The Secondary World-Making of
J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis," in George Clark and Daniel Timmons eds.,
J.R.R. Tolkien and His Literary Resonances: Views of Middle-earth
(London: Greenwood, 2000), 137.
(16) Tolkien,
"On Fairy Stories," 52.
(17) Sandner,
"Joy Beyond the Walls of the World," 134.
(18) By "profane"
I do not mean blasphemy. Rather, I refer to the distinction between
the transcendent and the mundane in Mircea Eliade, The Sacred and
the Profane: The Nature of Religion, Willard R. Trask trans. (Harcourt,
New York: 1972).
(19) Tolkien,
"On Fairy Stories," 60.
(20) Tolkien,
"On Fairy Stories," 67.
(21) Tolkien,
"On Fairy Stories," 37-38.
