by Greg Krehbiel Peter Jackson's Thoroughly Modern Middle Earth

Peter Jackson's new movie is fabulous. As a movie. As a screen adaptation of The Two Towers, it's very disappointing. It reminded me of C.S. Lewis' advice that we read old books to avoid the oppressive assumptions of the surrounding culture. Jackson has turned Tolkien's classic tribute to virtue into a tale of "complicated" modern men. Jackson had to make sure that all our heroes had flaws.

The best summary of The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers is this — Gollum is the best character.

Jackson understands Gollum. He is a tortured, pitiable soul who fights a losing battle against the last, flickering evidence of any original decency. We can see why Frodo had hope for his recovery, and we are saddened by Gollum's fate, wishing something we never thought to wish — that fate might have been kinder to Gollum and that he might have recovered from the effects of the ring and died in peace.

It's a magnificent portrayal, but set against every other character in the movie, it shows the besetting sin of our generation: a skeptical, unbelieving attitude towards true nobility. Modern man can understand Gollum. He can't understand Aragorn.

Let's review the systematic destruction of nobility in almost every character in the story.

First, there's the attack on Gandalf in Fangorn forest by the three hunters. In the book they considered such a thing, but their conscience prevailed. "We may not shoot an old man so," Aragorn says, "at unawares and unchallenged, whatever fear or doubt be on us." Jackson has them do precisely that.

Then there's Gandalf, who, against king Theoden's express will, sneaks his staff into the hall at Edoras. In the book, Gandalf insists on the need to honor a king's will, and asks for the use of his staff as a prop for his age. While he does scare Grima with it once inside, the staff simply isn't that important. Theoden's recovery isn't from the magical power of Gandalf's staff, but from the power of Gandalf's spoken words of hope and courage. Jackson, on the other hand, has Gandalf breaking the rules to sneak a magical weapon into the king's presence. The staff is crucial.

Theoden's illness and recovery show a similar failure to understand Tolkien's worldview. Tolkien's Theoden is not possessed. He has simply listened to a lying tongue. Grima didn't use magic to capture the king's mind, but the everyday destructive power of evil speech — the slow poison of false words leading to a loss of hope. Jackson doesn't seem to have Tolkien's moral vision of the degrading, de-humanizing power of sin.

In the same way, Theoden's "recovery" leaves a lot to be desired. The real Theoden is inspired by Gandalf's words to hope and desperate courage in which he goes out to battle against Saruman's forces. Jackson's Theoden wakes up to become a fearful, cowering king who leads the women and children into the mountain hideouts and only makes a last, wild-eyed charge when he's sure he's going to die anyway. Yes, there are similarities to the original story, but the tone is all wrong. The noble King Theoden of Tolkien's masterpiece is hardly recognizable.

Tolkien's vision of the Riders of Rohan is inspired by Norse mythology, in which chaos and death eventually triumph. The good Norseman is one who fights the long, losing battle — a kind of existential hero — having committed himself to honor and justice with no hope of any reward but an honorable death. There are echoes of these Norse myths in the words of the Tolkien's Riders of Rohan, but we don't get the same sense of virtue from Jackson's Riders.

The most disappointing failure in the movie is Aragorn. Tolkien's Aragorn almost defines nobility. It is easy for us moderns — compromisers and scheming politicians that we are — to imagine that a man who hopes to claim the throne of the northern and southern kingdoms of Middle Earth — and along with them a fabulously beautiful elvish bride — would be willing to cut some corners and take the safe road as a hedge against the future. But Tolkien's Aragorn cuts no corners. He does what is required of him each step of the way, trusting in fate to keep the future.

In the book, when the three hunters begin to lose hope of finding Merry and Pippin, we read the following exchange.

'Then what shall we do now?' said Gimli. 'We cannot pursue them through the whole fastness of Fangorn. … If we do not find them soon, we shall be of no use to them, except to sit down beside them and show our friendship by starving together.'

'If that is indeed all we can do, then we must do that,' said Aragorn.

Tolkien's Aragorn has committed himself to a high and noble destiny, in pursuit of which he will do whatever task is laid before him, no matter the cost to himself. Jackson's Aragorn "forsook that path," according to the sour-faced Elrond (in the first movie), and struggles with doubt about his mission and his love for Arwen. He may be a more believable character for modern audiences, but he's not Aragorn.

And then there's Frodo and Faramir. Jackson has Frodo lie to Faramir about Gollum! Perhaps this is simply to show the evil effect of the ring, but there would be other ways to do that. And Faramir "shows his quality" — in Jackson's rendering — by forcing Frodo to go with him toward Minas Tirith.

Tolkien's Faramir is an entirely different character: one of great wisdom and virtue. When he meets Frodo and Sam he suspects quite a lot about the ring, and he says to Frodo, "But fear no more! I would not take this thing, if it lay by the highway. Not were Minas Tirith falling in ruin and I alone could save her, so, using the weapon of the Dark Lord for her good and my glory. No, I do not wish for such triumphs, Frodo son of Drogo." And then, later, when Samwise foolishly reveals the ring to Faramir, he says, "We are truth-speakers, we men of Gondor. We boast seldom, and then perform, or die in the attempt. Not if I found it on the highway would I take it I said. Even if I were such a man as to desire this thing, and even though I knew not clearly what this thing was when I spoke, still I should take those words as a vow, and be held by them."

That is a man to be admired! Tolkien's Faramir is a captain that men would willingly live and die for. Jackson's Faramir is some kind of weird transposition of stories, as if Robin Hood were thrown into Middle Earth.

Tolkien's characters may not be entirely believable to modern man, but if that's so, the fault is with modern man. We need Tolkien's vision of a moral world. We don't need yet another set of heroes dragged through the mud. And the particularly disappointing thing is that Jackson does it so very well. The costumes and scenery are fabulous. The special effects are wonderful. It's an amazing piece of work, but it fails to grasp the essence of Middle Earth, and, while I'm tempted to feel bad for Mr. Tolkien, I'm very glad that he is in a place where his consolations more than make up for this stunning disappointment.