A Tribute to Tony Benn, M.P. and 'man of the people': Apostle of the British Left, bent but unbowed with age, who departed us without all the usual fanfare, glare and blare of publicity, hoop-la and hullabaloo. A man moreover, unlike the (original) scarecrow, tinman, and lion of the land of *Oz, possessed with acuity of mind, a noble and generous heart of concern, and the undaunted courage and indomitableness of the king of the animal kingdom.
As the classic (late 70s'/early 80s') British sitcom, The Fall and Rise of Reginald Perrin - now available on dvd for all those like-hearted enthusiasts - terms him in making its endearingly affectionate, backhandedly complimentary and infamously hilarious reference, when one of its cast, Reggie's son-in-law I think, arrives with a placard calling upon him to be appointed and installed as Pope, Wedgwood Benn left his mark on the British/U.K. political scene in no uncertain, equivocal fashion; bestriding the political stage with his quixotic, unorthodox personality and value system as few of his ideological bent did or ever could have.
A man of the masses, apparently passed over as deputy leader of his party in the early 80s, and who would've, surely, proven a much more formidable, even if ultimately vanquishable opponent, to his lifetime bete noire 'Maggie' Thatcher - certainly than his left-wing fellow (Labour Party) traveller - the academic and thus understandably far less streetwise and politically savvy Michael Foot(e). A would-be leader truly 'of, by and for the people' unlike so many of his apparently elitist colleagues both in his heyday and ever since.
But like all great spiritual leaders without due recognition and public credentials, Mr Benn needed no such external honours to make him any more the natural leader of men he indisputably was. Someone with a natural charisma who didn't need or employ fancy gimmicks to attract or garner support (either among his political colleagues or the general public-at-large). No, spin doctors, political consultants and public relations firms and 'makeovers', and of course those ever bungling, oh-so-officious bureaucrats - as so wonderfully spoofed in that other classic British comedy 'Yes Minister' - were not in his vocabulary, excepting in his undisguised scorn thereof.
Yes, none of these were his 'deal'. Benn neither desired much less needed such vanities in pursuing his political objectives, which were simply, as in the immortal slogan of the French Republic: liberty, fraternity and equality. In equal portions and simultaneously.
Some would say that actually 'walking the walk', not just 'talking the talk', or of being more occupied in practical 'do-ey' than mere hui, as New Zealand's one-time maverick M.P. and likewise much-touted potential (first Maori) prime minister John Tamihere has been known to put things; practising what one preaches, in other words: is rather a superfluous adjunct, an unnecessary extra, in today's soundbitten, media-driven, -dominated and -determined Western political landscape. Hey, why bother, when just winging it on the proverbial song and a (secular) prayer will - apparently - do the job well enough?
Thankfully, a few politicians, such as Tony Benn, thought, and, more's to the point, acted and lived differently. And that, as they say, made all the difference.
Methinks like New Zealand's popular, beloved and now immortalized early 1970s' Prime Minister Norman Kirk - who shared, by phone, a word or more of heartfelt congratulations to the Studio One musical grouping, The September All-Time Bulldog Band, as they sang (what would prove Mr Kirk's earthly send-off) the memorable lyrics of their tuneful classic hit, Big Norm, on the very eve of his death in a hospital bed - Tony Wedgwood Benn likewise caught the very spirit of Tom's placard and himself shared a wry smile thereabouts, perhaps realizing that for many of his own party (and public) faithful (followers) his own pronouncements carried a deeper sense of significance than many actual popes.
Indeed, apparently, besides being someone with an unashamedly Christian ethic and a deep spirituality marked by thoughtful reflection and a consistent lifestyle, and quite surprisingly in this day and age of undercover and rather shamefaced Christianity, to his enduring credit and perfectly in line with his unpolitically correct disposition, Benn made a number of unambiguously positive references to the 10 Commandments (of Judaism, Christianity and Mohammedanism).
Among other things, Tony Benn declared the superiority - for those seeking guidance and happiness - of those (what many such as the writer regard as actual God-given) declarations over the Dow Jones [Industrial Average]. He also suggested 'there are values, which, if you like, are laid down loosely in the Ten Commandments', shared by other religions, undergirding the universality of the fraternity of all humanity. Moreover he was 'true to the fourth Socialist Sunday School commandment: 'Honour good people, be courteous to all, bow down to none.' ' And last but certainly not least, he declared his relief that 'they haven't moderni[z]ed the Ten Commandments', adding: 'I can imagine what they [would] be like [if they were] - thou shall not kill unless [ex-U.S. President George W] Bush tells you to; thou shalt not commit adultery unless she's very attractive; and thou shalt not steal unless you need the money.'
Yes, Tony Benn was ever the supreme master of the understatement. And as regards his views upon the immutability of what a few of us still regard as God's holy, unchanging, good, perfect and spiritual Law - written by the very finger of God, even, upon tables or tablets of stone - in his own shy, inimitable and self-deprecating fashion he, quite inadvertently of course but nevertheless, in his own entirely naive but simultaneously ever perceptive, deeply insightful way, pointed out - again, I'll freely concede, entirely by chance - something that popes themselves and the so-called 'Holy See' of Rome, throughout the centuries and indeed millennia, have been conspicuous in treating somewhat differently.
Indeed it could well be argued that the modern-day movement to re-jig said 'eternal' commandments began long ago, when said papal leaders felt sufficient in themselves to 'upgrade' and improvise upon selfsame 10 divine Laws by reworking (if apparently on a small scale) commandments two, four, nine and ten, thus effectively placing a seal of contempt thereupon, something the large body of evangelical as well as mainstream Protestants have rather unquestioningly simply gone along with over recent centuries. But enough of my propaganda, such religious 'diatribes' being something Mr Benn would himself, no doubt, have heartily disapproved of - especially in defence of his own person - in light of his having been known to have declared, among his numerous recorded memorable, profound and simple sayings: 'A faith is something you die for; a doctrine is something you kill for. There is all the difference in the world' (emphasis entirely my own).
So, in the words of the 70s' kiwi chart-topper Big Norm, just as Aotearoa-New Zealand's 'man of big Labour was our big Norm[an Kirk]', and England's man of New Labour was Tony Blair, Great Britain's, indeed the United Kingdom's man of old (and real deal) Labour was Tony Benn. End of story.
But did 'the better man' [i.e. Tony] win? That is, the 'heroic failure' that was Tony Benn as opposed to the ever-charismatic, smile-a-while-and-give-your-face-a-lift (as the silly latter-day church ditty goes) Tony Blair. Maybe not in the short-term, but I've a sneaking feeling the never-lying pages of history may well one day tell a different story. Quite a different tale, in fact. Unembellished by any spin, empty media hype or propaganda, let alone PR-driven focus groups and opinion polling.
So adieu Tony, British politician extraordinaire - though no Churchill, you were truly in a class of your own, beyond mere 'class' (as in the system thereof), the great Prime Minister who was not to be. Yes, your understanding was certainly not perfect - as one somewhat critical but nonetheless fair-minded and balanced journalist, a Tom Doran whose blogpost 'Tony Benn: Heroic Failure', recently appeared on the British Independent's online edition, as regards China's bloodthirsty dictator Mao Zedong (and his communist ideology, and indeed Marxism per se) you definitely seemed to have major blinkers on. But ultimately you stood unflinchingly in defence of fairness, decency and goodwill toward each and every one of your fellow earth-travellers, and much more than merely preached or advocated such, you lived what you believed...no matter how unpopular or spurned by the masses in their own temporary capture by the media elites and conventional standard-bearers of society.
*Yet like the writer, methinks Mr Benn also immediately recollected and so shared another wry smile at the spontaneous public remembrance and instantaneous bursting forth of that classic Wizard of Oz song of celebration (at the recent passing of his lifelong political adversary and bete noire, long-serving British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher): 'Ding dong, the witch is dead, the wic-ked witch, the wic-ked witch; ding dong, the wic-ked witch is dead' (without being in any way spiteful or mean-spirited thereabouts, you understand!) But hey, I'm sure he simply enjoyed the fact he outlasted even she - if not quite, as it eventually transpired, by a country mile.
And I'm personally intrigued that one of the few issues I ever saw eye to eye with Maggie upon was one that Tony Benn himself might well have done, at least insofar as the sentiments he expressed back in December 1974 held through the following decades. He is recorded as then saying: 'Britain's continuing membership of the [European Economic] Community would mean the end of Britain as a completely self-governing nation.' Something that the present incumbent British Prime Minister, David Cameron, apparently himself schooled in democracy in his youth by one of Tony Benn's books, is perhaps now, if rather late in the piece, coming to realize himself. Yes, Mr Benn's legacy has and looks set to continue to cast a rather long shadow over succeeding generations of public and politicians alike. Which speaks for itself, doesn't it. No I mean really.
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
The (PJ version) Hobbit film #2: Part 3: But It's Not All Bad, Though Much Is Indeed Decidedly Below Par; or Damning PJ Et Al's Second Hobbit Film With Faint Praise, Admittedly
(Written underneath an oldish oak tree in the grounds of St Paul's Cathedral, Dunedin, New Zealand.) Bullet-point reflections after my second viewing of The Desolation of Smaug.
On the positive side, the film from start to finish is power-packed, verily brimming over with energy. Noteworthy are such new characterizations as Bard, who is well rendered, and his Lake-town fellow travellers - especially his own family and the local officialdom; although Beorn, if satisfactorily depicted - a Gandalf of (and for) the common people, as it were - somehow lacks his sense of gravitas (and irritability). As if he'd have tolerated his own home being gatecrashed/effectively wrested off him (however temporarily). And a great opportunity is thus missed of showcasing his (cf Radagast's) intimate relationship with the (i)bee swarms in (what should be) his huge, lovely garden; though the other animals, i.e. the livestock under his jurisdiction, are, as far as they go, well enough enacted. While Tauriel is portrayed more than adequately, the much underrated Thranduil is superbly cast, displaying all that aforementioned gravitas yet also finely-tuned sensitivity befitting a (Woodland) Elvenking of (equally) querulous temper. His elegance, graceful majesty and self-conscious dignity are effectively juxtaposed alongside and perfectly complement his self-assured sense of superiority, leaving a sense of thinly-disguised condescension (and despotic high-handedness) towards all he deems beneath him in the hierarchical order of things.
Smaug is quite up to the humongous expectations elicited by the glimpse given in An Unexpected Journey, with a couple significant reservations (see earlier blogposts). Bolg comes across every bit as nasty 'a piece of goods' as Azog, but still a foe of considerably less stature, conscious authority and might: Azog wrought smallish, so to speak, but certainly well up to the coming challenge, however discrepant with the original script, of heading the dwarf company off at the pass. Sauron for that matter is showcased well before his time, yet seems unable - despite the immense display of his firepower - to permanently eliminate Gandalf from the scene. Really? Likewise, if on a far more minor scale, note the Master of the Lake-town Esgaroth ramming Bard's chest, yet somehow failing to kill him instantly. C'mon now, at the least he'd have suffered cracked ribs!
Bard's 'pre-loading' of the dwarf-filled barrels with fish is a nice variation upon Tolkien, especially their coming up out of Bard's toilets! However the dwarfs' own fatigue (even partway through their bodily ordeal between Thranduil's palace and Lake-town) is not (remotely) evidenced, yet carries some significance in the book. Nevertheless the cascading river and roaring cataracts as the dwarfs exit the woodland elvenkingdom give appropriate 'oomph' and impetus to the action, helping set the story's fast and furious pace at this early juncture in 'the second leg' of the dwarfs' journey to Erebor. Something helping me to now fully understand the job (ii)requirements for being a good swimmer (for those, unlike myself, accepted onto the set for work as a human in (iii)Lake-town).
Bard's kids (girls and son, evidently Sigrid, Tilda and Bain) are beautifully and effectively cast, reminiscent of the Rohanite kids in PJ Et Al's The Two Towers. The Master of Lake-town is right on the mark, nay 'done to perfection', while his steward puts in an equally fine performance. As has been remarked elsewhere (in radio commentary, the only kind I get since our good 'ole TV went on the blink during an equinoctial wind gust), Esgaroth's Master (read: Mayor - in modern lingo) is an oily, unctuous (read: (iv) 'offensively suave and smug [self-complacent)' character/'gentleman' reeking of pomposity and grandiosity - in which 'performance' he is singularly unmatched by any save his Chief Bodyguard/Spokesman. The two take bureaucratization/'officialeze' (and sleaze) to a new low - probably unequalled since Billy Connolly's not-to-be-missed 'The Man Who Sued God' or Dave Henderson's 'Be Very Afraid'. Their discussion of the establishment of a committee of inquiry and the very possibility of an election and thus 'the dreaded scourge' (horror, horrors!) of democracy is a masterstroke (pun or not). Indeed (v)the two are arguably the deftest stroke in a movie elsewise lacking in gripping characterizations or cameos.
Greatly assisted by being every bit 'as ugly as sin' (as my beloved Grandma might have said), the orc deputy head honcho, Bolg, discharges his role well. But otherwise, apart from the Star Villain/ Attraction of this particular Show - i.e. the Inimitable, Incomparable Smaug the Terrible, the Calamity of Calamities - this second movie's evildoers are neither noteworthy nor especially memorable (unlike the three trolls or the Goblin-King Under The Mountain (let alone Smeagol/Gollum) of Part One. Certainly Azog reappears in all of his sheer malice and evil persona as well as intimidating physicality, but otherwise, all one can really say is that Desolation's (non-dragon) villainry is pretty well 'up to the job'. Yes, they adequately meet job specifications, functioning as they were intended, but aside from that they are largely expendable (as indeed so transpires on an ongoing basis above the River Running's Mirkwood Forest inflow) and so prove largely forgettable.
The scenery itself certainly doesn't let one down - but how could it? - approximating to all one now has come to expect from PJ & Co. But before we give Sir Peter too much credit for that (aside from his team's expert photography, that is), Aotearoa-New Zealand's picture postcard scenery tends to speak for itself, doesn't it, and can hardly fail, if simply left to itself, to unveil its rich and abundant (vi)charms and treasures for all to marvel at. That is, whether one is referring to the craggy hillsides and scattered waterfalls bedecking the various scenescapes, the mountains afar, or the forested hilltops - but not Mirkwood. This was an unexpected bonus, an oasis in a desert of dearth, incidentally a wonderful instance of manufactured landscapes, especially the unnerving and effectively wrought trees twisting every which way but in perfect unison as the company enters and quickly comes unstuck: a writhing mass of warped trunks and hefty branches with a life of their own pulsating and throbbing through them, only too aware of the potentially worrisome company wending and winding its increasingly confused and labyrinthine, extremely roundabout route through their naturally suspicious (anthropomorphic) foliage and undergrowth.
The spiders, for that matter, while much smaller than The Return's Shelob 'mother of all (vii)arachnids' - though evidently related in both nature and motive, and only lacking Shelob's girth and strength in the pursuit of their nefarious designs - did their jobs well and expeditiously enough. But, and its a pregnant but, without the brilliant 'bits 'n bobs' of primarily speech with which JRR invests them, such as Bilbo's teasing them to the point of distraction and beyond with poetic ditties playing upon their names, or his own rendition thereof. Note for a prime example Tolkien's summing up of their (collective) wrath, nay fury, as a consequence: 'They were frightfully angry. Quite apart from the stones [Bilbo had been chucking at or around them] no spider has ever liked being called Attercop, and Tomnoddy of course is insulting to anybody.' In thus effectively expunging from the newfangled Jacksonesque interpretation these characteristic and Tolkienesque touches, such delightful vignettes and insights into the spiders' modus operandi and personalities were completely sidestepped; not to mention the very contexts giving rise to such hilarious banter, i.e. the ingenious (and unintentionally quite entertaining) way in which Bilbo goes about seeking to rescue his helpless friends from the sticky cobwebs within which they are seemingly inextricably enveloped. Well-deserving, as in the book, of much greater attention and elaboration indeed.
The Elvenkingdom is effectively if none too plushly done, though not inappropriately so in light of the frugal lifestyle that these not unwealthy tree-dwellers implicitly subscribe to. Beorn's living quarters are equally well executed, as are the homes of Bard et al in Lake-town. Throughout the extended takes involving Bard I found myself being constantly reminded of some other (seemingly LOTR) personage though I still can't for the life of me identify him. Various scenic shots, e.g. the sky view as we arrived over Esgaroth towards sunset, Dol Guldur and its immediate surrounds, and the lower recesses of the Lonely Mountain, were strikingly well-enacted, almost surrealistically 'realistic', compelling and even occasionally awe-evoking.
But again - and sadly the buts in this second film seem to fly out at you from each and every direction - way too many scenes and subscenes and (mini-)speeches even are uncannily or rather boringly (and frankly I'm rather disheartened - with myself - that I'd use such terms in regards to any Jackson interpretation of Tolkien) reminiscent of Lord of the Rings (that is, the film trilogy version thereof). At times even as if they'd been literally copied and pasted - the similarities are so blatant and flagrant, I kid you not one whit - directly from that earlier (though chronologically later) set of films. Sure, I'll admit they worked - and did they ever - exceptionally well the first occasion, but the second time they just came over as rather tawdry and cliche-ridden, and, more's the point, evincing sheer, unadulterated laziness on the part of PJ & Co. Or, to be very charitable, sheer forgetfulness.
Well, despite myself, here I'll choose charity, or mercy (over judgment) as the theologians (and Tolkien himself for that matter) would put it, (as so memorably restated by Gandalf to Frodo in the Mines of Moria in the Fellowship film). Could PJ, in recent times, have simply been spending a little too much time with a certain prime minister, whose charming and oh so convenient 'brain fades' just happen to have a rather bewitching, mesmerizing effect upon anyone who comes within cooee of them (and him)? It isn't completely inconceivable, after all, when you've been working so closely with something for as long as PJ Et Al have - even if the two (movie trilogy) 'stints' have been removed by around a decade from each other - to have become so deeply involved and engrossed with the material you've been working with and constantly alongside as to simply not realize where your various bits and pieces have ultimately originated from. But surely PJ & Co had much more than sufficient time (and opportunity) to find or create some new lines? Certainly the exorbitant cinema fees now generally being levied for these films in particular suggest so.
But to briefly restate my main bones of contention with the Desolation of Smaug, beginning with a seemingly minor one, but one nonetheless quite illustrative of the others. Sir Peter's own rather predictable cameo appearance (cf the Return of the King movie) at the film's start (in Bree) is more than gratuitous, given the utter gratuitousness of the very inclusion of that (Fellowship of the Ring) town at all. If nothing else revealing The Hobbit's hijacking from an innocent kids' adventure by Tolkien to a vanity project by Sir Peter Jackson. Moreover the Lake-town scenario, its various personages and all their comings and goings (especially their 'goings') is far too long, not just as regards this section's relative proportion of the book itself, but moreover in terms of the story (supposedly) being told: i.e. the company's quest for the Lonely Mountain, specifically their attempt to reclaim the literal dragon horde of treasure therein.
Why is this so? Essentially due to PJ Et Al's attempt to conflate this, as with much else, with events going on behind the scenes generally...i.e. the growing spectre and menace of the forces of darkness reasserting their long-maintained claims for hegemony upon Middle Earth. And so the two wholly different and distinct story lines once again appear to get needlessly - and what's more, quite distractingly - confounded, leading to a sense (for this soul, anyhow) of being bogged down in lots of unnecessary clutter (not to mention chitter chatter). Take it from a lifelong clutterer and compulsive hoarder - my sister believes that, like her, I suffer from OCD, i.e. obsessive compulsive disorder - to paraphrase C.J. on the all-time brilliant 70s and 80s British sitcom, The Fall and Rise of Reginald Perrin, I didn't get to where I [ain't] today without knowing clutter whenever I encounter it!
(i) Incidentally my second viewing of Desolation, with large bees 'coming out at you' on the 3D screen, struck an extremely personal note, coming as it did close on the heels of a recent return from a gardening job working amidst numerous rosebushes, whereupon I found myself suddenly literally surrounded by such. But unlike Jane Clifton, thankfully they avoided crawling up my nasal passages.
(ii) Especially in view of the various major (medical) mishaps/misadventures with which the Rings' film trilogy was plagued, at times bringing some major characters rather a little too close (for comfort) with severe injury, even death.
(iii) Though of course the book places this part of the story way further forward in time, having given the visit with Beorn in his secluded homestead and the journey through Mirkwood Forest a sizeably more significant portion of the overall story. Indeed Yours Truly has carefully computed the relative shares of each section, frequently consulting his special timepiece throughout (at least his first viewing), discovering that, just three-tenths/30 percent (45 minutes) on, film #2 had already traversed six-elevenths/55percent of the book, which wasn't so good for book aficionados, especially those (such as myself) deeply in love with Tolkien's own portrayal of his own story. In this regard chapter 10: 'A Warm Welcome', forming just 1-and-a-half pages (4% of the entire book) is here expanded to 13-and-a-third per cent of the entire film. (Still, the 3D element here (as with Smaug's lair, treasure hordes and home-under-the-mountain) is effectively carried through.)
(iv) See, for example, my trusty Chambers Concise Dictionary.
(v) No (twin) reference (intended or otherwise) to Newstalk ZB's infamous twosome, Tim Roxborogh and Pam Corkery, though it has to be admitted that Corkery and Roxborogh are virtually the best thing to come to New Zealand talkback radio since unsliced bread itself.
(vi) According to the latest studio planning filming Down Under (of 'Z for Zechariah'), a landscape (South Canterbury's in particular) notable for its characteristic 'lushness, vibrancy and diversity'.
(vii) Peter Jackson's especial phobia, as all possessors of the thoroughgoing behind-the-scenes Lord of the Rings' dvds well know. ("Some kind of 'Spawn of Ungoliant' ", to quote Radagast.)
On the positive side, the film from start to finish is power-packed, verily brimming over with energy. Noteworthy are such new characterizations as Bard, who is well rendered, and his Lake-town fellow travellers - especially his own family and the local officialdom; although Beorn, if satisfactorily depicted - a Gandalf of (and for) the common people, as it were - somehow lacks his sense of gravitas (and irritability). As if he'd have tolerated his own home being gatecrashed/effectively wrested off him (however temporarily). And a great opportunity is thus missed of showcasing his (cf Radagast's) intimate relationship with the (i)bee swarms in (what should be) his huge, lovely garden; though the other animals, i.e. the livestock under his jurisdiction, are, as far as they go, well enough enacted. While Tauriel is portrayed more than adequately, the much underrated Thranduil is superbly cast, displaying all that aforementioned gravitas yet also finely-tuned sensitivity befitting a (Woodland) Elvenking of (equally) querulous temper. His elegance, graceful majesty and self-conscious dignity are effectively juxtaposed alongside and perfectly complement his self-assured sense of superiority, leaving a sense of thinly-disguised condescension (and despotic high-handedness) towards all he deems beneath him in the hierarchical order of things.
Smaug is quite up to the humongous expectations elicited by the glimpse given in An Unexpected Journey, with a couple significant reservations (see earlier blogposts). Bolg comes across every bit as nasty 'a piece of goods' as Azog, but still a foe of considerably less stature, conscious authority and might: Azog wrought smallish, so to speak, but certainly well up to the coming challenge, however discrepant with the original script, of heading the dwarf company off at the pass. Sauron for that matter is showcased well before his time, yet seems unable - despite the immense display of his firepower - to permanently eliminate Gandalf from the scene. Really? Likewise, if on a far more minor scale, note the Master of the Lake-town Esgaroth ramming Bard's chest, yet somehow failing to kill him instantly. C'mon now, at the least he'd have suffered cracked ribs!
Bard's 'pre-loading' of the dwarf-filled barrels with fish is a nice variation upon Tolkien, especially their coming up out of Bard's toilets! However the dwarfs' own fatigue (even partway through their bodily ordeal between Thranduil's palace and Lake-town) is not (remotely) evidenced, yet carries some significance in the book. Nevertheless the cascading river and roaring cataracts as the dwarfs exit the woodland elvenkingdom give appropriate 'oomph' and impetus to the action, helping set the story's fast and furious pace at this early juncture in 'the second leg' of the dwarfs' journey to Erebor. Something helping me to now fully understand the job (ii)requirements for being a good swimmer (for those, unlike myself, accepted onto the set for work as a human in (iii)Lake-town).
Bard's kids (girls and son, evidently Sigrid, Tilda and Bain) are beautifully and effectively cast, reminiscent of the Rohanite kids in PJ Et Al's The Two Towers. The Master of Lake-town is right on the mark, nay 'done to perfection', while his steward puts in an equally fine performance. As has been remarked elsewhere (in radio commentary, the only kind I get since our good 'ole TV went on the blink during an equinoctial wind gust), Esgaroth's Master (read: Mayor - in modern lingo) is an oily, unctuous (read: (iv) 'offensively suave and smug [self-complacent)' character/'gentleman' reeking of pomposity and grandiosity - in which 'performance' he is singularly unmatched by any save his Chief Bodyguard/Spokesman. The two take bureaucratization/'officialeze' (and sleaze) to a new low - probably unequalled since Billy Connolly's not-to-be-missed 'The Man Who Sued God' or Dave Henderson's 'Be Very Afraid'. Their discussion of the establishment of a committee of inquiry and the very possibility of an election and thus 'the dreaded scourge' (horror, horrors!) of democracy is a masterstroke (pun or not). Indeed (v)the two are arguably the deftest stroke in a movie elsewise lacking in gripping characterizations or cameos.
Greatly assisted by being every bit 'as ugly as sin' (as my beloved Grandma might have said), the orc deputy head honcho, Bolg, discharges his role well. But otherwise, apart from the Star Villain/ Attraction of this particular Show - i.e. the Inimitable, Incomparable Smaug the Terrible, the Calamity of Calamities - this second movie's evildoers are neither noteworthy nor especially memorable (unlike the three trolls or the Goblin-King Under The Mountain (let alone Smeagol/Gollum) of Part One. Certainly Azog reappears in all of his sheer malice and evil persona as well as intimidating physicality, but otherwise, all one can really say is that Desolation's (non-dragon) villainry is pretty well 'up to the job'. Yes, they adequately meet job specifications, functioning as they were intended, but aside from that they are largely expendable (as indeed so transpires on an ongoing basis above the River Running's Mirkwood Forest inflow) and so prove largely forgettable.
The scenery itself certainly doesn't let one down - but how could it? - approximating to all one now has come to expect from PJ & Co. But before we give Sir Peter too much credit for that (aside from his team's expert photography, that is), Aotearoa-New Zealand's picture postcard scenery tends to speak for itself, doesn't it, and can hardly fail, if simply left to itself, to unveil its rich and abundant (vi)charms and treasures for all to marvel at. That is, whether one is referring to the craggy hillsides and scattered waterfalls bedecking the various scenescapes, the mountains afar, or the forested hilltops - but not Mirkwood. This was an unexpected bonus, an oasis in a desert of dearth, incidentally a wonderful instance of manufactured landscapes, especially the unnerving and effectively wrought trees twisting every which way but in perfect unison as the company enters and quickly comes unstuck: a writhing mass of warped trunks and hefty branches with a life of their own pulsating and throbbing through them, only too aware of the potentially worrisome company wending and winding its increasingly confused and labyrinthine, extremely roundabout route through their naturally suspicious (anthropomorphic) foliage and undergrowth.
The spiders, for that matter, while much smaller than The Return's Shelob 'mother of all (vii)arachnids' - though evidently related in both nature and motive, and only lacking Shelob's girth and strength in the pursuit of their nefarious designs - did their jobs well and expeditiously enough. But, and its a pregnant but, without the brilliant 'bits 'n bobs' of primarily speech with which JRR invests them, such as Bilbo's teasing them to the point of distraction and beyond with poetic ditties playing upon their names, or his own rendition thereof. Note for a prime example Tolkien's summing up of their (collective) wrath, nay fury, as a consequence: 'They were frightfully angry. Quite apart from the stones [Bilbo had been chucking at or around them] no spider has ever liked being called Attercop, and Tomnoddy of course is insulting to anybody.' In thus effectively expunging from the newfangled Jacksonesque interpretation these characteristic and Tolkienesque touches, such delightful vignettes and insights into the spiders' modus operandi and personalities were completely sidestepped; not to mention the very contexts giving rise to such hilarious banter, i.e. the ingenious (and unintentionally quite entertaining) way in which Bilbo goes about seeking to rescue his helpless friends from the sticky cobwebs within which they are seemingly inextricably enveloped. Well-deserving, as in the book, of much greater attention and elaboration indeed.
The Elvenkingdom is effectively if none too plushly done, though not inappropriately so in light of the frugal lifestyle that these not unwealthy tree-dwellers implicitly subscribe to. Beorn's living quarters are equally well executed, as are the homes of Bard et al in Lake-town. Throughout the extended takes involving Bard I found myself being constantly reminded of some other (seemingly LOTR) personage though I still can't for the life of me identify him. Various scenic shots, e.g. the sky view as we arrived over Esgaroth towards sunset, Dol Guldur and its immediate surrounds, and the lower recesses of the Lonely Mountain, were strikingly well-enacted, almost surrealistically 'realistic', compelling and even occasionally awe-evoking.
But again - and sadly the buts in this second film seem to fly out at you from each and every direction - way too many scenes and subscenes and (mini-)speeches even are uncannily or rather boringly (and frankly I'm rather disheartened - with myself - that I'd use such terms in regards to any Jackson interpretation of Tolkien) reminiscent of Lord of the Rings (that is, the film trilogy version thereof). At times even as if they'd been literally copied and pasted - the similarities are so blatant and flagrant, I kid you not one whit - directly from that earlier (though chronologically later) set of films. Sure, I'll admit they worked - and did they ever - exceptionally well the first occasion, but the second time they just came over as rather tawdry and cliche-ridden, and, more's the point, evincing sheer, unadulterated laziness on the part of PJ & Co. Or, to be very charitable, sheer forgetfulness.
Well, despite myself, here I'll choose charity, or mercy (over judgment) as the theologians (and Tolkien himself for that matter) would put it, (as so memorably restated by Gandalf to Frodo in the Mines of Moria in the Fellowship film). Could PJ, in recent times, have simply been spending a little too much time with a certain prime minister, whose charming and oh so convenient 'brain fades' just happen to have a rather bewitching, mesmerizing effect upon anyone who comes within cooee of them (and him)? It isn't completely inconceivable, after all, when you've been working so closely with something for as long as PJ Et Al have - even if the two (movie trilogy) 'stints' have been removed by around a decade from each other - to have become so deeply involved and engrossed with the material you've been working with and constantly alongside as to simply not realize where your various bits and pieces have ultimately originated from. But surely PJ & Co had much more than sufficient time (and opportunity) to find or create some new lines? Certainly the exorbitant cinema fees now generally being levied for these films in particular suggest so.
But to briefly restate my main bones of contention with the Desolation of Smaug, beginning with a seemingly minor one, but one nonetheless quite illustrative of the others. Sir Peter's own rather predictable cameo appearance (cf the Return of the King movie) at the film's start (in Bree) is more than gratuitous, given the utter gratuitousness of the very inclusion of that (Fellowship of the Ring) town at all. If nothing else revealing The Hobbit's hijacking from an innocent kids' adventure by Tolkien to a vanity project by Sir Peter Jackson. Moreover the Lake-town scenario, its various personages and all their comings and goings (especially their 'goings') is far too long, not just as regards this section's relative proportion of the book itself, but moreover in terms of the story (supposedly) being told: i.e. the company's quest for the Lonely Mountain, specifically their attempt to reclaim the literal dragon horde of treasure therein.
Why is this so? Essentially due to PJ Et Al's attempt to conflate this, as with much else, with events going on behind the scenes generally...i.e. the growing spectre and menace of the forces of darkness reasserting their long-maintained claims for hegemony upon Middle Earth. And so the two wholly different and distinct story lines once again appear to get needlessly - and what's more, quite distractingly - confounded, leading to a sense (for this soul, anyhow) of being bogged down in lots of unnecessary clutter (not to mention chitter chatter). Take it from a lifelong clutterer and compulsive hoarder - my sister believes that, like her, I suffer from OCD, i.e. obsessive compulsive disorder - to paraphrase C.J. on the all-time brilliant 70s and 80s British sitcom, The Fall and Rise of Reginald Perrin, I didn't get to where I [ain't] today without knowing clutter whenever I encounter it!
(i) Incidentally my second viewing of Desolation, with large bees 'coming out at you' on the 3D screen, struck an extremely personal note, coming as it did close on the heels of a recent return from a gardening job working amidst numerous rosebushes, whereupon I found myself suddenly literally surrounded by such. But unlike Jane Clifton, thankfully they avoided crawling up my nasal passages.
(ii) Especially in view of the various major (medical) mishaps/misadventures with which the Rings' film trilogy was plagued, at times bringing some major characters rather a little too close (for comfort) with severe injury, even death.
(iii) Though of course the book places this part of the story way further forward in time, having given the visit with Beorn in his secluded homestead and the journey through Mirkwood Forest a sizeably more significant portion of the overall story. Indeed Yours Truly has carefully computed the relative shares of each section, frequently consulting his special timepiece throughout (at least his first viewing), discovering that, just three-tenths/30 percent (45 minutes) on, film #2 had already traversed six-elevenths/55percent of the book, which wasn't so good for book aficionados, especially those (such as myself) deeply in love with Tolkien's own portrayal of his own story. In this regard chapter 10: 'A Warm Welcome', forming just 1-and-a-half pages (4% of the entire book) is here expanded to 13-and-a-third per cent of the entire film. (Still, the 3D element here (as with Smaug's lair, treasure hordes and home-under-the-mountain) is effectively carried through.)
(v) No (twin) reference (intended or otherwise) to Newstalk ZB's infamous twosome, Tim Roxborogh and Pam Corkery, though it has to be admitted that Corkery and Roxborogh are virtually the best thing to come to New Zealand talkback radio since unsliced bread itself.
(vi) According to the latest studio planning filming Down Under (of 'Z for Zechariah'), a landscape (South Canterbury's in particular) notable for its characteristic 'lushness, vibrancy and diversity'.
(vii) Peter Jackson's especial phobia, as all possessors of the thoroughgoing behind-the-scenes Lord of the Rings' dvds well know. ("Some kind of 'Spawn of Ungoliant' ", to quote Radagast.)
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