The Hobbit Part 1: An Expected Travesty

Having seen all of Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings films, I wasn't expecting anything from his version of The Hobbit. In some sense, I was expecting much less, simply because the story has less immediate depth and could therefore be easily twisted into something far different from its original form. What I witnessed in the film exceeded my expectations, as in, "This is far worse than I was even expecting it to be."

I feel embarrassed offering a spoiler alert, but here it is: I'm going to ruin the movie for anyone who hasn't seen it by explaining the last couple minutes and why they're awful.

In Tolkien's novel, Bilbo Baggins and Thorin Oakenshield have a strained relationship, due mostly to Thorin's regal bearing. He doubts Bilbo's ability to burgle, and Bilbo in turn is a bit put off by Thorin's majesterial presence. One of the most beautiful moments in the book comes at the end, when, after having endured all manner of adventures and terror together, Thorin repents of having mistreated Bilbo and even confers on him the honor of companionship.

Peter Jackson has obviously never had a meaningful relationship in his life, and obviously knows nothing of the nature of repentence, and is obviously just as uncultured and morally suspect as all Australians accuse all Kiwis of being.

At the end of the first installment of The Hobbit (the fact that a 300-page book is going to take up nine hours of screentime is an abomination in itself), the eagles have just dropped off Thorin's group atop the edge of the Misty Mountains. Bilbo hasn't been able to prove himself much at all yet, and one of his exploits in the book (orchestrating the rescue of the dwarves from the trolls) has even largely been stripped from him in the movie. So, there's little if any reason for Thorin to have had his mind changed as to Bilbo's worth.

And yet, he says something grumpy to Bilbo, followed by a big grin, and a "you're okay, kid" kind of speech, and topped off with a bear-hug. First of all, the nature of dwarves: not only are dwarves not teddy bears, but Thorin least of all would be bear-hugging anybody. He's a loner, and he's a king, and he's a grumpy old man.

Far more importantly, the grandeur and pathos of Thorin's deathbed repentence is completely obliterated by this premature and shallow reconciliation. It doesn't even make sense by the rules of good filmmaking: if you're going to stretch a story out through three long movies, you want to leave as much unresolved as possible in order to keep folks interested. Sadly, most people seem to be convinced The Hobbit movies are great before they've even seen them.

I wasn't expecting a good movie, but what I actually got was nearly unwatchable (and this from the guy who embarked on a ten-year quest for the worst movie ever made). If you have any love for Tolkien's work, at least watch this film with a critical eye. And don't tell me you were able to "just watch it as a movie, and not as the book," because Peter Jackson must be held to the standard of the book because his movie has the same title as the book, and because he's making money not on his own name but on the name of a great writer whom he's slandered and misrepresented.

I am boycotting all Regal Cinemas.

When my friend and I went to see Django Unchained in the theater last Monday, we had some idea the kind of movie we were paying to watch. We knew it would be typical Tarantino—violent and probably profanity-laden. But watching that film was our choice, and neither of us intended to watch it uncritically or thoughtlessly.

We did NOT pay to see NC-17 smut before the film even started. At the Salem Lancaster Mall Regal Cinema, the normal previews were followed by another with a mock warning that the preview was inappropriate for children but "perfect for you and your sick friends." What followed was a pornographic trailer for some "comedy" film that included "jokes" about rape, bestiality, etc. I stopped watching after the first few seconds, but I could hear everything.

I was so shaken up I couldn't concentrate on the film I'd come to see, so fifteen minutes into Django Unchained I found a manager and explained I wanted a refund for the two tickets, but still wanted to finish the movie I'd come to watch. After some haggling he obliged, but not before saying, "Well, you did come to see an R-rated movie."

To which I replied, "Yes, but I paid to see this R-rated movie, not some other one I don't know anything about, and certainly not an NC-17 one."

I'm no prude, and I've seen plenty of movies, many that would be considered edgy or even offensive, so it wasn't lack of exposure that made me hate this preview. It was obscene, callous, and perverted, but there was something worse: the "warning" before the trailer bore the Regal Cinemas logo and name. Not only were they wilfully showing filth, they were purposefully mocking and deriding anyone who would be offended by the content.

If it was just a trailer for a filthy movie, I'd have complained to my friend and left it at that. But the theater was making a calculated move to not only purvey smut, but to rub it in the faces of viewers while telling them they're idiots and morons if they find the content too twisted. If I choose to go to an R-rated film, I fully expect to see previews for R-rated movies, but I don't expect to see those movies themselves. And while I'll pay to watch No Country for Old Men or movies of its ilk, I wouldn't watch a filthy comedy whether I had to pay or not.

So, I'm never going to a Regal Cinema again. I don't usually boycott places, because I know that there is corruption and wickedness at all levels of every business, but this went too far and was enough to make me stand on principle. I won't try to convince anyone else to join me in this protest, but I have composed a letter to the Regal management, and if you intend to watch a movie at this or another Regal location, know what may be awaiting you and don't say I didn't warn you.

Django Unchained

Quentin Tarantino has perfected the dubious art of crafting artistic and engrossing films that are still no more than schlock Z-movies. Pulp Fiction is undoubtedly his best work: it redefined the grammar of cinema in a way that most average movie-goers could still enjoy. Inglourious Basterds was also inriguing, mostly due to the fantastic performances of Til Schweiger, Brad Pitt, and the formerly brilliant Christoph Waltz. But none of these films are good in a moral or philosophical sense.

The world all these films inhabit is a dark parody of our own, nihilistic and cold. If good ever prevails it's an accident, and the only good that ever prevails can only be called good because it's slightly less bad (though never any less violent) than the evil over which it triumphs. Lately, Tarantino has been rewriting a parallel history to our own, recasting crucial moments into savage caricatures that turn sober events like World War II, the Civil War, and Southern racial slavery into excuses for graphic depictions of mindless violence.

Django Unchained is by far the worst of the lot so far. The plot is simple enough: a German bounty hunter (Christoph Waltz) teams up with the titular ex-slave (Jamie Foxx) to kill people for money; when they have enough money, they go on a wild, brutal revenge spree accompanied by gangsta rap tunes and glory shots. The blood comes in buckets, and there are unimaginably savage scenes which aren't meant to be indictments so much as catalysts for the audience's lust for "justice."

A couple of scenes in particular: a slave used for to-the-death bare knuckle fighting is eaten to death by dogs; one such fight is graphically depicted, complete with the winner finishing off his opponent with a hammer. Are these supposed to be exposes of the Old South? I'm about as far as you can get from being a Southern sympathizer, and I believe racial slavery to be one of the great evils of history, but these speactacles don't ring true. Instead, they incite the viewer against the perpetrators, keying them up for cheers and applause when the "hero" goes crazy and murders dozens of people.

This is wicked filmmaking. If anyone did half the things Django does on-screen in real life he'd be jailed, probably executed, and judged a sociopath. Why is it okay, then, to enjoy his antics through the medium of film? Why is it okay to glory in violence perpetrated in a fantasy reality, but not okay to be violent in real life? Simply put, it isn't, and the only justification to be made for such a film is that it feeds the darker appetites of humanity.

But don't we want to starve those appetites? As Christians who worship the Prince of Peace, we ought to eschew violence in all its forms, not hypocritically embrace fictional violence while decrying school shootings and rape. We ought to and we must as the citizens of Christ's kingdom and of the New Jerusalem.