When I was a kid, at any one time at least a couple of my friends were reading this little doorstopper called The Hobbit. You might have heard of it. It had a brooding dragon on the cover, but as they informed me in hushed, conspiratorial tones, "Everyone thinks the dragon's the Hobbit… BUT IT'S NOT." Little kids are so dramatic. Not to mention elitist. You see, in spite of some mild curiosity as to what this Hobbit thing was, I was too much of a nonconformist to investigate. Same reason I've been so late to the Twilight Saga. I'm on Team Jacob, BTW. Don't spoil it for me.
Cut to a decade later, and the guy who directed that ghost movie with Michael J. Fox was handed the keys to the LotR juggernaut and off we went. I didn't mind the first movie. There was a lot more talking than I expected. And jogging. A lot more pan pipe. Far fewer creatures. A lot less magic. Less fighting. Actually, it was basically a New Zealand tourism ad without the heli-skiing and jet boating and people rubbing noses. But overall I didn't mind it. The Balrog was cool. That octopus thing. Liv Tyler was born to be an elven aristocrat. And we were dealing with pre-Kerr Orlando Bloom. But most importantly, you got the feeling that something might happen. Eventually. Next Christmas? Or the one after? Maybe?
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