Meanwhile,
Considering how slim the actual book was, Peter Jackson sure has taken his sweet-ass time getting to the end of The Hobbit.
It's starting to feel like we're witnessing the events of Middle-earth
unfold in real time. Still, it's a testament to his skill as a
big-canvas storyteller that we keep coming back, hungry for more. He's
managed to orchestrate the three-part saga like the world's canniest D&D-dungeon
master. When we last left off, our pint-size heroes had just unleashed
the Cumberbatchian wrath of the dragon Smaug. Seventy-seven-year-old
spoiler alert: The fire-breathing beastie is offed by Bard (Luke Evans),
which allows the dwarves to return to the mountain keep of Erebor.
There, untold piles of gold and priceless baubles are tucked away, the
promise of which soon turns the dwarf ringleader Thorin (Richard
Armitage) into a blindly greedy monster not unlike Humphrey Bogart in The Treasure of the Sierra Madre.
Everybody wants a cut of the spoils—the elves, the orcs, a pig-riding
Billy Connolly. And they all descend on Erebor armed to the teeth and
itching for a battle royal.
Like everything else in Jackson's Tolkienland, the buildup to the
climactic melee stretches on too long. But when it comes, it's a doozy.
Maybe not on the same epic scale as The Two Towers' Battle of
Helm's Deep, but a doozy nonetheless. It packs a giddy blast of
childlike wonder and chin-in-your-lap awe. While more than enough praise
has been poured on Jackson and his singular gift for CG spectacle,
Martin Freeman deserves some credit for lending humor and humanity to
what could have been a numbing orgy of pixelated mayhem. His
furry-footed Bilbo has been the trilogy's secret weapon, the beating
heart behind the blockbuster. And as Bilbo finally settles in at the
Shire with a good book and a whopper of a tale to tell, he can rest easy
knowing that he will be missed
No comments:
Post a Comment