“Thou wert the meekest man… thou were the meekest man that ever ate in hall among ladies; and thou were the sternest knight to thy mortal foe that ever put spear in the rest.”
-- Thomas Mallory, Le Morte d’Arthur, Book XXI, ch. 13
When it was announced a few weeks ago that Warner Bros studios was planning on making new Lord of the Rings movies, and that they wanted to bring back Peter Jackson to direct these films, many in the cinema-world cried out for joy. I groaned. Jackson, who directed the earlier astoundingly successful The Lord of the Rings trilogy of the 2000s seems like the obvious choice: the films won 17 Oscars, grossed nearly $3 billion, and have continued to inspire cinema and pop cultural trends despite being released over 20 years ago. Who wouldn’t want this guy to direct their films? Me. And the reason is simple.
By every imaginable measure The Lord of the Rings movies are excellent films. Their score, pacing, plot, sets, costumes, effects, acting, and storytelling are magnificent. Who here doesn’t remember Théoden’s soul-stirring speech on the Pelennor Fields or recollect with beating heart Gandalf’s return at the Battle of Helm’s Deep as the sun rises in dazzling splendor? Who remains unmoved when Sam shoulders Frodo (and the Ring) and carries him up the fiery sides of Mount Doom? The movies are spectacular. Wonderful. Masterpieces. And yet, they are just that -- movies. They are representations of the greatest work of fantasy ever written. And in my opinion, they are poor and unfaithful representations of the source material.
Many movie-fans instantly bristle when I make this claim as to why I dislike Peter Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings trilogy. They immediately argue with me, weaving flimsy excuses of the “constraints of film as a medium” or “Jackson did the best he could” or “they were mostly accurate” or (this is the worst) “they exposed so many people to Tolkien’s world that normally wouldn’t have been”. More often than not I am met with the snide comment, “what did you want? A line for line recreation of the book?” Yes, actually. But since that is unlikely to happen I am left with Jackson’s adaptations and must defend my claims based on their merit (or lack thereof).
There are numerous examples of Jackson’s alterations or omissions in the films that severely hamstring the faithful adaptation argument: the conspicuous absence of Tom Bombadil, lines being given to different characters (Éomer for Gandalf), Arwen substituted for Glorfindel, Merry and Pippin’s role with Treebeard, the arrival of elves at Helm’s Deep, the death of Saruman, Frodo sending Sam away as they climb Cirith Ungol, and the complete lack of the Scouring of the Shire. These are just a few of the crucial changes, additions, or cuts Jackson made from the books, and each change reflects a serious departure from the spirit of Tolkien’s work. And yet Jackson’s most egregious alteration comes with what he did to the character of Faramir, and for that change I can never forgive him.
Faramir is a prince of Gondor, the son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor, and younger brother of Boromir. It was Boromir who accompanied the Fellowship from Rivendell until his death upon Amon Hen. In the books Faramir is described as:
“bold, more bold than many deem; for in these days men are slow to believe that a captain can be wise and learned in the scrolls of lore and song, as he is, and yet a man of hardihood and swift judgment in the field. But such is Faramir. Less reckless and eager than Boromir, but not less resolute”
This quote is crucial to understanding the character of Faramir and the role he plays in the story as contrasted with Boromir. They are in essence foils to one another, Faramir representing the chivalric ideal of manhood while Boromir represents the corruption or failing of that ideal. In the books we see that Faramir is wise, equitable, just, and compassionate; “he read the hearts of men as shrewdly as his father, but what he read moved him sooner to pity than to scorn,” and “he was gentle in bearing, and a lover of lore and of music, and therefore by many in those days his courage was judged less than his brother’s. But it was not so, except that he did not seek glory in danger without a purpose.” He is a man to whom war is not a glorious thing or an ultimate end in itself, saying, “I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend.” Yet as we have seen before he was hardy in battle when he needed to be, and stern against the enemies who threatened what he loved and was duty-bound to protect. Thus we see in Faramir the two opposite qualities bound up in the idea of chivalry: the might and fierceness of a warrior married to the restraint and meekness of a gentle spirit.
Boromir, on the other hand, is a man who is exclusively interested in martial prowess and the glory associated with arms. And his character bears this out, at the Council of Elrond he reveals himself to be haughty and proud of bearing, saying, “for though I do not ask for aid, we need it” in response to the growing threat of Mordor. He also casts aspersions on Aragorn, the true king of Gondor, “mayhap the Sword-that-was-Broken may still stem the tide -- if the hand that wields it has inherited not an heirloom only, but the sinews of the Kings of Men.” Again, Boromir is described in the book as “like [his father] in face and pride, but in little else. Rather he was a man after the sort of King Eärnur of old, taking no wife and delighting chiefly in arms; fearless and strong, but caring little for lore, save the tales of old battles.” What we have in Boromir is only one part, not the whole, of the chivalric man ideal. He revels in war itself, seeking vainglory and disdaining pursuits that do not have a martial or manly flavor. He is a man who when presented a problem would tackle it head on with sword drawn. Indeed, when the fellowship is trapped by snow when ascending Caradhras it is Boromir who physically forces his way through the drifts, saying, “when heads are at a loss bodies must serve, as we say in my country. The strongest of us must seek a way.”
It was just this arrogance of spirit and vainglorious ambition that caused Boromir to succumb to the temptation of the Ring. Several times throughout The Fellowship of the Ring Boromir seems to balk at the suggestion of destroying the ring. Rather he proposes it should be used against Sauron to defeat him, but upon the admonishment of others he assents to their explanations that the Ring cannot be used, however the desire still lingers in his mind. Ultimately, Boromir tries to take the Ring from Frodo, after unsuccessfully persuading him to return with the Ring to Minas Tirith,
“‘Or if he refuses, why not Boromir? The Ring would give me power of Command. How I would drive the hosts of Mordor, and all men would flock to my banner!’ Boromir strode up and down, speaking ever more loudly. Almost he seemed to have forgotten Frodo, while his talk dwelt on walls and weapons, and the mustering of men; and he drew plans for great alliances and glorious victories to be; and he cast down Mordor, and became himself a mighty king, benevolent and wise.”
We see exactly what Tolkien meant us to see, the harm that comes from the corruption of the chivalric ideal - and the danger that too much focus on just one of its aspects can present. Boromir was not a bad man. But he was a narrow-minded and short-sighted man. He couldn’t see past the glory found in the triumph of arms, nor could he imagine a way to victory except through might, and so he succumbed to the temptation of the Ring and paid for it with his life.
Contrast Boromir’s trial and fate with that of Faramir’s. In the books, Faramir encounters Frodo and Sam after a pitched battle with forces of Mordor, and despite the danger still present he takes time to hear and judge Frodo justly, evidence once again of his embodying the ideals of chivalry. When he learns that Frodo is carrying something that is dangerous to men, and clearly caused contention between Frodo and Boromir, he says, “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.” Could there be any clearer indication of the differences between Faramir and Boromir, and which brother represents chivalry as Tolkien meant it?
But this is all present in the books: all the careful comparison and contrasting, the subtleties of character, and the exposition of values and differing ideals. What we have in Jackson’s adaptations is a travesty. In the movies, Jackson has made Faramir into a querulous spurned son whose driving motivation is to earn his father’s love. Jackson portrays Faramir as competing in a sort of rivalry with Boromir to obtain their father’s approbation, when in the books it is clearly stated, “Yet between the brothers there was great love, and had been since childhood, when Boromir was the helper and protector of Faramir. No jealousy or rivalry had arisen between them since, for their father’s favour or for the praise of men.” But the actions of movie-Faramir couldn’t be more out of touch with the above quote. Faramir not only refuses to let Frodo and Sam continue their journey, but he willingly detains them both and purposes to send them back to his father Denethor in Minas Tirith. There is even the abomination of a line where he says, “Tell him, Faramir sends a mighty gift.” This is an inexcusable piece of character desecration and one entirely not in keeping with Tolkien’s intent.
Where Tolkien drew distinct and purposeful differences between Faramir and Boromir with the goal of representing the ideal of knightly manhood, Jackson obliterates the contrast and beauty found in the original. He creates a Faramir who is indistinguishable from his brother, almost entirely devoid of the commendable attributes enumerated in the books. And it is this failure of Jackson’s, to faithfully represent Faramir and the ideal he embodies, that causes my antipathy for his The Lord of the Rings movies, and my vehement opposition to his directing any further movies. If he can’t be trusted to faithfully represent one of the best and most important characters of Tolkien’s creation and the theme he represents, I certainly don’t trust him to accurately portray other themes and ideals of Tolkien in new films.
Happy Reading,
Drew