Well...

This time, I did forget to eat my popcorn. It went on the floor just a couple of minutes into that electrifying Smeagol/Deagol intro, and wasn't touched since. Everyone who has been reassuring me that RotK would bring me back around (thank you all), you were right. Yes, there are flaws, I have gripes, but I put most of them down to my own sorry state at the moment...and what could you possibly say against this movie that wouldn't be overridden by the handling of the Shelob scenes? John Noble's chilling, stone cold Denethor? Pelennor Fields? Billy Boyd dragging poor Pippin all the way around the emotional circus ring? (Where supporting performers are concerned, this is Boyd's movie--he was responsible for making me cry this time. And who knew he had such a lovely voice?) Astin and Wood fiercely defying the "thankless good-guy role" cliche, and forcing me to question my preference for character actors? Miranda Otto, equally convincing whether she's crying or kicking ass? Andy Serkis, making us wonder where the hell we've been pointing our attention for the past ten years or so? The Mûmakhil, at once gobsmacking entertainment and sharp reminders of Tolkien's hatred for the inhuman war machine made possible by industrialism? Gandalf explaining to Pippin about death (word-to-word the book's description of Frodo reaching the undying lands, btw)? "It still only counts as one"? The armies of the dead? Theoden's last stand? Merry and Pippin reunited on the battlefield? The list goes on and on, but I STILL can't wait for the further triumphant moments we'll undoubtably be getting with the special edition.

And I am motivated to revive this site again, when it becomes technically possible. Definitely in a simpler, less time-consuming version, but I won't let it die. You can't pass up material like this...

 
Just to fill you cool & very patient guys in: I moved to a new city (Wonderful Copenhagen) seven weeks ago, but am still netless at home, thanks to a laffable software problem that seems unsolvable in my current financial situation...and as for that, it's really more "permanent" than "current". But I'm working on it...always working on it...

 
Welcome, all new readers! Wow, 800 hits so far today...Viggo should come by more often. :) The "Ephëmeris" opening report is right below this entry. But now that you're here, why not swing by the main site as well and have a look?

I'm seeing mixed reactions to my report across the web: Some find it condescending and hypocritical, which is understandable. I anticipated that while writing it. It might look like I'm back-pedalling, but I'd like to clarify a few things:

I have no beef at all with autograph seekers, as long as they
A: Are actually fans, and don't just descend on the famous guy--any famous guy--because he's available. There were a lot of genuine fans present, local and foreign, but to my eye also a good deal of opportunists. Most of the autographed items will probably become prized posessions, but I'm also expecting to see some on Ebay.
B: Pick their moment with some care. I don't think the opening reception of a photo exhibit is the right venue for getting your LotR stuff autographed...that sort of thing belongs at a LotR-related event, or an actual autograph session such as the book signing. So sue me.

I'm not out to ruin anyone's fun, or belittle what may for some have been the experience of a lifetime; I wouldn't mention this at all if I didn't feel it detracted from everyone's experience--ours and perhaps Viggo's too. As I said earlier, it might have been a more interesting and rewarding evening, had he been given the time to do other things than write his name. But we'll never know.

C'est tout.

 
Big-ass post coming up.


Viggo Mortensen is stalking me.

Pleasant surprise! The "Ephëmeris" opening was a quite civilized and relaxed affair...to begin with. The zoo behaviour came later.
As for Thursday's predictions (see my last entry): Surprisingly few kaftans (in fact there was a pretty good cross-section of the population, both age- gender- and typewise), and the white wine had a perfectly acceptable temperature. :) I was right about the canapés, but even those had been adapted to the local cuisine: Smoked cheese salad on pumpernickel. It's a lot better than it sounds.

Museet for Fotokunst occupies the first floor (second, if you're American) of cultural centre Brandts Kl?defabrik which towers over the middle of Odense, my adopted home town. The old converted cloth factory, where my great-grandfather worked for 50 or 60 years at the same loom, now contains a modern art museum, the photographic art museum, a rather dull press museum at the top, an arthouse cinema and café, a gallery, a restaurant and an artbook store. Right across the square is the old warehouse Magasinet, which houses concerts as well as Mortensen's poetry reading Saturday night.

There was time to study the many photographs on exhibit--more about those later--before Viggo and the museum executives appeared, or draw some fresh air on the balcony; it was a very warm summer evening, the room was filling up fast, and I wasn't the only one fanning myself with my programme. After milling about a bit I ended up at the edge of the growing crowd by the podium, where I suddenly felt someone coming up behind me. Viggo nodded as he passed, flanked by museum staff, but I was so startled I didn't even have time to smile.

The first to speak was...I'm ashamed to say I don't remember his name, and never really found out what his position was. He spoke first in Danish then English, and brought up the massive attention bestowed on the exhibition among other things (as he dryly remarked, "Some of you might remember that the museum has a past...") Many people were thanked including staff, Viggo, and Viggo's son Henry for being so patient during the creation of the exhibit. Then came curator Lis Steincke who, in keeping with the pleasant and informal atmosphere, had forgotten her speech; a staffer was sent to find the other staffer who had it...when a third staff member finally carried it through the crowd to the podium, it was followed by laughter and applause. The speech was given in dodgy English and, to my surprise, brought up LotR: Turns out Steincke wasn't even aware of Viggo until her son convinced her to see TTT, and a subsequent websearch brought up some of Mortensen's art, sparking her interest. Which I think reflects very well that though Viggo was there as an artist, no-one this side of the atlantic would probably know Viggo Mortensen the photographer, painter and poet if it wasn't for Viggo Mortensen the actor--which he also seems to be well aware of. It made me feel a little less guilty about being there mainly as a LotR fan.

More people were thanked, including Henry, and then the flashlight blitzkrieg started as Viggo rather bashfully took the stage...and thanked a lot of people. Such as Henry, for his patience. And the staff. He spoke (or muttered) in hesitant but flawless Danish first, then switched to English for the benefit of those who had come from abroad; among them were four American fans whom I had seen on local TV earlier. Yep, these ladies had flown to Denmark just to see their hero, and practically squealed when he mentioned that some had come from the States. I considered telling them that he does in fact make regular appearances in the US, but I suspect they would just as happily have followed him to Jupiter.

He left the podium but then went back up--to repeat the part about Henry in English, so Henry would understand it too! After all that thanksgiving and the heat, most people headed straight for the refreshments afterwards, and only a dozen or two gravitated toward our protagonist--but that crowd quickly grew when people realized he was willingly giving out autographs, which is what he ended up doing for the next hour and a half. I turned my attention to the works on display.

I don't know a thing about art, and I don't even always know what I like, so you'll just have to do with my unclear impressions. First of all, his photographs are beautiful--sometimes almost too beautiful for my taste; a lot of them pleased the eye but didn't linger in the mind. But you can't deny that he has a poetic eye and a great gift for composing without arranging. And a handful of pictures really pulled me in, especially the one that is partly seen on the cover of "Signlanguage": A hand held by another strangely bandaged hand in an unreadable gesture. The owner seems to be wearing a kakhi uniform. A woman's torso on the left, at once anonymous and exposed; she is wearing a corsage, and the angle allows us to see one naked breast underneath it. It's the kind of image you shouldn't attempt to deciphre or analyze...it simply lives in your mind, as undigested as the moment you are occupying right now. Evidence of how thrilling the unresolved can be. Not all things carry meaning.

"Ephëmeris" is a retrospective covering most of Mortensen's photographical oeuvre, going back to 1978; and so the styles are different and the motifs without obvious connections. Most of the works are in black and white, but one series features startling, flaming colours, and borders on the nonfigurative...Mortensen the painter paints with his camera too. The only New Zealand/LotR set images I recognized were "Son of Gloin" and "A song for BK"; One I hadn't seen before seemed to be of Dominic Monaghan in a forest, wearing costume and ears but not the wig. I guess the rest will either have been sold or weren't picked out. I'll be going back one of these days to take a closer look at all the photos.

Stepping out on the balcony for air I realized Viggo was coming out right behind me, looking for the same thing, and trailing autograph hunters. Most were having their tickets signed but there were also photo and poetry books, LotR novels and even a FotR box set. A staffer suddenly went behind another and held his arms while Viggo kneeled in front of him; when the man turned I could see that what might look like a brawl had in fact been the signing of a "War is not the answer" T-shirt, with a big peace-sign sketched on his ample belly.

I was one of the few who didn't approach VM for an autograph, not out of shyness but because I honestly find the whole thing a bit silly. It's a great pleasure to meet people I admire, but having their name on a piece of paper doesn't really heighten the experience for me. And having your photo taken with them seems even lamer...they're artists, not the Manneken Pis. I can understand that people will want to take something home, a memento of some sort--I just wish they would realize that they might bring home even more if they weren't so focused on obtaining proof that they were there. If Viggo hadn't been writing his name all night we might have heard him talk about his works, or maybe had actual conversation. But we don't trust our own memories; we need something we can touch, look at and show our kids and coworkers, or it didn't really happen. Always the tourists, ruining the moment in our frantic attempt to capture it for posterity.
It may seem ironic that I gripe about this since Mortensen's photos serve much the same purpose for him, as a sort of visual diary (which is what Ephëmeris means) or souvenir collection; but he also describes them as an attempt at communication. And I hate the idea that the public's response to it is "That's Niels with an ie, and could you sign this for my sister?"

Furthermore, some people were blatantly ignoring the request that we only take pictures during the speeches, and snapping away all evening. A couple of dozen women were standing in the square below the balcony with their cameras, acting like it was a royal visit (I considered giving them my Queenly Wave); if Viggo noticed them he didn't let on. They can't have seen much more than his back anyway, but they stayed put, even long after he left the balcony. When the throng started to thin out, I considered going over to shake his hand and say hi...but before I had figured out what to say the staff were milling about, asking everyone who wasn't family (some of Viggo's Danish family were present) to leave.

By a complete fluke I ran into him again Saturday night. Having just returned a video I wandered the streets for a while, enjoying the Mediterranian atmosphere that sweeps over Denmark on our few warm summer nights, and passed through the square by Brandts: I knew Mortensen had given a poetry reading, but as it was almost midnight I was a bit surprised to see a gathering of excited fans still outside the museum. As I passed a glass-covered staircase leading down from Magasinet, the door at the top opened and Viggo came out, followed by a veritable army of staff in bright yellow T-shirts. He reached the bottom of the stairs but couldn't get the door open--and neither could the yellow people or a helpful passer-by; after struggling for a few minutes they finally reached freedom and headed towards the fangroup, who broke into polite applause. I'm not quite sure if they were celebrating Viggo or the miraculous escape...

What's left? A general impression of the man, maybe. Not that I have much of a basis for one, but I can say this: Whereever the words "brooding" or "dark" appear in my mental Viggo Mortensen file, I will scratch them out and replace them with "shy". He seemed to be kind and pleasant to fans, and simply gave the impression of an introvert who isn't very comfortable around strangers but has learned to set his unease aside when necessary. Like so many of us. Why such a private person would choose such a public career I can't say, and he may not even have the answer himself...nature works in mysterious ways.

 
What do you mean, "where were you"?

No time has actually passed. I've never left this desk. What you think was three months without updates has in fact been an extremely elaborate illusion, planted in your mind by a monstrous corporation bent on...
Well, yes, and summer came really abruptly this year, okay?

Ah, screw it. Let's just admit that sometimes--a lot of the time--Real Life is not just a time-stealing annoyance, but in fact a lot more interesting than the online version; and whenever that happens, I grab it and run with it until my lungs hurt and blue dots flash before my eyes. I fear I will never be a true, fullblooded nerd...some day I may even face the ultimate shame, and get a tan to prove it.

There are several shitloads of things happening in my life right now--I'm more or less starting over--but I'll save that for another time. The reason I chose to come back from the dead at this time is that something interesting is finally happening in my half-comatose provincial town...and moreover, something LotR-related: Viggo Mortensen is opening a retrospective exibit of his photographs at our local art temple tomorrow night, and I managed to get myself invited.
That was before I knew it was going to turn into a circus of Barnumesque proportions, which I will probably feel a bit uncomfortable taking part in. Kaftans, clunky jewelry and lukewarm white wine are one thing (or three), but now it seems all of Northern Europe and her Strider-smitten cousin are coming to town for what I guess is Viggo's only public appearance on the continent at the moment. The museum has practically collapsed under the workload (and their server crashed), a poetry reading has had to be arranged as well to accomodate the fans, and I think it's going to get ugly.

I've actually considered not going, especially since my reasons for attending are as frivolous as everyone else's; curiosity, LotR-passion, and the excitement of someone cool coming to Blahville for once. Has absolutely dick to do with the man's art, though it is interesting. I could see the exhibition any day I like, and I'm not sure I'll enjoy watching Viggo squirm under the stares of 200 starstruck hillbillies like myself...but hey, he chose it. And now that I have the ticket it would be a great shame not to use it. Waste not, want not. There are children in Africa who can't even get tickets to Dogstar concerts. Etcetera.

And before you ask: No, I can't sell you my ticket--they are personal, and IDs will be checked at the entrance. Sorry. So I'm going to go, and I'm going to have fun...at the least I'll get canapés and a show, and something to tell you guys about.

 
I'm not even going to start accounting for all the network and computer disasters that have struck me for the past few months. Let's just say that not much will happen around here until I get a new PC, which will hopefully be soon. Absolutely nothing will happen as long as I have no FTP (=can't upload new stuff)--and all I have to go on is "They're working on it". How reassuring.

I can, however, still post to this blog, and will try to do so regularly: I can at least promise you some righteous anger and unnecessary cattiness around Oscartime. Many thanks to you who keep coming back. I'm sorry I can't give you much to come back to at the moment.

Also a big thank you to the people at Naur Gwae Nen for the Best Movie Site award, which I will put up as soon as I can!

Oh, and my email is working properly again. There's something to be grateful for at least.

 
I wish I could tell you what's going on, but I'm as clueless as you. It seems like all of the servers on our LAN have folded (including the mail server, so don't send me anything important), and there's no word on when they will be functional again. It's out of my hands, folks...sorry.

 
The new picture of the month is up.
And now you must excuse me--I have a foot of fresh snow to go and roll in. When real winter finally comes to Denmark, it takes no prisoners.

 


It's terribly nice of people to wish me a happy new year, but do they have to do it so loudly? Make the bright lights go away, mommy...

I'll very quietly wish you all a great 2003, and thank you for a marvellous first year at SpellbindThem.com. And now me and my hangover are going back to bed to wait for the pizza boy.

That didn't come out right.

 
Cassie is writing Secret Diaries again! WHUZZA! (Is that a word? Well, it is now.) Not quite piss-yourself funny, but definitely has its moments:

He muttered something in Elvish that could have been "You're late" or could have been "Throw me down and shag me rotten."

*Grnnff*. I'm never growing up.

 
Well, the excitement about TTT is certainly showing...my hits have doubled over the past week! A very happy Whatever-You're-Celebrating to you all, old visitors and new. See you again in a few days.

 

I'd like to thank everyone who has mailed me or left guestbook comments in response to my Two Towers reaction. I still can't answer mail and don't know when I'll be able to, but I'll get back to you as soon as I possibly can.

I did give the movie a second chance last Thursday, as many of you have urged me to do. And it did come together a little bit the second time around; with all the expectations and other baggage out of the way, I was able to enjoy it more and get into the rythm of it. But I'm still not forgetting to eat my popcorn. Only one moment makes the tears well up ("Don't you know your Sam?"). And my heart doesn't skip a single beat for those 2 hours and 59 minutes.

I plan to see it several times more, hoping that it will grow and ripen in my mind; Maybe, as reader Carole so eloquently wrote to me, it's an aquired taste, like a complex, rich wine--overwhelming and strange at the first few sips, until the many different notes and impressions start coming together. And I intend to drink as many mouthfulls as it takes to appreciate all layers of it...but in my heart of hearts I know that I'll never love this movie the way I love Fellowship of the Ring. I'm not exactly sure why yet, but that's how it is.

 
Please note that I can't send email at the moment; I can receive them, but not reply. You're welcome to write me, but don't expect an answer for at least a few days.

 
Here's the make-shift review I submitted to TORN. I'm giving TTT another go tomorrow, and hoping I'll be more open to the experience the second time around.

*Minor spoilers!*

OTTT

Oh PJ, PJ, PJ...and co.

We could have avoided this, you know. If only you hadn't touted it as "better than the first" since day one--or if you had at least added (By better, we mean bigger)--I could have lowered my expectations and spared myself a disappointment. Not that there's anything wrong with big; Hey, this is epic moviemaking! But what made me fall hopelessly in love with FotR, enough to spend a large part of the past year building a website around it, was not the epic scale alone--or the character development or performances or writing or desing details for that matter, but the perfect balancing of all these elements. And last night I watched that delicate balance get trampled by 20.000 berserking uruk-hai and several billion rampant pixels. Tragically and unexpectedly, TTT makes all the classic Big Movie mistakes that FotR didn't, and gives in to the temptation of piling on the spectacle until there's nothing left to top it with. Someone please take the toys away from that man.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not about to shut down the site, tie my special edition box set to my ankles and jump off a pier. There's much to love in TTT. The Three Hunters storyline works beautifully (Mortensen is much improved, and Rhys-Davies really comes into his own); The humour is emphasized more, and at the same time less intrusive--the writers are not afraid to insert comic relief into the bleakest of moments, and somehow IT WORKS; The Frodo/Sam/Gollum relationship has some fascinating and thought-provoking twists and turns (and while he has some awkward moments, Wood also gives us electrifying glimpses of the madness and despair to come); There are terrific performances from the newcomers--the scenery-chewers (Serkis, Douriff) and the understated (Otto, Hill) alike; I absolutely loved the wonderfully expressive orcs in Grishnak's gang; And the essence of Ent culture survives, even though the details are lost. Those are things to be thankful for.

And then of course there's amazing imagery to savour. Gandalf and the Balrog tumbling into a colossal cavern, furious Ents sacking Isengard, stampeding oliphaunts, massive Massive armies on the march, gallopping Warg packs, a siege ladder covered in uruk-hai falling on more uruk-hai...I could go on. And very impressive it is. But all this eyecandy still left me starving for something more substantial, and I desperately longed for the sense of fulfillment and satisfaction I left the theatre with last year.

The large amount of CG characters and beasties is part of the problem. They are, of course, masterfully created, in the most painstaking detail imaginable, state of the art; The trouble is that to my mind, the state of the art is just not advanced enough yet. Gollum and Treebeard may be the most convincing CGI characters to date, but they are still not convincing ENOUGH. It doesn't matter how subtle and exquisite performances they were based on; every frame is a reminder that I'm watching a digital character. And since at least 50% of the movie features prominent CGI, that makes it extremely difficult for me to suspend my disbelief and let the story swallow me up.

I'm not going to say much about the narrative structure itself, since TTT is born with the incurable handicap of being all middle--not a sequel but a second act that is forced to stand alone. It was destined to be a tangle of loose ends. Taking it out of the context and trying to evaluate the story composition would make about as much sense as taking the wheels off a bike, and then standing around yelling at the middle parts for lacking personality and not working properly. I won't even make the attempt until I've seen all three parts together.

In the meantime, I'm hoping that repeated viewings will make me warm to it more; Maybe when the initial disappointment has worn off, I can just sit back and enjoy it for what it is...a boys' movie with the occasional hint at deeper layers. It's a bit ironic that it should be called The Two Towers, since it is in fact the opposite: A shaky and uneven bridge between what will, hopefully, be two towering achievements. Next year...please.

 
I'm back. And since I have to be up again in four hours, I think I'll write comments in my sleep.
I will say this, though: This is so much a middle movie that it's impossible to judge on its own; I don't even think I can appreciate it properly until I'm able to see all three back to back. It certainly hammers home the fact that we are not watching a trilogy in the making, but one nine hour movie, and this bit is all middle.
G'night.