To conclude a ground-breaking saga is an unenviable task, not least because the resulting product needs to honour its forebears whilst leaving a legacy of its own. It’s a position in which this animated feature finds itself, and deftly succeeds in doing so, being as close to flawless as a send-off can possibly be.
Hidden beneath the city of Paris, the paramilitary organisation known as NERV has stored weaponry created as part of the Evangelion project, heavily guarded by an autonomous defence system. An assault on the city is launched by rival outfit WILLE, which seeks to liberate Paris from its captive state, and retrieve said weaponry for its own means – namely, defeating NERV and preventing it from curating another cataclysmic event.
Meanwhile, in the ruins of Japan, Shinji Ikari is listless after failing to thwart the actions of NERV and, by extension, his own father. He and Rei Ayanami – or an entity that purports to be her – follow his fellow EVA pilot Asuka Langley Shikinami to a rural village, there meeting with survivors of the Third Impact. As their days in the village pass, Shinji’s depression only worsens, with his friends fearing he’ll never engage with the outside world again.
Evangelion: 3.0+1.01 Thrice Upona Time marks the definitive conclusion to the multifaceted Evangelion saga that began a quarter of a century ago with Neon Genesis Evangelion, a 26-episode television series that challenged the medium’s conventions and revived Japan’s dormant animation industry. The series’ creator, Hideaki Anno, seemingly concluded the narrative with a feature-length, theatrically-released picture called The End of Evangelion, only to begin afresh with a new set of films that shared the show’s title, plot and themes.
Shinji’s EVA Unit-01 brandishes a new Spear in Thrice Upon a Time
Belonging to this same set of films – collectively known as the Rebuild of Evangelion – is Thrice Upon a Time, accordingly sharing many a quality with the instalments that came before. One such trait is the impressive animation, which again combines traditional cel animation with computer-generated imagery, and is striking throughout. The environments are richly detailed, the designs slick, and the fight scenes bathed in a kaleidoscope of colours, all ensuring this is the best-looking entry in the entire Evangelion franchise.
Another strength carried over from Evangelion films past is the music, crafted once again by franchise stalwart and Anno’s favoured collaborator, Shiro Sagisu. Most of Sagisu’s compositions are drawn from his previous work on the television series, here being slowed down and re-arranged to better match with the imagery, providing a suspenseful, chilling or heroic atmosphere as the need arises. Bookending the excellent soundtrack is Hiraku Utada’s “One Last Kiss”, a hauntingly tender pop song that’s worthy of an Oscar nomination (or Grammy).
Being part of the Rebuild saga, Thrice Upon a Time consequently and unfortunately shares the drawbacks of its precursors, too. One is the infrequency of the action sequences, with most of the film’s time spent observing Shinji’s pensive state; another is the hyper-sexualisation of the young female protagonists, who are oftentimes dressed in fetish-gear or shown from a suggestive angle – both elements serve only to alienate the franchise’s newcomers, who will doubtless already be confused by proceedings.
Asuka looks into the distance in Thrice Upon a Time
Truthfully though, this isn’t a picture made to appease the uninitiated; rather, Thrice Upon a Time is for those already converted to the Church of Evangelion, whose devotion is constantly rewarded. The film contains plenty of throwbacks to the series and previous films, including surprise appearances from much-loved supporting characters, as well as fitting, poetic farewells for a select few. Furthermore, there’s an uplifting, life-affirming epilogue that perfectly concludes the years-long Evangelion narrative.
Finally, Thrice Upon a Time also deserves commendation for rectifying a sore point of the Rebuild films, that being Mari Illustrious Makinami. Upon her introduction in 2.0 You Can (Not) Advance (2009), Mari was a character who appeared superfluous to the conflict, with no backstory nor function, a feeling that remained in 3.0 You Can (Not) Redo (2012); but with the final chapter, Mari’s inclusion is finally justified, thanks to revelations about her past and her connection to Shinji – which deserve not to be spoilt.
Containing the franchise’s trademarks of spellbinding animation, splendid music and thoughtful storytelling, Evangelion: 3.0+1.01 Thrice Upon a Time is a compelling finale and a highpoint for the most prestigious of anime sagas. Ultimately, it’s best viewed as the celebration of a venerable series, embodying all the tropes for which it will forever be renowned.
Evangelion: 3.0+1.01 Thrice Upon a Time is now streaming worldwide on PrimeVideo.
Animated films have long regaled viewers with their retellings of folk and fantasy legends, a tradition that extends back to the medium’s dawn, and continues here in this feature-length production from Ireland. But this film is not here merely to capitalise on a time-honoured trend – in fact, it’s more likely to establish a new standard for the artform.
In the mid-17th Century, a young girl named Robin Goodfellowe (Honor Kneafsey) moves from England to Kilkenny, Ireland, where her father Bill (Sean Bean) has been tasked with capturing the wolves that prey on the townsfolk. Robin is adventurous by nature, and longs to accompany her father on his wolf-hunting duties; but unfortunately, she is forbidden from venturing beyond Kilkenny’s walls, due to her age and gender.
Robin eventually sneaks through the town’s gates and into the nearby forest, hoping to find and kill a wolf herself. Instead, she encounters Mebh (Eva Whittaker), an unkempt girl of smaller stature who calls herself a Wolfwalker – the name given to a mystical human who lives among the wolves. After an acrimonious greeting, a friendship between the two girls soon develops, and Robin’s perception of wolves with it.
It’s no coincidence that Wolfwalkers is based in Ireland, since the feature is one produced by Cartoon Saloon, a studio based where the film is set: Kilkenny. Just like the studio’s previous releases, The Secret of Kells (2009) and The Song of the Sea (2014), there’s a strong Celtic influence to this production, as evidenced by the voice-cast, soundtrack and screenplay – the latter of which draws its inspiration from an Irish folk tale.
Despite its mythological origins and Cromwellian setting, Wolfwalkers contains a fresh, contemporary story that grows more compelling with each minute that passes. The writing is masterful, with the film seamlessly, gracefully morphing from one conflict to another, the stakes heightening as it does so. If there is one complaint with the screenplay, it’s that the conflict between Robin and her father does come across as hackneyed at times, though never to the extent of annoyance.
Robin (left) and Mebh, the central protagonists of Cartoon Saloon’s Wolfwalkers
By far the most appealing element of Wolfwalkers is the distinctive art-style, ensuring it looks unlike any other animated feature – including those previously made by Cartoon Saloon. There’s a storybook-like simplicity to the hand-drawn illustrations, witnessed in both the characters and scenery, that charms profoundly, with the best images undoubtedly found in the forest scenes, their gorgeous watercolour backdrops contrasting heavily with the bleak, yet nonetheless striking, greyscale palette of Kilkenny.
Paired with the animation is an equally wonderful soundtrack, composed by Bruno Coulais with the assistance of Kíla, a traditional Irish folk band. The compositions of Coulais and Kíla make use of acoustic instruments such as fiddles, mandolas and tin whistles, sounding quite ethereal when listened to in isolation, yet suiting the tone and imagery of Wolfwalkers perfectly. There’s even the odd pop song to be heard, including a beautiful re-recording of Aurora’s “Running with the Wolves”.
Yet another aural delight is the cast of voice-actors, most of whom are of Irish nationality or descent. The most famous name, and recognisable voice, to the layperson will be Sean Bean, whose mellow, fatherly tone is perfectly suited to Bill Goodfellowe; Eva Whittaker and Honor Kneafsey are good also as the two girls, but to this author’s ear, the finest vocal performer is Simon McBurney, who provides an understated, menacing turn as Kilkenny’s Lord Protector.
Wolfwalkers is simply exquisite, with great voice-acting, stirring music, magnificent artwork and an elegant narrative combining to form a wondrous experience. Very few feature-length animations come close to this level of quality, making this not only a great film but also, quite possible, the best ever to emerge from Ireland.
Wolfwalkers will be screening online as part of the Irish Film Festival from September 3rd to 12th. For more information, head to the Festival’s official website.
The film is also available for streaming now on Apple TV+.
There’s a prestige and heritage to the Disney brand that other studios can only envy – it’s a fact the corporation itself recognises, having produced a new picture that plays to its traditions. An initial glance suggests that said picture is primed for success; one viewing is enough to prove otherwise.
At the height of the First World War, Dr Lily Houghton (Emily Blunt) is venturing to the Amazonian rainforests of South America, where she hopes to locate a rare flower with fabled healing properties in the name of science. Upon arrival, she engages the services of tour guide Frank Wolff (Dwayne Johnson), who offers to pilot Lily – and her accompanying, neurotic brother MacGregor (Jack Whitehall) – in his own boat along the Amazon’s many tributaries.
Their journey is one that will be fraught with the deadliest of dangers, including carnivorous beasts, turbulent rapids, and native tribespeople who are unwelcoming to outsiders; yet the greatest threat of all is a pursuing German officer, Prince Joachim (Jesse Plemons) who seeks the flower for his own warped, egocentric benefit as much as his beloved Vaterland.
Jungle Cruise is the latest blockbuster to be adapted from a Disneyland attraction, joining the likes of the Pirates of the Caribbean films, as well as less popular efforts such as The Haunted Mansion and Tomorrowland. Of these releases, it’s the Pirates franchise that Jungle Cruise most closely aligns with, hoping to emulate the former’s box-office success – a feat that looks unlikely, not just because of recent outbreaks of a certain strain of virus, but also the sheer mediocrity of the picture.
One advantage that Jungle Cruise does possess is a talented cast, including two leads who are familiar to the Disney faithful. Emily Blunt is the top-billed female, having previously fronted the cameras for Into the Woods and Mary Poppins Returns, albeit with more singing; her male counterpart, Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson is no stranger to the studio either, with starring roles in The Game Plan, Race to Witch Mountain and Moana.
Undoubtedly, Blunt and Johnson’s historic involvement with Disney is what endeared them to the producers, and perhaps why both actors perform with a laidback confidence – their respective characters seem more an extension of their own charming selves than a transformation. This is particularly evident when the two personalities share the screen, demonstrating the kind of chemistry that is usually found in more seasoned duos, not a pair who are sharing their first credit together.
The villainous Prince Joachim (Jesse Plemons) as seen in Jungle Cruise
One performer who has taken the transformative approach, and played against type in the process, is Jesse Plemons. Where in other roles he would be understated with only a hint of menace, here Plemons gleefully portrays the antagonistic Prince Joachim with a fitting level of camp, eccentricity and accented speech. It’s yet another delightful performance from Plemons, who by now is well on his way to conquering Hollywood.
Sadly, that praise does not extend to the secondary villains of Jungle Cruise: a group of zombified Spanish conquistadors who are clearly inspired by Captain Barbossa’s crew. Despite their unique appearances – the men take their physical form with the help of rainforest features such as vines, snakes and hornets – there’s nothing remotely interesting nor memorable about these foes, who lack the personality and wickedness necessary for this kind of role.
Matters are made worse by the substandard visual effects, which look as though they were rendered two decades ago; the comedic elements, which barely incite so much as a chuckle; and the underwhelming soundtrack from James Newton Howard, which lacks a rousing theme a la the Pirates movies. Yet these problems are minor when compared to the biggest issue of all: the confusing action sequences.
By most measures, the thrills of Jungle Cruise are pretty serviceable, with decent choreography and stunt-work; but they are made difficult to appreciate due to the shaky camerawork and frantic editing. Such techniques have been utilised by many a Hollywood blockbuster in recent times, proving just as annoying here as they do elsewhere – it’s high time producers learned that they don’t make the action any more exciting.
It’s baffling to think that a film with six producers and the backing of the world’s largest studio could be so mediocre. Despite having some gifted actors at its disposal, Jungle Cruise serves only as a passing distraction, with most of its other attributes being adequate at best. If this film is to herald a new Disney franchise, it’s not a promising start.
Jungle Cruise is screening in cinemas nationally where open, and available for streaming with Premium Access on Disney+.
With colonisation comes a struggle for independence and identity; oftentimes war ensues, and people are either left with less than they had before, or nothing at all. Gianfranco Rosi’s documentary, Notturno (2020), paints a perplexing picture of what life after war looks like. The Oscar-nominated documentarian lets his camera do the talking as he traverses the war ravaged Syria, Iraq, Kurdistan, and Lebanon over the course of three years. The result is a film that captures the aftermath of war ravaged lands, and the people left to endure the mess made by others.
Rosi is no stranger to focusing on people facing hardship as a result of injustice and corrupt systems. His Golden Bear winning film, Fire at Sea (2016), explores the European migrant crisis and some of the people at the centre of the migrant landings at Sicilian island, Lampedusa. While Notturno isn’t as specific in its focus as Fire at Sea, it serves to remind audiences of the realities that people on the other side are living.
In Notturno, Rosi captures the sprawling and almost barren wasteland’s of some of the aforementioned Middle-Eastern countries, and his cinematography is comprised of an array of wide shots that give the land itself an added layer of complexity. There is almost no life in Rosi’s shots, with the environment seeming akin to that of Frank Herbert’s fictional Arrakis (or Dune) — there is a desert-like openness, structures are left behind from ISIS raids, and minimal life exists save for birds that are hunted. The purpose here is to reinforce what many of the people in the film already voice — these people’s homeland has been taken from them and losing their identity is at risk as well. Subsequently, the camera serves as this invisible observer in motion.
Unfortunately, Rosi isn’t as interested in providing more context on the people in the film, with many of them going about their lives without us ever gaining a sense of who they are. There is an instance where some children draw and describe horrific pictures from experiences they’ve had with ISIS, but that’s about as close as we come to an emotional investment beyond the shots themselves.
A mother grieving for her son in Notturno
The film seems more concerned with allowing the setting to nurture our understanding of the people who occupy it rather than through the people themselves. These people enter the frame and the nothingness around them in order to reinforce just how little this land is actually theirs — it isn’t welcoming or even supportive of its occupants. In this sense, the land and Rosi’s shots of it is being used to demonstrate the governments (or lack thereof) failure to provide for its people.
One of the subjects in the film is a boy, Ali, who supports his mother and his many siblings by hunting for birds with various unknowns. When observed outside of the long and mid shots of his home where there is a sense of control and identity, he is often framed as a spec in the wider vastness of Rosi’s wide-shots. It’s a clever approach on Rosi’s part, but it provides the bare minimum in terms of understanding Ali’s situation and how he and his family make sense of the world around them.
The most profound aspect of the film, however, is Rosi’s ability to let the land speak for itself. There is little to no dialogue which creates an eerie sensation given that the countries in question are known for the violence and chaos that eschews the normalcy that otherwise exists. The only real sounds that continually penetrate the film are those natural ambient noises (birds chirping, water rushing, wind breezing etc.). When something other than natures sounds begins to present itself, it tends to be in the form of guns clocking and war trucks rolling. For what it’s worth, Rosi juxtaposes that aspect really well and leaves an uneasiness in one’s stomach.
Perhaps now more than ever, Notturno reminds audiences that colonisation and external interference in a once functioning nation, only does more harm than good — with the current situation in Afghanistan exacerbating that claim. Sure Rosi could have done with a greater engagement with his subjects, but it’s easy to see that his camera and the setting it captures are there to do the talking. While not as moving as Fire at Sea is during its best moments, Notturno is an essential viewing if not for its contemplative look on the countries at the centre of it, then for its relevance at this very point in time.
Notturno is currently streaming on MIFF Play until the 22nd of August.
If Hollywood is to be believed, college is one big, endless party rife with booze, drugs and sexual encounters. What’s needed is an exploration of the minutiae of tertiary education, those quieter moments that prove just as key to the experience – a void this indie feature has just filled.
Having moved from his family home in Texas, teenager Alex (Cooper Raiff) is struggling in his first year of university in California, feeling isolated physically and emotionally with only his dog plush for company. That loneliness eases upon a chance encounter with Maggie (Dylan Gelula), a fellow dweller in his dormitory, who Alex falls in love with over the course of one night, only to be rejected by her the very next morning.
Freshman Year is the directorial debut of Cooper Raiff, who also wrote the screenplay in addition to starring. His picture first garnered attention last year on the festival circuit under the title of Shithouse, earning near-unanimous praise and securing Raiff as a film-maker to watch in the months and years ahead. Those are some pretty lofty ambitions to meet, especially when one considers that Raiff’s film is quite modest in its presentation.
Raiff impresses as both an actor and director – fronting the camera, he looks assured and comfortable in the role of Alex, keeping his emotions restrained and never resorting to melodrama; likewise, his helmsmanship is solid, with the film having steady pacing, clean cinematography, and mise-en-scene that’s perfectly suited to an indie feature. What’s here certainly doesn’t break new ground, but it demonstrates that Raiff does have a firm understanding of his craft.
Where Freshman Year differs from other indie, coming-of-age or college movies is in its fly-on-the-wall depictions of dorm life. There are no rowdy frat-houses or wild riots to be witnessed in Raiff’s picture, which is more preoccupied with discussing the ennui of university, hypothesising that living on-campus is not the endless thrill that others proclaim it to be. In that sense, one could consider the film as the antithesis to the likes of Animal House and Bad Neighbours.
Freshman Year is best appreciated though as a sweet, humble tale of two lovers. Raiff and Gelula’s chemistry is palpable throughout, their endearing nature swiftly ensured by their soft, amicable conversations in the first act, and further cemented by a cathartic night-time walk. In these moments, both Alex and Maggie prove so likeable that one can forgive the awkward, cliched moments they share in the latter half of the film. Well, almost.
While far from a revelation, Freshman Year is a respectable first effort from writer-director Cooper Raiff, who does well to reflect the experiences of a disaffected student, yet also proves adept at delivering a romance that viewers yearn for. It’ll be interesting to see what he crafts next.
Freshman Year is currently streaming on MIFF Play until August the 22nd.
“The optic nerve receives no visual information. It’s a blind spot. At the exact point where the world meets the seeing of the world. We’re blind.”
This statement delivered by unspoken subtitles captures both the intent and tone of the cerebral documentary feature All Light, Everywhere by Baltimore-based filmmaker Theo Anthony. The film is a meditation on surveillance, observation, police technology, privacy, and the relationship between filmmaker – which in this case extends to police and their body cameras – and subject.
Over the course of its 109-minute run time, the documentary deeply explores unique and interesting areas that link thematically to the notion of surveillance and the role of the observer in the process, from a factory tour of Axon Technologies (formally Taser) who created the police body cameras used today, the history of the moving picture and how its conception ties in deeply with policing, and a Baltimore community meeting on the prospect of being surveilled by a drone in an attempt to reduce crime that delivers some of the most poignant moments of the film.
This is not a film with answers or any sort of declarative statement at the conclusion. This is a documentary whose primary goal is to provoke thought in a complicated but necessary subject, while also weaving in more philosophical questions about the purpose of surveillance and the questions of bias in all things, and on this front, the film succeeds.
A lot of credit should be given to Anthony and cinematographer Corey Hughes, as they are acutely aware of the power they hold scene to scene with their camera and wield it in a more contemplative and wandering way that really captures the tone of the documentary.
This tone is further illuminated through the score of the terrific electronic artist and composer Dan Deacon, also from Baltimore. Deacon’s synth-heavy score is equally haunting and sweeping, accompanying the more poetic and cerebral aspects of the documentary in a humanistic way, albeit while occasionally overwhelming the scenes that could’ve used a softer hand.
The film uses narration and unspoken subtitles as a form of contemplative fact-checking, prompting the audience to ask questions about what they are seeing, reminding us of the biases that naturally occur in seemingly unnatural things like drone footage and security footage. In the example of police body cameras, something which is pitched to society as an unbiased recording of events as they occur, narrator Keaver Brenai asserts that “the wide-angle is used to document as much space as possible, but the angle also exaggerates motion.”
A small child stares at the approaching solar eclipse in All Light, Everywhere
As is the case with a growing number of modern documentaries, the filmmakers themselves are as much a focus as the subjects. While this is usually a grating aspect to non-fiction storytelling, here it is necessary and Anthony and Hughes understand that their film is centred on the relationship and biases the observer has with what is being observed.
As the documentary format is explored and interrogated more deeply – especially post documentary boom thanks in large part to streaming – the ideas of bias and intent have been given more importance, and the form appears to be reacting to that interrogation by involving the filmmakers more often in front of and around the camera, as well as through moments of candidness where we are shown moments before or after scenes in an attempt to strip away the artifice of the film. These are techniques used often in All Light, Everywhere, even going to the lengths to show us the Adobe Premiere screen of the film’s edit, which is less capable hands may come off as a cheap and exploitative trick to create a sense of authenticity so that the audience can trust what is shown in front of the camera is coming from an honest place.
Documentaries from others in recent years deploy these techniques to create an aura of authenticity, while Anthony here uses these same techniques to force the audience to question his own biases, something he clearly had to grapple with through the making of this film.
There are a thousand interesting threads to pull in this poignant, thought-provoking documentary, which is something the filmmakers clearly also found in the creation of this project, with an epilogue showing us footage of Anthony and Hughes documenting a filmmaking course at a Baltimore high school that was meant to feature prominently in the film but couldn’t find the thematic links to the rest of the piece. It is disappointing we were unable to view this film with a large audience as it absolutely deserved the sensation of walking out of a film into a packed foyer bustling with people wanting to discuss their thoughts and feelings on what they just saw.
All Light, Everywhere is streaming as part of the Melbourne International Film Festival on MIFF Play until August 22nd.
When tragedy strikes, our instinct is to seek out how something so monstrous could happen. We try to understand the actions that led to this point, a chain of causality that will answer what, or who, is responsible. This is at the heart of Anders Thomas Jensen’s new film Riders of Justice. Working with frequent collaborators Nikolaj Lie Kaas and the extraordinary Mads Mikkelson, this revenge thriller cleverly deconstructs the genre while weaving Jensen’s penchant for pitch-black humour that we’ve seen in his previous films Men & Chicken and Adam’s Apple.
After his wife is tragically killed, Mikkelson’s still deployed soldier Markus returns home to his daughter Mathilde (Andrea Heick Gadeberg), as they come to terms with their loss. Markus wants to move past the tragedy, seemingly accepting the freak nature of the accident, much to the dismay of his daughter who is in denial, wanting to believe it to be an of act of god. Markus’s mind is quickly changed however, when statistician Otto (Nikolaj Lie Kaas) shows up at his door and tells Markus exactly what he wants to hear; that there is a person responsible for his wife’s death.
In most revenge thrillers, the target of vengeance is almost always a gang leader or secret cabal that messed with the wrong man’s family, like notable revenge films Taken and Death Wish, and on the surface Riders of Justice is no different with the titular biker gang Riders of Justice. What separates this film from the others in the genre however, is the lack of focus given to the characters we should be viewing as villains, the targets of Markus’s vengeance. By focusing solely on Markus and his oddball group of friends, Jensen is telling us these villains are merely surrogates for these men as they deal with their grief, guilt, and loss of control.
Riders of Justice also subverts the revenge genre by focusing heavily on the emotion toll of the central characters actions. A staple of the revenge thriller is to quickly establish why the only action the protagonist can take is to go on a no holds barred, guilt-free rampage through the city, as we revel in the carnage catharsis alongside our hero. What Riders of Justice achieves through grounding the narrative in Markus’ home life, especially his relationship with violence through his life as a soldier, as well as his daughter’s relationship with his violence, is that we have to decide for ourselves whether the feeling we are left with is one of catharsis or sadness at the path taken by our heroes as they tear through the Riders of Justice.
Nikolaj Lie Kaas (left to right), Lars Brygmann, and Mads Mikkelson in Riders of Justice
This is a difficult film to categorise and that is evident through the trailers and marketing of the film, which focuses around either the black humour or the Taken-esque plot, but what makes this film truly singular is its pathos and sadness, and how it attempts to balance all these elements while maintaining the humanity at its core.
None of this would be possible without the driving force of Mikkelson who, even in his most restrained moments, is a comet oftentimes at risk of overshadowing the rest of the cast and the film as a whole. Jensen’s crucial writing decision to give all of his dark humour dialogue to the characters surrounding Markus is an important one, as it allows him to simmer under the surface until he is ready to blow, without undercutting his character’s nature by joking at the situation they find themselves in.
It’s impossible not to compare the film to the Oscar-winning film Another Round with its connection to Mikkelson, Danish cinema, and their close releases. Both films are centred around a certain type of middle-aged male pathos and sadness, with unique but similar feelings of estrangement with the world around them. Both films are similar in their use of academic reasoning in an attempt to explain the feelings they are having. In Another Round, the high-school teachers seek to explain the emptiness they feel as being a result of their blood alcohol level not being high enough, while in Riders of Justice, Otto seeks to explain away the guilt he is feeling for this tragedy by proving the sheer impossibility of the events occurring purely through chance.
Mikkelson’s performances in both films are wildly different and truly displays his versatility as an actor and what separates him as one of the best in the business. He is a must-see in any project.
Riders of Justice is streaming on MIFF Play until August 22.
It’s been almost 20 years since Sir Peter Jackson introduced audiences — both new and familiar — to the world of Middle Earth, on the big screen. In those 20 years since The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring (2001), nothing, save for the sequels to The Fellowship of the Ring, has managed to capture the awe and bravado of Jackson’s Middle Earth. Franchises have come and gone, and Jackson has also adapted The Hobbit (2012 – 2014) for the big screen, but The Lord of the Rings continues to inspire as well as keep audiences coming back for more as the years roll on. Much has been said and written about the trilogy, but I believe it’s important to remind audiences why this trilogy has remained a staple in cinema history. What follows is an analysis of why Jackson’s adaptation of The Lord of the Rings has continued to permeate film culture, how it redefined the Fantasy genre, and what made the franchise as celebrated as it is.
The Lord of the Rings Trilogy Before the Acclaim
Before delving into the aforementioned concerns of the piece, it is important to first outline the trajectory of The Lord of the Rings in cinema culture — from its inception, up until Jackson’s adaptation. In the years before Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings adaptation came to fruition, there had been an animation adaptation in 1978 by Ralph Bakshi, which opened to a fair reception, and the Beatles had apparently wanted to star in a live-action adaptation of the books, with Stanley Kubrick said to have been their choice to direct. Kubrick allegedly turned down the offer to direct the planned film after saying that it was unfilmable (at least in terms of the technology not being there yet). As J.R.R Tolkien owned the rights to his work, he also turned the proposed Beatles film down as he didn’t want his work to be taken by the band and turned into something outlandish for the big screen.
It wasn’t until sometime in the mid-90s that the idea of a Jackson-led The Lord of the Rings adaptation began to circulate in the media. With Jackson’s earlier films like Bad Taste (1987) and Braindead (1992) being the epitome of schlock horror — films characterised by their absurd plots, quirky characters, campy humour, and so forth — it was no surprise that doubts were raised over the announcement that Jackson was to adapt the work of beloved and trailblazing author, J.R.R Tolkien.
Jackson had come off of directing a decently received, The Frighteners (1996), before pitching the idea of turning The Lord of the Rings into a live-action trilogy, to Miramax. Miramax said that they would be able to make two films instead of the proposed three, with the cost of the films driving their decision. However, Miramax eventually decided that that they were unable to fund the making of two films at the scale proposed. Subsequently, Jackson was allowed to pitch the idea for the films to other studios, and was eventually able to bring New Line Cinema on board to finance the film.
With New Line greenlighting the proposal for an adaptation helmed by Jackson, the next big hurdle came with the budget increase for each film. New Line had reportedly agreed to spend around US $60 million on each film, but that budget proved unrealistic with how audacious and large each film ended up becoming. Instead, New Line ended up spending around US $120 million on each film, with that eventual sum being agreed upon through much deliberation and even heat between Jackson and film executive Michael Lynne. It wasn’t until a 20 minute preview screening at Cannes in 2001 that the studio’s fears regarding the increase in budgeting, were alleviated. This was primarily due to the positive reception the footage of The Fellowship of the Ring received, and the realisation that the money invested into the film was paying off (with the Balrog scene being one that was shown).
With The Fellowship of the Ring eventually being made, and its sequels releasing within the next two years, the trilogy had officially survived the struggles of pre-production, production, and Harvey Weinstein. The trilogy would go on to become one of the highest grossing and consistently well received franchises of all time.
Hugo Weaving, Peter Jackson, and Ian Mckellen on the set of The Lord of the Rings
What Made the Trilogy as Influential and Beloved as it is?
Trying to provide a single answer to why Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings is as iconic and influential as it is, simply cannot be done. Therefore, I will break down some of the key aspects of the trilogy and why they’ve seen the trilogy continue to enjoy the success that it has.
For starters, one of the biggest issues Jackson faced was trying to transpose such a well regarded and nuanced piece of fantasy literature as faithfully as he could, and in the time he had. Tolkien’s writing is renowned for its ability to capture the minutiae of any given aspect of the world of Middle Earth — whether that be a blade of grass or a trickle of water. In saying that, Jackson was fortunate that he had a lot to work with from Tolkien’s writing, particularly because the drawn out descriptions Tolkien provides, ultimately led to a level of clarity that Jackson simply moulded for a modern audience. Sure there was no Tom Bombadil or the battle for the Shire or the character of Gildor Inglorian, but given the scale of Tolkien’s world (those who have read The Silmarillion will know the struggle of making sense of everyone and everything being described), Jackson was able to focus on the fundamentals of the book in order to guide audiences through the three films.
A major factor that contributed to the trilogy’s acclaim and success is the fact that all facets of production aligned and worked to support each other for the entirety of the three films. There were two units that worked on the film: one that was helmed by Peter Jackson, and the other, by John Mahaffie (Second Unit Director). Both units were well equipped with resources to traverse the New Zealand landscape and country side (which is explored more in the exquisite documentary-like, behind the scenes), and Weta Workshop went above and beyond to produce sets, costumes, armour, weapons, creatures and miniatures. What this all means is that there was a sense of totality and scale unlike anything seen before or since, in a blockbuster or film of any kind. The result is one that led to the record breaking Oscars sweep for The Return of the King (2003) which won all 11 Oscars it was nominated for, and is tied with Ben-Hur (1959) and Titanic (1997) for most award wins in Oscars history.
But aside from the recognition from award wins and box office success, Jackson’s trilogy has continued to amaze viewers (included yours truly) across multiple viewings in the 20 years since. Some of the reasons why include the thematic consistency as the films went on; the largely practical approach to making the films; Howard Shore’s mesmerising score that speaks to various scenes and characters; the epic battle sequences both large and small; the memorable performances from each and every actor involved; and how the trilogy paved the way for fantasy films (and shows) to be taken as seriously as they are today.
The way in which Jackson developed a sense of forwardness from the first film to the last meant that the pacing always felt consistent, and audiences were given ample time to spend with various side characters and events, while never losing sight of the primary goal of The Fellowship. For instance, The Fellowship itself and its eventual separation, serves to engage the audience with the likes of Theoden (Bernard Hill), Eowyn (Miranda Otto), Emoer (Karl Urban), Arwen (Liv Tyler), Galadriel (Cate Blanchett), Faramir (David Wenham) and so forth. All of these characters have role to play in The Fellowship’s quest, but they also bring to surface the lore of Middle Earth that cannot be wholly accounted for.
The battle sequences also stand out, particularly due to how practical they were and how little they relied on CGI in contrast to blockbusters being released today. Ridley Scott’s Gladiator (2000) is another film that comes to mind in terms of being remembered for the amount of choreography it had and the lack of CGI it used. Rarely are modern blockbusters as hands on in their approach to large scale battles as The Lord of the Rings was, and that’s another big drawcard for revisiting the trilogy — the action strived to create an out-of-body experience that sucked audiences into the world.
Another major aspect that contributed to the ongoing success of The Lord of the Rings is the way in which the show put the fantasy genre in the limelight for film and television. The point here is simply to highlight how Jackson’s films have paved the way for the fantasy genre to be taken more seriously as a form of art. A show like HBO’s Game of Thrones has won multiple Emmy awards and has been compared to The Lord of the Rings (and rightfully so given that George R.R. Martin is greatly inspired by Tolkien). Netflix’s The Witcher show has also emerged in the last couple of years and has quickly become a fan favourite. So essentially, Jackson and his first trilogy of films have brought as much attention to the fantasy genre as George Lucas and his first Star Wars trilogy did for the Sci-Fi genre.
Liv Tyler and Viggo Mortensen in The Lord of the Rings
Closing Thoughts
In the 20 years since The Fellowship of the Ring, the trilogy continues to be shown in cinemas worldwide and has had a successful shelf life (with a 4K remastering having been overseen by Jackson and released last year). With a Lord of the Rings show coming to Amazon Prime in late 2022 (supposedly exploring an earlier part of the Second Age of Middle Earth), now is the perfect time to begin revisiting Middle Earth and Jackson’s trilogy. Whether or not the show will capture the hearts of audiences and critics alike is yet to be seen, but judging by a recently released still from the show, it’s anyone’s guess. What is known is that Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings and Jackson’s adaptation of the book are just as influential today as they were during their inception, and will continue to be in another 20 years.
Rating Frames 