May 2020 – Joy On Screen

I don’t remember the first time I visited Narnia, though that first journey might have been captured in a photo my mom took about twenty years ago. My dad was reading aloud to us on a summer evening, holding a book in one hand and pushing a child on the swingset between sentences.

Since that day, Lewis’ world has been an integral part of my family’s shared language, part of how we understand the world. My siblings and I listened to audio drama versions of the series on countless road trips and rainy afternoons. We wore out my parents’ copies of the books as we read them over and over. We complained when we were assigned The Last Battle for school and didn’t understand the allegory (it’s possible that this was just me).

So, when I was able to reunite with my family after quarantining separately for weeks, we were excited to return to Narnia together. Singing “happy birthday” to my sister and then crowding onto the old couches in the living room to watch The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe truly felt like coming home. Even with the constant commentary that occasionally drowned out the movie’s dialogue, we were traveling together into a world we loved–and that was all that mattered.

We love so many things about this adaptation of Lewis’ first Narnia story. We love the creatures–the fauns and talking beavers and especially the centaurs, all coexisting on screen and looking like they belong. We love the Pevensie siblings and the actors who portray them. We love the way Andrew Adamson returned to his childhood memories of the book to bring every page to life so vividly. We love the adventure and the magic, the humor and the terror. And we especially love Harry Gregson-Williams’ beautiful score. During the final battle, the music soars and at least half of us were conducting or humming along until we were kindly asked to stop. The soundtrack is moving and haunting and perfectly suited to the images on screen, and we’ve listened to it until we have every note memorized.

But, of course, we truly love the story that lies beneath the CGI on screen, the allegory at the center of this film. Lewis’ portrayal of a king who gives his life for a traitor and then rises from the dead to defeat his enemies is a ringing echo of the gospel. No matter what the filmmakers intended, the film highlights the same truth that Lewis captured so beautifully. And, seeing the familiar story played out on screen, we get to delight in it all over again. We rejoice to see a world where good pays a terrible price but ultimately defeats evil. Where God walks alongside us, and chooses to rescue us even when we’ve betrayed Him. Where order is restored and peace reigns. Where even when we find ourselves tumbling out of the wardrobe and back into the hardships of reality, we’re not alone. Where we can look at Aslan and let everything else fall away.

I’m so thankful for this world, and that I get to share it with my family. As an older sister, I find it easy to relate to Susan’s bossy attitude and her practical concerns. Sometimes, though, I worry that my similarities to Susan will extend to her forgetfulness. That even though I’ve been rescued by Aslan, I’ll lose sight of him. That, like her, I’ll let “real life” blind me to the beauty that waits just around the corner. So I’m especially thankful for the magic of this story, for the truth at its center, and for the chance to walk with Aslan again. And for the reminder that I’m not on this journey alone–that my brothers and sisters walk with me as we all seek to go further up and further in, to live abundantly here and now.

I could never do justice to my love for The Lord of the Rings in a single essay. The world Tolkien created is an integral part of my imagination, my love for stories, and even my understanding of God. Even if I could see past my bias to any kind of objectivity, I don’t have the space for a critical review of these sprawling films. My rambling memories and musings will have to suffice.

As far as I can remember, the last time I watched the full Lord of the Rings trilogy was in college, more than five years ago. A snow day meant all our classes were cancelled, so my friends and I commandeered an empty classroom and spent the day in Middle Earth. Before that, I remember watching Return of the King with my sister and spending the last hour abjectly failing to hide my tears. I remember watching Fellowship of the Ring during a blizzard, jet-lagged and trying to stay awake after returning from a trip to Thailand. I couldn’t keep my eyes open, and remember suddenly regaining consciousness to find the fellowship staggering on the rocks outside the mines of Moria, mourning Gandalf’s fall. I remember being introduced to the films for the first time when a teacher showed a clip from The Two Towers as an illustration during a Vacation Bible School. I remember catching a glimpse of Fellowship over my mom’s shoulder as she watched the trilogy in half-hour installments (and, for some reason, could never keep the characters straight).

Despite all these memories and my deep love for these films, I had never made the time to watch the extended editions. Alone at home for a week of quarantine, though, I found myself with nothing but empty evenings and my roommate’s DVD box sets and decided it was time. I wanted to escape from the sudden uncertainty of my world, where a new virus was taking over in a global pandemic, and The Lord of the Rings beckoned. As we face an invisible, swiftly-spreading foe, it’s refreshing to join a fight where the lines between good and evil are more clearly drawn. The battle in Middle Earth is real and hard and may cost everything, but at least we know who the enemy is. And, though evil is terrible and nearly triumphant, it’s encouraging to enter into a story where the heroes are ultimately victorious. Sam’s speech at the end of The Two Towers encapsulates the hope I find in Middle Earth, as he reminds Frodo and Faramir and all of us:

“It’s like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo, the ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were, and sometimes you didn’t want to know the end, because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened?

But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come, and when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you, that meant something, even if you were too small to understand why.

But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back. Only they didn’t, because they were holding on to something…That there’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo. And it’s worth fighting for.”

It’s so good to fight again alongside the heroes of this story, to be reunited with these characters who feel like dear friends. To walk with Sam, a faithful companion who never forgets the task he was given and who refuses to abandon his friend even after being doubted and sent away. To trudge through misery with Frodo, who willingly leaves safety and comfort behind to carry the burden of the ring and the future of Middle Earth. To stand side by side with Aragorn, who looks at the gates of Mordor and the innumerable forces of evil and declares that they will not triumph today. And to join Faramir, Gandalf, Eowyn, Merry, Arwen, Boromir, and so many others as they walk the paths set before them, each playing their part in the great battle against Sauron.

And, somehow, all of these characters appear against a backdrop of beauty and artistry that is just as stunning now as it was twenty years ago. I can’t imagine what the studio executives were thinking when they considered adapting a beloved work as sprawling, complex, and richly detailed as The Lord of the Rings. There are so many ways that a translation of this story could have gone wrong, so many times that the spirit of the books could have been misinterpreted (looking at you, The Hobbit…). While more pedantic viewers still find small changes to critique, these films are nothing short of a miracle to me. Every aspect–the acting, the stunning sets, the innovative CGI and prosthetic work, the directing, the score, the costumes and props, the cinematography and location scouting, and so much more–displays the collaborative work of hundreds of talented artists who poured their hearts into telling these stories well. Juggling characters, cultures, fictional languages, and intersecting plot lines in a way that’s intelligible, entertaining, and ultimately moving, this trilogy is an incredible work of art and deserves every accolade it has received.

Even better, these beautiful films point me to the truth. They ring with echoes of a story I need to hear, reminding me of good that defeats evil, of a suffering servant willing to give his life for others, of the rest that waits after a long pilgrimage, of the return of a long-promised king who will one day reign. But, though I remembered the power of the trilogy from previous viewings, I wondered as I put the first DVD in the player if the magic of these films might have fled after so many years of familiarity. I shouldn’t have worried. I wept with the fellowship as they mourned Gandalf’s fall. I mourned for Boromir as he told Aragorn he would have followed him. I could hardly see through my tears as Theoden and the people of Rohan rode out to make a glorious end at Helm’s Deep. As always, I sobbed as Aragorn told the hobbits, “My friends, you bow to no one.” And, at the end, I grieved with Frodo as he tried to return to a normal life and couldn’t escape the pain he carried. The Lord of the Rings makes me laugh and makes me cry. The films delight me with beauty and show me the true ugliness of evil. They give me joy and they give me hope. And I’m so thankful for them.