April 9, 2002
Libby Gelman-Waxner
Premiere Magazine, April 2002
Transcribed by Jas

Now, I know that some people think all of those teenage boys who worship the Lord of the Rings books are just emotionally stunted geeks with problem skin. But, I'm sorry, I think that those fellows can be very appealing, because sometimes a ribbed turtleneck dickie, a briefcase, and a sparse little mustache can be a real turn-on. Sometimes, rather than say, making out, it's hotter to watch a guy obsessively diagramming Middle-earth on lined notebook paper with a Bic pen. Well-built jocks have their place, but for some gals, a true love potion combines the aromas of Stri-Dex pads, chocolate milk, and ellowed, saggy Fruit of the Loom underwear.

The first film in the Lord of the Rings trilogy is a huge hit, because it proves that hair is destiny. The main character is a hobbit, a smallish guy from a race where everyone seems to be wearing a smushed Annie wig, and the world hobbit may indeed mean "perm gone tragically wrong." The hobbits all have enormous, always bare feet, they live in whimsically rounded thatched cottages, and they frolic at REnaissance Faire-type shindigs on the village green; they're like alcoholic Hummel figurines. Frodo, the central hobbit, is given a gold ring that contains over-whelming evil; this accounts for the story's enduring popularity with boys, but girls know there's no such thing as bad jewelry.

Frodo has to head out on an epic quest to save the world by tossing the ring back into a fiery volcano, but his progress is hindered by an evil wizard named Saruman, who has long, stick-straight whit hair that he keeps flicking off his face; Saruman looks exactly like Cher would if she'd been allowed to age naturally. Frodo sets out with several fellow hobbits and joins forces witha couple of hunky human warriors and an elf, whose race sports platinum-blond manes yanked straight back; I kept waiting for the elves to reveal their Joni Mitchell shrine or to introduce their leader, Marcia Brady.

There are almost no girls in the movie, except for brief appearances by Liv Tyler and Cate Blanchett, who both play fairy princes figures, wafting miles of Stevie Nicks chiffon sleeves. Virtually all of the emotion in the movie occurs between the manly comrades; at one point, one of the human hunks lies dying on the forest floor, and his fellow warrior embraces him, with their faces only inches a par. The wounded guy gazes into this stalwart buddy's eyes and, with his last breath, murmurs, "My captain, my king," and I was dying for him to add, "my darling." Even Harry Potter has little female classmate; I'm not saying that all of the boy hobbits are gay, but the whole batch does share a bed at a wayside inn, and I wouldn't be surprised if in the next installment there's some towel-snapping under a waterfall or a sweaty, shirtless volleyball match with a team from Keebler.

Frodo and his mates travel through caves and over cliffs, battling many impressive special effects, and I kept wondering why someone, maybe Ian McKellen as Gandalf the good wizard, didn't suggest, "You know, guys, we'd make much better time if you'd all just put on shoes." As the movie ends, the noble band reaches the outskirts of the most evil territories, where I assume they will need their magic slide rules, pocket protectors, and gym excuses.

The movie is very long and there's tons of hobbit lore, but not all that much plot; so far, evil just means no flowers - it's like a Wagnerian opera set inside a snow globe. But it's pretty fabulous movie, both because it looks great and acts as a form of CliffsNotes. Not that there was any danger, but now I'll never have to read the Tolkien books, which are the Proust of the chess club set. And maybe will all the potiential merchandising, there might be room for Flake-Free Frodo Dandruff Shampoo and Scent O' the Shire Deodorant Soap.

The French equivalent of The Lord of the Rings might be Brotherhood of the Wolf, and equally delightful and ridiculous movie, about an 18th century naturalist from Paris and his devoted Native American companion who arrive int he French countryside to hunt a savage beast that has been minching on the local wenches. Both the naturalist and his haughty little friend are early martial arts experts, kickboxing the hundreds of slobbering, humpbacked, wart-sprouting peasants who constantly surround them. There's also a feisty redheaded maiden, a sultry Italian courtesan, and a very compelx story line that somehow involves the Pope, and epileptic gypsy slut, and a sneering, one-armed aristocrat; though I couldn't quite follow everything, it was nice to have some chicks in the mix. I bet that if Frodo encountered an Italian courtesan, he'd stutter, "I'm sorry, ma'am, but I have to get back to my firends, this evil ring, and figuring out how come, if Superman has super speed, he can't just help everyone in the whole world at the same time."

All of these ye olde movies, packed with wizards and wanderlust, are lots of fun, but I'm beginning to think that hte Franklin Mint has started a film studio: Can we expect big-screen epics focusing on Troll dolls astride My Litte Pony? Is Miramax really developing a ten-pole movie based on Lucky Charms? I asked my brother Larry, the corporate attorney, why his son Max is having a Lord of the Rings - themed bar mitzvah, where Max will get to symbolically toss an evil pen-and-pencil set into the punch bowl. Larry says that these sorts of tales are about bravery and goodness, and that it doesn't matter that hte characters sometimes resemble novelty key chains. I guess it's a guy thing, but maybe in the final movie, some perky little elf babe will discover exactly why hobbits have such a big feet, if you ask me.