The Lord's day

>> Enduring the Cannes Tolkien hype for The Lord of the Rings

by JOANNE LATIMER

A publicist walked up to me in the Palaise at Cannes and handed over one of the most coveted invitations at the film festival--a pass to the press conference at a castle in the French countryside. The film? The Lord of the Rings. Something wasn't right. My press pass wasn't of sufficient calibre to score this kind of ticket. And there are no random acts of kindness at Cannes.

"Oh, we need more women to attend," explained the young publicist, who juggled two cell phones and a clipboard while hovering near the press office.

"Why?" I had to ask.

"We need you to sit up front, near the TV camera," she said, stalling before blurting out. "We don't want people to think the film only appeals to 50-year-old men who are, like, Dungeons and Dragons geeks who still listen to Led Zeppelin."

Fifty-year-old Zepp fans filled the Magic Bus that took us to Chateau de Castelleras on the first Friday of the festival. Security was tight. PR people guarded the convoy of buses, hugging their sacred clipboards and wearing head sets. The ride to the Chateau was like a crash-course in Middle-earth catch phrases, as a bus full of J.R.R. Tolkien smart-asses tried to out-do each other by speaking in that elf language. Boyhood crushes on Goldberry were confessed, while the PhDs tried to lather their semiotics all over obscure passages of the 1,070-page trilogy.

Disdainful of allegory

The first thing we learned at the press conference was that the films' real titles would be The Fellowship of the Rings, and its two sequels were already in the can. The second thing we learned was that over $300-million (U.S.) went into Peter Jackson's film trilogy, and a sizable portion of that went into bribing the press with goblets of wine and a sensational buffet at the Chateau de Castelleras, which was the image of plentitude and Rivendell-like serenity.

Tolkien once said, "I dislike allegory whenever I smell it," so he would've hated the press conference. Hobbits served the drinks and lute music reminded us of the atmosphere we were supposed to be immersed in. Banners for New Line were always in our peripheral vision, as were some token Goldberry-like women in wench costumes.

"It's not a movie made for fans, it's a movie made by fans," distinguished director Peter Jackson. "We were the incredibly lucky ones to be given the opportunity to make the movie." He looked rumpled and exhausted. Liz Tyler sat at his side, biting her lip, giggling with Elijah Wood, who plays the intrepid Frodo. The mighty Sir Ian McKellen was on hand, representing all-things-just in Gandalf.

"Gandalf, I believe, could challenge any wizard that Harry Potter could summon," said McKellen, smiling impishly, lowering his I.Q. to match the question from the gallery. He put his hand over the microphone and asked if Harry Potter's movie was also a New Line picture and if he should comment further.

What would Tolkien think?

He didn't have time to continue, because the 20-minute clip of the film started. All chitchat in the room ceased, instantly, except from bouts of laughter from the tipsy stars--Viggo Mortensen (Aragorn) and Sean Bean (Borimir)--who discovered the roving band of wenches.

For all the hollow mood-making at the press conference, the 20-minute film clip showed us that Lord of the Rings is a fully realized, mythical epic that made good use of its 2,000 crew members, 20,000 extras and 274 shooting days. Cate Blanchett brings Galadriel to ethereal heights and Ian Holm seems born to play Bilbo Baggins.

No doubt ink will be spilled on how Mordor, the evil land in the east, is our current-day Afghanistan. It's a war parable, people will say. Nothing would displease Tolkien more, as he recoiled in horror when analysts equated Middle-earth with WWII. Yet I can't help but imagine that this $300-million adaptation of his classic tome would please the late scribe. Considering the breadth of Tolkien's imagination, that's saying something.