From: http://lightsout.movieweb.com/movies/reviews/reviews.php?film=3&review=242
The lengthiest walkathon in Hollywood history has finally reached its much sought after finish line. I wouldn’t have missed this for the world. After three grueling years, we’ve at long last arrived at our conclusion. I sat in my seat like an obedient puppy dog waiting for the immanent closer to come…
How does it end? Sam gets laid, then Frodo and Gandalf climb aboard a gay cruise ship. You can literally see Cuba Gooding Jr. and Horatio Sanz waving from the sidelines. I sht you not. After 12 hours and thirty-six bucks, this is the lasting image I’m left with…? You god*** mother f*ckers. Even Samwise is getting laid now? I might as well put a gun in my mouth. So much for geek hope and having someone to identify with.
With twenty-thousand opinions, all in favor of one film in particular, hitting the Internet at the speed of light, what’s the quickest way to get a foaming-at-the-mouth fangeek to read your review? Easy. Give it zero stars. Doesn’t work, you say? Ha! You couldn’t click that button fast enough, your finger poised over a drafted chain letter of hate for the hater (eloquently written, I suppose). You’re ready and able to take every punch doled out in the face of your “precious”, coming up as the Pit Bull you always wished you could be in High School. “How dare you speak obscenities in opposition of our most cherished union?”
Clam down. I’m not saying this sucks. Hardly. It has its moments. Tons of them. At the same time, I believe that its one of these “monsters of entertainment”; a beast that is just so completely unreviewable. Why? Because it’s “beloved.” No matter what anyone else says, you’re going to see it. And you’re going to form your own hardcore opinions on the subject matter at hand. You or me, sitting there in our underwear, typing up any given string of words to express our concern is like jacking-off on silk bed sheets. Its too feel our own orgasmic release of excitement. Its bottled-up energy; spoom! We’ve got to let it out before we explode against the wall and break our collective tailbone.
After we’ve thumb-tacked our grateful appreciation against the walls of cyberspace, all we can do is peruse the other pools of ejaculate, nodding our heads with glee, “He came…He came…He came…She came…He came…(then you happen upon the Orange’s dissertation; that would be me) He ca…Wait, what’s this? He must be incontinent! **** thee who don’t spasm at the sight of the RINGS!”
If you’ve seen my last two reviews, you’ll instinctively know that I’m in the minority when it comes to this certain trilogy of geek spunk. And I don’t use that term lightly. A warning to the folks at home: Don’t forget to bring your raincoat. Just past the mid-way point, there’ll be so much custard spritzing into the air like a geyser from the center of the cinema; you’ll think you were at the *****cat Theater on Western for an afternoon showing of Homey in a Haystack. And the film deserves that sort of rousing applause in wet shellac.
I’m a huge Peter Jackson fan. Always have been since that day in college, when www.littlelostrobot.com brought Dead Alive (otherwise known as Brain Dead for you boorish pig-fckers that have to snob snot on mild passings of joy) into the rec room (LLR was a head of his time in calling the man out as a genius). I sat there with my mouth agape, reveling in the end. The lawnmower blood orgy is one of my all time favorite scenes from any movie. Then, when I saw Meet the Feebles, I knew this chubby frenetic mess was a Cinematic God. He’s got one of the most distinct, branded looks I’ve ever seen. He throws this creepy, creaky distortion of angles that’s completely his own; an original vision. I decided to devote myself to his work. What was he going to do next? Heavenly Creatures. Awesome. Frighteners, I dug it. Then I heard he was doing Lord of the Rings…Screech…Halt…Yeah, it made sense. But I didn’t care. Hate me all you want, but I hate that type of sht.
It’s just me, so don’t cry foul too loudly. Renaissance fairs, knights and goblins at Halloween Parties, the Medieval Times restaurant in Fullerton, every Sword and Sorcerer picture ever made, fat guys in chain-mail beating the sh*t out of each other in parking garages. That’s just not my scene. The Lord of the Rings didn’t interest me at all…Except for the fact that Mr. Jackson was helming this trisected mélange of elvin worship.
If it had of been anyone else, I wouldn’t have even given this time-consuming monstrosity one bit of my waning attention. Hell, I can’t think of anyone else that could have made these movies. No one comes to mind. No other living being could have pulled it off. Pete and the Rings are married in the cosmos like two lost soul mates with a taste for ankle meat. And though I disapprove of the source material, I too must declare this one of the peak thematic accomplishments of all time.
There’s no denying it. And I’d be lying if I stated otherwise. These are the greatest war images ever committed to celluloid. And this third installment brings out the best in Peter Jackson. Return of the King is the best in the series, and my own personal favorite. My palms were sweating; my tongue was in the back of my throat. I thought I didn’t care. I thought I could turn a heated cheek and wisp this **** away. Nope. I, too, a staunch defoliator of the last two Ring flicks, was blown through the back of my chair. Holy God, I’d been converted.
No. Not really. The story still doesn’t interest me much. A bunch of pale ***gots jonesin’ for a rather nondescript loop of gold that looks like your average wedding band? Please. I don’t have time for J.R.R.Tolkien’s hippie musings. My Microsoft spellchecker doesn’t even recognize his name. I’m in love with Pete Jackson’s visionary palate. And I could stare at this thing all day long. And that’s why, from the very beginning, I’ve been torn between two separate worlds.
LOTR fans think their party is an all-inclusive one. I’ve never seen such well mannered, soft spoken, intelligent people in all my life. I don’t have anything bad to say about them, except, “Wake up! Not everybody digs this story. When you write your little reviews, and say that “no one can deny its power!” You’re wrong. I’ve come across plenty of people who say, and I can tell they’re not saying this out of spite because the say it in such a nonchalant, not-too-concerned manner, “Eh, I don’t really care for it. It’s kind of long and boring.” And that’s what it is to a lot of us. Kind of long and boring. Deal with it.
We’re not whispering that because we want to be cool, or because we’re pretending to be indifferent. We’re saying it because it’s the truth. That’s how we honestly feel. How come you oat-haulers can’t live with that fact? I don’t call you an inbred redneck hooker when you claim that From Dusk till Dawn is a bad film (it’s one of my favorites). Someone doesn’t like the Rings? So what. If you care that much, you need deep-seated therapy. Take me for instance; I just said I loved the movie, but maybe not for the same reasons you did. Now I get the hatemails, “You’re too stupid to understand the impact of the story. Without Tolkien and the universe he created, we wouldn’t have Star Wars or Elves, or any mythical type of fairyland. You big jerk! You didn’t even talk about what happened in the movie, you just went on about this and that. You’re a dum-dum head.”
Though I enjoyed this film greatly, I felt the beginging was a little dry and monotonous. My biggest gripe comes with the thirty minute epilogue. Jesus, I didn’t think it would ever end. The Maitreyaplex broke into three choruses of premature applause.
It goes something like this: After a little liquid encouragement (the hobbit sipping from his musty mug of Ale right before approaching the girl garnered more vocal praise than any of the action scenes put together) Sam dates the love of his life, Sam gets married, and Sam has kids. All the ****sexual mythos we’ve seen pointed directly at our poor Samwise are washed away. But that Frodo. He’s still suspect. Watch the way he sadly lingers in pangs of depression near the end, sitting, watching his buddy score. His face seems to say, “I thought we had something special. I thought we were lover buddies in the communal sense.” Yeah, every one thought Sam was Queer as Folk, but it actually turns out to be Frodo.
I say I had a problem with the length of this closer. That was before I went back and watched the Special Extended Edition. Then, it made sense. This collection of Shire-hood moments perfectly matches, and is a bookend, to the opening moments found in Fellowship of the Ring. There are certain set-ups in the Extended Cut that are paid off in this third installment’s theatrical version. Things happen in Return of the King that don’t make much sense unless you’ve gone back and watched the longer edit of Fellowship. It just kind of assumes you’ve seen it. And if you haven’t, too bad.
My favorite aspect of three is that, and I don’t know if it comes across this way in the books because I’ve never read them ), Jackson takes a secondary character and turns him into what I feel is the main hub of the story. Samwise, played by Sean Astin, is the real star of this picture. He’s the real hero, and Peter shows him in that light. We all know Chewbacca is cooler than Han Solo, but he’s never out in front, reaping the glory. I love that Jackson pushes Sam to the forefront of Return of the Kings. Even though the little guy may seem reluctant and modest, Peter makes **** sure the kid gets all the credit he’s due. Bravo, Samwise. You, son, kick ass.
I don’t need to tell you to go see Lord of the Rings. If you’re reading this, you’ve already seen it. Here, take my money…Go see it again…
