Return of the King. Retour du roi. Vuelta del rey. Rückkehr des Königs. Even writing it in different languages makes me want to just give a fan girl scream until I turn into a puddle of goo. Furry hobbits and scrubby rangers are the water to my Wicked Witch of the West. Disturbing childhood images aside, the third and final Lord of the Rings movie is scheduled to come out on December 17th, 2003. That is only two months and four days from today! Sixty-five days. One thousand five hundred and sixty hours. I could go into microseconds if I really wanted to, I still have my graphing calculator from my one semester of Chemistry that I used to play Tetris on, on the odd hours my time was not spent planning on ways to see how quickly acid goes through actual flesh.
The Return of the King, aptly named, focuses upon the rise to power that Aragorn the ranger (and royal, sexy Heir) goes through in order to gain a little more time for everyone’s favorite angsty hobbit to stop fingering his ring and throw it into the firey pit from where it was spawned. Squeal. The entire cast is back to give a stunning farewell to J.R. Tolkien’s fantasy masterpiece, while simultaneously breaking the hearts of sword wielding fans from around the world that will go to bed every night with the spirit crushing knowledge that Orlando Bloom will hang up his golden wig, and the movie Lord of the Rings will be no more. The trailer, easily seen from the website at www.lordoftherings.net, was released officially only a few days ago, spoiling the fans enough until they begin shouting “we love you Peter Jackson, you wonderful, squat little Australian you!” A dragon with a freaky ring wraith flying through the air, a power struggle between Sam and Gollum for the affection of slightly sliding-off-the-deep-end Frodo, a glimpse of the final battle to end all battles, and there can be heard a collective orgasmic girlish scream through the LotR chatrooms as the trailer ends.
Yes, one of those pre-adolescent screams was mine. Nineteen times over and still counting.
It is time to discuss the most important subject that fans have to consider. Denial is all fun and good when it comes to 80’s hair, but the wonderful and stunning theater experience of our favorite books come to life has certainly become a double-edged orc-sensing Sting. What, gasp, are we to do when December 17th is done, or months later when all of the DVDs with special cut scenes are finally out, and there is nothing more to look forward to than the mild whiff of The Hobbit promises that will begin to torment? Face it, dear friends, a year from now when the air begins to freeze and the foreboding smell of snowflakes is in the air, will we have the One Ring and frantic battles against evil to look forward to? No, instead we shall sit in our rooms, drably replaying the DVD’s again and again while ten hours drain from our lives. And you can keep telling yourself that it will be just once more, that you could quit watching cut scenes of Galandriel’s melodic Elven anytime that you want, but the fact remains that all good things must come to an end. Soon there will be no Matrix, no Legolas, except in colorless memories of times long past.
Chin up, friends, it may be a mournful blessing when the movie graces that big movie screen in the sky, but once it is done, think of all the hours you can spend picking it apart and comparing it to the book, finding reasons why, in fact, your life is not over. In fact, it could be an inspiration. The story of a trilogy that no one understood at the time it was written, and the master director who lovingly paid tribute. I hope to see all of you on December 17th, despite those silly little things they call finals, in full medieval garb (plus wings) and a shiny spear that towers over your head named Orc Crusher. Forsooth, enjoy thy fantasy tale’s tragic ending whilst thou canst, brave ones!