I enjoyed “The Hobbit“. It was as if the two hours and forty-something minutes was too short to have had the pleasure of taking part in an adventure.
Not because of the HFR, nor the excellent cast and locations, although these aspects of the movie did add to the joy of watching and unravelling the whole Middle Earth tales and adventures. It was the way the stories were retold by Peter Jackson, or the visuals the whole outfit created this beautiful, sprawling, I should say, rambling place full of character and characters, if you know what I mean.
But I always get ahead of myself. Maybe because I woke up in the middle of night and felt the need to write these thoughts down.
Let me tell you something first about my love for stories.
It was the library during my high school days. Eastern Laguna Colleges, where most of my older brothers and uncles and aunts went, have this large library that was being cared for by only two person, headed by Mrs.Coladilla, who lets me hang around and look at old magazines, newspapers and yes, books. It was in these dusty halls that I found tattered copies of graphic books about Robinson Crusoe, The Swiss Family Robinson, Sherlock Holmes, among others, all illustrated by our own comics artists. There were really ancient, leatherbound books that were restricted, but the fiction books were my regular haunts. I was reading Diary of a Madman, Flowers for Algernon, Hitchcock Short Stories, and there was this particularly thick, with the covers frayed, the color faded, and some obvious pages torn or missing. The book was abit scary, because by then I have already seen Never Ending Story and I really am not in the mood should Falcor suddenly appeared and took me away, because this book looked like what Sebastian had been reading. Sadly, the library is already gone, the school itself was lost from financial battles and mismanagement of its stewards.
Amusing to remember stories in parts. The book was The Lord Of The Rings written by JRR Tolkien, and was since published and re-published before my time. Imagine my delight as I read Gollum and the Ring Wraiths, names I only heard from Led Zeppelin songs, from LP records of a well-off cousin. Jimmy Page wrote and Robert Plant sang about this book! I can’t believe it. My own ideas and concepts about dwarves and elves were further broadened by the genealogy of Tolkien [just recently a young friend gave me a copy of The Children of Hurin, another treasure from the deep trunk of Tolkien stories]. Back hen I refused to believe our own Duendes are just a bunch of small human like creatures with beards and pointy hats. And this book is about Middle Earth, The Shire, Misty Mountains, Wizards, goblins, orcs, my mind was already brimming with images of forests and fields, of rivers and castles.
But The Lord Of The Rings movies, and now, The Hobbit is an entirely different and altogether new experience. You see, for me, a story is good if it is worth retelling. And like Stephen King telling stories from Derry, a kind of kinship and familiarity , you get into the story and take part in it. And like good tales of adventure, the retelling makes it better, in the way the storyteller can be speaking the words based on experiences he had when he read or listened to that story.
I relive my youth with every book that that was turned into a movie, and it was a fantastic retelling of stories from long ago, a different view of the tale, and I should tell you all about it .
To be continued . . . .