Pummeling the timorous competition and obliterating mountainous ranges of expectation this second installment of J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings epic is yet another inexpressibly omnipresent art work from Peter Jackson’s ingenious, soon-to-be magnum opus franchise. Since 2001’s milestone picture of the fantasy genre (The Fellowship of the Ring) I have since become an ardent Tolkien-ian reading the author’s Fellowship and The Two Towers, and am currently working on The Return of the King, which are all amazing reads by the way, if a minute bit too densely self-contained and its apocryphal history intricately convoluted. Hence, my immense anticipation for this hyperbolically oratorical spectacle: a cadre of whimsical flourishes runs rampant in a ten-fold exercise of cinematic wonderment and special effects. That this triumph is both high-decibel tactlessness and emotional subtly is its oxymoronic achievement in composed grandiosity and searing bloodlust.
While not nearly as expressively evocative as The Fellowship of the Ring, taking only brief and impatient halts for Frodo’s inner struggle, a calamitous theme of heroism in anarchic, irrational war and the duality of evil, both tangible and intangible, becomes the film’s focal point. It’s ceaseless with the invariable belligerence of war, the brooding sense of imminent doom, and the darkness of melancholia. If The Fellowship was comprised of an idiosyncratic simplicity that flowed gorgeously The Two Towers fruitfully grasps the arbitrary convolution of combat, and manifests a seething organism of hostile being and abandonment. Though this be pure fictional fantasy much resonates as an allegorical allusion to antiwar defense and protest, considering Tolkien largely wrote the epic in the wake of World War II, and as exploitative of its violence as Jackson presents it there seems to be some fulfillment of his intent, or lack there of (for the late Tolkien has said the story is purely surface entertainment, which seems unlikely.)
As adaptations of English and Norse mythology often germinate The Two Towers is a flawless visual construction, absolute with towering castle edifices, peripatetic creatures/heroes, and cavalcades of warriors, both deviant and courageous. Virtually Quay-esque in its synthesis of anthropological and mechanical rudiments, opulently postured across expertly crafted panoramas appearing nearly organic, miniature modeled and technologically enhanced. The battle scenes do not disappoint in the least; authentic bravery and animosity fuel a masquerading realism in spite of the incorrigibly implausible nature of much of its idiosyncratic imagination. Perhaps surpassing Fellowship in that brutal aspect The Two Towers is not without its precision of melancholia and dread, when taking the time to examine its emotionally potent source, an area which Fellowship surpassed even its predecessors and contemporaries without breaking a sweat.
A chief, preconceived question that came to mind concerning The Two Towers was its opening. I hoped there wouldn’t be any kind of indulgent recapitulation such as in television series or the same narrated opening sequence from Fellowship and fortunately, save a few shots, there wasn’t. Because the trilogy’s storyline follows a rather concrete, continuing path, much like a television serial, the possibility seemed conceivable. In lieu of that variety Jackson retraces Gandalf’s fall into Moria’s crevice and his downward-falling battle against the fiery Balrog beast. Hobbits Frodo (Elijah Wood) and Sam (Sean Astin), still amid their lonely, exhausting journey to destroy the ring in Mordor, come across the (for the first time, flawless CGI) creature Gollum who becomes their guide to the apocalyptic territory, despite the opposition of Sam. Eventually along their road a troop from Gondor led by Faramir (David Wenham), Boromir’s brother, comes to their aid but soon undergoes the same power temptation that was his sibling’s end.
Aragorn (Viggo Mortensen), Legolas (Orlando Bloom) and Gimli (John Rhys Davies) are on the trail of the diabolical band of Orcs and Uruk-Hai who hold Hobbits Merry (Dominic Monaghan) and Pippin (Billy Boyd) captive as a result of the final battle in Fellowship. After a troop of Rohan riders annihilate these Orcs, a weary Merry and Pippin discover and enlist the aid of an ancient anthropological tree being called an Ent, named Treebeard (also Rhys-Davies) to attack treacherous Saruman’s (Christopher Lee) Isengard fortress. Meanwhile Aragorn and his trio are rejoined by Gandalf (Ian McKellan, now called) the White, the group come to Rohan and convince King Théoden (Bernard Hill) to migrate his small, remaining kingdom into a last frontier barricade called Helm’s Deep, in preparation for a massive Isengard assault.
Evenly delirious and gratuitous scenes ascribe an extended cameo from Elf Arwen Evenstar (Liv Tyler) to contemplate a major, impending Elvish exodus to a never-never land of no return consequently leaving her mortal love, Aragorn. Though they last but a few minutes the sequences are equal parts peculiar and fascinating, which also employs some stunning meditations on the hero’s self-exploration, as Aragorn ruminates his own death. A poetic vision in the tropes of a reflecting Faulkner, despite the utter contrast of context and material, The Two Towers persistently decides upon this mythological sense of lyricism and monolithic staging. Perhaps a fragment pretentious in depicted scenes that require a beforehand reading of the book may confuse some viewers; Jackson once again stresses the underlying, bottom fact: this is a work made by and for Tolkien/fantasy fans, which obviously may or may not be a good thing.
Such multihued variation in narrative process does this adaptation offer, an immense departure from the novel’s dual section structure, expounding the apparent: that the Battle of Helm’s Deep marks the story’s apex of multi-plot collision catastrophe, which the book accounts for in perspective telling, although both are effective in their manners of speaking. Both mediums utilize the most efficient modes in creating a successful vision of fantasy, the book’s means contain quite a different version of the ending, which will certainly develop in The Return of the King’s adaptation. Established in a few crowd-pleasing and dubiously enacted motives the film is not without its intrinsic flaws. However, as conventional crowd-pleasing routines perpetuate this doesn’t strive to artificially disguise its bawdy presence; rather saturating it, and typifying rousing adventures. And boy, does it ever please.