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Worse, this technique turns Frodo, the wizard Gandalf and the other main characters into simplified humans. Their personalities do not come from within but from behind, and they rarely seem anything other than what they are: acrylic images superimposed on something more real. Only occasionally does the action flower into independent life: when Frodo and a friend try to row the same boat in different directions; when the intrepid hobbits meet up with Gollum, a creature reduced by his former possession of the evil ring into broad, burlesque servility.
Lacking a firm center in Frodo's story, the film plays itself out as a bewildering parade of elves, dwarves, ores, trolls and talking trees. Exposition flies by in jabberwockian confusion. Even the most dedicated students of Tolkien may not recall instantly what Edoras and Isengard are, and nonreaders are likely to lose their way early in the journey. At the end, Frodo has still not reached the fire mountain in Mordor where his destiny lies, and the prospect of a sequel echoes during the closing credits. That might not be a bad idea. But if Frodo picks up any more dwarves when he continues, he would be smart to choose Grumpy, Sneezy and Doc.
Paul Gray