I went to a Lord of the Rings and Hobbit movie Marathon, forgot which planet I lived in

Tales/a love letter from a fan to 24 hours of a Middle Earth cinematic extravaganza

I hadn’t brought a big enough backpack. That was clear after coming out of the supermarket with multiple bags and just a bicycle for transport. The theater was only a kilometer away but it wasn’t a good sign. A double feature is one thing. There’s time afterward to continue the night (or day). But a six film, twenty four hour saga is absolutely another. It requires preparation, commitment, strategies to remain awake, to be aware, of choosing the right seat, the right blanket and robe. To have a pillow and drinks and preferably a partner to come along with you.

I had none of these things (apart from some apples and bananas because those two foods equate to a healthy option for me).

A little bit about where this cinematic feast is being held. The Astor Theatre in Melbourne has been continuously playing films since 1936. A single theatre format in the classical design, it evokes the romanticism of going to the movies, when it used to be an event, instead of just something to do, which is such a sad thing to consider. From the red neon light of the sign to the interior design with a staircase, classical movie posters, gothic furniture and a cat named Duke (for real) the Astor is pure cinema nirvana.

So as I sit here at the cinema bar called The Overlook (of course) at the astounding Astor Theatre in Melbourne, listening to the vibrations of the traffic nearby ripple through the wine glasses hanging upside down, making them quiver, like the air has been electrified for this night alone, I am struck by the gargantuan undertaking I’ve put myself in for. And the very real chance that I’ll forget most of my thoughts once I stumble out of the cinema and into (fingers crossed) sunlight.

As Elrond states to Aragorn ‘this is your test. Every path you have trod through. Through wilderness, through war, has led to this moment.’ And for me, this marathon mirrors Aragorn’s culmination. No other films have had as massive an effect on me as The Lord of the Rings trilogy. I wouldn’t be writing these words if it weren’t for those films. I am here for this moment. To be in the cinema watching these films unfold — taking me back to my childhood (at least for LOTR) where I had my mind blown, wonder instilled in every molecule of my being. When I first came face to face with the magic of cinema.

Will I last? Will I savour all the details and emotions and thrills of these films? Will the strain break me? Will I be able to form coherent sentences by the time it’s all over? What will the future look like when I emerge into the light?

The Hobbit Trilogy

An Unexpected Journey suffers from the strain of trying to make The Hobbit three films. It’s really not a story built for it. But it cannot be said enough how perfect Martin Freeman is as Bilbo. No one was more suited to be a hobbit than Freeman: so quintessentially English that I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s more earl grey tea than man.

The prequel trilogy is littered with flaws and misguided execution, unable to build any real sense of stakes or connection with the huge cast of characters. As it progresses it becomes more of a checklist of things to mark off instead of a cohesive story. The pacing is all over the map, the CGI drops in and out of quality that seems more glaring by the year, and Bilbo is gradually pushed to the side as the action revolves around The Lonely Mountain in The Desolation of Smaug and The Battle of the Five Armies.

That it was never meant to compare to the The Lord of the Rings is a given, and it does soften the blow a little. It feels more like a story of adventure being told — with all manner of embellishment involved as Gandalf points out in a meta piece of dialogue — instead of one that has more of the emotional weight and narrative depth that was The Lord of the Rings. As a fan, it did feel somewhat hollow and unearned in the emotional investment but the joy and treasure to be found is returning to this most wondrous of worlds. It’s like settling into your favourite chair at home, with your favourite book, maybe a glass of wine, your favourite meal, and some tunes playing. It feels like home, no matter what the gloss is on the surface.

When a more playful and winking Gandalf first appears in front off Bilbo relaxing on his bench outside Bag End I couldn’t help but smile. Through the films there are moments such as these — Bilbo deciding to go on an adventure, the arrival at Rivendell, any time Galadriel is on screen, the beautiful score by a returning Howard Shore that’s at once lifted on memory and delving into new territory, and most thrillingly, Bilbo’s riddle game with Gollum, and his back and forth with Smaug: created in a swirl of such egotistical and maniacal magnificence by Benedict Cumberbatch and an army of CGI wizards. Those two sequences alone give validation to the trilogy. They were the two big moments that needed to be executed perfectly, and they thankfully were.

A more pressing concern is that I’ve run out of my cheese and bacon rolls as well as my honeycomb maltesers. There’s still twenty one hours to go. Things are going to become expensive. Gandalf is getting his gravitas on. Bilbo is being constantly harried, and Thorin is brooding at a level unseen since Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights. The man needs to settle just a tad.

A more more pressing concern are the two couples who are vomit-inducingly hipster sitting in front and to the left of me that will NOT shut up. Speaking in in pretentious, faux excited tones, or just chatting like they’re at their loft share house in Fitzroy vaping and waxing on about whatever new trend they though they were already a part of but realistically they’re just recycling what everyone’s done before.

But anyway… they’ll keep at it for the entire night. And they know that we all know that they’re annoying and frustrating and slightly taking away from the power of the experience. Like they’re here for a laugh and searching for a cool story to tell their buds later on. Every time there’s some action or a reveal or revelation they just have to remark upon it loud enough for everyone to hear. It’s obvious that they want to be heard. But why? It vexes me.

So the film moves on, I’m going strong. Not tired at all, aware of my dwindling supplies, but nonetheless fully invested in the marathon and the long haul. the eagles arrive, the day is saved and The Desolation of Smaug begins after a thirty minute break.

There’s more zip to the middle entry. More purpose and urgency. And I can feel that energy in the cinema, we’re getting to a lot of the action and the meat of the story — oh and there’s Legolas. The first bite of exhaustion creeps in. I’ve got pain through my chest for some reason — part of me considers it a heart attack but I quell that concern. I check around the cinema. It’s populated, not sparse. People have brought blankets and large backpacks. Most are in groups. Some solo adventurers like myself I spot here and there.

One guy treats it like a boxing match. Once the second installment finishes, he mutters to himself about taking it one film at a time, this one then that, counting them off, then checking in with the usher or whoever’s working the confectionary stand. He bustles around the foyer, others rest on the couches, or stretch out. Others go outside for a smoke, or refuel their rations. It is a lovely night.

The Battle of the Five Armies is the shortest of the trilogy and yet it feels like the one that drags the most. Smaug’s death is the prelude, and it sort of cheapens the characters presence and purpose to be honest. We spent two films with his draconic shadow lingering over the adventure and then it’s quickly dispensed with before the subtitle of the film appears. That’s what happens when you expand on a smaller self-contained story with more connective tissue to the previous trilogy. But what has me in high spirits initially, although I may be remembering this incorrectly, is that the hipster couples have not appeared yet -

Oh dammit, here they are. But they’re a little less intrusive, a factor that’s starting to spread throughout the rest of us. I’m feeling that exhaustion with more weight now. It’s moving toward midnight. Sitting in one spot for hours on end, in a darkened room with all that noise and all that food being digested is taking a toll on me. But I remain resolute. I think I had a tea during one of the breaks, and half considered coffee and red bulls but thought better of it for now. I’m not delirious just yet.

The Lord of the Rings Trilogy

There is a palpable excitement in the theatre. This is the big one. There are shouts and claps and a smattering of ‘YEAHS!!’ as The Fellowship of the Ring approaches. Everyone seems to have been boosted with an energy from anticipating arguably the greatest film trilogy of all time beginning. It’s already past midnight, and yet it feels like the marathon is just getting started. These are the extended editions as well. The real deal. The big guns. I can’t stop smiling, my legs are constantly bouncing. I’ve seen these films countless times, but it’s been an age since I saw them at the cinema, on a giant screen, like it was when I was a kid.

My current state is beyond exhaustion — I had to take a nap earlier and prayed that I didn’t sleep through the entire trilogy. I don’t really know what to expect, how I’ll react, if I can be enthralled by it with the growing amount of sleep deprivation at hand. I start thinking about all the ways I could make a film about a person going through sleep deprivation and realise I’m just stuck at the bottom of the steps leading to the upper levels of the theater.

It begins and I’m instantly awake. This is more like home than anything that’s come before. Everything feels like an instant classic. Fellowship puts up a tonne of information and action in the first ten minutes that immediately highlights how brilliantly paced and written it, and the entire trilogy, really is. Peter Jackson and his team managed to wrestle this ‘unfilmable’ book into something not only coherent, but game changing. Over the last thirty years, the trilogy may be the landmark achievement in cinema on any number of levels.

Watching Fellowship into The Two Towers into The Return of the King is like an out of body experience. With the hours ticking over and my mind fragmenting, the way I’m viewing it is more of projecting my recollection of watching these films on top of the reality of seating there in the cinema taking it in. I don’t even know if that makes sense, and considering the state I’m in, I don’t even know what makes sense anymore. It’s a flood of visuals, emotions, sounds and actions that I’m somehow managing to reform into something with focus based on my memory so that I can have a semblance of connection to the immediate surroundings. I’m clearly off the rails at this point.

Everyone is enraptured by it, all of us struck together by a common bond, a joyous and draining ordeal that we all willingly signed up for. There are tears for me where there always was. Some of joy, A LOT of sadness. Gandalf’s fall, Boromir’s death and Frodo standing on the bank of the Anduin, ‘so do all who live to see such times…’. The Last March of the Ents, ‘to the King…’ , ‘don’t you know your Sam…’. Admittedly The Two Towers doesn’t have as much of the emotional….payoff than the others, but that is by design instead of a fault in the film’s structure.

Where Fellowship grounded the world and built up the characters, imbuing them with humanity and relevancy, and Return was the grand, over 4 hour emotional payoff, The Two Towers was tasked with hauling the story with no beginning and no end to where it needed to be, succeeding stupendously. The staggering Helms Deep battle was unlike anything I’d ever seen before. When I first watched it I thought there was no anything could possibly top it (of course Return of the King had other ideas).

Things get a little blurry from here on out. I know I was there. I know I was taking in the experience but the specifics of things have fallen away at this point. Sunlight appeared when the final breaks were invoked. Coffee and sustenance taken. The home stretch arriving. I remember a review for Return of the King referring to it as a marathon run at a sprint. And so this is where I was at. Sprinting with legs and mind past the limits of exhaustion and coherence, to the finish line.

I take a deep breath before the final plunge. And so does the third part of the trilogy. An hour goes by as the final pieces are put into place. By the time The Siege of Minas Tirith begins and the battle of the Pelennor Fields is underway I am positively levitating. The gargantuan moments are too numerous to count. Moments that have not been seen before or since. The catapults, the Nazgul attacking like dive bombers, the vast, vast, vast horde or Orcs, Gandalf and the Witch King facing of, THAT Ride of the Rohirrim (in tears by this point), ‘courage Merry, courage for our friends’, then the Mumakil arrival, ‘reform the line, reform the line!’, charging the Mumakil, that insane combat, Aragorn’s arrival, Legolas taking down a Mumakil and it’s squad single handedly — not to mention the spine tingling sequence with Shelob the Great, Gandalf and Pippin’s conversation on death and the Undying Lands.

God, I need to take a breath.

What strikes me is how so many epics films have failed to capture the epicness of battle on this scale, and how singular the achievement made by The Return of the King is in this respect. And we haven’t reached the crescendo yet. It is really a two and a half hour final act played out at breakneck speed.

The finale of the finale comes around and I’m clearly an emotional wreck — from the films and from the lack of sleep and terrible nutrition choices. I’m a blubbering mess as Aragorn turns to the rest of the fellowship and utters ‘for Frodo’, when the ring is finally destroyed by Gollum’s accidental act, when Frodo reaches for Sam, when Barad Dur falls and Mt Doom explodes; when the Fellowship are in tears at what they believe is Frodo and Sam’s death, and finally… ‘I can see the Shire…’. At that point, I’m done. A ball of ugly crying, even though I’m trying to keep it together. I can hear sobs elsewhere. We’re all having a moment.

The extended endings is the gradual farewell we needed. Watching the films back to back to back really brings the coda into itself. In a way it reflects on that first time watching Return of the King, after it was all over, wondering where do we go from here. I remember vividly thinking months before and after the film opened that there was nothing left for me when it came to the movies (I was thankfully very wrong on that). But the sentiment of finality remained. It was bittersweet, tearful, happy, inevitable, carried along by Shore’s lovely score.

‘Well, I’m back.’

And it was over.

I sat there, completely exhausted. My body wanted to crumble inward. My mind had one or two sparks of consciousness left. After the extended credits finished, the crowd cheering with preternatural fervour throughout, I finally stepped away and stumbled outside to a world that hadn’t existed for twenty four hours.

These films changed my life, and when I think back on my almost three decades of existence I can recall maybe three or four more times when I had an experience that had that effect on me. The Lord of the Rings trilogy casts such a huge shadow on what I do, on who I am. Sometimes when people ask me why I love it so much I don’t really know how to explain it. It became a moment that expanded ever outward, catching me at a time when I was stepping out to the precipice of a new world as a teenager, figuring out what I what I enjoyed, what my purpose was, what I could when I grew up. And there it was. That’s the power of fantastic cinema. It can move you in ways you never imagined.

Oh, and those hipster couples can burn in the fires of Mount Doom.