**Spoilers**
I'm not sure if this is the kind of film that people watch to find out what will happen, but I tell both the what, and the how, and speculate on the why.
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On Saturday night, as part of an anniversary/Mother's Day weekend, my husband and I saw the film Tolkien. Leading up to watching the film, I have been engaged in conversations surrounding it, with an article I wrote even being connected to the film in a way, which is pretty exciting, as I feel like a "real scholar" or "part of the dialogue," which is something I perhaps told my students was the point of scholarly publishing, but which I only half--if half--believed in.
Because I had been following the reviews, I was not expecting accuracy. And that bothered me only to the point that there became a divide in the conversation between the people who would remain loyal to the family and to John Garth (whose first review seemed modulated by interview comments after the Tolkien Estate disavowed the film), and the people who were willing to give the film a chance on its own terms. While my preference is for accuracy, the backlash against the film rather swayed me--I now wanted to like it. Also, it's huge that there even IS a Tolkien biopic. And that it's smart AND sensationalist (even if it IS sensationalist).
One point of dissatisfaction with the dialogue surrounding the film is that I want to know why the Tolkien family has disavowed the film. As in, specifically. There are reasons I could guess, but they would be just that--guesses. Speculation. Knowing what, particularly, the family found offensive would give some insight into what the film got wrong--though I know it could be turned into "what the family is trying to hide." It always does. And, well--the family doesn't want us to know the details. That's the point, really. And while I understand that, it does cause some problems for scholarship and understanding. Mistaken assumptions can't really be corrected.
The best compliment I can give to a film is that it made me think. And this one certainly did. It made me think about film and myth and narrative--about story. And what story the filmmakers were trying to tell. And at the end of the day, the story that the film was trying to tell was not, in fact, the one I thought I was going to see. But let me address the individual narratives first...
I say narratives, because there were several. And these, as I will discuss them initially, are the stories of aspects of Tolkien's life--his war experience; being orphaned and taken away from the country; his courtship of Edith; his school friendships; his education. These, I would argue, are simply supporting narratives. They are not the story that the film sets out to tell. But as these are what we look for when we read or watch "A Biography," these are naturally going to be the usual points of focus and criticism.
Tolkien's War Experience or The Fever Dream
The Great War is used in Tolkien in a way that is interesting and compelling, though a bit overdone. It is the frame narrative, but it provides that artistic framework for the filmmakers without dominating the other narratives. Rather, it helps to keep those other narratives separate--mimicking the "separation of spheres" that is--since Humphrey Carpenter's biography of Tolkien--characteristic of the author's life as we know it. And yet, it holds things together and communicates the Story--the main Story--which is not a story of a life, but of a creation.
The war narrative is, in many ways, done very well. It is visually stunning. Having recently seen Peter Jackson's They Shall Not Grow Old, I couldn't help comparing the images that Jackson was working with--the actual footage from World War I--with the depiction of the war in Tolkien. And the comparison holds up. The filmmakers have also chosen to dramatize the influence of the war on Tolkien's creation of The Lord of the Rings--a fact acknowledged by the critics and, famously, by Tolkien who, in disavowing the influence of WWII (a matter of scholarly debate) affirms the interest of WWI. Images of the war are set up in ways that evoke scenes of Frodo in Mordor; ghosts of ring-wraiths flit in and out of the battlefield along with other figures from Middle-earth in sequences that are reminiscent of the "Tale of the Three Brothers" sequence from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part One, albeit more realistic (?), being set against the backdrop of a war that actually did occur.
In this narrative, which contains scenes that are cut throughout the film as a whole, reality and illusion are conflated. This, in fact, is one of the problems. I believe I could have more easily, as a viewer, suspended disbelief and enjoyed the sequences, had I not clearly been expected to swallow other things that were clearly fantasy--the presence of a batman named Sam (referring not to a person, but to Tolkien's admission that Sam Gamgee functions--among other things--as a quintessential batman from WWI), and the wandering of a British officer suffering from trench fever all over the front line and in and out of trenches during the Battle of the Somme. Had Edith, bending over Tolkien in the hospital, said to him, "That must all have been a dream," making the whole thing, including the wandering and the batman Sam, a fever dream, I would have remained in the illusion to a greater degree than having to accept as "reality" the fiction of Tolkien wandering, looking for something that could not be found, amid the chaos of the war. The fact that Tolkien uses vaguely prophetic dreams to great effect throughout The Lord of the Rings, a fact that I don't think is lost on the filmmakers. That lost "something"--Tolkien's friend G.B. Smith, also a solder-- provides the strongest bond between the war narrative and the other narrative(s) of the film.
The Lost Family/Orphan Narrative
Having set up the 'friendship' narrative, I nevertheless have to move chronologically, or this narrative will be completely lost--as it almost is. The lost family/orphan narrative is the first sub-narrative, if you will, introduced as a flashback away from the chaos of the war. Here, the bleakness of the war contrasts with the countryside and (if memory serves) the very different battle tactics of capture the flag and wooden swordplay. Sadly, the happiness of living in the country is about to end, as Mabel Tolkien has been forced to announce that they will be moving because of "impecuniary circumstances." The very short sequence that follows establishes the affection in the small family (John Ronald, Hilary, and their mother) and Mabel Tolkien's own influence (which might have been more linguistic and less fantastic than the film implies, but it's nice anyway). There is no tinge of the purported irrationality that sources attribute to Tolkien's attachment to his mother. There is beauty and affection... and swift loss. And while this is, no doubt, appropriate, since his time with her was so fleeting, this is a lost opportunity--to show a strong, intellectually robust female influence (though this was made clear in a small way) and also to give us beauty for the journey (as Tolkien does, even in Mordor). The connection to the war is tenuous--all soldiers think of their mothers? Too soon, she is dead, and we are not given the cause, though it was known that she had diabetes--there was simply no treatment, and the impact of nutrition was not known. Tolkien did not regret that she could have been cured by doctors had they had money; I do seem to recall a lament from his letters that they were eating poorly, and that poverty did hasten her death.
There is a split here, and two divergent narratives erupt: the education/schoolboy narrative, and the courtship narrative.
The Schoolboy Narrative
This narrative has the closest connection to the war narrative--because boyhood friends have become comrades-in-arms--and so assumes co-importance with that framing device. This narrative is one of the more delightful in the film--reminiscent as it is of Dead Poets Society, which it resembles in the cameraderie centered around a belief in literature as important and vital, and in the coming-of-ageness of it all (including challenging of purportedly oppressive parental authority), but without the dynamic role model, which seems to be unnecessary. It also has a semi-pagan feel that is not quite out of line with Dead Poets, either, with the chanting of Helheima and throwbacks to that goddess who became their muse. It seems an odd choice, here, for the very Christian boys to take a goddess associated with something like Hell (in the movie's explanation) as their Muse, but it does not spoil the thing; it merely registers as a missed opportunity.
As the friendship matures, there are some other strange additions--excursions with the purpose of "wooing women"; Edith's engagement to another as a means of establishing how the T.C.B.S. would always be there for each other. Here we simply see how the fabrications and alterations operate in service of the myth-building: boys bond over these things, apparently--at least, in the eyes of the filmmakers.
I quibble a bit with the strong suggestion that G.B. Smith was gay, and in love with Tolkien. This features in two scenes--one with Tolkien and Smith; one with Tolkien and Smith's mother, after Smith's death. I quibble not because it's not possible; C.S. Lewis waxes poetic (or something) about homosexuality at boys' schools--and I think that we are meant to think of Lewis here, as we are meant to think of the Kolbitar society when we see the T.C.B.S. (The film is not for the uninitiated Tolkien fan.) But we do not necessarily know this about Smith--at least to my knowledge--and it seems problematic to ascribe a sexual identity to a real person who is unlikely to be known to most except through a film. However, it is subtle, and may be made much or little of, as critics and viewers decide. Having Smith depicted as gay can add meaning to the lost-comerade-in-arms motif--albeit a historical stereotypical one that limits male friendship. I wonder, here, whether this narrative choice would have been counteracted by depiction of the boys' Christianity--or whether it would have been made more poignant.
The Courtship Narrative
Enter the "lovely Miss Bratt." Once again, I thought that there were parts of the courtship narrative that were quite fine. When Tolkien first sees/hears her at the piano, he is smitten immediately, and it is lovely to behold. The finest acting was arguably done by the youngest actors. Edith dances for Tolkien in the woods--admittedly out of chronology--and his devotion is clear and the scene is set for his creation of Beren and Lúthien (though again, if we don't already know this, we will not get it from the film). Edith has spunk and personality, which is a good thing, since her "vivacity" (Tolkien's word) is usually overlooked in favor of her timidity or her nagging. She has a sense of humor, even in her self-consciousness about being dressed differently from her fellow customers (no hat); she initiates throwing sugar cubes in their hats (which is something she and Tolkien actually did).
Some critics have suggested that the film makes her too much Tolkien's intellectual equal. To which I would reply--you don't have to be a master of all languages in order to ponder the word "hand." Someone can be thoughtful, and yet not a genius. And genius doesn't find its equal often enough to be able to wait for it in a spouse. For me the problem is not her discussion of words with Tolkien; it is the very, very strong scene in which we see Edith brought into, then abruptly removed from the T.C.B.S. because she shows the potential to intellectually engage Tolkien's school friends, and he will have none of it. In this scene we see a mini-myth: the myth that Tolkien rigidly enforced Edith's separation from his friends. This is a feature of virtually all writing about Tolkien and Edith. It is based on the policies of the Inklings, and in particular of C.S. Lewis, and the assumption that Lewis's particular brand of bigotry toward women, and his strong and firm belief (pre-Joy), articulated in The Four Loves, that women could only destroy the society of men must certainly be shared by his friend. We see this in action as the T.C.B.S. are tongue-tied in her presence. And then we see her break past that to engage Wiseman in a conversation about Wagner, which she has apparently craved her entire life, and which Tolkien has denied her (and always will deny her once they are married--so the scholarly wisdom runs).
In this we see very clearly what others have pointed out: this is not a documentary, and it is not intended to teach people the facts about Tolkien. It is a film that, ironically enough, speaks into the heart of the people who seem to be producing the strongest negative reactions to the film: Tolkien scholars. This is the Tolkien narrative that has been created over time. The factual inaccuracies are in fact less important than what it tells us about what we believe about Tolkien and Edith.
The Making of the Professor
My very favorite moments of the film take place in Oxford, away from the company of the T.C.B.S. (for the most part), and involve Tolkien's discovery of what will be his vocation. After a (highly unlikely) drunken night on the green, shouting up at the faculty in a manner very reminiscent of Frank in Educating Rita, albeit in an invented language. One professor--Professor Wright, as it turns out--looks up the young Tolkien, here adrift and astray, on the verge of being sent down as uninterested in Greek, and more or less taunts him into proving himself, which results in Tolkien's transfer to Wright's course. The interaction with Wright is one of the gems of the film, and if I'm not very much mistaken, the accent given to Wright in the film bespeaks his working class origins.
The Myths
In telling a story about Tolkien--and in analyzing how a story about Tolkien has been told--what could be more appropriate than evoking myth? Here, I will use "myth" in a sense that is substantially Tolkienian. Myths are stories that we tell to help us understand truths about the world. To be fair, this is probably Tolkien moderated by Pratchett with the capital-T "Truth" of one and the cynical humor of the other stripped away. Be that as it may--filmmakers are myth-makers, and what you are seeing when you see Tolkien is a product not of discrete myth-making, but collective myth-making. Quibble as the scholars may, what we are seeing dramatized are some of the myths most dear to scholarship. Should I confess here that I am a bit of an iconoclast?
The first myth is not a myth, but an observation about men and women in the Victorian era--how the
It has become a sort of origin myth for feminist scholars of post-industrial patriarchy. Herein lies the "angel of the house"--the mythic counterpart. I don't mean to challenge that designation. It's a useful image, particularly pedagogically. And there certainly was a phenomenon of how men and women came to have dominion in certain spaces. Like all observations of this kind, it can be overstated and permitted to dominate all analyses.
The schoolboy narrative and the courtship narrative are separate--this is important. There is even a dramatic turning point (completely fabricated) that emphasizes how separate they are--or are meant to be: the meeting of the T.C.B.S. Here is a moment when the facts are incorrect, but the drama results in a forced separation of spheres. Which leads to Edith as oppressed wife.
Edith is shown to have talent for music, and suffers constraints under Mrs. Faulkner that were based in reality. This reality of her personality becomes morphed into a passion for intellectual discussion of music, which is not a necessary consequence of a passion for playing music, even if that passion comes from a deep understanding of the music itself. With music in particular, a deep connection to the music does not demand the ability to articulate that connection. Humphrey Carpenter asserts that Edith should have had a brilliant career in music. This has been accepted as truth. Tolkien is seen to be the means of ruining her career goals. These assumptions need challenging: she did, in fact, engage herself to another. Why was she not out developing her career? This is a complicated question that has a lot to do with the options available to women at the time, her particular circumstances, and class. But in Tolkien, Edith wants to discourse intellectually on music. She is a music teacher when engaged to another--as she tells Tolkien. These narrative choices reinforce the idea that she has willingly or unwillingly sacrificed her ambition for Tolkien's.
There is another myth that involves Edith--the myth of Tolkien's creative and scholarly impotence. Why did he work so hard and long and not accomplish more than he did? There are many answers to this question--including the extra work he took in to support his family. And certain demanding friends. But the film shows us a Tolkien who stays in his study and neglects his family and still does not produce anything. Edith nags him into producing, apparently. Which leads to the overarching myth...
The BIG MYTH: The Myth of Creativity
The big thing that no one is talking about is this: Tolkien is not a narrative of Tolkien's life. It is a Myth of the Creative Process. Truly, it's the only way it can be understood. And this is a very interesting thing, because it is based in the struggle to figure out how someone who had such an outwardly normal, boring life could have created such a profound work of fantasy. This is a struggle that may originate with Humphrey Carpenter, who asks the question more or less in those terms--how can this comical little uninteresting guy produce this great work of fantasy literature? Or it simply might originate in our own concepts of genius and artistic production. Genius and insanity are separated by a thin line, we are told. Creativity requires torment. Perhaps we are moving past these concepts, but I'm not so sure. Lacking other inspiration, Carpenter plays up domestic conflict. Tolkien the biopic chooses the war--a better choice. As the framing device, and the manifestation of Tolkien's creative production (ghosts of ringwraiths and whatnot), the War pulls in his other experiences to turn them into something worthy. What becomes problematic is that we receive a formula for Middle-earth. War + linguistic genius + love (+ oh yeah friendship) = LOTR. Or perhaps the War is the catalyst. This is different from seeing the person as the product of his experiences. Since we know that these experiences are not actually Tolkien's, the effect is that the person is negated. In the end, this is, for me, what I emerge with from the film: the question of how we understand genius and creativity, and why Tolkien seems not to fit in with anyone's--and this includes mainstream academia (looking at you, unnamed department of English)--concept of what a creative genius should be.
