Rewatching "The Lord of the Rings" and the Deliberate Pleasure of Close Reading
How rewatching Peter Jackson's epic trilogy reminded me of the importance of slowing down.
Recently, I’ve been rewatching The Lord of the Rings trilogy, partly because of the news that Warner Bros. is now in the process of developing more Tolkien-related content and partly because, well, because I just love these films so much and wanted to revisit them. I’ll also admit that I was curious as to whether they would hold up well after so many decades, particularly as I haven’t actually watched them in their entirety for several years. However, rather than watching each film in one sitting, I decided to try something a little different: I’d watch them in smaller increments over several nights. At first, I did this because I just didn’t have time to sit through three films that are each over 3 hours long but, after a while, I realized that there was actually something inherently rewarding about this more incremental method of viewing. It brought home to me the inherent value of sustained, deliberate, close reading and watching.
As I watched The Fellowship of the Ring, for example, I found myself dwelling with pleasure on that first 45 minutes or so, when we get to spend time in the beloved Shire, with its green fields and simple residents, even as we’re also aware of the darkness looming on the horizon. When I turned off my TV that first night, I found myself admiring just how skillfully Jackson managed to keep these elements in constant tension, in ways that were startlingly similar to the novel. When I resumed my watching the next night, I was just as in awe of the film’s pacing and its ability to so deftly traverse so much emotional territory, from the more light-hearted moments to those of wrenching pathos. My appreciation for the trilogy has only grown as I’ve similarly rewatched both The Two Towers and The Return of the King. While I may not agree with every change made to the books in the process of adaptation (and, indeed, think some of them are positively boneheaded), taking more time to sit with these films has greatly enhanced my appreciation of them at both the micro and macro levels.
Like many other people in this age of constant content, I often find myself chasing the next big thing on streaming or in theaters or on bookstore shelves. I am, after all, a cultural critic, and being on top of what’s popular is a key part of the work that I do. Unfortunately, this often means that I don’t get to spend as much time with any one thing–whether it be a book, a film, or a TV show–as I would like. Indeed, one of the main reasons I’ve put off rewatching The Lord of the Rings, or reading the book, is because I’ve been so overwhelmed with trying to stay caught up in the new. However, in my rush to do so, I’ve come perilously close to forgetting that very often it is rewarding to revisit the things that we love, even if that means putting off seeking out the new “it” thing.
Indeed, there is something persistently pleasurable about slowing down and taking time to savor the things that we love to read and to watch. In the case of The Lord of the Rings, this allows us to see how effectively the film trilogy captures both the more intimate emotional moments and the grand, epic battles which, even now, are a testament to Jackson’s profound cinematic vision. In both cases, we come to feel what it is to be in this pivotal historical moment, whether that is standing with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli as they stand looking out at the gathered armies of Isengard or cowering with Frodo, Sam, and Gollum in the Dead Marshes as the Nazgûl sweeps by overhead on its fell beast.
Obviously, it’s still possible to feel these things even during a single sitting, but slowing down our reading and viewing experience also allows for a more sustained attention to the act of making meaning, of interpreting what it is that we’re seeing and reading on the screen and on the page. As someone who was trained in the humanities–particularly in English–I love the act of close reading, of paying close attention to the way that the elements of a text, whether a film, a TV show, a book, or a short story, work together to shape our experience and understanding of the fictional world. Think of how, in The Return of the King, during the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, Jackson manages to give us both long shots and close-ups, to help us experience this moment in history, to feel as if we’re immersed in the blood and terror and carnage of a battle for the fate of Middle-earth itself. And, because we have already been led to invest ourselves in this titanic clash, this adds a further layer of meaning and resonance to the trilogy’s good/bad dichotomy. It’s a moral vision that, in its own way, is reassuring, a soothing balm to the cynical 21st century mind.
Taking that extra bit of time to sit with texts deepens and enriches our appreciation for what Jackson, or any creator, is able to bring into the world. As with fine food, there is something inherently rewarding about simply sitting with the things that we love. Doing so gives one a fuller appreciation of the peculiar alchemy that goes into any creative work, that peculiar fusion which allows both the particular and the general to work together to create something moving or beautiful or haunting or devastating. In some strange way, close reading is its own sort of mystic enchantment, reminding us of the power and the complexity of creation.
In a world that is so fixated on change and on pursuing the next thing that will capture our collective attention span, whether it’s the bleak apocalyptic drama The Last of Us or the buzzy new book being praised on BookTok, it’s sometimes very easy to forget the importance of slowing down, of reading and watching deliberately. When we do so, there’s no telling what hidden layers of meaning and beauty we might find.