The 12:01 a.m. show wasn’t my idea.
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I wanted to see “The Return of the King,” the last chapter in the “Lord of the Rings” trilogy, but not necessarily the very first midnight showing. I could wait–and it turns out I had to when the film caught fire at 1:23, but more on that later.
There we were, late Tuesday, heading to the movies. Someone had bought tickets for the group, and it’s hard to say no when the host has Elvish inscribed inside his wedding band.
We arrived at the theater early and I started looked around for the spectacle–whole clans costumed as hobbits and wizards, ring and sword reproductions, that type of thing.
I’d heard that the Trilogy Tuesday afternoon screenings (all three “Lord of the Rings” films, back to back) had enjoyed a dramatic fan turnout before the show. Witnesses to the spectacle said the hard-core Tolkienites showed up in Frodo cloaks, holding photos from their summer vacations in New Zealand.
But at this theater, just before the big show–nothing unusual. The crowd was large, and skewed a little younger, but it was late, when most responsible adults are in bed.
We walked through the lobby (where the most startling thing was the length of the popcorn line) and filed into the theater. From our seats up front, I turned and scoured the crowd. Again, nothing odd or freakish in sight, except one lone guy with greasy hair, way in the back row, who was doing his best version of Viggo Mortensen’s Aragorn.
The scene doesn’t belong to the hard-core fan anymore. These films, after three years in the limelight, have broad cultural appeal. The characters, the earnest themes and the beautiful, epic movie-making has captured those who never thought they’d be drawn in by fantasy.
Including me. As I’ve admitted before, I’ve never read the trilogy. When New Line Cinema announced that Peter Jackson would lead this big project, friends and Tolkien fans rhapsodized over the news. I didn’t think much of it. But after the first film, “Fellowship of the Ring,” I was hooked.
Maybe that’s why the audience late Tuesday seemed so ordinary, except for an anticipatory buzz. Just a bunch of movie fans, impatient to see a good flick, growing irritated with the pre-show on-screen question: “Which of these films did Cate Blanchett not appear in?”
Finally the lights went down and the audience cheered. Off we went on a 3-hour, 30-minute journey to Mordor, where Frodo must destroy the ring.
But at 1:23 a.m., as Gollum’s eyes glinted wildly from a craggy mountain ledge, the picture blurred and then bubbled, until only a bright, white screen remained. Stillness. The crowd let out a collective gasp.
Noooooo!
The lights went up and everyone jumped to their feet. Did the film burn? Is the projector on fire? Oh. My. God.
One guy ran down the stadium theater steps and sprinted out of the theater. Was he our savior? The audience erupted in applause.
I tried to reassure my friends: “Hey, it’s only a few frames, they should be able to rethread the film.”
They just stared back.
The pre-show quiz flashed back on the screen. “It’s Titaaanic,” one woman wailed at the photo of Cate Blanchett.
Just when I started comparing the projectionist to Steve Bartman, it hit me: To some degree, we’ve all become “LOTR” Superfans. Finally the theater darkened and the screen flickered. We all sat back down.
So no, my name will never appear in the 20-minute segment of fan club credits on the extended DVD, but I may actually watch the director’s cut.
As long as I’m allowed to finish this one, my precious.
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