Month: September 2025

I have done something I did not think I would. My 50^th High School reunion is coming up. When this first arose, I got out my Yearbook, shook off the dust and paged through the class pictures (the mid-70’s was not pretty). Few of the pictures rung a bell, so I decided to skip it. But then the names of those attending started to trickle in and I realized that there were more folks that I wanted to see than I originally thought. So, I committed to go.

I am of mixed minds about this. I have not seen most of these people since graduation day. I do not have a clue where life has taken them. While there is some interest in finding out, to date I have been content to forego that pleasure. At this juncture is it anything more than random curiosity? Is that worth asking and answering the same questions repeatedly for four hours?

The are contradictory fears floating around as well. Will anyone recall who I am? Will I approach someone I want to catch up with only to have them stare at me blankly, glance surreptitiously at my nametag and then feign recollection until they can slink away? Will this confirm how invisible I was in high school?

Conversely, will they remember too much? I know I did and said stupid things back then. Who didn’t? Sadly, those are the memories that stick best in my mind. Are people going to look and me and ask, are you as big a clueless nerd as you were in 12^th grade?

Both fears are unfounded. People will remember me as I remember them. We all will be confronted with ghost-like wraiths that somehow have aged. There will be mutual sticker shock when we are faced with the reality of time passing. Yet reality will not eviscerate the younger spectre that we recall.

Nor will people remember the personal inanities that stick with me. We were all so self-absorbed in our teens that what each of us has retained will focus largely on ourselves, not others. Yes, we will recall general personality traits, but few specifics. My embarrassments will be mine to keep.

But what will we talk about? Once we get past where we live, and a brief synopsis of the last 50 years, what is left? It is unlikely that we indulge in deep explorations of life, love and the pursuit of happiness. I am not even sure that I would want to head down that route with someone that is barely beyond a stranger, even if the conversation heads in that direction.

Consequently, we are unlikely to get any sense as to how we have changed. The question itself presupposes that I discerned who anyone was back then. I cannot pretend that I was prescient. To the contrary, I have no doubt that I was oblivious. I took people as they came and really didn’t dig beneath how my classmates presented themselves. Heck, I am not even sure that I realized you could do that.   

It gets more complex because I am not sure if I can answer that question for myself. It is hard to reenter into that kid with a ready smile masking insecurity. At times I see him peeking through, and at others he seems left far behind. I know my horizons have expanded significantly since High School, but has the basic rugged concept of my personality (to paraphrase George Harrison in “A Hard Day’s Night”)? If my own development is vague, how can I possibly expect to recognize change in others, especially during a four-hour sprint where most of the time will be spent just trying to dredge up long lost, and probably best buried, memories.

The attendees are bound to leave the festivities with the same shallow impressions that we have retained for 50 years. We are likely to think, “That was nice”, and move quickly on, as we would with a mediocre movie. Little will be said that is memorable or sheds any light on who were then or are now.

My guess is that anyone reading this is thinking, “Lighten up Tom. It’s only a reunion.” No one in their right mind expects anything more than some chuckles at spotty recollections, and an occasional shock, both positive and negative, at what people did with their lives. And, of course, the mixed blessing of seeing how people have aged.

That is, undoubtedly, the right attitude. This is a lark. A brief window into the past that will blessedly be opaque. If all goes well there will be a few laughs, a few hugs, and a few shallow connections. Expecting anything else is both silly and simplistic.

I will try and walk in with that attitude. However, it will be a struggle. As the Indigo Girls intoned, “You know me, I take everything so seriously.” Part of me will want something more or at least will think that I do. In the end the best I can honestly hope for is that some memories, both good and bad, will be dredged up, and a long past element of my existence will be subjected to a tad more light. Frankly, that would be fine.   

I recently reread The Hobbit. I first read it when I was in the 6^th grade and have been a Middle-Earth fan ever since. It was over 20 years ago when I last dropped in on Bilbo’s Shire and enjoyed the invasion of 13 dwarves and a wizard. Happily, the ensuing adventure was as engaging as ever.

Revisiting Bilbo and the boys (more on that later) prompted me to go back and watch Peter Jackson’s adaptation of the novel. I saw the first of this trilogy in the theaters when it was released. I think I saw the second in the theaters but couldn’t swear to it. I am not sure that I have ever, before now, sat through the finale. That should tell you something about my reaction to these films.

I have a lot of sympathy for Jackson’s quest to retell this story. It is hard to adapt a well-known literary work for the screen. Books and films are very different media. What works well on the page does not necessarily translate to the screen. The pacing is different. Sharp book dialogue becomes stilted. People have a vision of the characters and settings which differ from the filmmaker.

Some say to heck with the book and retain little more than the general structure. Sometimes that works, sometimes not. One of the most famous reimagining was by Stanley Kubrick of Stephen King’s The Shining. The basic plot is the same, but that is about all. King hated it, and so did much of the public when it first came out. Now it is hailed as a masterpiece, though I doubt if King has changed his mind.

Jackson did not have that option. The Hobbit is too iconic and too beloved. He would have been drawn and quartered for significantly altering the story. Jackson had to honor the vision of the legions of fans so anticipating his movie. His wiggle room was limited.

Jackson was also the victim of his own success. The Lord of the Rings trilogy had been hailed critically and commercially. He was undoubtedly under considerable pressure to repeat that, which likely prompted the decision to stretch The Hobbit into three films. A stretch it was. The Ring trilogy numbers over 1200 pages. The Hobbit, with larger type, barely 300. Clearly, much would have to be added.

There was another decision to be made. The Hobbit is a prequel to the Rings, but its tone is totally different. The Hobbit is, in many ways, innocent. Yes, there is darkness and evil, but that evil can be overcome with a bit of courage and perseverance. In the Ring trilogy evil is pervasive, and each victory a small step to something worse. Middle-Earth hangs by a thread in the trilogy, not in The Hobbit.

It would have been exceedingly difficult to capture the tone of The Hobbit after making the Rings trilogy. It became impossible when Jackson committed to three movies. The only way to fill that time was with plotlines separate from Bilbo, which would naturally foreshadow the films we had already seen. In the book most of the predicaments are resolved through cunning. In the movie, the additions are all resolved in fight scenes.

Two of the most effective scenes in the movies – Bilbo’s riddle game with Gollum and the initial encounter between Bilbo and Smaug the dragon – do not involve great derring-do. Instead, they are battles of wits. These are the scenes that best recall the book. They are a welcome respite from axe-swinging dwarves, Warg riding orcs and acrobatic, sword-wielding elves.

The other problem Jackson faced is that there are no female characters in The Hobbit. None. Nada. Zilch. It was no doubt unthinkable to have 8 hours of screen time without a feminine presence. In fact, even if he had condensed the story to one or two films, it would not be tenable. (Again, what works in a book doesn’t necessarily work in a film).

Jackson didn’t have that problem in the Rings trilogy. Yes, those books and movies are as male as could be, but at least he had three strong female characters in Galadriel, Arwen and Eowen to leaven the testosterone. He expanded their roles, but they fit naturally into the plot. Conversely, there was no easy way to insert a woman into The Hobbit and give her a meaningful role.

For example, in the Fellowship of the Ring Frodo is rescued from the Ringwraiths at Bruinen Ford. In the book the rescue is made by an Elven Prince. In the movie it is Arwen who rescues Frodo and washes away the Ringwraiths, introducing us to a strong, capable female elf. The scene loses none of its power for the change. In the second Hobbit movie the Elven warrior Tariel comes forward, but other than some clownish fight scenes, the best Jackson can muster for her is an unlikely love triangle with Fili the dwarf and a resuscitated Legolas.

Every change made in the trilogy seemed to pay off, whereas in The Hobbit they fell flat. What is left is a shadow of the book. The basic story survives, but none of the nuance which makes it so delightful. The joy in watching Bilbo find courage and wits he never knew he had is overshadowed by meaningless grand battles. It was a big swing and miss by Jackson.

Luckily the book remains to be savored. Like all great literature, it retains its immediacy, even as language and literary tastes change. It can also be read in less time than it would take to watch the three Jackson movies, at least in their unnecessary expanded editions. Time well spent indeed.

I know it is silly for a grown man to care so much about a novel he first read over 50 years ago, especially a fantasy. Yet, there are few books that have had a bigger impact on my life. Worlds of imagination and creativity were opened and have never closed. Notions of the power of the underdog to use resourcefulness rather than brute force were implanted. No matter what he did, Peter Jackson could never match that.