The films turned out better than I, as a Tolkien fan, had expected, but, the way one does, I immediately started wanting them to be better still. I think what got under my skin was how many of the hard things Jackson's team got right, only to get easy things wrong.
The technically difficult things were a triumph. The monsters, the battles, the scale problems, above all the computer-generated character of Gollum: I can't imagine any of these handled better. The things that were difficult in narrative terms, like the huge amount of back-story, the way the different story-lines diverge, the shortage of character development, were all coped with intelligently by the scriptwriters. Above all, Peter Jackson held his nerve and gave us the `heroic seriousness' and Romantic nostalgia of the Rings wholeheartedly, without irony. The fact that his films won a huge fan base by doing so may come to be seen as a slight but seismic shift in the whole direction of western popular culture, away from triviality and moral relativism, towards a fusion of entertainment and serious purpose.
The actors deserve their share of the credit. Ian McKellen's performance as Gandalf was generally praised, but then it's a safe role: Gandalf always has a twinkle in his eye. Christopher Lee's Saruman was great, too, but villains are easy. Far harder were the big straight roles: Frodo, Sam and Aragorn. The honesty and humanity that Elijah Wood and Sean Astin brought to Frodo and Sam made their characters more sympathetic and interesting than they ever were in the book. But even they had the advantage of being the `little guys', and thus winning some instant sympathy. Aragorn, the hero king, was always going to be the acid test. Insecurity about this character in particular has dogged every illustrator and dramatiser of The Lord of the Rings; a diffident, unfocussed voice in the radio dramatisation, a yobbish travesty in the Ralph Bakshi cartoon, virtually absent from the Alan Lee and John Howe illustrations. The whole notion of the Hero, the Leader, had become such an embarrassment that we couldn't even imagine what he ought to look like. So many times in history this ideal has led those who pursued it to disaster. Yet now that the refusal of responsibility has become an even greater problem for us than the lure of power, perhaps it is time for the hero to return. Viggo Mortensen's role in the films took all this background on board, and he threw himself into it without preening or debunking, in a performance that may come to be seen as iconic. (And the significance of which is only enhanced by the woeful failure of the leading men of the other mythological epics which quickly followed LOTR's success: Troy, King Arthur, Alexander and the like.)
So many difficult hurdles crossed, then, but the downfall of these films was a problem that could easily have been avoided: exaggeration - making things too obvious. One of Tolkien's great strengths is his ability to root his fantastical story in reality. He is careful never to let his characters face completely impossible odds. His monsters work by veiled menace rather than by overwhelming force.
Unkind connections could be made between Peter Jackson's early career in splatter movies and his lack of subtlety in this respect. Why does it follow that, if ten thousand Orcs against two thousand men of Rohan is exciting, 10,000 against 300 is that much more exciting? If the Ringwraiths, instead of being shadowy insubstantial figures, have spiked iron boots and hefty steel swords, Aragorn's ability to chase off a whole pack of them goes beyond breathtaking to absurd. In the book, the Eye of Sauron the Dark Lord appears only as a gleam of red through the clouds, its menace felt rather than seen. Who thinks it's more effective to depict it as a huge disembodied eyeball, suspended between two metal prongs and swivelling from side to side like some kind of organic radar?
Examples multiply. It's not enough for Gandalf to recall King Theoden to his true self: we have to watch Theoden's decrepit make-up being scoured off frame by frame. It's not enough for Denethor to send his soldiers to their doom: we have to see their slaughter intercut with him dribbling fruit juice like blood from a vampire's fangs. Vulgar, obvious, cardboard, cartoonish: why invite these insults when you obviously have enough intelligence and know-how to avoid them?
Underlying these embarrassments was a slight but uncomfortable sense that, for the film-making ensemble as a whole, it was the dark side of Tolkien's vision that absorbed them, rather than the bright side; that they were just a little more interested in his monsters and grotesques than his visions of radiant beauty. Moria and Mordor were most convincing infernos, the Orcs were lovingly detailed; Rivendell and Lorien were unreal and faded by comparison. You never got to see how good the Elves could be at enjoying themselves. The hobbits, yes, the Elves, no. Tolkien believed and felt that good was both more substantial and more interesting, more mysterious and alluring, than evil. To present it as such was a challenge which the film-makers just failed to meet.
It will be a pity if the existence of the films results in children and teenagers paying less attention to the books. These films are wonderful, but they are only one interpretation of The Lord of the Rings; the great thing about Middle-Earth is that everyone can build their own. It's every reader's personal, as well as shared, vision. Let Peter Jackson & Co. lead you there, but don't let them limit you. It's the last thing they would have wanted.