(seen 28 December 2014)
Note - this review contains spoilers
This is the third part of Peter Jackson's film adaptation of J R R Tolkien's 1937 book 'The Hobbit'. It covers the last six chapters of the book, fleshed out with some information gleaned from appendices in 'The Lord of the Rings' and some plot points devised by the screen writers which have no basis in the original novel.
The film begins 'in medias res' with the sack of Laketown by Smaug the dragon (voiced by Benedict Cumberbatch), a very splendid affair with plenty of fire and ruin; it is only after this episode that the subtitle of the film appears. The importance of this destruction, and the identity of the major characters, is entirely dependent on knowledge attained in the previous film, as without this it would be impossible to understand the significance of Bard the Bowman (Luke Evans) and his weaponry, or of the two featured groups of refugees, the cowardly and venal Master (Stephen Fry) and his henchman Alfrid (Ryan Gage) in one boat, and Tauriel the elf princess (Evangeline Lilly) leading Bard's children and three dwarves in another.
Several narrative threads are interwoven, leading to the climactic battle in which evil is defeated at some cost. Prior to the arrival of the orc armies the tensions and animosities between Elves, Dwarves and Men are explored, but only Thorin's corruption by 'dragon sickness' holds the attention as an exposition of character development. Thranduil (Lee Pace) has an icy reserve and an aristocrat's contempt for the lower orders as the Elvenking of Mirkwood, but this was clear in the second film and is rather inert here, while Bard is also something of a cipher as a naturally noble leader of Men.
The struggle of the White Council against the Necromancer of Dol Guldur is well imagined and provides a significant link to the disposition of the powers at the opening of 'The Lord of the Rings', revealing something of Galadriel's formidable resources as the wielder of an elven ring, and of Saruman's perhaps uncorrupted power (this is nicely ambiguous). It keeps us in mind of Gandalf's predicament, so that his reappearance in the main narrative is not just the convenient plot point of the novel.
The battle after which the film is named is of course the centrepiece of the the entire enterprise, and Jackson delivers in terms of filmic sweep and military excitement. There are the serried ranks of elves in warm green-golden armour, the stockier, plainer, but more stalwart dwarves, and the expected hordes of monstrous orcs supported by monstrous monsters. If there is a slight feeling of having seen it all before on a wider scale in the Pelennor Fields, or in more intensely human terms at Helm's Deep, this is offset by new creatures, more dizzying camera angles, and an orcish general or two with more personal animosity and freedom of action than before.
But there are problems of scale and tone.
Bilbo's story (the film is after all called 'The Hobbit') is at times swamped by the wider scope of events, especially as so much happens that he cannot personally witness. Even in the more intimate conflict between him and Thorin, the interest lies as much in Thorin's paranoia as in Bilbo's qualms. Martin Freeman is excellent as Bilbo, subtly conveying his growing confidence in dealing with the impossible pressures of his situation, but the general balance of the film occasionally makes him seem like a minor character. Richard Armitage gives a fine performance as Thorin, his innate pride leading to a fateful degradation as greed for gold overmasters him, and yet finally winning through to a hard-earned heroism and a realisation that kindlier virtues also have their place.
Scale is problematic in a geographic sense as well. For example, the Great Gate of the mountain is impressively large - but this means that its ad hoc fortification must also be large, and it is not clear that a dozen dwarves could have built the required obstruction in the time available, while its eventual destruction by a massive golden bell just looks improbable. The decision to have the ruined city of Dale occupied by the refugees from Laketown also creates difficulties. A town unoccupied for three generations is hardly the place to be at the onset of a northern winter. There is local colour to be had from orcs invading a city, but the resistance by civilians is not credible, and the idea of collecting women and children in the 'great hall' is just asking for a conflagration (or at least a ruthless demolition job) which inexplicably does not happen.
Then there are the set-piece confrontations on Ravenhill, a mysterious pinnacle-cum-fortress or lookout tower conveniently hijacked by Azog the orc general (Manu Bennett) and used as a bait for Thorin, Fili and Kili. Their several demises are thus removed from the heat of undifferentiated battle into the realm of personal combat with all the opportunities for fancy sword-work and overwhelming personal strength that this affords. Unfortunately when Azog is using Ravenhill as a signal station for his battle orders, it looks relatively small, but for these personal skirmishes the space has expanded to become a significant hill with a totally frozen lake at its top - presumably a vital spur of the Lonely Mountain itself.
The question of tone arises most sharply with the invented sub-plot concerning Tauriel, Kili (Aidan Turner) and Legolas (Orlando Bloom), which is perhaps the most unfortunate departure from the original. One assumes that Tolkien would be aghast at the depiction of a warrior elf princess, let alone the idea that there could be a romantic attachment between an Elf and a Dwarf - the wary rapprochement between Legolas and Gimli in 'The Lord of the Rings' being the limit of what is possible. In this film there is at least no embarrassing badinage between Kili and Lauriel, but the logic of the situation obliges her to involve herself in Kili's fight - how she is not killed by her various tumbles is a mystery - and in turn Legolas must fight for her. This allows for yet another bravura set of stunts for Legolas, but here they are perilously close to being a parody of what was achieved in 'The Lord of the Rings' (where they were already becoming excessive). The only positive results from all this derring-do are an indication of compassion on the part of Thranduil, and a clever hint to explain Legolas's evident prior encounter with Aragorn in 'The Lord of the Rings' (implied by the films, but not by the book).
In general, the decision to use motivations of romance (Kili and Lauriel) or family attachment (Bard and his children) look like concessions to presumed audience taste. It is indeed a problem that the novel portrays an exclusively masculine world - even Galadriel can only be in the films because of the appendices to the later book - but the careful interrogation of the old Northern ideals of heroism and masculine action which underlies the seemingly artless tale of 'There and Back Again' in the novel is smothered by the mixture of hyperactivity and anachronistic personal relationships emphasised by the films. The laconic statement by Tolkien that 'Fili and Kili had fallen defending [Thorin] with shield and body, for he was their mother's elder brother' has been stripped of all its poignancy and power by the conventions of film excitement, in which the thrills of the local moment outweigh the longer view of heroic defeat in victory.
In conclusion, this is a worthy and exciting conclusion to the film project, but it does not resolve the problem that 'The Hobbit' as a novel lacks the scope and deeper significance of 'The Lord of the Rings'. Inevitably, providing the same filmic treatment to the two works brings strains to the earlier tale which cannot be overcome simply by throwing more and more at it.
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