Into the West
No spoilers, no worries; and in a sense this entry isn't really about The Return of the King itself....
At the end of a very long day, I wrapped things up in the laboratory and rushed back to my apartment to change. Throwing off my laboratory clothes, I went into my closet and pulled on a pair of formal pants and a dress white shirt, a formal sweater, and finally, the long black trench coat and brown leather gloves my father had given me before I came to medical school. A long series of tales that coat has now associated with it: it was the coat I wore to my medical school interviews, to my MD/PhD interviews, to Houses of Delegates and Board meetings and weddings and dances; and associated with those so many precious hours spent with friends. It was my dress uniform, so to speak; the coat I wore when ass-kicking was going to be done or something important or special was going to happen. And so it seemed natural to wear it again, this evening.
Five years the journey has been for me. Five years since the late night alone in my laboratory when I first stumbled, on the net, across the official announcement that New Line Cinema was funding a gradiose project by a director I had never heard of to film three movies based on the Lord of the Rings...
In the previous entry, I talked about growing up with the tales of Tolkien, about how imagining and reimagining the heroic stands made by his heroes even as I was competing for the chance to play a part in quests of my own. By the summer of 1998 I had made the threshold, actually made it to medical school, and stood on the threshold of dramatic changes in my life. Many of the most important which had nothing to do with my work.
And so this entry is about the journey with Jackson and the dear friends I met along the way; this entry is about that journey's end, five years later, at the Michigan Theatre.
Ain't It Cool News reported it as "the best news we've ever reported on this site" the red-letter day in August 1998 they published Peter Jackson's official notice that the secret project rumors had been swirling about was not in fact The Hobbit, but The Lord of the Rings themselves; and that unlike the original plan to just film them as two movies, they would instead be filmed as one giant piece and broken into three.
Honestly, I was just glad somebody had the cojones to film all three. Even if they did a mediocre job, it still would be *something*. The chance to see, brought to life on the great screen, the scenes I had played and replayed in my mind over and over again growing up would be glorious. I had literally waited a lifetime for someone to make the attempt; I was frankly expecting to have to wait much, much longer, and oft I had grumbled that studios seemed perfectly willing to fund crap --and crap with huge budgets-- when such a beautiful story lay undone. I would follow the rumors surrounding the project avidly over the next few years. And even as the movies progressed, my own life changed dramatically...
In 1999 I would begin my sabbatical from medical school under the ageis of a HHMI medical student research fellowship. That fellowship gave me the chance to spend a year as well on the Pediatric Cancer service, as told in Ward Side Story and many others. It gave me far more time to spend with the family I loved. And perhaps just as important, it gave me something else: it gave me all that I wrote about in A Gift of You and Four Degrees from the Tower...
I joined rec.arts.sf.written.robert-jordan. I joined the Wolves Glen Pub. I joined the SCA. I discovered the world of dance and roller coasters. And so much more. And along the way were made many dear friends, many who loved Tolkien's tales; and a few who loved them as much as I. And along the way there were moments of direct Tolkien magic: with the silver and enamel brooch of Lorien; with the Red Book of Westmarch; Constantine's presentation of Sting, sword of the Ringbearer. This diary is, in the majority, the story of all of those treasured moments, all of those special stories; and there were happy moments that I may never write about, the moments in which I learned for myself the joy Luthien Tinúviel inspired in Beren's heart.
For the first time in many years, there was more, much more to my life besides service and work and competition: in the years in which Jackson's movies bloomed with beauty, so did my life. And so, in that way too, the movies have become in my own memories connected with the happiest years of my life.
As I wrote before: Of the anticipation I wrote two years ago in Seven Days; of the glorious night of Fellowship in the entry There and Back Again; of Two Towers in the entry Two Last Glorious Blooms...And now, as many things come draw to a close --this glorious year, this wonderful trilogy, and my sabbatical from my duties as a medical student-- there is this, at the very last, the Return of the King. And so finally the evening came in which the journey came to a glorious close, and that tale finally I tell.
It had been snowy and grey the whole day, as I tramped from seminar to lab to session; but the weather suddenly cleared as the four-o'clock hour came, the clouds parting to patches of brilliant blue and shining yellow sunlight across the new-fallen snow, the pink of the end of the day already coming. Appropriate, for the joyful evening to come...
I met Jesse at her house; I was wearing my dress trench coat and semi-formal wear; she slipped on a silken pink embroidered blouse, did her hair in delicate braids, wrapped herself in a great green cloak, together the effect being that of a princess of old, bold and beautiful. I don't know if she noticed, but the whole way, the whole evening, many an admiring glance from many a passerby did Jesse recieve. As it is with silmaril, or missysedai, or so many other women I have been so fortunate to share a evening or a dance with, another gentleman has the honor of being Jesse's love, and very happy I am for them both. But I'm more than lucky enough to simply share trusted friendship --with her, and with warm, witty women like her. I might not yet have earned the privelege of the love of a Lady; but if any of those gentleman were to think I was lucky...well, I think I'm pretty lucky, too. :-)
At the end of a very long day, I wrapped things up in the laboratory and rushed back to my apartment to change. Throwing off my laboratory clothes, I went into my closet and pulled on a pair of formal pants and a dress white shirt, a formal sweater, and finally, the long black trench coat and brown leather gloves my father had given me before I came to medical school. A long series of tales that coat has now associated with it: it was the coat I wore to my medical school interviews, to my MD/PhD interviews, to Houses of Delegates and Board meetings and weddings and dances; and associated with those so many precious hours spent with friends. It was my dress uniform, so to speak; the coat I wore when ass-kicking was going to be done or something important or special was going to happen. And so it seemed natural to wear it again, this evening.
Five years the journey has been for me. Five years since the late night alone in my laboratory when I first stumbled, on the net, across the official announcement that New Line Cinema was funding a gradiose project by a director I had never heard of to film three movies based on the Lord of the Rings...
In the previous entry, I talked about growing up with the tales of Tolkien, about how imagining and reimagining the heroic stands made by his heroes even as I was competing for the chance to play a part in quests of my own. By the summer of 1998 I had made the threshold, actually made it to medical school, and stood on the threshold of dramatic changes in my life. Many of the most important which had nothing to do with my work.
And so this entry is about the journey with Jackson and the dear friends I met along the way; this entry is about that journey's end, five years later, at the Michigan Theatre.
- Lay down
your sweet and weary head
Night is falling,
you have come to journey's end.
Sleep now,
and dream of the ones who came before.
They are calling
from across the distant shore.
Why do you weep?
What are these tears upon your face?
Soon you will see
all of your fears will pass away...
- -Annie Lennox, "Into the West"
Ain't It Cool News reported it as "the best news we've ever reported on this site" the red-letter day in August 1998 they published Peter Jackson's official notice that the secret project rumors had been swirling about was not in fact The Hobbit, but The Lord of the Rings themselves; and that unlike the original plan to just film them as two movies, they would instead be filmed as one giant piece and broken into three.
Honestly, I was just glad somebody had the cojones to film all three. Even if they did a mediocre job, it still would be *something*. The chance to see, brought to life on the great screen, the scenes I had played and replayed in my mind over and over again growing up would be glorious. I had literally waited a lifetime for someone to make the attempt; I was frankly expecting to have to wait much, much longer, and oft I had grumbled that studios seemed perfectly willing to fund crap --and crap with huge budgets-- when such a beautiful story lay undone. I would follow the rumors surrounding the project avidly over the next few years. And even as the movies progressed, my own life changed dramatically...
In 1999 I would begin my sabbatical from medical school under the ageis of a HHMI medical student research fellowship. That fellowship gave me the chance to spend a year as well on the Pediatric Cancer service, as told in Ward Side Story and many others. It gave me far more time to spend with the family I loved. And perhaps just as important, it gave me something else: it gave me all that I wrote about in A Gift of You and Four Degrees from the Tower...
I joined rec.arts.sf.written.robert-jordan. I joined the Wolves Glen Pub. I joined the SCA. I discovered the world of dance and roller coasters. And so much more. And along the way were made many dear friends, many who loved Tolkien's tales; and a few who loved them as much as I. And along the way there were moments of direct Tolkien magic: with the silver and enamel brooch of Lorien; with the Red Book of Westmarch; Constantine's presentation of Sting, sword of the Ringbearer. This diary is, in the majority, the story of all of those treasured moments, all of those special stories; and there were happy moments that I may never write about, the moments in which I learned for myself the joy Luthien Tinúviel inspired in Beren's heart.
For the first time in many years, there was more, much more to my life besides service and work and competition: in the years in which Jackson's movies bloomed with beauty, so did my life. And so, in that way too, the movies have become in my own memories connected with the happiest years of my life.
As I wrote before: Of the anticipation I wrote two years ago in Seven Days; of the glorious night of Fellowship in the entry There and Back Again; of Two Towers in the entry Two Last Glorious Blooms...And now, as many things come draw to a close --this glorious year, this wonderful trilogy, and my sabbatical from my duties as a medical student-- there is this, at the very last, the Return of the King. And so finally the evening came in which the journey came to a glorious close, and that tale finally I tell.
It had been snowy and grey the whole day, as I tramped from seminar to lab to session; but the weather suddenly cleared as the four-o'clock hour came, the clouds parting to patches of brilliant blue and shining yellow sunlight across the new-fallen snow, the pink of the end of the day already coming. Appropriate, for the joyful evening to come...
I met Jesse at her house; I was wearing my dress trench coat and semi-formal wear; she slipped on a silken pink embroidered blouse, did her hair in delicate braids, wrapped herself in a great green cloak, together the effect being that of a princess of old, bold and beautiful. I don't know if she noticed, but the whole way, the whole evening, many an admiring glance from many a passerby did Jesse recieve. As it is with silmaril, or missysedai, or so many other women I have been so fortunate to share a evening or a dance with, another gentleman has the honor of being Jesse's love, and very happy I am for them both. But I'm more than lucky enough to simply share trusted friendship --with her, and with warm, witty women like her. I might not yet have earned the privelege of the love of a Lady; but if any of those gentleman were to think I was lucky...well, I think I'm pretty lucky, too. :-)
- She hadn't been able to grab any food at her own department's holiday party, so we decided to pop on over to mine. To the Michigan Union we went, to the stained-glass and stoned floor setting of the Pendelton Room, to the swirl of happy conversation and good food and merriment. And then it was off to the theatre...
Through the blowing snow we walked, with a brief stop in my laboratory. More merry conversation we had. And soon, into the grand lobby of the restored Michigan Theatre we were cued. The Michigan was built in the golden age of vaudeville Theatres, with all the baroque decoration that typified that age: and restored to it's original magnificence had the Michigan been. And in the happy hubbub of excited conversation, amidst the smell of warm popcorn prepared by bow-tied staff, we waited, we talked, we absorbed the anticipation, the excitement.
The doors were opened. The lines surged forward. Seats we quickly staked out. Coats and cloaks were carefully arranged. The organist worked his magic on the theatre's full set of pipes, thunder and purrs emerging from his expert fingertips --a performance that was a concert in its own right, vastly superior to having to sit through advertisements, or previews for bad movies, or the musak that is usual chain theatre fare. For almost a full twenty minutes we clapped and cheered as the organist held us in his grasp. And then he took his bows to thunderous applause, and his organ sank, the lights dimmed, the curtains drew back, and after one short preview only, the movie began...
- What can you see
on the horizon?
Why do the white gulls call?
Across the sea
a pale moon rises --
The ships have come to carry you home.
What else can I really add about the movie itself? What else can I really say about finally seeing the White City, the desperate charges, the last battles, the last conflicts on the face of Mt. Doom? What can I say about finally seeing what I have waited a lifetime to see done, done with triumph and glory? Could any words of mine really do more than anyone else's, or really capture the beauty, the majesty, the depth of feeling in my heart, to know I was really, actually, truly, seeing it with my own two eyes, the movie I wondered for so long if anyone would ever have the guts to do?
In the previous entry I tried to capture a tiny bit of what these stories mean to me. In many entries here I have told of all that I have shared with dear friends who love Tolkien as much as I. In previous entries I have talked about sharing the previous two movies with my family and friends. And this was all of that, and more. I am not ashamed to admit that at times I found myself saying the famed hallowed words directly from the text at the moments they came from the actor's lips. I am not ashamed to admit that I clenched my fists with triumph as old familiar scenes came to life. And I am not ashamed to admit that there were times my eyes watered with emotion, as that which I have imagined for a lifetime finally came to life.
And to share all of that with Jesse: to see her put her hands together in front of her mouth on the edge of her seat; to see a brilliant smile flash across her face; the glisten of tears; the moments we high-fived together at the peaks of triumph. One last time Jackson took us over and through the glory of Tolkien's vision, and I'm glad I was able to do that together with at least one dear friend, and not alone.
- In the end, even the most glorious story must draw to a close. And the credits rolled off the screen, and the lights came up, and we filed out into the winter snows, the glow of the movie bubbling in our conversation, the music still on our lips. And we shared the moments we loved, and the nitpicks we had, and soon enough we were back at her house, and with a last gentleman's bow over her hand I took my leave, beginning the long walk through the snow back up to the medical center, the folds of my long coat blown back by the wind.
On the way home Jesse kept humming the heroic overture from Howard Shore's soundtrack. For me instead, it was the very end theme that was running through my mind, the song entitled Into the West. The song that brought to a close so many wonderful things and warm memories; and as rumors of the trilogy were the prelude to these glorious years of mine, it is perhaps appropriate that the last installment of that vision should come near the close.
I don't know what lies ahead for me. Much of it frightens me profoundly. But what I have had the chance to share, in these movies, in the friendships that I have found and shared; their light will be with me forever. And when the tale of all these years is told, it will not be the victories or the awards or the accomplishments that I will treasure the most, as important as they are for my career. It will be all that all of you shared with me.
- Hannon le, my friends. For everything.
Dawn will turn
to silver glass
A light on the water
All souls pass...
Hope fades
into the world of night
through shadows falling
out of memory and time...
Don't say,
"We have come now to the end."
White shores are calling
you and I will meet again...
What can you see
on the horizon?
Why do the white gulls call?
Across the sea
a pale moon rises --
The ships have come to carry you home.