In December 2001, I was ten years old and unaware that my life was about to change for the better: I was going to be formally introduced to J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings. I had seen the teasers on TV, the Burger King commercial with the light up figures, and even some kids at my school carrying the books around. At the time, I only really knew three things: the main character’s name is Frodo, he has a glowing blue sword, and a Ring. That’s it.
On Christmas, one of my gifts was a copy of The Hobbit. My father explained to me that it was the story set before The Lord of the Rings and that we were going to go see the film. So, now I knew four things: Frodo, sword, Ring, hobbit, whatever that was. I literally knew nothing else before my father and uncle took my cousins and I to the theater. I didn’t ask either. I just went along with it. I liked movies and I was already on a fantasy high after the release of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone a month prior. I figured this film had to be just as good.
But, of course, it was so, so much more than that. The moment Galadriel’s hushed, mysterious voice flowed through the theater, I was spirited away to Middle-Earth. Nothing else in the world mattered to me more than Frodo’s quest. Sam’s loyalty warmed my heart. The antics of Merry and Pippin elicited endless laughter. Gandalf’s presence was calming, protective, and his death, such as it was, was an absolute shock. Aragorn became my favorite character the moment he fought off the Ringwraiths on Weathertop. Legolas and Gimli were a trustworthy duo. And Boromir…well, let’s just say that I couldn’t believe that not one but two heroes died in the same movie.
But that wasn’t all. The villains, from the lowly orc to Sauron himself, were foul and terrifying. The battles were fraught with enough danger to keep me on my toes. Jump scares jolted me out of my seat. The world was both lush and hard and cold and ruinous and beautiful. And the score was perfect. Sometimes I put on “Concerning Hobbits” just to try and recapture that feeling of the first time I laid eyes on the Shire, a land of innocence, unaware of the harshness of the outside world.
Then the film ended the same way it always does: Frodo turns to Sam and says “Sam, I’m glad you are with me,” and the two hobbits head off towards Mordor.
Fade to black. Credits roll. Lights come on.
And I shouted “What?!” when I realized the story was over for now. Needless to say, I tore into my copy of The Hobbit not long after.
Twenty years later, I’ve read and reread The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, and other selections of Tolkien’s works. I’ve played any video game based on The Lord of the Rings that I could get my hands on. A map of Middle-Earth hangs on display in my home, courtesy of my wife, who loves LOTR as much as I do. The soundtrack is a staple on many of my playlists. I saw each film in The Hobbit trilogy multiple times in theaters and, yes, I liked them. And I am cautiously optimistic about the television series still in the works. Also, I’m a writer now, and while the shape of high fantasy has changed and evolved since Tolkien, I know I would not be doing what I do if I hadn’t walked into that movie theater twenty years ago.
Still, after all this time, with so much to enjoy from this franchise, I often crave more than the next game, the next adaptation, or the next Tolkien-related book. What I long for the most is the escape. I want to be ten years old, enjoying the winter and Christmas season, not a care in the world, sitting in the theater ready to go to Middle-Earth for the first time again. And I know that I can never truly go back to those days and that the nostalgia attached to them pales in comparison. Still, I try to recapture the magic, and the only way I ever get close to accomplishing that is by watching The Fellowship of the Ring, my favorite film of the trilogy and one of my favorites of all time. My great hope is, now that I have a child of my own, I will one day hand her a special book and tell her that we’re going to sit down and watch a special movie. And maybe, just maybe, she will bask in the very same magic that captured me when I was a child of ten.