Dear Mr.

It has come to my attention that you did not take time to rent either version of The Fellowship of the Ring prior to your spending $8.50 (or $10 if you’re in New York and Los Angeles) to see The Two Towers. Thank you for investing more money into this film than you did the last. In your letter I noted your request for a recap of the Fellowship at the beginning of The Two Towers in order to keep up with the story this time around, without having seen the last film.

Well, screw you.

Love,
Peter Jackson

~

The vast snowcapped mountainside of New Z… Middle-Earth looked so lovely this time of year. Never would anyone guess, perchance, of the troubles that were concealed underneath such a picturesque view; the troubles that were, indeed, going on at that very moment, echoing in the winds of New Zeal…. Middle-Earth. Deep in the depths of the mountains, a showdown was raging.

“Ah, the lovely feeling of déjà vu,” said an audience member who had been previously acquainted with The Fellowship of the Ring. The showdown, you see, was nothing new. ‘Twas the same showdown between the old guy and the evil flame thingy from last year.

“What a perfect time to repeat myself,” said Academy Award Winner Howard Shore. He repeated himself.

“Look at me!” said the all powerful Peter Jackson, “I’m conserving film!”

“You shall not pass!” bellowed the old guy, standing bravely on a thin stone bridge above an endless pit of Moria. Snort went the evil flame thingy standing before him. Snort went the old man. The evil flame thingy took a step forward in an attempt to show the old man who was boss.

“Oops! Shouldn’ta done that!” said the evil flame thingy as it fell into shadow.

The old man hoisted himself up as if he had just done a strenuous activity, looking exhausted and pleased in one breath. One day, thought the old man as he wearily turned to face his companions, they’re going to made television advertisements that say “Who da man? Gan’ da man!” He spoke too soon; at that same time the evil flame thingy decided it would be lonely in the shadow and needed company. Since the old man was right there, and the evil flame thingy’s whip was so long (remove your mind from the gutter, please), he lashed the whip and grasped the old man around the ankles, dragging him down to the ledge of the broken bridge.

“Gaandallff!” cried an adorable little girl with an alarmingly high-pitched and smoky voice. A former James Bond villain held her back from running to the bridge to save her beloved “Gaandallf!” Sorry to say 006 never returned in this tale, for he mastered the art of the pincushion long ago.

“Well, this sucks,” said the old man dejectedly. “Save your hides!” Then he fell into shadow, much to the dismay of the little girl. Before the audience members could feel a tidal wave of déjà vu, they were suddenly being pummeled into shadow with the old man, too. Ah, to experience the director saving himself from expository dialogue! Down went the old man and the evil flame thingy into shadow. They battled to the death, the old man brandishing his sword as if tomorrow would never come.

“What a perfect time to flex my operatic muscles!” said Academy Award winner Howard Shore. His muscles were flexed; the audience was moved.

And then, the little girl woke up, as if from a dream of things she had not seen. Somewhere in the theater a person who calls herself Madeline Elster leaped back in horror and shielded her eyes. Other people in the audience who liked the actor Elijah Wood collectively went “squee!” The movie title bearing the name “The Two Towers” then appeared, and one audience member became confused at the sight of the text. “Wait, I thought I was watching the extended version of The Fellowship of the Ring!” he cried.

“Your knowledge of what movie you’re watching comes second to my angst!” said the little girl.

“You suck,” said Peter Jackson to the audience member. Samwise Gamgee, the beloved, remained oblivious to the bickering. There was a story to be told, after all, and it lay meandering through the jagged rocks, the endless marshland, and the ominous hills of Mordor.

“This is hopeless, Mr. Frodo,” said Sam. “Mordor’s the one place we’d never want to go to, but it’s the exact place we have to go to, and we can’t get there. Or something like that. Mr. Frodo, I don’t think Gandalf meant for us to come this way.”

“Gandalf didn’t mean for a lot of things to happen, but you all knew I was going to say that,” said Frodo, full of angst. Suddenly, without any logical reason, the dark of Mordor came closer and closer, like a cool music video effect, and the great flaming Eye of Sauron could be seen for a fleeting instant. Frodo was horrified. Someone in Middle-Earth had bigger eyes than he did. Frodo then had a heart attack. In character for Sam, he took notice.

“Mr. Frodo?”

“It’s the ring,” Frodo moaned. “It’s getting heavier.” Sam nodded in agreement. Afterwards they walked around until they came across a gap that looked awfully familiar (and no this isn’t in reference to Frodo’s teeth).

”This looks familiar,” said Sam suspiciously.

Frodo slouched and poked out his lower lip. “It’s the same way we went! We’re going around in circles! I want my mommy!” Frodo said before doing the five-year-old fussy dance.

“Something smells funny,” said Sam suspiciously.

Repressing the urge that the One Ring gave him to say It’s your fat upper lip, Frodo replied, “We are not alone. We are being followed.”

Later that night, a scantily clad CGI creature crept (alliteration!) down a rock to where the nasty hobbits slept. “Nasty! Thieving little hobbits! They stole the precious! We wants it, yes, we wants it!” But before the nearly naked CGI could attack the hobbits, the hobbits bounded on him, and in a moment of sheer slashiness the trio fought to the death, the scantily clad CGI’s barely covered private regions flapping in the wind. It came to be that in the end, Frodo drew his sword and pressed it upon the CGI, who had Sam in a headlock. Frodo would draw his sword on people again throughout this tale. He liked it when he drew his sword and when swords were drawn upon him. Alas, Frodo’s personal preferences are not essential to this story.

“This is Sting! You’ve seen it before, haven’t you, Gollum?” Frodo said in his best hardass voice. His eyes had grown to the size of hubcaps. “Release him or you will feel the cold, sharp sting of… er, Sting.” Frodo looked shifty. Gollum looked upset. He released Sam and wailed a wail of anguish, which continued on till the next day, when Frodo and Sam held him in bondage. Sam looked upset.

“All the Orcs of Mordor will hear this!” Sam raged. Gollum wailed some more. Frodo considered Gollum. Gollum rolled in the dirt and yet again flapped his private regions in the wind. What was Frodo considering, really? Sam slowly became suspicious. If anything, pondered Sam, he should be considering me. But the slashers of the audience didn’t hear that. They merely assumed it, and their eyes twitched with glee.

“Maybe he does deserve to die,” said Frodo, thinking of how cruel it would be to let Gollum sink to Jar-Jar levels of annoyance as he flapped and wailed.

“We should just tie him up and leave him here,” Sam said, all too eagerly fueling the fire of the slashers in the audience.

Gollum, having not received the point of the previous two lines, helpfully supplied, “No! That would kill us!”

And thus, this tale being an epic with a studio-set time limit, an agreement was reached between the three. Gollum was granted a stay of execution and his prisoner status was elevated to slave (though the official title given by his Master was “guide”). Now, with a “guide” to lead them, the two hobbits proceeded on their merry way over jagged rock and deadly murk.

To Be Continued
On to Chapter 2 - A Hunting We Will Go
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