If I could ever write my perfect response to this film, it would effectively sort through what I think is brilliant and empowering about the emotion in it, and what is foul about it. These were fleshed-out, passionate, brave, good people -- delightful to know, and worth our caring about. Out there, in a way we all need to come -- to allow ourselves -- to be. It's just a pity that Jackson seemed to use this beautiful miracle as a kind of bait to move us this way and that, which can make us feel a bit dependent and used -- in retrospect, fools, for having allowed ourselves to be drawn in -- which, in the end, has served to draw some of those reluctant to allow emotion into the circuitry of their reason, ready reason to retreat back to intelligent but affectless cognizizing. They took him in, are now feeling a bit taken for it, and in recovery, in pay back -- subsequent years of the kind of removed consideration, in film, in art, in mind, of the like we know or at least suspect would balk Jackson back into a kind of "you're just snobs who hate fantasy!" retreat. You can feel the steady layering of book scholarship discussion sealing down all memory of joyous hobbits, bouncing delight, and singing glee, in hopes to entertain all company.
It did streamline; and despite its length, went down as without contradiction as a smooth shot of whiskey. But I shake that dumbness off, and remember people acting inspiringly beautiful towards one another. Learn and be inspired, by that.