My Unexpected Journey
by Abigail Beck
“He is late, is all,” said Dwalin the dwarf of his tardy leader, Thorin Oakenshield.
That line – from The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey – flitted through my mind as I peered down the long carpet, hoping to glimpse a familiar face.
My sister and I stood in the Dolby Theatre in Hollywood, California (Academy Awards, anyone?) where we would shortly view the world premiere screening of The Hobbit trilogy’s latest installment, The Desolation of Smaug. Beside us, a single file of fans lined metal gates flanking the “red” carpet (which was black). We had been waiting for almost an hour, and so far the only person I had recognized was Sean Astin (my favorite hobbit from The Lord of the Rings). At the time I didn’t realize how much my life had come to resemble that of another hobbit, Bilbo Baggins.
A few months ago, the thought of attending a world premiere for any movie (let alone a film as anticipated as The Desolation of Smaug) would never have crossed my mind. I was snug in the Shire of my last college year. But then on October 2, a friend from a foreign land (Canada) waltzed into our graphic design class with grave news: Denny’s restaurant was hosting a video contest, and all I had to do (since I was a U.S. citizen and therefore eligible) was to make a 60-second video inspired by The Hobbit film trilogy. Peter Jackson himself would select the winner. The grand prize – two tickets to the world premiere of Smaug, all travel expenses paid. I had never made a video like this in my life, but for some reason the contest captured my attention. A story began to form in my head, and by the evening I had sketched out a storyboard to show my friend. She was all for it, and from there the two of us embarked on our own unexpected journey – filmmaking.
We had only until the end of the month to submit, so we had to get busy. Inspired by a craft project from my teenage years, I decided to create a stop-motion video starring an unlikely cast: clothespin dolls of a hobbit, dwarves, and a wizard.
We treated the project like a Hollywood production: scouting for filming locations in advance, casting the voice actors, and commissioning a composer to write an original score. My sister and I set aside a weekend to glue embroidery-floss hair on thirteen clothespin dwarves. I spent an entire afternoon with my friend (plus a couple of hours after dark) lying on my stomach or side — in wet grass, a driveway, a concrete ditch, and on the floor of a Denny’s restaurant — shooting ground-level stills of our tiny actors while my friend moved them inch by inch.
Picture and sound editing consumed the rest of the month as we trimmed audio clips, cut out sound blips, converted and compressed the file, edited out the same blips again (*groan*), and finally uploaded it to YouTube. We submitted the link on October 30 and then – we waited.
The semi-finalists would be notified by November 15, and I checked my email dutifully. But nothing.
My friend and I talked it over one day at lunch.
“It probably won’t make it,” I said.
“I think it will,” she said.
Moments later, I logged onto my Gmail. And there it was! “Congratulations! You have been selected as a semi-finalist in Denny’s ‘Search for Middle-earth’s Greatest Fan’ contest ….”
I couldn’t stop smiling. During the following days I submitted paperwork, frequently broke into a grin for no apparent reason, and watched the videos of my four competitors. I was impressed, especially by one piece done in Claymation. That would be tough to beat.
I dared to imagine that I might just win, but I tried to push those thoughts back.
On Wednesday, November 20, I wasn’t even thinking about the contest when I walked into my choir director’s office to chat about rehearsal. My sister unexpectedly appeared in the doorway. “I need to tell you something.” I stepped into the hall with her.
“What?”
“Your video won.” I covered my gaping mouth with my hands and proceeded to beam for the rest of the day. The news spread to my cast and crew quickly, and by the following Monday the college website had issued a press release. I’d become some sort of campus byword in a weekend.
And that was that. More paperwork, phone calls, emails to professors about missing class.
And now, here we stood – waiting not four feet from where some of the biggest stars in Hollywood would tread (I hoped) in a few minutes.
Suddenly, things started happening on the carpet. I could see a crowd of celebrities making their way through the channel of fans. My sister and I shouted back and forth across the carpet, alerting one another whenever we identified a familiar face approaching.
“The gray suit! Richard Armitage.”
“Benedict Cumberbatch!”
“Stephen Fry!”
I pushed my brand-new, hard-bound, illustrated edition of The Hobbit forward, blank pages ready for autographs. The actors didn’t disappoint me. But my pen did. The nasty little thing conked out – in the hands of Peter Jackson. As he struggled to get the ink flowing, a kindhearted neighbor lent him a marker. Lesson learned: the next time I attend a major Hollywood premiere (Ha!), I bring a Sharpie, not an extra-fine tip, Faber-Castell art pen.
The last star to make his way down the carpet was Martin Freeman, Bilbo himself. Unlike the others, Freeman worked slowly along one side of the carpet. While he posed for photographs and autographed paraphernalia, I snapped pictures from a distance. When he didn’t cross over to my side, I resigned myself to pictures only and no signature. But then he reached the stairs and made a U-turn, patiently working his way back to me. His kind gesture struck me. My actual encounter with him solidified the good impression. When he paused in front of me to sign my book, I heard his soft voice (complete with charming British accent) thank the girl next to me for a compliment. Just by looking at him, I sensed the genuineness of his mild demeanor. “Thank you, Mr. Freeman,” I said (grinning some more).
Next we should have strolled into the theater to watch our new acquaintances on the big screen. But it wasn’t going to be that easy. We had these cameras (forbidden inside the theater, of course) and to our surprise there was no bag or coat check station where we could leave them. After a flurry of consultation with security guards, we decided to run back to our hotel room. The Roosevelt was only a block away, but for all we knew, the movie would start any second. Our high-heels clicked on the tiles as we dashed out of the lobby and willed the crosswalk lights to change faster. When we reached the hotel elevators, I took a deep breath. “Complaining won’t do any good,” so we prayed that the movie would start late and that the attendants would let us in if it did start.
With the cameras safely deposited (on the 9th floor), we hurried back to the theater. “Don’t run,” I kept calling after my sister. So we walked quickly through the theater lobby, and – they let us in.
Up the stairs we went, to Mezzanine 1, and tried to find row D in the dark. Thorin and company were wandering about in the woods, and the first thing I thought was, “For a high-definition premiere showing, the film quality is lousy.” We settled into our seats to watch, but then I looked to my left: Everyone in the theater was wearing 3-D glasses except us. I nudged my sister, and she dashed out to find us two pairs. My first world premiere would also be my first-ever 3-D movie.
For the next two-and-a-half hours, we journeyed through Middle Earth with Bilbo, Thorin, Fili and Kili, and the rest of the company. We laughed when Bombur (Stephen Hunter), encased in a barrel, single-handedly took out several orc detachments. We cheered after Legolas (Orlando Bloom) and Tauriel (Evangeline Lilly) displayed their Elvish prowess in battle. And we jumped in our seats when an enormous CG spider lunged toward the screen.
Unlike the first Hobbit film, The Desolation of Smaug gave me a chance to breathe in between thrills. This was mostly due to the soap-opera love triangle involving Legolas, Tauriel, and Kili, perhaps the most elf-like of the young dwarves (played by Aidan Turner). Does a 2013 movie-going audience actually buy this kind of cliché sappiness? Kili takes one arrow wound to the thigh and can’t manage to pull a lever (*Ahem* *Boromir* if you catch my meaning), and the elf maiden must swoop to his aid. In total, Tauriel saves Kili’s life four times during the course of the film, and the feminists rejoice. But the rest of us raise an eyebrow and mutter, “Man up” (or “Dwarf up,” if you prefer). And when it takes delirium to make the wispy dwarf’s straight-from-the-can profession of love even semi-credible, we know the dialogue needs reworking.
But aside from the less-than-ideal romance, The Desolation of Smaug dishes up hours of quality entertainment. Martin Freeman’s nervous gestures are perfect as ever, and Benedict Cumberbatch nails his vocal performance as Smaug. Bloom’s Legolas ditches some of his Elvish imperviousness and (gasp!) gets a nosebleed, an incident that apparently takes him by surprise, but makes us chuckle. Two new delights arrive in the forms of Luke Evans and Stephen Fry. A mustachioed Evans (Will Turner anyone?) shows his grit as the disgraced widower, Bard, trying to help his fellow citizens and regain his honor at the same time. And Fry revels in his comic abilities as the ridiculous yet despicable Master of Laketown. The two actors fit seamlessly into this all-star cast, which more than lives up to its reputation.
The glamorous journey over, my sister and I returned to the comfortable realms of school and home and settled back into our routines, but the spark still lingers – as it does in all who leave the Shire for high times and dangerous exploits. Good thing December 13 is here, and with it the chance to revisit (at least part of) our adventure.
Abigail’s Award-winning Video
