The clearing of the tear ducts

The massive traffic jams, the rising obnoxiousness level of Manila’s taxi drivers, the incessant playing of carols in shopping malls, the sudden efficiency and politeness of garbage collectors, earlier sunsets... iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit’s Xmas season! That time of the year when you wish you could flee to another country, one that is less enthusiastic about making a show of observing forms and rituals, or just any place that has fewer people in it (Antarctica is looking good). And that time of the year when my sister and I have our annual 12-hour Lord Of The Rings Movie Marathon, 24 if we decide to include all the documentaries in the DVD sets. This family tradition began in December 2004 with the release of the extended DVD of The Return Of The King. Since 2001 we’d always had a Lord Of The Rings movie to look forward to in the midst of Xmas chaos, but with the conclusion of Peter Jackson’s three-part adaptation in 2003, we found ourselves plunged into crisis. How would we survive the Xmas season without Tolkien and Jackson to tell us that we should never despair and that death isn’t so bad? Fortunately the release of the official DVDs saved us from having to actually go out and hunt orc (rude cabbies, rude salespersons, rude shoppers: the malls are full of them). Instead of staining our cutlery with their DNA, we would sit and watch our all-time favorite fantasy epic. It may have come in three installments, but we’ve always considered it one movie.

The main challenge, of course, is staying awake for the entire 12-hour running time. Although we love the movie, and think of it not as a movie but as a childhood religion, it requires stamina.

Watching it at home on DVD presents special problems; unlike in a movie theater where your attention is riveted to the screen, there are all sorts of distractions. There’s the phone, the Internet, demanding cats, the fridge, and naps. And the arrival last month of my niece Mika, a kid (although my sister says she doesn’t have to be invited to my house for the screening yet, as she hasn’t read Tolkien.)

I train all year for the marathon with epic movies, repeat viewings, and Lav Diaz films. The part that poses difficulties for me comes at the start of The Fellowship Of The Ring: my attention wanders during Bilbo’s birthday party. (Imagine if the Tom Bombadil portion had been included.) Of course, The Shire is lovely, but I need to see danger and carnage to stay glued. Once I get to the part where the four Hobbits are pursued by the Nazgul, I’m fine. As for my sister, she always falls asleep when Frodo enters Shelob’s lair. I should point out that our two previous attempts at the LOTR marathon were cancelled for one reason or another – last-minute dinner plans, sudden chores, etc. – but this Xmas we will get serious.

An interesting sidelight of the marathon will be the weeping. I seldom cry in real life, unless I am enraged and need to vent to keep my head from exploding. I went through my mother’s funeral without shedding a tear. Sometimes, in order to induce crying, I will remember sad scenes from the movies. Like the part near the end of La Strada where Zampano hears that Gelsomina is dead. Or the death of E.T., the shooting of Old Yeller, and the arrest of Dumbo’s mother. It’s very strange, but in my observation, people who don’t cry much in real life cry at the movies. Or maybe I just hang around with a bunch of freaks. I, for one, weep buckets at The Lord Of The Rings. Some of it is nostalgia: having read Tolkien in my teens I think of it as my history. It is certainly a major reason why I never memorized the periodic table of the elements (but I can recite "The Mirror of Galadriel" and other poems in Elvish). Some of it is the sheer joy of seeing something you’d imagined as a child coming to life. I think the primary reason we love Peter Jackson’s adaptation is that his interpretation of Tolkien is close to ours. (Purists decry the liberties he took with the material, but that is what purists are for, and besides, the requirements of cinema are not the same as literature’s.) Some of it is awe because, damn it, that’s a great movie. And some of it is finding that the old epic theme of valor still exists in a world that calls it corny because it is unlikely and impractical.

I already know which parts I will cry at, so I have a Tissue Guide to The Lord Of The Rings Marathon. First, Gandalf falls in Moria. The first time we watched Peter Jackson’s movie, we felt superior to the people who gasped when Gandalf fell with the Balrog. Clearly, they had not read the books. However, on subsequent viewings, I found my tear ducts leaking when Gandalf, hanging onto the ledge by his fingernails, said, "Fly, you fools!" He did not say, "Save me, my friends!" He was prepared to die for the Quest.

The big weeper in The Fellowship Of The Ring is the last stand of Boromir. Sauron is the villain of the story, and Saruman is his instrument, but Boromir is both villain and hero. He’s a noble human warrior who is tempted by The Ring, but he redeems himself through the manner of his death. You do realize that all epics are in love with death?

As always I have gone on too long and have no space left to wave my mace. I will tell you how the Marathon goes, and where we wept.

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