Alternative Character Interpretation: Part 1

So this is part 1 of 4 of a series of thoughts I've been having based around characters, specifically those from Lord of the Rings and Fallout 3.

I've always been one to over-analyse. It's an interest I fostered in high school which then went into overdrive in University & beyond. As Simon Pegg put in in his autobiography "Nerd Do Well" (which I highly recommend):

(read the whole paragraph, you, not just the highlighted bit)

Many people's reaction to over-analysis of film or television is "God, you're wanking on a bit. Can't you just enjoy it? Well, yes. Though this stuff mostly comes out in things like Lord of the Rings, which I have seen in its 11-hour-extended-edition-entirety upwards of 30 times. It's a trilogy I love. I love it so much, in fact, that I've become slightly numb to the obvious moments of greatness. And it's that numbness that allows you to notice smaller things that are going on. Which is what we come to today.

Part 1: Wormtongue

Azula: I can see your whole history in your eyes. You were born with nothing, so you've had to struggle, connive, and claw your way to power. But true power, the divine right to rule, is something you're born with. The fact is, they don't know which one of us is going to be sitting on that throne, and which one is going to be bowing down. But I know, and you know. (sits on the throne)Well?

Long Feng:....(kneels before Azula) You've beaten me at my own game.

Azula: Don't flatter yourself. You were never even a player.

— Avatar: The Last Airbender

(I know, I know, different universe, but it illustrates what I'm talking about so well!)

(also, let's be clear, I'm discussing the film version, as portrayed by Brad Dourif)

So there's this kid, right? He's shorter than all the other kids. He can't run as fast. He's no good on a horse. He is a terrible sword-fighter. In fact, he's terrible at pretty much anything physical. But he's always thinking. He quickly realises that this can be something important and useful, so he develops his mind. He studies medicine, political intrigue, relationships between those in power. He organises things, and through this, becomes quite valuable. He trades favours and offers advice, gaining position through flattery, bribes, blackmail, threats, and in some cases, poison (which his medical studies made him an expert in). Eventually, though, he finds that in this kingdom, you can only go so far without might or skill with a sword. So he looks elsewhere, makes a powerful and dangerous allegiance, weakens the king, and takes his place as the Bismarck to the King's Wilhelm. He essentially infects the entire court with Munchausen-by-proxy: You need me here, to help the King. Once this is established, he is King in all but name, despite only being the conduit for another power.

This is how we meet Wormtongue. He is "advisor" to king Theoden, while being used by Saruman to control Rohan. He keeps the King weak and confused (implied to be through "witchcraft", but possibly through drugs as well) and whispers his & Saruman's wonts into the King's ear. He is still a weak figure, but he is able to command power, changing rules, and banishing those who oppose him. In return, he is promised more power, and especially the "hand" (....yeah) of Eowyn, the King's niece.

Of course, in ride Gandalf and our heroes, and we all know what happens: they awaken the King, who literally throws Grima from the hall. Grima would have been slaughtered, had not Aragorn stepped in.

Grima runs to Saruman, looking for a new place to set up shop. He brings information with him, still his only currency, and trades it to Saruman for shelter. He explains who cast him out (right down to what jewelry they were wearing) as well as the weaknesses of the Helm's Deep fortress wall. At this point, Grima has given up all the information he has, selling out his court, his King, and his people, out of desperation, and of slim hope of his expected reward (regime change, get the girl, all those people I hate go away).

Saruman takes this information and reveals some of his plan: he has gunpowder, all the better to exploit the weakness in the fortress. Oh, and he also has 10,000 magically-frenzied Uruk Hai outside the window, fully armoured and ready to attack. Grima's information was mildly useful, but not essential. He has played his entire hand and lost.

Here's where it gets interesting and I had my little revalation. What I noticed is in the visual composition of the scenes between him and Saruman. Initially, Grima is seated on a throne-like chair, nursing his wounds while Saruman paces. Grima's position implies power, almost as if he is recovering his strength. Once the gunpowder is revealed, Saruman takes centre stage, with Grima crouched behind him, both literally and figuratively in his shadow. Specifically, Grima is holding a candlestick in his right hand. The candlestick is about 40 cm long and has a tiny stub of white candle on top, which is lit. This candlestick is a miniature version of Saruman's wizard staff (a tall black rod, topped by a white ball). This again demonstrates the power difference between them at a glance. Saruman even, in a comical moment, holds Grima back to stop his candle from coming too close to the gunpowder. Apart from the obvious ("Don't blow us up, idiot"), this is Saruman asserting dominance ("What little power you hold, I can control at will"). They cross to the window, and we (and Grima) see the army. The air from their roars snuffs out his candle. For a moment, He and Saruman stand side-by-side, Saruman with his staff in his right hand, Grima with his (now useless) candlestick. The visual comparison is clear. Grima was never more than a pretender, a wannabe Big Bad.

Grima, up until this point, has been a power-player. He has played both sides off the middle for so long that it is second nature to him. He gives the information to Saruman, thinking that while it might allow Saruman an advantage, the Big S was biting off a bit more than he can chew by attacking Helm's Deep. Then he sees the army.

Then he realises that Saruman does not want a regime change. He does not want to win a battle. He wants genocide. He wants all men gone. Grima might have been trying to push other people out of the boat, but he wasn't drilling holes in the bottom. He realises that he's been played, that he had no real power, and that there is now absolutely nothing he can do about it.

So he holds very still, and weeps.

O.G.: Origin Gangster.

After watching Iron Man 2 with Tanja and the Nerd Herd, I was watching the Totally Rad Show review of it at the gym. It got me thinking about films and origin stories, specifically when it comes to superheroes and comic book films.

Now, I've heard from people that the second film can be more difficult than the first, due to the terrors of sequelitis, the law of diminishing returns, and viewer fatigue. Other comments have said that sequel films are easier due to the fact that you don't need to spend half the film introducing everyone, but can get right down to telling the story you want.

Where it gets interesting with Superhero stories is simple: everyone knows the end of the origin story. We know Peter Parker will become Spider-Man. We know Bruce Wayne will be Batman. We know Wolverine may take off in a snit, but he'll always come back and be part of the X-Men. Everyone knows this plucky kid/cavaleir inventor/troubled man will become the superhero. If nothing else, we know it because it was on the poster for the film that we walked by to get into the theatre. So how do you build tension?

Well, in the case of the better superhero stories/films, you make the origin not about the destination, but about the journey. This can be difficult, and may require fleshing out due to the fact that most comic book origins are a single issue. That's 16-25 pages, with ads, to go from soup to nuts, introduction to actualisation. In the 40s, 50s, and 60s, it was not hard. Hey look! That's your hero. We know because he's on the cover. He got his powers from a lightning strike and now he can run fast, calls himself The Flash, and fights crime. Boom. Done. That took about two pages. That, however, makes for a terrible film. So the better ones (which is how I started this paragraph) take their time and use the origin to establish character.

Batman? Show the parents' death. Show the training. Show how determined and dangerous he becomes. Spider-man? Show the getting of the powers. Show the fun side. Show it turning dark and the acceptance of responsibility. Iron Man? Show him cavalier. Show his interest turn from the frivolous to the immediate (ie survival). Show him using his genius outside the box and that with constraints comes true discovery (In a CAVE! With a BOX OF SCRAPS!).
This is why, when Marvel asked Brian Michael Bendis to create a new variant of Spider-Man (Ultimate Spider-Man) with no continuity to the 40+ years of history, he took a bold step and instead of telling the origin in the first issue, he used the entire first story arc. All 6 issues of it. And it was heralded as a masterpiece of storytelling. By the end of it, we don't just know Spider-man. We know Peter Parker, the kid who, just maybe, has it in him to be a hero.

I have no idea where I was going with this, but I find all of this fascinating. I love the wayposts of the Hero's Journey. I love looking at stories, be they film, book, comic or TV show slightly off to the side so you can see the strings. It the same reason I love magic. You can watch it and love the spectacle, and you can also appreciate the technique. Plus, once in a while, a magician will do something where you have NO idea how he did it. And that's real magic.