My husband loves fantasy flicks. Like most guys, he’s a sucker for any film that weaves a tale of things otherworldly or beyond the human realm. If there’s a movie out there that depicts superheroes, spaceships, aliens, magic wands, something/someone who flies, enchanted beasts, lasers, armies of warriors battling for good or evil, vampire hunters, the supernatural, living skeletons, massive cockroaches or white wizards, he’s more than likely seen it at least once. Or a thousand times. Especially the movies with white wizards.
Yup, I’m talking Lord of the Rings. I’m assuming you’ve seen this trilogy about a powerful ring that’s found its way to a young hobbit, who must save the world by journeying to a faraway destination where the ring can be destroyed. I’ve seen this movie lots more times than I care to publicly admit. Without ghastly stares from other women, at least.
The actual number of times I have watched Lord of the Rings (which I now affectionately call Bored of the Rings) escapes me, since it was never my intent to see it more than a few times. The first time I watched, I was drawn into the adventure. I saw it a second time, to see the cruelly long Director’s cut and catch what I’d missed. The third time, I felt a growing irritation in their stupid accents, never mind their having left home without a map (typical guys). And after the four-bazillionth time seeing this movie, I decided that the real hero was Samwise Gamgee, for not having bitch-slapped Frodo for being such a self-centered, freaking drama queen.
Poor Sam. That’s the name of the game I invented to divert myself whenever I hear Lord of the Rings blaring from the living room television. In this game, I play the role of Samwise Gamgee, interjecting my own lines whenever speaking with Frodo…
“Look, either let me help you carry the damned thing or quit bitching about the weight of it.”
“I shoulda kept that Elvish rope to drag your sorry Hobbit ass all the way back to the freaking Shire.”
“This lembas bread tastes like shit. Couldn’t those elves have offered anything better?”
“When Gandalf said not to leave you, I just thought you were running out for beer…”
“I sure as hell hope you’ve learned to never again accept stolen jewelry from stupid-ass uncles.”
“I can’t believe I’m leaving my best set of pans behind so YOU can travel faster.”
“Why didn’t we take the horses? What the hell were we thinking??”
“You throw that motherfucking ring into that river of molten lava right now, or I am tossing it in there myself while it’s still hanging around your soon-to-be-overcooked Hobbit neck.”
“If you think I am taking any more of that shit from your bitch-ugly naked ogre you are SO wrong!”
“Oh, no – you did NOT just disappear again!”
“I swear, if you fall one more time…”
“Why would you want to keep it? It was made to fit that tall, dark Lord so it’s not even your size! Anyhow, it’s too flashy and clashes with your outfit…”
“There and Back Again – that’s the book title? You need to rename it The Road Less Traveled… and Now I Freaking Know Why.”
“I should have stayed home, married Rosie and bonked her brains out instead of being out here, hanging onto the side of a cliff, surviving on these god-awful crackers with you and your creepy swamp-thing-turned-tour-guide.”
“When we get home, you can find yourself another fucking gardener.”
Poor, poor Sam. He really could have used a few self-help books about not letting friends take advantage of you. And he no doubt would have felt better getting it all out and having his say. Alas, it was not in the script. Not the official script, at least.
I hope, someday, someone writes this story from poor Sam’s perspective. Told just after he gets home from dropping off Frodo. Dear diary, Frodo is such an ass wipe. Just the other day I was mowing his lawn when all of a sudden…