Has a movie ever wrapped you in a blanket of pure comfort, a cinematic hug that just gets you? For me, that movie is The Fellowship of the Ring. When autumn arrives, painting the world in fiery hues, while some reach for familiar sitcoms, I dust off my DVD of Gimli son of Glóin and his companions. The fate of Middle-earth hangs in the balance, and only this unlikely fellowship can answer the call.
I have a friend who actively avoids watching The Fellowship of the Ring. She can't bear the thought of sending those innocent hobbits into the terrifying unknown of Mordor, knowing the horrors that await. But me? I gleefully send them off on their perilous adventure two, maybe even three times a year! And here's the kicker: I rarely let them finish. Not because I'm some kind of sadist relishing hobbit suffering, but because, frankly, my comfort takes precedence. With all due respect to Keats and his ode to autumn, Fellowship is autumn to me. It's as cozy and comforting as curling up under a warm blanket with a steaming mug of hot chocolate. It’s my ultimate feel-good film.
Most people I know agree that Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings trilogy is about as close to cinematic perfection as we're ever likely to get. Even on a small screen, the sheer breathtaking scale of the New Zealand scenery, standing in for Middle-earth, is astounding. The powerful emotional currents that drive every scene completely transport you out of your living room and into that fantastical world. But here's where it gets controversial... nobody can agree on which of the three films is the best. Every guy I've ever dated seems to champion The Two Towers, basing their arguments almost entirely on the epic Battle of Helm's Deep. My more emotionally-attuned friends tend to favor Return of the King and the satisfying sense of narrative closure it provides. But personally, I stand firmly in the Fellowship camp. The idea of a group of diverse individuals coming together, united by a shared commitment to good, embodies my vision of a utopian society, even if I only ever let them complete a third of their mission.
And this is the part most people miss... the brilliance of Fellowship, and the Lord of the Rings as a whole, lies in its clear-cut distinction between good and evil. There's no moral ambiguity here. No one is suggesting we invite Saruman onto a talk show to defend his disastrous deforestation projects, or saying, "I don't agree with everything Sauron stands for, but he does have a point about overpopulation." Your mom isn't being radicalized by the Ringwraiths on Facebook. You instantly know who the good guys are, you know who the bad guys are, and it's crystal clear what needs to be done to combat the encroaching darkness. Someone with pure intentions is stepping up to confront it. It's a refreshing escape from the complexities of the real world.
It's tempting to say there's never a wrong time to watch Fellowship, but there's one exception: seeing it in the cinema in 2001 with my recently separated parents, who were barely tolerating each other. For reasons that remain shrouded in mystery, we decided that the fractured Solomon Family Unit would reunite every Christmas for The Lord of the Rings. Was it a misguided attempt to introduce us to Middle-earth? Or a catastrophically naive belief that it would restore some semblance of normalcy to our distinctly unnormal situation? If we were the type of family that openly communicated, we might have some answers. Whatever the reason, this unsettling yet strangely comforting annual tradition stuck. Even now, I experience a thrill of anxious anticipation, heightened by more than just the looming threat of Sauron, as the haunting strains of Elvish creep in and Galadriel begins her opening monologue: "The world is changed." Lady, you have no idea.
You can sense the passion and dedication poured into every frame of this film. Even the most heart-wrenching moments in Fellowship evoke a strangely pleasurable ache, like absentmindedly probing a canker sore with your tongue. Sometimes, I pause the film on Gandalf's face when Frodo bravely declares he will take the ring to Mordor, just to linger in that poignant moment. It's a seemingly insignificant detail that hits me with immense emotional force every single time. It's that genuine love and care that elevates all the walking and talking in Fellowship. It's what makes me feel so good while watching, even during Boromir's tragic demise, riddled with arrows; when the Fellowship fractures and Gandalf falls, but the quest continues regardless; when second breakfast is replaced with a meager apple. And if you can make me feel good amidst all that darkness, while I'm sandwiched between my perpetually bickering parents, you've truly worked some magic.
So, what's your ultimate comfort movie? Is it a nostalgic classic, a heartwarming tale, or something completely unexpected? And do you agree that The Fellowship of the Ring deserves its place as a feel-good cinematic masterpiece? Let me know your thoughts in the comments below! Perhaps you even disagree with my cozy interpretation – I'd love to hear your perspective!
