Something I’ve never considered about LotR (and yes, I have considered much about LotR): it’s a very crafty story. The books (and movies) are full of crafts. And I don’t mean macrame and rug-hooking. I mean swords, daggers, mithril armour, detailed clothing, stone carving, and of course rings. Craftsmanship, really. Or craftswomanship, craftselveship, craftsdwarveship, craftsorcship, and craftsauronship—I hope I’m not leaving anyone out.
I know Tolkien was at least moderately artsy, since he did some of his own illustrations. I can imagine him having been influenced by the Arts and Crafts movement in England, which valued well-made things rather than ornament for its own sake and looked to medieval craftsmanship for much of its influence. Regardless of Tolkien’s influences, his love of material beauty and the process of making it shines through his stories. Yes, in nature, but also in the objects the cultures and individuals in his stories make.
The LotR movies honoured Tolkien’s richly material world by investing love into everything that was made. Who here has not gloated over the fastidious details in the behind-the-scenes? I watched them and wanted to be a set designer when I grew up. From how the Elven gowns were sewn to how the deceptively simple Ring was thought out, every detail was intentional and time-consuming. LotR was impressive in its CGI, sure. But it was also a highly material movie involving expert artisans. It was made with love, and it shows.
After my disappointment with The Hobbit trilogy, I waited with cold foreboding for the release of The Rings of Power. Much ink has been spilt on the soulless nature of the Amazon spectacle. RoP? More like RIP. Yet I continue watching. I want to see a silk cloak billowing out behind a horse. Can you blame me?
Yet everything has a slight tinge of unreality to it, and not in a magical fantasy kinda way. My friend Danny called the scenes with the elves “gauzy”. We expect to feel removed from things. We’re now living in an age of deepfakes and AI, instead of dial-up internet like when the first movie came out. We know we can’t trust our eyes. We’re cynical and hard to impress. RoP just gives us what we already expect: spectacle instead of craftsmanship. It doesn’t expect us to know the difference.
I remember sitting in the theatre watching the boats float down the Anduin River beneath giant stone Argonath statues looming overhead. The characters felt wonder, and so did we watchers. Along with the Fellowship we encountered various cultures and a long, storied history. With RoP I just feel… bored. Detail and craftsmanship is replaced with gaudy spectacle. Rather than the feel of distinct ancient civilizations, it’s giving Thomas Kinkade.
This is perhaps nowhere so glaring as in the rings of “power”. Anyone privileged enough to watch RoP with me will hear me groaning about the rings every time I see them: “They look like Ring Pops!” Tacky costume jewelry: big clunky stones in primary colours, settings that look like they came from a dollar store. You’re telling me the greatest Elven minds came up with this? No, no, you can’t blame everything on Sauron’s influence. He at least had the taste to make a simple gold ring.
The rings don’t look like they were loved in their making. They don’t look like they’re radiating a subtle-yet-confident power. They look like they’re shouting, “Check me out, I’m a frickin’ RoP!” because they’re insecure and have imposter syndrome. As they should, because LotR never would have done this to us.
So why make this choice?
Because instead of artistry, we’re given spectacle. Because the writing and characters and world-building and general vibes are running off Tolkien-esque fumes instead of becoming something of their own. The show doesn’t have enough of its own power to convey that the rings are special. It has to do it with over-the-top glitz.
How could Tolkien create an epic trilogy around what looks like someone’s ordinary wedding band? In Tolkien’s world this makes sense. Made things hold awe and power. They have history, they were formed with care, and they were handed down through generations, be they objects of good or evil. They represent cultures, family lines, and artistic traditions.
We’re becoming more and more removed from this way of thinking. Sure, we have lots of material stuff. We go to IKEA and buy the same bookshelf or chair everyone else has, which we can easily resell on Marketplace when we move for a job two years later. We buy mass-produced seasonal slop that we toss around our houses for fall or Christmas or spring then throw out next season. We buy a lot of stuff, but do we love it? Was it loved at any point when it was being made, shipped, or sold?
I love my objects with family history, like a set of fabric dolls my grandma was given in India, my grandpa’s old army bag, or the LotR books my mom received as a teen and were my one requested inheritance. (Doled out early, as if I were the prodigal son. However, I did not squander them on prostitutes and wild living.) I love things that were made for me: a quilt from my mom, a carved wooden cross from my dad, a hot water bottle cover my sister sewed. These things were loved when they were made, because they were made for me and with delight in their making.
I love to make things too. Earrings, Christmas ornaments, knitted socks, lino printed cards, you name it. I love the process of making, and I love thinking of those for whom I create. Not everyone enjoys making stuff, and that’s fine. I also understand my vibe is different from most. Not everyone wants their living room to look like a Victorian gentleman’s study, and I get that. (Theoretically.) And as stated in my previous post, stepping into a thrift store can send a surge of consumerism over me. I’m not blameless, but I try to keep things around me I love. As far as I can on a budget, I try to follow William Morris’s dictum: “Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful.”
By-and-large we’re losing value for well-made things. Repping a brand has become more important than the quality of a piece. Either way, we have no idea who made the stuff. We may feel vague guilt about “sweatshops in China” but we continue to be driven by fast fashion. What our culture makes is meant to be disposable. It isn’t loved, it’s used. It doesn’t show personality, it shows persona. It has no history, it just becomes history. It’s inspo but it doesn’t inspire.
Who brings all this readymade schlock to us? Amazon. Who brought RoP to us? … …
The magical requires the ordinary to make any sense. As our ordinary becomes crammed with faux magic, miracles lose their power over us. As our houses become full of plastic, we forget the feel of wood and stone let alone the sheen of gold. And so we lose the goodness of the ordinary too.
We’ve become more and more removed from the material world, experiencing most of life through a screen. We’re more like ringwraiths driven by blind bling-lust than solid people carefully choosing what’s worth surrounding ourselves with. We don’t know how to make things or how to value the things we own. How can we possibly understand the kinds of material objects Tolkien presents? When a sword is broken, the Elves don’t just throw it out like a busted toothpick. They put it in an honoured place and believe that one day it will be reforged and that will mean something and have the power to change things too.
Tolkien understood such values because he wrote that way. He created whole languages for his cultures. He was painstakingly detailed, sometimes annoyingly so. But he loved his worlds, his characters, and his discursive descriptions of every hill and dale. They were built to last.
We still find in Tolkien a love for both the magical and the mundane. That’s why people (not naming names) get upset when Tolkien is invoked to cover up crass commercialism. We owe it to Tolkien and his generations of fans to continue in the lineage of love for making things. Be it a book or a ring. Be it made for a movie or a family member. When objects are loved in their making, they can inspire love from those who look at them. Until then, get Galadriel a Ring Pop. At least it’s not pretending to be something it’s not.
Hear hear!