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The men of The Rings are larger than life. But how well would they fare in the real world?
NANCY PAYNE They are the men of The Lord Of The Rings, and of the many powerful reasons to see the Tolkien trilogy, they are among the most memorable. As a model for masculinity, they ain't half bad either. Eomer of the golden tresses, tormented Boromir and his conflicted brother Faramir, and, of course, the incomparable Aragorn. (If there is a straight woman who has seen The Two Towers and says she hasn't wished herself in the shoes of Aragorn's elvish love Arwen, well, sorry fellas — she's lying.) The actors bring an intangible, something beyond offbeat good looks and acting ability. There is, after all, a reason why these roles didn't go to Hugh Grant or Edward Norton. In bringing Tolkien's gallant, flawed characters to life, they have provided an elusive glimpse of what man, and men, could be. Public life is crammed with opportunistic political leaders whose convictions are supported by nothing more than the latest Decima poll, with philandering celebrities, amoral CEOs and drug-addled athletes. How then can we not be seduced by the charms of these on-screen lords of the ring, who are both literally and figuratively larger than life? The men of Gondor and Rohan, at least the ones we see close up, are brave and honourable, willing to sacrifice for others and lead their forces into righteous battle, even if their cause appears doomed. They respect poetry, duty and the bonds of family. They are both decisive and intuitive. They trust their feelings — heck, they can probably even put their feelings into music and sing it too. And let us not forget their fabulous hair. They can ride a horse and swing a sword, they look unbelievably hot in leather or velvet or rags, and they definitely know how to treat a lady. Sigh. Well, maybe that's the first stumbling block. Granted, most women, no matter what we tell you, have a small secret corner of our hearts reserved for the rugged, sensitive prince we met in the fairytales of our childhood. It doesn't make us any less strong or self-reliant, just more complicated. Is it surprising, then, that the thought of a man who is both gentle in love and fierce in battle, who could sweep us on to the back of his horse and away from laundry and litter boxes, makes even the most modern of us long to be the brave shield-maiden Eowyn, with her flowing gown and skill at swordplay? That we must leave the theatre and re-enter life seems particularly hard after the high-minded romance of The Two Towers. That no one has done the dishes or paid the bills in our absence makes it that much worse. But along with the blast of chilly air in the real world come some nagging questions about how the movie's glorious men would handle the routine of everyday life. It will be fine for Aragorn, who's going to be king and all. Arwen doesn't seem like a shrinking violet, and she's several hundred years older than him, so that looks to be a match of equals instead of the usual Harrison Ford-Cameron Diaz-type film pairings. The soft-focus lighting doesn't last forever, though, and there has to be more to say over coffee than protestations of eternal love, no matter how genuine. And after a while, it won't matter how gloweringly handsome he may be if he keeps forgetting to put his chain mail and helmet away. Even a queen gets tired of hearing variations on "This armour was wrought by elves and purified in the battle of Helm's Deep. And besides, the servants will get it." Boromir and Faramir, then. Babes, yes; relaxing, no. That kind of intensity has its time and place, but in peacetime it would be exhausting to live with. Even gorgeous Eomer of Rohan (who has especially lovely hair) might wear a little thin after a while. When the grand gestures have been made, when the final battle fought, what then? We know these men, of course. At least, we know the men they become. They are the ones who thrive on turmoil and great causes and the excitement of a challenge. Everyday life is not their strong suit. Without an enemy to fight, they track other quarry, looking elsewhere for the thrills of yore. It's easy to be a big man when the stakes are high. Much harder to be the guy who grinds along day after day, taking pleasure in life's small victories. Sad to say, it seems inevitable that they'd end up going out with their old pals too often, even if all they had in common was the old days. After a few rounds it would be all "Hey, remember when you pushed the big ladder over on to the uruk-hai? That rocked!" and "My sword is sharper than your sword." And who knows how long it would take them in the bathroom every morning to keep their hair so luscious. Off-screen, good men don't really get those kinds of chances to display their greatness in times when there is no Dark Lord threatening from Mordor. They're forged in home offices and industrial parks and curling rinks, not the white heat of battle. They're the guys who slap down the racist jokes in the locker room and call their mums and mostly don't shirk their turn changing the stinky diapers. They're not much good against orcs, but then again, they don't have to be. Aragorn and company are the stuff of dreams. The others, well, they're the stuff of life. So what if they're never going to sweep us behind them on their steed? It has never looked like a terribly comfortable place to be anyway. And their hair will do just fine.
SPECIAL TO THE STAR
They are visions of nobility: selfless, pure of heart and devoted to good. Well, mostly. They are arrestingly beautiful. And oh, their hair. Shoulder-length, carelessly wavy, sometimes slick with sweat, sometimes shimmering in the breeze.
Freelance writer Nancy Payne has seen The Two Towers twice in Lindsay, Ont.
