In contrast to the fairytale meandering of The Hobbit, the Lord of the Rings series is very much a war story, and War Stories are traditionally full of the camaraderie and rivalries of men. On its surface, the Lord of the Rings trilogy seems to fit the picture of what could sell to an early 2000s audience. The hero probably had a female love interest (likely to be the only top billed woman), but no close male friends with whom he shared his interior life, and certainly none who he’d touch for longer than a fist takes to make contact. He might be the de facto leader of a team, but if he had equals, they were coded as antagonists, rivals, or at the very least, sources of gruff, in-group tension. Masculinity meant male heroism, and the heroism of a solitary man.
The box-office-topping action movies from the years around Fellowship’s release - including the first installment of the Fast and the Furious franchise, the first of the Raimi Spider-Man films, and The Mummy Returns - give an overview of how adult masculinity existed in the popular consciousness. As awareness of queer existence rose in the cishet public consciousness - owing in no small part to the AIDS crisis of the 1980s and 1990s, and the increasing visibility of queer activism - Hollywood became more and more skittish about representing closeness, physical touch, and emotional vulnerability between male characters. A shadow and a threat to the mainstream had been growing in Hollywood’s mind for decades: homosexuality. While there are many reasons for the shifts in masculine representation coming out of the 20th century, one seems the most glaring and obvious. More than that, they delivered an expression of profound masculine vulnerability and, well, fellowship, that had become all but extinct in the surrounding big-budget landscape. Drawing on a potent mix of Arthurian legend, Tolkien biography, and the onscreen mannerisms of the Golden Age of Hollywood, the filmmakers crafted one of the most heart-wrenching moments in the Lord of the Rings series. But with the quiet power of Boromir’s death scene, Jackson and company gave the hardened mainstream audience of 2001 a different idea of what masculinity could look like - an older idea. It would have been easy, following the lead of other early 2000s blockbusters, for the Lord of the Rings trilogy to have catered to the times, and taken a turn for the self-aware, self-embarrassed, and glancingly-to-overtly homophobic. It was gratifying, and shocking, to see that level of masculine tenderness depicted on screen, let alone in one of the biggest films of that decade. The first time I saw the scene in an enraptured midnight-premiere audience, I remember my surprise that no one laughed or quipped in embarrassment. This is Polygon's Year of the Ring.īoromir’s death sticks with viewers new and old, unforgettable in its performances and its deep wells of emotion. So each Wednesday throughout the year, we'll go there and back again, examining how and why the films have endured as modern classics. 2021 marks The Lord of the Rings movies' 20th anniversary, and we couldn't imagine exploring the trilogy in just one story.
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