Why Gandalf Is A Dick, And What It Means About The Cold War

I recently spent some time in rural England, and walking around the endlessly lush countryside of that nation, you can't help but feel some of the magic of it's rich history. Every coastal area has an abandoned World War Two-era radar station, and you can faintly see the outlines of the kings and tribal warlords of the past, leading armies over the dales. It's more than just the stuff of history books, though; you occasionally top the crest of a hill and feel an Arthurian presence, a sense that you're connected to the legends and myths of the past, a feeling of reaching through time.

So of course, as soon as I got home, I threw on THE LORD OF THE RINGS.


Twelve hours later, I started thinking about something that I had never really taken notice of before: the fact that Gandalf is a huge dick.

There are elements of Gandalf's dickish behaviour as early as "The Fellowship of the Ring", where he gets off on withholding the joy of fireworks from little children, or mocking Bilbo's lame smoke rings, or in his constant berating of Pippin, but his full douchebaggery only really reveals itself with his transformation to Gandalf the White, in "The Two Towers".

That's when his reincarnated ass shows up, does a little Saruman impression just to fuck around with his best friends, mutters a bunch of alarming shit like "the veiling shadow that glowers in the East takes shape", proceeds to do nothing to stop humanity from entering a giant trap, and then takes off just as the single most important battle in the world is about to begin, abandoning the task of protecting the world of men to twelve year-old boys.

Now, technically, he's going out to gather reinforcements, to bring back the banished horsemen of Eomer, but really, why does he have to go? Why can't one of those twelve year-olds run out on horseback and bring them back? "Oh, Gandalf has Shadowfax, the Lord of Horses," I hear you saying. "Only he could go get the Rohirrim and bring them back in time to save Helm's Deep." No. No. That's bullshit. If Shadowfax is the Lord of Horses, and can both understand humans and communicate with other horses, why can't Shadowfax just go get the goddamned Rohirrim? Hell, that way, we don't even have to spare the twelve year-old. He can help 'man' the gates. Meanwhile, Gandalf could be using his magic flashlight and/or one-time bubble shield powers to help defend humanity. But before hundreds of boy soldiers can even start to learn the subtleties of barracks humour, let alone the intricacies of swordplay, Mr. the White is off, on a mission that literally almost anyone else could do. I won't go so far as to call him a coward, but by leaving at the worst possible time, he's clearly a dick.

Okay, so what? What can we learn from Gandalf the Jerk? A surprising amount about the Cold War, I think.


Tolkien would decry those who look for historical parallels in his magnum opus, but just as surely as they were not intended, they could not be avoided. Every work is shaped by the time in which they are created, by the concerns of a society and the individual experiences of their authors, not to mention the interpretations of the audience.

So if post-WWII readers would read the descriptions of women huddling around their children in the Helm's Deep sequence of "The Two Towers" as echoes of the Blitz, or modern audiences see the film version of it as an echo of American civilians comforting each other on 9/11, or of innocent Iraqis surrounded by the bombing of Operation Iraqi Freedom, who's to say they're wrong? They're all valid interpretations.

So without talking about what Tolkien intended, how would a post-WWII Soviet reader see Gandalf's abandonment of the people of Rohan? That's mostly a hypothetical question, as the USSR banned the book from being published, seeing it as a "hidden allegory 'of the conflict between the individualist West and the totalitarian, Communist East'". So we know the censors saw at least some of themselves in Sauron, which is a psychologically interesting self-identification, but I think the Soviet people would have seen more of themselves in Rohan, a nation abandoned by all of its allies to face the wrath of their enemy, alone.

There are clear parallels between Stalingrad and Helm's Deep, and in this light, Gandalf's abandonment would carry Yalta-like repercussions, an act that the Soviets took as a betrayal and greatly furthered the animosity that would eventually lead to the Cold War, nuclear proliferation, and the closest this world has come to total annihilation. Thanks Gandalf, you absolute piece of shit.

Of course, in the book and film, Gandalf comes back with the Rohirrim (leaving it until the last second, of course) and helps save the day. In real life? Uh, not so much. The Allies left Russia to bleed the Germans while they carefully prepared for the Western front. In this light, then, "The Lord of the Rings" can be read as a sort of anti-Cold War parable about how the West ruined its chances to create a lasting peace. In fact, the later conflicts in "The Return of the King", where the men of Minas Tirith are saved by the very Rohirrim they did not come to the aid of in the earlier book, plays like a fantasy of how the post-war period could have evolved.

The word 'fantasy' is not to suggest that Tolkien was a naive idealist: "The Lord of the Rings" is full of descriptions of the corruptibility and weakness of humanity. But perhaps more than orcs and goblins, wizards and magic rings, the greater fantasy of Tolkien's is in the hope that humanity can put aside our ambitions for power and status in favour of peaceful co-operation. That would be greater in every sense of the word.

Now, if you'll excuse me, Gandalf is terrorizing an entire village, including women and children, with apocalyptic fireworks shaped as dragons. What a dick.

JACKIE BROWN is my perfect Sunday

Let me paint you a picture: it's a quiet Sunday afternoon, the sun is streaming through the windows and making your head feel fuzzy. Your main goal for the day is to stay as horizontal as possible, you've got some Fairlee fruit punch, ranch Crispers and chocolate cookies, and a comfy couch. What movie's playing?

For me, it's JACKIE BROWN, Tarantino's ode to '70s blaxploitation films. It's my favourite lazy day movie, a film that seems to be tailored to a specific mood for me. The film's languid pace and focus on characters just appeals directly to a part of my brain that turns on when my muscles refuse to move.

Let's start with the soundtrack: Tarantino always gets tremendous respect for his music choices, but I'd argue he's never had a finer touch with pop music than he does here. "Across 110th Street" has become synonymous with this film in pop culture, a perfect theme for the character of Jackie. I wouldn't be surprised if Tarantino based her entire character on the song. The Delfonics are mentioned several times, and the way Tarantino plays the song "Didn't I Blow Your Mind This Time" in two different scenes is in turns funny, tense, ironic, and unforgettable. Even songs that aren't featured as heavily (or obviously), like Bill Withers' "Who Is He (And What Is He To You)" comment on the characters and scenes in interesting ways (although the best use of a Bill Withers song in cinema has to be "Use Me" in ANY GIVEN SUNDAY, right?)

The cast is also one of the best in Tarantino's brief directorial history. The characters here are wonderfully diverse, a fascinating cross-section of cops and criminals, and the grey area in between. I think a fair criticism of Tarantino's work is that much of it tends to deal with similar characters: RESERVOIR DOGS, KILL BILL, INGLOURIOUS BASTERDS, and even PULP FICTION to some extent deal with very similar characters: professional thieves, murderers, warriors, etc. Here, the Elmore Leonard source material adds some nice variety: stoners, stewardesses, and bail bondsmen along with our more traditional Tarantino drug dealers, enforcers, and cops.

Pam Grier is playing the role of her life as Jackie Brown, and it's clear she knows it, pouring a world-weariness and sexiness that isn't necessarily on the page into every moment. If you'll allow me to get a little romantic and pretentious, Grier has absolutely haunting eyes that burn into your consciousness and force you to empathize with her plight. She brings a soul to the two-time loser trying desperately not to make her third mistake. Robert Forster absolutely nails Max Cherry, a streetwise bail bondsman placed in an eternally morally questionable world. Robert DeNiro is doing some really interesting work here as well, playing a sort of sad loser ex-con version of Jake LaMotta. And in a nice nod to Elmore Leonard continuity, Michael Keaton reprises his role as the hilariously overly-eager federal agent Ray Nicolette from Soderbergh's OUT OF SIGHT (also based on a Leonard novel).

Samuel L. Jackson, though, steals this show. It's unbelievable work from an actor who's almost become a parody of himself in recent years in things like SNAKES ON A PLANE and THE SPIRIT, but here he's bringing charm and menace to a character ten times more interesting than Jules, his crisis-of-faith hitman in PULP FICTION. His Ordell Robbie is a fascinating villian, one who would be laughable if he wasn't so menacing, pitiable if he wasn't so smart. There's a cold calculation behind Jackson's eyes in every scene of this film, even when he's just hanging out.

A lot of film profs like to talk about the perspective and chronology shifts in the third act, and while that is interesting, to me the most interesting stuff is right at the front of the film, which is all about setting up Ordell as a viable threat. Tarantino allows the film to slowly play out and gradually come to Jackie Brown, instead first setting up Ordell as a charming, sinister, and finally ruthless criminal who will stop at nothing to protect himself and his business. It has to be one of the longest character introductions in history, taking a full twenty minutes from the moment "Chicks With Guns" comes on screen to the murder of Beaumont. Of course, the film is doing other things, introducing us to DeNiro and Forster as well, but it's principally concerned with Jackson, as he smoothly talks his way into murdering Beaumont. It's beautifully done, and shows a remarkable amount of confidence in the audience to allow the story to develop.

I think that's why JACKIE BROWN is such a lazy favourite of mine - the film just tells you to sit back and trust it. It's like a bedtime story that your crazy Uncle Quentin is telling you before you go to sleep. Oh, and he's sneaking you some ranch Crispers, too.