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Théoden and breaking the spell

Bernard Hill’s most famous role sheds light on where humanity needs to be.

Theodore is author of the historical fiction series The Wanderer Chronicles.

A movie scene of a king and prince walking confidently.
Bernard Hill, middle, in The Lord of the Rings.
New Line Cinema.

Recently we saw the sad passing of Bernard Hill, one of the great British actors of his generation, whose career enjoyed many high points. Hill came to prominence, in Britain at least, in the 1980s with his role as an unemployed tarmac-layer in the BBC series Boys From the Blackstuff. Through the 1990s, he went on to star in a number of big budget Hollywood feature films, such as The Ghost and The Darkness, Titanic, and The Scorpion King. But his best-known role, the one which won him global recognition, was as King Théoden in Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings trilogy. 

In both Tolkien’s book and Jackson’s adaptation, the character of King Théoden plays a pivotal role in making a stand against the forces of evil advancing under the banners of first the wizard Saruman the White in The Two Towers, and then the Dark Lord Sauron himself in The Return of the King, the trilogy’s climax. 

Théoden’s character arc is as heroic as any in Tolkien’s epic. But perhaps the most memorable moment within it comes when he is first introduced. Gandalf comes to Théoden’s hall of Edoras to rally support against Saruman’s rampaging armies of orcs. But instead of a redoubtable king and ally in the fight against their common enemy, he finds a weak man buckled under the weight of old age and infirmity, cowed by fear and indecision, and enthralled to the counsel of Grima Wormtongue - whom Gandalf reveals to be an agent of Saruman. 

In Jackson’s version, Gandalf ‘delivers’ Théoden from his enthrallment, in effect breaking the spell of inertia and inaction which Saruman, through his minion Wormtongue, has cast over him. Théoden awakes from his bondage, is physically rejuvenated, and is now able to rise and take his proper place in the battleline against Sauron’s evil power. In Tolkien’s version, Théoden has more agency. He chooses, at last, to throw off the counsel of Wormtongue and cling to the slim thread of hope which Gandalf represents, however desperate it may seem. 

It is a powerful image, and one from which we can and must learn today.  

Our ears are open to so many voices through both mainstream and social media that it becomes a matter of extreme importance to be able to discern who is Gandalf and who is Grima Wormtongue?

Few would deny that recent times have revealed new and determined manifestations of evil in our culture and our world. And yet, both inside and outside the church, these latter years have also been characterised by a feeling of helplessness and inaction in the face of such evil. It’s common to hear both men and women complain that they feel unable to speak up in opposition to what they perceive as wrong. They have been silenced. Either those who dare to speak up find themselves cancelled. Or else those who don't self-censor, keeping their mouths shut and their heads well below the parapet. Like Théoden, they lock themselves away in their hall. In this latter case, the battle is ceded without ever having drawn a sword. 

As the famous Edmund Burke quote goes: ‘The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.’ Much of the church, some might dare to say most of it, resides in this place of cowed inaction. Enthralled and confused by the Wormtongue whisperings of the media as mouthpieces for agendas diametrically opposed to the good, we have willingly subjected ourselves to this spell. And the consequence? Like the Westfold of Rohan, the land is burning. 

It is not controversial to say anyone who cares about our culture and its future needs to awaken from their slumber. Needs to cast off - or else have cast out - the gag of silence. But what is more troubling perhaps is that, even having done that, we cannot agree on what is evil and what is good. 

In the Bible, the devil is portrayed as often masquerading as an angel of light. And it warns against the descent of some cultures into a state of such moral confusion that God’s ordinances are inverted: good is called evil, and evil is called good.  

So how are we to navigate our way through this mire of uncertainty? Warnings against misinformation and disinformation abound. And yet, those in positions of power who proclaim them may equally be charged with propagating untruths and dissembling realities, all for the sake of shoring up their own power structures.  

All this is to say - our ears are open to so many voices through both mainstream and social media that it becomes a matter of extreme importance to be able to discern who is Gandalf and who is Grima Wormtongue? 

Tolkien’s choice of the name Grima Wormtongue is significant. ‘Grima’ derives from the Old Norse word, grímr which means ‘mask’. ‘Worm’ similarly derives from another Old Norse word: ormr which means ‘snake’ or ‘serpent’.  

As such, it throws us right back into the Garden of Eden and the honeyed words of the serpent which led humanity into such disaster, offering some purported good up front, while concealing the calamity (and shame) which comes hard on its heels. If we are to stand up and contest the modern manifestations of evil, we must be able to recognise the side of the field of battle on which to take our stand. 

Who is Gandalf? In Tolkien’s world, though he hated the idea of his work being interpreted as allegory, Gandalf does represent the Christ figure. And Sauron in turn suggests the Anti-Christ - a nebulous figure arising from scripture, poorly understood at the best of times. But somehow the fountainhead from which, humanity is told, all evil must flow. 

But if humanity thinks of Christ on the side of good, and Christ as the most human of us all, perhaps this provides a yardstick by which we can discern the lines of battle.  

Is it human or anti-human to stand up for life at its most vulnerable? Is it human or anti-human to stand up for the family unit? Is it human or anti-human to honour and celebrate each and every Imago Dei as they were created to be? Is it human or anti-human to safeguard a parent’s right to speak good into their children’s life? Is it human or anti-human to preserve the innocence of our young? Is it human or anti-human to challenge systems of power which enable all kinds of exploitation and other self-evident evils? 

First we must awaken. Then we must choose our side. And finally, like Théoden, we must ride to the fight. 

 

Visit Theodore's web site, and follow him on Instagram and X.   

Review
Culture
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Romance
4 min read

From wheatfield to vineyard, can an ancient love story survive a replanting?

Ruth & Boaz finds new soil in rural Tennessee but struggles to grow

Giles is a writer and creative who hosts the God in Film podcast.

A couple hold each others hands as they face each other.
Tyler Lepley and Serayah.

Ruth & Boaz is a contemporary version of the most memorable love story in the Bible. The film tells the story of Ruth, a young woman who escapes the Atlanta music scene to care for an elderly widowed woman. Not only does Ruth gain the mother she never had, she also finds the love of her life in the process. 

The story of Ruth and Boaz is a straight up love story, and it serves as a much-needed respite from the biblical levels of violence in the books that precede and follow it in the Bible. So a modern update of the Ruth and Boaz story serves as good material for a heartfelt, sincere romance.

As part of Atlanta pop duo 404, Ruth Moabley (Serayah) is a talented singer who, after the death of her boyfriend and his father, is desperate to escape her menacing manager.  Ruth makes the impulsive decision to join her late boyfriend's mother Naomi, (Phylicia Rashad) as they both leave Atlanta for a small town in Tennessee to start over from scratch. The only job she can find involves labouring at a local vineyard, leading her to owner Bo "Boaz" Azra, (Tyler Lepley) who falls for Ruth the moment he lays eyes on her. Ruth holds tight to her faith and slowly begins to accept love, but her past is soon to catch up with her.

One of the joys of adapting a Bible story is often the characterisation. Phylicia Rashad’s Naomi is a complex, contradictory figure whose manifestations of grief are not always that sympathetic, pushing away all but the most insistent of helpers like Ruth. As the titular character, we spend a lot of time with Serayah’s Ruth. Making her a singer helps to flesh out the character to an extent, but the scenes where her individuality gets to shine are notable by their infrequency.  

Tyler Lepley’s turn as Bo Azra is perfectly serviceable. He’s essentially an idealised, handsome and muscled 40-year-old. Bo has a wealth of backstory; we’re told he served two tours in Afghanistan, then worked on Wall Street, and finally returned to his family business of the Azra Vineyard & Winery. Despite this, none of it really shows up in his characterisation. He spends his time being a generous boss, and an all-round basic good guy. All of which is great in real-life but can be a little staid in fiction. There’s very little about him to intrigue us, although questions have to be asked about how, if he’s so dedicated to making his business succeed, he managed to find the time to work on a truly magnificent set of abs. 

In a departure from the original Bible story, Ruth begins as a casual worker on Boaz’s vineyard. This is a reasonable change, as the practice of leaving grain after the harvest for widows and orphans to collect just doesn’t fit in a modern context. But in a post #MeToo world, this does create a power imbalance. They attempt to address this power imbalance of employer and employee when Ruth refuses to let Boaz buy her a drink. However, Ruth’s resistance quickly recedes when Boaz introduces her to Rn’B legend, Babyface. In this world, if you want to date one of your employees, all you have to do is introduce her to a Grammy-winning super producer to break down her inhibitions.

All of these shortcomings suggest that the script needed a few more passes, and the saccharine voiceover feels like it’s trying to make up for that. Credibility at times takes a back seat to the gloss of the high production value as almost every other shot looks like it’s promoting a tourist destination. There are moments where it feels like the story is contorting itself in order to be a vehicle for Serayah’s singing talents; which, to be fair, are considerable. Nonetheless, a lot of the tension in the plot hinges on characters not telling each other incredibly important details because of convoluted reasons. It’s a trope that feels a little bit tired. On top of that, the pacing drags until it remembers it has to have a dramatic resolution, which it awkwardly rushes, making the ending feel somewhat unfulfilling.

Ultimately, Ruth & Boaz feels like a romance film made by committee, a Hallmark film with added Bible references and RnB cameos. One could argue that it shines a spotlight on African-American communities in rural America, but the brisk run-time prevents it from revealing anything new, and the light touch characterisation means we don’t really get anything original.

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