May 14th, 2004

little brown bird

(no subject)

lilithilien has been through the sharing of mantras stage, the surgery stage, the burning of candles stage, and the excellent taste in Tom Waits songs stage. Now she is recuperating on the couch, hand to brow vapors-style, and her medicine of choice is: a Hugh Jackman pic-spam with extra helping of gratuitous crotch shots.

I went through my files, my dear, and picked some of my best-- feel better soon, but don't forget to play up that *take it easy* stuff for all it's worth. there are 30 shots here.

First of all, I will share this - I had these two pics up on my desk top and confused one of my best buddys. "Where is that pic of David in the blue shirt from" she asked.

"That's Hugh Jackman"

"But... But....." *mad giggles* "Your Faramirs!!"



It's true, he was on my list before I saw Blond Boromir. We were talking life long visuals, and she asked who I would consider. My image has always been young Gregory Peck, and I knew I was unlikely to get that. I wanted dark hair, fair skin, piercing eyes (ok, so I *am* a celt) and amazing forearms.

"What about Johnny Depp?" she asked.

"Too baby faced - and besides, he's my Elrohir. But I'd like to see long hair on Hugh Jackman - that might be an answer."

When the Van Helsing hair photos first appeared, there was much shared laughter here.

At the time, as I said, we didn't expect fair haired Gondorim. And I didn't know anyone else who knew who David was. ("Red Headed Faramir?" said Chris. "Just what celtic voodoo did you do?") How amazing is it that I got my favorite boy to play my favorite boy?

But I stand by the thought - Hugh has a good rangery look.

little brown bird

the shield at rest

For the past weeks, I have been unable to stop playing these two images against each other in my head. (I blame flick, because her still unfinished birthday present has me obsessed with The Blade; and mrkinch who asked if I was still finding things in the first movie to obsess about. (I am finding new things in the text with every reading, even after 40 years - why should the visuals of the movie let me have any peace?)

Anyway, these parallell images of Boromir's shield at rest have been haunting me, because they seem (especially to me, maybe, who has such innate distrust of the motives of Galadriel) to be the bookends of his fall. I know the seeds of his downfall are already long planted, but after Galadriel invades his mind, he is unable to look away.



It does not seem accidental to me that she ghosts through this first shield frame. But here, he is still in charge of his heart - the sword crossed over the shield, And he is still surrounded by the support of his friends (though I am quite broody over movie Aragorn failing him at this important moment.) I kept stopping the frame to look at the way he is laid out on the ground, and starting to weep with anticipation.



The shield, which he has lugged all over arda, left behind at the moment he most needs protection - so symbolic to me. I can't help but feel even he has stopped trying to protect himself. His gear lies laid out like a bed - or a bier - waiting for his body.

And though his death is the least gratuitous death in any fiction I know, I don't want his heart in that place as he goes to his fate. So, I weep and weep and keep using photoshop to remove his arrows. (three, as if his accepting the three arrows will atone for the three we saw in Isildur. Then passing in state in the arms of Anduin, where Isildur was dragged down in shame.) And the mantle passes from one solstice king to the other. The blade of the winter solstice king that was broken is reforged, and the blade of the stewards lies broken. And so does my heart.

I wish I could show him that his descent into madness, unlike his father's, is not about his own ego but actually about his greatness of heart - what a terrible weapon to have had used against him. He dies, as he always lived, defending. Not preserving an image, not deluding himself about his motives, not looking to shirk any blame.

He did not give his heart to the fire as his father did, but to the Flame of the West - the rising sun in Aragorn's hand.