(avg. read time: 48–97 mins.)
Episode 5
Now we are in the second half of the series, but you would not know it by how sloooooowly the pace continues to crawl forward through this episode. This time McKay and Payne do not even have a writing credit. The writer of this episode is also an executive producer for the show: Justin Doble. He has more experience as a producer than as a writer, but he still has more experience as a writer than McKay and Payne. His earliest writing credit is for Fringe, a show created by the same trio of people behind the “Abrams Trek” Star Trek movies (though I have heard the show is better written than those movies). But his most well known work before this was his co-writing a few episodes of the first two seasons of Stranger Things. Perhaps not coincidentally, his last work of writing for that show was the most notorious episode: “The Lost Sister.” I guess I missed that he co-wrote “Adar” earlier in this series, but that is certainly not to his credit either. Unfortunately, things do not get better for him when he has the sole writing credit for this episode. Is it that the show has had a regular run of bad writers, or is it that not even the best screenwriters of our day or ever could have made good work out of this material (by which I mean the script notes, not Tolkien’s material)? I’ll leave that to you to decide.
The Migration of Harfoots
This time we open with Mr. Mystery Box Asteroid Man and Nori. Asteroid Man is still ever so slowly—roughly at the same pace as this show—learning language, but at least he hasn’t picked up the fake Irish accent of the Harfoots yet. Nori explains to him the Harfoots’ migration pattern. They winter in “old forest,” by which I am guessing she means Greenwood the Great (what would become Mirkwood) given the part of the world this plotline is set in. If they did not mean that, I don’t know why such a distinction of “old forest” is introduced, unless they are trying to wrongly imply “the Old Forest” from LOTR. Then they migrate to “Norfield Glen,” which I have never heard of, “while the snailing’s good.” Then she says, they leave for the Grove “at the first blush of the oak leaves.” It might have been nice to see that as an indicator previously, but whatever. She describes the Grove as “a whole orchard popping with bar apples, plums, apricots, carrots,” and I guess so on. This is an odd description for reasons other than that I’m not sure what bar apples are. An “orchard” is something people intentionally plant. So is this the writer’s way of saying that the Harfoots just take from someone else’s produce without permission, compensation, or anything? Also, orchards are full of trees and carrots don’t grow on trees. But more importantly, why do they never take seeds from this place to plant anywhere? Why do they need to migrate constantly? You are telling me in 1,000 years, despite all the going about in arable land, they have never learned to plant and farm? Why not? They know some things about the world, particularly in camouflaging in various settings, and Sadoc has this big book, which was apparently more important to preserve than any knowledge of farming. Given how dangerous they say and show that these lands are, you would think it might be beneficial to stay in one place (you know, like Tolkien’s Harfoots did even before moving to what would become the Shire). And besides, with fixed migratory patterns across such open land, you would think someone would detect them or something of their presence over the course of 1,000 years.
When these Harfoots who have been sentenced to the back of the pack get moving again, they ask Poppy to sing her dead mom’s walking song. That song plays over the montage that follows as they move across places on the map that are apparently marked with Harfoot labels. This includes a nonsensical bit of the montage in the Grey Marshes (which, based on their location, are probably their label for what will become the Dead Marshes), wherein the cart has ended up in a position that should not have been possible if they were even trying to stay on the bank. I will say that they get a pretty landscape shot after this going through a place called “the Braids.”
Now let’s talk about this song—officially titled “This Wandering Day”—a bit. Megan Richards sings it alright. It has a nice melody to it. And it sounds like it fits in a fantasy setting, albeit a bit too generically, but a closer look at the lyrics shows that it doesn’t make sense in the context of the Harfoots:
The sun is fast falling beneath trees of stone
The light in the tower no longer my home
Past eyes of pale fire, black sand for my bed
I trade all I’ve known for the unknown aheadCall to me, call to me lands far away
For I must now wander this wandering day
Away I must wander this wandering dayOf drink I have little and food I have less
My strength tells me no, but the path demands yes
My legs are so short and the way is so long
I’ve no rest nor comfort, no comfort but songSing to me, sing to me lands far away
Oh rise up and guide me this wandering day
Please promise to find me this wandering dayAt last comes their answer, through cold and through frost
That not all who wonder or wander are lost
No matter the sorrow, no matter the cost
That not all who wonder or wander are lost
This song does not really work for a migrant society. It does if there is one big move ahead to a previously unknown place, but not if it is a regular routine and there is no home to wander from to a new place. I’d also wonder what these people know of towers, given where they wander and how they, supposedly, try to stay away from the Big People. The repeated closing lines of the song are an obvious reference to one of Tolkien’s rhymes from LOTR with one of his most famous lines:
All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken:
The crownless again shall be king. (I/10; II/2)
The use of “wonder” is thrown in here to fit the rhythm of the song, but it is otherwise unfitting in the context of this song. It is overloading a line that is making an obvious connection. And what is in question in the song is not a matter of being lost in any case. And despite some desperate attempts to make this song seem more significant than it is, it does not make sense that this song inspired the words linked to Aragorn. Bilbo himself said that he made up this verse for Aragorn in Book II, chapter 2. This is the same sort of deal with that structure that is obviously resembling Minas Tirith in Númenor, as if we are to imagine that, in-universe, this provided the inspiration for the later thing, when we all know that, in real life, the inspiration went the other way. Its this kind of strong-armed connection that tends to break the spell of immersion rather than enhance it.
For all the issues of consistency with its surrounding story and with Tolkien’s work, I will say that this has easily been the best, most distinct piece of music to come out of this show so far. Poppy has given us a catchy tune, and it may well outlive this show in the same way that “The Prayer” reached beyond anyone who saw the sub-par Quest for Camelot (even if I doubt it will have the same impact). The fact that we got something this good out of this character just makes me dislike Nori even more for how she’s treated her (but I went over all that in the episode 3 review).
Another Mystery Box; Throw It in the Pile with the Rest
But then we cut to some new people, apropos of nothing. These are people we will never see again this episode and who thus get no explanation. They are here just long enough to add another mystery box. They are some odd cultists/priests/whatever who show up to where Asteroid man impacted. As noted before, the writers on this show have a poor batting average in figuring out what needs to be shown, what needs to be told, and what needs to be explained, and the fact that they flash back to showing us that crater on fire with Asteroid Man in the middle continues this trend. Unlike other things in the show, this was something we did not need help on understanding or remembering.
This is the scene that also features Eminem, the figure many mistook for Sauron in the trailers and promotional images. You could not tell by this appearance, but that person is an actress named Bridie Sisson. She also had the misfortune of playing in the poorly written, poorly realized, and ill-fated live-action Cowboy Bebop reboot. She just can’t catch a break.
The Southlands’ Story Smells Like the North End of a Southbound Pig
We then get another scene of Mr. Mystery Box II Adar, which tells us little else about him and nothing about him as a person. An Orc tells him, “The tunnel is complete.” I have to wonder, though, which one? To get to all the places that need to be threatened for this story to make a semblance of sense, you need a network of tunnels spanning practically all of pre-Mordor. One also must wonder where the tunnel is going that it needed to be completed. But we won’t see that this episode. That is, unless the suggestion is that they were talking about the tunnel to Tir-Harad, which does not make sense because obviously enough of it was completed by the last episode for the Orcs to make it there. But details such as setting in time and space don’t matter in this show, as we have established. And don’t worry: there’s more to come!
Anyway, Adar makes the Orc show him his arm and now the makers remember that, by their asinine rules, the Orc’s exposed skin is supposed to burn. In this case, it does that quite quickly, like the Orcs are non-Twilight vampires. This senseless display aside, Adar mentions how the sun will be gone soon and with it will go the part of him that knew its warmth. Again, since we know nothing about Adar and we have no clarity about his vague purpose of “becoming a god,” or his capabilities of achieving that purpose, I am not sure how we are supposed to take this seriously. It sounds delusional and not like some existential threat.
We then cut to Bronwyn to see her pitiful attempt at a rallying speech for the refugees. It is so laughably weak that even she flips a complete 180° by the end of the episode to where she is ready to surrender. It is all the more laughable that this speech was featured among the trailers, as if it was some important moment. But just look at it, “I know I’m not the king you have awaited. But if you choose to stand with me and fight, this tower will no longer be a reminder of our frailty, but a symbol of our strength. Who will stand with me? Who among you will stand and fight?” Henry V she ain’t. She’s not even the nameless woman of Esgaroth from The Battle of the Five Armies who rallied the women to participate in that fight.
Still, some people do timidly agree to fight, but then Waldreg chimes in and gets a more enthusiastic response. In fact, he speaks with much more conviction than she does that they ought to welcome the new dark Elven overlord. Neither Bronwyn nor Arondir can offer any effective counter to the idea that it is better to submit and live than to fight and almost certainly die (we have seen no cache of weapons and we know they don’t have much food), even though it should have been a fairly straightforward task. They didn’t even really try; that’s how bad they knew their chances were. On the other hand, I cannot help but wonder how the people who came from as far as “Orodruin” think about all this and how stupid they feel about coming all this way. Why not just go somewhere else at this point, like into the lands of Rhûn, since they are not far away? (Or at least they would not be that far away if the show did not change this place’s location, but we will get to that.)
We will return to Waldreg later in the show, but this whole plotline just further highlights how his character is a tool for the plot and not someone written with any consistency. At the start, he is a dirty, shirtless butcher/tavern owner who seems about as mild-mannered as anyone in the village towards Arondir. Like everyone else, he is apparently cowed by the watchtower, Ostirith, where we never see many Elves at any one time. But then he is the foremost resistance to Bronwyn’s warning of Orcs, just to be a jerk apparently. Then when she shows the Orc head, he leaves the village with everyone else. He could have just stood his ground and said he wasn’t leaving. After all, if the ancestors of these people used to be servants of Morgoth, and that factor is still somehow influential, why are those who are shown to still have that disposition supposed to be afraid of Orcs? Then he puts on a shirt and is the constant naysayer of Bronwyn at the tower, doing nothing there but taking up space. Then he shows that his shirt that he was absolutely not wearing the first two episodes was hiding the mark of the sword of evil on his forearm, and that he’s been a devil-worshipper all along. That once again raises the question of why he bothered going anywhere with these other people. And if the writer wanted to keep him consistent with how he acted last episode, it would make more sense for him to whisper poison into everyone’s ear and undermine the resistance from within, which would ingratiate him to his new master, particularly if his group were to take control of the tower and allow the enemy right in.
But Waldreg is driven by the needs of the plot. He performed whatever role the script needed him to for the first two episodes, including not dressing like he had anything to hide. Then he went to the tower because someone needed to catch Theo and show that some of these people really are just evil, so forget them, I guess. He also goes to the tower because someone needed to break up the refugees so that we could have the off-putting scene with Adar later, so that we could have the people in Ostirith reach their lowest point before the battle, and so that we could have Arondir do action stuff for a battle later instead of dealing with betrayal from within. Like so much else in this show, he went on a little detour only to end up right back where he started for the purposes of the plot.
Númenor on the Long Road to Nowhere
Unfortunately, we now must turn our attention to Númenor. We open with a shot of ships in the dock. As we go through the different angles, I count at least eight distinct ships. Remember that little detail for later. Also, why are they dangling a horse from ropes? Are we supposed to buy that this seafaring island nation with naval prowess like no other—at least, that is what it’s supposed to be—does not have larger ports where they can just walk horses like that onto the ship?
We learn in this scene that Isildur was not chosen for the expedition, despite volunteering. As Elendil says, “But we’ve far more volunteers than we could ever hope to accommodate. Half the city wants a spot on those boats.” Well, I’m glad that anti-Elf prejudice for Númenor at large was solved with a flip of the switch and they have more support than they know what to do with. The sentiment of “Nah, it’ll be fine” still overrules that prejudice, I see. This line is something else to keep in mind for later.
At least for now, Isildur no longer wants to go west. He wants to “do something worthy of Númenor” first. We will see again how this show portrays Isildur as listless and irresponsible just to move the script along. In any case, the same effect could have been achieved last episode if he just quit outright, rather than “quiet quitting” in a situation where he endangered his friends. But Isildur is at the mercy of the writers, and they are not merciful. Also, why is his motivation suddenly to do something worthy of Númenor? If you are going to change his motivation so suddenly, could it not at least be that he desired to help the Southlanders? That would at least make his character more admirable and clearer in what he values.
And to continue with Elendil’s character assassination, after he was just a prop last episode, he decides to give Isildur a hard time about his qualifications. Why? This was a volunteer expeditionary force. The groups he names after the military to ask if Isildur belongs to one of them are just silly to mention, as at one point he brings up the merchant’s guild. Why would the merchant’s guild be more qualified to join this force than him? I actually thought this might be a setup to Isildur showing off his skill with the sword later. But we can’t have any of that. We need to string this story out and have it resolve in a fashion that doesn’t make sense. We’ll get to that.
While there is nothing in this episode that is as bad a violation of Elendil’s character as Tolkien wrote him than that line he was made to say late in episode 3, there is still something pretty bad here. He tells Isildur, “While you were feigning fidelity to the traditions of this isle, these men were living them. Finding ways to contribute, to serve.” The idea that Elendil, one of the leaders of the Faithful, would be saying this about all these Númenóreans to his son, Isildur, would be laughable if it wasn’t so sad and indicative of how far we have departed from Tolkien to tell this story. That Elendil would at any point admire the average Númenórean, most of whom were not faithful to Númenor’s ancient traditions, over his own son (even before his heroic deed rescuing a fruit of Nimloth before the tree was felled) is something you cannot imagine happening when reading what Tolkien wrote. Besides, what traditions could he be talking about? If you are working only with this show, you would have no idea what traditions he is referencing. And what does any of this mean to the Elendil this script made say, “The past is dead”?
Númenor is Divided, but Not in the Way Tolkien Imagined
Because the writers wanted the ending of the last episode to go a particular way, the expected backlash against the queen’s idea does not come up until this episode. And it is not until after our opening Númenórean scene. I would think it would be front and center in the story, but we had to get character assassination for Elendil and Isildur instead. The one guy whose voice we hear above everyone else’s asks, “Risk Númenórean lives for some grimy Southlander and a warmongering Elf?” And you know what, he has a point. Even if this was set before a time when anti-Elf prejudice is supposed to be at an all-time high, this would be a valid point to ask about, especially given that Galadriel is actually a warmonger and the people only saw her treat their queen disrespectfully before the queen shifted 180°. Unfortunately, unlike last time he heard unrest, Pharazôn does not use his ability to summon out of the ether alcoholic drinks and people to carry them. We already saw how effective alcohol is in quelling this population.
We see that Eärien is part of this crowd and Kemen finds her in the midst of it. As this is roughly a week since the end of the last episode, we are now at a point where they are in a relationship. But there is a throwaway line with which they introduce this idea that is indicative of how sloppy the dialogue continues to be. Kemen says, “Forgive me for not sending word to you sooner. Been trying a week.” Throwaway lines are not inherently bad. Not everything in your script is of equal value in telling your story. Ideally, throwaway lines should be used for quickly establishing something that your audience needs to know without necessarily dwelling on it. But too often this device can be used for quickly speeding over dialogue that a writer does not want you to think about, but which they needed to fill the space in the script and the time on the screen. This is one of the latter cases. If you do not think so, I would ask you if the following statement makes sense: “I’m sorry for not calling sooner. I’ve been trying to call for a week.” Having throwaway lines that make sense show that there was attention to detail in the writing of your show. But when they are like this, they show how little care was put into the project at such small points.
You may remember a throwaway line of my own from last episode’s review, when I casually granted that Pharazôn was scheming while vocally upholding Tar-Míriel’s declaration of her will. It turns out that I was giving the writers too much credit for keeping their own version of one of Tolkien’s most interesting Númenórean characters consistent. We will get to his actual purposes later, but he was not scheming for his own advantage after all. Kemen says point-blank here that “He’s loyal to her.” As I have said before, I do not regard all changes from Tolkien as necessarily bad. This will be clearer in my reviews of Jackson’s films when I am not dealing with writers who so happen to be making virtually all the wrong choices of when to change things. In this case, I do not understand why they would undermine their own story by saying that Pharazôn is fundamentally loyal to Míriel when that could not be further from the truth in the case of the man who would become Ar-Pharazôn. It would make more sense if he was biding his time, building up his influence, and waiting for the chance to strike, but not that he supported her in this plan out of loyalty. The only reason I could see for doing this is to pad out the runtime by going into this cul-de-sac of a plot.
But not only do we have unnecessary inconsistencies with Tolkien’s work; we also have them with this show itself. Kemen tells Eärien, “There are many who feel as you do. Not enough to sway him yet, but given the right push…” … WHAT? Either Míriel so poorly misread her population that she did not realize so many of them completely changed their approach from when they deposed her father, or the writers kind of forgot what they wrote about Númenor. Not even a majority opposes this war so far in this show. Again, how are we supposed to take any suggested stakes seriously when the writers undermine them on multiple occasions without even feeling the need to offer explanation?
Eärien suggests that the push in question needs to come from Kemen. Kemen says he can’t in an exchange that further shows this writer’s ineptitude that is a shared trait with the other writers. He says, “When I speak, his ears close up.” She responds, “So speak louder.” Thanks for nothing, Eärien; you are as helpful as your dad was in his first dialogue scene. Her response would have been appropriate if all Kemen said was that his father doesn’t hear him. Saying “his ears close up” implies something more significant than simply not hearing him or listening to him; that is, he is actively ignoring him. But this is what happens when you try to take the indirect route of saying something for the sheer sake of taking the indirect route because you think it is necessary for an epic or fantasy. You lose your sense of direction to the point you were trying to make. It seems we cannot escape such odd dialogue choices no matter who from this crew is writing.
What Is a Map and How Does It Work? Or Questions the Showrunners Never Asked
Next, we see Halbrand finally working in the forge like he wanted to. He even got himself a guild crest. I would ask how that happened, but as we already established in episode 3, the guild crest system in this show does not make sense. He is obviously happy doing what he does, but as long as Galadriel is in his life, he can’t stay happy for long, as she is dragging him into her proceedings with the queen.
And now we come to a part that broke my brain. I felt like I found myself in a shotgun shack, living in another part of world, wondering, “How did I get here?” I have said before that this show has a consistent inability to reckon with where everything is in the Southlands, as well as the size of the area. This scene with Halbrand only further confirms that. You may recall that in the first episode as we were moving eastward in that map transition that the label “The Southlands” first appeared near the eastern edge of the northern mountain range (the Ered Lithui), a mountain range which is around 500 miles long, implying this is where the village is (this is our introduction to the region, so we have no reason to think otherwise). It is unmistakably northeast of the Sea of Núrnen. But then the next time we see the label on the map, it is laid out over all of what will become Gondor and Mordor. Then we see the label in a setting of a labor camp between the sea and the Ephel Dúath mountain chain on the western side, around 500 miles west and hundreds of miles south. We are also told that every village from Tir-Harad to Orodruin (also in the northern part of this area) has been accounted for with the latest influx of refugees. The show never reckons with the distances that would be involved in such traveling between these points, but this particular scene drops a full gas canister on what is already a burning pile of refuse for map awareness. When Míriel asks Halbrand for information about where the Orcs were headed, even though his information is certainly old, he says, while gesturing to the map, “Further south, I should think. Towards the watchtower of Ostirith.” Where he points on the map is near the western mountain range of the Ephel Dúath and near a river, placing it in the land of Nurn. This places Ostirith closer to the labor camp setting, completely upending what we were shown in the first episode, and it is even more difficult to understand how they could account for refugees from every village between there and Orodruin, especially if said refugees are necessarily crossing land the Orcs have already attacked, since Halbrand says they are pushing south. This is what the most expensive show in history gets you, everyone: people who don’t comprehend maps.
If Only the Foolishness Ended There
Unfortunately, that is not all that is troublesome about this scene. One, this is the only intel they have to go on, because they are apparently not sending scouts, and this intel is probably months old if not more. They are also just taking this guy at his word. But based on the preview for the next episode, he is conveniently right. Two, Míriel says that Galadriel “informed us of your aspiration to unite your people.” It’s good to see that she is still acting with all the subtlety, skill, and finesse of a bull in a red china shop. Fortunately for her, Halbrand will end up being just pliable enough to go along with all of this. Three, through all of this, no one ever questions that Halbrand is king. He just has a pendant, which he could have simply taken off of someone, as he said in episode 3. Everyone is simply flying by Galadriel’s cocksureness and the writers’ insistence that she be in the right. Four, one part of the exchange further demonstrates how ill conceived this plan is, given how they are relying on Halbrand’s participation and that he is who Galadriel says he is. Galadriel and Míriel say:
“My companion is merely feeling the weight of his task. I have no doubt, come time, he will do his part.”
“Given that I have staked my name upon it, I should hope so.”
Galadriel really is toying with kingdoms and peoples for the sake of her vengeance. In a later conversation with Míriel, she even throws in little bits of manipulation for the queen to not forsake her faith, which just means faith in Galadriel, and that her father would support what she is doing. With every episode I become sadder that this character is made to bear the same name as Tolkien’s Galadriel. All the work Tolkien put into her character deserved much, much more respect than this.
Oddly enough, this conversation is punctuated with the queen leaving and Galadriel bowing or otherwise bending slightly as she passes. This is supposed to be a slight signal that Galadriel respects her (though it is only because the queen is doing what she wants). But didn’t they make a point of how “no one kneels in Númenor” in episode 3? Maybe this writer kind of forgot.
This leaves room for Galadriel and Halbrand to have their conversation about how Galadriel lied to Tar-Míriel about his intentions. Of course, Galadriel’s opening gambit is to make Halbrand feel bad about undermining her when she says, “I wondered how the queen knew to waylay me at her father’s bedside. It never occurred to me you’d hand me over for a guild crest.” This was something I did not comment on last time, but despite it being in the script, Míriel did not even need Halbrand’s help to figure this out. She knew that Galadriel wanted to appeal to her father, so it would be natural that once she was aware Galadriel had escaped, she would go to the tower. Galadriel made no secret of her wish. I am still wondering how she got up where she did and got in. But I guess unlike Galadriel, my questions are not worth answering. Also, the idea that Halbrand made some deal for a guild crest just further cements how nonsensical the guild crest system is. They needed this manufactured conflict to pad out the script. They absolutely could not have written in such a way that his ability to become a blacksmith was a favor from the queen after the whole affair with Galadriel was settled. It had to be at Galadriel’s expense because she has to approach the world like George Costanza’s response to being enrolled in Rageaholics Anonymous: “this whole universe is against me!”
Halbrand rightly notes that Galadriel used him and all he wanted was to be left alone. Galadriel’s response is characteristically awful, “I have convinced Númenor to send five ships and 500 men to aid your people and place a crown upon your head. Many might assume you used me.” There is a part of this statement I want to gloss over for now. I first want to focus on the fact that Galadriel is absolutely gaslighting him here to try to guilt him into doing what she wants. He should be grateful; he should be a slave to her will; he owes her; and she acts as if she could justly accuse him of the same thing he accuses her of. I would call this version of Galadriel a misanthropic narcissist, but her hateful conduct encompasses more recipients than the human race. If only she had any awareness of other people as people, not as tools for her purposes. You know, that was just something Tolkien’s Galadriel was especially strong in, by which, among other things, she opened Gimli’s heart to her and other Elves. But this is not Galadriel in this show; she just shares a name. In any case, Halbrand rightly responds by ripping off his pendant and telling her to find some other head to crown.
But I want to repeat the size of the army she said, as if it is something huge: “I have convinced Númenor to send five ships and 500 men to aid your people and place a crown upon your head.” 500? 500? This is not a Gideon situation and there is nothing in this story that is setting us up to think of it in that fashion. Elendil said half of the city was volunteering and they could not accommodate everyone. Are you seriously telling me that this greatest kingdom of Men at the height of its power can only barely manage sending less than a full battalion and less than a small portion of a legion? This is the army that Galadriel thinks will accomplish her purposes? They have no idea how many Orcs there are (or where they are necessarily), there is no apparent expectation of support from Elves, and they generally have no idea what they all they might need to do to vanquish Sauron, since that is her ultimate goal. But they only send five ships and 500 men? What were the other ships of identical model in the harbor for then? And why are you not trying to push for an overwhelming force in the thousands? Are we supposed to think that this great seafaring kingdom just does not have the ships? Do they not have the personnel? How big is this city that half of everyone would volunteer and still the best they could put together is 500 men with some undetermined number left on the sidelines?
Let me illustrate further how absurd this is from Tolkien’s work. In LOTR, Tolkien tells us in Appendix A that when Ar-Pharazôn invaded the Undying Lands, he put together the greatest armament ever assembled, which according to The Silmarillion was 1,000 ships. When the last of the Faithful, who had been departing for Middle-earth for years prior, escaped Númenor’s fall, they still took nine ships. So why is this force so small when we are—by the writers’ utter destruction of the timeline—in that same era of Númenor where these many ships could be assembled. Of course, Númenor also had a long history of voyages to Middle-earth, which included establishing ports, outposts, and other footholds in Middle-earth, most prominently Umbar and Pelargir. But this pale reflection of Númenor in this show does not have much of a military to send and instead sends this pitiful ragtag bunch. Considering that a much weaker kingdom called Rohan was able to assemble 6,000 cavalrymen to attack the vast armies of Mordor (and Théoden did not exactly empty his lands to muster this force), how are we supposed to take seriously that this is the best Númenor can do when they have half the city (and I guess zero other cities?) volunteering?
The Harfoots and the Escalation of Awful
With that, we return to the Harfoots. Apparently, the stragglers have caught up to the rest in this forest. We then get to see some wolf footprints. You remember how they set up the wolves being a threat to the Harfoots in episode 1, right? No? Well, maybe it is easy to forget because it amounted to nothing. There was zero follow-up on it until four episodes later. Why was that even set up if they were not going to encounter wolves until they were much further away? Again, we are talking about traveling hundreds of miles here.
More important is what we hear from the perpetually discontent Malva, whose only function in this show appears to be naysaying. You see, this forest they are stopping in is not supposed to be so barren, and she blames “the big fella” for this, as if he brings bad luck. When Sadoc asks what she wants him to do about it, she tells him to do what they should have done back at the camp: “Take their wheels and leave them!” Just in case anyone was unclear from last episode or thought there was plausible deniability about the degree to which Harfoots are awful people, this should remove any doubt. Not only will they leave people behind, they will even steal the wheels off of someone’s cart in order to keep them from following or to go anywhere by themselves with their stuff. In such a case, they are still leaving them to a slow death, considering how defenseless, weak, and vulnerable they are to the dangers surrounding them, and these Harfoots do not mind taking a more active role in doing so. I suppose the only further step they could take is breaking that person’s legs before they leave, but I hope the writers don’t take that as a suggestion for an escalation of cruelty (though they are halfway there with Largo having his ankle broken so badly due to the Harfoots refusing to lift a finger to help him and with the serious consideration given to leaving him and his family behind).
Malva even presses her point by saying, “What’s it gonna take? Make a widow of somebody? Or an orphan?” Well Malva, judging by what we heard the last episode you were in, y’all do well enough having that happen all on your own. Otherwise, is the implication that such events—like Sadoc becoming a widower and Poppy an orphan—were supposedly conceived as punishments or things for which others deemed curses to the community were punished? Supposedly, this is the one case in which the various writers diverge from what is otherwise a throughline of this show: sometimes you need to do evil to accomplish the greater good. I suppose the writers only find this a justifiable approach in the case of Elves, as we have seen it in the Elrond plotline, we will see more of it from Elrond later in this episode, we have seen it at multiple junctures in how Galadriel manipulates people, and we will see it yet more with Galadriel. This is one of the most anti-Tolkien approaches to the world that one can have, yet it is the approach of the major Elf characters. But at least it is being portrayed negatively with the Harfoots just because the writers want to keep Mr. Mystery Box Asteroid Man around.
This is followed with the wolf chase scene (which features an odd pause on a still screen for three seconds between when the Harfoots run off and when we see a wolf). The purpose of this scene here is so obvious, I doubt I even need to explain it. Asteroid Man ultimately uses Wizard Blast (it would be Staff Strike from the FOTR video game if he had a staff) to repel the wolves, and it fortunately turns out to be effective. It’s no wolf attack scene from Beauty and the Beast, which was also set up effectively in an earlier scene, and its significance will be undermined even by the end of this episode because the writers want to continue waffling on Asteroid Man.
This Is the Best You Could Do for Action, Huh?
When we come back to Númenor, we are treated to a most stupefying swordplay experience. For a more thorough review of this crime against sword fighting, I recommend Shadiversity’s fight scene autopsy (as well as this video focused more on stage combat), but I still want to make my own comments here. Between the setup, the action, and the ending, there are numerous problems with this scene. One, this scene is apparently about twenty-four hours (or maybe a little more) from the expeditionary force shipping out, yet the sword fighting that we see from them is so utterly embarrassing, and still no one bats an eye and thinks, “Maybe we should reconsider this force of volunteers,” or, “Maybe we’re not ready.” We see so few actual soldiers involved at any point in this force, and even here no one from the military with any combat experience is offering any instruction. Of course, this is a contrivance to make Galadriel the pseudo-competent instructor. But even she expresses no concern that this force does not appear ready for battle. We see no reason why she should be concerned if they can survive, though, since they are just means to her end. Of course, all of this fits with the fact that there is no gravity to this war, no reflections on the seriousness of what is involved in the prospect of going to war. Nor in the process of training is there any real reflection on how different it will be in a battle scenario, so there is no scene in any way an equivalent to the famous training scene from Glory. No one involved in the main storyline reckons with the fact that they or people they know may not come back from this expedition.
Two, the two guys we see engaging in the sword fighting at first—Valandil and Ontamo—are flailing their swords as wildly as Daisy Ridley with a lightsaber. Why has no one in the past week or so even tried to instruct them before this to say, “You look like idiots out here. Let me teach you some basic lessons in how to use a sword”? Galadriel does make a comment to Elendil that “Their strokes fall like the Stone-giants of the North Moors.” At first, this is unclear as to whether it is a compliment about strength or a criticism of the lack of finesse or skill. It actually appears to be a compliment considering how Elendil follows this up with “And yet.” Galadriel does not correct him to say she was not complimenting them; she simply says they are untested against “this” foe (i.e., Orcs). (Also, “North Moors” would not apply to what it does in LOTR, since the Shire has not been founded yet, but if she means the Ettenmoors, it is Trolls who occupy the North Moors, while Stone-giants are in the Misty Mountains. Other giants are mentioned vaguely related to the North Moors in LOTR, but not Stone-giants. She’s not the most worldly-wise is she?)
Three, who, in the world of the story, set up this training and when are they going to be fired? Most importantly, they are using regular steel swords and not practice swords. That’s a recipe for disaster with people who have no experience not being actively taught by someone with experience. But the writers wanted the “clang clang” of steel swords, so here we are. At the least, you could have someone with experience slowly walking them through with the steel swords, like Boromir did with the Hobbits in Jackson’s LOTR, but we can’t even have that. And why is the setting of this training the middle of a public throughfare and not in any barracks or camp where it would be much more appropriate?
Four, the real purpose of this scene is to have Galadriel show off and not to actually teach the would-be troops anything of actual value. You would think the focus in a training sequence would be on what the trainees learn, as in a movie that did sword fighting much than this show: The Mask of Zorro. As is typical with this show, she is made to seem competent by everyone else around her being incompetent. We see these qualities in how the actors are so clearly aiming their strikes to miss (perhaps most obviously in Ontamo’s overhead slash that is clearly aimed for the space between Galadriel and Valandil). It is like we are dealing with the level of choreography and convenience we saw in the throne room scene from The Last Jedi. Everyone besides Galadriel telegraphs every strike so obviously that a blind opponent could anticipate them. Otherwise, they are often aiming their strikes at her sword(s) and not at her. When she gets her second sword from Ontamo, she is not even wrenching the sword from his grasp and thus demonstrating an important lesson there. He simply has a weak hold and practically gives it to her. There is even a point in the fight when she is taking on five people at once that it is obvious that the people behind her are waiting for everyone to get in position. They could have attacked her at any time, but they just stand there because the director or coordinator hasn’t given them the instruction to go yet. Galadriel even does a Matrix lean just because; she is not actually dodging anything with this maneuver, as she has already repelled the sword coming at her. If the point of this whole exercise was teaching them and not her showing off, there was no point in her taking on five people at once, as that teaches them nothing except how good she is (supposedly). And she is certainly not teaching them how to take on five opponents at once.
Five, instead of actually teaching them anything useful, she has the trainees come at her so that she can pick them apart. She does “teach” them things that we will get to, but at no point does she ever say and show, “this is the best kind of stance for this,” or, “this is how you counter this,” or so on. As I said, this show is no The Mask of Zorro. Even the rudimentary training Godfrey provided Balian in Kingdom of Heaven was more helpful than this, since he at least showed him how to do something and walked him through demonstration that he has learned it.
Six, they establish the stakes here as seeing if anyone can “score flesh,” and Elendil promises, “Anyone who does, I will promote to lieutenant.” If this was a one-on-one fight, maybe that would make sense, but not when we get to a point where she is taking on five people at once. In that case, all you would need is a stooge to land a lucky strike, and suddenly, the nincompoop is a lieutenant. In fact, that is what happens, as Valandil does not score flesh, but scores fabric with a lucky strike while Galadriel has an awful but fancy-looking guard. He has not shown himself to be any more skillful than his cohorts, but that is sure what the scene wants us to think for this one particular instance. If anything, what this scene should have done, what I thought it was setting up for at first, was provide a demonstration of Isildur’s quality. When he came to watch the scene, I thought he was going to step in at some point. We could have a brief sequence of him going one-on-one with her and even scoring flesh, thereby earning his way into the ranks by showing his ability to fight. But the writer prefers some more contrived things for Isildur’s story, which includes dragging out his joining the force as long as possible. Also, I can’t imagine this writer or the others would dare abide the idea that anyone could even be somewhat competitive against Galadriel in a one-on-one sword fight. Thus, we must contrive other nonsense to move this plot along.
Seven, the first thing she supposedly teaches them in the course of this “training” scene is, “There are many ways to kill an Orc. But for you, I will keep it strong and simple. Stab, twist, gut.” The opening sentence is completely unnecessary, as if these people would be unaware that there are many ways of killing anything. And “strong and simple”? What kind of phrase is that for this context? Is this just more faux-medieval, faux-epic dialogue? She could have said that she would teach them the most efficient way to kill an Orc, but she does not even do that. Even someone who knows nothing about sword fighting knows that the pointy end goes into the opponent. Thus, she seems to be assuming a peculiar level of stupidity for these trainees. And stabbing them in the gut will likely kill them, especially if you twist the blade, but people can survive wounds to the gut for longer than you are letting on. They may bleed out, but if you do not finish the job, they would still be capable of causing problems if you turn your back on them, thinking you just implemented the simplest way to kill an Orc. Also, despite this apparent lesson, nothing in the subsequent scene has anything to do with “Stab, twist, gut.” So what was the point of this particular bit of the scene?
Eight, she says, “Swordsmanship is about balance, rather than strength. Fight with your feet. Not your arms.” You know, when you want to do lines like this, how hard is it to consult someone who knows something about fighting with swords? They seem like the most natural source for principles of sword fighting that you can put in your script. Skill is more important to swordsmanship than balance or strength, but there is no need to discount strength like she does here, as it can be pretty important to sword fighting. All she needed to say is to not overswing and leave yourself open to counterstrikes (again, like Daisy Ridley in the Star Wars sequels). Also, the idea of fighting with your feet and not your arms makes no sense. Again, footwork is important to sword fighting, but to say it is more important than what you do with your arms is just an attempt to sound insightful without actually being insightful. Your feet are not manipulating the sword, since you’re not Raiden from Metal Gear Solid 4. If these people had more awareness of what they were doing with their arms and hands, they might have actually done better against her.
Nine, she says to one of the trainees because he momentarily stopped, “Don’t plant roots. Keep moving.” And then she slaps him on the backside with her sword. The oddness of that gesture aside, surely there is something to be said for a firm stance and being less liable to be tripped or otherwise being caused to stumble. Right? No? Well pardon me, I guess I am not the master swordsman you also clearly are not.
Ten, her final “teaching” after Valandil gets his lucky strike is, “Never trust brute force to best an Orc. It’s often easiest to outmaneuver them.” Again, brute force when you are stronger than the Orc can actually accomplish a lot, provided you do not do what the people in this fight did in massively overswinging and leaving openings for counters. If the Orcs in this series showed any skill, maybe she would have a point. But we have seen and will yet see multiple cases where Orcs are bested by brute force (even by Arondir, an Elf you would think might know a thing or two about combat). Otherwise, the villagers who have no skill in combat should surely not stand a chance against any Orcs, right? No? You mean Galadriel was wrong? Perish the thought!
Meanwhile, Elsewhere in Númenor…
But enough of Galadriel and her unhelpful “instruction,” let us check in with the other Númenórean plotlines. First, we have Kemen confronting Pharazôn about his support for the war. Here they finally acknowledge that Pharazôn is Tar-Míriel’s cousin, so they at least have that right, despite getting almost everything else about the situation with Tar-Míriel and Ar-Pharazôn wrong as far as consistency with Tolkien goes (and as far as good storytelling goes). But given that they acknowledge this relationship, when Kemen says that Pharazôn almost single-handedly stopped Tar-Palantir from taking them back to the old ways, one must wonder, why did the people not go ahead and support Pharazôn as king if he represented their values so well? As I said before, intentionally putting the king’s daughter on the throne presents a liability. Instead, sensibility must be sacrificed to tell the story the writers want told.
Also, this is your weekly reminder that we are five episodes into the show and three episodes into our trip among the Númenóreans and we still do not know the central conflict of the Númenóreans. We have been told nothing about their extended lifespan. We have been told nothing about why they have such antipathy to the Elves, even if it is apparently as flimsy as wet tissue paper for most of the population. I am not giving these writers the benefit of the doubt that they will bring all of this up later, but it is irrelevant anyway. That information, as crucial as it is to understanding the Númenóreans, should have been put front and center and not delayed for the sake of unfathomably less interesting filler.
On the one hand, Pharazôn says that he is not opposing this war because it would be kicking against the current. Thus, again, we are being told that most people switched overnight to being fine with helping this Elf achieve her purposes. On the other hand, Pharazôn says he has his own reasons for wanting this war. Sending this force to Middle-earth will allow them access to the resources of Middle-earth, and installing a king in the Southlands will give them a grateful ally who owes his power to their efforts. Of course, they are sending a stupidly small force (and not many professional soldiers) for such a purpose, as I said earlier. And this once again reminds us how far we are from Tolkien’s Númenor. That kingdom had established ports and other such footholds in Middle-earth long before Pharazôn lived, had been acquiring resources thereby, and, coinciding with their spiritual/ethical decline, had even changed their approach to the other Men of Middle-earth whereby they became an empire that used force to establish colonies there. But only now—ONLY NOW—that Númenor is obviously nearing the end of its span does anyone think to do such things.
Next, we need to check in on Tar-Míriel, who is visiting Tar-Palantir, who is looking less vegetative than he did last episode. This scene is brief and exists only to force a sense of foreboding. Tar-Palantir warns his daughter not to go to Middle-earth for all that awaits here there is … darkness. Quite a generic warning, almost like this writer is trying to set up another mystery box. But you know what? I agree with Tar-Palantir. Nothing good will come from all the changes in the story that led to this trip of hers to Middle-earth. (Spoiler: It turned out even worse than I expected.)
The Harfoots Stop Short
After that, we get a strangely quick wrap-up of the Harfoot plotline in this episode. Seriously, the episode is around halfway finished, and this is the last we will see of them, since the writers really want to drag out this plotline and this whole story over the next few episodes. Pacing issues? In this show? Never. Anyway, the scene features Asteroid Man freezing the water he has his hand in, presumably while trying to heal himself while Nori comes in to tell him how the Harfoots are singing his praises now that he has saved some of them from wolves. Yet again, though, we see him unable to control his powers. But only now does Nori show some special concern about it after her hand is briefly frozen while trying to grab his arm. Why did she show no concern earlier, such as in that first scene where she was terrified when he grabbed her, and all that weird stuff happened? Why did she show no concern when the fireflies died? Why did she show no concern with what happened with the fires in the camp? Why has she never shown concern for any other time he clearly demonstrated he is not in proper control of his powers? Why did that part of her brain suddenly flip on and undermine the significance of him saving the Harfoots from the wolves? Well, because the writers wanted it to happen just now.
Padding, Padding, Padding
We then return to Lindon for the promised follow-up on the Elrond and Durin plotline. Here I must say that I think Galadriel’s plotline has consistently been the worst in any given episode (both from the perspective of adaptational quality and from the perspective of the quality of the show itself), even if there have been other cases where a plotline accomplished little or nothing. But this time, we may actually have a contender for an even worse plotline, or at least one equally as bad. It is just slightly more entertaining because we have Owain Arthur’s Durin IV here.
Gil-galad, appearing now for the first time since episode 1, opens with a back-and-forth with Durin. Gil-galad comments on how quiet the mountain kingdom has been until just recently (which Gil-galad seems to think is completely unconnected to the construction work in Eregion) and Durin returns with commenting on how suddenly the Elves have shipped off their warriors—though we have never seen such a thing, unless he is specifically talking about Galadriel and company, which makes no sense in this context—and expanded their cities. Before Durin can make a comment using an obvious profanity (not really fitting for Tolkien, but that is the least of this script’s problems), Elrond chimes in with an attempt at diplomacy with a nonsensical comment: “The hand of time crawls so slowly for our kind. We often overlook the years of effort we perceive as taking but a moment.” It is one thing to say that the Elves conceive stretches of time in different ways from other races, since they may live long enough to have memories that stretch back to what others would regard as ancient history. But it is another thing to say that their experience of time is different. A year is still a year to an Elf. It also makes no sense in context, as both Gil-galad and Durin are talking about things that are happening much more quickly than some stretch of years. If anything, time “crawling slowly” for them would mean that they would be well aware of the years and their significance and be astonished at other races moving so quickly to do anything. If one could make sense of time moving faster or slower for the Elves in the first place, it would make more sense to say that the Elves overlook the years because they pass so quickly for them, since they have so many of them in their lives. And if the years pass slowly, I must ask Elrond, how did you not realize it had been twenty years since you visited or spoke with your friend who is almost like a brother?
We then have an exchange about the table they are eating on. Durin says that the stone is of a particularly rare kind, which only “grows” (ugh) at certain depths. Because it is so precious, Dwarves only reserve it for their most sacred purposes, such as monuments or tombs for the honored dead. The implications of this are quite severe, but we will find out later that this is a lie, whereby Durin parlays this trick into getting a new table for his family. But the setup here gets difficult to account for. Why would Durin be able to lie about this successfully? Given the length and quality of Elven memories, would not Gil-galad or whoever be able to remember how the table was acquired? If Elves defiled a tomb or a monument to get this stone, you would think an inquiry needs to be made and punishment meted out accordingly. It is also difficult to buy that Durin is in such control of his emotions that he could lie so convincingly, given what we have seen from him previously. Furthermore, it is problematic that Durin is making such a severe false implication; you would think someone would be offended by this. But the Elves should have known something was wrong when Durin expressed no objection to everyone continuing to eat on this same table after he said what he said.
We Come to It at Last: The Great Folly of This Episode
But all of that is minor compared to the deluge of absurdity that pours forth from the script in the conversation between Gil-galad and Elrond. We open the conversation with Gil-galad accusing Elrond of lying to him, but we are not told until later, much less shown, how exactly Elrond lied to him. It is like they wrote this line out of order or forgot to include a scene in which Elrond and Gil-galad had a brief conversation. Elrond, in turn, accuses Gil-galad of lying to him about the purpose of his mission. Elrond speaks of going to Khazad-dûm with a proposal of friendship, but does Elrond forget that going to Khazad-dûm was his idea? Gil-galad did not send him to Khazad-dûm. He said nothing of Khazad-dûm at all. Nor did Celebrimbor. This will become even more flabbergasting when we get to the actual motivation behind Gil-galad sending Elrond to the general area, but one thing that is never explained in all of this is why there is so much secrecy around this purpose. If Gil-galad told Elrond the purpose upfront, there is no reason to think he wouldn’t have agreed to the plan. This intuition is vindicated by the fact that he goes along with revealing the existence of mithril once he learns of Gil-galad’s purpose. Instead, with time apparently being of the essence, Gil-galad sends Elrond hundreds of miles away to help Celebrimbor, Elrond determines to travel to Khazad-dûm, he forges an alliance with the Dwarves to build Celebrimbor’s tower and forge, he takes however long after the construction is well underway to go back to Khazad-dûm to find out about mithril, then he and Durin go back to Eregion to get Celebrimbor and all three of them travel the hundreds of miles to Lindon to finally speak with Gil-galad again. We have no idea how long all of this takes, but with all of the travel and work involved, it is not as if this would all take less than a month. If they are just walking the whole way and they are not riding horses as fast as Shadowfax (we never see these Elves travel by horse, and they would not be traveling back by horse with Durin), consider that it took Frodo from the night of September 22 to October 20 to go from Hobbiton to the Ford of Bruinen near Rivendell, then after a stay there, the Fellowship took from December 25 to January 13 to make it to Khazad-dûm, though they did not go there straightaway (all of this can be found in Appendix B of LOTR). One might think, though, that this second leg of the trip was going at a quicker pace in view of the urgency of the mission. Wherever in Lindon they are (we never really learn), it is still further away from Khazad-dûm than that. If the characters are traveling from and to the Grey Havens, it took Frodo from September 21 to September 29 to go from Hobbiton to the Grey Havens. All told, this would make a walking trip from the Grey Havens (though the location in Lindon is probably further away by up to another couple weeks of travel, since they implied in episode 1 that this is not the Grey Havens) to Khazad-dûm would reasonably take close to eight weeks (28 days + 20 days + 8 days = 56 days [based on the calendar in Appendix D for the lengths of the months]), though without the same diversions, one could imagine this time could be cut down to closer to seven weeks at a fairly fast pace. Conservatively, then, we are talking about at least seven weeks for a one-way trip. Double that for the trip back and add in however much time has passed in arranging for the building and the actual process of building the tower, and this means Gil-galad has been messing around for somewhere over three-and-a-half months on something that is supposedly urgent, and risks making no progress in that time because he refused to be forward with his aide for no apparent reason. At least, that is how much time it would be if I could believe these writers could realistically reckon with time and space.
But after all these months of mucking about, Gil-galad finally gets to his purpose, which he reveals by having Elrond recount “The Song of the Roots of Hithaeglir.” When he makes this command, one can see that what Gil-galad really means is, “Recount it, Elrond Peredhel, for the audience.” All the characters involved in this scene know the story, so there is no particular reason within the world of the show for one to tell the other about it, but it is contrived for our sake. Elrond describes it as an obscure legend, “regarded by most to be apocryphal.” Rightly so. There is no way Tolkien would ever write something so mind-numbing as this story as a way to provide the origin for mithril.
That’s right. This story made up for the show takes place not in the origins of Arda, where it might make sense to set a story for this insane idea that an ore deep in the earth needs its origin explained. Rather, it is of much more recent alternative history. I say “alternative” because the story involves an Elf described as having a heart “as pure as Manwë” (the purest and King of the Valar, whose heart is too pure to understand evil) and a Balrog of Morgoth fighting over a tree high up into the Misty Mountains. That tree is said to contain (somewhere, somehow) the last of the lost Silmarils. The Elf “poured all of his light” (somehow) into the tree in an effort to protect it while the Balrog “channeled all his hatred” (somehow) to destroy it. In the midst of this duel a lightning strike to the tree—somehow—causes veins of the substance to shoot down into the mountain, creating a power that Gil-galad describes as being, “as pure and light as good, as strong and unyielding as evil.”
Oh boy. This is what it looks like when people try to pretend as if they can write like Tolkien without having any of his sensibilities. There are so many issues to unpack with this story. One, as I indicated, it makes no sense to feel the need to explain the origin of an ore and not have it set further back in the deeps of time when the world was being formed. Of course, an ore does not need its origin explained at all for the purposes of this story, but the writer wanted to cross this line, so here we are.
Two, it does not make sense to make up such a story about a “lost Silmaril.” The Silmarils have always been accounted for ever since Morgoth stole them. Morgoth took them and placed them in his crown when he made it back to Middle-earth. Beren took one of them with the help of Lúthien and the hound Huan. After several twists and turns we need not recount here, it ended up in Eärendil’s possession and its light enabled him to find his way to the Undying Lands, and it was kept with him in his voyages across the sky. The other two Silmarils were reclaimed from Morgoth once he was defeated. The last surviving sons of Fëanor, Maedhros and Maglor, slew the guards who kept them and tried to claim them for themselves to fulfill their oath, but the Silmarils burned their hands for all that they had done to reclaim the jewels. Maedhros thus threw himself into a fiery chasm, whereby that Silmaril ended up in the earth. Maglor threw his Silmaril into the sea. And so the Silmarils remain high in the sky, deep in the sea, and buried in the earth, never to be reunited until the world itself is broken and remade. There is no room in this story for a “last” of the lost Silmarils as there have only been three Silmarils. And unlike some, I am not going to try to do the writers’ impossible work for them and try to reconcile this with Tolkien. It cannot be done, not least since it would imply the destruction of said Silmaril (otherwise, the story would seem to indicate where the Elves could find a Silmaril just up in the mountains). I am not going to write the show for them and do the work they are paid a lot of money to do. But I am also not going to accept this is as a neutral change because it fundamentally breaks Tolkien’s lore of the Silmarils for the sake of a story that illegitimately connects one to the mithril for the sake of pushing forward a larger story of terrible quality (especially when compared to Tolkien’s). The attempt to give plausible deniability by saying many regard it as apocryphal is the flimsiest of excuses considering the next problem.
Three, despite apparently being an obscure, apocryphal legend, this legend is somehow right about the location of the substance that Elrond coined the Elvish name for. If there was even a chance this could have been true, why did Gil-galad not make some diplomatic effort to try to inquire of the Dwarves before? If this is now a counsel of desperation to lend this story some credence in order to look into it, it sure is convenient, almost as if the show is written contrivedly that way, that the obscure legend happens to be true and that mithril has properties Tolkien never attributed to it of containing the light of a Silmaril (and thus of the Two Trees). But it is especially strange that this location is supposedly right when the previous episode told us the mithril came from “the old mine below the Mirrormere,” which means the mine is not under a mountain at all. Of course, the show itself does not let us see this, because it never orients its audience to where the Mirrormere is, but it is a body of water east of Khazad-dûm and not beneath any mountain. If that is so, Elrond should have all he needs to undermine the truthfulness of this story, but he acts as if the existence of the mithril actually demonstrates its truth.
Four, this is a remarkably facile, paper-thin story about light (from an Elf that never existed nor surely could have existed) and darkness. That is not surprising, given the quality of writers involved in this project. But it is incredible to think that everything in this plotline fundamentally hinges on it in that 1) a Silmaril is involved, 2) the lightning that struck the tree somehow enshrined the qualities of good in the substance created, and 3) the lightning that struck the tree somehow enshrined the qualities of evil in the substance created. Literally, this whole plotline now depends on this story being valid. Gil-galad’s only plan for preserving the Elves is acquiring the mithril. It turns out that Celebrimbor’s plans for the forge hinge upon being able to use it for making things from mithril. Elrond’s only justification for betraying his friend’s trust is the idea that the mithril has these qualities and is thus (somehow) able to save the Elves. The Dwarves delving to uncover the Balrog eventually will be because of mining mithril for helping the Elves (unlike in Tolkien’s story). All of it rests on the belief that this legend accurately describes how mithril came to be.
Five, if we are supposed to take seriously the portrayal of how this lightning works, it creates more problems. I get that they are going for a magic lightning idea here, but my question is this. If it was the lightning that made this substance dig down into the mountain, why do the Dwarves need to start with digging deep for it? It seems like there is also going to be plenty of it above their heads, so why not search there?
Six, the description Gil-galad gives of its capabilities makes no sense. I get why “pure” is associated with good, as that is a standard association, but why is “light” in terms of weight associated with good? Did they mean to say “bright” and just got the words confused? If not, what is the basis for this association? I know the actual reason is because mithril has been described as surprisingly lightweight and they needed some way to account for that quality in this ridiculous origin story, so they had to force it in here like a puzzle piece that doesn’t fit. But what I find especially baffling is why Gil-galad would describe being “strong and unyielding” as something that primarily characterizes evil rather than good. Maybe you could get away with such an idea if Gil-galad himself is supposed to be evil (which would force me to find new depths of disappointment with this show than the sub-oceanic ones I have already plumbed). After all, it is by being strong and unyielding to the corrupting influence of evil that what is good overcomes the devices of evil. This is why perseverance and faithfulness are biblical virtues. This is why the heroism of Tolkien’s characters stick with us, because LOTR is full of people who do what they need to do regardless of the odds of success, and they manage to persevere through despair and weather the powers of evil by the strength of their commitment to do what is right. That heroism alone will not bring ultimate victory, as that comes from providence, but it is the quality that puts our heroes in positions to find victory.
Seven, since Elrond clearly knew this story, why did he not make the connection before? Gil-galad makes it without ever having seen the mithril or knowing for sure that it exists. Why did Elrond miss that? It seems like it was a convenience for the plot that he forgot it when he did. But surely it can’t be that simple, right? It is not as if we have seen a mountain of examples of contrived writing in this show to this point, have we?
At this point, Elrond stupidly blurts out, “Durin was right.” It is not entirely clear what exactly he is referring to, but him saying this in this context is tantamount to an admission that Durin did find what Gil-galad was looking for. There was no reason he needed to say this out loud if he wanted to maintain the fiction that Durin did not find anything of significance. When he follows that up with saying that he promised Durin that he would never reveal his people’s secrets, he is once again admitting it, but only in a roundabout fashion. Sometimes, silence really is the better path. Because for all intents and purposes, he has broken his oath. Of course, Durin did not make things any easier on him by giving him a bit of mithril to keep, but we will talk more about that later.
Gil-galad presses Elrond further by saying that they need the mithril in order to prevent the Elves’ doom. To demonstrate the point for Elrond, he takes him to the tree we saw in the first episode, where we now see decay. This tree cancer is only visible from a dramatically convenient side. If it had been anywhere on the front, it would not have been able to be hidden for this dramatic reveal. But you know what they say: moss grows on the shadiest side of the tree and evil tree cancer grows on the side away from the camera. This reveal and the dialogue that accompanies it remind me of a description I have used for what I consider to be the worst episode of any classic Star Trek, which is Star Trek: Voyager’s “Threshold.” That episode has a story so nonsensical, even just considering established rules of how the world works in Star Trek, that it goes off the rails by early in the episode, but by the time we get to the ending, the story has become so insane that the derailed train has sprouted rockets and has lifted off into space. That description is apt here as well.
Let’s start with the basic point made. This tree is supposed to be a manifestation of the decay of the Eldar. Why though? Why does this tree have such a special connection with the Elves that its state is not only symbolic of them as a whole, but is actively indicative of their state of being? Why is it only this tree? Why do the other trees of Lindon not show evil tree cancer in less dramatically convenient spots? If you asked these questions like I did, too bad. The writer does not care to answer your obvious questions in any fashion. It is almost as if this relationship was not adequately planned or set up at all. I suppose the only thing that was planned was that it would appear on one tree out of view of everyone who walks by just so we could have a dramatic reveal, for otherwise the problem could never have been hidden.
Gil-galad’s line explaining this decay is a doozy that needs to be quoted in full: “We first took notice of it just prior to Galadriel’s return. We hoped that by sending her away, and so bringing an end to the last vestiges of war, we might arrest the decay. But despite our every effort, our decline has only quickened. The blight upon this tree is but an outer manifestation of an inner reality. That the light of the Eldar, our light, is fading.” Is the writer trying to make us conclude that Gil-galad is an imbecile? Why in the world did he think this sign of evil, the sign that whatever forces of darkness have not been vanquished, could be reversed by sending Galadriel away? If the decay has not showed up for so long and only manifested now, just before Galadriel returned from her mission, why did he think pretending evil was gone was going to work? Why did he think it was connected with her at all? Is it really as simple as thinking, “if you stop fighting the enemy, he will go away”? Why has the writer massacred Gil-galad’s character to make him so brain dead as to think that could possibly work? Granted, Amazon Galadriel is definitely a blight on this world, but if that was the idea, why would you send that evil into Valinor? And what “effort” could he possibly be talking about? What is it that you thought could possibly work? Was everything he tried equally as foolish as his first resort (even if I don’t blame him for wanting to get rid of Amazon Galadriel)? Finally, let’s make something clear from a lore perspective. Not only is all of this completely out of keeping with Tolkien for the sake of a story that is far worse than his worst ideas, but the idea that the High Elves were this close to the verge of collapse at any point in the Second Age besides when they were first at war with Sauron is laughable. In fact, Gil-galad’s power increased after that war so that he was able to supply the bulk of the forces of the Last Alliance.
But on the basis of this visual, Gil-galad makes one more appeal to Elrond to tell him upfront whether the Dwarves found the ore or not. For some reason, Gil-galad needs him to say it in the exact words. Inference is not his strong suit. But Elrond says he values his word and refuses to break his oath on the basis of “mere hope.” To continue the degradation of Gil-galad, the writer then gives him a line of pseudo-profundity:
Hope is never mere, Elrond, even when it is meager. When all other senses sleep, the eye of hope is first to awaken, last to shut. If the Elves abandon Middle-earth now, the armies of darkness will march over the face of the earth. It will be the end, not just of our people, but all peoples. If the hope of preventing that is not reason enough to make you reconsider your oath, I suggest you find another.
First, he starts with what is supposed to be a profound statement with a bit of alliteration. What undermines its force is that the two words used in this way can be synonymous. He then follows with an excessively flowery description of hope as if it has anything to do with the rest of the conversation. I say it is “excessively flowery” particularly because he does nothing to follow it up. That is, his next note is not about hope; it is about the negative consequence. That follow-up also shows how completely he has changed his tune from what he said to get Galadriel to leave, as he thinks the armies of darkness are capable of such a thing when he was pretending however long ago that the era of peace could finally begin. The utter deception he must be engaging in with his people as a whole makes this character look positively pathetic compared to his Tolkien counterpart or any of Tolkien’s good characters from the Second Age. Only after this does he return to the note of hope, like he has turned in a cul-de-sac. And once again he is twisting Elrond’s arm to break his oath, when he has already done so by letting on that the Dwarves do have what he has been looking for.
Isildur’s Cul-de-Sac
We are not done with the foolishness of this plotline, but first we need to return to Númenor. After people in this place (another open-air tavern maybe?) sing what I’m guessing is Númenor’s anthem, there is this whole reconciliation bit with Valandil and Isildur that is mostly played for comedy. That is not so much a problem, as it is showing a level of familiarity befitting friends (even if we still don’t really know any of these characters beyond their appearances), but the problem with it is that it is such a pointless interlude. Isildur only tries this reconciliation route and he only does it now after over a week because he wants a spot on one of the ships, and he thought if his dad couldn’t get him there, surely his friend would. But that purpose is averted so that the scene accomplishes nothing and serves only to pad out the runtime. If it was cut, we would miss nothing of value to the plot or to characterization.
This scene also continues the confusion in the script over what Isildur’s story even is. At the start of this episode, the writer decided to change his arc for the sake of the plot, so that now going west, following the voice, and holding to any of Númenor’s ancient traditions no longer matters for him compared to this endeavor. In this case, Valandil, after dismissing Isildur’s request because he cannot take Isildur along for another duty he might abandon, says, “One day, I hope you will find something you would be willing to sacrifice anything for.” Is that what we were supposed to get from the last two episodes? That he is unwilling to make sacrifices and is nothing more than a listless youth? That was not conveyed well. Rather, we are simply dealing with a rewrite of what little character the writers have given him, a character that is out of step with Tolkien’s Isildur, whose commitment as one of the Faithful could not be doubted, whose heroism saved a fruit of Nimloth (and thus allowed for the White Tree of Minas Tirith to exist), who was a great warrior who stood alone by his father in the final battle with Sauron, and whose wisdom (despite the destruction the Ring would bring him) provided for the future of Gondor well beyond his time. And we are supposed to believe that this directionless character will become him. We just need to keep watching to find out how because these writers are completely trustworthy (just look at what they did with Galadriel).
Before we move on to the next scene, this one must let out one more blast of gas before it leaves the room. You see, Ontamo reveals that Isildur’s horse, Berek, is going to the war and Isildur is not, since the horse-master recruited Berek. He follows this up with, “Sorry, Isil. The sea is always right.” After his silly mantra took a hiatus last episode, it is back and even more ridiculous. It appears in this context apropos of nothing. What does the sea have to do with this whole exchange or the events it concerns? I said in my episode 3 review that I did not expect this mantra to be put to any sort of particularly profound use, but even I underestimated how nonsensically it would be utilized. Even when I am not giving the writers the benefit of the doubt, they still fail to meet my expectations for mediocrity.
But speaking of blasts, we transition to our next scene with Kemen. Kemen has snuck aboard a ship to act as a terry. He has no apparent plan as to what he thinks this will accomplish or how he is going to escape without being detected. Fortunately for him, absolutely no one is guarding the ships or even watching them from the docks. His idea is that he is going to break open a cask of wine (or whatever alcoholic drink this is), let it leak for a bit and then set the liquid ablaze. Unfortunately for him, he happened to be on the one ship that Isildur stowed away on. But fortunately for him, he was able to find this out before he set the ship ablaze because Isildur, who is obviously trying to hide, made an obvious noise so that he would be detected by the first person who came by.
This whole scenario and the previous scene were contrived so that Isildur would stow away on just the right boat, run into Kemen, and be able to save Kemen when he inevitably screwed up. And this act of saving him will, somehow, be what gets Isildur into the ranks of the expeditionary force, not any demonstration of combat prowess that shows he would be useful (you know, like my idea would have been). He will even cover for Kemen by saying he was in a fishing boat and a cask “went off.” Of course, this does not explain how Isildur was anywhere to see this or why he was there. It is clearly a flimsy lie that would not hold up under investigation. In fact, there is no investigation for someone who clearly did something dangerous and who they do not know will not do other dangerous things. Otherwise, Isildur or Kemen would obviously be a prime suspect, but neither of them is under suspicion for Elendil or anyone else. If Elendil knows who Kemen is, he could have at least revealed in secret to Pharazôn that Kemen was suspected and it all could have been kept under wraps, but Elendil’s dialogue later simply indicates that there are no suspects.
Before we leave this scene, though, a comment is needed on what happens with Kemen’s plan. In the course of a struggle with Isildur, Kemen drops his lantern and does achieve his purpose of lighting the liquid, whatever exactly it is. When it reaches the barrels, somehow we are supposed to believe that the casks were not full of alcoholic liquids, but were instead filled with gunpowder or TNT. Wine does not explode like that. It would surely start a fire, but we would not be dealing with a massive explosion that puts the ship next to it out of commission that quickly as well.
I guess Kemen was also fortunate that these two ships were part of the expeditionary force and not part of those extra identical ships we saw in the first scene in Númenor. We are now down to THREE ships for this expeditionary force. They do not replace the two ships with others. They simply must go tomorrow, so two other ships can apparently not be made ready. And there is no indication that they are now overloading the three ships with the two hundred people, horses, and supplies that absolutely would not have fit on the other two ships. As far as we can tell, then, this expeditionary force is down to 300 people. Not even 300 veteran soldiers or 300 people skilled in combat. Just 300 people. This is supposed to be the army made to vanquish Sauron’s forces of Orcs (though they are not actually going to fight Sauron). What a pathetic representation of what is supposed to be the might of Númenor at its height.
Elrond the Oath-breaker
Elrond continues to fret over the possibility of breaking his oath while he is already breaking his oath. This time, he is breaking it with Celebrimbor. He actually gave Celebrimbor his piece of mithril to test and Celebrimbor notes that the light never diminishes. He tells Elrond that if they can secure vast quantities of it—mind you, vast quantities of an ore we have already been told is perilous to mine—they can, “saturate every last Elf in the light of the Valar once more.” This makes it sound like the Elves are batteries that need to be recharged and can relatively suddenly drain of power without warning if they are away from the light of the Two Trees for too long. Of course, Tolkien never wrote something so farcical. It also ignores that many Elves lived for thousands of years and never experienced the light of the Two Trees because they never went to Aman in that first journey. That includes, among others, Celeborn, Círdan, Thranduil, Legolas, the show-invented Arondir, and … let’s see, I may be forgetting someone here … oh yes, ELROND. Why is he taking this seriously and why are we supposed to?
As I said before, this apparent realization that the mithril could (somehow) save the Elves causes Elrond to fret over breaking his oath. Literally, after Celebrimbor says he is sorry, Elrond responds, “That the High King deceived me? Or that now our people are doomed unless I break my oath.” Fool, you already broke your oath. You did it implicitly at first, but now you have done it as blatantly as possible, even giving the piece you had to Celebrimbor. That action further highlights the imbecility of Durin when the plot needs him to act that way. If he never gave Elrond the piece of mithril and the Dwarves were insistent on being secretive about the ore, as obviously they were, they could have maintained deniability, even if Elrond said something. But now it does not matter what Elrond says or what any of the Dwarves say, the secret is out just like that. And let’s say there is reason to suspect that Celebrimbor and/or Gil-galad would press Elrond about information on the Dwarves; is it not unduly risky to give him the temptation to give them what they want? For all Durin knew, Elrond could have revealed the existence of the mithril entirely by accident just by taking it out of his pocket to look at it and someone walking by to see it. For something that made Durin swear Elrond to an oath of secrecy to conceal, he took literally no other precautions.
Celebrimbor then makes a ploy to manipulate Elrond by telling him a story of his father. Though if it is a story of his father, he apparently mistook him for a “mortal Man” when he was half-Elf, half-Man. When Elrond’s mother asked Eärendil why he had to be the one to go on the dangerous voyage to Aman to appeal to the Valar, he responded that he was the only one who could do it. Thus, Celebrimbor is saying to Elrond to be like his dear ol’ daddy, and do what he and Gil-galad want him to do. Of course, this is supposed to be a motivator to break his oath, so it is completely out of place in this scene because Elrond has already broken his oath. The writer just wants us to pretend that he didn’t.
Amazon Galadriel Descends to New Depths of Insufferability
And now we return for another contender for the worst scene in the episode (along with Amazon Galadriel’s sword fighting scene and the nonsense between Elrond and Gil-galad). This is where Galadriel tries to get Halbrand to do what she wants. Supposedly, this scene is designed to give clarity to Galadriel’s motivations, which means it is supposed to be one of the whole season’s most important scenes. Let’s see how they managed to muck it up.
Interestingly, Galadriel’s opening gambit is to say, “I was wrong to use you. I am sorry.” Despite having several things to apologize for, this is literally the first time in the series that she has said, “sorry.” But predictably enough, it is not because she is actually sorry; it is only for the purpose of helping her achieve her purpose. I know you will find this hard to believe, but it only gets worse from here.
Halbrand rightly says that Galadriel does not know what he did before they met on that raft, mentioning vaguely what he and others had to do to survive. As a matter of fact, she has not had much to go on. She saw a pendant; she learned what the pendant meant; she just assumed that he did not take it from someone it belonged to (despite his claim to that effect); and she is deliberately construing all of the information she has in a particular way because it helps her achieve her purpose. Everyone else is just a tool to that end. Halbrand also says that when his people find out what he did, they will cast him out, though given what we see of the Southlanders in the rest of this episode, I would say his chances are 50/50.
In an attempt to assuage his concerns—again, so that he will do what she wants—she says, “Sometimes to find the light, we must first touch the darkness.” Of course, this is her applying what her brother said to her back in episode 1 as one of “the most important truths.” I said in that review that this managed to be the most anti-Tolkien line in the entire first episode. And now it is back. This writer and his cohorts clearly think this line is important to the character and the series, but it could not be more wrong-headed, especially as a line from the main protagonist in a Tolkien adaptation. The idea that you need to do evil to find the good is completely antithetical to Tolkien, but it is also antithetical to good ethical sense. The only function it serves here is to say, “Whatever you did is okay, because sometimes that is how you need to find the light.” She does not care what he did because it does not matter for her purposes. She needs him to do what she wants. The fact that this anti-Tolkien line now appears here simply for the purposes of manipulation makes it even more grotesque.
Even though I am not inclined to give these writers the benefit of the doubt, let’s pretend that this writer has just poorly written a message different from how it is most straightforwardly interpreted here. It is not as if the writers have not communicated incompetently before, so it is not as if this is a distinctly remote possibility. But instead of having a throughline with the nonsense from episode 1, the message that was more appropriate in this context is something more like what Shad Brooks proposed as a simple alteration: “No one has fallen so far into darkness that they cannot turn to the light.” This line puts the emphasis of the message on the possibility for redemption, for transformation, and on recognizing that it is not too late to turn back. This is a starkly different idea than that to be good, to find and follow the light, you must first be evil and “touch the darkness.” Such an idea does not make good ethical sense, it does not make sense in the context of Tolkien’s world, and it does not make sense in either of the contexts of the show in which it has appeared.
When Halbrand asks her what she knows of darkness and of whose dagger she bears, she tells him about Finrod. What has changed about the account of his death this time is that she says he was killed by, “servants of Sauron,” rather than Sauron himself. This revised account would be closer to what happened in Tolkien’s story than episode 1. More specifically, he died in a fight with a werewolf while imprisoned by Sauron. He killed the werewolf with his hands and teeth, but the werewolf mortally wounded him as well. That better accounts for the marks on his body in episode 1 than the vague statement she offered at the start.
At this point, it is clear to Halbrand that she is doing all of this out of vengeance. Of course, Galadriel is in denial about this fact, despite how clear it has been since episode 1. Her denial is even poorly worded, “One cannot satisfy thirst by drinking seawater.” Come off it. You are not some sage who constantly spouts proverbs. You are a pretender sharing the name of a much better character. And it is obvious that you don’t have a motive other than revenge, otherwise you could have just said it, whether you think it is about justice, or saving Middle-earth, or keeping others from feeling this same pain. Any of these or other options still would have been something. Instead, the writer gives us nothing.
I am not kidding. In this scene that is meant to explain her motivation, when Halbrand asks her, “Why do you keep fighting?” she says, “Because I cannot stop.” That is not an answer. It just means you do not want to say an actual reason. It’s like when a misbehaving child answers a “why” question about their behavior with “because” full stop. But you are not a child, so why are you acting like one and answering nothing? Is it just because the writers are trying to avoid the implication that Amazon Galadriel is driven by nothing more than vengeance? Or is it because they genuinely have no insight into a character they invented and what motivates her? (And make no mistake that she is an invention; she is utterly different from Tolkien’s Galadriel except in her name, race, hair color, and having family with the same names.) This is one of the most important scenes and they cannot even give us any insight into their main character.
In case you think I am taking this statement out of context, that I have cut off the rest of her explanation, here is all that she said immediately after the last statement of “because”: “The company I led mutinied against me. My closest friend conspired with the king to exile me. And each of them acted as they did because I believe they could no longer distinguish me from the evil I was fighting.” This also does not explain anything. If not for all that follows, you could have presented it somewhat similarly to a line of hers from episode 1, in that she keeps fighting because she does not know what else to do with herself. This would be further assassination of a character who has been veritably killed, reanimated, and killed over and over again, but the script would at least be consistent in the manner of its awfulness. Otherwise, we are left with nothing. Is she trying to prove them wrong? We don’t know. She doesn’t say. Is she concerned they may be right? We don’t know. She doesn’t say. Is she admitting that she’s just going to keep going without a reason? Then why didn’t she just say so? Of course, the rest of the scene makes clear why she is playing this game of “O, woe is me, poor me”: it is another manipulation tactic.
After all, Galadriel gets Halbrand to say he is sorry for her brother and for all that she has gone through. What is her response? “Your sorrow cannot ease my pain.” I would challenge anyone to say that this is a good response to someone showing pity, to any sort of expression of compassion. When she said in episode 2 that she grieved for him and for all that he lost, notice that this character—whether or not he is actually Sauron, as many speculate—did not scorn her pity or treat an expression of compassion with utter contempt. But when she does it, we are supposed to consider this acceptable, since the plot requires it for our main character.
She then twists the knife of manipulation further with this follow-up, “And nor will a hammer and tongs ease yours. There is not peace to be found for you here. And nor for me. No lasting peace in any path, but that which lies across the sea. I have fought for centuries, seeking to earn mine. This is how you earn yours.” Oh joy, more naked manipulation tactics. She does not know he will not find peace here. She does not know better than him how he can find peace. In fact, appealing to her own example of fighting for centuries (again, an understatement due to the chronological issues in this show) to earn her peace only undermines her. Obviously, she has not done a great job of finding her peace. Why should he think she knows better than him how to find his peace? Clearly, he should not buy this, because all these assertions of hers amount to is saying, “If you want to find your peace, you need to do what I want you to do and go to war.” This fits her MO, but it is a terrible MO to attach to any character Tolkien characterized as good.
Things Go Further South in the Southlands
Mercifully, that scene finally ends. Unmercifully, the episode does not end. We are brought back to see what happens with Waldreg and his cohorts. Waldreg initially pledges his fealty to Sauron, which Adar responds to ambiguously. Even when directly asked, Adar does not confirm or deny that he is (not) Sauron for no particular reason in the context of the story. His ambiguity is just to lead the audience on, to keep the mystery box closed for a little longer. He makes Waldreg demonstrate his fealty by giving him a knife to kill Rowan, since “only blood can bind.” Of course, the show wants to leave this all implied by cutting away, as they are not nearly bold enough to kill this lad onscreen, a character the writers have given us no real connection with, but who is somewhat recognizable as the snippy brat. Its effect comes merely from playing on our general wish to not see such a young person killed.
While we are in the Southlands, we now must check out Ostirith. Arondir has an odd scene with Theo where he is trying to teach him how to shoot with such valuable advice as “lift your aim” (which is the beginning and end of his instruction). This will be for naught because Theo never uses a bow, but that is not what makes the scene odd. What is odd about the dialogue is when Arondir says, “it took me over 200 years to develop the bravery that’s keeping me standing here tonight.” That is a long time to be a coward. It is meant to be a compliment to Theo about how brave he is at 14, but it just makes Arondir of the past look bad. If we are somehow supposed to buy the idea that a 200-year-old Elf is equivalent to a 14-year-old human, what is Amazon Galadriel’s excuse? Why is she acting like a petulant princess child at thousands of years old? When and how does she ever grow up?
What is odd about the visuals of this scene is the fact that Arondir magically has his armor back. He did not have it when he came back last episode. If we are supposed to believe it was in the tower, why did no one else claim it? The world will never know because the showrunners don’t care.
At this point, Theo finally confesses about the sword of evil. Conveniently, Arondir recognizes it immediately and knows just where to go to tear down some vines to reveal the image he needs. Based on the carving he finds, he determines, “It is a key. Conjured by some forgotten craft of the enemy, to enslave your ancestors.” Not sure how he got all that from the image, but he sure is conveniently insightful, otherwise we might have to go through an actual process of learning and discovery. He also mentions in this dialogue that Adar spoke of giving Orcs a home in these lands, but Adar said no such thing in anything we heard. It sounds more like Arondir was listening in on Amazon Galadriel’s plotline in Númenor in episode 3. This sword Adar is looking for, which looks in the carving like it involves some sort of ritual sacrifice, is supposed to be the key to everything … somehow. I see that this writer or someone involved in this idea also played Uncharted 2, where a Tibetan ritual dagger is the key the unlocks everything. Then this plotline wraps up with a few odds and ends that are not really worth talking about (except when Arondir says “When Morgoth was at war, whole continents sank,” he neglects to mention that this was only after the Host of Valinor came and layeth the smackdown on him, so it is not as if Morgoth sank Beleriand).
The Folly Goes Ever On and On
The next plotline to wrap up is the travesty in Lindon. The scene opens with a bit of comedy, as Durin admits that he made up the whole thing about the table, since Disa’s been wanting a new table for years. But the introduction here looks absurd. Are we supposed to think these Elves carry that table the entire way, which is going to take them weeks to do? Do they not have carts or wagons?
But that is the least of the problems here. This writer actually managed a decent proverbial line here from Elrond when he is trying to be evasive about what troubles him, since, “a burden shared may either be halved or doubled. Depending on the heart that receives it.” After all these attempts, the writers finally hit the target. But then we have Durin’s response: “Aulë’s beard! Enough with the quail sauce. Give me the meat, and give it to me raw.” It just couldn’t last. There would have been nothing wrong with having Durin say, “Just get to the point and give it to me straight.” That is what the writer is trying to go for, but the metaphor is so muddled here that much of audience has laughed at this line, not with it. That is, they are laughing at how poorly phrased it is. I can’t help but wonder if it all came from an attempt to build off of Gordon Ramsay’s famous demand for lamb sauce, since the line about the quail sauce is delivered with the same cadence. But wherever this idea came from, do not go back to that source for dialogue.
Elrond finally admits to Durin that he came to Khazad-dûm for ambition rather than friendship, but he says that he did not know it (apparently forgetting his first visit when he absolutely came for ambition and covered it with overtures of friendship). He came for mithril. The conversation moves on from here, but Durin shows absolutely no concern for the fact that Elrond broke his oath. Actually, the fact of him breaking his oath never explicitly comes up in the conversation. Durin shows no further concern that the Elf who acted like he was his best friend suddenly shows up after twenty years of complete silence only because he wants something, manipulates him into passing on his proposal to his father, comes back to spy on him, then broke his oath of secrecy for the sake of Elves who could not state their intentions honestly and straightforwardly. This supposed best friend has either acted underhandedly or been a tool of underhanded actors since he has come back into his life. But he doesn’t care. Durin’s actual response to this should be so obvious that even Tommy Wiseau could have written it: “You betrayed me, you tricked me, you didn’t keep your promise, and I don’t care anymore.” But neither Durin nor the show actually expects us to take seriously the consequences of his oath. In the last episode, he swore on the memory of his father with the understanding that “Dwarven anger outlives even Elven memory. Break your promise, and the power of this stone will doom you and your kin to sorrow to your last day on this Middle-earth.” But there is no Dwarven anger here, nor will there be some severe doom on Elrond. After all, the show wants us to think that he is doomed anyway if he does not break the oath. At least this way (again, by the show’s goofy ideas), he will live long enough to have a family and to have his part in shaping the history hereafter that leads to Sauron’s defeat.
Only now do we find out why Celebrimbor had designs to complete his tower by spring, as Elrond says, without mithril, “my kind must either abandon these shores by spring, or perish.” That is a remarkably fast-acting decay, especially for Elves. The contrived time limit is what it is just to move the plot, not because it makes sense of anything else. How are the Dwarves supposed to mine so much mithril, considering how perilous it is to mine, in a matter of a few months, if that? That’s not the writer’s concern. He opened a mystery box, and he doesn’t care anymore. On to the next thing. Honestly, if I was in Durin’s shoes, I would think this spring deadline sounds made up. I would think this whole thing sounds made up. It is not as if Elrond has not broken his trust in recent history. Besides, how is it supposed to work? Do all the Elves need just enough to put on a necklace to carry around for their recharging? Do they need to be draped in it? Is it just for the High Elves, or is it for all Elves? I suspect none of these questions will be answered later. I have no reason to trust these writers.
Also, the way Elrond describes “perishing” is not really perishing, at least if he is trying to say it will happen by the spring. He says, “Our immortal souls will dwindle into nothing, slowly diminishing, until we are but shadows, swept away by the tides of time. Forever.” In other words, the Elves will become mortal. That doesn’t make sense with Tolkien’s lore, of course, since Elves’ immortality is intrinsic to them, not any result of the light of the Trees, which many of their race never experienced. But for one of mortal race, I am not sure why this is supposed to be of major concern to Durin. It is not as if his friend is going to die immediately. It just means, by the contrived stakes of this whole affair, that Elrond will (somehow) become mortal like him. But anyway, Durin decides to go along with all of this and just says that it will be more difficult to convince his father.
Númenor Finally Sets Out in Embarrassing Fashion
With that, we return once more to Númenor. There is not much said in the final minutes of this episode with a runtime of a little over 67 minutes pre-credits, but there are plenty of visuals. We have still yet to meet Anárion. I guess none of this whole affair with an Elf in Númenor even came up on his radar somehow.
What we do have happens because Halbrand gave into Galadriel’s manipulation. But even Galadriel is not responsible for the pathetic display we see here. That responsibility is on the showrunners. The expeditionary force is dressed up in this all-white and cheap-looking fake scale armor. Even if it was cheap, it did not need to look cheap, like how all the mail shirts in Jackson’s LOTR being made from rings in pressure hoses assembled together by hand were cheaper and lighter than making actual metal mail shirts, but they did not look cheap at all. There was clearly a lot of effort and skill that went into making those things and others in LOTR, which I do not see evidence of here. That lack of attention to detail is even manifest in how the standard armor of this force is put together, as the helmets look like Anglo-Saxon design, after the fashion of the Rohirrim, and does not fit with this white scale armor. And it doesn’t look like there is a gauntlet or glove in sight for this entire force. Especially awful here is Tar-Míriel’s outfit, where you can see that her sleeves are clearly “printed” armor on regular shirt sleeves given how they wrinkle. This is the most expensive show ever made, everybody. We are worlds away from the attention to detail in the armor and costuming of Jackson’s films.
But before the episode ends and we see the THREE ships sail off, we need one person to be the absolute focus of a visual. You guessed it, the narcissist herself, Amazon Galadriel, needs a shot where the camera focuses solely on her while the music swells and everyone stands in awe of her. I know there has been a controversy about the symbol on this armor, as it is apparently a symbol of Fëanor. I don’t know for sure that this is the case and I have seen nothing from the show itself that confirms this (though I have not actively searched, I have also not seen anything specific from the makers). Until I know for sure, I will not be addressing this. What I am more interested in are the questions raised by this armor. If that is an Elvish symbol, is this supposed to be Elvish armor? Where did it come from? She didn’t have it with her. Who made it? Are we supposed to think that has always been hers because it has that star on it? Why does it look different from everyone else, where, despite differences in color, there is a consistent theme? And why is it made to look this different yet even she has no gauntlets? What does this show have against gauntlets in all but a few cases? Who knows the answers to any of these questions? Who cares? This episode is finally over.