Gimli: I remember back when the LOTR
films were first released, and one of the criticisms that seemed loudest (but
hardly singular) was, “Gimli has been reduced to a comic side-kick with no
dignity!” I always found this an odd comment since Gimli got more than his fair
share of funny moments throughout the book, but perhaps that is at least
somewhat in the interpretation.
The Dwarf
strikes me in a manner similar to most of the uniformed individuals I met
during my military career: hardy, good-natured, liable to be grumpy (especially
when the food is low or of poor quality), but also possessed of a tremendous
fighting spirit, dedicated to friendship, and an absolute terror on the battlefield.
He also has the typical soldier’s flair for exaggeration and showmanship,
especially when it comes to bravery or toughness. This is my reading of Gimli
based on my own life experiences, but it is likely other readers have other
perceptions.
In his
incredible work Master of Middle-earth, Paul
Kocher remarks Gimli provides levity here and there in a long tale which has
serious droughts in levity throughout its numerous pages. The dour-handed Dwarf
trumpets his own hardiness from before the Fellowship even leaves Rivendell,
risks certain death at the hands of the Galadhrim, stares down Eomer and his
entire eored of armored knights,
repeatedly begs to get into a scuffle with some Orcs, threatens (who he thinks
to be) Saruman with an “incurable dent” in his head, and constantly tussles
with Legolas over hundreds of miles as they travel together. All of these
moments and many others elicit chuckles from the reader and enamor us of Gimli
at the same time. Kocher, however, when reviewing these moments declares, “Gimli
never finds them funny.” This is true, but not relevant to the topic at hand,
at least not in the way Kocher intends: the moments are funny precisely because Gimli never finds them funny. In
virtually every theatrically comic situation, at least one of the participants
does not find the proceedings in which they find themselves embroiled to be in
the least bit amusing. But this is a critical part of what makes the moment
funny to the audience: were the character involved to laugh at the
circumstances themselves, they would diffuse the importance and thereby diffuse
the comedy.
To
illustrate, I’ll take a very simple and extremely well-known example. In Star Wars Episode IV, Han Solo just
saved himself, Chewbacca, Obi-wan Kenobi, Luke Skywalker, and the two droids
from capture, torment, and death (possibly) at the hands of the Galactic Empire
by unleashing the hidden hyper-drive on the Millennium
Falcon and escaping into the depths of interstellar space. The getaway
accomplished, Solo swaggers his way back into the cargo area, flashes his cocky
smile in expectation of laud and praise, and says, “I told you we’d outrun
those Imperial slugs!” His passengers, however, engaged in lightsaber training
or partaking in a game of space chess, pay him no mind. Solo, his feelings
clearly injured by everyone’s lack of interest in his heroics, mutters, “Don’t
everyone thank me at once.” This little non-exchange is unquestionably funny,
but in large part only because Solo doesn’t find it funny at all. Were Harrison
Ford to chuckle at the situation himself, the moment would be decidedly less
funny or perhaps even unfunny. Solo’s dented ego, however, which drives his
genuinely despondent remark, gets universal laughs from the audience.
Theatrical
comedy is replete with parallel examples: watch any Charlie Chaplin film and
you’ll see the same principle at work. In clip after clip, the Tramp is often
seen in single-minded pursuit of some object or goal. It being comedy, Chaplin
naturally encounters numerous problems and obstacles in the pursuit of those
goals, each of which lands him in circumstances which are funny. An often
overlooked element of the comedy, however, is the character’s “tunnel vision.”
This means the character must be so thoroughly committed to their objective that
they are plausibly willing to brave those obstacles in order to get what they
want, including subjecting themselves to any number of hilarious situations.
The first example that pops into my mind (although I have no idea why) is Steve
Martin’s dressing like a gangster in Bringing
Down the House in order to gain access to the person who can clear his name
of wrongdoing via a taped conversation. The stakes are high (imprisonment, life
ruination, etc.) and Martin’s character is committed to overcoming the
obstacles in order to acquire the objective. The result is a middle-aged stiff
dressing up and sounding like Snoop Dogg in order to access the nightclub where
the objective resides. Hilarity ensues.
This same
phenomenon is at work in the character of Gimli throughout the book and the
LOTR films (not counting the gangsta-rapper impersonations). John Rhys-Davies,
Peter Jackson’s flawless pick to play the battle-hardened Dwarf, understands he
must invest totally in the character’s sense of honor, valor, and duty if he is
to create a Gimli with which moviegoers will fall in love. Rhys-Davies gloms
onto the Dwarf’s staunch personality as the defining traits and, by logical
extension, reacts appropriately to the world around him, using the script to
maximum effect in the process.
Rhys-Davies’s
Gimli is so lovable because he reminds us of ourselves: while most everyone
else is running around with somber faces pondering the end of the world, Gimli
just pats his axe, sticks his beard out and says, “Bring it on! This should be
fun.” There’s something in many of us with the same attitude – no matter what
the world throws our way, our knees remain unbent, our wills unshakeable. Even
if we can’t say we’ve always held up so admirably under the stresses of the
real world, we admire those who do (real or imagined). The character of Gimli
supplies this attitude in ample doses throughout the trilogy, and audiences
everywhere get thorough enjoyment from it.
The
inclusion of this personality does, admittedly, bring a healthy amount of
comedy to the role (and the film at large), but there’s every indication in the
book this is exactly who Gimli is. Yes, the Dwarf bellows his defiance at every
opportunity, but we also see the limits of his braggadocio: Gimli is the first
and most vocal of the Fellowship to express true fear of whatever spirit
governs the mountain of Caradhras, and he is deadly serious about his
superstition. He also refuses to talk about his trek through the Paths of the
Dead with Aragorn and Legloas – a refusal brought about by shame for the
intense fear he felt on that journey. I maintain Rhys-Davies through his acting
and Jackson through his screenwriting bring this crucial aspect of Gimli’s
personality to life on the screen. We see it in several scenes, such as on the
road to Helm’s Deep where he shows his willingness to charge into battle
against numerous foes, but without the skill needed to make his horse actually charge.
In the same battle, we see him face down mounted enemies on foot, but his
inability to participate in the combat from horseback ends with him comically being
buried under a pile of corpses. Over and over we see him being hauled away from
the fighting, even when hopelessly outnumbered. We never see Gimli ponder
shades of moralistic grey or refuse to accept a given duty (even if he comes
close on the road to the Sea). His brand of bravery is very different from Frodo
or Aragorn’s reluctant heroism or Merry and Pippin’s sparks of greatness under
duress. Gimli reminds us, in a way, more of Sam: almost simple-minded in his
dedication, but someone who throws themselves heart and soul into any fray,
practically unconcerned whether (or perhaps zealously convinced) they will either win
out in the end or have their actions justified after their fleeting defeat or death.
This kind of absolute commitment could also be appropriately described as “faith,”
another key theme throughout Tolkien’s works.
In
conclusion, both Rhys-Davies and Jackson collude to create a compelling and
beloved portrayal of Gimli. The director/screenwriter creates numerous
opportunities for the audience to enjoy this colorful and important member of
the Fellowship of the Ring while the actor wields his sense of commitment and
comic timing as deftly as his axe. The result is a delightful and memorable
character which lends critical levity to the story while simultaneously
conjuring a multi-dimensional, sure-hearted warrior-zealot that we, on some level, wish we
could emulate in our own lives.
Padhric
Master of Toons
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