Jackson and his team have a lot of fun creating these three-dimensional worlds, overwhelming us with different moods, energies, and personalities. Some of the images are breathtaking: the Long Lake swathed in mist with mysterious structures rising out of it; the misty dark wood filled with shadowy waiting creatures; the elegant vertical fortress of the elves, soothing and yet rigid, too, indicating the elves' unwillingness to get involved in the larger dark forces overtaking the outside world.  The final confrontation with the dragon, when it comes, is worth the wait (although it would have been nice if the wait hadn't been quite so long). The dragon's lair is gorgeously imagined, an undulating and ever-changing landscape of coins and gold. There are lots of great moments: a gigantic tapestry falling from the wall in a rippling wave; huge collapsing columns; tiny walkways over the abyss; the dwarves' visible awe at their ancestors' ingenuity and power. Throughout, you get the sense that you really are in a lost and glorious world.  

And yet for all its scope, there's also a kind of homespun silliness in Tolkien's book—a "Tut tut, isn't everything just a bit much?" energy, stereotypically British, which has sometimes been lost in the other films, overwhelmed as they are by portent and meaning.  It's not lost this time. That barrel scene, for example, goes on for what feels like forever, and every second is justified. It has its own momentum, chaotic and jubilant, reaching an almost screwball climax, as events catapult out of control and nobody is sure which end is up, least of all the dwarves. Smaug is a fearsome beast, but you still laugh at the detail of Bilbo wincing at the breath emerging from the dragon's mouth. (Now that's the Bilbo I recognize from the book.) 

There's a moment before the spider attack that perfectly aligns us with the overall intent of Tolkien's fiction. Bilbo is told to climb one of the trees to peek out of the top of the forest and see how much further they have to go. When he pushes his head through the top, all he can see is a carpet of autumn leaves spreading almost as far as the eye can see, with blue butterflies flitting about along the leaf-tips. The sun shines brightly, and for a moment Bilbo is awestruck. We know that what happens next is bound to be grisly and terrible. But beauty is there to be appreciated, and the hobbits, with their love of homey nature, pretty colors, and comfort, know this as well as we do. It was the love of home that kept people going in the dark years during which Tolkien wrote these volumes, when the shadow of war overhung Europe. The sunlight-drenched green fields of the Shire are long gone by that point in Bilbo's story, a distant memory, but the memory gives Bilbo his power. It is worth fighting for. 

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