So here’s the deal. I’ve been a nerd since I was very small. Very, very small. I read Heinlein when I was, seven? I know Asimov. I’m fluent in Robert Jordan. I’m legit.

But more than anything else, I know Tolkien. I do. Hardcore. I will correct your pronunciation, because I have the tapes he RECORDED BEFORE HE DIED. I have heard the man himself pronounce Elendil. I know what the Illuvatar is. I have heard, on a tape recorder from 19-freaking-80 Christopher Tolkien reading the Silmarillion. I have a F***ing signed copy, no joke. No joke.



So, madam whatever-the-eff-your-name-is, you are not justified. I have never, in my life, been quite so offended. And that is saying something, because I have BEEN offended. I have been deceived, lied to, and assaulted by all manner of stupid and awkward (and painful) but this takes Marie Antoinette’s cake.

So yeah, I tweet-tw@tted this earlier, but here’s the for-rizz version: Fuck. You. I don’t even know your name, and that’s a sign in-and-of-itself, because I’M COMPREHENSIVE AS HELL (I took notes, three pages, staring at them now).

I realize this seems harsh, but it’s not. I swear. It’s not. Two Tolkiensians sitting at a conference full of nerds are rolling eyes. Why? I don’t know. Shouldn’t happen. Both of us are theatre nerds, BECAUSE WE HAVE DEGREES IN IT. Both of us are Tolkien geeks, because we’re PRE-DESTINED. So how is it that we are BORED FUCKING STIFF at this conference?

I’ll tell you. Reading a paper. At a conference, not an academic presentation, but a conference. Of nerds. Who were looking for The Lord of the Rings Musical. So we’re thinking: teensy hobbits, singing. And orcs doing the can-clink song from Beauty and the Beast.

Okay, now facts only to follow: 1. Don’t read to me. If I want to read Tolkien, I will. I have. All of it. And listened to it, read by JRR himself. So nope. 2. Also, IF you do read to me, don’t do it in your own words. Please, if you read to me, use the words of the master. Your ways are not the ways of the master. Nor are your words.

So, I will synopsize: Bitch talked. For hours. And used masses of adjectives that didn’t make sense and INVENTED words and, in the most Hitlerian manner, usurped words from elsewhere.

In any case. I am bored. I am a miserably patient person. I will wait for hours at a doctor’s office, I will endure the sun without closing the blinds, and I will not snap. Ever. But I am currently doodling on my notepad, which is sacrosanct, btdubs, and I am done.

If you can bore me (a theatre major for six years and a Tolkiensian) then you are doing something seriously wrong, possibly on a criminal level. I cared about WHO the set designer was. I CARED about the lighting design, and lemme tell y’all NO ONE ELSE DID. But since you skipped over this in favor of your brilliantly-scanned description of said set-and-lighting-design, I checked the fuck out.

The description of said set, and the plot (which I feel like MOST OF US AT FUCKING DRAGONCON KNOW) was meticulously set down in her notes. Which she read from. The whole time.

Interjection: If you are VAGUELY related to the theatre, you understand the concept of the mic being too close to your mouth. She didn’t. Parenthetical interjection OVER.

That said, in order to avoid the level of “OVERSTAYING WELCOME” she achieved, I will cut this short (though GOD KNOWS I HAVE HOURS OF RANT), so I will simply paraphrase the rest of my notes, followed by the inimitable words of Shauna Smith:

A. WHY HAVEN’T WE DEALT WITH HOW EFFING DIFFICULT THIS SHOW IS TO STAGE? It’s six books. So many pages. How many hours IS this?

B. Why did three people write the book (musical script)?

C. Why is it that we are talking about the Jungian concept of the soul? I AM NOT IN PHILOSOPHY! Neither is JRR.

D. Where are the photos and slideshows and design concepts?

E. WHY AFTER ALL OF THIS DO I STILL WANT TO SEE THE SHOW?

F. And in the words of the excruciatingly honest Shauna Smith, “There is…no music in this musical.”

I’ll tell you why. Because there is not a world where the WORST or most boring of presenters can take the myriad and brilliantly beautifully diverse world of Tolkien and make it boring. There is not a world where Tinuviel is not sexy. There is not a world where Smaug is not a fucking badass. There is not a world where Gilgalad is not the biggest badass to carry a spear EVER (FUCK the Spartans). And there is not a world where Tolkien can be shoehorned into the miserably boring and painfully tedious shit that we experienced.

I’m sure you meant well. But the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

Love,

James.

PS – The notes were far more vitriolic than the article. If you ask me, I might send them to you.