“They come with fire. They come with axes. Gnawing, biting, breaking, hacking, burning. Destroyers and usurpers, curse them!”
-Treebeard, The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers
The fantasy genre lends itself almost unflinchingly to a love of nature. Its’ core settings tend to be forests and fields, mountains and caves, castles made in stone or lodgings of wood or clay. It is imaginative fiction that looks almost longingly to aesthetics of pre-industrial history and myth as its’ basis for wonder or heroism. Fantasy loses something when it is displaced from that, and not that there’s anything wrong with modernist or urban fantasy as a genre, but it must be understood as a subversion of an integral component of the classical fantasy make-up.
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And of course when I refer to the classical fantasy make-up I mean the archetype that was set by J.R.R. Tolkien in the 1950s that the fantasy genre has bloomed out of. In fact one could argue these very standards that seem so important to the verisimilitude of fantasy were set by Tolkien alone, rooted in his own feelings about romantic nature and the post-industrial world he was living through. The Lord of the Rings is noted for its’ rather explicit themes on industrialization and environmental destruction, something that has only deepened in relevance with time. And naturally, those movies made by Peter Jackson gave them even wider recognition, commentary on environmental sanctity resting beneath the surface all throughout.
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But there is one instalment where the dichotomy of nature and the machine of industry is notably the most pronounced and it’s the one that features as a major a character a literal walking tree. Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings was criticized often by Tolkien purists for the aspects of the book that were changed or omitted entirely for the movies, and The Two Towers may arguably be the worst offender on that front. But where Tom Bombadil, Old Man Willow, the Scouring of the Shire and other seemingly innocuous or whimsical features of the story that would not suit the serious epic format of the movies were cut, Treebeard and the Ents were left in. On the one hand, Jackson, Fran Walsh and Philippa Boyens had no choice –as this storyline occupies nearly the entirety of the plot for two chief characters in this part of the trilogy. But they also understood that Treebeard and the Ents are an avatar of one of Tolkien’s most important themes in the book and in life. Ignoring narrative significance, a core part of the spirit of The Lord of the Rings would be lost.
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To examine this, let’s start by looking at the way the stage is set. Really, the first establishment in this movie of the state of things in Middle-Earth on a macro level comes with Saruman’s narration over a montage of scenes meant to re-contextualize the evil our heroes are up against. And it begins with a tracking shot up the side of a dark tower that is jutting out of a mountain –Barad-dur, with the Eye of Sauron looking out from its’ peak. Right there is a concrete example of nature corrupted to shoulder the weight of a big iron tower. Saruman’s equivalent however, Orthanc at Isengard, is even more offensive, without a scrap of green left in the once blooming place –as seen in Fellowship of the Ring. It is entirely cold and ugly, something I remember even commenting on as a kid –how out-of-place and unnatural Isengard looked. “Smoke rises” as both Saruman and Treebeard observe –the only emitter of Middle-Earth. The wizards’ language doesn’t mince words. “The old world will burn in the fires of industry, forests will fall” he says proudly. And here he makes the choice that will doom him.
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There was a time when he did. Treebeard refers to when Saruman would walk in his forest in tune with it. “But now he has a mind of metal and wheels,” Treebeard observes. “He no longer cares for growing things.” It’s not entirely true, for he cares a great deal about growing his weapons, his soldiers, his power. Saruman’s reach of technologically advanced destruction goes beyond Isengard and even the corner of Fangorn he torches. We see it in the influence he extends over Rohan in his efforts to purge its’ people. Fires burn across each little village, the battle at Helm’s Deep is defined by Saruman using his Uruk-hai as war weapons. There are berserkers and explosives, chain weapons and iron ladders; Saruman and his Uruk-hai have essentially developed gunpowder, and it’s what turns the tide at Helm’s Deep initially in their favour. This movie, like the text it is based on, views that particular innovation in warfare technology with derision -and from the vantage point of 2022 and the immeasurable harm done by its’ descendants both in and outside of the field of war, its’ hard to disagree on that point. There is a level of engineering unprecedented in this world, and all of it bearing Saruman’s signature white hand -a trademark if you will. Even his avatar in Rohan, Grima Wormtongue is pale and sickly and oily, as much as the Uruk-hai a physical manifestation of this dirty, cancerous force wreaked upon the world. Continuing on track of metaphor, he in having King Théoden’s ear is not unlike the industry leader, the slimy company CEO asserting influence over the politician to keep their coffers full. The Hall of Edoras itself is made dank by his presence.
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Tolkien was known to directly equate industry with war, and given his experiences fighting in the world’s first industrial war it is understandable. The inextricable intertwining in Lord of the Rings of the war machine and environmental destruction may be a tad reductive, but it gets the point across effectively in a world where neither capitalist economy nor resource extraction exists. For the cause of war, every element must be bent to its’ will –nature in particular. Even animals like the wargs must be used for its’ purpose. And that purpose of course is genocide. “A new order will rise,” Saruman boasts. “We will drive the machine of war with the sword and the spear and the iron fist of the orc.” In The Two Towers, Saruman at last builds his ‘army worthy of Mordor’ and it is an impressive, frightful thing –we see in it a glimpse of the foundation he wishes to lay for a world purged of Men. Through this explicit objective and the formidable force, a line can be drawn between genocide and war and the destruction of nature. Each informs and perpetuates the others until there is nothing left, each at the hands of a singular mechanical drive. It is what Galadriel means when she prophecies on Sauron’s war covering the world in shadow –it’ll be a ruinous waste like Mordor, itself a pretty strong symbol of environmental degradation. There is not a living thing there, it is a land of ash. Where Isengard is the machine, Mordor is the husk left in its’ wake.
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But of course this loathing of industry is matched in the film by an equal love for natural things. It begins on a panning shot through the mountains as part of its’ flashback cold open, at sundown enough for you to take in their magnitude. Just in general, Jacksons’ love for showcasing his New Zealand landscapes, the diverse and fascinating contours of its’ geography, makes for a bold statement in the spirit of Tolkien to the grandeur and awe of nature unspoiled by industrial revolution. He conveys so well across all three films a majestic natural environment that the viewer longs to inhabit -I specifically recall fantasizing about darting across those hilly grasslands of Rohan like Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. This sequence in particular of course directly precedes the major one at Isengard, a vicious contrast between sweeping natural beauty and a monument of cold artificiality. There are more layered visual parallels of this kind through the movie: the Dead Marsh with its’ swallowed up remnants of war -nature overpowering the machine of destruction (see also perhaps the leaves tainted in orc blood in Fangorn Forest), or Faramir’s scouts, a militia, taking up residence in a cave. In each case the natural entity dominates; we are merely denizens who can pass through the world but not remake or exploit it for our own ends.
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Our heroes are defined in contrast to the villains by their earthiness, their respect for nature and relationship to its’ elements. What is Sam’s most treasured possession on his and Frodo’s long journey to Mordor: spice from home -a keepsake that is distinctly tied to its’ environment. Aragorn is highly in touch with nature, as a ranger he can spot patterns in the ground which he uses for tracking. In effect, the earth gives him answers. The Riders of Rohan and the Rohirrim traditionally have a veneration for their land, they utilize it well in their architecture, their fortifications. The only heroes to ever attempt to misuse nature in the film are Merry and Pippin, who drink from the Ent Water in a petty competition, only to be punished by the roots of a tree ensnaring and suffocating them that Treebeard himself must free them from. Curiously, one of the characters who most understands and respects the power of nature is Gollum, made Frodo and Sam’s guide to Mordor in part out of this fact. Only Aragorn perhaps has a stronger relationship to the earth -Gollum has been utterly molded by his. As such Gollum has respect for nature, but he loathes it still, as he does everything. He talks about nature with a sense of inevitable grimness and malice, seeing only its’ capacity for misery or danger. In the book he is even unable to bear sunlight for stretches of time, preferring the darkness and shadows to any beauty that nature can illuminate. It’s one more thing that positions him as diametrically opposed to the hobbits, though also curiously in a median lane between them and Saruman.
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But at last we must return to the principal aspect of The Two Towers as it concerns nature: the giant anthropomorphized trees, who are instrumental in the heroes’ victory on both fronts by the end. The Ents are such a fascinating entity in Tolkien lore -living trees that have existed through millennia, shepherds of the forest and an ancient, reverent power from about the dawn of time. It doesn’t take much to envision this as Tolkiens’ honest view of trees or forests or all natural things. Only these trees have faces, which humanizes them against general indifference. They walk and talk in their old language but they are rooted to their domain, sturdy enough to withstand great change in the world around them. In this, Tolkien defines them as midway between man and nature, and it also accounts for why the Entmoot choose not to involve themselves initially in the War of the Ring. They have weathered great wars before, this just seems like another conflict between the various young species of Middle-Earth, and they are only guardians of that earth itself. Merry’s reproachful cry that the Ents are part of this world and so they should care falls on deaf ears because it is only a small picture to Treebeard’s kin. What shifts their choice is the realization of the extent to which the earth has been tainted, how much of their brethren have been felled. The war has been brought to their turf, unwisely by Saruman -only that compels them to act.
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In an extremely literal way this is a positing that the more we destroy nature the more it will fight back. One could apply the Ents’ march on Isengard as a metaphor for climate change, and the natural disasters that have taken place directly because of our impact on the environment. That language wasn’t in use when Tolkien wrote the book but it certainly was when Jackson made the movie. Many of Treebeard’s lines, his acknowledgement of reality for the Ents hits in a charged way in an environmentally conscious time: “I am on nobody’s side because nobody is on my side -nobody cares for the woods anymore.” His talk of the missing Entwives, the tragedy that their faces can’t be remembered also speaks to an existential horror of deforestation. Trees that have lived through ages cut down arbitrarily -a piece of the earth that is simply no longer there. Even something like Galadriel’s question of Elrond, “do we leave Middle-earth to its’ fate?” has a certain climate fatalism to it. But Galadriel is also one who had previously spoken of the power of small beings, and this story emphasizes that it is the actions of inauspicious, seemingly insignificant individuals that bring about important change -that set in motion environmental revolution. “A great power has been sleeping for many long years,” says Gandalf. “The coming of Merry and Pippin will be like the falling of small stones that start an avalanche in the mountains.”
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Merry and Pippin have always been two of my favourite characters in these movies, and not just because of their story arcs respective and together, or Billy Boyd and Dominic Monaghan’s chemistry, or the sense of humour they lend the films (the extended editions expose the weaker parts of this latter quality); but I think primarily what drew me to them was how relatable they are compared to the other members of the fellowship. Everybody who’s not a hobbit is some larger-than-life figure, or Boromir, who’s notably flawed. Frodo and Sam have to carry the considerable weight of their quest, as such having aspects of classical heroism thrust on them. But Pippin and Merry just seem like ordinary guys along for the ride. And this aspect of their characterization is vital to The Two Towers and the role they play in the defeat of Saruman’s industrial machine.
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The theme of humble folk being vital to the triumph of good over evil is one of Tolkien’s most enduring. When it comes to Merry and Pippin, it really means something that they can rise to the occasion here, especially given how relatively passive they are in Fellowship of the Ring. These are the everymen of the series, and even they realize they must become active participants in this story, for the sake of their friends and the world they love. The Shire is their priority, its’ devastation clear if Saruman’s will is advanced. Merry comes to this sooner than Pippin, frustrated and impatient to sit idly by as his friends sacrifice so much, while knowing with the help of the Ents there is something he can do. In a way Merry is representative of all of us who wish to do something for good in the world but feel helpless, his defiance of the Entmoot and frankness in his speech to Pippin is thus equal parts inspiring and sombre. He draws a vivid image of what will become of their pastoral paradise, and this is what moves Pippin to conspire in a more effective if devious way to get the Ents to take action. In our reality, we have a lot of Merrys out there trying to convince the collective Treebeards to meaningfully get involved in the fight for a livable world, but precious few Pippins capable of forcing their hand. The point is that it is these young normal people appealing for (and literally to) nature to summon the will to repel the industrialization that threatens it. It is true Saruman and his machine is driven back and vanquished by the very natural force he endeavoured to exploit and suppress, but it is people like you and I that brought it to his door.
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And brought the forest itself to Helm’s Deep! That’s a pretty significant point in the book that was cut out of the theatrical version of this movie and is still played as an afterthought in the extended edition. The Huorns, living trees without the anthropomorphism of the Ents and greater in number, are alluded to early when one seems to groan at an orc attempting to cut it down and then Merry reminds Pippin of the stories about them in the woods around Buckland; but they don’t get much character here. It’s understandable that Jackson would rather highlight the principal human-ish protagonists when it comes to the victory at Helm’s Deep, but it does step over one of the biggest points of Tolkiens’ nature vs. industry theme -where it is the trees that decide the fate of this chapter of Lord of the Rings, wiping out both Saruman’s forces at Isengard and at Helm’s Deep. Nature coming back with a vengeance in reaction to Saruman’s sins.
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At the end of The Two Towers, Sam delivers a moving speech about pushing through the hardships in their journey in the context of great stories and their meaning. Among other scenes that are juxtaposed through it to solidify his point, is Merry and Pippin and Treebeard joyous in the success of their aim in a flooded-out Isengard. “But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow; a new day will come, and when the sun shines it’ll shine out the clearer.” Indeed, the last we see of Isengard is also the first time we see sun in the distance of it. “How can the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened?” In the wake of environmental destruction, how often do you find yourself asking the same question? But there’s a message of hope there. We like Merry and Pippin, can be motivators for change. We like Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, the Rohirrim, can resist and combat the threat of toxic industry. Tolkien created a fantasy where he could enact vengeance on the forces that threatened a nature he saw as so precious. Jackson emboldened it. And it remains a testament to the grace and power of nature, a bitter rebuke of ugly intensified industrialization; one of the most potent calls to action in modern pop cultural history.
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