All that is good and beautiful

Michael Colhaze



A new Order is arising! We will drive the Machine of War with the sword and the spear and the iron fist of the Orc!

The Shadow doesn’t hold sway yet. Not over me… not over you!

Some six years ago I saw the first part of Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings. Living in France at the time, my sons had flown in for Christmas and brought the whole trilogy along. We ran The Fellowship one evening but I, fairly drunk on red wine, happiness and much talk, found it a bit too polished for my taste and fell asleep half way through. I never saw the other two parts, didn’t think it a great loss and forgot about the whole thing. Until last week.

As readers may recall, I have written a rather fanciful addendum to Tolkien’s arrant epos. Which my wife translates presentlyinto Russian. She hasn’t read the original itself and thus asked me to dig up my old paperback for a general overview. Holding the weighty and much tattered tome in both hands, I wondered where to start, but then thought better of it and suggested the movie as a more convenient entrée. Since she was born in the former USSR and had only seen an extremely fuzzy pirate copy while a teenager, I found myself digging once again, this time through a box of DVDs that have somehow survived the furious purge triggered by my belated comprehension of how the hideous Hollywood hucksters manipulate our minds.

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We watched the whole trilogy during three evenings and I, sober this time, realized with surprise that my past reservations had been unfounded. The film rendered, a number of silly hyperboles apart, fairly exactly the subject matter of Tolkien’s epic tale. What is more, it radiated a distinctly human touch that I had always found missing in the novel, the latter being too heroically aloof in my opinion, both in style and in essence. The cast was well chosen and on the whole convincing, while the film’s general momentum generated sufficient suspense to stay wide awake. It was backed up by often breathtakingly beautiful landscapes and impressive digital trickery. The decorative features were remarkable, so different from the usual Tinseltown junk that comes across, at least in this genre, as either amazingly tasteless or implausibly fantastic. Rivendell might have been an art noveau designer’s dream come true, Lothlorien a glowing canvas in the Romantic taste, and Minas Tirith the soaring magnification of a Tuscan Renaissance city.

Particularly interesting, at least if seen in the present climate of toxic anti-White deconstruction, seemed the stronghold of Edoras and its great assembly hall. There the spectator is treated boldly to a display of unmistakable Germanic splendour and imagery, complete with magnificent blonde horsemen and a Lady Eowyn who looks as if she has stepped straight out of a Nordic saga.



It was here, while watching the evil counsellor Wormtongue whispering poisonous advice into the ears of a stricken king, that I felt compelled to leave the movie’s precincts and observe it from a position apart. Because try as you might, there appeared to be some essential features in its whole construct that clashed markedly with the never stated but always more obvious intent of the Spielbergs, Lucases, Bruckheimers et al. to discredit and vilify what we perceive commonly as the White Race and its unsurpassed culture.

Particularly Bruckheimer is much on my mind after I saw (and flung straight into the dustbin) his Déjà vu, an inane concoction so viciously racist as I have rarely come across in the past. It tells the story of a “White Supremacist” who, presumably after getting disgruntled with his tribe’s general decline, blows up a ferry boat for publicity and thereby snuffs out the lives of some 500 happy servicemen and their families. The outrage is set well into scene by Tony Scott, a seasoned screen quisling who loyally served his producer without qualms or moral restraints—perhaps giving rise to an emptiness of soul that resulted in his jumping off a bridge to end it all. A first taste of the flick’s general route is given when, after the dead and the debris have been fished out of the swirling waters, a trove of White cops turn out to be incompetent bunglers unable to get their act together. And thus leave it all to Denzel Washington who, clever devil that he is, quickly finds the essential clues by the river and so knows immediately what’s up.

Once I greatly liked this particular actor, above all his stunning performance in Man on Fire. But that was of course before Déjà vu. Where, in order to solve the case, more than mere deduction is needed. We need real genius! Thus we are introduced to young Danny, a latter-day Einstein of analogous kin who, based on Relativity Theory and supported by sips of a well-known power-drink, has invented a time machine with a few structural defects.

Sherlock Denzel squeezes his massive frame into the machine, slips back a few days and so catches our mass-murdering “White Supremacist” like a cockroach in the bathtub. Who turns out to be, and what else to expect, a miserable sod with words like honour tattooed on his neck. And who, even more miserably, cries tears when his Black interrogator, grandly but disgustedly, offers him a cigarette. All this before the latter sneaks once again backwards in time and thus reclaims, in a daft perversion of the magnificent Orpheus-and-Euridice myth, his wonderfully bronzed paramour from the hereafter. As for the terrorist, we can safely assume that he was eligible for a dose of lethal injection. A treatment recommendable, if we may believe those marvellously enlightened institutions like the $PLC or Abe’s Defamation League, for any potential terrorist with funny ideas about racial diversity or the survival of his or her incomparable Christian-European heritage.

Like you and me, for example.

Seen in light of the above, Jackson’s Lord of the Rings seems strangely and deliciously out of context. First of all, and with hindsight to the present routine, one stands dumbfounded by the fact that none of the movie’s principal heroes is of Afro-American extraction. Bruckheimer’s darling Denzel would have made a somewhat unlikely Frodo, it is true, even if digitally reduced in size. But what about the similarly enlarged Morgan Freeman as old Gandalf the Grey? A perfectly feasible prospect, you’ll agree, particularly if we keep in mind that Mr. Washington’s present screen impersonation of an immensely popular White airline captain who landed his stricken bird safely on the Hudson river has been swallowed by the dumb multitude without any hiccup. Or that’s at least what the mass media monkeys want us to believe.

As it is, the script and its cast stick firmly to the ethnic realities of Middle Earth. On one hand we see essentially Whitish folk, all of distinctly human structure, though varying in size. Who, some exemptions permitted, champion a superior set of ethics, cherish their honour and nobility of mind beyond everything else, and are heroic to the point of folly. In other words, they continuously put into effect Mankind’s highest possible aspirations as formulated by our great European novelists, poets, philosophers or mystics. And even if we are told of their different tribal backgrounds, be it the Elves who look and behave like quintessential Aryan epitomes, or Hobbits who live in the paradisiacal Shire and thus had no need to grow up, or Dwarfs who adapted to their subterranean fancies and became squat and strong, or Men who are just men, it is fairly obvious that they must be all of the same genus. Even more precisely, Men of the West! Because that is what King Aragorn calls all of his followers when he asks them in a truly rousing speech to stand firm while facing the might of the enemy.

Pitted against this phalanx of immaculate gallantry, probity and decency stands Sauron the Great, embodiment of everything that is Evil in the world. He commands an army of gruesome Orcs, once human themselves whom he corrupted and diseased and deformed out of recognition. The same is true of his Ringwraiths, former Kings of Men whose greed and stupidity tempted them to accept their own insignificant ring of power while paying for it with their souls and outer shells and eternal damnation. A few monsters who might have been bred in Monsanto’s secret dungeons are also part of the entourage, but those never venture any particular opinion and are just ghastly beyond belief. As for his allies, we see hordes of clearly Moorish lineage who eagerly intend to partake in the murder, rape and looting that has been promised to them. Lastly we have the wizard Saruman who abandons reason for madness by believing, just as old Rockefeller and his billion-buck buddies do nowadays, that Sauron will permit him to thrive as a privileged proconsul somewhere within the realms of the Evil Empire. Which is of course utter folly. Because there is only one Lord of the Rings, and he does not share power!

In short, and if this could be reduced to a single exemplary statement, we may say that the entire production is about one thing only, namely an epic battle between Good and Evil, and that the former emerges victorious in the end.

Indeed a sweet fantasy, you may say, but to what effect? Particularly if we keep in mind that present realities are quite the opposite, namely Evil being well on the advance wherever we look.

Now this brings me to the core of my yarn. Which, to begin with, notes that occasionally a work of great beauty and imagination can be found among the shallow junk, violent trash and pornographic garbage so incessantly churned out by the Hollywood schmucks. As in this case, where the director and his collaborators have clearly attempted to counteract the destructive propaganda machinations with an effort to re-vitalize the once cherished ideals of our great Christian-European tradition. Yet what I find most remarkable, even an Elven-star’s glimmer of hope, is the enormous impact the trilogy has had since its conception some ten years ago. If the Internet can be trusted, already in 2008 some two hundred million DVDs had been sold, a truly staggering number. As to the book, it has captivated by now a similarly astounding quantity of readers, namely two hundred fifty million (with The Hobbit included). Thus if we assume that many viewers and readers identify with the tale’s clearly defined heroes and, hopefully, their clear-cut codex of morals, the emotional and educational consequences must be vast.

This astoundingly subversive aspect of the film has been noticed by the usual suspects. Britain’s GUARDIAN, foremost mouthpiece of the great unwashed and just one more NWO pawn, ran a seething comment, while quite a few others aired their profound discontent at such blatant exclusion of the non-White global community. Yet the movie’s executive producer, whose only artistic merit, money apart, appears to be his ADL affiliation, either didn’t twig anything or didn’t care. Just like the Academy Award boobies who showered the epic conundrum with their silly Oscars. As it is, all those concerned seemed too brazenly self-assured, or just greedy, to fret about the massive kick into their backside.

And neither should we. Because as far as I know, nobody in the wide world gave a humid fart about Déjà vu’s hideous hint with the bargepole, namely that those Whiteys who still believe that honour is still a valid principle are all potential terrorists.

From the little I understand about secret under-currents within the attitudes of a given society, it is nevertheless enough to see that right now something rather large and dangerous is brewing. Subconsciously on the whole, for sure, but slowly developing form and essence. Because with mountains of uncensored and very outspoken information on hand, it becomes increasingly easy to draw parallels between Tolkien’s tale and today’s realities, to authenticate the present-day Orcs and their masters by way of indisputable documentation. In other words, many people, young and old, begin slowly to understand who exactly the powers are that try to enslave us all. Or see clearly, as one of the Hobbits observed so fittingly, who wants to destroy all that is good and beautiful.

Let me conclude this piece with Samwise Gamgee’s answer to Frodo when the latter, bogged down by the burden of the terrible ring, wants rather despairingly to know what we are holding on to.

That there is still some good in this world, and that it is worth fighting for!

Michael Colhaze’s website:

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