Eragodammit!

I have been a bibliophile for the majority of my natural life, ever since I was just a lad of three, thumbing my way through the colorful “Serendipity” series. Needless to say, when a Montana author—a kid my own age, no less—managed to make a name for himself writing something different than “local interest” pieces, I was all over his first novel: a brilliantly-written fantasy called Eragon.

I all but tore through that first epic tale, and I found myself marveling that, at long last, another author had arisen with the blessings of Tolkein, wielding the innate ability to breathe life into a world of ink and paper. When the sequel, Eldest, hit the shelves, I devoured the expansion, noting that Frank Herbert also must have played his part, sharing familiar characters and environments with the budding wordsmith. Since I closed the second book, I have been eagerly awaiting the necessary closer to this epic trilogy.

I write these words now, having just returned from the motion picture that had too soon been made from these fantastic works. I would like to be fair, and not unnecessarily cruel, for I know that a lot of time and effort went into this piece, but to be quite honest, seldom have I been literally offended by the creative liberties taken on a work of literature.

I’m not sure if director Stefen Fangmeier ever read Eragon, or exactly how he came to the conclusion that he was gifted or educated enough to take this incredible work into his careless hands, but the last time something was put together this shoddily, it did not even see theatres. (Bloodrayne, 2005) I do not know how much of a budget Fangmeier had to work with, but I can say for certain that nigh the entire account was blown on the dragon, Saphira (who, especially in newborn-hatchling form, was the only saving grace in the entire picture). Why else would the main heroine be forced to give up the pointed ears of her elven heritage, along with being addressed as an elf at all? Why else would we see none of the fierce dwarves, swinging axes and smashing heads alongside the Varden?

Unfortunately for Hollywood, only a portion of my rage is vented upon the deserving director. Further, I have a few words to say to whom-ever was in charge of casting for this train-wreck. John Malkovich (whose name shall henceforth be synonymous with every curse in my vocabulary) is not a person who is easily taken seriously, let alone an awe-inspiring, malevolent dictator. Further, while the books depicted Eragon as an inexperienced yet good-hearted hormone-driven teenager, watching Edward Speleers run around with a learning disability was just irritating. Please, Edward: stop trying to act.

As long as I’m berating the cast and creative juices behind this waste of celluloid, let me not forget the editors that made this all possible. I have a word of advice for you, ladies and gentlemen, especially if you ever want to keep an audience: the time-lapse is your friend. You are not going to confuse anyone by changing the laws of time and space. We’ve seen it before, we understand that the dragon is not experiencing a twelve-foot growth spurt in thirty seconds, and we are patient enough to understand that movie-time is not real-time. Easier, then, to explain a time lapse than “magical growth clouds”.

In my lifetime, it seems to me that vampires and scientology have drained Hollywood of her creative juices. In her death throes, I have seen everything from urban legends to popular video games scavenged in attempts to make a halfway-decent movie, and it pains me to think that both of these mediums have translated better to screen than the travesty I have witnessed tonight. In his inexperience, Stefen Fangmeier has taken a fantasy world as vibrant and expansive as Narnia or Middle Earth and transformed it into Mystery-Science-Theatre schlock.

I only pray that he leaves the rest of the series alone.