There and Back Again (45 page)

The doubt wasn't erased all at once, mind you. It happened over the course of several weeks and repeated viewings, and endless hours sitting in the dark, listening to the snivels and sobs of both casual fans and hardened Tolkien critics. In the end, it was the fans who won me over, who embraced the movie and Sam and helped me realize how silly and self-centered I'd been. The changes that Peter had made left me concerned that fans would be disappointed, but they weren't. Far, far from it. When I saw the premiere in Wellington, I began to understand that the fans of the movie, and the feelings of the fans, were bigger than the movie itself. That understanding deepened with each viewing. The third time I saw the movie, at the Los Angeles premiere, I gave myself over to the experience. This was at the Mann Village Theater in Westwood Village, not far from the Bruin Theater, where I had worked as a kid. It was a friendly, hometown kind of crowd—they were applauding for my character, crying with the character—and I just sat back and went along for the ride. For the first time since London, I was happy with what I saw on the screen.

None of the reviews had come in at that point, so I wasn't sure what critics would think (aside from the obvious—that they would express overwhelming appreciation for the directorial skill of Peter Jackson). But when we started doing interviews, there was a rhythm of positive energy, especially as it applied to the character of Sam and my work in the film. After a while, I almost became skeptical, like I was waiting for the other shoe to drop, for someone to rip me apart: “The Return of the King
is a brilliant example of modern cinema, a sweeping epic that seamlessly blends live action and computer-generated effects like no film in history … a film so powerful that not even the melodramatic Sean Astin, as a weepy Samwise Gamgee, can ruin the experience.”

Something like that.

But it didn't happen. Audiences adored the film. Critics were kind. Within a few weeks after the movie's release, it was clear that there would be no backlash, that a broad cross section of people had voiced their approval, and most of the meaningful votes were in. I don't know if I had any conception of how the ensemble would be acknowledged. I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to be recognized for my work. But I did not want that recognition at the expense of any of the other actors, so I found myself getting really uncomfortable if someone, especially a journalist, said, “Hey, you're the guy!” I liked it and sort of wanted it to continue, but in a slightly different way, because it almost felt as if I were stealing the thunder of other performers. Maybe I'd earned that moment by standing patiently in the shadows for the better part of four years, but it still made me a bit queasy.

Bernard Hill (who played Theodin) and I have had some moments where I could tell he was no less affectionate or caring—he's been extraordinarily complimentary—but I could read the disappointment on his face when the attention turned my way. English actors, in my experience, are great at handling that sort of thing. Their reaction is,
Yeah, that hurts. Now let's move on
. I honestly believe that Bernard did some of the best work in
The Lord of the Rings
, and so it feels lousy to have contributed to his disappointment in some way.

I've been on both sides of the equation, so I know how uncomfortable it can be for everyone involved when a member of an ensemble is suddenly singled out. It happened in front of the French press corps, when Liv Tyler became the center of attention, with everyone taking pictures of her, screaming, “Liv, Liv, Liv!” She was surrounded by a dozen actors who had invested infinitely more blood, sweat, and tears, but because Liv is a superstar, a beautiful young woman, and a huge, bankable commodity in the European and Asian markets, she naturally outshines most mere mortals. On a night intended to honor the film as a collaborative venture, even Peter Jackson was eclipsed by her. None of this was Liv's fault. She's a delightful woman who has earned her stardom and success. But the response was disproportionate with people's excitement, simply because of their preconceived notions of fame and celebrity.

Imagine Orlando at … well, imagine Orlando almost anywhere. Chances are, eighty percent of the crowd is there to see him. Everyone has developed a sense of humor about that, and we all have pride in his success, but there's also a part of you that sometimes says,
What the hell am I doing here?
A lot of people have had moments to shine throughout the process, but there have been a few people who have been allowed to shine more than others. With the release of
The Return of the King
, the spotlight fell on me, and while I won't deny enjoying its warmth, I can also say that there were times when it made me uncomfortable. The moments I enjoyed most were the public appearances that ended with a giant curtain call, with each member of the acting ensemble taking a turn onstage and basking in the applause of the audience.

Nowhere was this type of response more gratifying and enlightening than at New York's Lincoln Center, where more than a thousand people paid one hundred dollars apiece for the chance to take part in a tribute to
The Lord of the Rings
. All three films were screened in a single day, each one introduced by members of the ensemble. Every time we took the stage, we received a standing ovation. I was absolutely blown away by this response. Because I'd been reading scripts and going to meetings and doing interviews—and because I had flown in just a few hours before the event—I hadn't slept for the better part of two days, so my senses were slightly dulled. But somewhere between the hotel and the big SUV in which we were shuttled around, I wiped the sand from my eyes and prepared for what I suspected would be a meaningful event. It was much more than that. The crowd didn't want us to leave. And what a crowd it was! Teenage boys, infatuated girls, fifty-something hippies—an incredibly broad spectrum. One of the first things we did was ask for a show of hands.

“How many of you have already seen the third movie?”

To my astonishment, virtually every person in the room raised his or her hand. These people were so enamored of
The Lord of the Rings
that they were willing to pay a hundred bucks to see the entire trilogy—even though they'd already seen it! That's how much it meant to them. That's how much
we
meant to them.

An actor should never take that sort of loyal support for granted. On some level, of course, it's ludicrous. At least with athletes and dancers and musicians, there is a moment of expertise, something that happens right before the eyes of the audience in real time that merits a response—a slam dunk, a home run, a perfectly executed concerto. But with us, well, we had done the work so long ago. So to be given an ovation for it—well, sometimes you just feel unworthy of the adulation. And yet it happened. Over and over. People rose out of their seats and roared their approval. It was profoundly moving for me as a performer.

And more than a little overwhelming …

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“No more being overshadowed by glam-boy elves and hunksome warriors … Sean Astin's moment to shine is here.”

—USA Today

 

“Sean Astin comes into his own with this brave, questing performance.”

—Rolling Stone

 

“Sam is played so well by Sean Astin that this affectingly loyal hobbit seems the most human figure on screen.”

—The New York Times

Maybe they just ran out of other things to write about. Maybe, after four years and three movies—during which hundreds, if not thousands, of stories were devoted to the vision and talent of Peter Jackson, the rugged good looks of Viggo Mortensen, the shimmering beauty of Liv Tyler, the haunting, luminescent eyes of Elijah Wood, the split personality of Andy Serkis, the musical genius of Howard Shore, the artistic brilliance of Richard Taylor, and so on—maybe it was simply my turn.

The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King
had been unleashed upon the world, and it was met with at least as much critical and commercial enthusiasm as either of the first two films. This was a movie that would become one of the biggest box-office hits in the history of cinema, and it would go on to receive eleven Academy Awards. There was no getting away from it. The entire trilogy had become a pop culture phenomenon, and it was now reaching a climax. The question was this: had the media well run dry? The answer was an emphatic “no!”

But where to train the eye? The media likes a hook, something that will quickly and easily capture the public's fancy. In the winter of 2003, to my own amazement, I became that hook.

There are two distinct threads to discuss here. One is the story of Sean Astin, a Hollywood brat (and I mean that in the military sense, not the derogatory sense) and journeyman actor who finally gets a chance at stardom. The other is the work of Sean Astin in
The Return of the King
. The two threads inevitably became entangled, because that is the nature of celebrity, and it's easy, if you're not careful, to lose yourself in the vortex of hype, to start believing your own press clippings and equating fame with success. I've been around long enough to know the difference between art and commerce, and to maintain a sense of amused detachment when the machinery of publicity begins working in my favor.

I knew what was happening. I understood the angle. People identify with someone who's been around awhile, who's plugged away at his job, generally without complaint, year after year, and then finally gets some supposedly long overdue attention and respect. Fine. I don't disagree with the notion that mine was a nice story, and I didn't mind sharing it. Similarly, I'm proud of the work I did in
The Lord of the Rings
, and I think it's worthy of scrutiny. Somehow, though, it didn't feel like I'd earned the praise quite as much as some other actors.

Like Eugene Levy, for example, who won the New York Film Critics Circle Award for his performance in
A Mighty Wind
. Here's a guy who is old enough to be my father, and whose body of work includes everything from slapstick humor to brilliantly subtle improvisation. Regardless of the film, his work is always interesting. The same is true of Philip Seymour Hoffman, whose name you might know, but whose face you would surely recognize. Philip is a character actor in the truest sense of the word, and his commitment to honest empathetic portrayals of offbeat downtrodden characters—from the late rock critic Lester Bangs in
Almost Famous
to the lovesick friend of porn star Mark Wahlberg in
Boogie Nights
—is admirable. He is justifiably and understandably a critic's darling. I'm not, and to suddenly be placed in that category was at once flattering and disorienting. I've been prolific. My filmography includes a lot of “okay” work punctuated by the occasional outstanding film, but it's not comparable to the work of Philip Seymour Hoffman or Eugene Levy. I get the difference between my career and those kinds of careers. I'd like to think that everything up to this point has been a prologue for me, and maybe with a bit more luck I can have a career like that. But I don't have it yet, and I know it.

So it was odd to hear my name mentioned in the same breath as some of the best actors in the business, which was what happened after the release of
The Return of the King,
when the 2004 Oscar campaign got under way. The 2004 awards season coincided almost exactly with the publicity tour for
The Return of the King
, and I found myself out in front, driving the PR bandwagon for the better part of two months, from the first premiere in Wellington to the day, in late January, when the Academy Award nominations were revealed. It was an exhausting, sometimes hypnotic adventure into the surreal heart of our celebrity culture, one that left me alternately exhilarated and depressed, but ultimately emboldened by the knowledge that I am, at my core, a father and a husband who happens to have an interesting job. I'm luckier than most.

*   *   *

Academy Award nominations do not fall haphazardly and unexpectedly from the sky. The recipients typically are good actors in good parts (as Samwise Gamgee was for me), deserving of praise and recognition. But there are only five nominations in each acting category, and so some deserving performers routinely are overlooked. It's up to the studio to determine which actors it wants to support in the Oscar campaign. To a large extent, this decision is made by answering a pragmatic question: Who has the best chance to win? More often than not, it's the actor whose performance has been singled out and applauded by the broadest range of critics. But there are other criteria: the popularity of the movie in which the performance is embedded; the critical response to that movie; the date the film was released (have people forgotten about it?); and perhaps most important of all, the actor's personal backstory.

In my case, it was an easy call. I think New Line had a sense that as an Academy legacy I might be an attractive candidate for the category formally known as “outstanding performance by an actor in a supporting role,” and more colloquially referred to as best supporting actor. For one thing, the studio desperately wanted to win the Academy Award for outstanding motion picture (also known as “best movie”), and historically it's been demonstrated that in order for a film to be so honored, it helps to be viewed as a movie that showcases great acting. Spectacles and fantasies, especially those laden with special effects, have often been denied on Oscar night. Indeed, not since
Braveheart
in 1995 had a film received the Academy Award for outstanding motion picture without receiving at least one nomination in the five acting categories. So you can understand the sense of urgency at New Line to make sure that someone in
The Return of the King
be plucked from the acting ensemble and given an opportunity to sample the heady elixir that produces something known as “Oscar buzz.”