Until 12:01 a.m. on Friday, Dec. 14, I will be in constant anticipation. When “The Hobbit” finally begins on the theater screen before me, my childhood will be rekindled.
I first read “The Hobbit” in fourth grade, about 10 years ago. And ever since then, I’ve been obsessed with Tolkien’s world.
I remember going to see “The Lord of the Rings” movies in theaters after I fell in love with “The Hobbit.” I think it was December of 2002 that “The Two Towers” had been released. I remember seeing it with an old friend of mine, although she was never as crazed about it as I was.
A year later, December of 2003, was the release of “The Return of the King.” It was a school day, and back then at 10 years old, the chances of me being allowed to see a movie at midnight were slim. But the day of the release, I begged my parents to take me (and I think a few friends) after school. I remember my dad waited in line that afternoon, by my request, so we’d get good seats in that showing — he was the first one there, camped out on one of those fold up chairs — poor Dad. My grandma picked us up from school and dropped us off at the theater. I was wearing, what I thought to be, the greatest costume of all time (months before, for Halloween, my mom had made me a dress just like Arwen’s in the movie). I proudly walked through that mall and into the theater wearing my costume. And I would do the same today, if only I still had the costume (my mom sold it at a garage sale and claims that it wouldn’t fit me — I’m unconvinced).
Fast-forward nine years. This past summer, I attended the comic con in San Diego, hoping to catch a glimpse of the cast and crew of the upcoming Hobbit films. They held a panel in the biggest discussion hall to 6,500 screaming fans, and many had been camped out for over 24 hours. I sat there through a few hours of other panels, anxiously awaiting the time designated for “The Hobbit.” And when the lights went down and 14 minutes of never-before-seen footage began to project on the massive screen before me, I lost it. I became a 19-year-old sobbing child — me and one of my best friends who was sitting there next to me. I remember my mom laughing at me, saying I was ridiculous, before silently handing over a few tissues. To this day, I feel no shame. And I’m also 100 percent confident that, when I see the movie at midnight, I’ll start crying just the same. And luckily, that friend is coming to visit Boston to see the movie with me so we can share in that overly dramatic, nostalgic moment together.
Krissen Kawachi is a sophomore in the College of Arts and Sciences and a weekly columnist for The Daily Free Press. She can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.