The other day, the family watched the Rankin/Bass Hobbit, which I will adore till I die, based largely on how it is emblazoned into my neural pathways from repeated exposure at three. This time around I was watching it while stuffing folders for a work project, which means I actually saw very little and mostly listened. This strongly replicated my original experience of listening to it on record, years before we got it on video tape. It really increased my nostalgia. However, I now realize that part of the reason I had trouble understanding the poetry as a little kid is that John Huston reads it with no inflection whatsoever. Oh well, he still achieves the amazing feat of being a believable Gandalf despite an American accent. Good times.
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