The Desolation of Smaug

Or 'Let's Cash In Again'

Bofur posing a little like Marilyn Monroe during the iconic barrel sequence.

Peter Jackson and Sauron were both people with vision. Few could have realised, upon first glance at a slim three-hundred page children's tale, there would be room to expand it into a sprawling nine-hour epic. But, wisely or unwisely, Jackson did it anyway, and this second chapter of the series has been beefed up by the director to make for a veritable rollercoaster of a picture, even if the heart of the source material is left in its wake.

The film picks up mere moments after An Unexpected Journey, with Bilbo, Thorin and the gang still on the run from Azog and his Orc pack, until the latter is called away by his mysterious master in Mirkwood. The first film's ponderous nature has been stripped away; if Jackson's love for Middle-Earth let AUJ drag because Rivendell felt like home, his guiding hand is much more forceful here. This installment is a race to get to the dragon, and it's all the better for it.

And the dragon is impressive. The titular Smaug, realised in mo-cap by Benedict Cumberbatch, is a glorious technological achievement, easily taking the crown of Best Movie Dragon from the heads of Sean Connery and the Dreamworks team. Cumberbatch's malevolent purr is perfect for the role,  bringing to life the famous scene where the dragon and Bilbo exchange puzzles. It is perfection. Smaug is old, powerful, intelligent and cunning, a fifty-foot-tall lizard Loki, and the magic-makers at Weta convey this beautifully, with stirring, recognisably human facial expressions crossing over a reptilian face.

Indeed, there is so much buzz around the introduction of Smaug, the return of Legolas, the mystery of the Necromancer, and an elf-elf-Dwarf love triangle that has prompted a whirr sound emitting from Tolkien's grave, that one could almost forget the title of the film. Martin Freeman shines in a comic masterpiece of a performance that gives Desolation of Smaug, in danger of suffering from George Lucas-esque CGItis, some genuine humanity (Hobbity?). In such a bloated film, the idea that there is so little room for the main character seems laughable at best.

This highlights DOS's main problem. It doesn't pause for breath. It hurtles along at a hundred miles an hour, constantly moving in an attempt to retain the attention span of the Playstation generation. While Dwarves bounce in barrels, and Legolas and new character Tauriel do their best Neo and Morpheus, little character evolution is made due to the film's overstuffed nature, and combined with the almost cartoonish visual sheen given to the whole production, anyone over fifteen may find their attentions begin to wane.

The beauty of Lord of the Rings lay in building suspense, in pauses, real locations and practical effects, and Jackson's attempt to prove to both us and himself that he had enough material to justify the extra film means that these lessons lie forgotten. It's a phenomenally exciting return to Middle Earth. It feels like coming home again. But also, in the words of Bilbo Baggins, it feels 'thin, sorted of stretched, and like butter scraped over too much bread.'