Elizabeth's grand theory of Faramirs
This isn't nearly a decade late or anything! It basically consists of a good portion of my posts at Emyn Arnen and Men of Gondor, sadly inaccessible though they are. So, for anyone who might not know (somehow): I do not like Faramir in the movies, and this is mostly an exploration of their differences from that perspective. I tried to avoid bashing, but eh. It’s also really long, much longer than I originally expected. You can watch/listen to the whole thing here.
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I think I’ve finally-after all these years-had an epiphany about movie Faramir vs. book Faramir. How the discussions generally seem to go is this:
Faramir = nice and mild, thus where movie Faramir = nice and mild, movie Faramir = book Faramir. Where movie Faramir comes across as morally unjust, movie Faramir not only isn’t book Faramir, but falls outside the acceptable range of Faramirness. These unacceptable breaks are regarded as lapses in his character, inconsistencies between mostly-like-Faramir and not-at-all-like-Faramir.
On the other hand, if we look at movie Faramir’s character as a whole, I think two critical traits emerge. One, he’s generally accommodating, good-natured, and conflict-averse (not willful or independent; also not scholarly or otherworldly). Two, he’s overpoweringly driven by the desire to earn the affection and approval of his father-it defines who he is in a very large part, and is his overriding motivation for everything.
It’s not that he’s ‘not exactly like book Faramir,’ but rather, exactly what his defenders always said: he’s a different person. He doesn’t have OOC lapses now and then; his personality is radically, and consistently, different.
To begin with, he doesn’t seem to have spent much time reflecting on the nature of war-or, in all likelihood, reflecting much in general. He doesn’t come across as especially philosophical or scholarly, and in ROTK, it unsurprisingly turns out that he wasn’t much of a student. In any case, when he sees the fallen warrior of Harad, it seems to strike him in that moment that his enemies are ordinary people; it bothers him; and then he puts it out of his mind in the urgency of the moment, as Boromir (or another man of action) might have.
This scene is generally regarded-and I think intended-as a gesture to Faramir’s characterization in the books, though the line and sentiment were originally Sam’s. Yet the personality that’s exposed there is what we see of him elsewhere: a general good will, immediate and instinctive (rather than rational, conscious, deliberate), quickly subsumed by his overriding loyalty.
In the book, Faramir has conscientiously reflected on war, even the most just and necessary war possible:
‘War must be, while we defend our lives against a destroyer who would devour all; but I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend’
-Faramir (Tolkien 656)
He’s even established a protocol for minimizing harm.
‘But I do not slay man or beast needlessly, and not gladly even when it is needed.’
-Faramir (Tolkien 650)
He’s the kind of person that would think through all that before intruders ever showed up in Ithilien, and then carefully thinks through the matter when they do arrive, too.
‘And I do not need any to teach me of our peril. Even so, I spare a brief time, in order to judge justly in a hard matter. Were I as hasty as you, I might have slain you long ago. For I am commanded to slay all whom I find in this land without the leave of the Lord of Gondor.’
-Faramir (Tolkien 650)
His careful philosophical ethics wind through his professional, military conduct as much as his personal choices. It’s explicitly stated that the quasi-pacifism of the Southern Rangers is due to Faramir himself (rather than, say, a pre-established code of conduct):
‘You will not have us slay wild beasts for no purpose’
-Anborn (Tolkien 660, my bolding)
Really, there is no point at which Faramir is seen to go along with the Rangers’ preferences rather than the other way around. He is pleasant and respectful about it, and he listens to them, but in the end, he gives orders; they obey. Even his general demeanour is hardly tractable:
He could see Faramir’s face, which was now unmasked: it was stern and commanding
(Tolkien 648)
He runs Ithilien, abandoned and overrun as it is, like a little kingdom. His approach seems rather like Tolkien’s description of Denethor’s over Gondor and Númenórean lordship generally:
He [Denethor] listened to counsel, then followed his own mind.
(Tolkien 1031: Appendix A)
A Númenórean king was monarch, with the power of unquestioned decision in debate
(Letters 324)
Meanwhile, a significant part of movie!Faramir’s difficulty is that he’s confronted with dilemmas that he has never encountered before, never expected to encounter, never thought of or even imagined, then has to resolve them then and there. He responds to the beating of Gollum much as he responds to war itself when he encounters the corpse of the soldier of Harad; a disagreeable necessity, whose disagreeableness only then really hits him, that he tries to put out of his mind (turning away).
But it also goes further here. What’s occurring is still produced by the actions of others, but this time, they are under his command. It’s less that he is personally malicious or sadistic, or even that he especially approves, and more that he simply lacks the strength of will, and moral courage, to immediately intercede-particularly as he does want Gollum’s information.
With regard to his power, personally, I get the impression that movie Faramir’s position is, if not purely a matter of form, far from the ironclad authority of book!Faramir. Madril, the lieutenant invented for the movies, is much more authoritative than his nearest canon counterparts, like Anborn and Mablung; Faramir seems to depend upon his judgment and generally rely on him, and Madril openly questions him. Nevertheless the command is Faramir’s, and the responsibility. His lack of forcefulness, and tendency to look away from things he finds disagreeable (literally looking away, here) is starting to have very real consequences.
Book!Faramir is certainly too scrupulous to have committed or countenanced the actions of the filmverse Rangers-this is a man too scrupulous to lie to orcs. And the films’ diminishment of the Stewards, Gondor, and the species of humanity in general, made it pretty much impossible to retain Faramir’s fey edge, which gives him a significant advantage when it comes to gaining information:
‘the blood of Westernesse runs nearly true in him; as it does in his other son, Faramir, and yet did not in Boromir whom he loved best. He has long sight. He can perceive, if he bends his will thither, much of what is passing in the minds of men, even of those that dwell far off. It is difficult to deceive him, and dangerous to try.’
-Gandalf (Tolkien 743-744; my bolding)
'Do you know the name of that high pass?’ said Faramir.
‘No,’ said Frodo.
‘It is called Cirith Ungol.’ Gollum hissed sharply and began muttering to himself. ‘Is not that its name?’ said Faramir turning to him.
‘No!’ said Gollum, and then he squealed, as if something had stabbed him. ‘Yes, yes, we heard the name once.’
(Tolkien 676; ditto)
‘But I do not think you are holden to go to Cirith Ungol, of which he has told you less than he knows. That much I perceived clearly in his mind. Do not go to Cirith Ungol!’
(Tolkien 677)
In the book, Faramir is persistently associated with Elves and the people of Númenor (both of whom he’s descended from, on both sides), and also with wizards (as his father is). Tolkien refers to him as a Númenórean in the letters (e.g., 244). He has visions, is aware of details he could not possibly know (What did she say to you, the Lady that dies not? What did she see? What woke in your heart then?), and is strongly implied to be favoured by some otherworldly power.
I called it a ‘fey edge’ above (thanks, heckofabecca), but that’s not quite accurate. It’s far more than an edge-it’s a central element of his character, mentioned every single time he appears or is referenced.
In the movies, Aragorn (and in one inexplicable scene, Éowyn) are the only humans to get this at all; Aragorn also gets Faramir’s temptation/renunciation scene, but even his preternatural qualities are sharply reduced. Faramir is simply an ordinary, if troubled, man, and though the effects are not confined to him (see Denethor, Isildur, etc), it makes for a very significant difference between the film and book versions. This is not to say that movie Faramir’s difference makes him, inherently, a more or less well constructed character: simply that the difference exists and is significant.
One that is less often recognized as a difference is the matter of motivation. As I said before, movie Faramir’s driving motivation is his desire to earn his father’s approval and love. He faithfully complies with Denethor’s stated or expected wishes, whether Denethor is physically present or not. This is the desire which the Ring-already stronger in the movies-exploits. It drives him to seize Frodo and take him to Osgiliath, in hopes of decisively proving his worth to Denethor.
This is generally regarded as a brief, to many annoyingly irrelevant, AU of the book; the same characteristics, the same temptation, but if he had not managed to overcome it without a Ringwraith in his face. Yet there’s a subtle, yet critical, distinction which makes this more of a departure in character than plot.
In the book, Faramir would certainly like Denethor’s approval and affection, and is pained by the lack of it. But it is demonstrably not his overriding motivation, which is his own conscience and his own will. By the time Faramir lets the Ring pass into Mordor, he has an established habit of going his own way, to the annoyance of Denethor:
‘Or do you ask for my judgment on all your deeds? Your bearing is lowly in my presence, yet it is long now since you turned from your own way at my counsel.’
-Denethor (Tolkien 796)
‘Would that have availed to change your judgment?’ said Denethor. ‘You would still have done just so, I deem. I know you well. […] But in desperate hours gentleness may be repaid with death.’
‘So be it,’ said Faramir.
(Tolkien 796)
he [Faramir] learned what he could from his [Gandalf’s] wisdom; and in this as in many other matters he displeased his father
(Tolkien 1031, my underlining)
Rejecting the Ring is the culmination of his pre-existing tendencies, not a sudden serve in them (as in the movies). Denethor’s insistence that Boromir was dutiful and Faramir wayward is not completely detached from reality; Faramir really is driven far more by his own will than Denethor’s wishes, and this makes him far less vulnerable to the domination of the Ring than his more compliant, eager-to-please movie counterpart.
Additionally, one of the many forms his independence has taken is in his interest in lore, though in a special depressing twist, it’s actually a quality he shares with Denethor. In any case, Faramir has both studied extensively on his own, and (per the above quote) learned from Gandalf, to the point that he concluded on his own that Isildur took some evil, immensely powerful artifact from Sauron; that is, he had a good idea of the Ring’s nature before he ever encountered it, which only bolstered his already-formidable resolve.
So, it’s not really surprising that movie Faramir falls prey to the Ring, without the defenses of information or intense strength of will that the book character possesses (among other things). And the stakes continue to escalate. This isn’t a matter of some culpability in the actions of others; he is one Ringwraith attack away from dooming all Middle-earth. But in the end, he’s convinced and backtracks, sending the hobbits onwards to Mordor; the side-trip has no effect on the over-arching plot.
That brings us up to ROTK, where the nice/nasty dichotomy of book/movie Faramir almost gets flipped. Nevertheless, each version remains entirely true to his own characterization, and distinct from his counterpart. It’s commonly said that ROTK Faramir is restored to his original characterization, but personally, I think it would be much more accurate to say that ROTK Faramir is restored to an object of audience sympathy; while there’s a greater degree of overlap, they remain very different characters.
First, there’s one incident that is simply a reiteration of Faramir’s diminishment in TTT. In the book, Faramir’s ride to Minas Tirith consists of himself and three or four other men, no more. They are chased by five Ringwraiths. Everyone but Faramir, who has some vaguely mentioned command over humans and animals alike, loses control of their horses and keeps running. Faramir rides back to help them. A Ringwraith stoops down on him, which is when Gandalf intervenes.
In the movie, Faramir has considerably more men with him and exhibits considerably less personal heroism, but manages reasonably well-which seems in line with what we see of his leadership of Ithilien (competent, nothing extraordinary).
Then, however, the changes in movie Faramir start running into those imposed on another character: Denethor. In the movie, Denethor is far less able, less grand, and less generally admirable than the original. Where Tolkien’s Denethor is strained but functioning at a very high level until Faramir’s near-death drives him to his last, fatal use of the palantír, movie Denethor is deeply and obviously disturbed from the outset.
He screams at Gandalf, refuses to light the beacons for no apparent reason-in the book, Denethor has sensibly already done so by time Gandalf and Pippin arrive-hallucinates Boromir, squanders his son and valuable mounted troops on a doomed mission, and rants wildly until Gandalf knocks him unconscious. Without going too deeply into the ramifications of this, the overall effect with regard to Faramir is that he is given immensely more provocation in the movies than in the book.
His response, however, is consistently mild. He looks and sounds grieved by his father’s cruel treatment of him, but never really even argues with him, either as father or as plainly incompetent lord. He reverts back to obeying his overriding imperative of trying to please Denethor, leading his men out on a pointless suicide mission without a word of protest.
But Elizabeth, you might be saying-if you’re still reading at this point!-that’s just like the book. Faramir did respond mildly. He did ride out on a suicide mission.
My answer would be: kind of.
Faramir’s side of the conversation is initially calm and careful. As Denethor lashes out at him more and more harshly, however, Faramir’s own responses escalate. He goes from pointing out that he had no advice to guide him in that critical moment of decision, to sticking to his conviction that personal integrity is worth maintaining, even in the face of death, to directly challenging Denethor on his obvious wish that Boromir had been the one to live, to, well:
‘I would ask you, my father, to remember why it was that I, not he [Boromir], was in Ithilien. On one occasion at least your counsel has prevailed, not long ago. It was the Lord of the City that gave the errand to him.’
- Faramir (Tolkien 795)
Paraphrasing: In case you’ve forgotten, it’s your fault Boromir is dead. That’s what happened last time we all listened to your advice.
Remember when Gandalf told Pippin that Denethor loved Boromir best because he wasn’t like him? That it was Faramir who took after him? It goes beyond Númenórean superpowers. Faramir is, without question, a far kinder, gentler, more compassionate person than Denethor, but in this moment, he is absolutely Denethor’s son, all the more because he doesn’t erupt into a blunt rage. It’s calm and cold and elegantly phrased, a nice graceful twist of the knife. It’s hard to think of anything he could have said that would have possibly cut deeper, and as he sees straight into the hearts of men, he must have known.
Now, this is a response to very considerable aggravation while struggling against the Black Breath. I don’t think it’s really that heinous that he snapped under the pressure for one moment and returned Denethor’s treatment in kind. My point is that he does not meekly accept Denethor’s condemnation, but resists it with varying levels of harshness, escalating as Denethor does. And for a moment, we see what Faramir would be like with the brakes off; in fact, the quote above is directly preceded by the words ‘Faramir’s restraint gave way,’ just in case it wasn’t already clear what is going on with him.
Faramir is absolutely capable of being a less admirable person than he is; his better self can and does falter. When that happens, though, he doesn’t start acting like Boromir (as in the movies), but like Denethor, a man who is described as both great and terrible. And he certainly isn’t uniformly gentle and mild. As Denethor suggests, but doesn’t really appreciate, Faramir chooses to be gracious and gentle as much as possible; he is aided by the basic compassion and wisdom of his temperament, but it’s also a conscious decision he makes, a matter of deliberate self-restraint.
As for the suicide mission, in the book it’s nothing of the sort. No, really. Rather, it’s a risky but valid strategy that does not involve ‘retaking’ Osgiliath, as there was neither any need nor possibility of doing so. To sum up:
Gondor holds half of Osgiliath. Boromir managed to retain the half that Gondor already controlled (still heroic, but not nearly as monumental a victory as in the movies). When Faramir returns to Osgiliath on March 11th, he’s going to Gondor-controlled Osgiliath to command the defense of the river-crossing. They can’t hold it forever, but they can inflict massive casualties there (which they do). Outnumbered at least ten to one, they retreat on March 12th to a fort at the Rammas Echor, the great wall that surrounds the Pelennor Fields. Mordor’s armies stop and blast through the walls at various points, driving Faramir back on March 13th.
Faramir is seriously injured and his men panic; then Imrahil leads Gondor’s cavalry out on the sortie, driving Mordor’s forces into panic and covering the retreat of the two-thirds that remains of Faramir’s army (yes! a majority survives!). Imrahil personally carries Faramir, his nephew (specifically, his sister-son) in front of him on his horse and joins in on the pretty justified family knife twisting. It takes Mordor’s forces another two days to break down the main gate.
tl;dr-Faramir’s mission is not to defeat Mordor’s armies. There is never any chance of that and it’s not what he’s there to do; Denethor prepares the sortie well before it’s actually needed. The point is to defend the Rammas Echor long enough to significantly delay the armies of Mordor. Faramir manages two days. And what does Denethor hope to achieve by it?
Here’s a hint: I listed the exact dates for a reason. ;)
The Rohirrim are mustered on March 10th, the day of Faramir’s arrival in Minas Tirith. On March 12th, when Faramir is retreating back to the Rammas Echor, the Rohirrim arrive at Minrimmon. On the 13th, when he’s injured in the retreat across the Pelennor, the Rohirrim enter Drúadan Forest. On the 14th, when the siege of Minas Tirith begins, the Drúadan are leading the Rohirrim to Minas Tirith. On the morning of March 15th, the Rohirrim arrive, just as the Witch-king breaks down the gate of Minas Tirith.
Denethor’s strategy is so far from being a pointless suicide march that it actually works. The majority of his soldiers survive and, under Faramir’s leadership, manage to buy the two days that the Rohirrim need to get to the Pelennor in time-almost to the minute. Now, it’s not at all certain that it is the best strategy that could be devised; a loss of a third of Faramir’s command is still drastic, and Faramir’s near death leads to Denethor’s actual death, the crumbling of Gondorian resolve, and prevents Gandalf from contributing to the battle on the Pelennor. But it is a valid strategy and an ultimately successful one.
So. Movie Faramir sadly but unprotestingly complies with Denethor’s utterly irrational, futile, physically impossible plan-plan is too strong, really-and takes a host of men with him. In the end, the results of his compliance are not merely confined to himself, or to a few people and only temporary. He goes willingly to his own death, which does not actually occur, and to that of every single person who accompanies him, which does, without resistance, without even reason. Meanwhile, book Faramir, faced with a feasible but dangerous strategy that he disagrees with, is far more assertive. It’s made clear that his command is not voluntary:
In truth, Faramir did not go of his own choosing.
(Tolkien 798)
He argues with Denethor:
‘Today we may make the Enemy pay ten times our loss at the passage and yet rue the exchange. For he can afford to lose a host better than we to lose a company. And the retreat of those that we put out far afield will be perilous, if he wins across in force.’
(ibid)
And though he agrees to go in the end, he makes it clear that it’s under duress:
‘I will go and do what I can in his [Boromir’s] stead-if you command it.’
‘I do so,’ said Denethor.
(ibid)
In the houses of healing, Aragorn puts all this a lot more succinctly:
“He is a man of staunch will.”
(Tolkien 846)
In conclusion (phew!), the difference between the two Faramirs is not the occasional aberration. The Faramir of the movies is simply a milder, more accommodating person, so consumed by his drive to earn his completely irrational father’s approval that he sacrifices the lives of a company of men to it, and comes dangerously near to dooming all of Middle-earth. It’s for this reason, and not an innate cruelty, say, that the Ring works more powerfully on him. His temperament is different, his character arc is different (such as it exists), his abilities are different, his relationships are different, and his interests are different.
Meanwhile, the Faramir of the book is, while gentle, loyal, and kind, also commanding, gifted to the point of otherworldiness, thoughtful, charismatic, capable of scorn and cruelty but almost invariably choosing compassion and ethics instead, courageous and bold when the situation calls for it, with an immense strength of will. In the end, they’re simply different people.
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I think I’ve finally-after all these years-had an epiphany about movie Faramir vs. book Faramir. How the discussions generally seem to go is this:
Faramir = nice and mild, thus where movie Faramir = nice and mild, movie Faramir = book Faramir. Where movie Faramir comes across as morally unjust, movie Faramir not only isn’t book Faramir, but falls outside the acceptable range of Faramirness. These unacceptable breaks are regarded as lapses in his character, inconsistencies between mostly-like-Faramir and not-at-all-like-Faramir.
On the other hand, if we look at movie Faramir’s character as a whole, I think two critical traits emerge. One, he’s generally accommodating, good-natured, and conflict-averse (not willful or independent; also not scholarly or otherworldly). Two, he’s overpoweringly driven by the desire to earn the affection and approval of his father-it defines who he is in a very large part, and is his overriding motivation for everything.
It’s not that he’s ‘not exactly like book Faramir,’ but rather, exactly what his defenders always said: he’s a different person. He doesn’t have OOC lapses now and then; his personality is radically, and consistently, different.
To begin with, he doesn’t seem to have spent much time reflecting on the nature of war-or, in all likelihood, reflecting much in general. He doesn’t come across as especially philosophical or scholarly, and in ROTK, it unsurprisingly turns out that he wasn’t much of a student. In any case, when he sees the fallen warrior of Harad, it seems to strike him in that moment that his enemies are ordinary people; it bothers him; and then he puts it out of his mind in the urgency of the moment, as Boromir (or another man of action) might have.
This scene is generally regarded-and I think intended-as a gesture to Faramir’s characterization in the books, though the line and sentiment were originally Sam’s. Yet the personality that’s exposed there is what we see of him elsewhere: a general good will, immediate and instinctive (rather than rational, conscious, deliberate), quickly subsumed by his overriding loyalty.
In the book, Faramir has conscientiously reflected on war, even the most just and necessary war possible:
‘War must be, while we defend our lives against a destroyer who would devour all; but I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend’
-Faramir (Tolkien 656)
He’s even established a protocol for minimizing harm.
‘But I do not slay man or beast needlessly, and not gladly even when it is needed.’
-Faramir (Tolkien 650)
He’s the kind of person that would think through all that before intruders ever showed up in Ithilien, and then carefully thinks through the matter when they do arrive, too.
‘And I do not need any to teach me of our peril. Even so, I spare a brief time, in order to judge justly in a hard matter. Were I as hasty as you, I might have slain you long ago. For I am commanded to slay all whom I find in this land without the leave of the Lord of Gondor.’
-Faramir (Tolkien 650)
His careful philosophical ethics wind through his professional, military conduct as much as his personal choices. It’s explicitly stated that the quasi-pacifism of the Southern Rangers is due to Faramir himself (rather than, say, a pre-established code of conduct):
‘You will not have us slay wild beasts for no purpose’
-Anborn (Tolkien 660, my bolding)
Really, there is no point at which Faramir is seen to go along with the Rangers’ preferences rather than the other way around. He is pleasant and respectful about it, and he listens to them, but in the end, he gives orders; they obey. Even his general demeanour is hardly tractable:
He could see Faramir’s face, which was now unmasked: it was stern and commanding
(Tolkien 648)
He runs Ithilien, abandoned and overrun as it is, like a little kingdom. His approach seems rather like Tolkien’s description of Denethor’s over Gondor and Númenórean lordship generally:
He [Denethor] listened to counsel, then followed his own mind.
(Tolkien 1031: Appendix A)
A Númenórean king was monarch, with the power of unquestioned decision in debate
(Letters 324)
Meanwhile, a significant part of movie!Faramir’s difficulty is that he’s confronted with dilemmas that he has never encountered before, never expected to encounter, never thought of or even imagined, then has to resolve them then and there. He responds to the beating of Gollum much as he responds to war itself when he encounters the corpse of the soldier of Harad; a disagreeable necessity, whose disagreeableness only then really hits him, that he tries to put out of his mind (turning away).
But it also goes further here. What’s occurring is still produced by the actions of others, but this time, they are under his command. It’s less that he is personally malicious or sadistic, or even that he especially approves, and more that he simply lacks the strength of will, and moral courage, to immediately intercede-particularly as he does want Gollum’s information.
With regard to his power, personally, I get the impression that movie Faramir’s position is, if not purely a matter of form, far from the ironclad authority of book!Faramir. Madril, the lieutenant invented for the movies, is much more authoritative than his nearest canon counterparts, like Anborn and Mablung; Faramir seems to depend upon his judgment and generally rely on him, and Madril openly questions him. Nevertheless the command is Faramir’s, and the responsibility. His lack of forcefulness, and tendency to look away from things he finds disagreeable (literally looking away, here) is starting to have very real consequences.
Book!Faramir is certainly too scrupulous to have committed or countenanced the actions of the filmverse Rangers-this is a man too scrupulous to lie to orcs. And the films’ diminishment of the Stewards, Gondor, and the species of humanity in general, made it pretty much impossible to retain Faramir’s fey edge, which gives him a significant advantage when it comes to gaining information:
‘the blood of Westernesse runs nearly true in him; as it does in his other son, Faramir, and yet did not in Boromir whom he loved best. He has long sight. He can perceive, if he bends his will thither, much of what is passing in the minds of men, even of those that dwell far off. It is difficult to deceive him, and dangerous to try.’
-Gandalf (Tolkien 743-744; my bolding)
'Do you know the name of that high pass?’ said Faramir.
‘No,’ said Frodo.
‘It is called Cirith Ungol.’ Gollum hissed sharply and began muttering to himself. ‘Is not that its name?’ said Faramir turning to him.
‘No!’ said Gollum, and then he squealed, as if something had stabbed him. ‘Yes, yes, we heard the name once.’
(Tolkien 676; ditto)
‘But I do not think you are holden to go to Cirith Ungol, of which he has told you less than he knows. That much I perceived clearly in his mind. Do not go to Cirith Ungol!’
(Tolkien 677)
In the book, Faramir is persistently associated with Elves and the people of Númenor (both of whom he’s descended from, on both sides), and also with wizards (as his father is). Tolkien refers to him as a Númenórean in the letters (e.g., 244). He has visions, is aware of details he could not possibly know (What did she say to you, the Lady that dies not? What did she see? What woke in your heart then?), and is strongly implied to be favoured by some otherworldly power.
I called it a ‘fey edge’ above (thanks, heckofabecca), but that’s not quite accurate. It’s far more than an edge-it’s a central element of his character, mentioned every single time he appears or is referenced.
In the movies, Aragorn (and in one inexplicable scene, Éowyn) are the only humans to get this at all; Aragorn also gets Faramir’s temptation/renunciation scene, but even his preternatural qualities are sharply reduced. Faramir is simply an ordinary, if troubled, man, and though the effects are not confined to him (see Denethor, Isildur, etc), it makes for a very significant difference between the film and book versions. This is not to say that movie Faramir’s difference makes him, inherently, a more or less well constructed character: simply that the difference exists and is significant.
One that is less often recognized as a difference is the matter of motivation. As I said before, movie Faramir’s driving motivation is his desire to earn his father’s approval and love. He faithfully complies with Denethor’s stated or expected wishes, whether Denethor is physically present or not. This is the desire which the Ring-already stronger in the movies-exploits. It drives him to seize Frodo and take him to Osgiliath, in hopes of decisively proving his worth to Denethor.
This is generally regarded as a brief, to many annoyingly irrelevant, AU of the book; the same characteristics, the same temptation, but if he had not managed to overcome it without a Ringwraith in his face. Yet there’s a subtle, yet critical, distinction which makes this more of a departure in character than plot.
In the book, Faramir would certainly like Denethor’s approval and affection, and is pained by the lack of it. But it is demonstrably not his overriding motivation, which is his own conscience and his own will. By the time Faramir lets the Ring pass into Mordor, he has an established habit of going his own way, to the annoyance of Denethor:
‘Or do you ask for my judgment on all your deeds? Your bearing is lowly in my presence, yet it is long now since you turned from your own way at my counsel.’
-Denethor (Tolkien 796)
‘Would that have availed to change your judgment?’ said Denethor. ‘You would still have done just so, I deem. I know you well. […] But in desperate hours gentleness may be repaid with death.’
‘So be it,’ said Faramir.
(Tolkien 796)
he [Faramir] learned what he could from his [Gandalf’s] wisdom; and in this as in many other matters he displeased his father
(Tolkien 1031, my underlining)
Rejecting the Ring is the culmination of his pre-existing tendencies, not a sudden serve in them (as in the movies). Denethor’s insistence that Boromir was dutiful and Faramir wayward is not completely detached from reality; Faramir really is driven far more by his own will than Denethor’s wishes, and this makes him far less vulnerable to the domination of the Ring than his more compliant, eager-to-please movie counterpart.
Additionally, one of the many forms his independence has taken is in his interest in lore, though in a special depressing twist, it’s actually a quality he shares with Denethor. In any case, Faramir has both studied extensively on his own, and (per the above quote) learned from Gandalf, to the point that he concluded on his own that Isildur took some evil, immensely powerful artifact from Sauron; that is, he had a good idea of the Ring’s nature before he ever encountered it, which only bolstered his already-formidable resolve.
So, it’s not really surprising that movie Faramir falls prey to the Ring, without the defenses of information or intense strength of will that the book character possesses (among other things). And the stakes continue to escalate. This isn’t a matter of some culpability in the actions of others; he is one Ringwraith attack away from dooming all Middle-earth. But in the end, he’s convinced and backtracks, sending the hobbits onwards to Mordor; the side-trip has no effect on the over-arching plot.
That brings us up to ROTK, where the nice/nasty dichotomy of book/movie Faramir almost gets flipped. Nevertheless, each version remains entirely true to his own characterization, and distinct from his counterpart. It’s commonly said that ROTK Faramir is restored to his original characterization, but personally, I think it would be much more accurate to say that ROTK Faramir is restored to an object of audience sympathy; while there’s a greater degree of overlap, they remain very different characters.
First, there’s one incident that is simply a reiteration of Faramir’s diminishment in TTT. In the book, Faramir’s ride to Minas Tirith consists of himself and three or four other men, no more. They are chased by five Ringwraiths. Everyone but Faramir, who has some vaguely mentioned command over humans and animals alike, loses control of their horses and keeps running. Faramir rides back to help them. A Ringwraith stoops down on him, which is when Gandalf intervenes.
In the movie, Faramir has considerably more men with him and exhibits considerably less personal heroism, but manages reasonably well-which seems in line with what we see of his leadership of Ithilien (competent, nothing extraordinary).
Then, however, the changes in movie Faramir start running into those imposed on another character: Denethor. In the movie, Denethor is far less able, less grand, and less generally admirable than the original. Where Tolkien’s Denethor is strained but functioning at a very high level until Faramir’s near-death drives him to his last, fatal use of the palantír, movie Denethor is deeply and obviously disturbed from the outset.
He screams at Gandalf, refuses to light the beacons for no apparent reason-in the book, Denethor has sensibly already done so by time Gandalf and Pippin arrive-hallucinates Boromir, squanders his son and valuable mounted troops on a doomed mission, and rants wildly until Gandalf knocks him unconscious. Without going too deeply into the ramifications of this, the overall effect with regard to Faramir is that he is given immensely more provocation in the movies than in the book.
His response, however, is consistently mild. He looks and sounds grieved by his father’s cruel treatment of him, but never really even argues with him, either as father or as plainly incompetent lord. He reverts back to obeying his overriding imperative of trying to please Denethor, leading his men out on a pointless suicide mission without a word of protest.
But Elizabeth, you might be saying-if you’re still reading at this point!-that’s just like the book. Faramir did respond mildly. He did ride out on a suicide mission.
My answer would be: kind of.
Faramir’s side of the conversation is initially calm and careful. As Denethor lashes out at him more and more harshly, however, Faramir’s own responses escalate. He goes from pointing out that he had no advice to guide him in that critical moment of decision, to sticking to his conviction that personal integrity is worth maintaining, even in the face of death, to directly challenging Denethor on his obvious wish that Boromir had been the one to live, to, well:
‘I would ask you, my father, to remember why it was that I, not he [Boromir], was in Ithilien. On one occasion at least your counsel has prevailed, not long ago. It was the Lord of the City that gave the errand to him.’
- Faramir (Tolkien 795)
Paraphrasing: In case you’ve forgotten, it’s your fault Boromir is dead. That’s what happened last time we all listened to your advice.
Remember when Gandalf told Pippin that Denethor loved Boromir best because he wasn’t like him? That it was Faramir who took after him? It goes beyond Númenórean superpowers. Faramir is, without question, a far kinder, gentler, more compassionate person than Denethor, but in this moment, he is absolutely Denethor’s son, all the more because he doesn’t erupt into a blunt rage. It’s calm and cold and elegantly phrased, a nice graceful twist of the knife. It’s hard to think of anything he could have said that would have possibly cut deeper, and as he sees straight into the hearts of men, he must have known.
Now, this is a response to very considerable aggravation while struggling against the Black Breath. I don’t think it’s really that heinous that he snapped under the pressure for one moment and returned Denethor’s treatment in kind. My point is that he does not meekly accept Denethor’s condemnation, but resists it with varying levels of harshness, escalating as Denethor does. And for a moment, we see what Faramir would be like with the brakes off; in fact, the quote above is directly preceded by the words ‘Faramir’s restraint gave way,’ just in case it wasn’t already clear what is going on with him.
Faramir is absolutely capable of being a less admirable person than he is; his better self can and does falter. When that happens, though, he doesn’t start acting like Boromir (as in the movies), but like Denethor, a man who is described as both great and terrible. And he certainly isn’t uniformly gentle and mild. As Denethor suggests, but doesn’t really appreciate, Faramir chooses to be gracious and gentle as much as possible; he is aided by the basic compassion and wisdom of his temperament, but it’s also a conscious decision he makes, a matter of deliberate self-restraint.
As for the suicide mission, in the book it’s nothing of the sort. No, really. Rather, it’s a risky but valid strategy that does not involve ‘retaking’ Osgiliath, as there was neither any need nor possibility of doing so. To sum up:
Gondor holds half of Osgiliath. Boromir managed to retain the half that Gondor already controlled (still heroic, but not nearly as monumental a victory as in the movies). When Faramir returns to Osgiliath on March 11th, he’s going to Gondor-controlled Osgiliath to command the defense of the river-crossing. They can’t hold it forever, but they can inflict massive casualties there (which they do). Outnumbered at least ten to one, they retreat on March 12th to a fort at the Rammas Echor, the great wall that surrounds the Pelennor Fields. Mordor’s armies stop and blast through the walls at various points, driving Faramir back on March 13th.
Faramir is seriously injured and his men panic; then Imrahil leads Gondor’s cavalry out on the sortie, driving Mordor’s forces into panic and covering the retreat of the two-thirds that remains of Faramir’s army (yes! a majority survives!). Imrahil personally carries Faramir, his nephew (specifically, his sister-son) in front of him on his horse and joins in on the pretty justified family knife twisting. It takes Mordor’s forces another two days to break down the main gate.
tl;dr-Faramir’s mission is not to defeat Mordor’s armies. There is never any chance of that and it’s not what he’s there to do; Denethor prepares the sortie well before it’s actually needed. The point is to defend the Rammas Echor long enough to significantly delay the armies of Mordor. Faramir manages two days. And what does Denethor hope to achieve by it?
Here’s a hint: I listed the exact dates for a reason. ;)
The Rohirrim are mustered on March 10th, the day of Faramir’s arrival in Minas Tirith. On March 12th, when Faramir is retreating back to the Rammas Echor, the Rohirrim arrive at Minrimmon. On the 13th, when he’s injured in the retreat across the Pelennor, the Rohirrim enter Drúadan Forest. On the 14th, when the siege of Minas Tirith begins, the Drúadan are leading the Rohirrim to Minas Tirith. On the morning of March 15th, the Rohirrim arrive, just as the Witch-king breaks down the gate of Minas Tirith.
Denethor’s strategy is so far from being a pointless suicide march that it actually works. The majority of his soldiers survive and, under Faramir’s leadership, manage to buy the two days that the Rohirrim need to get to the Pelennor in time-almost to the minute. Now, it’s not at all certain that it is the best strategy that could be devised; a loss of a third of Faramir’s command is still drastic, and Faramir’s near death leads to Denethor’s actual death, the crumbling of Gondorian resolve, and prevents Gandalf from contributing to the battle on the Pelennor. But it is a valid strategy and an ultimately successful one.
So. Movie Faramir sadly but unprotestingly complies with Denethor’s utterly irrational, futile, physically impossible plan-plan is too strong, really-and takes a host of men with him. In the end, the results of his compliance are not merely confined to himself, or to a few people and only temporary. He goes willingly to his own death, which does not actually occur, and to that of every single person who accompanies him, which does, without resistance, without even reason. Meanwhile, book Faramir, faced with a feasible but dangerous strategy that he disagrees with, is far more assertive. It’s made clear that his command is not voluntary:
In truth, Faramir did not go of his own choosing.
(Tolkien 798)
He argues with Denethor:
‘Today we may make the Enemy pay ten times our loss at the passage and yet rue the exchange. For he can afford to lose a host better than we to lose a company. And the retreat of those that we put out far afield will be perilous, if he wins across in force.’
(ibid)
And though he agrees to go in the end, he makes it clear that it’s under duress:
‘I will go and do what I can in his [Boromir’s] stead-if you command it.’
‘I do so,’ said Denethor.
(ibid)
In the houses of healing, Aragorn puts all this a lot more succinctly:
“He is a man of staunch will.”
(Tolkien 846)
In conclusion (phew!), the difference between the two Faramirs is not the occasional aberration. The Faramir of the movies is simply a milder, more accommodating person, so consumed by his drive to earn his completely irrational father’s approval that he sacrifices the lives of a company of men to it, and comes dangerously near to dooming all of Middle-earth. It’s for this reason, and not an innate cruelty, say, that the Ring works more powerfully on him. His temperament is different, his character arc is different (such as it exists), his abilities are different, his relationships are different, and his interests are different.
Meanwhile, the Faramir of the book is, while gentle, loyal, and kind, also commanding, gifted to the point of otherworldiness, thoughtful, charismatic, capable of scorn and cruelty but almost invariably choosing compassion and ethics instead, courageous and bold when the situation calls for it, with an immense strength of will. In the end, they’re simply different people.