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Das letzte Update fand am
Mittwoch, 27.02.2002 14:58
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Die alternativen Drehbücher des "Herr der Ringe"
Lord of the Rings, by Ian Fleming
Aragorn placed his hand on the cool, ivory hilt of his 6.38 Anduril sword,
half-holding it in as casual manner as possible. His eyes swept the room of
the Prancing Pony, eyeing up the potential threats. He took out his pipe,
made from the warmed heartwood of a mature oak. In the palm of his left hand,
he unwrapped his leather tobacco pouch filled, as he preferred, with Gondorian
Silk Cut. Aragorn preferred it to the harsher, stronger Numenorian blend...
Lord of the Rings, by Oscar Wilde
"He bested me in a riddle contest."
"A riddle contest?"
"It was so. And he cheated."
"To cheat in a riddle contest is a riddle in itself, and is therefore
not cheating, but just another riddle."
"He cheated and asked me what he had in his pockets."
"He picked and pocketed a pretty prize, performing perfidious behaviour.
How very noble, so like our own Lords and Masters"....
Lord of the Rings, by George Lucas
"Did you ever wonder who your father was, Frodo?"
"Uncle Bilbo was my father, Obi Gan Dalf."
"Your Uncle is a fine man, but he is not your father. Your father was
a fine warrior and a great captain, strong in the Force. He was called Sarumann
the Wise, and he was a good friend."
"Was? Is he dead?"
"He is no more. It is your destiny to avenge his death, young Baggins."
Lord of the Rings, by Meatloaf
It was a hot summer's day in the Marsh of the Dead
There was fog crawling over the swamp
I could listen to the screams of the Dead Men Calling
I could see their empty eyes and the candles blowing in the wind.
You were licking your finger
With the Ring of Power and I was dying just to ask for a taste
We were dancing together up on the Crack of Doom
And no-ones gonna know what we've done.
Lord of the Rings, by Andrew Lloyd Weber
Don't cry for me, Numenoria
The truth is, you never sank down
Beneath those wild waves
Those deep sea wild waves
You never left from
This Middle Earth
Lord of the Rings, by Gene Roddenbury
"The Halflings, cap'n, they will na take the strain"
"Strider, we've got to get out of this snow. Legolas, did you get a reading
on that creature?"
"Fascinating, Captain. It appears to be an unknown creature that lurks
in the pool waiting for passing strangers. Ecologically implausible, captain."
"Do you know what it is?"
"I believe I said it was unknown, Dr Gimli. Logically, if I knew what
it was, then it wouldn't be unknown."
"Cap'n, we're in some sort of temporal warp, stretching and deforming
the plot. The snow should take place a day before our encounter with this
beastie."
"Captain, what are we going to do."
"Boromir, put on that red armour."....
The Lord of the Rings, by Ernest Hemingway
Frodo Baggins looked at the ring. The ring was round. It was a good ring.
The hole at the heart of the ring was also round. The hole was clean and pure.
The hole at the heart of the ring had an emptiness in it that made Frodo Baggins
remember the big skies of the Shire when his father had taken him out and
taught him to tear the heads off the small, furred things that walked there,
even though he hated blood in those days and the stink of the blood was always
part of the emptiness for him then and ever after.
Frodo Baggins could put the ring on his finger now. The stink of the blood
and the hole and the emptiness could never leave him now. Frodo Baggins looked
at the ash-heap slopes of Mordor and remembered the Cuban orc who had kept
the ash on his cigar all the way to the end. The orc just drew on the cigar
and smoked the cigar calmly and kept the ash in a long gray finger, a hard
finger, right to the moment that the Rangers beat hit to death with clubs.
He was mucho orco, the Cuban. Frodo Baggins looked at the ring and the hole
and smelled the sulfur smell that came from the vent in the mountain. There
were scorched black bushes round the vent. The vent was like the cleft of
the old whore at the Prancing Pony on the night that the Black Riders came.
Frodo Baggins reached in his pouch and took out the flask of good grappa there
and filled his mouth and swallowed the grappa. She was mucha puta, the old
whore. Frodo Baggins could spit again so he spat hard, once. He took the ring
and threw it into the vent. The earth moved.
The Lord of the Rings, by Matt Groenig
Sam: Yo Hamfast! Frodo and the gang are going on a coo-ol troll bait. Should
be plenty of ways I can really screw up the works on that one! Gaffer: Yes
son, but don't call me Hamfast. And I'm proud of you for taking it in that
spirit. Nothing worth doing right is worth doing.
Widow Rumble: Mmmhmhmhm! Mister Gamgee, I don't think you should be encouraging
him in such negative attitudes.
Gaffer: Nonsense Marjoram! Making a dog's dinner of things is what separates
us from the animals, especially dogs. And weaselling out of things is what
separates Hobbits and Trolls from the animals as well,... er... except weasels.
Rosy: Actually Mr Gamgee, studies have shown that so-called dumb animals are
more likely to see through a task to completion than talking folk.
Gaffer: Doh! Go to your room!
Rosy's baby sister: (suck suck suck...)
