Arthur had done it again

(Dianne James POV)

The newly formed Fellowship of the Ring set off on their perilous journey. I couldn't help but notice Boromir, another half-demon, half-human like Aragorn, eyeing the One Ring with barely concealed desire. Thank the stars for Aragorn, ever vigilant in his protection of Frodo.

Their path was fraught with danger from the start. When they reached the Misty Mountains, Saruman's attack left me slack-jawed. The sheer magical might on display was staggering.

Around me, the audience buzzed with excitement and speculation:

"By the gods, such power!" gasped an elf to my left.

A dwarf stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Must be some legendary spell, that. Not your everyday magic, that's for certain."

"Forbidden magic, perhaps?" a human whispered, a mix of fear and awe in his voice.

I found myself nodding along, equally curious. What kind of magic could have such a devastating effect from miles away? Saruman was clearly a force to be reckoned with, possibly surpassing even the old elves I've known in my life.

The Fellowship's journey led them into the Mines of Moria, an ancient dwarven city that Gimli hoped to reclaim. The actor portraying Gimli delivered a heart-wrenching performance at Balin's tomb, his grief palpable.

Just as I thought I had the measure of this film, just as I believed I knew what challenges the Fellowship would face next, everything changed. They encountered a being called a "Balrog."

The collective gasp that rippled through the theater mirrored my own shock. The Balrog was a terrifying sight to behold - a massive creature of shadow and flame, with eyes that burned like the depths of hell itself. Its very presence seemed to darken the screen, radiating malevolence.

Before I could stop myself, I blurted out, "How in the name of the elven gods did they manage to cast such a being?"

The critic beside me shook his head in wonder. "I've never seen anything like it in all my years."

"Could it be an illusion?" I asked, genuinely baffled.

Another critic chimed in, his voice filled with uncertainty. "It feels too real for mere illusion... but then again, this is a film. It's hard to tell."

My mind raced with possibilities. Did Hellfire Studios somehow pay an astronomical sum to feature some unknown, terrifying creature? Is this where their millions of dollars in budget went? The more I pondered, the more questions I had.

The tension in the theater was palpable as we watched the Balrog chase after the Fellowship. My heart raced when Gandalf stayed behind to confront the beast, while Aragorn held back a distraught Frodo.

A chill ran down my spine as a thought struck me. I couldn't help but flash back to Sonny's death in "The Demonfather." Surely the ex-prince wouldn't... But even as I silently pleaded for a different outcome, that telltale melancholy theme began to play. You know the one - it might as well scream, "Someone's about to bite the dust!"

Gandalf's defiant shout echoed through the theater: "You shall not pass!"

And just like that, before our disbelieving eyes, Gandalf plummeted into the abyss with the Balrog. The collective gasp from the audience was deafening.

"No!" An elderly mage a few rows ahead cried out. Surprisingly, not a single person shushed him. His outburst merely vocalized what we all felt.

As the Fellowship pressed on without their wise guide, I found myself still reeling from the loss. But the film allowed no time for mourning. Before I knew it, we were thrust into a scene where Boromir, overcome by the ring's influence, tried to take it from Frodo.

The audience's reaction was swift and harsh.

"What a piece of shit," someone hissed behind me.

Another voice chimed in, "Aragorn should've just killed him right there."

The animosity only intensified when Frodo, left with no choice, put on the ring. Boromir's subsequent regret and desperate calls did little to sway the audience's opinion.

I shook my head, listening to the whispers of hate directed at Boromir. While I understood their anger, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the character. The ring's corruption was a powerful force, after all.

But there was no time to dwell on it. The moment Frodo donned the ring, I knew trouble was coming. Sure enough, the enemy sensed his presence, and soon a horde of orcs descended upon the group.

As the battle unfolded, I found myself oddly impressed by the orcs' performances. Their commitment to their roles was unexpected, to say the least. It made me wonder about the behind-the-scenes story of their involvement.

The fight scenes were intense, each frame filled with action and emotion. Despite my years of watching and critiquing films, I found myself completely engrossed.

The battle raged on, with Frodo desperately trying to hide from the orcs. But his friends, bless their hearts, seemed determined to give away his position. Sam and Pippin kept calling out for Frodo at the top of their lungs.

A human in the row ahead of me grumbled, "Damn these hobbits, I want to smack some sense into them."

"They've been pretty useless so far," his companion agreed.

I couldn't help but chuckle at their frustration. But just when I thought Frodo was done for, the hobbits surprised us all by effectively distracting the orcs. Maybe they weren't so useless after all.

The intensity of the scenes kept building. Aragorn fought the orcs with a grace that belied the desperation of the situation. Even so, he was clearly overwhelmed by the sheer number of attackers.

Then came a twist I didn't see coming. Boromir, the character we'd all grown to despise, suddenly appeared to defend Frodo.

"Run, Frodo!" he shouted, facing down the horde of orcs.

I felt my eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Was this... redemption? I could sense the shift in the audience's mood, their hatred for Boromir softening as they watched him fight to protect Frodo.

But then the arrows started to hit Boromir, and my heart sank. Oh no. That ex-prince was at it again, sacrificing another character. I braced myself for what I knew was coming.

Boromir fought on valiantly, even as the arrows pierced him. When he finally fell to his knees, the orc leader - Lurtz, I think his name was - moved in for the kill. But Aragorn arrived just in time, engaging Lurtz in a fierce duel that ended with the orc's beheading.

As Aragorn knelt beside the fallen Boromir, the theater fell silent. We all leaned in, hanging on every word of their exchange.

Boromir, his voice weak but urgent, spoke of his fears for his home. "The White City... what will happen to my people?"

Aragorn clasped Boromir's hand, his voice steady and reassuring. "I swear to you, I will not let the White City fall, nor our people fail."

Boromir's next words hit me like a punch to the gut: "I would have followed you, my brother... my captain... my king."

I felt a lump form in my throat. It was beautifully done, I had to admit. Though I couldn't help but notice how Arthur was positioning his character as the linchpin of the story. Clever, if a bit self-aggrandizing.

"I failed you all," Boromir whispered, his last words tinged with regret.

Aragorn's response was immediate and heartfelt: "No, Boromir, you fought bravely. You have kept your honor."

As Boromir breathed his last, I found myself blinking back unexpected tears. Despite my initial skepticism, I had to hand it to Arthur - he knew how to craft a powerful, emotional scene. The ex-prince had done it again, turning a character we initially despised into someone whose death we genuinely mourned.

As the battle's aftermath unfolded, I sensed the film drawing to a close. Frodo bid a poignant farewell to his companions, setting off alone in a boat. But just as I thought we'd seen the last surprise, the camera panned to reveal Gollum's twisted figure, his eyes fixed hungrily on Frodo's retreating form.

Before I could fully process the implications, the scene shifted dramatically. Ancient trees filled the screen, their branches swaying as they communicated in an unknown, mournful language. The sudden change left me reeling, but nothing could have prepared me for what came next.

A dragon, majestic and terrifying, soared across the sky before landing with surprising grace. My eyes widened, my mind racing with questions. But before I could even begin to fathom what this meant for the story, the screen faded to black and the credits began to roll.

"Did we just experience a cliff hanger?" the critic beside me gasped, his voice a mix of disbelief and excitement.

I nodded, still processing what we'd just seen. "Seems like it," I managed to reply.

The term 'cliff hanger' originated from a popular novel series a few decades back, where the author consistently ended chapters with the protagonist in perilous situations - often literally hanging from cliffs. The term caught on, becoming shorthand for any abrupt, suspenseful ending that leaves the audience craving more.

As the implications of this ending sank in, a thought struck me. "Wait, I forget something. How did they manage to get an actor drag-" But before I could finish my question, a thunderous applause erupted around me, drowning out my words.

Swept up in the moment, I found myself on my feet, my hands coming together almost of their own accord. My unfinished question faded from my mind as I joined in the standing ovation, the energy in the theater electric.

As I clapped, I couldn't help but marvel at what I'd just witnessed. Arthur Morningstar had done it again, crafting a film that not only lived up to the hype of "The Demonfather" but in many ways surpassed it.