With a fan's obsessive detailing and a New Zealander's pride in his homegrown subject matter, Pryor paints a straightforward portrait of Lord of the Rings
director Jackson, from his beginnings as an 8 mm–toting eight-year-old through his hit-and-miss efforts at quirky and comedic gore, to his years directing the beloved fantasy trilogy. On the heels of the final movie's record-tying 11-award win at the Academy Awards, this biography benefits both from its timing and the obvious enthusiasm Pryor brings to the topic. While at times veering into the hyperbolic, it does a fine job of explaining just what sort of character it takes for an unproven, hobbit-like director who rarely left New Zealand to persuade Hollywood to invest an estimated $320 million on a three-film package. The book suffers, however, from the author's obvious lack of access, which contributes to a secondhand characterization of Jackson, whose personality is revealed mostly through scraps from friends and family. In one particularly absurd chapter, Pryor is forced to sneak around the Rings
set, Gollum-like, in order to get interesting enough (and barely that) descriptions of the production. Combined with a somewhat provincial New Zealander's perspective, that lack of proximity—weakly explained on the jacket as "unauthorized"—maims what could otherwise have been a fuller portrait. (Apr.)
