Sam's Disturbing Vision was Cut From the LotR Movies!

In the Peter Jackson trilogy, the mirror of Galadriel was Frodo's ordeal alone. Only he looked into the still enchanted waters, and thereupon saw terrible visions of orcs committing atrocities in the Shire. And finally, out of the black water, came a vision of the burning eye of Sauron. Yet in the books, Frodo was not the first to look into the silver basin. For Sam actually ventures to look into the mirror first. And what he beheld was surprisingly disturbing, and it affects Sam in a profound way and reveals his darkest fear. On the eve of the Fellowship's departure from Lorien, while Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and Boromir were elsewhere in Caras Galadhon, Frodo and Sam sat together in quiet conversation.

I don't miss Gandalf's fireworks, but his bushy eyebrows and his quick temper and his voice.

"You're right," said Sam. "And don't think I'm finding fault. I've often wanted to see a bit of magic, like what it tells of in old tales. But I've never heard of a better land than this. It's like being at home and on holiday at the same time, if you understand me. I don't want to leave. All the same, I'm beginning to feel that if we've got to go on, then we best get it over. It's the job that's never started as takes longest to finish, as my old gaffer used to say. And I don't reckon that these folk can do much more to help us, magic or no. It's when we leave this land that we shall miss Gandalf worse, I'm thinking."

"I'm afraid that's only too true, Sam," said Frodo. "Yet I hope very much that before we leave, we shall see the Lady of the Elves again." Unbeknownst to either of them, their wish was to be granted almost as soon as the words had fully left their lips. For even as they spoke, Galadriel came walking toward them beneath the trees, tall and white and fair. And without a single word, she beckoned to the two hobbits to follow her. She led them down through the southern slopes of Caras Galadhon, and through a hedge of green into a small secret garden lying open to the naked sky. And there, at the foot of a long stair, in a hollow filled with the murmur of a silver stream, stood a pedestal carved in the shape of a branching tree, and upon it a broad and shallow basin of silver. Galadriel filled it with water drawn from the stream, breathed upon its surface, and when it had grown still once more, she told them that here was her mirror, and that she had brought them to it so that they might look should they wish. "Many things I can command the mirror to reveal," she answered.

"And to some I can show what they desire to see. But the mirror will also show things unbidden, and those are often stranger and more profitable than things which we wish to behold. What you will see if you leave the mirror free to work, I cannot tell. For it shows things that were, and things that are, and things that yet may be. But which it is that he sees, even the wisest cannot always tell. Do you wish to look?" When the lady asked Frodo if he desired to gaze into the mirror, he initially did not answer.

For a long moment, he stood in silence as though he already sensed that what he might behold may be of great significance to his quest.

For the mirror was no ordinary pool, but a window into mysteries that lay beyond the comfort of ignorance.

And surely even the bravest heart would hesitate before such a summons. While his choice hung suspended in the air, Galadriel turned to Sam, who proved rather more willing.

For it seems that curiosity regarding the fate of the Shire, combined with the desire to witness elf magic firsthand, stirred within him more strongly than did caution. Therefore, Sam stepped forward with a good deal of that simple hobbit courage that defined him. "And you," she said, turning to Sam, "for this is what your folk would call magic, I believe, though I do not understand clearly what they mean, and they seem to use the same word of the seats of the enemy. But this, if you will, is the magic of Galadriel. Did you not say that you wish to see elf magic?"

"I did," said Sam, trembling a little between fear and curiosity. "I'll have a peep, lady, if you're willing. And I'd not mind a glimpse of what's going on at home," he said in an aside to Frodo.

"It seems a terrible long time that I've been away. But there, like as not, I'll only see the stars, or something that I won't understand."

"Like as not," said the lady with a gentle laugh. "But come, you shall look and see what you may. Do not touch the water." And here we find the first of the alterations made to this scene by the filmmakers. For in the movies, Sam is not even invited to be present within Galadriel's private garden, let alone offered a glimpse in the mirror. And so, Sam's entire vision, and the consequences of it, was struck from the storyline entirely. And what a vision it was to lose. For Sam had hoped to witness a glimpse of home, a comforting sight, which might ease the ache of his homesickness. But what the mirror gave him instead was very far from comfort.

"There's only stars, as I thought," he said. Then he gave a low gasp, for the stars went out.

As if a dark veil had been withdrawn, the mirror grew gray, and then clear.

There was sun shining, and the branches of trees were waving and tossing in the wind.

They were not waving in the wind. They were falling, crashing to the ground.

"Oi!" cried Sam in an outraged voice.

"There's that Ted Sandyman, a-cutting down trees as he shouldn't. They didn't ought to be felled. It's that avenue beyond the mill that shades the road to Bywater. I wish I could get at Ted, and I'd fell him." But now, Sam noticed that the old mill had vanished, and a large red brick building was being put up where it had stood. Lots of folk were busily at work.

There was a tall red chimney nearby. Black smoke seemed to cloud the surface of the mirror.

Sam does not glimpse any enemy forces ravaging the Shire and putting hobbits in chains. Rather, he sees an old neighbor, Ted Sandyman, felling a beloved avenue of trees, perhaps out of nothing more than idleness or spite. Then he sees a familiar old mill torn down and replaced by some red brick monstrosity. It is not an invasion by the forces of Mordor that Sam witnesses in the mirror.

Rather, it is the moral corruption of the Shire. And perhaps this is precisely what makes it so disturbing, for war and shadow are more easily fought and disavowed.

But the slow corruption of the familiar, the felling of the very trees which one once climbed as a child, the demolition of a mill whose wheel had turned since before living memory, is far more insidious, and it strikes at something more tender. Yet the mirror was not finished with Samwise Gamgee yet. For just before he took his eyes away from the mirror, he saw a heartbreaking vision of his elderly father being thrown out of his home.

"There's some devilry at work in the Shire," he said. "Elrond knew what he was about when he wanted to send Mr. Merry back." Then suddenly Sam gave a cry and sprang away. "I can't stay here!" he said wildly. "I must go home! They've dug up Bagshot Row, and there's the poor old gaffer going down the hill with his bits of things on a barrow. I must go home!" And this is the true and terrible heart of the vision. Bagshot Row, Sam's own home, dug up. And not a procession of nameless refugees fleeing some catastrophe, but the gaffer, Sam's own father, cast out with nothing but a barrow of his belongings, trudging away down the hill that he attended his whole life. Of every sorrow the mirror might have shown him, it chose the one that lay nearest to Sam's heart. And consequently, his composure, so steady through much of the journey thus far, broke entirely, and in that moment, he felt that he must abandon the quest and return home with haste.

"You cannot go home alone," said the lady. "You did not wish to go home without your master before you loo

offered a glimpse in the mirror. And so, Sam's entire vision, and the consequences of it, was struck from the storyline entirely. And what a vision it was to lose. For Sam had hoped to witness a glimpse of home, a comforting

sight, which might ease the ache of his homesickness. But what the mirror gave him instead was very [music] far from comfort.

"There's only stars, as I thought," he said. Then he gave a low gasp, for the stars went out.

As if a dark veil had been withdrawn, the mirror grew gray, and then clear.

There was sun shining, and the branches of trees were waving and tossing in the wind.

They were not waving in the wind. They were falling, crashing to the ground. "Oi!" cried Sam in an outraged voice.

"There's that Ted Sandyman, a-cutting down trees as he shouldn't. They didn't ought to be felled. It's that avenue beyond the mill that shades the road to Bywater.

I wish I could get at Ted, and I'd fell him." But now, Sam noticed that the old mill had vanished, and a large red brick building was being put up where it had stood. Lots of folk were busily at work.

There was a tall red chimney nearby. Black smoke seemed to cloud the surface of the mirror.

Sam does not glimpse any enemy forces ravaging the Shire and putting hobbits in chains. Rather, he sees an old neighbor, Ted Sandyman, felling a beloved avenue of trees, [music] perhaps out of nothing more than idleness or spite. Then he sees a

familiar old mill torn down and replaced by some red brick monstrosity. It is not an invasion by the forces of Mordor that Sam witnesses in the mirror.

[music] Rather, it is the moral corruption of the Shire. And perhaps this is precisely what makes it so disturbing, for war and shadow are more easily fought and disavowed.

[music] But the slow corruption of the familiar, the felling of the very trees which one once climbed as a child, the demolition of a mill whose wheel had turned since before living memory, is far more insidious, and it strikes at something

more tender. Yet the mirror was not finished with Samwise Gamgee yet. For just before he took his eyes away from the mirror, he saw a heartbreaking vision of his elderly father being thrown out of his home.

"There's some devilry at work in the Shire," he said. "Elrond knew what he was about when he wanted to send Mr.

Merry back." Then suddenly Sam gave a cry and sprang away. "I can't stay here!" he said wildly. "I must go home!

They've dug up Bagshot Row, and there's the poor old gaffer going down the hill with his bits of things on a barrow. I must go home!" And this is [music] the true and terrible heart of the vision. Bagshot

Row, Sam's own home, dug up. And not a procession of nameless refugees fleeing some catastrophe, but the gaffer, Sam's own father, cast out with nothing but a barrow of his belongings, trudging away down the hill that he attended his whole

life. Of every sorrow the mirror might have shown him, it chose the one that lay nearest [music] to Sam's heart. And consequently, his composure, so steady through much of the journey thus far, broke entirely, [music] and in that moment, he felt that he must

abandon the quest and return home with haste. "You cannot go home alone," said the lady. "You did not wish to go home without your master before you looked in the mirror.

And yet, you knew that evil things might well be happening in the Shire. Remember that the mirror shows many things, and not all have yet come to pass. Some never come to be unless those that behold the visions turn aside from their

path to prevent them. The mirror is dangerous as a guide of deeds." Sam sat on the ground and put his head in his hands.

"I wish I'd never come here. Well, I don't want to see no more magic," he said and fell silent.

After a moment, he spoke again thickly, as if struggling with tears. "No, I'll go home by the long road, with Mr. Frodo or not at all," he said.

"But I hope I do get back someday. If what I've seen turns out true, somebody's going to catch it hot." This scene reinforces the sense of loyalty and love that Sam [music] has for Frodo. For he ultimately chose

loyalty to his master over flight. [music] Frodo over the Shire, the long road over the short one.

Galadriel's words, too, deserve to be remembered as more than mere comfort offered to a frightened hobbit. They stand among the more quietly profound reflections upon prophecy and free will found anywhere within Tolkien's writing.

For the mirror shows no fixed fate immovable. [music] It shows only possibility and warning, never certainty. And whether such visions come to pass depends in no small part on whether those who behold them still find the courage to walk onward

despite having seen them, rather than turning aside in despair. And it was only once Sam had been consoled that Frodo finally consented to look into the mirror himself.

"I will look," said Frodo, and he climbed on the pedestal and bent over the dark water.

At once the mirror cleared, and he saw a twilight land. Mountains loomed dark in the distance against a pale sky. A long gray road wound back out of sight.

Far away, a figure came slowly down the road, faint and small at first, but growing larger and clearer as it approached.

Suddenly, Frodo realized that it reminded him of Gandalf. He almost called aloud the wizard's name, and then he saw that the figure was clothed not in gray, but in white.

In a white that shone faintly in the dusk. And in its hand, there was a white staff. The head was so bowed that he could see no face. And presently, the figure turned aside round a bend in the

road and went out of the mirror's view. Doubt came into Frodo's mind. Was this a vision of Gandalf on one of his many lonely journeys long ago? Or was it Saruman?

[music] Here we find another major alteration made by the filmmakers. For in the movies, Frodo is granted no vision of Gandalf whatsoever. What he beholds is something more akin to Sam's vision, but with Orcs ravaging the Shire. He sees Hobbiton being

transformed into a wasteland of brick and smoke, its green fields supplanted by belching factories, while chained hobbits are being driven on by the whips of the Orcs.

And as soon as Frodo's vision fades, Galadriel tells Frodo that what he saw was not a glimpse of far-off events which unfolded as they spoke, but a premonition.

A vision of what would come to pass should he fail. And of course, the vision itself quietly confirms this through a small yet telling impossibility woven into its own imagery. For amidst the ash and the chains, amidst the soot-stained faces

driven towards the furnaces, we behold Sam himself. And yet Sam in that very hour slumbered beneath the mallorn trees of Lothlórien waiting only a little way off and he could not of course be in two places at once.

And so in the movies it is made entirely clear that the Shire was in no immediate danger and so to press onward toward the black land becomes in essence the very same act as running to the gaffer's side. [music] For the one leads

inevitably to the other. Therefore no moral dilemma existed for the hobbits no anguish choosing between duty and kin.

To me this seems to be no trifling detail for in the books by choosing to remain by Frodo's side Sam was forced to endure the anguish of not only journeying to Mordor but of worrying the entire time regarding the fate of his

father and his home. And he had to endure this pain with no assurance that his devotion to the quest would ever be repaid or even that the Shire that they knew and loved would be there waiting for them when they

returned. With this said [music] the movie version is undeniably bigger more catastrophic more cinematic.

But I feel that it loses the quiet intimacy [music] that made Tolkien's original version of events so unsettling because evil is not always at its most frightening when it topples kingdoms [music] or sets cities ablaze. Sometimes it is at its most

terrible when it comes knocking at your front door wearing a familiar face.