The Exorcism of Emily Rose

Gandalf: takes some time out to relate a tale.

By Guest Film Reviewer Gandalf the Grey

The following tale takes place long, long ago in the Third Age of Man. A young hobbit woman by the name of Emily Proudfoot lived alone on the banks of the Brandywine River. She attended university and lived a wholesome life... until one day, while out picking mushrooms on the glade, she happened on a curious stone.

Crying out with joy, she rushed back home, taking care to properly wrap the stone in a bayleaf for safekeeping. Weeks passed... autumn blended into winter, the leaves fell from the trees, the nights were clear and bright, and a thin sheet of ice covered the Brandywine.

Emily became melancholy as the snow began to fall, and he friends noticed she withdrew more into herself as winter's grip tightened on the land.

Concerned, Emily's friends gathered together one icy eve and decided to head over to Emily's snug little hole in Burrow Hill and see if they couldn't find out the reason for her malaise. Rapping gently on her shiny round red door drew no response, and frightened, her friends decided ask old Mr Badger if he could not burrow through the soft peat and see what was the matter.

Old Mr Badger set to work, but emerged pale as the hand of Elrond the Mighty. Emily, he said, was on the floor, face and limbs locked in a terrible contortion and a green liquid issuing as a river from her cold, blue lips. She was recanting in a strange tongue -- I dare not repeat it here.

Scroll: an ancient scroll depicting Emily's journey back from the mushroom glade.

Emily's friends fled over many miles to the old township of Bree to fetch her parentfolk. They rescued Emily after a series of thrilling episodes, but she could not be roused from her stupor. She began to waste away, all the while the foul green mucous pouring from her helpless mouth, limbs locked in a ghastly palsy.

'We must send for Old Father Snubshoe,' resolved her father, his face drawn from the worry. 'For he is learned. We must place her in his hands and hope his skill in herbs and folklore can raise her from the terrible grip of this unseen enemy.'

Old Father Snubshoe, a kindly old man learned of many ancient scrolls and lore, tried his best to raise Emily from her torpor. At the last she rose up from her bedchamber, snarling: 'You shall not pass. The Mighty Sauron has spoken. Begone from here!' before lapsing back into a black elvin tongue long lost to the ears of man. Then she expired, spewing forth a voluminous secretion of the devilish fluid.

Well, the townsfolk's tongues began to wag. Who was this crazy old Snubshoe from the Deep Forest of Tom Bombardillo to come meddling in the affairs of hobbits? The senior townsfolk decided to stage a trial in the town square to pry from Snubshoe the reasons why he had neglected use of known herbs in favour of shadowy discourse with this foul being, Sauron. For alas, the lore of the passing of the second age and the great battle against Sauron's dark forces had long slipped into the mists of time. The name of Sauron was laughed at, mocked, and treated as the tongue-wagging of old wives.

Fortunately, Old Father Snubshoe was able to hire a fancy sexy female lawyer from New York, who tried to clear his name, but failed. Snubshoe was cast from the cliff of Mount Doom and thus closes my tale, the tale of The Secret Diaries Emily Proudfoot and the Long Lost Stone of Gondor.

I thought this legend, as such legends go, was quite good. It could have used a wizard, some goblins, and some talking eagles, but apart from that, I found it a pleasant diversion. A little mulled shire wine, some longbottom leaf... there are worse ways to spend time.

Three stars.