The first question to ask about an adaptation of a beloved and slightly esoteric series of books is whether or not the film can be appreciated by a general audience unfamiliar with said books. The short answer here is that “The Lord of the Rings” is easily comprehensible to those who have not read the books. Though I haven’t read Tolkien’s Middle Earth yarns, it’s easy to see from the fawning reactions among the first wave of reverent pilgrims that the film is faithful to Tolkien’s series of adventures.

Films that openly court the genre of the mythic quest are either recklessly stylish, sacrosanct and moody, or openly fun; “The Lord of the Rings” is all of these, at various times, but above all it is a noticeably careful piece of work. The film takes itself seriously as an epic, from the ethereal prologue that starts everything off, to the undersized hero’s calling to his destiny, to the mythological battle between good and evil that underpins the story. Each character’s personality and private reasons for accompanying Frodo on his mission are neatly laid out like clean clothes waiting to be placed in suitcases for a long trip. Even the key villains have their entire histories outlined, and the ring itself is never really a source of mystery, what with its convenient heat-and-read instructions.

The result of Jackson’s painstaking storytelling is that the film enjoys the glow of a classical fantasy that seems, despite the CGI magic that marks it as a recent creation, entirely independent of the times. “The Lord of the Rings” could have been made and released to great success now or at virtually any time in film history. Cultural insularity is one of its greatest assets. The movie has an almost instant-classic, can’t-miss quality to it. We know from the beginning we are in the sure hands of a director, Peter Jackson, who knows exactly what he’s doing.

The best part of the film is its well-conceived, effects-enhanced locales, ranging from winding forest kingdoms to menacing castles surrounded by shadow and ash, and these, too, have histories and purposes which are outlined for us. Jackson and his crew have succeeded in creating a world every bit as fresh and detailed as, for instance, those in the “Star Wars” cycle, and like George Lucas, Jackson knows that the best way to deal with otherworldly locations is to use them only as much as they need to be used to propel the story.

As real as the movie’s Middle Earth is, there are larger worlds that seem just as fantastic and equally inhabitable that are relegated to short scenes, some even to mere glimpses. To linger in these lushly created places would be to draw attention to the special effects and detract from the story, and Jackson is never guilty of that. He’s brought Tolkien’s work to life with a clear, unobtrusive execution of his genuinely magnificent cinematic vision, but he never stops the film to say “Look at what I’ve done”. The hobbits’ Shire is only in the movie briefly, for instance, while the musty interior of Sauron’s tower is seen only a few times. The most striking set of all, the subterranean inferno that houses the orc army, is not once but several times passed through with vertiginous speed. The wonder you feel at Jackson’s vision is kept alive from scene to scene with spellbinding force precisely because it feels as if he were photographing a backyard birthday party.

Interestingly, however, not only the movie’s strengths but its weaknesses, too, emanate from this fastidious treatment of Tolkien’s books. As the story unfolds, you begin to feel that the main purpose of the film is less to entertain you than merely to hook you for the long haul by convincing you of the quest’s weightiness. Frodo, the classic underdog, must seemingly overcome the antagonism of the entire world in order to fulfill his part in the cosmic order, but his motivation is bloated by exposition that becomes ponderous and overwrought. Yet the driving need—the safeguarding of the ring until it can be destroyed—doesn’t come off as robust enough to lead the little creature through one film, let alone three.

For Tolkien’s readers, there is probably an entire psychological profile of Frodo that lends a strong emotional component to his travels, but if so it didn’t make it into the movie. Tolkien created a reluctant hero who had to do his best under difficult circumstances to embrace and somehow meet the demands of a larger fate. It’s a nice metaphor for post-atomic powerlessness, what Orwell in the middle of the last century referred to as the average man’s resignation that he has no hand in a world-historical process which had moved far beyond his reach. Frodo’s real heroism lies not in battling goop-fanged baddies but in his courageous choice to swim in stronger historical currents.

Although Jackson splashes his film with Tolkien’s theme, he cannot supply it in quantities great enough to fill the thudding emptiness at the heart of the film. The fatal error is the ring itself. There is no strong reason in the movie why Frodo, and only Frodo, should bear it. None of the explanations hits home. While the ring seems awesome and potent, for all the trouble it’s causing you wish that Frodo would simply pitch the damn trinket into the river and retire to the Prancing Pony for a pint. The ring not only lacks a justification for Frodo’s journeys, but it also illustrates why people, and not objects, should lead this sort of movie.

Consider “Raiders of the Lost Ark”. Though the movie’s ostensible purpose is the capture of the Ark, its real central nervous system runs through Indy’s heart: the movie is a love story between Indy and Marion, which has lots of reverberations that have to do with Indy’s real archaeological ambitions. Or the “Star Wars” trilogy, whose primary theme is the redemption of the father. In the best adventure stories, in other words, human emotion fuels the action. The clash of good versus evil must always play itself out in a guise intelligible to the hero, and to the audience. Not so here: Frodo’s connection to the ring is primarily historical or even political, not emotional. Elements such as Gandolph’s fatherly stature in his life, his conflicting emotions about leaving the comforts of The Shire, or his friendships with his fellow ring protectors, are all present at various spots along the way, and frustratingly they all grade into the stultifying monotony of the larger quest.

When the end comes, and Frodo sees before him the next leg of his magical mystery tour, it is apparent that the entire film has built to a false moment: not the anticipated continuation of a magnificent story whose sequels audiences will await with giddy anxiety, but rather the moment when the audience is supposed to be wowed by the fact that the story is too large to be contained in one dense, three-hour film. It’s as if we are supposed to see “The Lord of the Rings” as a massively important spectacle merely because the finale is of the “To Be Continued” variety, when in fact Frodo’s story could have been told not only in one film, but in the course of two hours (fine, maybe two and a half). To paraphrase Ian Holm’s Bilbo, the film feels like a little butter spread wide and thin over a slice of bread, and we’ve only tasted one third of it.

“The Lord of the Rings” is a case study in why you can’t simply imbue a story with grandeur merely by stretching it out—“Titanic” syndrome on a titanic scale. Accumulation of running time does not a great trilogy make. For its special effects wizardry and competent execution of an expansive fiction, “The Lord of the Rings” is certainly an entertaining film, but it never seems genuinly grand, only super-sized. Admittedly, much that seems deadish now, in this first part of the trilogy, may find new life in the next two installments. The cumulative force of the “Rings” trilogy may yet prove to be a match for the Force, but, as the next two films are released in the coming years, few apart from the devoted will rush to find out.