How Long Is Gollum'S Monologue In The Two Towers?

Gollum's monologues are absolutely iconic in both the books and the movies, but they play out quite differently in each medium. In 'The Lord of the Rings' novels, Tolkien gives Gollum these haunting internal dialogues where he literally argues with himself—Smeagol versus Gollum—and it’s so vivid you can practically hear his voice cracking. The books dive deep into his fractured psyche, especially in 'The Two Towers,' where his backstory and inner torment are laid bare. The movies, though, take it to another level with Andy Serkis’s performance. That scene where he debates with himself over the hobbits’ trust? Chills. The films amplify the visual and auditory creepiness, but the foundation is all Tolkien. What’s fascinating is how the books let you sit inside Gollum’s head, while the movies externalize it in a way that’s more immediate. Both versions are masterclasses in character study—one through prose, the other through acting and animation. I’ve reread those passages and rewatched the scenes countless times, and they never lose their power.

Gollum's fanfiction often dives deep into his fractured psyche, painting a haunting picture of a hobbit whose innocence was corroded by the One Ring. Writers love exploring his pre-Sméagol days, imagining him as a carefree Stoor hobbit fishing in the Gladden Fields. The tragedy isn’t just his descent into madness—it’s the glimpses of what could’ve been. Some fics pair him with original characters or even canonical figures like Bilbo, framing doomed connections that mirror his relationship with the Ring. Others focus on his internal monologues, where whispers of Sméagol’s past kindness clash with Gollum’s obsession. The best works don’t villainize him; they make you ache for the life stolen from him. I recently read one where he hallucinates a reunion with Déagol, twisted by guilt and longing. It’s raw, poetic—Middle-earth’s lost love story buried under centuries of rot.

The monologue that absolutely wrecked me from 'The Vampire Diaries' was Damon's confession to Elena in season 4, episode 23. The raw vulnerability in his voice when he says, 'I love you, Elena. And it’s because I love you that I can’t be selfish with you...' just hits differently. It’s not just the words—it’s the way Ian Somerhalder delivers them, like every syllable is tearing him apart. You can feel the weight of centuries of guilt and longing in that moment. What makes it even more heartbreaking is the context. Damon, the guy who always played the selfish bad boy, finally chooses her happiness over his own. And the way Elena’s face crumples? Ugh. It’s a masterclass in tragic love. Even now, rewatching that scene feels like someone’s squeezing my heart. No wonder fans still bring it up in emotional TVD debates.

I’ve always been fascinated by the darker, more nuanced takes on Gollum’s past, especially in fanfiction that explores his life as a hobbit before the Ring twisted him. There’s a particularly haunting piece on AO3 titled 'The Shadow of Sméagol' that delves into his relationships with other hobbits in the Stoor tribe. The writer paints a vivid picture of his early friendships, his love for the river, and the slow, insidious way the Ring’s influence creeps into his life. It’s heartbreaking to see how his curiosity and playful nature are eroded by paranoia, and the author does a brilliant job of showing the moments where he could’ve turned back—but didn’t. The story also explores his bond with Déagol, not just as a victim of his murderous rage but as a genuine friend, which makes the eventual betrayal even more tragic. Another standout is 'Before the Gold and the Gloom,' a fic that reimagines Gollum’s days as Sméagol through the lens of folk tales and superstitions. The author weaves in elements of hobbit culture, like their reverence for nature and distrust of outsiders, to explain why his community might’ve ostracized him even before the Ring. There’s a poignant subplot about his grandmother, who tries to shield him but ultimately fails, and the way the Ring’s whispers are framed as a metaphor for addiction is chilling. The prose is lyrical, almost like a lost chapter from 'The Lord of the Rings,' and it lingers in your mind long after reading. These stories don’t just fill in the blanks—they make you mourn for the hobbit he could’ve been.

Performing a monologue from 'As You Like It' is such a joyful challenge! I love how Shakespeare's language dances between wit and warmth, especially in Rosalind's speeches. For 'All the world’s a stage,' I'd start by grounding myself in Jaques' melancholic yet observant tone—slow, deliberate pacing with a touch of irony. Practice breaking the lines into bite-sized thoughts, like savoring each metaphor ('sans teeth, sans eyes'). For Rosalind’s playful monologues, like her teasing of Orlando, I’d lean into the physicality—maybe pacing like she’s circling him, matching the rhythm of her wit. Record yourself to catch where the iambic pentameter feels forced; Shakespeare’s words should flow like conversation. And don’t forget the audience! Even soliloquies are shared secrets. I once tripped over 'quintessence of dust' in rehearsal, but leaning into the stumble made it feel more human.

Gollum's monologues in 'The Lord of the Rings' are some of the most hauntingly memorable moments in the series. His fractured psyche comes through so vividly—especially in scenes where he argues with himself as Sméagol. The duality is chilling: one voice desperate and pitiful, the other vicious and possessive. The 'fish scene' in 'The Two Towers' where he debates whether to betray Frodo is a masterclass in internal conflict. 'We swears, yes, precious! To serve the master of the precious!' he hisses, then immediately contradicts himself. It's not just dialogue; it's a window into centuries of torment under the Ring's influence. What always gets me is how raw his grief feels when he recalls losing it to Bilbo. 'Thief! Baggins! We hates it forever!' That line carries the weight of addiction, obsession, and shattered identity. Tolkien’s genius was making a 'villain' so tragically human—or hobbit-like, I suppose. Even now, replaying Andy Serkis’s performance in my head gives me goosebumps.

I've stumbled upon a few fics that dig into Gollum's twisted psyche, especially when faced with Frodo's compassion. One standout is 'The Shadow and the Light,' which paints Gollum not just as a monster but as a broken soul wrestling with centuries of torment. The fic contrasts Frodo's gentle patience with Gollum's paranoia, showing how kindness feels like a threat to someone who's only known betrayal. It’s raw, messy, and heartbreaking—Gollum’s internal monologue swings between desperate longing for connection and violent rejection of it, mirroring his canon struggle. The writer nails the tension: Frodo’s empathy becomes a mirror Gollum can’t bear to look into, because it reflects what he’s lost. Another gem is 'Kindness Like Poison,' where Gollum’s conflict is almost physical—he flinches from Frodo’s touch like it burns. The fic explores how trust feels like a trap to him, and every act of mercy from Frodo just deepens his confusion. There’s a brutal scene where Gollum sobs after Frodo defends him from Sam, because he can’t reconcile the kindness with his belief that everyone wants to hurt him. The writing’s visceral, full of fractured thoughts and animalistic reactions. It doesn’t excuse Gollum’s actions but makes you ache for the hobbit he might’ve been.

Ivan's monologue in 'The Brothers Karamazov' is one of the most profound moments in literature, where he grapples with the problem of evil and the existence of God. In 'The Grand Inquisitor' chapter, Ivan imagines Christ returning to Earth during the Spanish Inquisition, only to be imprisoned by the Church. The Inquisitor argues that humanity craves security and miracles over freedom, claiming Christ’s teachings are too burdensome for ordinary people. This monologue isn’t just a critique of religion but a deep dive into human nature. Ivan questions whether true freedom is worth the suffering it entails. He’s torn between his intellectual rejection of a cruel God and his emotional longing for meaning. The monologue lays bare his inner turmoil, making it clear why he can’t fully embrace faith—or atheism. It’s a pivotal moment that shapes his character and the novel’s exploration of morality, free will, and the human condition.