The Burrow burnt; the Burrow rebuilt

So I'm watching the last three Harry Potter films... just because. I don't particularly like them but, once in a while, I feel the need to see them again. Especially when I am re-reading the novels.

As I read The Half-Blood Prince (in French), I thought I'd throw in the Blu Ray of the movie version, which led to where I am now, with The Deathly Hallows, Part I, in the Blu Ray player, watching the opening scenes.

And it occurs to me, as it has several times before, to ask the question: if the film-makers decided to take the creative liberty in the sixth movie of introducing an all new scene in which Bellatrix, Greyback and several other Death Eaters attack and finally burn the Burrow to the ground, why is that particular domicile back at the start of the seventh film, rebuilt exactly as it was?

The Burrow was always, in novels and films, a ramshackle collection of rooms, pieced together over years and years, making no sense, comfortable almost in spite of itself. In the books, it never burned so there was no reason for Mr. and Mrs. Weasley to rebuild it into a more practical, more comfortable structure.

In the film, however, we see the Burrow completely engulfed in flames and we get a close up of Molly Weasley, standing by, helpless, as it burns to ashes.

By the time the seventh film starts, however, the Burrow is back in one piece. Exactly the same ramshackle, ill-designed piece that burned only a few months before. Why not improve it? Why not make it a more sturdy structure, bigger, better designed,with better flow, better light, better everything?

Sure, you can tell me that the Weasley's made the decision to rebuild the Burrow exactly as it was before out of a sense of history, of sentiment, of not wanting to lose their "home". But it makes no sense to me.

Is it possible the film-makers simply forgot that they burned it to the ground????

A film's disdain for subtlety and beauty

Every time I watch the films that were made out of The Deathly Hallows, I feel a little sick.

Sometimes, I want to take a bath, to wash away the gross and icky feeling the movies leave me with.

Other times, I want to sit down and read J.K.'s original novel from cover to cover immediately, just to remind myself of how great her book is, to remove the disgusting taste that horrible film adaptation left in my mouth.

Even as I watch them, feeling more and more sick, disappointed, resentful, I can recognize that there are actually some pretty good scenes in the films. Some brief moments where David Yates and Stephen Kloves actually got it right and did credit to Rowling's original.

For example, I quite like how the Part 1 opens, with brief shots of Harry at Privet Drive watching the Dursley's pack up and go, of Hermione at her home obliviating her parents and their photos to remove any trace of herself, of Ron, standing pensively with the Burrow in the background, looking out over the fields, thinking of what is to come.

I think they do some of the bigger action scenes quite well: the assault on the Ministry, for example, and the escape from Hogwarts.

Emma Watson has some nice moments, as I've written here before, such as her smirk when the freshly returned Ron "votes" to go to see Mr. Lovegood or when she tosses Harry the sword in the Estrange vault.

I quite love the artful way they render the story of the Three Brothers. It's creative and lovely.

But then I am smacked in the face again with the bigger problems of interpretation that plague these movies, with Kloves' and Yates' apparent disdain for the subtlety and beauty of Rowling's deep psychological and emotional tale.

This disdain comes out in many different ways, in numerous decisions they made as to how to present the story, both large and small.

Among the small ones: did you notice that Harry does not liberate Mad-Eye's magical eye from Umbridge's office door at the Ministry? did it bother you that Harry, Hermione and Ron don't spare a moment's feeling for Mr. Lovegood's fate after he summons the Death Eaters? did it phase you that Harry does not mend his own wand before dealing with the Elder Wand nor make the last visit to Dumbledore's portrait in the headmaster's office nor explain why he chooses to dispose of each of the Deathly Hallows in the way he does?

Does it bother you that, in the film version at least, NO ONE except the small group of fighters within Hogwarts joins the battle against Voldemort and the Death Eaters, not the parents of the students, not the people of Hogsmeade, not the Centaurs, the House Elves nor even Grawp?

Does it not drive you absolutely crazy that, while the Hogwart's fighters die simple human deaths, both Bellatrix and Voldemort evaporate into the ether when they die?

That Rowling's single most basic point -- in the end, we are all human and we all are born, live and die just like everyone else, no matter who we are and how powerful we are during our brief stay on earth -- is completely lost in the film?

Relishing a return to Rowling's humour

I've spent the past three weeks or so working my way through Stephenie Meyer's final three books in the twilight series: new moon, eclipse and breaking dawn. And, through a book sale at work, I managed to pick up all four of Meyer's novels in their French translations, which should help with my continuing effort to learn to read and speak that language.

Hooray for me.

This morning, however, I finally got the chance to get back to Harry Potter. More specifically, I picked up on The Goblet of Fire where I had left it off to start up with Bella, Edward and the twilight gang. I was delighted to find myself laughing out loud almost as soon as I began to read J.K.'s prose: the first scene I read was the one at the camp-site before the Quidditch World Cup, when Hermione, Ron and Harry return to their tent to find Mr. Weasley struggling to light a fire the Muggle way: with matches.

I just loved this line: "'Oops!' he said, as he managed to light a match, and promptly dropped it in surprise." I can just picture it happening: the scratch of the match, the flare of the flame, the surprise on Mr. Weasley's face and then his wrist flicking the burning match away from himself.

And that's yet another aspect of the Harry Potter novels that I think sets them apart from so much of the other Young Adult fiction out there: Rowling's sense of humour.

I found the twilight novels to be almost completely without humour, rolling along in a single consistently somber mood. I'm not sure The Hunger Games trilogy was any better.

But Rowling manages to find ways to brighten the tone of even her most challenging, frightening or intense scenes, often with a single turn of phrase or surprising observation. Her writing is quite Shakespearean in that way.

I shall keep an eye out for more examples that just this one as I continue to read and try to point out my favourites in future blogs.

Meanwhile, my friend Miranda chose to go out for Hallowe'en this year as Bellatrix Lestrange, putting together a convincingly evil costume and just the right sneer on her face. I'm told she encountered only on "Harry Potter" on her walk through the neighbourhood; fortunately, no duel ensued and both parties walked away unscathed.

Introducing Bellatrix Lestrange

I just love the way J.K. introduces us to Bellatrix Lestrange, a Death Eater who would go on to become one of the key (and most memorable) new characters of the final three novels.

Rowling draws our attention to Ms. Lestrange slowly, gently, almost soothingly. She gives us significant information about the character but, in each instance, only in passing. Rowling introduces Bellatrix to us in such subtle ways that we almost miss the introduction.

And an important introduction it is.

First, we hear only the last name, and plural. The Lestranges. Mentioned in passing as being among the Death Eaters locked up in Azkaban. No first names, no descriptions. Just another name in a list.

Then comes Harry's visit to the Pensieve in Dumbldore's office, wherein he witnesses a series of hearings of the Wizard Court, trials of accused Death Eaters that took place in the months after Voldemort's fall.

I believe it is the third such trial. The Dementors escort four people into the court room to be tried and all our attention is focused, by virtue of our interest in Barty Crouch and his family, on the last of them: the boy.

Here is how Rowling describes the four:

"There was a thickset man who stared blankly up at Crouch, a thinner more nervous-looking man, whose eyes darted around the crowd, a woman, with thick, shining dark hair, and heavily hooded eyes, who was sitting in the chained chair as though it were a throne, and a boy in his late teens..."

It's a wonderfully simple, yet vivid description of the woman we will later come to know well: Bellatrix Lestrange, with her thick, shining dark hair, her heavily hooded eyes and her pride and certainty in her absolute devotion to the Dark Lord and his purposes.

The focus remains, however, on young Barty Crouch, interrupted only briefly by Bellatrix's defiant declaration of her devotion to Voldemort when the Dementors come to escort them all to Azkaban.

In that scene, we learn that the four are accused of torturing Neville's parents into incoherence using the Cruciatus curse. That means that Rudolphus Lestrange, Bellatrix's husband, must be one of the other two people in the group -- either the thickset man with the blank look or the thinner, more nervous man -- and yet we learn very little further about him throughout the final three novels. Bellatrix outshines him in this scene just as she will do the rest of the way.

And then, finally, we hear about the Lestranges from the Dark Lord himself. In the graveyard, as he surveys the Death Eaters who have returned to him, he encounters a gap in the circle.

"The Lestranges should stand here," he says, "But they are entombed in Azkaban. They were faithful. They went to Azkaban rather than renounce me... when Azkaban is broken open, the Lestranges will be honoured beyond their dreams."

But Voldemort has more on his mind at that point. His comments on the Lestranges are lost amid his interactions with all the other Death Eaters and, more especially, his ensuing duel with Harry Potter.

Such a quiet introduction. Such a slow build up. So masterfully written so that, every time Bellatrix makes an appearance, she is overshadowed by other characters or other events. Our attention as readers is drawn elsewhere so that we don't recognise just how important, how evil this character will become.

Teddy Lupin: Harry Potter, the Next Generation?

How did I not recognise this? It's sitting there, staring me in the face! Once you see it, it is so obvious you're amazed you didn't notice it as soon as you read the seventh book.

Teddy Lupin is the next generation of the Harry Potter character.

Orphaned in the final battle against the Death Eaters, son of two of Voldemort's staunchest opponents, left to fend for himself in the magical world. With Harry Potter as his god father.

I have to credit Emily and Clare for opening my eyes to this fact this past Christmas. They pointed it out as we watched the extras to The Deathly Hallows, Part 2.

It's brilliant. And it speaks so much to how J.K. Rowling imagined her magical world continuing to develop, even after the end of Voldemort.

If the death of the Dark Lord represents the final defeat of the "pure blood" movement, then it also represents the beginning of the fight against other forms of oppression in the magical world, including the oppression of Goblins, House Elves, Centaurs and, yes, Werewolves.

Teddy Lupin represents that future.

It's interesting to note that there are at least three examples in the Harry Potter novels where Werewolves are allowed to join wizarding communities:
- Remus Lupin is, of course, the most famous example, welcomed by Albus Dumbledore to Hogwarts as a student and, later, as a teacher, befriended by James, Sirius and Peter while at school, a respected member of the Order of the Phoenix in both wars against darkness;
- Voldemort and his Death Eaters, the champions of the pure blood cause, include Fenrir Greyback in their army, although it is clear from the way Greyback is treated by Bellatrix at Malfoy Manor that the Werewolf is not seen as an equal; and
- I believe that there was a Werewolf guest at one of Slughorn's parties: Sanguini, wasn't it? Sorry, I don't have access to my books right now and the internet is not helpful on this score.

I think it would be very interesting if someone were to write a fairly serious novel following Teddy Lupin and the challenges he faces growing up in a society that is still not particularly tolerant of his racial background. It could be a real metaphor for the modes of oppression people currently face in our own society.

And, of course, in writing that book, the author could also have some fun with the idea that Teddy is really Harry, the next generation.