If you enjoyed Secrets of Dumbledore, don't read this post

 The Secrets of Dumbledore introduces us to a long-ignored nephew/son, a new Grindelwald and a whole new magical world that is beyond our dreams and expectations.

The Secrets of Dumbledore does not introduce us to a tight plot, plausible characters or any kind of tension or even consistency with what has gone before.

I want to write that I watched SoD yesterday but I really didn't. After 30 minutes of focused attention, I found myself giving up any hope of finding a film deserving of that attention as the plot meandered, the characters blathered and the special effects took the front seat.

I started tidying up my den. I wandered into a nearby storage room to give it a much needed reorganisation. I talked to my sister on the phone.

This is a boring, lazy, silly film. Filled with scenes that go on much too long, even (long) scenes that aren't required at all. Filled with characters who some must find charming yet serve no real purpose: Jacob Kowalski? Seriously? Bunty Goodacre? Really? Even Newt Scamander is barely tolerable as a character.

I guess some Harry Potter fans are thrilled to see Minerva McGonagall as a young woman for a full 12 seconds. Or to hear familiar names like Rosier, Carrow, and Zabini attached to non-descript characters who appear and then disappear from the screen.

But really... SoD is a disaster.

Please, Jo, please. Stop. Respect the masterpiece you created in the seven Harry Potter books. Let them live on untainted by any more attempts to fill in the backstory, to cash in on the glory.

How many additional family members can you possibly discover? Now it's Aberforth who has an all-powerful child whom he has cast alone into the world.

How many more additional powers can you give to... well, every main character? Originally, wizards and witches, like all humans, were all relatively even in their powers and abilities. Albus Dumbledore, Voldemort, Bellatrix... perhaps a few others rose above the rabble. People with exceptional ability were recruited to be Aurors for the Ministry.

And even those people of exceptional ability, up to and including Albus and Voldemort, faced some limits to what they could accomplish magically.

In this new Fantastic Beasts version of pre-history, nothing is impossible. Nothing is even consistent. And it's maddening.

You worked very hard in the early books to establish what is possible and what is not, magically. To make clear the training required to accomplish even that limited set of possibilities, of how only truly extraordinary people like Albus Dumbledore and Tom Riddle were to be able to rise above and accomplish more. More, sure, but still within limits.

 And now you've just declared open season. There are no limits. And, as a result, there's no drama.

Albus is bound by a blood oath with Grindelwald until, suddenly, he isn't. Why? Apparently because Grindelwald tried to hurt a newly recognised Dumbledore nephew. But Grindy has hurt Credence before. With no apparent impact.

Grindelwald can bring animals back to life (I was waiting with bated breath for the word "Inferi" to be uttered). Dumbledore can create alternative realities in which he battles Credence. Fantastic Beasts can do fantastic things, even if we've never heard of them and their abilities just happen to suit the needs of the particular plot situation.

In the process, all tension, all suspense is undermined. If any major character can accomplish anything, then why should we worry about the outcome? Well, unless we are completely terrified that Newt will not be able to give his best-man speech at the wedding that is the subject of a ridiculous 20-minute epilogue to this already over-long film.

I could go on to talk about the over-the-top, smack you in the face allusions to American politics and the rise of authoritarianism but I think I need to go. Wash my hands. Cleanse SoD from my brain and move on with my life.

Yates finally explains why he didn't trust Rowling's ending

It was quite stunning, really. 

 I have wondered for several years what could possibly have possessed screenwriter Steve Kloves and director David Yates when they decided to change J.K. Rowling's practically perfect ending to The Deathly Hallows.

David Yates: Praying for inspiration

Now, after watching the recent Harry Potter 20^th Anniversary: Return to Hogwarts special, I finally have my answer.

And it only makes me more incensed.

 

As you will recall, Rowling ends the Battle of Hogwarts in epic seventh novel with Harry and Voldemort, circling, circling, while the crowds of Hogwarts defenders and Deatheaters look on, mesmerised.

 

Molly Weasley had finally defeated Bellatrix Lestrange, the wizarding world has risen up to vanquish the Dark Forces and all that remains is for Harry to fulfill his destiny and bring down the Dark Lord once and for all.

It's a wonderfully tense and emotional scene. Harry distracts Voldemort from casting the final curse by telling him of Dumbledore's plans, both those that worked perfectly and those that didn't quite work out the way the Headmaster had intended. And then, as the sun breaks over the horizon, the two wizards cast their best spells and Voldemort, his own killing curse rebounding on him and the Elder Wand declaring its allegiance to Harry, its rightful owner, falls down dead.

Human. Finally and fully human.

All of the themes Rowling had been weaving so carefully through the books come to a point in this final scene, this final moment.

Perfect.

But not good enough for Kloves and Yates. Or, as it turns out, for Yates alone.

In the recent retrospective special, the director takes full credit (or blame, to be honest) for the ultimate filmic insult to Rowling's amazing work.

David Yates says this of the final battle between Harry and Voldemort:

Yates, fumbling the ending

When looking at the book, the final confrontation between Voldemort and Harry takes place in the Great Hall with a huge audience watching. And I really wanted something earthier and more intense and more visceral than that. Because these two adversaries were almost joined spiritually if you like in this strange Horcruxy way. I thought, wouldn’t it be wonderful if Dan just grabbed Raif and pulled him off this tower?

 

As they apparate, they are merged together. That deep connection that we had sort of threaded through the stories and the films you’d visualise in that moment before they tumbled into the courtyard.

 

As well as the physical challenge of making the films, there was that small pressure of thinking: you’re the one who is going to finish this. It has to go out on a high. It has to be meaningful. It has to resonate. It has to deliver.

The problem, Mr. Yates, is that the final battle as written by J.K. Rowling was meaningful, it resonates, it delivers. You should have trusted her. You should have recognised the poet and simply followed the plan she so masterfully set out for you.

In making the ridiculous changes you made, you took the soul out of the ending. You made that final confrontation mano a mano, a macho combat between two individuals rather than the final, almost anti-climactic moment where the common good, the collective society won out and the great monster that had enthralled and terrorised the world for so long was revealed as nothing more than a human being, around much had been built.

Harry didn't defeat Voldemort by himself -- he, Hermione and Ron hunted down the Horcruxes and one by one destroyed them, bringing Voldemort step by step closer to his end; Neville played a role, killing the snake, as did Hagrid, and McGonagall, and Kingsley, the House Elves, the Centaurs, the Weasleys, the families of the Hogwartians, the people of Hogsmeade and so many others.

Mr. Yates, you failed to understand what Rowling had built, so poetically, so artfully, over the course of the seven novels and, in making the final battle between Voldemort and Harry an epic battle, filled with flashes and explosions, fought in front of no one, you proved yourself an exceptional technician but no artist.

 

And you did a disservice to the stories were you entrusted to bring to the screen.

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?

Giving The Deathly Hallows, Part 2 its due

I read recently that the famous movie website Rotten Tomatoes has rated Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 2, the "best reviewed" film of 2011.

That means that Part 2 was rated by professional film reviewers more positively than any other film last year.

I have to admit it: I find that amazing. Surprising. Disturbing. And perhaps a bit eye-opening, to be honest.

As anyone who has been reading this blog will know, I was not positively disposed to Part 2, which I thought butchered J.K.'s subtle and elegant final novel for the sake of filmic flashiness.

So why do all of these professional reviewers seem to like it so much?

It's possible that the reviewers like it because it is a good movie. Maybe even a great movie. Divorced from its source material, it probably stands very strongly on its own merits. It's exciting, well-written, and well-filmed. The acting is good, the story is strong and the technical work on it is exceptional.

I guess I can see all that. But it's difficult for me because, in my opinion, it could have been SO MUCH BETTER. Had they stuck more closely to J.K.'s plot, themes and character development, then added the same high level of technical, acting and writing work, they could have had a masterpiece.

Yes, I'm biased. Yes, I feel a huge amount of loyalty to Rowling's original novel (more, I fear, than even J.K. herself seemed to feel). And yes, I am completely incapable of seeing the film for what it is.

So I'll give them their props. Congrats to David Yates and Steven Kloves and all of the cast and crew on making an exceptional film. The accolades appear to be well-deserved.

Now, how long do we have to wait until someone is allowed to try again?

Talking about Bill Weasley

Let's talk about Bill Weasley. One of Ron's older brothers, husband to Fleur, lunch date for Frenrir Greyback.

In the books, Bill is a likeable, capable character. He plays a decent-sized role and gets some useful scenes. I especially like the fact that he takes Harry aside at a key moment in The Deathly Hallows to talk to him about understanding Griphook's motivations and what drives Goblins in general. It's a good scene, a useful scene.

I also like the Fleur/Bill subplot in The Order of the Phoenix and The Half-Blood Prince. It's interesting and fun and ends with a surprisingly emotional scene after Bill is attacked where Fleur pushes Molly Weasley aside to tend to her scarred, future husband.

Because I quite like him as a character, I don't understand what they did to him in the films. And, oddly, I want to argue that Bill should actually get less screen time in The Deathly Hallows, rather than more. I mean, if you plan to diminish the character so far, then at least have the courtesy to reduce him to wallpaper completely.

Bill doesn't appear in any of the first six films but then, in the first part of The Deathly Hallows, Yates and Co suddenly feel they have to give him some air time. In what I consider to be one of the worst scenes in all of the eight films, Bill walks into Privet Drive and introduces himself to Harry, points out his scars and says he's looking for a chance to pay Greyback back one day.

It's a clumsy, ugly, unnecessary moment. I guess the film-makers would argue that they had to introduce Bill early so that the viewer would know who he is when the Hero Trio takes shelter at Shell Cottage at the opening of Part 2.

I don't agree. We recognise Fleur and we see Bill with her at their wedding. We see them together at Shell Cottage once Harry and his pals arrive there. We know who he is.

The damage Greyback did to him has no importance in the rest of the films and Bill is given no further lines in the film. He is merely another redhead fighting on the side of right.

So why include that ridiculous scene at Privet Drive? It's embarassing. It's awkward and silly. And it serves no real purpose.

If they didn't plan to do Bill justice in the films, Yates and Co should have left him alone completely.

The film's Voldemort becomes a sad and silly caricature

What did they do to Voldemort?

I mean, honestly, what were Stephen Kloves and David Yates thinking when they decided to rewrite Voldemort for the final film (Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 2, in case you forgot)?

First, they decide that the destruction of each Horcrux must affect him, either physically or psychologically. Not only is this contrary to J.K. Rowling's original novels, it's also contrary to their own earlier movies.

When Dumbledore destroyed the ring between films five and six, we see no evidence it had any impact on the Dark Lord. When Ron smashes the locket in Part 1, Voldemort doesn't howl in pain (either physical or psychic).

So it's not even internally consistent in the films that the destruction of Hufflepuff's Cup and Ravenclaw's Diadem would somehow damage Voldemort. And yet, there he is, damaged. Weakened, enraged.

This leads to the second, and even more significant, problem I have with the rewriting of Voldemort in Part 2. Instead of being a controlled, imposing, absolutely and resolutely sane villain as he is in the novels, Voldemort of the films degenerates into a giggling psycho.

Remember Hannibal Lecter in The Silence of the Lambs? We feared him because he appeared so sane, so in control, so intelligent and charming and well-spoken, and yet he was capable of such monstrous evil.

That's the Voldemort J.K. created in her novels.

In Part 2, however, he loses that mystique. In the scene where he leads his army to the front doors of Hogwarts to show the school's defenders the apparently dead Harry, Voldemort prances and giggles like the worst version of Batman's enemy, the Joker. He's no longer scary but silly.

Worse, Voldemort's silliness fundamentally changes his encounter with Neville Longbottom. When Neville steps forward in the novel, Voldemort recognises in him all the characterstics he, the Dark Lord, admires: courage, loyalty, purity of blood. Voldemort speaks to Neville with a tone of respect and says he will make a fine Death Eater.

This makes Neville's continued resistance, his resolute commitment to Harry and the cause, even more significant. Neville has spent his life trying to prove himself, to himself, to his grandmother, to the wizarding world. Harry Potter's cause seems to be lost and here is the apparent new ruler of the magical world, extending an invitation to him to join the new regime, to take a respected place in that world. And Neville refuses. His loyalty, his commitment to all things good, make him reject the very acceptance and recognition that he has long hoped for, even if that rejection will likely cost him his life.

In the film version, Voldemort sneers at Neville, treats him with disdain, makes fun of him. This new silly, giggling villain is so lost he can no longer even recognise in others the qualities he has long claimed to admire and respect.

The film's depiction of this scene is, unfortunately, an insult not just to Neville but to Voldemort himself. It's too bad. Kloves and Yates don't seem to have the artistic sensitivity to recognise the elegant subtlety and depth of J.K. Rowling's original novels and the final film in this epic series suffers greatly as a result.

The film sacrifices depth of meaning for cheap thrills

My first major issue with Part 2 is this: whereas J.K. was very careful to make sure that it was absolutely clear that most of the wizarding community was against Voldemort and his Death Eaters, the filmmakers took great pains to make us believe that it was only Harry, Hermione and Ron plus a small group of others who opposed the Dark Lord in the end.

In fact, in the novel, Harry's final duel with Voldemort occurs only after the Centaurs, House Elves and hundreds of witches and wizards from outside Hogwarts had arrived to turn the tide of the battle decisively against Voldemort's followers. The Death Eaters were losing badly when Molly Weasley killed Bellatrix Lestrange and Harry finally revealed that he was alive and ready to take on Voldemort personally.

And I think that this was a central theme throughout the novels and especially in the final two books: this was not just Harry's fight. The majority of witches and wizards opposed the Death Eaters but were forced by fear and intimidation to keep quiet. Once open warfare was declared, they came forward to join the fight.

It was important that Harry duel Voldemort on his own, true. That was his fight. But the rest of the magical world was right there with him and, in fact, had already won the battle before Voldemort finally died.

Filmmakers Stephen Kloves and David Yates clearly made a decision that the ending would be much more dramatic if the odds were stacked heavily against our heroes, right to the very end. So the film has no assault by the Centaurs, no rampage by hundreds of wand-carriers from Hogsmeade and beyond, no joyous entrance of House Elves, led by Kreacher, joining the fray.

It was just Harry, Hermione and Ron, plus a small group of students and staff from the school and an even smaller group of members of the Order of the Phoenix, taking on the massive army Voldemort had at his command.

Dramatic, sure. And the filmmakers did gesture toward a weakening of Voldemort's support by having a number of Death Eaters disapparate when Harry re-appeared, alive and well, outside the school.

But, in my opinion, the movie undermined one of the main and most important themes J.K. incorporated so carefully into her novels: that in the battle against evil, we are never alone.

They sacrificed a deep and meaningful message for cheap thrills. Not worth it, I say. Not worth it at all.

Harry's confrontation with Snape has mixed results

I keep going back to Rotten Tomatoes to watch those excerpts from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 2, in preparation for the big premiere in two days' time. One scene, in particular, has caught my attention and I can't say I'm entirely happy with it.

In the scene, which is entitled "You seem to have a bit of a security problem" on the website, Snape has gathered the students of Hogwarts together to interrogate them about Harry's presence in the school. Harry appears out of nowhere (I suspect from under his Cloak) and defies Snape to his face. As the excerpt ends, we see the doors behind Harry opening up to reveal a cadre of teachers and members of the Order of the Phoenix, coming forward to protect Harry from the new Headmaster.

(Note, I suspect that, directly following this little snippet, Professor McGonagall engages in a brief duel with Snape before the former Potions Master flees. I've seen that scene elsewhere.)

The film excerpt on Rotten Tomatoes is an entirely new scene, not presented in Rowling's book. In the novel, Harry never faces Snape directly until Snape is lying, almost dead, in the Shrieking Shack. In fact, when McGonagall forces Snape to flee, Harry and Luna are nearby but under the Cloak, trying to keep out of harm's way.

It would appear that screenwriter Kloves and director Yates felt it would be better for Harry to have a chance, even a brief one, to face down his long-time tormentor in this way, while Snape is still powerful and his true allegiances are still unknown.

I agree it's a dramatic scene. And I think it has something of a narrative logic behind it: as viewers, we want Harry to get a chance to challenge Snape directly and Harry's courage here foreshadows his courage later in the Forbidden Forest.

Now, you can call me a Rowling-ite, but I still prefer the original. It's more subtle and more graceful. You don't always get the chance to face down your harasser. You can't always tie your emotional issues up in a neat bow and set them aside.

In the novel's version, Harry wants nothing more than to take a shot at Snape; he's filled with fury and anger and all that. But it's a sign of his maturity that he realises he has a greater duty: to his friend Luna, who is vulnerable in that moment. He sacrifices his need for revenge to protect her.

The film scene might be emotionally satisfying for both protagonist and viewer but the book's approach confirms much more important qualities of Harry's, qualities like loyalty, self-control and the willingness to put the needs of others ahead of his own. I wish the film-makers had seen the wisdom of sticking the original. It works much better.

By the way, it's nice to see Cho Chang and several other recognisable faces among the students in that scene: even if they don't get much more screen time, at least they're allowed to be there at the end.

The Weasley Homestead

I'm trying to figure out what screen-writer Steven Kloves and director David Yates have against the Weasley homestead, commonly known as "The Burrow".

First, in a completely invented scene in the film version of The Half-Blood Prince, they have Bellatrix and her pals burn the place down. If that's not bad enough, in the movie Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 1, they have several characters (like Mad-Eye Moody) call the place "The Burrows", plural.

In an interesting contradiction, some characters call it by its singular name and others by its new plural name, both in the film and in the special features that come with the Blu-Ray version of the movie.

Strange. J.K. refers to it, consistently and without exception, as "The Burrow" across all six books in which it is mentioned (I don't find any mention of the Weasley home, at least not be name, in The Philosopher's Stone). Why change it in the film?

Oh, which reminds me, from what I understand, the first novel in the series is called Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone in just about every English-speaking country in the world except the United States: so why do the British producers refer to it constantly as Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (the American title) in the Blu-Ray extras?

By the way, I recently picked up the French version of the first novel and I think the direct translation of the French title is Harry Potter at the School for Magic. Neat.