To enthral a generation, you normally need to be a fascist dictator or Pikachu. But J K Rowling achieved it without Ash or swastikas. Her books are the reason you’re reading this, unless you haven’t read them, in which case I’m going to do as the movie does, and not tell you what’s going on. So tough. Go and read the book first.
So far, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (or HP6) has easily been the best, adult and intriguing – though neither as adult nor intriguing as Emma Watson’s eyebrows. In fact, Watson might be the best of the three main actors, although admittedly her only competition is a weedy Daniel Radcliffe and Rupert Grint, who plays Ron like a hedgehog facing an oncoming lorry. Heading up the opposing side is Ralph Fiennes, lending some class to proceedings as a re-embodied Voldemort in HP7a, the not-quite-final-showdown.
As I settled into my seat I looked about me. Some people were wearing hats, robes and scars on their foreheads. I shrank back, fearing the worst. Things aren’t helped by the opening, with an obligatory intro of dark scary nights and a big scary castle that cost a septillion pounds of British tax-breaks to construct, painfully, from wood and fibreglass.
As you’re no doubt aware, the film is split in two, so there is nothing resembling an ending. Nor indeed a beginning or a middle. Most disappointingly, Voldemort doesn’t fight Harry except through the medium of burning his scar and, thus, making Radcliffe screw up his face and go, ‘Ah! Ah!’ like he’s having a Candiru fish burrow up his urethra.
In fact, this is about as close as the film gets to sexual tension. Every scene that tries to bring Granger and Weasley closer together fails utterly, as a prevailing idiotic awkwardness kills all chemistry. It’s telling that the sexiest line is Ron’s boast to Harry, ‘Here’s my wand. It’s ten inches, so pretty normal’.
In all honesty, the films have only one thing that’s actually appealing: the design. The props, sets and SFX are really, truly brilliant (though occasionally a little over the top), and the immaculate realism of Hogwarts, Xenophilius Lovegood’s cottage, or Voldemort’s castle really is a sight for bored eyes. That’s ignoring the tent shared by Harry and Hermione which resembles the set of The Greatest Porno Never Made. We live very much in hope.
Without the visuals there’s little reason to recommend this film – it’s no different to the others – yet I’d strongly advocate seeing it all the same. It’ll colour in the recesses of memory and shed light on the dark receding clouds of childhood thought. This is the best book of the series and while we should let our personal imagination flood the magic world, it’s intriguing to see someone else’s stylish conception of Rowling’s work.
