In adapting a book, it's bad to be true to the letter and untrue to the spirit. That's Chris Columbus's problem. He practically filmed the chapter titles, and yet there was no Potterishness to the first two movies at all. They weren't movies: they were theme parks.
Then came Alfonso Cuaron. He created one of the great fantasy movies of recent years. Fresh, green, and real. He got the actors to act. The special effects were special. Buckbeak looked just like a real hippogriff, and they got the gravity right (always the hardest thing to do, apparently, in animation).
It makes sense that Mike Newell, the director of
Four Weddings and a Funeral, would do so well with
Goblet of Fire. Of course, the sports scenes (in a movie whose title refers to an Olympic contest) were almost shapeless, but the emotional center of the movie was all about British kids in horribly awkward social situations. Pretty near perfect.
Then again, we did see the result of some bad decisions Newell hadn't been in control of. Hermione, for instance. She has this big Cinderella moment in that movie, and it fell flat because the previous directors had made Hermione too movie-gorgeous to begin with. Therein lies the problem: in doing a series, you've got to not paint yourself into a corner.
Michael Gambon does not have any of the ambiguity of Snape: no one will argue about whether he's good or bad. He's bad. Sure, he's a fine actor, but he's just not Dumbledore, and none of the directors have tried to make him Dumbledorish. (Cuaron got the closest.) He runs around and flails his arms and yells: "Everyone, QUIET!!!!!!!!!!" As we all know, the real Dumbledore simply clears his throat and says, "If I may have your attention." And the entire stadium full of thousands of people immediately hushes. That's Dumbledore for you.
I really don't care if you are untrue to the letter of the book. Leave out characters; invent new ones. Put in extra stuff that wasn't in the book. (Cuaron is a role-model: a scene with the boys sitting around eating candy that makes them roar and neigh like various animals is entirely invented, and yet so true it's hard to believe JKR didn't do it.) Compress whole storylines. After all you only have a couple of hours if it's going to be a satisfying movie.
But the one thing you mustn't do is mess with the pH balance of the characters. You must never get the
story wrong, even if there's not a single line from the book that survives.
So. Where to begin on the new movie? First, it's not a disaster. But it's a step in the direction of the first two. Not that it's letter-true, but that it's spirit-false in so many places that one leaves a bit depressed. Sure, leave out the entire Quidditch plot. Not even Cuaron could ever get those scenes right. Sure, leave out the entire bit about the Quibbler and Rita Skeeter. Sure, leave out everything pertaining to Cho after the kiss; and go ahead and compress the DA snitching so that it's Cho, but not quite her fault. Fine, fine, fine. But our new guys, director David Yates and screenwriter Michael Goldenberg, make changes that kill.
Why not have Dumbledore upend the Ministry's plan to arrest him by doing a few signal-glances between Order people and arranging a quick shootout, like happens in the book? It underlines an entire truth about Harry's makeshift family and about life that the moviemakers are trying to get at. But, opportunity missed. Dumbledore just says Shalakazam! and flashes outta there. Wow, he's cool.
JKR gives us a great shootout between Dumbledore and Voldemort in the book, that carries the emotional and plot content forward. Between carefully placed spells (Voldy is flashy and pressing, Dumby is calmly puissant), they have a here's-what's-wrong-with-you-no-here's-what's-wrong-with-you conversation that is utterly central to the entire series. Instead, we get garden-variety zippy-zappy, that seems to take twice as long. Could've been imported from X-men.
JKR gives us a nice moment right after that one, too. Harry is momentarily possessed by Voldy, and his mouth is made to say to Dumby, "Here's your chance — kill me now by killing Harry." Harry then thinks that he'd be willing to let that happen, to die if it meant Voldy would die (which it wouldn't, but anyway). His mind flashes to people he loves, and when it settles on Sirius, the gush of emotion forcibly expels Voldy. Wow! And the movie actually gives us a powerful visual depiction of that flash in Harry, but then carries it on and on and on, until Harry goes all Robin Williams and leadenly pronounces the Moral Of The Story: "I feel sorry for
you... because You Can't Love.
Phooey!! Are these people tone-deaf? Really, when JKR gives you something so startlingly cinematic to begin with, why not just cut and paste? The change here actually dulls the thing, makes it boring where it shouldn't be, and misses the point in the bargain.
We haven't had anything that wrong since Columbus was in charge. The director of
Home Alone and
Mrs Doubtfire showed us the kids rushing up to the camera, looking beyond it at a scary-thing-we-haven't-seen-yet, putting their hands upside their faces in unison in a cartoon-Munch scream, and then turning in unison to run away; at the end, Harry smiles woodenly at Hermione, Hermione smiles woodenly at Ron, Ron smiles woodenly at Harry, Hagrid smiles woodenly at the kids, the kids smile woodenly at Hagrid, the music swells and swells and swells, time ticks away, come on.
And how does the new one end? With an iron-grey sense of loss and dread, and an affirmation of the Order as a real family for Harry, a third-best that will possibly do just fine? Nope, we get some high-fiving as they jaunt along toward the thestrals (another missed opportunity), with Harry pronouncing that "we've got something Voldemort doesn't: something worth fighting
for. "
Even with such Hollywood schlog, the movie is watchable, and at times beautiful. It's fairly well paced. Whoever did the production design deserves an award: the interiors are beautifully realized, especially in the Wizengamot. A thrilling broom-flight through modern London swerves and rattles and fills the eye with glittery images (in which, for the only time this time, the gravity is right). Like Cuaron's
Azkaban, the picture is contrasty, which adds to the edgy feel of the movies, working like nail-polish-remover on the glossy surfaces of earlier movies. The kids are being directed to act, and they can.
I've been thinking as I've reread the entire series in past weeks that if you worked in television you could just film the entire thing, scene by scene, dialog as is. With good editing and good actors, each book would make a great mini-series. We're becoming more used to the telenovela in Norteamerica —
24 has trained us well — and that way you could stretch out and explore all the elements. Nearly Headless Nick would be a real presence, as would Peeves. We could get to know Tonks. Luna would be loony (where's Zooey Deschanel when you need her?) Umbridge could be Umbridge (though Imelda Staunton as QEII-meets-Thatcher is a delight, a real re-imagining of the character that works); Quidditch could at last be Quidditch. The television budget, moreover, would remove some of the temptations to mere flash that the lesser directors of the series have fallen for.
JKR is a solid, Dickensian storyteller. I'm sure she understands that something has to be cut in these movies. But I'm also sure that she's horrified when what's cut is the jugular.
