Harry Horror

This Sunday I had no plans to go and watch a movie. However, just when I was settling down with the idea of being completely alone with my novel, the wretched phone rang. I would here like to add that I have a very strong sixth sense, and this incessant ringing of my phone was screeching premonition in bold letters in my head. Still, I picked up the phone and had the pleasure to hear the voice of a very dear friend of mine. After the much rushed into pleasantries, my friend asked me in a pleading voice, “Will you accompany me to watch Harry Potter?” For those who are my mere acquaintances, please note that I am a BIG Harry Potter fan. The mere mention of the name can get me started for hours. And the sound of those words, by even Hitler would make him a personal favorite of mine. However, if any information of the above mentioned epic is tampered with, it makes me see red and little demons of fury start dancing behind my eyes, shooting little thorny spikes at the ignorant git. To say that earlier conversions of this novel into a movie had this effect on me, would be an understatement.
So, although I was quite sure that this again would be an assault on my memories of the magical world of J.K Rowling, I gave into my better side and agreed to accompany my friend. As we all know, misery only brings along more misery with it, I had another thing coming at me. The theatre in which we were supposed to watch the movie only had the Hindi-version of it. I personally love Hindi as a language not just because it is my mother tongue, but also because it is so beautiful. However, hearing Gryffindor being referred as ‘garud duar’ is taking it too far. So, anyway I went in, hoping against hope that the script would be in tandem with the novel and will at least try to give the main fraction of the novel a lead.
However, not only was I disappointed in that area, but I also had to endure kids who had no clue about the book or the previous versions of the movie and a couple in making as well.
Let me first present my views about the movie. David Yates (director) and Steve Kloves (writer) either tortured J.K Rowling into agreeing with this version of her book, or they bribed her. How else could she watch in silence the brutal killing of her imagination?
The director was apparently more interested in showing Daniel Radcliff as a wannabe Casanova and not a teenager on his way to adulthood, struggling with feelings like love, unknown to him till now. This is the part in the series where Harry realizes the burden of his responsibilities while desperately trying to hold on to the feelings, which an average teenage boy of his age has. In the novel he has to constantly choose between being the 17year old and the one who is suppose to kill the darkest wizard of all. The fact that he kills Voldemort in the next part is a clear indication of what he chooses for himself. The Harry in the movie, however lacks any such complexities and is more interested in dating a girl he meets in a restaurant, than going with Dumbledore to help kill Voldemort.
Why so much of importance was given to Ron and his love life was beyond me. Rupert is good at making comical faces. However, to see the same emotion on his face from different angles, for more than an hour, hasn’t made him anymore popular with me. Emma Watson has once again succeeded in reducing Hermione to a sad looking, no expression, and no depth girl whose only aim in the movie was to crib about Ron and his love interest Lavender Brown.
The role of the potions book, which is the inspiration for the name of the novel and the movie as well, has suffered the blink and miss syndrome, thanks to the director. Tom Felton a.k.a Draco Malfoy who should have been the protagonist of the movie, came across as nothing more than a guest appearance. The story of Voldemort, his childhood, his rise to power and his apparent flaws which formed the crux of the novel were shoved under the carpet. David Yates must be mercifully in nature, for he shot a few scenes which at least suggested that Voldemort was still a part of Harry’s life when he was in his sixth year, and did not actually consume the love potion (which seemed to be on everybody’s mind, on the sets at least), thus falling in love with Harry and sparing his life in his show of love.
All in all it is a movie which can give new meaning to the phrase ‘self-inflicted torture’. Even as I was going through this torment, there was more in stored for me. A few kids sitting behind me were translating the Hindi version into Marathi and somehow they got into a discussion of Dumbeldore’s broom (something even J.K Rowling hasn’t thought about). So once the discussion on his non-existent broomstick died down, a row over whether pop corn is better than samosa started. I was already having a hard time getting over these conversations, when the guy sitting next to me started nagging his friend (whom he hopped to make his girl friend), about her family and life in general. The girl was quite uninterested in the guy, which was apparent from her nonchalant behavior, but I guess was sitting with him because he paid for her tickets. Not that she was interested in the movie. The fact that she talked to some other guy discussing every problem of her life over the phone for the next 20 minutes, was a proof of the above mentioned fact. My loud comments on how people, who talk on phone while watching a movie in a theatre defined insensitivity, went unheard. Finally I had to butt in her monologue and show her my ticket, confirming to her that even I paid for the ticket and that I would like to at least see without any distractions how badly the movie has been made. That shut her up fine.
Finally the movie ended, and I had a chance to give my friend a cold stare in the light outside, which she was very cleverly ignoring in the dark of the movie hall. She looked at me and said that she will treat me to a sandwich from my favorite joint. Deciding that I needed to sit down and eat, I forgot about the three wasted hours of my life and went for it.