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December 1, 2005
harry potter and the prisoner from metamuville
"You know what I miss?" a character asks halfway through the new Potter film.
"Alfonso Cuarón?" I said to the screen.
Ah, there's that old familiar feeling. Waiting for this movie to end was like watching cheap paint dry on a rainy day. This film is a miraculous bore. It's miraculous in that it contains 20 minutes of activity, 2 hours 10 minutes of interminable, pointless conversation about that 20 minutes of activity, and exactly one plot point, yet they reportedly gutted the book. Given little recourse, I entertained myself by wondering what on earth they cut. Hermione finding the perfect shoes? Ron concealing zits? Dumbledore reading from the phone book? When I had wrung all possible interest out of that activity, I checked my cell phone to see if it has any games on it. It doesn't. Then I started thinking about what the final scene of Casablanca would be like if it occurred in the Potter universe.
"Louis, difficult times lie ahead."
Of what consequence is anything in this movie? Spoilers are impossible. There's a dance. Nothing happens. There's a competition we've never heard of, one with dire consequences. Nothing happens. There's a maze in which horrible things are said to happen to people. Something finally happens: shrubs move. Voldemort appears. Nothing happens. People are constantly promising that "dark times lie ahead." They must be talking about some future movie.
The first event in the competition: dragon slaying without the slaying. They talk about it for a good 30 minutes beforehand. And then Harry enters the arena. (Who'd have thought he, of all people, would enter? Everyone over 2. Yet they treat his surprise entry as a "Rosebud, I am your father" moment.) Now that it's finally showtime, they inform us that oh yeah, by the way, while Harry and Hermoine were hugging, the other contestants fought their dragons off-camera. Sorry! Harry does his thing. And then we talk about it for another 10 minutes.
The wonder.
posted by john at 1:10 AM • permalink