Harry Potter rant
Mar. 15th, 2006 16:33![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mapsedgeIt's nice to know that some things in this constantly variable universe are unchanging. It's reassuring and comfortable, like an old pair of shoes or old flannel shirt.
It's nice to see that Danial Radcliffe and Tom Fenton can look their parts, but still can't act.
I tried to watch all of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. I did, really. Tried hard.
Couldn't do it.
In the time honored tradition of making Hamburger Helper out of sacred cows, here we go.
Maybe it's because I know too much about directing, and want to care about what happens on screen. Maybe it's because I've been an actor, and have had to endure working with actors like Radcliffe, who mistake an urgent stage-whispery stacatto hissing for emotional intensity. Maybe it's because Neville Longbottom, indeed all the boys at Hogwarts, suddenly look like they're taking their fashion and grooming cues from The White Album. Maybe I just can't believe anymore that Dumbledore, portrayed by Michael Gambon as what sounded like a half-drunken Irishman, is the most powerful wizard in the world.
Yes, Ms. Richardson, the mineral water is in your trailer, along with the fresh kiwis and dietary supplements. Okay.
It's unfair to compare Gambon to Richard Harris, sort of an apples to oranges thing, but it's going to happen so let's get it over with. I don't believe in Gambon's Dumbledore: there is no depth, no subtlety, nothing lurking beneath the surface that makes you wonder if the old guy could, with just a turn of his head, reduce your corporeal essence to a pile of extremely sorry glow-in-the-dark slag. This is not a Dumbledore who could silence Snape just by looking at him over the glasses.
No, give him a pint and a wand, and watch the barmaid's bodice lacings magically vanish.
Onward.
I'm sorry Ms. Richardson, we haven't found a body mic that matches your eye shadow, but we're working on it.
Look, I know that 700+ pages is a lot of material to fit into a 2-1/2 hour movie. So you cut out all the sub-plots and a great deal of exposition (most of the truly necessary stuff was in HP1 and HP2, anyway) and you trim it down until it fits, but Newell, where were you? Were you even on set watching your actors?
No, Ms. Richardson, we weren't able to get Waterford Crystal for you to drink out of on location. Okay? Okay.
The emotional high point of the film is watching Hermione step onto the grand staircase, dressed to the nines for the Yule Ball, while Radcliffe and Grint stand in confused wonder...okay, okay, just confusion...at the foot of the steps. It was a great moment, at least for Miss Granger, but you can't build an entire movie around it.
Tell me again: why did the dragon climb on the towers instead of just hovering over Potter and incinerating him? Oh, right. Drama.
I will admit to getting a little tired of the conventions of wizardry, all the great new gadgets and sp--
Could someone please get a taser and remove Ms. Richardson from the set? Thank you!
-- spells that show up, in trite James Bond fashion, with each new movie. In one we get Flue Powder, or however you spell it, in another a flying car: in this one we get an old boot. It serves to transition us to the Quidditch World Cup and the promise of a fantastic sequence...
...that happens as loudly as possible, without actually giving us anything to watch. What was that shit in the tent, anyway, just before the Death Eaters show up? Ron, we can understand you quite clearly, would you mind mumbling? Let everyone around you, including your little sister, drown you out. Twins? You're making far too much sense, we need to confuse the audience, what? There's a good chap...er...chaps.
Unfortunately, the whole movie was like that: a whole lot of shit on screen, and nothing to see. Here's one muggle who wanted the magic, and didn't get it.
It's nice to see that Danial Radcliffe and Tom Fenton can look their parts, but still can't act.
I tried to watch all of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. I did, really. Tried hard.
Couldn't do it.
In the time honored tradition of making Hamburger Helper out of sacred cows, here we go.
Maybe it's because I know too much about directing, and want to care about what happens on screen. Maybe it's because I've been an actor, and have had to endure working with actors like Radcliffe, who mistake an urgent stage-whispery stacatto hissing for emotional intensity. Maybe it's because Neville Longbottom, indeed all the boys at Hogwarts, suddenly look like they're taking their fashion and grooming cues from The White Album. Maybe I just can't believe anymore that Dumbledore, portrayed by Michael Gambon as what sounded like a half-drunken Irishman, is the most powerful wizard in the world.
Yes, Ms. Richardson, the mineral water is in your trailer, along with the fresh kiwis and dietary supplements. Okay.
It's unfair to compare Gambon to Richard Harris, sort of an apples to oranges thing, but it's going to happen so let's get it over with. I don't believe in Gambon's Dumbledore: there is no depth, no subtlety, nothing lurking beneath the surface that makes you wonder if the old guy could, with just a turn of his head, reduce your corporeal essence to a pile of extremely sorry glow-in-the-dark slag. This is not a Dumbledore who could silence Snape just by looking at him over the glasses.
No, give him a pint and a wand, and watch the barmaid's bodice lacings magically vanish.
Onward.
I'm sorry Ms. Richardson, we haven't found a body mic that matches your eye shadow, but we're working on it.
Look, I know that 700+ pages is a lot of material to fit into a 2-1/2 hour movie. So you cut out all the sub-plots and a great deal of exposition (most of the truly necessary stuff was in HP1 and HP2, anyway) and you trim it down until it fits, but Newell, where were you? Were you even on set watching your actors?
No, Ms. Richardson, we weren't able to get Waterford Crystal for you to drink out of on location. Okay? Okay.
The emotional high point of the film is watching Hermione step onto the grand staircase, dressed to the nines for the Yule Ball, while Radcliffe and Grint stand in confused wonder...okay, okay, just confusion...at the foot of the steps. It was a great moment, at least for Miss Granger, but you can't build an entire movie around it.
Tell me again: why did the dragon climb on the towers instead of just hovering over Potter and incinerating him? Oh, right. Drama.
I will admit to getting a little tired of the conventions of wizardry, all the great new gadgets and sp--
Could someone please get a taser and remove Ms. Richardson from the set? Thank you!
-- spells that show up, in trite James Bond fashion, with each new movie. In one we get Flue Powder, or however you spell it, in another a flying car: in this one we get an old boot. It serves to transition us to the Quidditch World Cup and the promise of a fantastic sequence...
...that happens as loudly as possible, without actually giving us anything to watch. What was that shit in the tent, anyway, just before the Death Eaters show up? Ron, we can understand you quite clearly, would you mind mumbling? Let everyone around you, including your little sister, drown you out. Twins? You're making far too much sense, we need to confuse the audience, what? There's a good chap...er...chaps.
Unfortunately, the whole movie was like that: a whole lot of shit on screen, and nothing to see. Here's one muggle who wanted the magic, and didn't get it.
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no subject
Date: 2006-03-16 14:23 (UTC)...And of course, there are the aforementioned shortcomings. Newell is out of his depth, and the water's rising on the juvenile cast.