That’s basically what it is all about. The Harry Potter books were one of my early affairs with literature, which were all preceded by Bible stories, a small stack of Hardy Boys, a humongous pile of Goosebumps, and that thick tome of fairy tales from around the world. My attachment grew as the years go by, from grade four in the late 90s to second year college.
Fast-forward to another decade and I still cannot help but find a hint of familiarity in the boy wizard’s life—a story richly told by Jo Rowling whose rags-to-riches story is a triumph equaling Harry Potter’s fate. The series then cemented my first impression that reading would not be some simple phase like toys, afternoon cartoon shows, and pimples.
This first impression, surprisingly, and much to my relief, lasted.
I was glad there were movies to fill the void when the seventh book finally rested on my shelf. But just last week, the concluding film of the series rolled its credits to the score of John William’s nostalgic “Hedwig’s Theme.” Time does go by so swiftly it is heartbreaking.
Directed by David Yates, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2 was not perfect. (I still insist the third film by Alfonso Cuarón, and even among the books, Prisoner of Azakaban is the best). They could have done better with Snape’s boathouse scene. The swirling smokes in the pensieve, the trails of apparating Death Eaters, and some spells look all the same. Some ripe stories are altered or forgotten.
There are more nitpickings inside my head but all these are trumped by the gist of it all: the freshness of the familiar, the defeat of all things evil, the inventiveness of a world where memory and magic serve something more than to inspire awe but also friendship and love.
This is what I see of the end, and it is like going back to the very beginning, going back to what captured my childhood imagination. Everything comes full circle, and it is bittersweet. Maybe soon, the pains of my nostalgia would all be gone, but the scar would still linger like Harry’s, perhaps a reminder of how great everything has changed. I believe all will be well.
P.S. The 3D is good except for one catch: the glasses get foggy and wet. You will see.
Fast-forward to another decade and I still cannot help but find a hint of familiarity in the boy wizard’s life—a story richly told by Jo Rowling whose rags-to-riches story is a triumph equaling Harry Potter’s fate. The series then cemented my first impression that reading would not be some simple phase like toys, afternoon cartoon shows, and pimples.
This first impression, surprisingly, and much to my relief, lasted.
I was glad there were movies to fill the void when the seventh book finally rested on my shelf. But just last week, the concluding film of the series rolled its credits to the score of John William’s nostalgic “Hedwig’s Theme.” Time does go by so swiftly it is heartbreaking.
Directed by David Yates, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2 was not perfect. (I still insist the third film by Alfonso Cuarón, and even among the books, Prisoner of Azakaban is the best). They could have done better with Snape’s boathouse scene. The swirling smokes in the pensieve, the trails of apparating Death Eaters, and some spells look all the same. Some ripe stories are altered or forgotten.
There are more nitpickings inside my head but all these are trumped by the gist of it all: the freshness of the familiar, the defeat of all things evil, the inventiveness of a world where memory and magic serve something more than to inspire awe but also friendship and love.
This is what I see of the end, and it is like going back to the very beginning, going back to what captured my childhood imagination. Everything comes full circle, and it is bittersweet. Maybe soon, the pains of my nostalgia would all be gone, but the scar would still linger like Harry’s, perhaps a reminder of how great everything has changed. I believe all will be well.
P.S. The 3D is good except for one catch: the glasses get foggy and wet. You will see.
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