Harry, A History Words by Aldrin Calimlim ...

Harry, A History
Words by Aldrin Calimlim
Illustration by Rob Cham

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 1 (2010)
D: David Yates
S: Daniel Radcliffe, Rupert Grint, Emma Watson, Ralph Fiennes

Ten minutes into the 2001 film Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, the then soon-to-be-eleven title character is scolded by his unsympathetic uncle for continuously and inexplicably—as though by magic—receiving letters by owl from an unmapped boarding school, letters which his uncle for some reason makes an effort of withholding from him. Feeling deprived of what is rightfully his, he comforts himself by playing with his toy soldiers in his tiny cupboard of a bedroom. A good six years later in the fictional world created by author J. K. Rowling and tapped for blockbuster cinema by Warner Bros., which equates to nearly a decade in the real world cohabited by moviegoing escapists and film marketing strategists, Harry Potter, now prominently stubbled and just shy of seventeen, revisits his old, dusty quarters ten minutes into Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 1, and looks with sentimental longing at his erstwhile playthings. Old and dusty themselves, they are a sad reminder to Harry that playtime has long been over, that comfort has become a rarity, that the lights over his present and immediate future, and certainly over the rest of the world’s as well, have gone deathly dim.

Harry Potter is a wizard, embattled and trapped in “these […] dark times, there is no denying,” as declared by an upright political leader in his impassioned speech at the beginning of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 1 (hereafter HP7.1), setting a distinctly ominous tone for the film. As it is, HP7.1 is the seventh and penultimate chapter in the most successful film franchise in history, which chronicles the adventures of the eponymous wand-wielding young hero. But as in the last remaining episodes of a popular television series, a sort of recap sequence would have been welcome here—boon to a good many moviegoers who haven’t read the Harry Potter novels, not even a page from one (for such sorry creatures do exist), as well as to viewers who have forgotten who killed who at the end of the previous film. This hypothetical prelude would show a number of scenes and significant bits of dialogue culled from past installments… Uncle Vernon: “There’s no such thing as magic!” Cut to Hagrid, half-giant and groundskeeper at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry: “Yer a wizard, Harry.” Harry: “I’m a what?” Hagrid: “Yer the boy who lived. That’s why yer famous, Harry. That’s why everybody knows yer name.” Harry, pointing to the lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead: “He killed my parents, didn’t he? The one who gave me this?” Hagrid: “His name was Voldemort. Well, some say he died. Nope, I reckon he’s still out there…” These lines are from the first film alone, mind, and between Hagrid’s sensible reckoning of the villain’s apparent immortality and the start of HP7.1 Harry learns to use and control his magical powers and meets a motley of characters, including his best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, and Voldemort himself, who is alive (in a way) and more powerful than ever throughout HP7.1.

Between those two reference points, as well, something unexpectedly brilliant happened to the franchise as it faced the considerable dilemma of whether to stick to the straightforward, doggedly faithful formula applied by Chris Columbus, director of the first film and of the second, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, or to grow up in sync with its heroic trio and take the risk of breaking out of its established comfort zone into a more inspired realm of filmmaking. That something was actually someone: Alfonso Cuarón, best known for the sexy road film Y Tu Mamá También, took on the third Harry Potter movie with a style so adventurous and far removed from his predecessor’s that scenes brimming with rhythm and emotion such as never had yet been felt or seen in the series emerged in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. It was a shame Cuarón didn’t return to the director’s chair for another Potter flick, but his replacement, Mike Newell, seemed to ape his technique in making film the fourth, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, albeit to much less appealing effect. To its advantage, the fifth, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, continued in basically the same direction even with the enlistment of yet another new director, David Yates. A relative unknown, Yates was reportedly hired to direct the largely political fifth film on the strength of his politically charged television projects. His employment in the franchise was a risky move, but it paid off—handsomely enough to prod the series producers into letting him helm the next installment.

The sixth film, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, is widely considered the best looking of the bunch, thanks in no small part to Bruno Delbonnel’s artful cinematography. The film is perpetually tinged in blue, moody or buoyant at the right moments, and its fluidity appears to stem from the vaporous nature of one its plot devices: memories. Concerning Voldemort’s history of wizardly violence and the extreme lengths he went to for the sake of power and immortality, these memories, to which Harry becomes privy via an enchanted looking glass of sorts, expose the cogs that propel the series’ overarching story. The dark wizard, it turns out, stored fragments of his soul in seven mysterious objects called Horcruxes, lending credence to Hagrid’s and many others’ suspicion about Voldemort’s anomalous existence. And in order to defeat him Harry must first find and destroy these Horcruxes (aka magical MacGuffins). It’s a quest ripe for another film… or two.

The decision to split the adaptation of the last book in Rowling’s phenomenally successful series into two films might have been motivated by a not really shameful desire to make more money off the film franchise, but seeing the first part unfold, one understands that it was a choice wisely made. Suddenly the idea of the essence of the hefty final Harry Potter book being distilled into less than three hours of non-messy action and exposition seems hardly imaginable. A tradeoff in stretching the runtime arises, however, in the uneven pacing of HP7.1. The film is exciting and affecting at times, to be sure, with the memory obliterating spell painfully administered by a major character to her parents shown in the film’s first few minutes, multiple scenes involving impressive wand work, and a beautifully animated sequence explaining what the deathly hallows are (as if seven MacGuffins in a story weren’t enough) as some of the film’s high points, but it’s clear that the filmmakers have saved the more thrilling special effects and the more emotionally churning episodes for the culmination of Wizarding World War Two in part two. Decidedly, HP7.1 is the unsettling calm before the storm.

As the first half of the series ender, HP7.1 is almost as much about looking back as it is about, however precariously, moving forward. Harry, away from Hogwarts and loved ones with Ron and Hermione, attempts to fulfill his herculean task of Horcrux hunting by searching for clues in both his past and his archnemesis’, as well as by coming to terms with loss and loneliness and the prophecy that neither of them can live while the other survives. The film is consequently steeped in muted introspection, a quality that is relayed visually with nary a poorly framed shot by Delbonnel’s successor, Eduardo Serra. Indeed, it’s a far cry from the primary-colored disposition of the first film. But as incongruous as the prevailing tones of HP7.1 are with those of the earlier adaptations, a certain fascination with cinematic symmetry is manifested here by Yates, returning to direct the two-part finale, as he occasionally invokes thematically resonant scenes from the previous films. It is evident in Harry taking a final look at his toys in the cupboard and in Hagrid transporting him yet again on a motorcycle, among other scenes that point out the obvious: The end is nigh. Effectively, such push-and-pull tendency hints at the greater promise of loose ends getting tied, elements coming full circle, and people bidding goodbye, along with the possibility that all will be well, that is expected to be realized in the next and final film.

Wands—and tissues—at the ready!