Mad-Eyed 'n' Moody
Goblet of Fire is a right mess, but it maintains the magic.
BY GREGORY
Why doesn't the evil wizard simply bewitch Harry Potter's toothbrush, and turn that into a "Portkey"?
There, Lady Rowling, I have just unravelled 734 of your otherwise splendidly-hewn pages (if indeed you truly exist as an
individual human being; I'm starting to suppose that there's a corporation behind that actress playing you at the photo-ops
-- thankfully, a rather brilliant organization, all in all; well met).
But really, that's it, isn't it? Why bother turning absolutely anything else pivotal to the long, complicated plot of Harry
Potter and the Goblet of Fire into a Portkey, when this installment's evil wizard -- who is on the Hogwarts grounds and
in possession of an Invisibility Cloak (one of many, many, ma-ha-ha-hany omissions from the superior book to this
inferior screenplay adaptation; we'll get to those) -- could very, very simply sneak into Harry's room, transform the
boy-wizard's presumably oft-used instrument of dental hygiene into a conduit for passing into a spooky soundstage of
unspeakable evil, et voilà! No need for any of the other outrageously complicated business involving transfiguration and
colourful tournaments and endless skullduggery.
ONE TOOTHBRUSH: GOODBYE, HARRY POTTER.
Given how far ahead of the lunkheaded evil wizards I am, does anybody (specifically non-Baby Boomers) want to pay
me a decent salary as an Auror?
Oh, right: Movie review. Dig in, Lovely Readers.
The movie in question is Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, which is of course also the title of the fourth book in the
highly successful series by author Joanne Kundalini Rowling. It is One Fat Book. I approached it like this: When the book
came out five years ago, I noted the enormous stacks of it in every retail outlet I entered, and I ignored it completely
because I had movies about Gregory Hines sax-wailin' to save Tourette's-inflicted children to review, or whatever. Then,
recently, a couple of weeks before seeing this movie (which features neither sax nor Tourette's), whilst everybody I liked
and needed had magically vanished on me and there was literally nothing better to do than read children's fantasy with
earplugs in to keep out the dreadful noise of the "gardeners" who never go away and the neighbours who believe that
screeching like mandrills is an art form, I dug out a bent-up 20th American printing of Goblet I literally found with some
Clive Cussler paperbacks in an alley in 2003 whist dumping my trash (an admirable trade, apart from the Clive Cussler
paperbacks, which joined the trash), and, a couple of weeks ago, I read almost exactly half of Goblet of Fire. Then I
saw the movie. Then I read the other half. Then I saw the movie again.
Folks, I am your source.
It's like this: The book is sensational. The movie is sensationalistic. Both are enjoyable. The book is better.
Before digging in, I'd like to take a moment to dispel some unfortunate misunderstandings surrounding the Harry Potter
film franchise. The first is this: While the third film is probably the most stylistically noteworthy thus far (all that
bleach-bypass business and "German Expressionism" and sepia-hued New Age album-cover look), this really does NOT
mean that Prisoner of Azkaban is "The Best Harry Potter Movie." It is highly irrelevant which Harry Potter movie is "The
Best," however I am deeply bothered by the stupid, lemming-like thought-processes of many avid consumers of popular
culture (who would probably jump off a cliff into crashing waves if told that Jennifer Aniston was down there, waiting
to catch them). Let it go. There is no "Best" Harry Potter movie. IMHO (as those computer-savvy kids say online), the
most impressive one is the first one, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (a.k.a. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's
Stone in America, either because those wicked Redcoats are still annoyed at this nation for having escaped their vile
practices of tea and civility, or perhaps simply because nobody expects an American to know what a "philosopher" is) --
but still, that's just my opinion, because I happen to love gorgeously-wrought origin-stories and I fell in love with every
frame of the first Harry Potter movie at first sight (and sound; this franchise represents some of John Williams' most
beautiful motifs).
Then there's this niggling matter: I don't know if perhaps it's some chemical they're sticking in your designer-coffee or
what, but the second Harry Potter movie -- Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets -- does not, I repeat, does not,
suck. At all. It is as eligible for the title of "Best Harry Potter Movie" as any of the others (a true Sophomore Success,
kinda like how Batman Returns is most likely the finest of the Warner Bros. live-action Batman movies). Scary
snake-talk, John Cleese as a stunned ghost, the outrageously wonderful Shirley Henderson as squeaky-sad Moaning
Myrtle, a fascinating backstory, a wicked underground terror, Fawkes In Action and freaking DOBBY THE HOUSE-ELF
not good enough for you lot? Come on! Let it be said: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets ROCKS.
This is why Professionals are required in this field.
All of which leads us to Harry Potter Movie #4, which everyone else is going to tell you involves a PG-13 rating (in the
States, anyway), a lot of adolescent angst, more scary things, a dragon, Daniel Radcliffe naked in a huge bathtub with a
translucent woman over twice his age, "Thrill-A-Minute Wonders Because THE MAGIC IS BACK" (or some similar
phrase for the lucky dude or dudette who gets an innocuous quote on the DVD box; my list lies ahead for your
consideration), a spooky hedge-maze to make layabout critics think they're really, really smart for mentioning The
Shining, and of course Ralphie Fiennesie as Darth Moldyshorts. Oops. Whatever.
Here's the thing: Okay, so that evil wizard Voldemort (it's sort of considered cute to call him "You Know Who" or "He
Who Must Not Be Named," thus I'm not) returns in this installment of the franchise -- or, rather, appears in his own
yucky flesh for the first time. Hey, fair enough, but we already know that Harry is one hell of a powerful Wizard, too.
(Since we're in Warnerland, it is no stretch whatsoever to behold their battle as very reminiscent of Agent Smith Vs.
Neo.) It's simply not as scary as people say. Tell you what: If Voldemort killed my family and tried to kill me, I would
beat on him 24-7 like it was my job.
(Wouldn't that be awesome? If beating on Ralph Fiennes were your job? Maybe some day you could work your way up
the corporate ladder to stabbing Madonna.)
Anyway, much hubbub will be made over how amazing Fiennes is (again) and all that sort of yammering, and frankly, I
think this time the yammering is pretty much on the nose (or conspicuous lack thereof): Fiennes really is at his best here,
his flutey-fag voice buried under nasty gasps and hisses, his thousand-mile cutie-boy stare completely replaced by bitchy
bad-boy hysterics. You know how Jeremy Irons has made a career out of "sexy" but what he's really been selling is
"creepy as all get out"? Same deal with Fiennes. Finally, we get to see him playing a total fascist turd-head again, and he's
quite excellent at it. Reminds me of some of my former male "editors," even though they're a lot uglier than he is here.
What do you need to know about the plot of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire? Well, if you're an obsessive, you've
already read the book and need nothing more explained. Chances are you've also read a whole lot of other very obvious
plot-points from corporate and semi-corporate and claims-to-be-"alternative"-but-is-actually-sickeningly-corporate
sources. They'll tell you much of what you need to know about the narrative as well -- for it really is quite a different
plotline than the previous Potter narratives -- but I'll make this a "boring" paragraph so you can glean the gist here too:
Essentially, the extremely-strangely-named Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is hosting the
newly-revived-after-a-hundred-years Triwizard Tournament in lieu of its usual annual smatterings of Quidditch (aerial
broomstick rugby) matches, meaning that representatives from what are essentially French and Germanic (Bulgarian)
Wizarding schools are descending (in the case of the Frogs, literally, via enormous winged horses) upon the Hogwarts
grounds to hobnob with the mostly Anglo Wizard-kids with the very-conspicuously-placed TBEs (Token Black Extras)
located in every possible shot in order to make Hogwarts appear increasingly "racially-diverse," kind of like a Benetton ad.
(Pay attention to the framing: Those black boys just LOVE that zany white Potter boy and his amazing hijinx!)
Then what happens? Well, one of the most important things, more emotional-vibe-related than specifically plot-related, is
that (in the movie, not the book) the Frogs are all girls, and they're as intensely feminine as a feminine hygiene product
commercial, and they even, upon their arrival, let loose with a collective, cooing sigh of immense personal gratification,
whilst releasing silver butterflies from the folds of their shapely blouses. Immediately thereafter, the (okay, okay)
Über-masculine Kraut-boys march from their dark ship moored in The Black Lake into the Great Hall, grunting like beasts
and clad in musky furs, brandishing big long sticks which emit sparks and flame from their tips. Hm...what could all this
mean? Tell you what, it would shock me if someone didn't hold a meeting wherein the unexplored and unconscious
sexual archetypes and mystique of the pre-teen mind were discussed and amplified for maximum impact and return
box-office and DVD sales.
The gist of the plot, thereafter, is that Harry Potter (Daniel Radcliffe, truly more fun with each passing film -- could have
done without that cheezy "I love magic!" line, though), though merely fourteen, somehow crosses the age-restriction of
seventeen and very unexpectedly finds himself representing Hogwarts' Gryffindor House as a fourth in what is supposed
to be a triumvirate of young Wizards and Witches (thus, Tri-Wizard Tournament), all due to his name magically being
expelled from the eponymous (it is so very nice to use that word without having to tell an "editor" what it means) Goblet
of Fire. The other contestants are the sort of scary-lookin' young Wizard from (Rowling really is awesome) the
Durmstrang Institute, named Viktor Krum (Stanislav Ianevski, one serious hairline, and kinda resembles my cousin Tim;
Hi, Tim) and the waifish and not particularly impressive French girl Fleur Delacour (nice one, Rowling: approximately
"Flower of the Heart"), played by Clémence Poésy and representing the French magic academy, Beauxbatons. Harry also
finds himself competing against the first-picked Hogwarts champion, an elder lad named Cedric Diggory (Robert
Pattinson), who is pleasant and fair beyond the call of duty despite vaguely resembling Tom Cruise, and who represents
the similarly benign Hogwarts house, Hufflepuff.
Given more hyper-detours than a conversation with an ADD-afflicted maniac or the author of this review, the plot then
essentially follows Harry and his friends -- geek-girl Hermione (Emma Watson, too frequently mistaking histrionics for
acting, alas) and boffin-boy Ron (Rupert Grint, who outshines everyone in the movie for comedic timing and all-around
charm) -- as Harry prepares for three big mysterious challenges and they all try to do their homework in between.
Hey, I guess that was four boring paragraphs. Go me.
to PAGE TWO (Review continues...)
Goblet of Fire is a right mess, but it maintains the magic.
BY GREGORY
Why doesn't the evil wizard simply bewitch Harry Potter's toothbrush, and turn that into a "Portkey"?
There, Lady Rowling, I have just unravelled 734 of your otherwise splendidly-hewn pages (if indeed you truly exist as an
individual human being; I'm starting to suppose that there's a corporation behind that actress playing you at the photo-ops
-- thankfully, a rather brilliant organization, all in all; well met).
But really, that's it, isn't it? Why bother turning absolutely anything else pivotal to the long, complicated plot of Harry
Potter and the Goblet of Fire into a Portkey, when this installment's evil wizard -- who is on the Hogwarts grounds and
in possession of an Invisibility Cloak (one of many, many, ma-ha-ha-hany omissions from the superior book to this
inferior screenplay adaptation; we'll get to those) -- could very, very simply sneak into Harry's room, transform the
boy-wizard's presumably oft-used instrument of dental hygiene into a conduit for passing into a spooky soundstage of
unspeakable evil, et voilà! No need for any of the other outrageously complicated business involving transfiguration and
colourful tournaments and endless skullduggery.
ONE TOOTHBRUSH: GOODBYE, HARRY POTTER.
Given how far ahead of the lunkheaded evil wizards I am, does anybody (specifically non-Baby Boomers) want to pay
me a decent salary as an Auror?
Oh, right: Movie review. Dig in, Lovely Readers.
The movie in question is Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, which is of course also the title of the fourth book in the
highly successful series by author Joanne Kundalini Rowling. It is One Fat Book. I approached it like this: When the book
came out five years ago, I noted the enormous stacks of it in every retail outlet I entered, and I ignored it completely
because I had movies about Gregory Hines sax-wailin' to save Tourette's-inflicted children to review, or whatever. Then,
recently, a couple of weeks before seeing this movie (which features neither sax nor Tourette's), whilst everybody I liked
and needed had magically vanished on me and there was literally nothing better to do than read children's fantasy with
earplugs in to keep out the dreadful noise of the "gardeners" who never go away and the neighbours who believe that
screeching like mandrills is an art form, I dug out a bent-up 20th American printing of Goblet I literally found with some
Clive Cussler paperbacks in an alley in 2003 whist dumping my trash (an admirable trade, apart from the Clive Cussler
paperbacks, which joined the trash), and, a couple of weeks ago, I read almost exactly half of Goblet of Fire. Then I
saw the movie. Then I read the other half. Then I saw the movie again.
Folks, I am your source.
It's like this: The book is sensational. The movie is sensationalistic. Both are enjoyable. The book is better.
Before digging in, I'd like to take a moment to dispel some unfortunate misunderstandings surrounding the Harry Potter
film franchise. The first is this: While the third film is probably the most stylistically noteworthy thus far (all that
bleach-bypass business and "German Expressionism" and sepia-hued New Age album-cover look), this really does NOT
mean that Prisoner of Azkaban is "The Best Harry Potter Movie." It is highly irrelevant which Harry Potter movie is "The
Best," however I am deeply bothered by the stupid, lemming-like thought-processes of many avid consumers of popular
culture (who would probably jump off a cliff into crashing waves if told that Jennifer Aniston was down there, waiting
to catch them). Let it go. There is no "Best" Harry Potter movie. IMHO (as those computer-savvy kids say online), the
most impressive one is the first one, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (a.k.a. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's
Stone in America, either because those wicked Redcoats are still annoyed at this nation for having escaped their vile
practices of tea and civility, or perhaps simply because nobody expects an American to know what a "philosopher" is) --
but still, that's just my opinion, because I happen to love gorgeously-wrought origin-stories and I fell in love with every
frame of the first Harry Potter movie at first sight (and sound; this franchise represents some of John Williams' most
beautiful motifs).
Then there's this niggling matter: I don't know if perhaps it's some chemical they're sticking in your designer-coffee or
what, but the second Harry Potter movie -- Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets -- does not, I repeat, does not,
suck. At all. It is as eligible for the title of "Best Harry Potter Movie" as any of the others (a true Sophomore Success,
kinda like how Batman Returns is most likely the finest of the Warner Bros. live-action Batman movies). Scary
snake-talk, John Cleese as a stunned ghost, the outrageously wonderful Shirley Henderson as squeaky-sad Moaning
Myrtle, a fascinating backstory, a wicked underground terror, Fawkes In Action and freaking DOBBY THE HOUSE-ELF
not good enough for you lot? Come on! Let it be said: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets ROCKS.
This is why Professionals are required in this field.
All of which leads us to Harry Potter Movie #4, which everyone else is going to tell you involves a PG-13 rating (in the
States, anyway), a lot of adolescent angst, more scary things, a dragon, Daniel Radcliffe naked in a huge bathtub with a
translucent woman over twice his age, "Thrill-A-Minute Wonders Because THE MAGIC IS BACK" (or some similar
phrase for the lucky dude or dudette who gets an innocuous quote on the DVD box; my list lies ahead for your
consideration), a spooky hedge-maze to make layabout critics think they're really, really smart for mentioning The
Shining, and of course Ralphie Fiennesie as Darth Moldyshorts. Oops. Whatever.
Here's the thing: Okay, so that evil wizard Voldemort (it's sort of considered cute to call him "You Know Who" or "He
Who Must Not Be Named," thus I'm not) returns in this installment of the franchise -- or, rather, appears in his own
yucky flesh for the first time. Hey, fair enough, but we already know that Harry is one hell of a powerful Wizard, too.
(Since we're in Warnerland, it is no stretch whatsoever to behold their battle as very reminiscent of Agent Smith Vs.
Neo.) It's simply not as scary as people say. Tell you what: If Voldemort killed my family and tried to kill me, I would
beat on him 24-7 like it was my job.
(Wouldn't that be awesome? If beating on Ralph Fiennes were your job? Maybe some day you could work your way up
the corporate ladder to stabbing Madonna.)
Anyway, much hubbub will be made over how amazing Fiennes is (again) and all that sort of yammering, and frankly, I
think this time the yammering is pretty much on the nose (or conspicuous lack thereof): Fiennes really is at his best here,
his flutey-fag voice buried under nasty gasps and hisses, his thousand-mile cutie-boy stare completely replaced by bitchy
bad-boy hysterics. You know how Jeremy Irons has made a career out of "sexy" but what he's really been selling is
"creepy as all get out"? Same deal with Fiennes. Finally, we get to see him playing a total fascist turd-head again, and he's
quite excellent at it. Reminds me of some of my former male "editors," even though they're a lot uglier than he is here.
What do you need to know about the plot of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire? Well, if you're an obsessive, you've
already read the book and need nothing more explained. Chances are you've also read a whole lot of other very obvious
plot-points from corporate and semi-corporate and claims-to-be-"alternative"-but-is-actually-sickeningly-corporate
sources. They'll tell you much of what you need to know about the narrative as well -- for it really is quite a different
plotline than the previous Potter narratives -- but I'll make this a "boring" paragraph so you can glean the gist here too:
Essentially, the extremely-strangely-named Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is hosting the
newly-revived-after-a-hundred-years Triwizard Tournament in lieu of its usual annual smatterings of Quidditch (aerial
broomstick rugby) matches, meaning that representatives from what are essentially French and Germanic (Bulgarian)
Wizarding schools are descending (in the case of the Frogs, literally, via enormous winged horses) upon the Hogwarts
grounds to hobnob with the mostly Anglo Wizard-kids with the very-conspicuously-placed TBEs (Token Black Extras)
located in every possible shot in order to make Hogwarts appear increasingly "racially-diverse," kind of like a Benetton ad.
(Pay attention to the framing: Those black boys just LOVE that zany white Potter boy and his amazing hijinx!)
Then what happens? Well, one of the most important things, more emotional-vibe-related than specifically plot-related, is
that (in the movie, not the book) the Frogs are all girls, and they're as intensely feminine as a feminine hygiene product
commercial, and they even, upon their arrival, let loose with a collective, cooing sigh of immense personal gratification,
whilst releasing silver butterflies from the folds of their shapely blouses. Immediately thereafter, the (okay, okay)
Über-masculine Kraut-boys march from their dark ship moored in The Black Lake into the Great Hall, grunting like beasts
and clad in musky furs, brandishing big long sticks which emit sparks and flame from their tips. Hm...what could all this
mean? Tell you what, it would shock me if someone didn't hold a meeting wherein the unexplored and unconscious
sexual archetypes and mystique of the pre-teen mind were discussed and amplified for maximum impact and return
box-office and DVD sales.
The gist of the plot, thereafter, is that Harry Potter (Daniel Radcliffe, truly more fun with each passing film -- could have
done without that cheezy "I love magic!" line, though), though merely fourteen, somehow crosses the age-restriction of
seventeen and very unexpectedly finds himself representing Hogwarts' Gryffindor House as a fourth in what is supposed
to be a triumvirate of young Wizards and Witches (thus, Tri-Wizard Tournament), all due to his name magically being
expelled from the eponymous (it is so very nice to use that word without having to tell an "editor" what it means) Goblet
of Fire. The other contestants are the sort of scary-lookin' young Wizard from (Rowling really is awesome) the
Durmstrang Institute, named Viktor Krum (Stanislav Ianevski, one serious hairline, and kinda resembles my cousin Tim;
Hi, Tim) and the waifish and not particularly impressive French girl Fleur Delacour (nice one, Rowling: approximately
"Flower of the Heart"), played by Clémence Poésy and representing the French magic academy, Beauxbatons. Harry also
finds himself competing against the first-picked Hogwarts champion, an elder lad named Cedric Diggory (Robert
Pattinson), who is pleasant and fair beyond the call of duty despite vaguely resembling Tom Cruise, and who represents
the similarly benign Hogwarts house, Hufflepuff.
Given more hyper-detours than a conversation with an ADD-afflicted maniac or the author of this review, the plot then
essentially follows Harry and his friends -- geek-girl Hermione (Emma Watson, too frequently mistaking histrionics for
acting, alas) and boffin-boy Ron (Rupert Grint, who outshines everyone in the movie for comedic timing and all-around
charm) -- as Harry prepares for three big mysterious challenges and they all try to do their homework in between.
Hey, I guess that was four boring paragraphs. Go me.
to PAGE TWO (Review continues...)
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