We’ve told three stories and swallowed a night

Over the weekend, after fielding questions for some hours at the uni fair I forgot that meeting the guitar folks usually is us barking like sea-lions across the table because that’s just how we roll. Then I had a lot of Indian food yesterday – surprised I still have my throat. This hardly happens, I am not a chatterbox.
My internship came to a close; I bought cake for the department, played chess for the first time in maybe ten years, cracked open my first Sandman volume (Brief Lives) and feel like I lost my head somewhere inside between those intensely packed pages – I still have the strange sensation of seeing into somewhere not-quite-here if one just looked out of the correct crack of an eye.
I saw the Potter movie again and no longer hate it with the passion of a thousand suns, but still can’t place it anywhere near the other movies. Why is Sirius’ character so poorly developed, he does die in this, after all, how are any of us supposed to feel anything if he persists in being as flat as cardboard? Why is Hermione a mere caricature of herself (when she blossomed like anything in the book)? Why does Percy pop out of nowhere – one example of Yates’ irritating habit of going “Haha see how this alludes to the book? But we have no time for significant development that might help the plot in any way, so let’s take to our heels and dash on.”
Yet apparently actor-who-is-Percy was a stupid ass but still had one more Potter movie on his contract, so he was stuffed in anyhow. It would also have been far too ironic for pretty Emma Watson to spout a line like “It might have been a good idea to mention how ugly you think I am.” O Hollywood!

Crazy! I expected to go see Harry Potter and the P…

Crazy! I expected to go see Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban all smoothly yesterday, with a leisurely lunch at Fish and Co. as a preamble. Instead, I somehow got my legs tangled around my desk chair around midnight, fell down heavily and did my knee a severe injury (although I am not even sure what it is). As a result, I spent the morning being wheeled around Mt. Alvernia, lying on a cold steel table (and being told not to shiver ‘cos it would screw up the X-ray)and having 70ml of blood drawn out of my swollen knee. Apparently the knee-cap is still floating in limbo despite the cast.

My mother felt sorry for me and sent me down for the movie anyway. That was after we ate together at Scotts’, talking about my post-JC education (again). I finally got down to Internet research and found out about this fascinating programme called NELP.

I study so little. It’s all about getting through it, and then what?

So, after wedging my cumbersome, encased leg into a seat between Huixin and Limin, I saw HP3. I love it. It’s the most satisfying movie I’ve seen this month – with added layers, Hogwarts areas i.e. the suspension bridge and leaf-scattered gazebo-like courtyards, funky/teeny uniforms of stripey ties and rolled-up sleeves vs. the full-on cloaks and scarves kiddy gear of the previous two movies, slick, potent, sparkly transitions (like that Dementors shrivel everything they touch, though they AREN’T supposed to fly). Sequences are either cut or shortened if not relevant to the plot, or lushly expanded on – when the source of Harry’s ‘happy moment’ that inspires that gorgeous Patronus is brilliantly implied, where the grey area of evil comes in with Lupin’s werewolf character chillingly turning on Sirius, Harry and Hermione. Time, thematically a giver of second chances (whether it be to save Sirius/Buckbeak or the chances Sirius and Lupin have to redeem themselves) is depicted through Dumbledore’s sometimes befuddled speeches (Richard Harris is sadly missed here) and the slow, dignified swing of the clock’s pendulum in the school tower, camera frequently panning through the glittering face.

The black humour of the Knight Bus and Leaky Cauldron – a shrieking Jamaican shrunken head with a right cool accent, sloppy housemaid who deadpans “I’ll come back later” when a room explodes on her, and the ghoul-like innkeeper who enjoys dragging Harry violently around by the arms – is right up my alley, I should say.

Although the I-like-you-do-you-like-me thing between Ron and Hermione is a book early, it is underplayed and extremely funny. Rupert Grint remains a master of comic timing. He and Tom Felton (a Draco Malfoy endowned with Nick-Carter-like locks, thereby shifting him from the bratty-kid to sullen-teenager mold) get the most laughs here. Even added scenes lend added colour to the story, such as when the Gryffindor boys gather in their dorm engaging in an “animal noises” competition – it gives this boys-will-be-boys, true-to-Muggle-life parallel element. It is near-heartbreaking, though, that Neville has lost all his baby fat.

Maximum entertainment, with a head-on plunge into the darkness of “everything will change” – I’m all for it, and the next one.