Skip to main content

He will return tonight! He who betrayed his friends - whose heart rots with murder! Innocent blood shall be shed and servant and master shall be reunited once more!

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban
(2004)

(SPOILERS) Now, this is more like it. If the first two Harry Potter moviees are exhibits A and B in examples of stolid, unremarkable translations of text to screen, Alfonso Cuarón contrastingly takes full opportunity to inject personality and style into Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. He’s helped not inconsiderably by a much more intriguing, effective storyline, one that incorporates the fake-out red herrings device of Philosopher’s Stone much more deftly and which utilises a time travel subplot in a manner that doesn’t feel like a cheat.


Sirius Black: The tail, I could live with. But the fleas? They’re murder.

I recall on first viewing – stressing once again that I haven’t read the books, and that despite attestations to their merits I’m unlikely to anytime soon – being preoccupied by what felt like important omitted background to the Marauder’s Map of Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs (it would only have taken a couple of lines to identify these individuals as Lupin, Pettigrew, Black and James Potter), and that the filmmakers had secured the services of the estimable Gary Oldman only to underuse him.


This time, such concerns failed to manifest as strongly; indeed, there’s a less-is-more quality to Oldman’s presence, in particular Sirius Black’s maniacal, raving motion photo on the cover of The Daily Prophet. Oldman embodies the cool uncle (well, godfather) incredibly successfully, even showering Harry with an expensive gift at the end, while also emanating a suitably dangerous vibe. Curiously, it’s the last role he’s really taken of that type, transitioning into more overtly mentorish, starchy, reserved archetypes (Commissioner Gordon, George Smiley).


Harry: Poor Professor Lupin’s having a really rough night.

David Thewlis is similarly well utilised as that sensitive, understanding teacher type who always elicited the best from their students. Although later contradicted by Rowling, it’s impossible not to notice the gay subtext to Professor Lupin as envisaged by Cuarón (he told Thewlis to play him as “a gay junkie”), hiding his true nature (lycanthropy) from others and resigned to resigning when Snape lets slip his secret (“People like me are… Well, I’m used to it by now”).


His alter ego as a spindly CGI werewolf is one of the picture’s few disappointments, design wise. You look at the Dementors (initially planned as puppets) and they fully inhabit the frame, spreading tangible dread. The werewolf is never more than an effect. With regard to Lupin’s post, being a casual viewer of all things Harry, it only dawned on me at this point in my revisit of the series that the Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers are the equivalent of Spinal Tap drummers, with a strictly limited time in said position.


You can complement Cuaron and co on the casting of these two – and Timothy Spall serving up a sterling impression of a rat – but you might equally regard it as inevitable that they’d show up eventually (everyone else has done or would do, and Thewlis was nearly in the first movie). Less successful is Michael Gambon filling the shoes of Dumbledore. He’s fine and all. Has the necessary authority. But he doesn’t exude a tenth of the warmth Richard Harris did.


The central trio – and their age-comparable supporting cast –  have notably shot up during the post-Chamber of Secrets hiatus, and their facility with the thespian art has blossomed too. In some cases. Rupert Grint continues to show he’s a natural, but Emma Watson is suddenly able to emote with a degree of naturalness. Where before she seemed unable to gauge her delivery, now her inflections are appropriate to a slightly snooty girl who knows she’s smarter than the rest but can’t suppress it (Kloves and Cuarón neglect paralleling her use of time travel to get ahead in the curriculum with smart drugs, perhaps because they’re still all a wee bit junior for that).


Radcliffe… well, I’m afraid he’s peaked in his artistic development by this point. He’s fine from scene to scene, and even comes across reasonably well when paired with Thewlis or Oldman, but give him a passage where he’s required to sob uncontrollably and, even though you can’t actually see him, he fluffs it. I don’t think playing Harry necessarily needs the greatest range most of the time – any more than playing Luke Skywalker does – but there are moments where you’re bound to get caught short if that ability isn’t there. Generally, though, Prisoner of Azkaban stands out as probably the best overall showing by these three, and I’d put that down to Cuarón coaxing forth strong performances.


There’s less material here for Rickman, who may have been wondering at this point if he’d get to do anything other than glower imperiously at pupils (why not, he’d been glowering imperiously for most of his career), but he’s given an amusing moment during the boggart training, appearing as Ron’s worst fear before being reduced to the object of mirth when attired in Ron’s grandma’s clothes.


Cornelius Fudge: Oh, come now, Harry. The Ministry doesn’t send wizards to Azakaban for blowing up their aunts.

Indeed, Cuarón ensures the picture is never far from an amusing or sinister interlude. The opening expansion of Aunt Marge (Pam Ferris) is Monty Python’s Mr Creosote meets Roald Dahl, the night bus has the anarchic energy of early Tim Burton, the Dementors-on-a-train scene is masterfully tense and atmospheric, and if flaky Emma Thompson in milk bottle glasses as Professor Trelawney is very broad, she’s balanced by the effectively spooky reading of Harry’s tea leaves. Ian Brown also turns up in a shot, and it’s nice to see Robert Hardy again; his presence somehow lends Rowling’s world an authenticity no amount of lavish art direction can buy.


Instead of Chris Columbus’ chocolate box treats, Cuarón, with cinematographer Michael Seresin, muddies the milieu, creating a green-tinted, darker aesthetic (in this regard, it’s curious that Guillermo del Toro passed on the picture because he considered it “bright and happy and full of light”, as you’d hardly come away with that sense; bullets were dodged when Marc Forster and Sir Ken didn’t want or didn’t get the gig). Following this thinking into the presentation of the pupils, he makes them a bunch of teenage scruffs who might have just walked off the set of Grange Hill. The actual outdoor locations help too, dispensing with the sense of comfort and safety of Columbus’ take.


There are elements that come up short, of course. Tom Felton continues to be fine as virulent, spiteful Draco Malfoy, but that’s all the character is required to do. It’s as if the rest of the content is maturing but he’s stuck in Dick Dastardly mode (only less funny). Underlining this is the manner in which he’s bullying and aggressive one moment and wetting himself the next (as if he’s never encountered magic before). The subplot with Buckbeak the hippogriff feels as unnecessary and extraneous as much of the previous two movies (this is twenty minutes shorter than Chamber of Secrets, and ten shy of Philosopher’s Stone). Until that is, it’s contextualised by the Time-Turner sequence.


Professor Dumbledore: Awful things happen to wizards who meddle with Time, Harry.

Back to the Future Part II probably springs to most minds when watching this, as Harry and Hermione witness early actions in their attempts to save Sirius Black (while saving Buckbeak along the way), but I was more conscious of Nacho Vigalondo’s Timecrimes of three years later. I had tremendous problems with the logical progression of that movie, based on the central character’s conscious re-enactments (without wanting to spoil it any further), but this represents that idea done right (or rather, it represents this idea done wrong). 


Harry and Hermione don’t become aware of their involvement in the sequence of events until they do, so there’s an immediacy and lack of premeditation to throwing stones at past Harry, or present Harry successfully summoning the Patronus spell (“I knew I could do it this time because, well, I’d already done it”). More than that, the sequence is a rare example of satisfyingly weaving a magical device into a narrative; usually, a spell just tends to sit there, its effects summoned for all to see (by its nature, a deus ex machina).


Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban was the last of the series I saw in cinemas, and its stylistic boldness continues to make it stand out from the pack. Certainly, the fourth and fifth instalments tended to merge into one in my mind until I revisited them. The series wouldn’t boast a director as impressively attuned to both performance and style as Cuarón again (although, at his best, Yates is no slouch, but has become a victim of franchise fatigue – let him go, Warners!) and it’s a shame he wasn’t taken up on his interesting returning to the franchise (I’d be surprised if he’d still want to with Fantastic Beasts).



Agree? Disagree? Mildly or vehemently? Let me know in the comments below.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

You're not only wrong. You're wrong at the top of your voice.

Bad Day at Black Rock (1955)
I’ve seen comments suggesting that John Sturges’ thriller hasn’t aged well, which I find rather mystifying. Sure, some of the characterisations border on the cardboard, but the director imbues the story with a taut, economical backbone. 

She writes Twilight fan fiction.

Vampire Academy (2014)
My willingness to give writer Daniel Waters some slack on the grounds of early glories sometimes pays off (Sex and Death 101) and sometimes, as with this messy and indistinct Young Adult adaptation, it doesn’t. If Vampire Academy plods along as a less than innovative smart-mouthed Buffy rip-off that might be because, if you added vampires to Heathers, you would probably get something not so far from the world of Joss Whedon. Unfortunately inspiration is a low ebb throughout, not helped any by tepid direction from Daniel’s sometimes-reliable brother Mark and a couple of hopelessly plankish leads who do their best to dampen down any wit that occasionally attempts to surface.

I can only presume there’s a never-ending pile of Young Adult fiction poised for big screen failure, all of it comprising multi-novel storylines just begging for a moment in the Sun. Every time an adaptation crashes and burns (and the odds are that they will) another one rises, hydra-like, hoping…

She was addicted to Tums for a while.

Marriage Story (2019)
(SPOILERS) I don’t tend to fall heavily for Noah Baumbach fare. He’s undoubtedly a distinctive voice – even if his collaborations with Wes Anderson are the least of that director’s efforts – but his devotion to an exclusive, rarefied New York bubble becomes ever more off-putting with each new project. And ever more identifiable as being a lesser chronicler of the city’s privileged quirks than his now disinherited forbear Woody Allen, who at his peak mastered a balancing act between the insightful, hilarious and self-effacing. Marriage Story finds Baumbach going yet again where Woody went before, this time brushing up against the director’s Ingmar Bergman fixation.

My name is Dr. King Schultz, this is my valet, Django, and these are our horses, Fritz, and Tony.

Django Unchained (2012)
(MINOR SPOILERS) Since the painful misstep of Grindhouse/Death Proof, Quentin Tarantino has regained the higher ground like never before. Pulp Fiction, his previous commercial and critical peak, has been at very least equalled by the back-to-back hits of Inglourious Basterds and Django Unchained. Having been underwhelmed by his post Pulp Fiction efforts (albeit, I admired his technical advances as a director in Kill Bill), I was pleasantly surprised by Inglourious Basterds. It was no work of genius (so not Pulp Fiction) by any means, but there was a gleeful irreverence in its treatment of history and even to the nominal heroic status of its titular protagonists. Tonally, it was a good fit for the director’s “cool” aesthetic. As a purveyor of postmodern pastiche, where the surface level is the subtext, in some ways he was operating at his zenith. Django Unchained is a retreat from that position, the director caught in the tug between his all-important aesthetic pr…

You must find the keys for me!

Doctor Who The Keys of Marinus
Most of the criticisms levelled at The Keys of Marinus over the past 50 years have been fair play, and yet it’s a story I return to as one of the more effortlessly watchable of the Hartnell era. Consequently, the one complaint I can’t really countenance is that it’s boring. While many a foray during this fledgling period drags its heels, even ones of undeniable quality in other areas, Marinus’ shifting soils and weekly adventures-in-miniature sustain interest, however inelegant the actual construction of those narratives may be. The quest premise also makes it a winner; it’s a format I have little resistance to, even when manifested, as here, in an often overtly budget-stricken manner.

Doctor Who has dabbled with the search structure elsewhere, most notably across The Key to Time season, and ultimately Marinus’ mission is even more of a MacGuffin than in that sextology, a means to string together what would otherwise be vignettes to little overall coherence…

So you made contact with the French operative?

Atomic Blonde (2017)
(SPOILERS) Well, I can certainly see why Focus Features opted to change the title from The Coldest City (the name of the graphic novel from which this is adapted). The Coldest City evokes a noirish, dour, subdued tone, a movie of slow-burn intrigue in the vein of John Le Carré. Atomic Blonde, to paraphrase its introductory text, is not that movie. As such, there’s something of a mismatch here, of the kind of Cold War tale it has its roots in and the furious, pop-soaked action spectacle director David Leitch is intent on turning it into. In the main, his choices succeed, but the result isn’t quite the clean getaway of his earlier (co-directed) John Wick.

Poor Easy Breezy.

Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood (2019)
(SPOILERS) My initial reaction to Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood was mild disbelief that Tarantino managed to hoodwink studios into coming begging to make it, so wilfully perverse is it in disregarding any standard expectations of narrative or plotting. Then I remembered that studios, or studios that aren’t Disney, are desperate for product, and more especially, product that might guarantee them a hit. Quentin’s latest appears to be that, but whether it’s a sufficient one to justify the expense of his absurd vanity project remains to be seen.

I just hope my death makes more cents than my life.

Joker (2019)
(SPOILERS) So the murder sprees didn’t happen, and a thousand puff pieces desperate to fan the flames of such events and then told-ya-so have fallen flat on their faces. The biggest takeaway from Joker is not that the movie is an event, when once that seemed plausible but not a given, but that any mainstream press perspective on the picture appears unable to divorce its quality from its alleged or actual politics. Joker may be zeitgeisty, but isn’t another Taxi Driver in terms of cultural import, in the sense that Taxi Driver didn’t have a Taxi Driver in mind when Paul Schrader wrote it. It is, if you like, faux-incendiary, and can only ever play out on that level. It might be more accurately described as a grubbier, grimier (but still polished and glossy) The Talented Ripley, the tale of developing psychopathy, only tailored for a cinemagoing audience with few options left outside of comic book fare.

To defeat the darkness out there, you must defeat the darkness inside yourself.

The Chronicles of Narnia: The Voyage of the Dawn Treader (2010)
Easily the best of the Narnia films, which is maybe damning it with faint praise. 

Michael Apted does a competent job directing (certainly compared to his Bond film - maybe he talked to his second unit this time), Dante Spinotti's cinematography is stunning and the CGI mostly well-integrated with the action. 

Performance-wise, Will Poulter is a stand-out as a tremendously obnoxious little toff, so charismatic you're almost rooting for him. Simon Pegg replaces Eddie Izzard as the voice of Reepicheep and delivers a touching performance.
***

It always seems a bit abstract, doesn’t it? Other people dying.

Game of Thrones Season Six
(SPOILERS) The most distracting thing about Season Six of Game of Thrones (and I’ve begun writing this at the end of the seventh episode, The Broken Man) is how breakneck its pace is, and how worryingly – only relatively, mind – upbeat it’s become. Suddenly, characters are meeting and joining forces, not necessarily mired in pits of despair but actually moving towards positive, attainable goals, even if those goals are ultimately doomed (depending on the party concerned). It feels, in a sense, that liberated from George R R Martin’s text, producers are going full-throttle, and you half-wonder if they’re using up too much plot and revelation too quickly, and will run out before the next two seasons are up. Then, I’m naturally wary of these things, well remembering how Babylon 5 suffered from packing all its goods into Season Four and was then given an ultimately wasted final season reprieve.

I’ve started this paragraph at the end of the eighth episode, No One (t…