You've kept him alive so that he can die at the proper moment.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part II

(2010)

(SPOILERS) The final Harry Potter is somewhat better than I recalled, but it still counts as a disappointment following a significant run of quality since David Yates took over on megaphone duties. I was put in mind at times of the Wachowski sisters’ Matrix capper, in which much of the running time is given over to uninvolving battle action featuring characters we wonder why we should care about. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part II’s particular saving grace is the resolution of the Snape arc, but it isn’t enough in a movie that feels long and bloated despite being the shortest in the series.

Adding to the The Matrix Revolutions vibe, there are even repeats early on of other sequences previously done better, most notably Ron and Hermione taking Polyjuice Potion and visiting the Gringott’s for a spot of thievery; it’s a far less notable retread of the Ministry heist in Part I. Flying sequences continue to look less than perfect (the escape from Gringott’s on a dragon) and cameos emphasise a disconnect that was solved by judicious pruning hitherto (John Hurt, who appeared briefly in Part I, was last sighted in Philosopher’s Stone).

Other characters are built up for hero moments in the “thrilling” assault on Hogwarts, but missing out on audience investment in their fates, they amount to little more than lip service to the idea of the less obvious being equal in stature to the true heroes. Professor McGonagall finally gets to do something (seeing off Snape), but I’m still none the wiser about who she is eight films in. Julie Walters’ Molly Weasley invokes Aliens when she instructs Bellatrix to get away from her daughter you bitch, but attempts to switch a character from fringe comic relief doesn’t really work this way.

The worst offender is Neville Longbottom (I want to call him Sidebottom, and Voldemort clearly found the name funny too; at least you can’t accuse the Dark Lord of lacking a sense of humour), whose repeated bravery – and decidedly unrallying speechifying – can’t disguise the fact that he’s an utterly uninteresting character (again, I’m quite prepared to grant that a lot of these things may, probably even do, work better on the page). I don’t need to know that “Luna... I’m mad for her!” as Rowling takes the aphrodisiac qualities of mortal peril rather too literally; in the heat of this battle, it appears, it’s open season to be distracted from your mission and fulfil your lusty passions (after the relative maturity of Half-Blood Prince, this libidinous free-for-all is a definite retrograde step).

As, of course, Ron and Hermione finally clinch, leading to a rush of masculine protective feeling in the lad (“That’s my girlfriend, you numpties!”) There’s something vaguely rote about most of the progressions here, including Draco not being quite as bad as all that (indeed, in twenty years he’ll be nodding to Harry at the train station). Rowling includes some attention-holding twists and turns, including the true current ownership of the Elder Wand and the happy introduction of the Resurrection Stone, but as a whole, the progression is much too linear, and some sequences (Harry pleading with another ghost, Kelly Madonald’s Helena Ravenclaw) are simply inert.

The dying/resurrection is appropriately positioned to yield maximum impact, but the execution proves entirely underwhelming, these sorts of confrontations tending to work better on the page than on screen, unless the filmmaker is that one step beyond (and Yates is a decent filmmaker, but he isn’t that). I’ll take a clever over spectacular finale every time, and Rowling had the material to make it the former, but the bloat that derives from cutting the material in halves means the latter is where the emphasis lies, and the result is a let-down.

In contrast, the Snape Pensieve sequence is about as close as the series gets to perfection, retracing the route of the Professor’s affiliations and afflictions, and treatment of Harry. with different eyes and entirely rehabilitating him in the process. Rowling’s still alive, even at this point, to the potential for withholding, such that Dumbledore’s motivations with regard to Harry (already trailed by a scene with Ciaran Hinds as his brother) initially seem entirely ruthless (“You’ve kept him alive so he can die at the proper moment… You’ve been raising him like a pig to slaughter”). The subsequent after-realm, however, is seriously lacking in inspiration, offering as it does the comforting glow of familiarity, safety, nurture and benign oversight via Force ghost Dumbledore… and Voldemort resembling a discarded Doctor design from The Last of the Time Lords.

Running with that cosiness is the final scene, two decades on, with the slightly chilling vision of unchanging generational repetition: all these characters still together, now with their own kids, shepherding them off to Hogwarts (you can see this kind of emotionally turgid resolution in other ongoing fantasy fare, from Lost to Doctor Who, but that doesn’t make it any more excusable). And Rowling has further indulged this, of course, with a very popular stage play that will doubtless become a movie at some point (or, more likely still, a new series of movies in due course, after Fantastic Beasts has expired; Rowling’s Episodes VII-IX, if you will). I’m sure the scene isn’t supposed to be depressing, but my only consolation was they didn’t go overboard with old age makeup. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part II succeeds in closing the saga, but then adds that bit more, which is symptomatic of filmmakers taking the opportunity to stuff the picture with every little cameo they can. Sometimes less is more and enforced limits can be their own reward.

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

What’s so bad about being small? You’re not going to be small forever.

Innerspace (1987) There’s no doubt that Innerspace is a flawed movie. Joe Dante finds himself pulling in different directions, his instincts for comic subversion tempered by the need to play the romance plot straight. He tacitly acknowledges this on the DVD commentary for the film, where he notes Pauline Kael’s criticism that he was attempting to make a mainstream movie; and he was. But, as ever with Dante, it never quite turns out that way. Whereas his kids’ movies treat their protagonists earnestly, this doesn’t come so naturally with adults. I’m a bona fide devotee of Innerspace , but I can’t help but be conscious of its problems. For the most part Dante papers over the cracks; the movie hits certain keynotes of standard Hollywood prescription scripting. But his sensibility inevitably suffuses it. That, and human cartoon Martin Short (an ideal “leading man” for the director) ensure what is, at first glance just another “ Steven Spielberg Presents ” sci-fi/fantas

The Illumi-what-i?

Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness (2022) (SPOILERS) In which Sam Raimi proves that he can stand proudly with the best – or worst – of them as a good little foot soldier of the woke apocalypse. You’d expect the wilfully anarchic – and Republican – Raimi to choke on the woke, but instead, he’s sucked it up, grinned and bore it. Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness is so slavishly a production-line Marvel movie, both in plotting and character, and in nu-Feige progressive sensibilities, there was no chance of Sam staggering out from beneath its suffocating demands with anything more than a few scraps of stylistic flourish intact.

This risotto is shmackin’, dude.

Stranger Things Season 4: Part I (SPOILERS) I haven’t had cause, or the urge, to revisit earlier seasons of Stranger Things , but I’m fairly certain my (relatively) positive takes on the first two sequel seasons would adjust down somewhat if I did (a Soviet base under Hawkins? DUMB soft disclosure or not, it’s pretty dumb). In my Season Three review, I called the show “ Netflix’s best-packaged junk food. It knows not to outstay its welcome, doesn’t cause bloat and is disposable in mostly good ways ” I fairly certain the Duffer’s weren’t reading, but it’s as if they decided, as a rebuke, that bloat was the only way to go for Season Four. Hence episodes approaching (or exceeding) twice the standard length. So while the other points – that it wouldn’t stray from its cosy identity and seasons tend to merge in the memory – hold fast, you can feel the ambition of an expansive canvas faltering at the hurdle of Stranger Things ’ essential, curated, nostalgia-appeal inconsequentiality.

Is this supposed to be me? It’s grotesque.

The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent (2022) (SPOILERS) I didn’t hold out much hope for The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent being more than moderately tolerable. Not so much because its relatively untested director and his co-writer are mostly known in the TV sphere (and not so much for anything anyone is raving about). Although, it has to be admitted, the finished movie flourishes a degree of digital flatness typical of small-screen productions (it’s fine, but nothing more). Rather, due to the already over-tapped meta-strain of celebs showing they’re good sports about themselves. When Spike Jonze did it with John Malkovich, it was weird and different. By the time we had JCVD , not so much. And both of them are pre-dated by Arnie in Last Action Hero (“ You brought me nothing but pain ” he is told by Jack Slater). Plus, it isn’t as if Tom Gormican and Kevin Etten have much in the way of an angle on Nic; the movie’s basically there to glorify “him”, give or take a few foibles, do

Whacking. I'm hell at whacking.

Witness (1985) (SPOILERS) Witness saw the advent of a relatively brief period – just over half a decade –during which Harrison Ford was willing to use his star power in an attempt to branch out. The results were mixed, and abruptly concluded when his typically too late to go where Daniel Day Lewis, Dustin Hoffman and Robert De Niro had gone before (with at bare minimum Oscar-nominated results) – but not “ full retard ” – ended in derision with Regarding Henry . He retreated to the world of Tom Clancy, and it’s the point where his cachet began to crumble. There had always been a stolid quality beneath even his more colourful characters, but now it came to the fore. You can see something of that as John Book in Witness – despite his sole Oscar nom, it might be one of Ford’s least interesting performances of the 80s – but it scarcely matters, or that the screenplay (which won) is by turns nostalgic, reactionary, wistful and formulaic, as director Peter Weir, in his Hollywood debu

Are you telling me that I should take my daughter to a witch doctor?

The Exorcist (1973) (SPOILERS) Vast swathes have been written on The Exorcist , duly reflective of its cultural impact. In a significant respect, it’s the first blockbuster – forget Jaws – and also the first of a new kind of special-effects movie. It provoked controversy across all levels of the socio-political spectrum, for explicit content and religious content, both hailed and denounced for the same. William Friedkin, director of William Peter Blatty’s screenplay based on Blatty’s 1971 novel, would have us believe The Exorcist is “ a film about the mystery of faith ”, but it’s evidently much more – and less – than that. There’s a strong argument to be made that movies having the kind of seismic shock on the landscape this one did aren’t simply designed to provoke rumination (or exultation); they’re there to profoundly influence society, even if largely by osmosis, and when one looks at this picture’s architects, such an assessment only gains in credibility.

That, my lad, was a dragon.

The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug (2013) (SPOILERS) It’s alarming how quickly Peter Jackson sabotaged all the goodwill he amassed in the wake of The Lord of the Rings trilogy. A guy who started out directing deliciously deranged homemade horror movies ended up taking home the Oscar for a fantasy movie, of all genres. And then he blew it. He went from a filmmaker whose naysayers were the exception to one whose remaining cheerleaders are considered slightly maladjusted. The Desolation of Smaug recovers some of the territory Jackson has lost over the last decade, but he may be too far-gone to ever regain his crown. Perhaps in years to come The Lord of the Rings trilogy will be seen as an aberration in his filmography. There’s a cartoonishness to the gleeful, twisted anarchy on display in his earlierr work that may be more attuned to the less verimilitudinous aspects of King Kong and The Hobbit s. The exceptions are his female-centric character dramas, Heavenly Creat

Gizmo caca!

Gremlins (1984) I didn’t get to see Gremlins at the cinema. I wanted to, as I had worked myself into a state of great anticipation. There was a six-month gap between its (unseasonal) US release and arrival in the UK, so I had plenty of time to devour clips of cute Gizmo on Film ’84 (the only reason ever to catch Barry Norman was a tantalising glimpse of a much awaited movie, rather than his drab, colourless, reviews) and Gremlins trading cards that came with bubble gum attached (or was it the other way round?). But Gremlins ’ immediate fate for many an eager youngster in Britain was sealed when, after much deliberation, the BBFC granted it a 15 certificate. I had just turned 12, and at that time an attempt to sneak in to see it wouldn’t even have crossed my mind. I’d just have to wait for the video. I didn’t realise it then (because I didn’t know who he was as a filmmaker), but Joe Dante’s irrepressible anarchic wit would have a far stronger effect on me than the un

Twenty dwarves took turns doing handstands on the carpet.

Bugsy (1991) (SPOILERS) Bugsy is very much a Warren Beatty vanity project (aren’t they all, even the ones that don’t seem that way on the surface?), to the extent of his playing a title character a decade and a half younger than him. As such, it makes sense that producer Warren’s choice of director wouldn’t be inclined to overshadow star Warren, but the effect is to end up with a movie that, for all its considerable merits (including a script from James Toback chock full of incident), never really feels quite focussed, that it’s destined to lead anywhere, even if we know where it’s going.

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls… dyin’ time’s here!

Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome (1985) Time was kind to Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome . As in, it was such a long time since I’d seen the “final chapter” of the trilogy, it had dwindled in my memory to the status of an “alright but not great” sequel. I’d half-expected to have positive things to say along the lines of it being misunderstood, or being able to see what it was trying for but perhaps failing to quite achieve. Instead, I re-discovered a massive turkey that is really a Mad Max movie in name only (appropriately, since Max was an afterthought). This is the kind of picture fans of beloved series tend to loathe; when a favourite character returns but without the qualities or tone that made them adored in the first place (see Indiana Jones in Kingdom of the Crystal Skull , or John McClane in the last two Die Hard s). Thunderdome stinks even more than the methane fuelling Bartertown. I hadn’t been aware of the origins of Thunderdome until recently, mainly because I was

Now In Full Color, with a Happier Ending

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