Slytherin trading cards, a Hogwarts Lego set, a Forbidden Forest plush pillow set: our love of all things supposedly magical truly is an addiction. We're always chasing that initial high the first words that plunged us into a world so spectacularly unlike our own. But, therein lies the problem. The more Harry unPotter we consume, the less novel it becomes, and the more we need to buy a cycle destined to leave us perpetually unfulfilled.
As Michael Bronski, who teaches in the Women and Gender Studies Department, superbly described of the series in the Boston Phoenix, "Magic completely reverses what we consider normal. Portraits talk, mythical animals live, cars fly, enchantment spells work, talking hats make decisions for us: it is the world turned upside down." Unfortunately, the industry surrounding the Potter books keeps the world firmly stationed right side up. Take, for example, the sixth installment of the Harry Potter movies. Clearly, a three-hour movie cannot capture the brilliance of a 900-page masterpiece. What was so offensive as a Harry Potter fan, however, was how the filmmakers replaced the novel's originality with triteness.
Warner Brother's marketing team must have decided that giggly, pre-pubescent, angsty teenagers were the demographic most likely to watch the film because the sexual tension between Hermoine and Ron a minor detail in the novel became a focal point of the movie. "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince" was the darkest novel yet in the series; violence, fear, and distrust penetrate both the wizarding and the Muggle world. Yet, in the film, Ron's biggest problem is his reckless hormones. This enormous shift in tone left me wondering if David Yates had bothered to read the books at all. I was even more convinced that he Spark-Noted the novel as I watched the Weasley's home burn and Harry fall into the inferi-infested waters. These visual effects, while spectacular, show how unimportant Yates considered the novel's actual plot. And what could possibly be worse than this bastardization of Rowling's brilliance? The fact that I'll still see both installments of the seventh movie, and you probably will, too.
Recently, a fellow Potter fan blitzed me an update on the progress of The Wizarding World of Harry Potter Orland Studios' newest theme park. Among other magical attractions, The Wizarding World will feature a replica of Olivander's Wand Shop, complete with a selection of "personalized" wands only personalized in the sense that the actors at the shop have memorized a flow chart that assures you a highly customized, pre-manufactured wand after two to five minutes of conversation. And, if your individual personality qualifies you for a more expensive wand, it may even have powers as magical as Bluetooth or function as a remote control.
I'm too jaded to be surprised that J.K. Rowling auctioned off her integrity to an industry with moral scruples only Lucius Malfoy could appreciate. And I don't blame Yates and company for reducing Harry Potter's brilliance to an assembly line of souvenirs and stocking stuffers. Their industries revolve around replacing our imaginations with hollow magic, regardless of how poorly they accomplish that. They're in the business of producing profit and nothing makes money apparate like Hogwarts. What I do regret, however, is that our Muggle consumerism and Harry Potter's magic are fundamentally opposed. Using my fake wand with its plastic phoenix-feather core to increase the volume on my plasma TV hardly turns the world upside down.
Our addiction is severe. Despite critics' lukewarm reviews, the Harry Potter films have still grossed over $5.3 billion, and The Wizarding World of Harry Potter will likely prove similarly lucrative. But the allure of "Harry Potter" is that it deviates so completely from our own world. The films, amusement rides and themed-shops may satisfy our carnal desires, but they're a cheap high and a bad hangover. As soul crushing as it is to admit, Harry Potter's magic may be exhausted. Nothing can compare to the awe of our first time reading the novels. So, unless Orlando Studios can erase our memories of the seven novels during our visit, we'll leave feeling the same way as the Middlebury quidditch team after a match: drained, with our feet firmly planted on the ground and the stark reminder that our Nimbus 2000 is just a broom.
