Latest Potter spin-off plot was a bit of a damp squib...
The sheer number of plot holes made it impossible for you to get into it. Parts made no sense. Timelines didn’t match books
WHEN you are young there are certain things that you are told which don’t always make sense at the time.
Like the fact that at Christmas an obese bloke with an aversion to shaving is going to rock up in your living room.
He is going to have a quick drink, eat a pie, give his reindeer one of its five a day and leave you with loads of presents.
Wondering how he is going to get down your chimney that is literally blocked by an electric fire place? (He’s magic.)
Curious as to how a man you have never met knows that you really want the Nintendo 64 game Goldeneye? (He’s magic – and he’s had a list sent to his workshop in the North Pole.)
Why does he decide to give you fewer toys the year dad got made redundant? (He is living within his means because we are all in this together.)
I was nearly nine when I stopped believing in the magic of Santa.
This means, as any cheesy festive movie will tell you, I’m now about ripe to have a sickly-sweet epiphany where I’ll learn the error of my ways.
Santa will show up at my home/ office with a twinkle in his eye, save Christmas for the whole of Wales, and gently chide me for my unbelieving ways, having turned me into a full-on believer again.
As a child, I seemed to have quite a scattergun approach to such thinking, as I decided that the idea of God was ridiculous aged about six.
Father Richard had come into assembly and for the one billionth time told us that we were sinners because some woman had chowed down on some fruit she got from a reptile.
At the age of 72 months I can clearly remember deciding that I did not believe in God any more.
Father Christmas continued to have much more credibility in my eyes that poor Father Richard and his guitar.
It was at least another two years before I started to doubt Santa.
But there are some magical memories from childhood that don’t have to be crushed by adulthood. I am talking about Harry Potter. HP and I have essentially grown up together. As he got older I got older.
When I read the first book I was 11, and I came of age about the same time as him.
I absolutely loved it.
Only Lord of the Rings came close in my affections.
Indeed, the idea of being a wizard or elf was high up on my list of things to do until I hit 16 and realised there were girls in my class.
As I got older, went to uni and then got a job, I still read the Harry Potter books. They work so well.
Leaving aside the plot hole that almost none of the bad things that occurred (Sirius dying etc) would have happened if they had used a Nokia 3210 instead of an owl, they were great.
By the end of the seventh book you realise Rowling had known what she was doing all along. All the loose ends come together and you understand why everything happened the way it did. The reason it worked is that it makes sense.
It is a treasured childhood memory that I look back on with fondness because I can still appreciate it. When you look back at the Harry Potter books through the eyes of an adult they get better because you realise how good they are.
This was until I entered the Odeon in Cardiff Bay last Sunday and watched The Crimes of Grindelwald (stop reading now if you don’t want spoilers).
Visually it looked epic. The effects were outrageously good. However, the sheer number of plot holes made it impossible for you to get into it. Parts made no sense. Timelines didn’t match the books. Important characters from the books were passed over with just lip service and development.
Why did this need to be made? I know that Rowling has essentially licence to print money.
Put “Harry Potter and the” in front of anything and you make billions.
But the problem with doing this film is that you water down the wizarding world you have created.
It then has the effect of putting a downer on everything that you made before that was so good.
Please JK, don’t send my Harry Potter memories the same way as Santa or Jesus.