The end is nigh, but the penultimate Harry Potter adventure is a highly creative and lively affair, if lacking the genuinely scary moments it requires, says David Gritten.
Let it be said straight away that the seventh film in the Harry Potter series, by now a predictably reliable brand, achieves precisely what it sets out to do, laying the groundwork for next year’s final episode in this decade-long franchise.
Even better news is that the shooting style in the Deathly Hallows: Part 1 is more dynamic and visceral than in the past three outings, providing a much-needed jolt of adrenalin, in the same way the third (and best) Potter film, The Prisoner of Azkaban, stepped up a few gears from its blander predecessors. Directing his third Harry Potter episode, David Yates offers his most creative, thoughtful work to date.
But is it my imagination, or is every one of these films marketed approvingly as darker than those preceding it? Deathly Hallows: Part 1 certainly is, and its first line, spoken by Bill Nighy as the Minister of Magic, confirms as much: “These are dark times, there’s no denying.”
By this, he means the evil Voldemort plans to ambush and kill Harry Potter, and has summoned the Death Eaters to finalise the details. Harry and his pals Hermione and Ron must flee for their lives. Yet in truth, Part 1 is only mildly scary.
Still, its premise makes for a bright start. There’s a striking early scene with Hermione (Emma Watson) waving a wand at her parents, thus erasing herself from their memories. And Harry’s flight to a safe house is enabled by a decoy scheme involving the mutation of his security detail into six Harry lookalikes – a conceit that becomes amusing when seven Daniel Radcliffes appear on screen.
J K Rowling’s plot hands the film another gift: it transfers the trio from the stifling environment of Hogwart’s to a bigger, broader world. Watching Harry, Hermione and Ron (Rupert Grint) on Shaftesbury Avenue, in the Dartford Tunnel, on cliff tops and deserted beaches makes them more insecure and vulnerable, recalling the children they were in the first films.
And the predictable virtues of the franchise have not been compromised: world-class production design by Stuart Craig, arresting photography from Eduardo Serra and a supporting cast that now seems to comprise at least half the living British actors who ever won a Bafta.
They buttress a likeable trio of actors now on the cusp of adulthood. Watson and Grint especially are extended as never before: Hermione, once a faintly unappealing little swot, emerges as a bright, brave, resourceful young woman. Grint effectively conveys sexual jealousy over Harry and Hermione’s closeness before storming off for a while.
But that’s the extent of the good news. The film sags inexcusably in its middle section, when the leads escape and set up camp to a forest. This passage is leaden and full of verbose exposition. It reminded me of every spell I’ve ever spent under canvas: I couldn’t wait for it to end. At this point, “Harry Potter and the Deathly Longueurs” seems a more appropriate title.
Screenwriter Steve Kloves seems determined to cram in as much detail from Rowling’s works as he can; and while his reluctance to dump subplots and minor characters may appease more zealous readers, it disfigures the film. There’s too much information, yet paradoxically it feels padded out.
Still, one consolation in the forest section is a brief scene in which Harry and Hermione, both in melancholy mood, hear a song on the radio (Nick Cave’s affecting O Children) and start to dance, a bit awkwardly, exchanging rueful smiles and longing gazes. It feels loose and spontaneous, and its low-key, nuanced performance hints at the essence of their friendship more tellingly than any scene in the series to date. One yearns for more such moments, but they never arrive.
And so, the end is near – though not as near as all that. There’s still Part 2 to go, and it seems to be a contractual obligation that all Harry Potter films must run to about 150 minutes – a Hollywood notion of supersizing that equates length with value and quality. So that’ll be five whole hours to do justice to The Deathly Hallows, then.
No surprise there. Commerce always tends to trump art, and if Warners can gross close to $1 billion with every Harry Potter film, then eight of them look a better proposition than a mere seven. For all its strengths, Part 1 cranks up one’s feelings of trepidation about Part 2 – 3D or no 3D. At this rate of knots, it promises to be a long haul.
Still, its premise makes for a bright start. There’s a striking early scene with Hermione (Emma Watson) waving a wand at her parents, thus erasing herself from their memories. And Harry’s flight to a safe house is enabled by a decoy scheme involving the mutation of his security detail into six Harry lookalikes – a conceit that becomes amusing when seven Daniel Radcliffes appear on screen.
J K Rowling’s plot hands the film another gift: it transfers the trio from the stifling environment of Hogwart’s to a bigger, broader world. Watching Harry, Hermione and Ron (Rupert Grint) on Shaftesbury Avenue, in the Dartford Tunnel, on cliff tops and deserted beaches makes them more insecure and vulnerable, recalling the children they were in the first films.
And the predictable virtues of the franchise have not been compromised: world-class production design by Stuart Craig, arresting photography from Eduardo Serra and a supporting cast that now seems to comprise at least half the living British actors who ever won a Bafta.
They buttress a likeable trio of actors now on the cusp of adulthood. Watson and Grint especially are extended as never before: Hermione, once a faintly unappealing little swot, emerges as a bright, brave, resourceful young woman. Grint effectively conveys sexual jealousy over Harry and Hermione’s closeness before storming off for a while.
But that’s the extent of the good news. The film sags inexcusably in its middle section, when the leads escape and set up camp to a forest. This passage is leaden and full of verbose exposition. It reminded me of every spell I’ve ever spent under canvas: I couldn’t wait for it to end. At this point, “Harry Potter and the Deathly Longueurs” seems a more appropriate title.
Screenwriter Steve Kloves seems determined to cram in as much detail from Rowling’s works as he can; and while his reluctance to dump subplots and minor characters may appease more zealous readers, it disfigures the film. There’s too much information, yet paradoxically it feels padded out.
Still, one consolation in the forest section is a brief scene in which Harry and Hermione, both in melancholy mood, hear a song on the radio (Nick Cave’s affecting O Children) and start to dance, a bit awkwardly, exchanging rueful smiles and longing gazes. It feels loose and spontaneous, and its low-key, nuanced performance hints at the essence of their friendship more tellingly than any scene in the series to date. One yearns for more such moments, but they never arrive.
And so, the end is near – though not as near as all that. There’s still Part 2 to go, and it seems to be a contractual obligation that all Harry Potter films must run to about 150 minutes – a Hollywood notion of supersizing that equates length with value and quality. So that’ll be five whole hours to do justice to The Deathly Hallows, then.
No surprise there. Commerce always tends to trump art, and if Warners can gross close to $1 billion with every Harry Potter film, then eight of them look a better proposition than a mere seven. For all its strengths, Part 1 cranks up one’s feelings of trepidation about Part 2 – 3D or no 3D. At this rate of knots, it promises to be a long haul.
By David Gritten
