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Harry
Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban
Warner Brothers
136 minutes (PG rating)
Commentary by Lee Ramsey
Harry
Potter fans who have been eagerly awaiting the bespectacled
young wizard’s return to Hogwarts will not be disappointed.
Like its forerunners, The Sorcerer’s Stone and
The Chamber of Secrets, The Prisoner of
Azkaban is adapted from the astonishingly popular
book series of British novelist, J.K. Rowling. The books
and their cinematic adaptations follow the young wizards,
Harry Potter and his friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione
Granger, through increasingly sinister and sometimes
hilarious adventures at boarding school. Fantasy and
fact, magic and reality – liberally doused with
English folklore, crumbling castles, and mystical, foggy,
oh-so-British scenery -- all come together in the Harry
Potter world.
From
a cinematic standpoint, suffice it to say that the new
direction of Alfonso Cuaron brings a much appreciated
subtlety and deepening of suspense to the series. The
subtlety comes as we see Potter and friends growing into
adolescence, prone to violent outbursts of temper and
early awakenings of romantic attraction (Ron and Hermione “innocently” hold
hands at a couple of points in the movie). As for the
suspense, Prisoner of Azkaban, especially the
last hour of the movie, will not let you rest. Harry
and friends unravel the secret of Sirius Black, the prisoner
of the book’s title, fight off the soul-sucking
dementors who hover over Hogwarts, and witness teacher
Lupin’s transformation into a werewolf. For movie
entertainment, you can’t go wrong with The
Prisoner of Azkaban. But it does more than entertain.
The
movie develops several themes that reward the perceptive
viewer. At the core of all the Harry Potter books and
movies is the very human need for parental love and identification.
Harry may be a precocious wizard capable of casting the “patronus” charm
that will ward off the power of death. He may ride the
fastest broom in the annual quidditch match and be able
to divine the future. But underneath the burdened and
charmed life of the youthful wizard is the hunger for
the very thing that Harry has been denied – the
love of a mother and father. That his parents sacrificed
their own lives to save Harry from Voldemort, the prince
of darkness, only sharpens the pain. When Sirius, Harry’s
godfather, tells him, “ You look so much like your
father, except your eyes, which are your mother’s,” we
can almost touch Harry’s longing to know them,
to understand himself through his forever absent parents.
We want to believe Sirius when he tells Harry that “The
ones who love us never leave us." But with Harry
we know that loss is real. The death of one’s parents,
whatever the circumstances, leaves a scar as painful
as the one upon Harry’s forehead.
Harry
is marked. The mark that he received through the original
struggle with Voldemort signifies a certain calling and
responsibility. Harry is the one who can ultimately face
the power of darkness, and because he can, he is called
upon to sacrifice again and again. But Harry’s
willingness to risk himself – for Sirius, for Buckbeak
(a magical half eagle, half horse), for his friends – seems
more an act of human courage and loyalty than reliance
upon superhuman powers.
This
is part of the movie’s deepest appeal. Harry is
never quite sure if he will prevail, but when circumstances
require it, as in the saving of Sirius Black’s
life, Harry is willing to risk his own life on behalf
of others. At one point in the movie, he even pleads
for the life of the rat-like Peter Pettigrew who betrayed
his parents. Harry’s actions inspire others in
the movie - Ron and Hermione for example - to give themselves
away on behalf of others. Such self-sacrifice and charity
seems terribly out of step with a narcissistic culture
that urges “self-actualization.” Countering
this culture of self-absorption, Harry the orphaned wizard
points us in another direction -- towards concern for
others. Though gently, and without the use of heavy-handed
religious symbolism, The Prisoner of Azkaban raises
a deeply human and spiritual question: for what and for
whom are we willing to risk ourselves?
At
the end of the movie, when Harry, Hermione, and Sirius
Black jump upon the back of the majestic and magical
Buckbeak to complete Sirius’ escape, the music
soars. Could J.K. Rowling, like her British literary
forebears J.R.R. Tolkien or C.S. Lewis, have, if not
a specific biblical scripture, at least an allusion in
mind (“They shall mount up with wings like eagles,
they shall run and not grow weary, they shall walk and
not faint”)? For a few moments, at least until
the next Harry Potter installment, goodness has found
its wings. The oddly gratifying thing about it is that
for all the movie’s enchantment, the majestic ending
is not so much the fulfillment of fantasy as the result
of a joining of compassionate human hearts and sturdy
hands with all the earthly forces that conspire for goodness.
Copyright @ 2004 Lee Ramsey.
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