Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

Reviewed by J. Lunden on July 17, 2009

I’m getting dangerously close to becoming an adult. With every passing year, I seem to get more and more bothered by “today’s youth” and their activities. Their soulless pop music is even more soulless than ours was; they shop at stores like Hot Topic that turn cartoons I loved earnestly (Thundercats, HO!) into kitschy retro wear; they’re always texting during movies; they think doorbells are toys; they’re under the mistaken impression that vampires sparkle, not to mention that they seem unaware that only one of the Coreys can properly deal with teenage vampirism; and, for the love of God, pull your pants up! You look like a clown. Ahem. One thing the kids and I can agree on . . . is Harry Potter. And I find myself feeling grateful to Mr. Potter’s exploits, as I believe spirited adventure films like these keep us young with the cathartic benefits of wonder and awe. And Quidditch!

I’ve been present on or around opening day for all six Potter films, and I find that I get just as excited (or more so) about their release as any other major franchise. The Potter series remains one of the most intelligent and thoughtful studio endeavors in recent memory. The level of care, detail and, yes, sophistication, that go into making these films never ceases to impress. And the lack of condescension towards its young audience is perhaps its most admirable trait.

In this, the sixth film (or sixth year, if you prefer), we find Harry and company dealing with the ever approaching intentions of Lord Voldemort. People are disappearing as the dark lord recruits for his army, and dark witches and wizards known as Death Eaters are causing havoc in their realm, as well as in the Muggle (non-magical folk to the layperson) world. And to make matters worse, the entire student body of Hogwarts is at the mercy of their raging hormones. When the students aren’t battling dark forces, they’re in dark corners—snogging for dear life. (This is by far the cheekiest Potter film.)

With each new installment, the already daunting cast grows. Has there ever been a franchise with more classically-trained or lauded actors? The list reads like a who’s who of European thespianism: Richard Harris, Maggie Smith, Gary Oldman, Robbie Coltrane, John Hurt, Michael Gambon, and Kenneth Branagh, just to name a few. Even Doctor Who himself, David Tennant, made an appearance. Joining the cast this year is the excellent Jim Broadbent, who portrays Horace Slughorn, a professor who has a near-fetish for namedropping former students who have gone on to fame (or infamy) and fortune. Dumbledore (Michael Gambon) refers to him as a collector, because Slughorn keeps a rather vainglorious display of photographs, each depicting the image of one such former student. Of course, beneath Slughorn’s hubris lies a dark secret involving he who must not be named. Slughorn’s subplot is more personal and evocative than the usual cloak and dagger situations that arose with the previous additions to Hogwarts’ staff.

Most of the primary players are back in top form, as well. The three leads, Daniel Radcliffe, Rupert Grint and Emma Watson, have become fine actors in their own right. Even Watson, who often chewed the scenery in previous Potter films, was really quite good in Half-Blood Prince. I was especially pleased to see that Luna Lovegood (Evanna Lynch) carried over from the previous film. She was a particular favorite of mine, even if the character serves no grander function than whimsy.

I don’t read the books. I know, I know, but the literary Harry Potter just doesn’t do it for me. Perhaps if Ian McEwan or Nick Hornby had written of wizardry, I might find them to be a more palatable read, but, as it stands, I enjoy Rowling’s concepts more than her prose. Thankfully, the Potter series have enjoyed an array of talented writers and directors to port these wonderful stories to the realm of cinema. Some of the peripheral content gets lost in translation, but I’ve never felt shortchanged by the adaptations. More importantly, I’ve never felt baffled by anything centrally important to the narrative. This was especially true with the fifth film, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Directed by David Yates (The Girl in the Café), Phoenix is by far the strongest film in the series thus far, with a razor-sharp structure and efficient narrative that paid its due fan service, but never at the expense of the cinematic experience. In fact, Yates was so successful, the studio invited him to finish the final three films. With Half-Blood Prince, Yates proves once again to be the man for the job. He has a genuine knack for using atmosphere and environment to drive his story.

French cinematographer, Bruno Delbonnel (Amelie), takes over light-wrangling duties from Slawomir Idziak, and the result is a darker, more twisted view of Harry’s world. With lots of skewed angles and ominous movements, the camera takes on a decidedly wicked perspective. Almost all resemblance to Chris Columbus’s early Potter films has been shed, instead opting for the look and feel of macabre British horror. Foreshadowing what lies ahead for our heroes, Hogwarts has never felt colder or lonelier.

Yates’ film broods with a gnawing sense of urgency. It has an incredibly strong beginning and a doozy of a dénouement. Trust is the central theme here, as members of the Order of the Phoenix begin to suspect one another, and Harry is placed in the difficult position of following Dumbledore into the aphotic regions of Voldemort’s past. The relationship between Harry and Dumbledore has evolved now into a much more intricate and complex one. The two have a shorthand that is both delightful and grim, and they speak not as student and teacher, but as confidants. This is another reason I’m glad I haven’t read the books. I was genuinely surprised by some of Half-Blood Prince’s twists, turns and revelations.

Half-Blood Prince falters in a somewhat meandering second act. This film is obviously a bridge to the finale, but some sequences and events felt a bit like a stall. Hopefully these tangents will be shown as valuable in the final two films. Though, while I acknowledge that such tangents do not represent sound storytelling, I don’t actually mind them. I enjoy spending time at Hogwarts, even if we’re just aimlessly wandering the halls, or cleverly disguising a deus ex machina with a few wand flourishes. After six films, the Potter machine is well-oiled, and even the most extraneous mechanics can be enjoyed whilst I wag my finger.

I’m going to be very sad when this franchise wraps up. I’m really quite enamored with the mythology. Even with its lessons and morals being front and center, the Potter films have been mercifully un-preachy—a rarity in films geared towards the young. More than anything, I adore the cast’s affectionate familiarity. Watching each new installment feels like coming home, like visiting old friends. Even though I was twenty-something when the Potter films began, I feel like I’ve grown up with Harry, Ron and Hermione. Their adventures, though at times derivative, never fail to surprise me, to shock me, to devastate me. That’s something I desperately want to hold on to, and I don’t want the curmudgeonly grip of adulthood to rob me of it. So, perhaps the kids are all right—with their damn music and newfangled whatchamacallits. Perhaps it’s just the natural evolution of things that determines that I must look back with affection and forward with distain.

But, for now, I still find myself in suspense over what happens next. I still get irritated when there’s not a Quidditch scene (don’t worry, Half-Blood Prince has two!). My eyes still widen at the beauty of the Patronus charm. And how many times now have we seen Harry hug all 90 members of the Weasley family on his way to Hogwarts? Yet, it doesn’t matter, because I smile through every hug—because I’m pleased to see them, too. (Lovely people, those Weasleys.)