| The
general consensus is that this is the ‘best’ Harry
Potter movie, but Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban’s
second act doesn’t start until the one hour and six
minute mark. This kind of structural incompetence and testing
of my patience is totally inexcusable in Hollywood and my
DVD player, which means the first sixty-six minutes were soundtracked
by me and movie companion Harris ruining the movie for Potter
apologists and fellow movie companions Franke and Jane with
sporadic “This fucking sucks!” The frequency of
its inconsequential ‘action’ sequences reminded
me of the Tom Hanks CG nightmare known as The Polar Express,
which bored the cabin-pressured shit out of me on an airplane
ride to Colorado last December with all its videogamey flying
through tunnels and other duodenal feats of diversionary plotlessness.
In any case I haven’t read any of these stupid books
nor seen any of the other stupid movies, save the first stupid
one, the entire stupid contents of which I don’t remember.
So
anyway when not mehhing and booing Harris and I were audibly
stupefied by the thematic content of Azkaban, namely
its xenophobic take on the serious black threat to global
white capitalism, a neocon abstract villain personified here
with the literally named Serious Black (Gary Oldman). Apologists
Franke and Jane informed me and Harris (in response to our
mutual “What the Fuck?”s) that the ‘Serious’
is in fact 'Sirius', but this fact, while admissible, is undercut
by the lack of any textual support within the movie itself
as well as the ‘fact’ that Jane has read every
one of these bullshits and Franke thought the second Potter
movie was ‘tight’ while also opining that the
way good rom-com 13 Going on 30 was ‘awful’.
Nor did they have an answer as to why the lone black kid wizard
is appointed the resident house expert on the seriousness
of Serious Black’s nefariousness, or why the only other
black character with a speaking part is a disembodied shrunken
Rastafarian head dangling from a rearview mirror.
But
at some point the movie abandons its after school special
on keeping the world safe for boring white kids and their
multi-culti uncle tom brethren in favor of a conflation of
Oedipus and the onset of secondary sex characteristics. Total
pussy Harry is saved from horror (I forget what exactly) by
what he assumes for some reason is his dead father, whose
apparition sprays its white magic seed[1]
all over Harry’s cowering face. It’s only later
through some unexciting something or other that we realize
that it is Harry himself, traveling back in time, who saves
his own earlier ass by successfully beating off for the first
time: he strokes his wand and blows his load so hard that
his white magic obliterates anything not totally fucking stupid
within a 2.40:1 anamorphic radius. Meaning that Harry and
his stupid fucking friends live to see another day, a day
in which everyone in the entire most boringest school ever
runs outside to see Harry’s new pubes and adult-looking
cock in the form of his deluxe edition replacement broomstick.
For those who assert that Harry’s two-handed and proud
grappling of the ‘broomstick’ between his legs
isn’t an overt reference to something penile and pubescent,
I refer you to the recalled Harry Potter Nimbus 2000 vibrating
broomstick and the Amazon.com customer reviews (since removed)
thereof, some of which are still available for perusal here.
_________________________
[1]
Perhaps this white seed is the “enormously pleasing
essence of the Potter books” [italics mine] that
Kenneth Turan of the L.A. Times is referring to in
his review?
|