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By Dylan B Jones
Right from its rain-whipping, thestral-careening start, the most recent cinematic foray into the Potterverse is certainly one thing…confusing. In fact, as a platinum blonde Johnny Depp slides around the top of an airborne carriage, computer generated creatures braying and yapping around him, a mistily realised question drifts, dementor-like, into the conscience…WHY?
The answer, as is so often the case with this influx of nostalgia exploiting reboots, sequels, prequels and rehashes, is almost certainly…money. JK Rowling and Warner Brothers raking it in with a series of hastily jumbled together films, based on a 128-page booklet published in aid of Comic Relief in 2001. It’s hard not to conclude that the Fantastic Beasts films – of which there are possibly a total five planned – are taking advantage of the fact that many Harry Potter fans are so understandably desperate to be apparated back into the magical universe, that they’ll flock to anything involving a tantalising shot of Hogwarts and a hoarsely whispered “lumos!”
Unfortunately, The Crimes of Grindelwald falls short, by a long way, not just of every Harry Potter film, but also of its equally pointless but much more charming predecessor, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, released back in 2016.
Its main stumbling point is the plot. It has the whiff of a movie that’s seen the editing room one too many times – perhaps one too many thousand times. Reams of pained, forehead-clutching script edits, special effects tweaks, story re-writes, re-shoots and re-takes until finally the production team and JK probably just sighed, threw their hands up and said “well for god’s sake, this is probably as good as we’re gonna get it, send it off to Vue Cinemas Wood Green!”
The plot is overblown and random, with ridiculous twists that would put even the kitschiest telenovella to shame. The tone is weird too – extraordinarily dark themes of murder and fascism interspersed with cute creatures frolicking through cobbled streets. The much-hyped revelation of Dumbledore’s gayness is, to use a glib 2018 term, straight-washed. There are a couple of vague hints, but the days of wink-wink-nudge-nudge gay references in movies should be over. Hints aren’t enough anymore. It’s insulting, and it’s transparently just to keep all audiences happy.
This film DOES have a couple of redeeming qualities. It looks stunning, and the cast is charming. Jude Law is flawless as Dumbledore, capturing the character convincingly, even down to the semi-Irish inflection adopted by Michael Gambon in the later Potter movies. Ezra Miller is beguiling as the beleaguered Credence, and an entrancing Zöe Kravitz is a welcome edition as Leta Lestrange – in fact, her character is the most intriguing aspect of the movie.
Its overall highlight though is the return, mostly through flashbacks, to Hogwarts. A warm feeling pervades as we’re reintroduced to the flagstone halls, the Mirror of Erised, phoenixes, flip-up wooden desks and even at one point, McGonagall’s dulcet Scottish scolding. It vividly and unignorably draws to attention what’s ultimately wrong with this movie – it’s not Harry Potter. It’s not what we know and love from our childhood. It’s just another big old CGI action cash cow. Zero points to Gryffindor.
Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes Of Grindelwald is out now.
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