The books defined a generation. Not just any generation, either: OURS. We are the group of 20-somethings who grew up with the wondrous Boy Who Lived. We adopted the orphan protagonist into our homes and into our hearts, and year by year, book by book, we grew up with him. Harry Potter was the best friend we all longed for, consciously or not; he taught us about courage, love, and how to overcome the many heartbreaks that speckle the twisty path to becoming an adult. He also provided comfort and encouragement when our days seemed most dark – after all, no matter how difficult our journey through adolescence may have been, at least we weren’t being hunted by a murderous evil Dark Lord, as well.
The seventh and final book in J.K. Rowling’s ubiquitous series, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, was released on July 21, 2007. I was 19 years old. As I sobbed my way through the final pages, I felt the dawning realization that my childhood was ending, with the resolution of an epic story I had been following faithfully for almost a decade. It was time for Harry to move on and begin a new journey; it was time for him to accept his new role in society as an adult. It was also my turn to do the same, even though I was certain I was not yet fully prepared. But if Harry could do it, well, damnit, so could I, though I certainly lacked his talent in broomstick flying.
Three and a half years later, Harry has returned to check in on us. At least, that’s how it feels. Of course, the latest installment in the Harry Potter movie franchise is really just the next stage in Warner Bros.’ multi-million dollar plan to milk our country’s HP-fever for all it’s worth, but while the previous films seemed to suck out most of the magical wonder of Harry’s world as if they were made by Dementors (I’m looking at you, Chris Columbus), I would define Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1 as the Potter film we superfans have all been waiting for.
The books grew darker as Harry grew older, and Part 1 is definitely aimed at a mature movie-going audience. It’s raw, gritty, and painfully beautiful. This is the first Harry Potter movie I would describe as an excellent film, Potterness aside, because all the elements of filmmaking come together in a unique combination that keeps viewers on the edge of simultaneously experiencing ten different varieties of emotions for a well-paced 2 1/2 hours. The searing cinematography and more fully realized acting performances pay their due homage to the sanctity of Harry’s world, and the film follows the book's plot closely, a luxury afforded by the fact that the movie was rightfully split into two parts. The movie seems to look out at the eager faces of the audience and bow to them, humbly, while gesturing grandly at the intangible, esteemed force that is Harry Potter. It’s a force that’s detectable from the very opening of the film, when the theater inevitably erupts in a round of rousing cheers as the Harry Potter logo floats to the center of the screen.
Harry Potter has come to symbolize so much more than just a handful of well-crafted young adult novels and some rather erratic films about a boy wizard. Harry Potter is now an indisputable part of our culture, and, more specifically, he embodies the spirit of Generation Y. Our generation is independent, fearless, intelligent, demanding, and restless, reflecting the mannerisms of Rowling’s unsettled but brave protagonist.
While most members of Gen Y aren’t quite certain where our lives are going to take us, it helps to keep in mind this quote from Harry’s ever-wise and faithful mentor, Albus Dumbledore:
“It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.”
Harry, I would like you to know that while I am still frequently frightened by the perilous unknowns that await me in the Land of Adulthood, I am making it through just fine, even without a wand. Thank you for being such a big part of my life. I appreciate you stopping by.
-- Amy Kristen
The lowly candle has played a significant role in many films. It has been used for the scary effect, the dramatic scene, romantic scenes, in comedies, and as symbols of goodness.
In The Abyess (1989) the character Lindsey Bergman has a long section of dialogue in which she symbolizes faithfulness or sticking together with someone no matter what by reminding Bud what she had said before about everyone being alone. She goes on to remind him of what he said and did in response.
“I know how alone you feel... alone in all that cold blackness... but I'm there in the dark with you. Oh Bud you're not alone... Oh, God. You remember that time - you were pretty drunk, you probably don't remember - but the power went out in that little apartment we had on Orange Street? We were staring at that one little candle, and I, I said something really dumb like, that candle was me, and like every one of us is out there alone in the dark in this life... and you just, you just lit up another candle and you put it beside mine and said "No! See, that's me. That's me"... and we stared at the two candles, and then... well, if you remember any of this, I'm sure you remember the next part. But there are two candles in the dark. I'm with you. I'll always be with you Bud, I promise that.”
Bell, book, and candle have been a phrase in western culture since the 9th century. The Roman Catholic Church started a form of excommunication from the church at that time that involved these objects. Someone that had committed a very horrendous sin could be excommunicated in this manner. Twelve priests and a bishop perform the ceremony. They would recite an oath that separated the sinner from the church and say, "So be it!"
Then the bishop rang the bell. This signified spiritual death. He shut a holy book, which depicted the excommunicant’s being separated from the church, and snuffed out one or more candles and slapped them to fall on the floor. This action signified that the sinner’s soul had been extinguished and was distanced from God.
How does that scenario relate to movies? It definitely relates to one, Bell, Book, and Candle, which was adapted from a play by John Van Druten. Daniel Taradash wrote the screenplay. It is a fun comedy from 1958 about modern witch (Gillian) that falls in love with a neighbor (Shep). He is engaged to a college rival (Merle) and she decides to charm her rival’s fiancée into falling in love with her, but her scheme backfires as she finds herself in love with him.
Thus, Gillian loses her supernatural powers; she has to make a choice between love and the powers and the powers lose. When Shep finds out that she is a witch and what she has done he is mad. Gillian tries to cause Merle to fall in love with the first man she sees and other schemes to get rid of her. But Merle finds out that because of romantic love she is now powerless. Meanwhile, Shep gets another witch to break the hold that Gillian has on him and he goes away, but comes back after several months have passed. When he sees that she doesn’t have her magical powers anymore he reconciles with her.
Though it isn’t explained outright in the movie, the relationship to the Catholic ceremony and use of candles is implied in the name of the film. Being a witch is the grievous sin, which the name is pointing at in the film. This movie and the play take place in Greenwich Village. The original play of 1950 evokes a gay element in the village.
The phrase, book, bell, and candle became infused in our culture and it is used in songs, computer games, poems, and board games. It is part and fabric of ours lives and candles are too. There are many candle films to explore. Until next time, don’t snuff out your candle.
