matrix meets speed meets terrorist paranoia? meet source code.

genre-mash-up-to-the-max

wait. what?

childhood.

I sucame to the epic sweeping camera with a fancy wide angle lens. For years I have resented the fancy footwork that is aligned with a gratuitous Michael Bay pic, but as the fiery cars exploded in IMAX highdef as Hagrid swooped Sirius' flying motorbike into a busy London tunnel I could not help but return to those naive sensations associated with one's first action film or classic car chase.

I am so fucking jaded most of the time. Honestly, it takes a lot to make me cringe, gasp, jump or even stir nowadays. But this film, bringing an end to an era that has defined the last fifteen years of my life, literally caused me to digress as a filmic viewer. The Harry Potter film franchise took little liberty with Rowling's original tale. Allowing the most indulgent first-part finish to the seven part series. For two and a half hours we relish in the intricacies of the seventh book, leaving behind those without prior knowledge or careful attention to the elegant development of the narrative. And at this point, if you don't know what's going on, get the hell out my theater. Harry, Ron and Hermione venture off into the wild (or incredible landscapes of the United Kingdom countryside) as full-on adult wizard, without a trace, without Dumbledore, and frankly without a clue of what to do. Relishing in Nazi imagery and heavy-handed visual reference to the Holocaust, this is a dark and dangerous world; and frankly full-on PG-13. But what all the Hollywood and Hogwarts magic added up to was a pretty clean film. It was polished in the most mainstream of sense, carefully interweaving the expensive sweeping helicopter shots with the constructed handheld camera work when the going got tough. Sure the narrative, to the unknowing viewer, may leave some explanation to be desired, but for the fan, for the child who never received their Hogwarts letter, it was as close to narrative justice and we're going to get. We can't go back and fix the mistakes of the past 6 films (cough, Goblet of Fire cough) but we can have this one.

So as I began to point to at the beginning of my eulogy to the last twelve years of my life. the cinematic polish and flash of the film combined with loyal narrative adaption allowed me for just a few flickering moment to return to a naive viewing position. One where the mesmerized child took hold to derive pleasure from the Hollywood glitz and glam that now makes my stomach churn and have even come to resent. I was ten years old again. Watching a film I'm not quite old enough to see. And completely absorbed, nostalgic and sad at the same time. It was almost too much. Shit. We'll see what the final part brings...