Disturbed

Laudably disturbing

Cleverly disconcerting

Repulsive but not exactly (?)

Ian McEwan's The Cement Garden rendered me too incoherent for logical speech. For now, at least. McEwan's style is uncanny. He forges the grotesque into something remotely tolerable depicting it in subdued horror, nonetheless. At one point, he makes you laugh and later in the day when you remember laughing over it, you suddenly feel a nagging guilt of having a sick sense of humor. Just when you thought of finally shedding off its effect on you, the story invades the mind in between REMs. No, the mind doest not attempt to direct a reel to reel plot of the story instead, it shamefully rehashes extracts of your life which you hypocritically deemed innocent. And you wake up profusely sweating, gasping for air and then, curse the poor air-conditioner.

The story also calls to mind an idiosyncratic film director in the Philippines when asked about the movie he dreams of directing, "... a movie that exposes the blackness of the human soul not one that attempts to judge or seek redemption... just the sheer blackness of the human soul."

Potter's End

And so the tapestry of Harry Potter draws to a close. Pass me that tissue and salonpas.

For the past 24 hours, my nose has been buried in the final Potter saga hence, the taut nape. Yet, every page was all worth it (if not more) sans the saccharine epilogue. I have to give JK Rowling a standing ovation for not aiming for the tear ducts but went right smack into patching almost all of the loose ends. Don’t get me wrong though, the tragic fate of several well-loved characters was truly heartrending. Laudably, Rowling never succumbed to distasteful melodrama. Clap. Clap.

After the first six chapters, I had to put the book down. I just had to. A sudden attack of the nerves made me want to rush to the nearest sari-sari store for a quick puff. And I’m not even a smoker. Amazing how too soon it has taken me to an extreme trough and peak and back. See, I had to brace myself lest I pass out.

To surprise the readers with facts of something that’s right under our noses is JK Rowling’s trademark. The Mirror of Erised, the truth about Moaning Myrtle, the rumored haunted Shrieking Shack, the seemingly menacing Whomping Willow, the twin core wands of Harry and Voldemort, the squib Arabella Figg, the real half-blood Prince, the Horcruxes are just a few surprises in the preceding books. In the final sequel, the author has continued to regale us with shocking truths of the magical world although much lesser this time. The revelation of Severus Snape’s true allegiance and my favorite character Albus Dumbledore’s past was like being stupefied. Being a self-confessed klutz, I have developed an aversion to sports and anything related to it. That’s why I was never really smitten with quidditch no matter the ingenuity. It came as a surprise that a single truth about the snitch can transform me into an admirer of the idea of quidditch. However, the impact of knowing about the snitch is not strong enough to make an aficionado of sports out of me. Still, I must say, the bit about the snitch is brilliant.

In this final tale, we are to witness several atrocities and tragic deaths. Inevitably, fear and gloom pervades the entire magical community even the muggle society. The revelation in the pensieve, numerous sacrifices of friends and the deaths of six characters that have such strong influences to Harry lead him to fully understand and accept the prophecy that “neither can live while the other survives.”

Every so often, I had to clutch my chest just to keep up with the intense rapid turn of events. Amidst the rather dark theme, it’s a good thing that JK Rowling was able to maintain a good swash of humour. If in the past books we are almost bereft of suspense and astonishing duels, this book surely leaves any reader even the most lethargic amongst us in a bloody awesome breathlessness.

Potterish

Rrrriiing…. goes off the second alarm.

Oh no. The first screening starts at 10:25 a.m. I only have about ten minutes to spare for a shower, breakfast and get dressed to make it on time. By the moment I hit the road, it was already 10 am. I vaguely remember muttering inside the cab, “Oh! Harry, don’t start without me!” A situation like this makes you wish for a time turner or some magical incantation that can somehow slow down time. Since I was running late naturally the traffic was bad. A sheer nightmare. Cars, buses and commuters have gone amok. Alright, I’m bluffing. The road was just well..... packed. It simply did not help at all to my rising agitation nor abated the desire to shove the head-bopping cabbie who seems to relish my seething annoyance.

At 10:38a.m., I was resigned to accept my shameful defeat of waiting for the next screening. Hordes and hordes of regrets of not sleeping early exacerbated my despair. What can I do? The night before, I was caught in a hot spot of emotions from being euphoric with anticipation over Harry Potter to feeling extremely disappointed over something. But that story is destined to fill a different page.

There I was clumsily trudging my flab to Potter at 10:45 a.m. While catching my breath, I met a fellow potterhead, Roque who told me piquantly that the movie has NOT started yet. I had to restrain the urge of planting Roque a slobbery kiss! And in rare times, we just have to be grateful for certain absurdities such as the infamous Filipino time.

Thirty minutes or so has passed since I found my seat, I can hear sparse murmurs of complaints over the long-delayed show time. Guiltily, I can’t bring myself to complain. At this instance, I just can’t help feeling kinder to late-comers.

At 11:35 a.m., Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix came alive on the screen and my goosebumps were rising. I have to admit the movie started out rather bland for I was expecting a righteously angry Harry Potter and an erratic Mrs. Arabella Figg. I cringed upon seeing a supposedly strait-laced Petunia, her appearance was slightly reminiscent of a woman in a cheap, sexy flick. The dreamy Luna Lovegood played by Evanna Lynch was in my humble opinion, too charming in a sweet kind of way that she can pass for an angel. Wasn’t she supposed to be eccentric and odd in a funny sort of way? But then, these are all just trivial details that I can easily overlook.

OOTP managed to pick up energy upon the formation of Dumbledore’s army. I am mildly disappointed of not seeing the Protean-charmed galleon coins, though. Dolores Umbridge impeccably played by Imelda Staunton couldn’t be more loathsome but I wonder if I would’ve hated her just as much if I hadn’t read the book. Bellatrix Lestrange seems to have sprung from the pages right into Helena Bonham Carter. She was vile and merciless that I can’t keep myself from hating and loving her all at the same time. No mushy melodrama was spared to Sirius Black’s demise but the muted anguish of Harry sent out a hundred ripples of provocative, poignant pain.

The spectacular duel between Lord Voldemort and Dumbledore left my mouth hanging the whole time. (I should be thankful for the absence of flies!) I believe it is the first time of all the Harry Potter movies where we can witness full-fledged wizards duel. It is my favorite bit of the film. Clearly, the indomitable interpretation of Michael Gambon of Albus Dumbledore is a good match of Ralph Fiennes repulsive demeanor as Lord Voldemort. I can’t help but miss the late Richard Harris as Dumbledore. Admittedly, he was every inch the Albus Dumbledore I’ve imagined.

Overall, the movie was worth the wait. I would give OOTP 4.5 stars although, I can be pretty biased. Inevitably, I left the cinema ecstatic than I already was for the penultimate sequel --- Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.

A few days more and I’d be lying supine for hours voraciously leafing through the pages of the 7^th and last book of the Harry Potter series. I am in a giddy state of anticipation (bordering on madness) for this book although there lurks a hint of mingling melancholy of finally saying goodbye to Harry Potter --- who to me is not just the boy who lived but the one who brought back my old juvenile fantasies.