krumski

I have yet to read one of the ‘Harry Potter' books and maybe it's high time I did – because, based upon the movies made from them, I have a hard time seeing exactly why they're so popular.

To be sure, the first movie (which, like the second, I saw as a chaperone for my young nieces) has a certain low-key charm, as the notion (and presentation) of the Hogwarts School of Wizardry contains enough wow-ee inventiveness to be sufficiently engaging. And, of course, the tried and true theme of the ugly-duckling transformed into a prince (or, closer still, the poor waif plucked from obscurity and ill-treatment to be lead into a life of wonder and personal distinction) that Harry's story represents is a surefire route to the capture of any child's imagination. It is accomplished, too, with sly Dickensian wit that can prove similarly entertaining to adults. As a stand-alone movie (and book, I guess), I can certainly see the appeal of ‘Harry Potter.'

But as a SERIES?? It seems to endlessly repeat itself and its dramatic beats in each succeeding storyline. So, in this third movie we get – yet again - an opening glimpse into Harry's home life with the cruel and spiteful Dursleys (whose overstated and unwarranted evil grew tiresome even before their exit from the *first* film); his re-acquaintance with friends Ron and Hermione on the train to Hogwarts; the preparations for the upcoming academic year; the maddeningly brief and perfunctory introduction to each of the whimsical wizardry classes for that year – all populated with masterful British actors who get only the most token of screen time; Harry's ongoing (and boring) rivalry with the dreaded Malfoy (whose one-dimensionality bespeaks an artistic laziness); and the entire movie threaded through with an underlying evil and threat (either to Harry, the school in general, or both) which finally erupts into the inevitable rousing (or, would-be rousing) showdown at the end. Frankly, this last always stretches my credulity, as it becomes increasingly clear with each tale that not only is Hogwarts possibly the most dangerous place in the world for Harry to be, but that it is populated by a staff of `expert' wizards who are singularly ineffectual in combating any kind of outside threat. One gets the perverse sense that the school should actually be *run* by Harry and Hermione, rather than developing them from diamond-in-the-rough wunderkinds who only gradually come to expertise in their fledgling magical powers.

Now, don't get me wrong: as a kid, I too was taken with books written in series (starring the likes of Encyclopedia Brown, the Hardy Boys, and the Great Brain) and demanded nothing more from them than that they provide the same types of stories and interactions that I loved so well the first time round. But J.K. Rowling's inflation of her books to near `War and Peace' lengths, as well as her insistence that each one represents a further step in the development of a larger artistic master plan strikes me as so much pretentious piffle. I don't begrudge kids their fun – and ANYTHING that promotes reading on such a wide scale is to be cherished and encouraged. But let's call a spade a spade.

And, while we're at it, let's call Rowling a sell-out. If there's ANY work of literary fiction that could stand on its own, without a movie needed to popularize it among the masses, it's ‘Harry Potter' (probably ‘Lord of the Rings' too, but we won't go into that). Frankly, I think the beloved authoress let slip a grand opportunity to stick her tongue out (and finger up) to Hollywood by refusing to allow her books to be adapted into movies. She certainly doesn't need the money, the books don't need the exposure, and it would have provided her young readers a glimpse into true artistic integrity at work: an example that some things *don't* work best when the most money and advertising is thrown at them . . . that sometimes, the inner recesses of your imagination is the best place for beloved characters to reside.

And of course, had she done so, we as moviegoers wouldn't be subjected to productions so overly reverent to their source that the makers live in terror of leaving even the tiniest of details out. Why o why is it important for Potter fans – who know everything that's going to happen anyway – to be able to see Hollywood's representations of their private fantasies? Why o why is it important for us non-Hogwarts initiates to be force-fed every scene and character from the book in a compressed running time that gives none of it any room to breathe or create any resonance? It's the absolute worst of all worlds, and everybody loses. (Yes, even fans of the books who enjoy the movies – because, whether they realize it or not, their own mental pictures of the characters and situations, formed when reading, are being reprogrammed and reconstituted by Hollywood. It's doubtful whether, having seen the movies, even the most die-hard reader can ever picture Harry as anyone other than Daniel Radcliff, or Professor Snape as Alan Rickman, etc.. . . Which maybe wouldn't even be an important point to bring up, except for the fact that the books had clearly done such an EXCELLENT job at capturing young imaginations, all on their ownsome. Now, even that accomplishment becomes suspect.)

But oops, I realize I haven't yet said anything about the newest movie, re-conceived by director Alfonso Cuaron, which has received buckets and buckets full of praise (and, truth be told, was the only reason I went at all). Well, yes, he is a better director than Chris Columbus, and the photography in certain scenes is much more dramatic than anything in the other two, but we're getting into some pretty minute distinctions. It's a ‘Harry Potter' film, and so subject to all the same annoyances and inconsistencies mentioned above. See it if you must - but me, I'm heading for the library . . .

I was only a middling fan of the original Analyze This, so my expectations for this second installment were practically nil. However, the first fifteen minutes or so of this movie just blew me away – I was rolling on the floor laughing, and contemplating with glee all the various subplots that had been set in motion. This was, I felt, going to be a great comedy – surpassing its predecessor by far.

And oh, how it could have! The original pretty much got by on the one-joke premise of a gangster seeing a shrink (already passé at the time, incidentally – not only because [as so many have pointed out] HBO's The Sopranos had just recently introduced that same theme, but also because another *DE NIRO* movie had even mined this territory before; anyone remember the Bill Murray character from Mad Dog and Glory?). Crystal and DeNiro worked well together, there were no major gaffes, and the whole thing had a certain low-key charm – but it was no big whoop.

By comparison, the opening of Analyze That promises a movie of so many different clever plot strands that the only seeming danger is that none of them will be developed completely. There's the fact that the DeNiro character has to pretend to be crazy in order to get out of prison (the ways DeNiro finds to do this are all admittedly over the top, but hilarious nonetheless); there's the fact that he's released into Crystal's custody and is forced to stay at the latter's house as a LIVE-IN (promising culture clashes abound); there's the corresponding fact that the cops, the Feds and even other gangsters have Crystal's house staked out and under scrutiny for just this very reason; then there's DeNiro's various ill-fated attempts to get jobs in the respectable 9-to-5 world that, as a gangster, he's been insulated from his entire life (seeing him as a pushy used-car salesman is a hoot: `Look at this trunk space, it's big enough to fit *two* bodies in there!'); then, when DeNiro's Paul Vitti character gets brought on as a `technical advisor' to a very Sopranos-like mob TV show, one begins to feel that this thing has inspiration enough for three or four different movies.

However, none of those movies made it to screen. For, as fast as any of the above-listed concepts are introduced, they are either dropped or relegated to the back-burner. What the film becomes instead, inexplicably and intolerably, is a third-rate hack job mob revenge film, with Vitti working to put the pieces together of who was trying to kill him in prison, and to hunt down and bring to justice the bad guys. This is all done without a trace of wit or intensity – and, even if it was, what's it doing hogging center stage in a supposed *comedy*? For, one thing this movie clearly is not (after those hysterical first 15 minutes) is a comedy. It's not just that things are not funny, it's that the filmmakers literally don't seem to be trying for jokes; they seem to want to involve us completely with the action and intrigue elements of the story. Since these are not in any way interesting, novel or inventive (and would not be even if the movie had been done as a drama), there's simply nothing to hold your interest. Nothing.

Once the film reveals its hand, not even DeNiro and Crystal can save it (as they did the first one). Their relationship in this one is tangential at best: DeNiro is mostly on his own, pursuing his own agenda, while Crystal hangs back out of the way, alternately fuming or obsessing (a sub-strand about his father's recent death and his backlog of grief and resentment toward the old man, which could have provided yet another rich vein of material, is handled so shallowly and incompetently as to make Crystal's character particularly annoying and ineffectual).

It's a shame. This movie could truly have been a comic masterpiece. And, if not that (realizing that masterpieces are tough to pull off even with the best ideas in the world), then at least solidly decent. The fact that it falls so far off the charts – after such a promising beginning – is a big disappointment indeed. My recommendation: if this is ever on television, watch up until the first commercial break, then turn sharply away. And if you're in a rental mood and have got a DeNiro-Crystal jones going on, rent the first one. Even if you've already seen it, and can recite all the lines by heart – it will still be a fresher and more invigorating experience than watching this.

I have never seen nor read the plays so I was prepared to say at the outset that I can make no judgment upon them. But, since so many reviews on this site have emphasized how well - even perfectly - this six-hour miniseries caught their tone and spirit, I have to openly wonder how great they were to begin with.

Basically, I agree with those who say that the AIDS-related theme breathes a nobility and importance into 'Angels' that it otherwise would not have, making it somehow *seem* profound and epic. Instead, I found it to be kind of a mess, peopled at the center with unlikable and inexplicable characters: by the third hour, I was fast-forwarding past any scene that had either Louis, Harper or Joe Pitt in it. These are just poorly written and developed characters, whose neediness and co-dependence make them strident and one-note, rather than recognizably human. The storyline with Roy Cohn was a little bit more interesting, and I was impressed with Pacino's performance, but even that devolved quickly into cliché: the powerful man brought low by suffering, with no new spin to offer. (And, frankly, his story's connection to the rest of the piece was dubious at best.) Two of my all-time favorite actresses - Meryl Streep and Emma Thompson - were stranded in unplayable parts (not just one, but three for both of them - thus compounding the damage) and so didn't even register.

Just to elaborate on my dislike of Harper, Joe and Louis: I felt their humanity was compromised because they were conceived and drawn so poorly, not least in the inconsistencies they displayed. Of course, human beings can be extremely inconsistent, but with these characters it felt more like bad writing. Harper spends most of the first part forcing her husband to admit he is gay, and then spends the rest of the piece angry at him for telling her so. Joe's conservative, Republican values are established early on, and then never explained or defended, even amidst Louis's constant challenges. Nor, frankly, is Joe's attraction to Louis: they seem mismatched from the start, making their scenes together just painful to watch (and no, not because of the erotic homosexual content). Louis himself is simply whatever the playwright wants him to be at any particular moment: neurotic and guilt-ridden in the extreme (as well as glum and charmless) around Prior, self-righteous and loghorreic around Belize, mincing and seductive around Joe. Even taking into account the notion that in life we act differently around different people, his personality jumps are simply too extreme, making him seem like three characters instead of one (none of them likable or compelling). [Prior even notes at the beginning how Louis is unable to distinguish very well who is and isn't gay, and yet Louis spots Joe a mile off when no one else picks up on it. Inconsistency!]

And then there's the fantasy sequences. I'll readily admit that these kinds of things tend to work better on the stage, and so perhaps may have been powerful and meaningful there. But I doubt it. They're so poorly written: awkwardly constructed - with flowery and rambling dialogue - and inserted clumsily into the proceedings. Rather than helping to deepen or explain the characters, these sequences actually serve to make them seem even *less* human, and more like . . . oh I don't know, special effects or something. The movie version, at least, would have benefited from their excision, I believe.

Finally, that damn angel. I guess that part couldn't have been excised, since it forms the touchstone image of the entire piece. I didn't get it. Let me say upfront that I was not offended at all by the notion of a highly sexual angel; I actually thought that part was cool (if heavenly creatures exist, why *wouldn't* they be imbued with that power and tendency that, after all, represents the highest and most extreme form of earthly bliss?). But that such sexuality was tied not to a force of compassion or empathy, but rather one of wrath and petulance seemed, once again, inconsistent and inexplicable (and made the resultant sex seem more like rape than any kind of commingling with the spiritual world). I will say that this aspect of the piece finally does cohere somewhat in the last half-hour, with the heavenly tribunal (or whatever it was), and that scene was handled with a certain degree of grace and power. But it's a long and confusing slog getting there, and by that point I pretty much didn't care anymore.

The ultimate theme of the piece is seemingly the Nietzshean one that God is either dead or has abandoned us, yet we assert our humanity by going on anyway. Though I don't tend to agree with that assertion, it's a valid theological and artistic point of view, and can serve as the basis for a compelling story. To me, however, 'Angels in America' is not such a story, because it is too sprawling and unfocused to make this point cogently, and bogs itself down in too many subplots, with too many unsympathetic characters. Clearly, many people disagree, and were profoundly moved by the piece. Which is fine: if it is able to imbue you with hopefulness and a compassion for the human race, then it has served a laudable and important goal. I wish it could have done so for me - too few works exist that do, or even try to - but, unfortunately, I found it unsatisfying on just about every level.