As a Harry Potter fan, last weekend was weird. I didn’t see the eighth movie, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2, and I couldn’t decide if I would eventually. I spent a lot of time on ew.com and Facebook, and let the stream of rave reviews, record-breaking box office totals and excited friend-chatter wash over me.
Although my love for the books runs deep (to the extent of midnight release parties and Mugglenet.com membership) I’ve never liked the movies much. There’s no one reason, but they’ve just never compared to what was in my imagination (with an assist from illustrator Mary GrandPré). The look of the films always seemed wrong to me, somehow, and they were never capable of generating the tension or interest of even a fifth re-reading of one of the novels.
And I never really accepted them as a substitute after the series ended. Maybe I’m the only person who could have directed a Harry Potter series that would have satisfied me, or maybe it’s simply impossible. But I never related when fellow fan friends talked about how much they loved the movies.
