Lightbulb Over Head Blog

Tonight, I had the distinct pleasure of viewing Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince at the Clearview Cinemas Zeigfeld theater. I’m including the theater in which I saw the movie because it had a lot to do with my experience of the film. So far, critics have given the movie  rather lackluster reviews, but I considered my thirteen dollars and fifty cents money well spent.

Firstly, the Zeigfeld theater is a sight to behold. It is a movie theater with a vintage feel. As soon as you walk in the building, you’re surrounded by a sea of crimson, gold, and velvet curtains with over-sized shimmering tassels. The staff is also very friendly and began shouting to the crowd about how the stars of the movie had been there the previous week for the NYC premiere as we filed into the packed theater. When you enter the theater itself, the space is vast. It clearly was an actual theater with a stage at one point and is only a few blocks away from The Great White Way.

On this particular evening, the place was packed because it was the first day of release. My friend and I arrived at the theater early, eager to settle into good seats for our epic journey into J.K. Rowling’s universe. My friend is an avid Potter fan and her intense excitement was undoubtedly infectious. I doubt I would have had the same experience if she hadn’t been with me. She has read the books more carefully and more times than anyone I know and I credit her with infallible Harry Potter expertise. We actually went to this same theater to Coraline and we instinctively knew that it was the right place to see Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. In Ngugi wa Thiong’o’s book, Decolonizing the Mind, he says that “Space is never neutral.” That is certainly the case for the Zeigfeld. There is a curtain that they close between the previews and the film. When they open it as the movie starts, it’s as if you’re looking at a live stage with infinite possibilities. Due to the nature of the space, the audience took on the characteristics of a live theater crowd, cheering, applauding, gasping, and laughing along with the performances. The place was buzzing with energy.

Daniel Radcliffe and Emma Watson

The best thing this film did, which was only further amplified by the movie theater itself, was to honor the brilliant performances that the cast turned in. It’s hard to believe that Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson, and Rupert Grint are the same children who performed in The Sorcerer’s Stone. Their skills have matured and deepened, each with their own specialty. Watson is stunningly vulnerable while retaining the values and strength of Rowling’s original character, crestfallen when it comes to Ron’s inattentiveness and brutal when it comes to Harry’s occasional overconfidence. Grint’s skill for improvised physical comedy is at an all time high. Especially amusing were his scenes while under the affects of a love potion and his oblivious separation of Ginny and Harry when they are about to have an intimate moment, followed by offering them scones. I simply couldn’t get enough of him in this film. He kept the audience in stitches the entire time.

I must credit Daniel Radcliffe with remarkable improvement in his acting prowess. I have to admit that when I saw the first Harry Potter film, I actively disliked him. I have seen a bit of improvement over the years, but what truly changed my mind about him was his performance in Equus, by Peter Shaffer. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that this play is impeccable on its own as a written piece, but when I saw Radcliffe perform his extremely challenging role on Broadway, I saw a spark I hadn’t seen before. He was playful, unafraid, and interesting. I’m not sure when it was, but during the run of that show, Radcliffe discovered something about being in the moment and following impulses, no matter how strange or inappropriate they might be. That was reflected in his performance in The Half-Blood Prince, impersonating spider pincers, and impersonating the characterization of his co-star, Jim Broadbent, while under the effects of a “luck potion.”

Daniel Radcliffe, I hereby retract all ill wishes I harbored in your earlier years and officially give you my full support and a well deserved round of applause.

As the younger members of the cast rise to the occasion, the elder members become even more brilliant. As Snape, Alan Rickman is impeccable, both hilarious and terrifying. His comedic timing and command of his vocal instrument is a killer combination. I was on the edge of my seat, falling for the bait each time he paused, only to drop in the last word of his sentence at exactly the right moment- Simply an astounding and relentless performance.

Jim Broadbent, as Professor Horace Slughorn, gives a very intelligent performance. I have been a fan  since his role in Moulin Rouge. His drunken monologue in Hagrid’s cottage was a stunning combination of brilliant writing and expert performance. Broadbent does a wonderful job of addressing the multi-faceted nature of this character.

Helena Bonham Carter is a delicious villain. Her body and her voice are incredible, enhanced by her costume and makeup. I was so thankful that we got to see more of Bellatrix Lestrange in this film.

The only performance I wasn’t ecstatic about was that of Tom Felton as Draco Malfoy. While his performance was honest and heartfelt, the way he portrayed his character’s public actions at Hogwarts was extremely over the top. Anyone who saw him would have known he was up to no good. Draco Malfoy won the “emo kid” award for the evening.

I can understand why some of the reviews for The Half-Blood Prince are negative. There was so much wonderful acting that the movie could not contain all of it while simultaneously dealing with all the complexities of Rowling’s story. There were points at which I would have been extremely lost if I hadn’t read the books and points at which I was still lost simply because I haven’t reread the books in a few years. My biggest problem was that they focused a lot on the developing relationships between Ron and Hermione and Ginny and Harry, yet left the actual mystery surrounding the Half-Blood Prince and his Potions book mostly untouched. I missed the the mystery solving capers of Harry, Ron, and Hermione. I think the director, David Yates, was more interested in giving detailed cinematic highlights of Rowling’s written world rather than a well-told story presented on film. I will say, however, that the composition of his shots is extremely dynamic. I felt in this film, more than in the other parts of the series, that there was a level of detail and depth that was fully integrated with the performances of the cast. The film wasn’t structured with stunted acting scenes followed by action sequences. The whole thing was a cohesive piece.

For anyone who enjoys the Harry Potter series, this movie is a must see. For those who haven’t read the books, I don’t think you’ll be able to understand and appreciate the brilliant parts of the movie in a way that will compensate for the otherwise unfinished story telling.

Sooner or later you will face a brutal reality:

Your high school reunion.

The fear will climb you like a maypole and you will think your are thirty pounds fatter than you actually are. You will check the guest list for your high school crushes or old boyfriends and be warmed by those old flames, followed by an endless panic attack concerning seeing them again. You’ll destroy your closet looking for the perfect ensemble and plan hair and makeup for a week ahead of time. Moreover, you’ll plan how to describe your job so that you don’t sound like a glorified receptionist.

You say to yourself + 30 imaginary pounds in the mirror, “Oh college, how have you failed me so completely?”

Then the day arrives. It’s the moment of truth.

Results may vary after this point. I can only speak for myself.

A certain amount of anticipation and dread accompanied my decision to attend my high school reunion, but I never struggled with whether or not to go. I knew from the moment I got that letter inviting me to “The School by the Sea” for my 5th year reunion that I would be there.

Let me explain. My high school education wasn’t what you would call normal. I went to boarding school one thousand miles away from home. When I tell new acquaintances this, they usually react in the following way.

Wide-eyed with wonderment and a mischievous gleam in their eye they ask, “What did you do?”

This reaction makes me laugh because so many people can’t imagine sending their son or daughter of to school across the country at the tender age of fourteen. They figure you must have done something so horrible that you had be sent away to “learn to respect your limits or your elders” or both.

Let’s set the record straight. I wasn’t packed off and sent to boarding school because I’m some sort of juvenile delinquent. I chose to leave home.

See, I always loved summer camp. I went to Camp Seafarer in North Carolina for 8 years and worked there as a counselor for two. I wouldn’t be who I am today without my experiences there. The first year I went, I was ten. I was a shy girl who barely spoke up except to say incredibly awkward things. I was the kind of child who could play on a playground for hours and not bother to learn the names of the other children I was playing with because I was too terrified to ask. Facing a month away from home was frightening and exciting, but when I got there, I slowly came out of my shell. I blossomed, some might say. I went out to activities every day and set goals for myself, striving every day to achieve them. I learned how to sail, how to tie a bowline knot, and how to jump a hurdle on horseback. It was at Camp Seafarer that I was asked to dance by a boy for the first time. There were a lot of firsts at camp, and the best part of it all was that I was in control of my own destiny.

I’m an only child, you see. Every step of the way up until that point, my parents had been there guiding, supporting, micromanaging, and frogmarching me towards some undisclosed success. There are advantages and disadvantages to being the sole object of your mother and father’s love. I was given every possible opportunity; piano lessons, ice skating lessons, vacations, tutors, and educational trips. Anything I asked for, I got and usually more. Every time I soared I was rewarded and every time I fell, I was supported, analyzed, and talked through how to improve upon or avoid this mistake again. I never had that integral sink or swim moment.

However, at Camp Seafarer, I was in control. I scheduled my activities and I auditioned for plays. When I failed, it was up to me to fix it. When I succeeded, I simply basked in the glow of a job well done. It was enough because it was all mine.

Back in Chicago, I went to a middle school that ended in eighth grade and when I reached that point, I had to apply to high schools. I applied to every private school in the city, including my own personal Jesuit nightmare, St. Ignatius College Preperatory School. When I visited, I hated it. The students seemed dispassionate as they marched to classes in their uniforms. They answered questions when they had to and not because they wanted to. They were smart, make no mistake, but I couldn’t see myself fitting in. As the year forged on, I became restless. I wasn’t particularly happy about any of the choices of schools I had applied to thus far.

One day, I saw a friend of mine looking through a boarding school brochure. Inside its laminated story book pages there were kids on bicycles, grassy quads, blue skies, pine trees, and red track fields. It showed kids making clay bowls on spinning wheels and singing in a capella groups. I knew that I could probably find some of those things at the private schools in Chicago, but an idea had formed in my head. Judging by my success at camp, perhaps I could achieve more away from the loving arms of my parents then I could within their reach.

With my parent’s permission, I applied to boarding schools all over the east coast. The next fall, I found myself at Tabor Academy in a dorm with twenty other girls, most from the area around school, whereas I was 1,000 miles away from home, and completely out of my element.

I had the unique opportunity to decide who I was. No one knew me. I could make first impressions on an entire community. Even knowing this, I was terribly afraid I would make some awful blunder.

The first few nights there, I sat on one of the granite benches on the water front. Even though I had worked so hard to get away from home, I missed it. I knew my mother and father would have had some useful knowledge to impart. All they way to school, my parents had pelted me with so much advice that I couldn’t see straight when we arrived. I couldn’t wait for them to leave me the hell alone. As we hugged goodbye till Thanksgiving, my mother wagged her finger. “Neither a borrower nor a lender be,” she said with great reverence. Afterward, that piece of Polonius’ advice from Hamlet has served as their final words to me whenever they drop me off at my current place of residence.

The seabreeze tossed my thick bush of brown hair across my face as I looked out over Buzzards Bay. All of their advice was slipping through my fingers. I was here to make my way without them.

Sometimes, I thought, you should be careful what you wish for.

I stayed at Tabor for four years. The first two were hellish and I was unhappy. I wanted to be wonderful at science and sports, but that just wasn’t in the cards. Nothing seemed to come naturally to me, least of all social aptitude. No one enjoyed being friends with a stuck up city girl who loved Star Wars and sang the Moulin Rouge version of  “Lady Marmalade” at least fifty times a day in her dorm room while everyone else was trying to study. It wasn’t until I laid anchor in the theater and music community that I found a foothold for myself at Tabor. Teachers and students started looking at me differently. They knew my name and they didn’t call me out on dress code infractions as much. I did the musical every year and toured with my a capella group every spring. It was a damn fine gig if I do say so myself. My last two years at Tabor were some of the happiest in my life. My friends were like family and theater was a dream. I felt so lucky to be there every day.

And so it was that I entered highschool wanting to be an astronaut and left with a passion for the stage, headed to New  York University’s Tisch School of the Arts, no less. I graduated with awards for contribution to theater and choral music and I left thinking I knew a lot more about myself than I would have if I had gone to school back at home in Chicago. My parents were still extremely proud, and supportive, but I had done this for myself.

I had no idea what awaited me in New York. I knew I would get through it as I had gotten through life at Tabor, but I was in no way prepared for my first year there, let alone the other three. It was filled with art, non-sexual nakedness, dance, shock, and student rush tickets to Broadway shows. I was back in an urban environment, pulsing with energy, buzzing with life. I was filled with passion for what I was doing every single day. Imagine: No more math classes. It was heavenly. I thank my lucky stars every day that my parents let me go and paid for my education at Tisch.

Now, it’s a year after my graduation from NYU and I’m living the life of a starving artist. Like everyone else in America, I have felt the pain of our declining economy, losing my job and not being able to get a new one for four months at a time. In December, I broke up with the man I can’t stop loving. In January, I saved a suicidal room mate’s life when I found her bleeding out in the bathtub. In February, I lost a dear friend and collaborator to a successful suicide attempt. By March, I was still jobless and was feeling the desperate strain of my independent reality weigh on me heavily every second of every single day. This is my life, I thought. I can’t stand my life right now.

It had been almost a year since I had performed in a full scale production. I could feel my life blood and passion begging for attention like a poorly tended hearth living in the pit of my stomach. My skin was going numb.

That’s when I got the letter inviting me back to Tabor Academy for my high school reunion.

How can I face all of these wonderfully smart and successful people? I thought. I’ll be a laughing stock again… or worse, they won’t recognize me at all.

I’m not fearless, but I like to think I have a bit more backbone than to let a few momentary insecurities stop me from going through such an important right of passage.

The truth is, as the day approached, I realized how much I had missed that community. I had spent so much of my life pushing forward and away from anything or anyone that had nurtured me along the way, but now I dearly missed the cradle of support that I got from my parents, teachers, and friends at Tabor. I had been a ship my whole life, struggling to break free from my mooring, but now I was ready to return to port, more ready than I ever thought I would be.

As I arrived back on campus, my heart pounded in my chest. My body felt weak, almost euphoric. Many of my classmates had remained in the same area and saw each other more often, but true to form I had left the nest and sailed into uncharted waters.

The whole weekend was like a glorious out of body experience. People I knew well and people I hadn’t all asked how I’d been and seemed to care about my response. I realized that I cared about theirs and I was proud of their numerous accomplishments. I remembered more first and last names than I thought I would. Seeing my teachers struck such a resonant chord with me. They had spent four years as my surrogate parents, setting me up for success, talking me through rough patches, and inviting me for Sunday afternoon tea. The whole reunion was like a warm celebratory ritual with dancing, drinking, and storytelling.

Near the end of the evening I was laughing with a friend who had gone with me to the Caribbean aboard the school’s tall ship to do an on-site marine studies class. We were resting our feet as the rest of our classmates danced the night away. He asked me what I was up to and I told him about the play I was writing, my novel, my new apartment, and how much i enjoyed the process of developing new musicals.

“You’re living the dream.” He laughed and smiled at me.

Until he said that, I had completely forgotten that I was.

At the end of the weekend, I felt my ship had been thoroughly resuplied. I had collected information and maps, and made plans for new adventures, confident that I could sail across the fated sea with a warm wind at my back.

I have decided that once Odysseus returned to Ithaca, he must have longed for another voyage.