In the newest installment of the Harry Potter movie franchise, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, the character of Draco Malfoy takes on a more decisive, if not, central role in the unfolding of events. Tasked by Lord Voldemort to murder Albus Dumbledore, Malfoy who in previous outings has always been seen in the company of his Slytherin gang, becomes rather withdrawn and brooding, very much like the Harry Potter of The Sorcerer’s Stone whose gaze is transfixed into the image of his parents projected by the Mirror of Erised. Unfortunately, Malfoy did not have the benefit of a Dumbledore warning him about the dangers of lonely and isolated reflection and self-introspection. It is his haunting, lurking and prowling presence and the foreboding catastrophe in the culmination of the film that coherently ties up the leitmotif of the film’s many omissions and revisions of J.K. Rowling’s textual narrative.
Those who have left the cinema wanting, unsatisfied and disappointed with the interpretation, however, did not get the message being relayed by the film: evil is the only one that claims singular completion and satisfaction, the struggle for justice and goodness will always be patchy, filled with gaps, acknowledgment of reversals and thus the need not just for deep bonds of friendships but textured and layered ones that could work through the patchy task of realizing goodness. It is this unity of the message and the structure of the film itself that I think makes the movie the best so far in the Potter saga.
That the movie begins and ends with Harry caught in youthful romance and passion betrays what otherwise is foregrounded by the dark hues and nearly solemn music that wrapped the entire film. Despite the seriousness of the turn of events in the re-emergence of Lord Voldemort, Harry manages to feel what can only be captured by the Filipino word – kilig. In stark contrast, both in the film and in the books, Malfoy was never involved in any romantic affair or involved in a playful jest aside from bullying Potter and his friends. The pre-eminence and frequency of romantic (even sexual/sensual) insinuations in the film – even Dumbledore manages to become intrigued with Harry’s love life – seems to suggest the significance of nurturing these kinds of emotions and feelings more than developing a serious and deep sensibility. It’s as if when one thinks of things in a serious way, one becomes a hindrance to the unfolding of the future and even of the present. Just like Prof. Horace Slughorn whose concern with his reputation and honor led him to alter even his memory. That he was only able to reveal to Harry this memory while partly intoxicated by butterbeer and in a pleasant companionship, not to forget, a little bit of luck on the part of Harry, points I think precisely to the primacy of texture over depth and seriousness.
Notice a contrast: when Harry and Dumbledore set out to find a horcrux, Dumbledore only asked from Harry his word that he will do whatever his teacher tells him to do. Harry’s word was sufficient enough. On the other hand, when Snape was asked by Voldemort to protect Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange had to bind Snape and Malfoy’s mother in an Unbreakable Vow. Trust and friendship on the first example. Suspicion and surveillance on the second.
These same undertones, I believe also guided the film’s many omissions. A friend who also watched the movie noted how the movie did not even focus on its title – The Half-Blood Prince – and the intrigue surrounding the potions book belonging to the same “prince”. But by omitting an elaborate explanation to the chapter’s title, the movie seems to be developing the character of Severus Snape in a non-visual and more suggestive manner: that behind the gloomy character of Snape is a playful and humorous personality, who when he was in school may have perhaps felt marginalized, was an outcast and had to create fantasies about himself in order to mitigate the pangs of alienation. Who among us did not fantasize when we were growing up that we were some kind of a prince or a princess or a part of some fantabulous universe in which we are the center of attention? Who among us did not deploy ways of hiding our insecurities when we were growing up? The omission of the story behind the half-blood prince could perhaps point to how Snape grew up without the baggage of his adolescent insecurities. Unlike, Tom Riddle who took his issues seriously and was not able to outgrow it. This gap in the film, for me, more than explains why Dumbledore trusted Snape so much.
A final point. Why did the film omit the battle scene in Hogwarts and simply allowed the Death Eaters to walk out of the castle without any hint of resistance? Why was there no outrage with the death of Dumbledore among the students and wizarding faculty? Again I think the film is sending a message and teaching a lesson: in contrast to the proud and rampaging Death Eaters, resistance is a humble exercise in hope. Hope, however, is mute. Similar to how the philosopher Gabriel Marcel defined hope as unambitious, even shy, does not claim to be hoping-for, nor aspires for what is hoped. It is rather, the humble recognition of the darkness and the initial desire or struggle to take the first yet uncertain step towards something one does not yet know.
The most beautiful scene for me in the movie comes after the death of Dumbledore when the studentry and faculty of Hogwarts pointed their wands up the skies, sending streams of white light that dispersed the dark figure of the Death Eaters insignia.
It was still night and dark, but somehow, deep within the remaining characters is a strong resolve to engage the darkness. Unlike evil which claims to own the light, hope and friendship will always acknowledge the darkness. Anyway, it makes a kiss much sweeter than when done under glistening mistletoe.
