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| I have never been good with scary movies. I can't watch them in the dark. I can barely watch them alone. I consistently turn the volume down so low that you would need supersonic hearing to catch the audio if I sense a jump-out-of-my-seat moment on the horizon. If I'm with my friends and we want to watch a movie, when choosing a movie genre, I always vote for 'comedy', 'action', or 'Star Wars Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back'. When I have no choice but to sit through a horror movie, my imagination will go wild for the next few days. I may lie in bed, covers pulled over my head, listening intently for the distant sound of a chainsaw. I may be driving down a lonely country road, constantly gazing in my rearview mirror, half-expecting to see an unwanted knife wielding passenger in my backseat. I might check my closet for velociraptors or boogiemen. In conclusion, horror movies tend to take their toll on my psyche. Yet of all the terrifying movies I have watched, one has scared me above all others. There is but one movie that has given me recurring nightmares for over a decade. There is but one movie that has haunted my soul for years. That movie is E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial.
My first memory of E.T. came when I was in elementary school. I think I was in 2nd or 3rd grade. On this particular afternoon, our teacher was going to treat our class to a movie in exchange for our good behavior. Movie day was supposed to be the best of days, but instead, this movie day would be fraught with peril. I remember the class all piling into the auditorium. We were so excited for movie day. Little did I know that the next few hours of my life would provide me with years of nightmares and cold sweats. My teacher could have picked Aladdin. She could have picked Fievel Goes West. She could have picked The Brave Little Toaster. But no...my teacher had to pick E.T., the Emperor of Terror.
I had never seen E.T. before. I had heard it was a fine family film, and I had high hopes. But right from the get go, I should have known this movie was trouble. In the opening scene, you only catch a glimpse of E.T.'s demonic looking fingers. His fingers looked perfect for planting trees...or ripping out hearts. The fingers were bad enough, but then E.T. starts being chased through the woods by a mysterious band of humans. E.T.'s unnatural jaunt and piercing, unearthly screams made my hair stand on end. This certainly was no Brave Little Toaster.
The Emperor of Terror himself
The next scene I vividly remember occurs when E.T. is hiding out in a shed. The main kid in the movie, Elliott, tosses a ball into the shrouded and dark shadows of a shed. The ball is tossed right back out to him. As a child, this KILLED ME. I was quivering with fear. I pictured E.T. running out of the shed, screaming his horrifying banshee screams as he wrapped his bony fingers around Elliott's unsuspecting neck. I didn't think anything could possibly scare me more than this simple ball toss. But nothing could have prepared me for what would happen next.
For some reason, Elliott had a cornfield in his backyard. And then, for some equally perplexing reason, Elliott decides to GO INTO THE CORNFIELD ALL ALONE LATE AT NIGHT ARMED WITH ONLY A FLASHLIGHT! WHAAAAT!!!??! Never have I thought "Go back, go back, for the love of God, GO BACK! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?! GOOOO BAAAAAAAACCKKK!!!!!!111@#$!!@!!!!" so strongly in any scene of any movie since that moment. And I never will again. The tension was destroying me as Elliott tracked a fresh set of mysterious footprints through the ominous cornfield. Then, a rustle in the brush. Elliott turns...and his flashlight shines directly into the face of the Endower of Trauma himself, E freakin' T!
I could barely watch from this point on. I didn't want my fellow classmates to think I was chicken, so I had to stay in the auditorium and stick out this most gut-wrenching, soul destroying movie experience until the bitter end. I came up with an ingenious plan to stay in the auditorium whilst catching as few glimpses of E.T. as possible. I emptied out my backpack, placed it over my head, and made loud remarks to the effect that I couldn't seem to find my favorite pencils or grippers (if anyone remembers those, I had an obsession) no matter how far into the depths of my bag my head traveled. It worked to a point, but I still remember catching a few more glimpses of the Extra Terrestrial that froze my heart. The hair-raising scene of E.T. hiding amongst the dolls is one that was burned into my brain. Somehow, I summed up the courage to make it to the end of the movie. E.T. finally phoned home, and all was well. Or so I thought.
I don't remember when the nightmares started. It was the same nightmare every night. I would 'awake' in my dark world of dreams. I would gaze about, trying to figure out where I was. And then he would come. E.T.'s head would appear right before me. I would let out a bloodcurdling scream and begin to run away as fast as I could. And E.T. would chase me. However, he would not chase me with his feet. Instead, he would stretch his neck out, further and further. No matter how far I ran, his neck would extend and slowly gain on me. His big and evil eyes would stare into my soul as he screamed "E.T.! E.T.! E.T.! E.T.! PHONE HOME! PHONE HOME! PHONE HOME!" I would always wake up just before his neck could catch up to me. There have been a few times on this blog where I have dramaticized some of my life experiences to make for a better read, but I swear to you all that I am NOT making up a thing about my E.T. nightmares. I have literally had this same nightmare hundreds of times. Me: running for my life, screaming, crying. E.T.: phoning home, extending neck, looking every bit like the ultimate embodiment of fear. Welcome to the terror.
For years, this nightmare would occur when I least expected it. There would be no warning. I never thought about E.T. in my day to day life, but as soon as I fell asleep, I was never safe from that long, wrinkly neck and those bony demon fingers. Then one night, the nightmares stopped. I never gave a second thought to E.T. I didn't think about him in my waking thoughts, and finally my subconscious was free from his extraterrestrial clutches. But then, just a few weeks ago, E.T. returned.
It was a different nightmare this time. From what I recall, I was lying in bed. I was at the point of consciousness where one can't quite be sure if they are asleep or awake. It was almost pitch black, and my house was deathly quiet. I was lying flat on my back. I remember sensing a shadowy presence to the left of my bed. Slowly and anxiously, I turned my head to the left. There, standing right at the edge of my bed was the squat and dark figure of E.T. His large, oblong head was inches from my own. His fearsome stare was burrowing deep into my eyes, nay, into my very soul! I tried to cry out for help, but there was nothing I could do. I was totally paralyzed. Totally helpless. With all of my might, I painfully managed to turn my head to the right and escape E.T.'s penetrating gaze. I laid there in the dark, too afraid to turn around for fear of what I might see.
Against all odds, I survived through the night. After all of these years, E.T., the dread lord of nightmares, had returned. I couldn't believe it. I couldn't let this continue. I couldn't have one little alien cause me to slowly lose my grasp on reality. I had to do something about this.
Later that week, I went to a nearby video store. I browsed long and hard through many movies. Some movies sure looked interesting. Some movies sure looked stupid. And some movies looked so stupid that they looked interesting (Shark Attack 3 is required viewing). I could browse all I wanted to, but deep down I knew that I was just putting off the inevitable. I had come here to conquer my fears. Tonight, I would vanquish E.T. once and for all. Finally, I found E.T. in the 'favorites' section. I read the movie case closely. 'One of the most beloved movies of all time' it said.
"Favorites?" I thought to myself, "Most beloved movie of all time? Bullshit. Most unholy and godforsaken movie of all time is more like it." And then I rented it.
About 20 minutes in, I realized I had outgrown my deathly E.T.-phobia. An unexpected smile crept onto my face as I began to find E.T. not only as un-scary as can be, but I even started to love this cute little long-necked alien. Conquering my E.T. fear was much easier than expected.
Now I just need to wait and see if E.T. appears anymore to haunt my dreams. I feel like I have taken a gigantic step in finally confronting the bane of my childhood. Have I defeated the nightmares? I don't know. Perhaps E.T. is destined to bring terror to my subconscious thoughts for all of eternity. Or maybe E.T. and I will happily frolic through fields of dandelions and candy canes as the sun happily sings a rendition of Queen's "You're My Best Friend" to us in my next happy dream. That surely would be an Epicly Tender moment. I optimistically Expect to Triumph over the horrors of E.T. I guess only time will Eventually Tell.
Now for my Ending Thoughts: Elementary Teachers, Embryonic Telomeres, Elephantitis Testicles. Electric Tasers, Endorphine-boosting Trazodone, Edison, Thomas, Evangelical Tomfoolery, Eleven Tacos, Exoskeleton-less Termites, Elvish Taverns, Elephant Tranquilizer, Elmo Tickles, Existentialist Thoughts, Enforced Titanium, Eocene Timeline, Ecuadorian Turtles, Elliptical Tracks, Ectoplasmic Trigylicerides, Extinct Triceratops, Egyptian Tutankhamen, Expressway Trains, Estonian Tea, European Trade, Eugenic Trees, Elaborate Trickery, Ethiopian Trackstars, and so on and so forth until the End of Time.
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| Weird morning. I took the day off work to celebrate my sister's 18th birthday with her. I was really looking forward to reuniting with the entire family and commemorating a major event in my favorite little sister's life. I woke up happy and excited for her big day. Then things took an unexpected turn.
My family had a cat named Fenix. Fenix was a Maine Coon Cat, an outdoor cat. We would let him out for the night almost every night. We never worried about him. He would always come back the next day, sometimes with a bird or small rodent in his clutches, and wait patiently at the door to be let in. A week or two ago, I let Fenix out for the night. He wasn't waiting at the door in the morning. Nor was he waiting at the door the next day. The rest of the family seemed to worry, but I wasn't too concerned. I knew Fenix was a tough cat. He was no ordinary cat. If any household cat could fend for themselves in the wilderness for a few days, it was Fenix. Sure enough, he showed up at the doorstep the next day. I was happy to see him. I filled up his food bowl, and poured him some water. He barely touched either of them. Again, I wasn't worried. I figured he must have eaten a bird or two during his excursion, and surely a resourceful cat could find water.
A few nights ago, I let Fenix out again. He didn't come back the next morning. That night, it started to storm ferociously. The wind howled, the thunder cracked, and the lightning lit up the sky. A torrential downpour flooded the land. I gazed expectantly through windows and doors, hoping to catch a glimpse of Fenix seeking shelter from the storm. But he did not show up that night. For the first time, fear and doubt crept into my mind. I knew Fenix was a fighter and a survivor, but this sure was a fierce storm. My thoughts went out to my brave little cat. I pictured him, soaking and curled up under a tree, longing to lay on a nice and warm sunlit spot on the couch; yearning to be petted and adored by his owners. It broke my heart, but I still felt confident he would return.
Sure enough, brave little Fenix returned the next day. My family had all been worried about him, and we were overjoyed to see him return. But it didn't take long to realize something was wrong with Fenix. Once again, he barely touched his food or water. Soon after, he raised his hindlegs and began to meow incessantly. This was unusual behavior for him. Then all of a sudden, he collapsed. Everyone knows cats always land on their feet. They're not supposed to fall over for no reason. It looked like he was having a seizure. He came to after a few seconds, and ran and hid right under the couch. Something was definitely wrong.
That night, I gently picked Fenix up and carried him to bed with me. I made up a nice spot for him to curl up next to me. He was acting jittery and strange, but eventually he calmed down. I petted him gently and scratched his cheeks, his favorite form of affection. It soothed him and relaxed him, but he was not purring with the vigor I had come to expect from Fenix. I decided I would take Fenix to the vet in the morning and see if I could help him out.
I struggled mightily to get Fenix into a cage. First off, the cage was barely big enough to fit Fenix into. Secondly, he was none too excited about the prospect of being shoved into a cage. Thirdly, I was having a hard time putting my full effort into getting Fenix into that cage. My courageous cat had just survived two nights in the wilderness whilst sick, one in a torrential downpour, and now here I was forcibly pushing him into a cage. It just seemed so wrong to me. After much struggling and effort, and despite many loud protests on Fenix's part, I got him into the cage and made my way to the veterinarian.
It didn't take long for the vet to identify that something was wrong with Fenix. He had lost 2 pounds since his last visit, a large amount considering his small size. A few tests revealed that Fenix had heart murmurs and pretty severe anemia. The veterinarians could operate on him, but it would cost hundreds of dollars and there would be no guarantee that he would get better. Fenix was 10 years old. I was told by the vets that Maine Coon Cats typically live to around 10-12. I was left with a few options. I could take Fenix home and care for him to the best of my ability, I could have the vets operate on him and pray for the best...or I could have him put to sleep. Just hearing that last possibility floored me. I had come to the vet expecting Fenix to have a minor health problem; nothing a few antibiotics couldn't fix. I wasn't prepared for this. Just hearing the words 'put to sleep' evoked a tearful reaction from me. I wasn't prepared for this. Not at all. I told the vets I needed a few minutes to think things over. I needed to clear my head. I left the veterinarian clinic and went for a short walk.
I called up my family to hear their thoughts. Everyone was torn, especially my sister. Caroline had always been Fenix's favorite. He loved nothing more than to curl up next to her and take a nice long nap. And she loved nothing more than to be there right next to him, petting him lovingly until he purred himself to sleep. Now here I was calling my sister ON HER BIRTHDAY telling her that there was a good chance Fenix was about to be put to sleep. Rough. In the end, it was decided that it made the most sense to put Fenix to sleep. He had lived a long and good life, and surely had many adventures. I think deep down, I knew it was the best decision. But that didn't make it any easier.
"I think...we're going to have him..............put to sleep."
I could barely get the words out. It seemed so surreal. The veterinarians nodded knowingly. Then they left the room, giving Fenix and I a few precious last minutes together.
I carefully picked Fenix up and set him on my lap. He seemed tense at first, but quickly made himself at home on my legs. My eyes moist, I gently ran my fingers through Fenix's soft fur. He began to purr softly and turned his head to me, hoping for one of his favorite cheek scratches. Now maybe this is just wishful thinking on my part, but it felt to me that Fenix knew this was a special moment. He purred contentedly as I stroked his furry little body for the last time. We sat like this for a few minutes, silent except for his happy purrs. Finally, the veterinarians came back into the room.
"Are you ready?"
"Yes."
They placed Fenix on his side on a steel table. I held his head in my hands as the vets prepared the syringe that would end Fenix's life. His purring was quiet now. Again, I think he knew this was a special moment. He flinched as the syringe was put into his leg, but I held him firmly and lovingly. He gazed up at me with his big green eyes. A million thoughts ran through my head.
It seems unfair that I am the only one of my family that gets to be with you in your last moments.
Why did this have to happen on Caroline's birthday?
I can't believe how many of my clothes you peed on.
What did you do, all of those nights on your own in the wild? I'm sure you have some amazing stories to tell, Fenix.
How did you always know when I was upset? Whenever I was feeling down, you seemed to always come and keep me company. You'd curl up and purr, and let me pet you until I felt better. And you always made me feel better. Thank you.
I love you Fenix.
And then I lost it. I started to sob uncontrollably as soon as the syringe was put into his leg. I tried my best to comfort and console Fenix in his last moments. But in truth, it was I who needed comforting and consoling. And Fenix did comfort me. The gaze of his beautiful green eyes did not leave mine in his last few moments of life, and he seemed to be telling me that everything was alright. Tears filled my eyes as I slowly watched the contents of the syringe making their way to their final destination. I've been around death before, but this was different. I've never held someone in my arms as they died. Fenix continued looking me right in the eye. Slowly, his gaze went dull. His breathing stopped. The vet took his pulse. Then she let me know that it was over. With heavy heart, I delicately wrapped Fenix in a white towel and took him home.
Now it's time to go celebrate Caroline's birthday. This sure is going to be tough. It's funny, but I never realized how much Fenix meant to me until the very end. Perhaps it's a good thing that Fenix passed away on Caroline's birthday. The family will all be together, and we can give him a proper burial in the backyard. Fenix, you were truly an amazing cat. I love you. And I miss you.
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| The past 2 weeks in my life have certainly been interesting. They have been the best of times, and the worst of times all wrapped into one. I haven't really been sure what to make of it. There have been heavy things on my mind, and this will be a heavy entry. Here are a few things I've come to realize in recent days:
Honesty is ALWAYS the best policy
As I have learned so many lessons in my life, this one was learned the hard way. There are many truths in my life that I despise. There are many things that I am, and things I have done (or not done) that I am ashamed of. Rather than face the music, I fashioned for myself a cloak of deception and deceit to hide behind. I did not like who I was, so I projected an image of who I thought people wanted me to be to the world. But it was not who I was. I became so caught up in my lies, that I lost my own identity. The burden of lying to the world, even people close to me, was tough at times. But I felt I was in too deep to tear down my wall of lies. But the truth has a habit of catching up to you. Try as I did to outrun the truth, it caught up to me and my wall came crashing down. First, I was more upset that my carefully crafted illusion had disappeared. But then I realized how many people I had deceived, and how many people I had hurt. How can I call someone my friend if I can't even tell them the truth? I thought back on all the times I had deceived people to come across as a 'better' person than I really was. It would have been so much easier to tell the truth from the start. In my quest to seem like a 'better' person, I became worse by far. For example, I would much rather let it be known that I am a few years behind many of my peers in graduating college than to be labeled a liar and deceiver. This seems so blatantly obvious to me now. I can't fathom why I wasn't able to figure this out earlier. But I'm glad I finally did. Sometimes the truth hurts, but it beats lying any day.
I am going to start blogging again
Call me cocky, but it's no mistake that my blog has over half a million hits. I'm good at this. Technically, I'm far from a great writer. But my voice is defined, and I feel I have at least a few good insights and ideas. That's all I need. For the past few years, I've neglected writing for pleasure. I felt that I wasn't having the exciting debaucherous adventures of years past to report, and I lacked the motivation to come up with my goofy and humorous posts that I began this blog with. It may take me awhile to find my niche again. But there is ALWAYS something to write about. And I intend to write. Stay tuned.
What I want to do in life
What do I want to do with my life? This question has been the biggest thorn in my side for years. I honestly have never had a clue. I dabbled in many things. I tried my hand at being a music major, I gave writing my full focus for awhile. I tried restaurant management, and for a time I was a research scientist. But none of these things ever fully satisfied me. I enjoyed some of these activities for a time, but I knew none of them could be my career path. Then the other day, I was asked to design a t-shirt for the 10th Annual International Congress on the Biology of Fish to be held in Madison, Wisconsin in 2012. I had attended a fish conference of my own, Aquaculture America, down in Orlando a few years back. I drew upon my knowledge of how I perceived the average 'fish guy' and designed my logo accordingly. This is what I came up with:
 10th Annual International Conference on the Biology of Fish Madison, Wisconsin 2012
After I get myself into the advertising world, phase 2 begins. I'll work for some company, designing ad campaigns for awhile. But at some point, I'll tire of having a boss and a fixed salary. I'll want to test my skills against the world. Having saved up enough money from working for a few years and gaining valuable experience, my biomedical engineering genius younger brother and I will pool our funds and join the entrepreneurial ranks. With his formidable engineering skill set and my advertising prowess, I think we'll have no problem developing a product, and then marketing it well. Throw in our Barry brother charms and boyish good looks, and I don't see how we can fail. I won't rest until we are hundred billionaires cruising around in yachts. And not just any yachts, but yachts with helicopter pads.
This is the very first time in my life where I know what I want to do. Living without any goals or long-term plans for my future has been tough on me these past few years. But again, I'm glad I figured this out, even though it took me awhile. With achievable goals and a vision of the future to guide my actions, I finally have the motivation to live up to my potential. Baller.
Amor Fati
The other day, I stumbled upon this passage from Nietzsche:
My formula for greatness in a human being is amor fati: that one wants nothing to be different, not forward, not backward, not in all eternity. Not merely bear what is necessary, still less conceal it—all idealism is mendaciousness in the face of what is necessary—but love it.
Amor fati is a Latin term, and translates to "love of one's fate". This idea, to love and accept one's fate, struck a resounding chord within me. In recent years, I have suffered. I've carried the burden of living a lie. I've had no goals, and watched myself stand stationary while all my friends and peers pass me by on the path to success. I've wasted my God-given abilities. I've loved, and I've lost. I have felt almost unbearable anguish at times. I've written blog entries, and exaggerated my sufferings for dramatic effect. But that's beside the point. I believe everything that I've gone through, both good and bad, is all part of my destiny. I needed these painful experiences to shape me into who I am, and who I will become. It has been a strange and rocky path I've tread on. But with amor fati, that's all the better. I embrace whatever comes my way, be it pain, heartbreak, or suffering. Though these things may hurt, they are all necessary for me to become who I am meant to be. Finally, I feel myself breaking out of my stagnant state. In just the past few weeks, I've undergone sweeping changes to my mindset, my habits, and the way I live my life. Once again, after years of feeling inferior and hopeless, I feel that I am destined for greatness. And no matter what happens to me along the way, I will rejoice. It's all part of the plan.
My apologies for yet another long and heavy entry. I had to get it out of my system. To my faithful readers, worry not. I'll get back to my lighthearted comedic roots in no time. Until then, AMOR FATI.
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2 videos of my electro-klezmer-funk band, the Shtetlblasters, playing for a video podcast. One song, and an interview. Check it out.
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| It had been a long time since I was as excited for any movie as I was for "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince". The first trailer I saw for the film absolutely floored me. Perhaps it looked even more incredible than it really was in contrast to "Ghosts of Girlfriends Past" starring Matthew McConaughey which I had the unfortunate experience of sitting through after the trailer (not my choice), but regardless, HP and the HBP looked AWESOME! I was a little rusty on my HP knowledge, so I decided to reread Half-Blood Prince the week before the movie came out. The books were even better than I remembered, and I finished HP 6 and HP 7 in consecutive days. Those were definitely two very productive days. With tales of Hogwarts and Horcruxes fresh in my mind, I headed to the movie theater.
SPOILERS AHEAD
Of all my friends I talked to who saw the film before I did, I had only heard positive reviews.
"Oh my GOD, IT WAS SOOO GOOD!"
"I NEED TO SEE IT 10 MORE TIMES!"
"BEST. MOVIE. EVER!"
I'm afraid too many people are blinded by their love and devotion to Harry Potter that they cannot accept the truth. This was not a very good movie. I left the movie theater feeling downtrodden and disappointed. It felt borderline sacrilegious for me to be feeling so negative towards anything Harry Potter related, so I tried to rationalize my thoughts.
"Perhaps reading the book right before watching the movie was a mistake. Of course they can't put in every little detail from the books! This movie would have to be 6 hours long!"
"The movies are separate entities from the books. I need to know and understand that they are very different experiences, and enjoy the movies for what they are."
"That cave scene was pretty cool."
But the more I think about this movie, the more I dislike it. Without further ado, so begins my rant. Unless you're well-versed in Harry Potter knowledge, the rest of this entry could get a bit confusing. I hold none of my glorious nerdiness back in this entry. Be prepared.
First off, I loved the opening scene. The three Death Eaters flying through London and wreaking havoc was a treat, and I enjoyed the ride. This opening sequence really gave me high hopes for the rest of the film. But then I waited for Scrimgeour and Fudge to introduce themselves to England's prime minister, as happens in the opening chapter of the book. In the books, the gradual failing of the Ministry of Magic as Voldemort rises to power is a major part of the story. The deception and disappearances of those opposing Voldy remind me of Nazi Germany, and in my opinion, really add major gravitas to the storyline. This was completely omitted in the film. Any small reference to troubles at the Ministry would have gone a long way for me.
In the next scene, Dumbledore comes to pick Harry up and apparate to some distant land. Dumbledore is my favorite character in all of the books. With his wisdom, power in magic, and clever sense of humor, whilst reading the books, I always felt a sense of ease and comfort in any scene when Dumbledore was present. Richard Harris, the Dumbledore in films 1 and 2 before his untimely death, was THE PERFECT DUMBLEDORE. He exuded patience, confidence, and wisdom. The new Dumbledore, Michael Gambon, though not terrible, can't hold a candle to the original Dumbledore. Michael Gambon is too intense for my tastes, and the sense of comfort and absolute confidence that Dumbledore will always do the right thing is not present with this actor.
Dumbledore and Harry next go to pick up Horace Slughorn. I really liked Slughorn, and found him to be quite humorous. But where was the walrus moustache?! Come on! This is a minor complaint, but seriously. Why rob us of that sweet, sweet 'stache?
Eventually, the scene switches to Hogwarts. I love Hogwarts. Everyone who has read the books or watched the movies has at some point wanted to live at Hogwarts. Anyone who tells you otherwise is lying. Aside from the obvious practicing of magic, in previous films, there seemed to be a 'magic' to Hogwarts. That's a terrible explanation for my next complaint, but I will attempt to elaborate. In this movie, Hogwarts felt just like a normal, albeit grandiose and beautiful, school for Muggles. Sure a few candles were floating in the Great Hall, but during this movie, I never had the urge to be at Hogwarts. I really don't know how to explain this well. Perhaps it was the lack of a sorting hat scene, or the fact that there didn't seem to be much competition or division between the four houses. It could have been that not enough paintings were talking and making mischief. Maybe I just really missed the absence of Nearly Headless Nick in the film. Whatever it was, something was definitely lacking that I can't quite seem to put a finger on.
Next up on my list of complaints is the love angle of the film. Harry and Ginny had NO chemistry whatsoever. I couldn't have cared less about their relationship in this movie. In the books, I love the sass and personality of Ginny, but in this movie she's just...kind of there. She doesn't really seem to have a personality of her own except as Ron's sister and Harry's love interest. Next up is the triangle of Ron, Hermione, and Lavender. The Ron and Lavender scenes provided some comedic relief, but I felt like too much time was spent on the lighthearted love scenes. Overall, HP and the HBP is a dark and plot-heavy book. I would have liked to see more of the main story and less of the snogging.
The next topic I'll address was my biggest problem with the film. My favorite scenes were the flashbacks of young Tom Riddle. In the books, I was enthralled with finding out the origins of the boy who would eventually become the most powerful dark wizard in history. Getting a glimpse into what makes Voldemort tick is not only fascinating, but it is absolutely necessary knowledge in order for Harry to find and destroy the Horcruxes in HP 7. I could have used much more flashback action. Where were Morfin, Marvolo, and Merope? Where was Tom Riddle stealing Helga Hufflepuff's cup? How is Harry supposed to know what items the Horcruxes will be without this knowledge? This really disappointed me.
Not only did the filmmakers leave out some of the best and most important parts of the book, but they also had the audacity to add in their own scenes which NEVER HAPPENED. When Fenrir and Bellatrix attacked the Burrow, I was thoroughly confused. I wracked my brain, trying to think of some chapter I had forgotten about. But the destruction of the Burrow is no small event. There's no way something like that could have slipped my mind. This scene was stupid on so many levels. For starters, I've always viewed the Burrow as a safe haven. If it was so easy to find and attack, why didn't the Death Eaters show up en masse and take care of Potter and the Weasleys? Secondly, the scene didn't connect to any other part of the film. Ron and Ginny's house is destroyed and they have a brush with Death (Eaters), yet there is no mention of this for the rest of the film! If my house were destroyed and my family threatened, you can be sure I would have brought it up plenty with my friends in the coming weeks. And lastly, THIS NEVER HAPPENED IN THE BOOKS! I understand changing certain scenes slightly, or having the directors put their own spin on a few things. But to throw in a completely original scene with tremendous ramifications that in no way ties in to the main storyline? Give me a break. Also, Fenrir Greyback needed some sort of introduction. All Lupin had to say was "That's Fenrir Greyback! He's the werewolf that bit me. He's the fiercest werewolf there is, and he loves to feast on children" and Fenrir would have become exponentially more intimidating and fearsome. I think the filmmakers relied too much on movie viewers having knowledge of the Harry Potter universe. And yet, they threw in this scene, which had to confuse the pants off of any knowledgeable HP fan. Ironic.
Another problem I had with this film was how it handled the Half Blood Prince. The Half Blood Prince's book, though the namesake of the movie, seemed to be merely an afterthought. HP and co. never seemed particularly interested in the origins of the mysterious Prince, and the movie didn't accurately portray just how important the book was to Harry's success in potions. Also, my boy Severus Snape (played by Alan Rickman, who I think does the best acting in the movies) was decidedly un-Snapelike compared to past films. I got the impression they were setting him up for redemption in movies 7 and 8. Snape was never really his biting and sarcastic self with Harry. Curiously, he seemed to leave Harry alone in this movie. I would have loved to see just a small snippet of a Defense Against the Dark Arts class with Professor Snape. I wanted to see Snape drip all of his malice and loathing for HP onto him. I love to hate Snape, but he gave me nothing to work with in this movie. In the books, Harry burns with hatred for Snape and you are fully convinced that Snape is evil. But here, they let things get a little murky for my tastes. Is Snape bad? Is he good? Save the redemption for the next few movies. I wanted an evil Snape in this movie.
On the plus side, the cave scene was awesome. This was the moment I had been waiting for, and the moment that the trailers had me dying to see. Seeing Dumbledore in pain drinking the potion was truly a heartwrenching experience. Also, the visuals were stunning. I especially liked Harry sinking into the depths, and then Dumbledore's fiery whip torching the Inferi. BADASS! If I had to pick something I didn't like out of this scene, it would be that the Inferi closely resembled a certain Lord of the Rings character, and I half-expected them to start yelling "Filthy dirty Hobbitses! My Precious!" But overall, this scene was killer.
Ah, the lightning struck tower! The climax of the film! I held my breath in anticipation for the fierce battle between the Death Eaters breaking into Hogwarts and the Aurors & Dumbledore's Army. I waited and waited for the battle at Hogwarts to break out. I waited, and waited, and waited some more. I kept on waiting, but by then the credits had finished rolling and I was alone in the theater. NO BATTLE?! In the book, this was the culminating scene. Yet in the movie, the Death Eaters just roamed the halls of Hogwarts unchallenged. I wanted a big bad wizard battle, dammit!
Snape killed Dumbledore. These were the 3 saddest words I ever read (and ever typed, to my great shame, if anyone remembers that). In the story, the loss of Dumbledore is a HUGE event. And I mean HUGE! The most powerful wizard on the good side is killed, he is seemingly betrayed by a fellow Hogwarts teacher, Harry's mentor and friend is no longer there to offer guidance, Harry must now defeat Voldemort on his own, and with Dumbledore out of the way for Voldy & co., the fight against evil seems hopeless and impossible. In many ways, this is the biggest moment in the entire series. But I felt it was handled very nonchalantly. In the movie, Harry is not put into the full body bind as he watches the Avada Kedavara performed on Dumbledore. Rather, he's hiding under a staircase. Based upon what I know about the character of Harry Potter and his fierce loyalty to Dumbledore, you can't expect me to believe that he would elicit no reaction when Dumbledore is hit with the Killing Curse. He just stands there under the stairs. I would expect at least a hearty Star Wars Episode III Darth Vader-esque "NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!", or for Harry to brazenly rush out from his hiding place, wand a-blazing, hurling hexes and curses at every Death Eater in his grief and rage. But instead, Harry just sits under the staircase for awhile as the Death Eaters walk through the halls of Hogwarts UNCHALLENGED by any Aurors or members of the DA, before finally deciding to chase after them and exact some revenge on good old Severus. Harry, by himself, chases FIVE Death Eaters out of Hogwarts. Again, it's FIVE against ONE. There are no Aurors or members of Dumbledore's Army in sight, yet the Death Eaters flee before the sight of Harry Potter, all by himself. FIVE against ONE! Capture him, take him to Voldemort! Do something! Don't flee from one underage wizard when it's FIVE against ONE and no one else is hot on your tail. This made no sense to me.
Harry inexplicably makes it back to the castle after his one on five encounter to find a large group of students and professors crowded around the body of Albus Dumbledore. Everyone is mourning, but to be honest I expected more sadness, especially from Hagrid. Hagrid is supposed to be a wreck, in a state of total disbelief. The death of arguably the second most important character in the series occurs, yet no one seems terribly shocked or sad. Then they totally skip over Dumbledore's funeral, which I find to be one of the most beautiful scenes in all of the books. Dumbledore, the biggest influence in Harry's life, and one of the greatest characters in the series, dies, and it doesn't even seem like a big deal. I wanted centaurs shooting arrows to pay their respects. I wanted the merpeople rising from the depths to sing Dumbledore an enchanting melody. I wanted wizards from all over the world to gather round and celebrate the life of one of the greatest wizards of all time. But Dumbledore just...dies. And that's it.
So concludes my Half Blood Prince rant. While I definitely enjoyed parts of the film, overall I just had too many issues with it to consider this a good movie. My advice: Don't reread the book before you go and see the movie.
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