Gosford Park

GOSFORD PARK             A  
Great Britain  USA  Germany  Italy  (137 mi)  2001  ‘Scope  d:  Robert Altman

What I’m always interested in, in films, is are there errors or mistakes?  Because if you can go to every film, at least every film I’ve made, and you say, OK, in each film there’s six really great things in it, none of those had been planned.  Every one of those things that you would take out as the high point of any film of mine came as something that was not scripted, not planned, and certainly not directed by me.  Because I think that’s where you hit that truth button…I’m looking for behavior, because what I really want to see from an actor is something I’ve never seen before, so I can’t tell them what that is.                     —Robert Altman  

Arguably Altman’s last masterwork, this is a film that personifies his talent for directing large ensembles pieces, finding balance and moderation out of a multitude of seemingly randomly intersecting storylines, where this is a perfect example of the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.  Modeled after an old-fashioned Agatha Christie murder mystery novel, the third most published author in history behind Shakespeare and The Bible, by the way, but also popular British TV shows like Upstairs, Downstairs (1971 – 75) or the mini-series Brideshead Revisited (1981), Altman has a field day working with some of the finest actors in England, starting apparently with Maggie Smith and Kelly Macdonald.  Set in a lavish country estate just 45 minutes outside of London between the two World Wars, Altman wanted the look of the grounds to resemble a 19th century English manor, where the lingering customs of a distant Jane Austin era extend into the present with the wealthy aristocracy inhabiting the grandeur and spacious opulence of the enormous upstairs rooms while the cramped servant’s quarters are below.  While Altman may have been more interested in telling the story from the servant’s point of view, with forty some-odd characters, the rhythm of the film is established beginning with the servants, where the camera only goes upstairs when accompanied by a servant in the performance of their duties, which is how the audience is lured into the meticulous precision of the customs and manners of the upstairs world, cutting back and forth between the two worlds, where there’s continual upstairs gossip about their hired help, and once the servants return back downstairs, they bring with them the gossip of the upstairs world.  The film is like peeping through windows where the viewer must piece together what clues there are by the mysteries revealed in each of the rooms, especially in a murder mystery like this where it rains throughout until the murder is committed, at which point the sun comes out and everything is light and cheerful.  From the opening scene, with servants standing in the rain waiting for the various guests to arrive in their extravagant Rolls Royce cars for a weekend shooting party, the lines of demarcation are evident, as the relationship between the upper and lower classes is one of co-dependence, where everyone knows their place as if it’s been set in stone, much like the customary preferential status given to men over women, where the hierarchy downstairs is every bit as formal and rigid as it is upstairs.     

While drawing parallels to Renoir’s THE RULES OF THE GAME (1939), perhaps the ideal that Altman aspired to throughout his lengthy career, this is a similar film that focuses on the idleness of the rich, portrayed in Renoir’s film as sleepwalking into the catastrophe of war, as it was originally conceived as a critique of the rising tides of fascism in Europe, yet expressed as an operatic comedy of manners that examines the privilege of European aristocracy while depicting the moral callousness of the upper class and the way they treated their servants, revealing an era of social protocol that faded away after World War II due to the rise of a burgeoning middle class and with it a more equitable society.  Both films take place at a weekend party in huge country estates with parallels right down to a murder that takes place in their midst, featuring a fondness for guns and shooting wild game while ruthlessly depicting a widening gulf between master and servant, rich and poor, becoming something of a class farce between husbands that don’t love their wives, and instead are forced to sneak down empty corridors at night into someone else’s bedroom (often slumming into the servant’s quarters) while pretending they are representatives of the cultural elite.  In both, what makes it all so astonishing is the generosity expressed towards the multitude of characters, feeling overtly humane, revealing deeply subtle and complex revelations, all set in the meticulous detail of the times, becoming an insightful examination of mannerisms, behavior, and social class, featuring disgruntled employees that never smile, though most dutifully and professionally go about their business, with some elated at the joy of serving others, while others are so proud we see them preening in front of mirrors like peacocks.  Altman uses a more precise method than Renoir, alternating back and forth between masters and servants, where the constantly moving camera moves fluidly from upstairs to downstairs and back again, becoming an instrument of keen observational skills.  As it was between Auguste Renoir and Jean Renoir, father and son, it’s a meeting between the age-old customs of the 19th century and its prolonged influence well into the 20th century, where instead of a war between the classes, it’s more of a bitingly satiric comment on the indiscretions taking place in their midst, where the servants are always more observant, as they’re paid to pay attention, while the reclusive habits of the indolent rich prevent them from noticing anything, where they’re completely reliant upon the gossip of their servants to inform them just what’s actually going on around them.  The insights gleaned from both films are obtained by the fabulously rich detail of the characters, where the camera moves effortlessly back and forth between both worlds, becoming an elegant class study of an existing culture that has all but faded from memory.

Of unique interest here are the technical advisors used on the film, three in particular, all in their 80’s at the time the film was made, where each began a career as English servants in the early to mid 1930’s, the same setting as the film, including a house butler, Richard Inch, the woman in charge of the kitchen, Ruth Mott, and the parlor maid, Violet Little.  They each knew their jobs down to the tiniest detail, where their memories served as resource material, recalling a condition of precise rules and exact order that existed only in England, where one did not disobey a single rule or custom, where it was their expertise that allowed Altman to meticulously recreate conditions exactly as they were at the time.  Using forty speaking characters, Altman used his customary preparation for a film in this case, where he was acutely aware of the characters, but not the script, which went through a series of improvisations and ad-libbing on the set, using various cameras and a large ensemble cast where no one knew when the camera was on them or when the director would chose their scene, as every character was miked, some 101 voices in all, so throughout the filming process, everyone was performing their roles simultaneously.  Each actor was responsible for doing their own research in the creation of their own characters, where many of these prominent artists hadn’t done parts this small in twenty years, where there was no formal movie structure, no master shots, or medium or close up shots, but Altman created a working environment where everyone understood their respective roles, as every character had their own separate agenda, where prejudice, snobbery, and small mindedness was the social milieu of the era, featuring flawless editing, perfectly lit scenes sumptuously shot by Andrew Dunn, with a seamless choreography between the upstairs world and down, all done very painterly, often showing the servants resting out of sight from their masters on the stairways between duties, perhaps taking a moment to smoke a cigarette, where the images, some of the most beautifully composed shots in the film, convey the truth of the situation.  Everyone seems to be hiding something, including regrets for some other kind of life they might have had, but don’t, as being a servant is often a life unrealized, where throughout the process motives become clear, as people want something they don’t have, usually money, where in this setting, a large household of guests for the weekend, everyone’s a suspect. 

The idea for the film began with multiple discussions between Altman and Bob Balaban, an actor and producer on the film, where both are credited with the original idea, evolving from the filmed versions of TEN LITTLE INDIANS (1945, 1965), movies based upon Agatha Christie’s 1939 novel And Then There Were None, expanded by British screenwriter Julian Fellowes into a study of how the two social classes collide under one roof, where one of the guests is Balaban as Morris Weissman, an American movie producer of Charlie Chan films, where he gets the idea of a murder taking place at an old English estate during a weekend party where every invited guest becomes a suspect in a murder committed on the premises, creating a movie within a movie, where Altman’s effortless direction is a delicate collaboration between the camera and his actors, described by Altman as “planets trying to find their orbits without crashing into one another.”  Oddly enough, there were no camera hogs, no notable scene stealers, as it’s instead a brilliantly acted film, where the understated tone of authenticity and believability is key throughout.   Maggie Smith, known for her acerbic roles, who gets all the best one-liners, “There’s nothing more exhausting than breaking in a new maid,” is the first one of the invited guests seen, Constance Trentham (the aunt of the lady of the house), accompanied by her new maid, Mary Maceachran (Kelly Macdonald), shortened to Mary as she can’t pronounce the rest.  The hosts of the party are Sir William McCordle (Michael Gambon), a gruff old man seen carrying his dog at all times, the only one in the film with real money, where so many others are continually seen circling around him hoping to get some of it, and his much younger and glamorous wife, the acid tongued Lady Sylvia (Kristin Scott Thomas).  The guests are whisked inside while their servants, all called by their master’s names, are sent around to the servant’s entrance, where there’s a noticeable gap between rich and poor.  Alan Bates plays Jennings, the house butler, the actual man in charge, while under him Eileen Atkins as Mrs. Croft runs the kitchen, while Helen Mirren as Mrs. Wilson runs the household.  Of note, the two women completely avoid each other and haven’t spoke in decades, while painfully respecting each other’s exclusive domain.  Right from the outset, the viewer is privy to petty resentments and suspicions, where there is little trust on the grounds, with each protecting their own position, instead what captures everyone’s attention, both upstairs and down, are secret exchanges of gossip, where these mutterings reveal the backdrop and advance the storylines. 

Mary, as an inquisitive young novice, acts as the audience’s eyes and ears, providing the details of the narrative as she leads us through the myriad of complications in both worlds, where she’s an inexperienced young Scottish girl new to her profession who is nervous and shy and a bit overwhelmed by the complex set of rules and guidelines expected from her, where she’s placed in the same room as Elsie (Emily Watson), one of the head housemaids who quickly fills her in on how things are run in this household.  Buried beneath the veneer of professionalism in their duties, where the downstairs world is always seen as a flurry of constant activity, various subplots gradually emerge from the snippets of gossip, filled with mysterious clues and sexual innuendo.  Tension is everywhere as the camera is never still, even if barely noticeable, creating an underlying restlessness on the premises as we visit immaculately dressed guests that seem to be sleepwalking upstairs, a picture of lethargy as they’re seen chatting in the red drawing room, a picture of stately elegance, while in the more claustrophobic downstairs corridors servants are hard at work making preparations in the kitchen, working fastidiously in the sewing and ironing room, or polishing shoes in the boot and brushing room.  The upstairs scenes are actually shot inside the English estate while the downstairs scenes are all shot in a carefully designed movie set, where the use of windows allows the entry of light into otherwise darkened interior rooms.  With Helen Mirren as Mrs. Wilson, often seen barking out explicit orders, Altman uses a Hitchcock device from Rebecca (1940) where the sinister housekeeper Mrs. Danver (Judith Anderson) abruptly appears, seemingly out of nowhere, where she’s not just living in the house, but haunting it.  One of the interesting aspects of the film is how narrative histories are slowly revealed, where the audience comes to know everyone, but only in due time, as the film has a rhythm and pace of its own, where there’s an intimate familiarity in the conversations between the masters and their own servants, who often play the observational role, as they are always on hand in the event they’re needed, often eavesdropping into each other’s affairs.   Altman creates plenty of family scandals, the subject of much of the gossip, where lives are threatened by the stinginess of McCordle, who is easily the crudest and least caring person in the entire film, giving people plenty of reasons to do him harm, as everyone universally hates him.

Some of the family struggle to keep up appearances even as their financial interests are failing, where McCordle’s overly pampered daughter Isobel, Camilla Rutherford, still living at home, wants to marry a man beneath her stature, Rupert (Laurence Fox), but is upset her father refuses to advance him any money.  Sir William has threatened to cut off the lifelong allowance to Constance, seemingly because he can, but nothing matches his ability to make a man squirm, as he does with his son-on-law Lt. Commander Anthony Meredith (Tom Hollander), married to Lady Sylvia’s sister Lavinia (Natasha Wightman), perhaps the only couple that actually love each other, where McCordle relishes the idea of sadistically backing out of an important business deal at the last minute (selling boots to barefoot Nigerians), leaving Meredith to flounder and ultimately fail on his own.  Perhaps most cynical is Freddie Nesbitt (James Wilby) who purposefully married into family wealth with the ordinary looking “plain Jane,” Mabel (Claudie Blakley), not exactly a looker, only to be supremely disappointed when he finds out she didn’t have that much money after all, becoming the object of his neverending verbal abuse.  She literally shines in the film, however, becoming the center of attention when the handsome pianist asks her to sit with him.  Altman cleverly introduces a thread of reality, where Jeremy Northam plays Ivor Novello, known for his portrayal in Hitchcock’s silent film The Lodger (1927), who attempted a remake of the same film as a talkie, but it failed miserably, the subject of discussion among the wealthy class who would never be caught dead seeing a motion picture, viewing the entertainment business with scorn, considering it beneath their noble heritage.  In some of the most intriguing stretches of the film, Novello, who was not just a matinee idol but also a songwriter, is called upon to provide entertainment, where he sits at the piano (with Mabel) and sings about a half dozen songs of his own compositions, offering delightfully witty commentary on such a unique social setting, where even his music is mocked for actually having clever lyrics with some profound level of depth instead of the lighthearted background entertainment they expected, where for their tastes he goes on too long, eventually becoming an interesting lead-in to the murder.  The servants, on the other hand, are seen standing in the dark corridors of the adjoining rooms listening in, illuminated by just the barest trace of light, star struck and literally in awe of Novello, giddily catching a glimpse of a celebrity they could only read about in the papers, occasionally breaking out into dance.  Northam is simply exquisite in the role, which has a gay subtext, where especially beautiful is the song “The Land of Might-Have-Been,” Gosford Park 24. The Land of Might-Have-Been - YouTube (4:21), the lament of gay existence, as Novello was a closeted gay, where many of the male servants are seen bickering over their desire to dress and serve him.  Bob Balaban’s Morris Weissman is an out-of-place American, whose rude manners trying to close his Hollywood movie deal over a long distance telephone call echoes throughout the rooms, reminiscent of the omnipresent cellphone interruptions of today, but he interestingly brings along his own valet, Henry Denton (Ryan Philippe with a Scottish accent, viewed as overly cocky by the other servants), where it’s hinted he is Weissman’s gay lover, something that was presumably not outwardly permitted, despite all the moral indiscretions taking place behind closed doors.       

After seeing Clive Owen in CROUPIER (1998), Altman knew he wanted to work with him, playing Robert Parks, a man with few words, who keeps to himself, seemingly with his own agenda, where he’s the servant to Lady Sylvia’s brother, the taciturn and sour looking Lord Stockbridge (Charles Dance) and his wife Louisa (Geraldine Somerville), sharing a room with Henry Denton, who is always on the prowl, seen indiscreetly entering the room of Lady Sylvia on occasion.  Parks turns into Mary’s best friend, perhaps due to his smooth, James Bond-like good looks, his overt intelligence, and level of discreetness.  The scene of the film, however, is not the murder scene, which has all the appropriate build-up, complete with clues leading up to the murder, but takes place at the dinner party where Lady Sylvia takes offense at her husband’s behavior in dismissing others, suggesting he’s not interested in a living soul other than himself, where her display of viciousness in front of guests is stunning, going too far for Elsie, the head maid, who cuts her off, speaking up to defend McCordle, but stops herself in mid sentence, offering a petrified look, as all eyes are suddenly upon her in a state of utter shock, as a servant’s indiscretion of this magnitude is grounds for instant termination, a devastating moment where she’s seen running away in shame, knowing the implications, where it also reveals Elsie had been sleeping with the man of the house, which is a revelation to the audience, while confirming Lady Sylvia’s suspicions.  The aftermath of the murder opens up some of the darkest and longest kept secrets, where the inept investigator Thompson (William Fry) ignores every clue unearthed by his conscientious underling, Constable Dexter (Ron Webster), who keeps digging up a string of damaging evidence.  Much like a Charlie Chan movie, the police inspector never solves anything, as it’s always Charlie Chan that uncovers the mysteries, so it is with Mary who sniffs out what actually matters, becoming the real sleuth on the case, with Altman providing an open window into matters of status and class, where the film continues to provide revelations to the audience that remain concealed to the other characters in the film who for the most part remain clueless, where the murder changes nothing, barely causing a ripple in their lives, as people aren’t going to break their habits and routines, “Why do we spend our lives living through them?” where life goes on as normal, showing an unshakeable faith in the rules of the game.  The film is a mystery in name only, as it’s really an examination of a class system teetering on the edge of extinction, as the British Empire is about to unravel, and with it Britain’s loss as a world power.  Perhaps because of this, characters cling to their roles, with the lords of the manor expressing a feeble inability to care for themselves, while the servants are equally stuck in what’s left of this pitiful pecking order.      

According to Altman:

This time, 1932, is toward the end of this kind of servitude.  These people went into service, stayed all their lives, and it was hard work.  Their families were often thrilled to be rid of them.  It meant there were only three in a bed, not four.  If their daughter became a maid, they knew she would be taken care of and fed.  People in service often worked in only one or two households most of their lives.  But World War II was a turning point.  After it, young girls were able to have jobs other than maids.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Pt. 2

HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATHLY HALLOWS, PT. 2          B-                   

Great Britain  USA  (130 mi)  2011  ‘Scope  d:  David Yates

You and who’s army?             —Neville Longbottom (Matthew Lewis)

Pt. 2 begins pretty much where Pt. 1 left off, with Voldemort assuming the seemingly invincible powers by attaining the world’s most powerful wand by raiding Dumbledore’s coffin, leaving the wizard world in a state of flux and Harry still searching for the missing Horcruxes, the secret to dismantling Voldemort’s alleged invincibility.  Action sequences are fast and frequent in this segment, where right out of the gate the gang of three are off on another mission together, following clues and tracking down secrets into the farthest corners of the earth, this time leading them to the bank vault of none other than Bellatrix Lestrange, Helena Bonham Carter, easily one of the best characters in the entire series, as the unbridled joy she takes in her malevolence is unsurpassed by anyone.  Using the invisibility cloak to hide Harry and a goblin as his accomplice, not to mention ingenious disguises where Hermione assumes the look of Bellatrix, they simply walk right into Gringott’s bank to have a look, where the entry in resembles one of the world’s greatest roller coaster rides.  Of course, all doesn’t go exactly as planned, where Hermione even makes a joke about how their ideas never work out as planned, yet it’s a clever opening, a masterful extended sequence, probably the best in the entire film, filled with ups and down delights and surprises, as the audience is immediately reeled into this final chapter.     

The title character is given plenty of legroom in this one, with Ron and Hermione fading from prominence, showing up only as needed rather than initiating much of the action.  Interestingly, much of this plays out in Harry’s head, where he has past recollections, strange, otherworldy visions, intuitive thoughts about where to seek out Horcruxes, which all but abandoned him in the last meandering episode, but also visions of the current whereabouts of Voldemort, where much of the film turns into what he senses is happening around him, where he’s actually tuning into the totality of his entire life.  Hogwarts has been taken over by the dark side, surrounded by life-sucking Death Eaters, with Professor Snape (Alan Rickman) named the headmaster, where students are marched around with military precision like concentration camp victims, ordered by Snape to provide information about Harry Potter sightings or be severely punished, yet the entire group has facial wounds that suggest they have already been tortured.  Nonetheless, Harry sneaks into the grounds searching for Horcruxes, where he runs into Dumbledore’s mysteriously bitter brother Aberforth (Ciarán Hinds), also a sister (Hebe Beardsall) that lives inside a painting, who seem to still be holding a grudge against him, where there are illuminating flashback sequences that shed light on their childhood.  Still, another Dumbledore joining the fray has to reap positive benefits, even if reluctantly.

Voldemort uses his own version of mind control at Hogwarts, which begins with young girl students screaming in agony at the pain in their ears before an unseen but all powerful voice overwhelms them all, amounting to little more than bullying.  However when Harry shows himself, along with his own band of self-taught supporters, Professor McGonagall (Maggie Smith) seems rightfully pleased and aids him in a wand to wand encounter with Snape that runs him off the premises, allowing a spirit of joy to re-enter the premises, at least for the moment.  Aligning all the remaining wizard powers of good, McGonagall creates a spell that brings out giant stone chess player like protectors who were created for a moment such as this, as a spell encircles Hogwarts, like a protective bubble, while Voldemort and his Army gather on a nearby hill with a taste of victory in the air.  The skies are darkened throughout this final installment, given a very ominous, Macbethian tone which foreshadows the inevitable confrontation of the young wizard and the Dark Lord, where a bloody price is ultimately paid.  When his troops charge, the ensuing battle scenes are certainly reminiscent of the filmed version of LORD OF THE RINGS (2001 – 3), which contained an Iliad-like insatiability for blood.  But when the spell initially holds them at bay, Neville chortles with joy, claiming yeah, You and Who’s Army?, an amusing reference to a song made famous by Radiohead in 2001, six years before the final book was released, seen here:  Radiohead - You and Whose Army?  (3:35).  The protective bubble is short-lived however, as a near massacre ensues, leaving Hogwarts resembling the look of Rome, London, or Berlin in the aftermath of World War II, with rubble dominating the landscape.       

However, behind the scenes, Harry is vigilant in finding and destroying the Horcruxes, each one of which wounds Voldemort, leaving him less confident and overpowering, the first time we’ve seen any hint of weakness on his part.  But Harry seems equally drained by each destruction, as if he’s killing off a piece of himself in the process.  There’s some interesting unfinished business with Professor Snape, some quite surprising and even a bit confusing, also more examples of the ruthlessness of Voldemort, before the inevitable confrontation has a bit of the magic potion texture of Romeo and Juliet, where life is suspended momentarily to climb into one of the Harry Potter visions, even as he appears dead to the rest of the world, giving Voldemort the apparent victory he has always sought, delighted at the idea he has finally killed off his young nemesis.  Neville Longbottom, of all people, the "witless wizard" that conjures up laughs in the Voldemort camp, seen as a weakling throughout the entire series, finally rises to the occasion and sets off a student insurrection against the dark side, refusing to go easily, reuniting Harry’s friends, if only in spirit.  Like Tinker Bell, after drinking the poison in Peter Pan, this positive spirit seems to raise Harry from the dead, providing the impetus needed to cross the finish line alive and in one piece.  The finale is filled with wizard battle sequences, where even Ron’s mother gets into the action, actually calling Bellatrix a bitch before finishing her off with surprising gusto, but bodies line the grounds afterwards, the inevitable price of war.  The aftermath (19 years later) is surprisingly sentimental and a bit lame, suggesting all things end back at the beginning where a new group of wizards has the chance to do it all over again.  One of the fundamental disappointments of the finale was the near absent use of Hermione, a post feminist force, Muggle-born, yet considered the most ingenious young wizard in the art of potions, still relegated to the background through most of the final installment along with Ron, though holding hands at the end.  Their picture of domestic bliss is more laughable than believable, like something out of the Silent era films 100 years earlier.   

In reflecting on the entire series, the cinema itself has not been that outstanding or revelatory, hardly what one would call masterpieces, where only Alfonso Cuarón in PRISONER OF AZKABAN (2004) seemed to be having fun expanding the artistic palette of such a dark and mysterious world, creating a bleaker look, subjecting the audience to deeper terrors, not afraid to delve into the horror genre.  The casting has been particularly ingenious, allowing walk on opportunities for some of Britain’s finest actors, bringing their theatrical exaggeration into a children’s realm, as these characters will be forever etched into people’s minds and imaginations for generations, as the success of Harry Potter in books and the movies easily make it the most influential children’s saga in history, having far reaching effects on the benefits of children having an imaginary world that they can continue to explore well into adulthood, where unlike Peter Pan, they can bring much of the charm and magic with them as they grow up.  The real standouts in the series are the initial casting of the three friends, as we all watched them grow up and took a decided interest in their real lives as well, as they seem like genuinely good hearted and well-balanced kids where we can only hope for the best, though Daniel Radcliffe as Harry seems bound and determined to build a career outside this series, while the always beautiful Emma Watson as Hermione Granger is already a tabloid sensation, but may find it harder to break away from her brilliant, overly studious character. 

Alan Rickman, the sinister man in black, made Professor Snape’s malicious character deliciously humorous, conniving, always overly critical yet intriguing, but also complicated, as he divided his allegiance between the darkness and the light in order to survive the enveloping madness surrounding him.  Dumbledore, as written, is the heart of the magical end of the story, divided by two actors due to the premature death of Richard Harris, handing over the duties to the less flamboyant Michael Gambon.  The Hogwarts professors are an eccentric lot, but Robbie Coltrane as Hagrid is easily the most lovable, the devoted giant who brought Harry into the wizard world, letting him know how special he was, something every child needs to hear, while of the eccentric friends, no one comes close to the offbeat humor and charm of Evanna Lynch as Luna, a girl who always turned up in strange places where her friendship and loyalty to Harry was unmatched.  Julie Walters as the adoring mother of the Weasley clan couldn’t have been more lovingly affectionate.  On the dark side, Helena Bonham Carter as Bellatrix proves once again that not only is she a brilliant actress, but her flair for the character enriched everyone else’s part, almost always upstaging Ralph Fiennes as You Know Who, or He Who Must Not Be Named.  As for the animated characters, Dobby was simply a wonderful expression of kind-hearted sadness, whose moment of freedom was nothing less than sensational.  Perhaps the lamest CGI creation was the completely uninspired Grawp, Hagrid’s dimwitted brother in ORDER OF THE PHOENIX (2007), while the most artistically inspired moment in the entire series was the surprisingly original animated puppet play explaining the origin of the Deathly Hallows in PT. 1 (2010).  In the end, however, it’s the inventiveness of J.K. Rowling’s original creation that will stand the test of time, as she invented this strange and fabulous world filled with lovable characters who are forced to stand up to the dark forces, often at their own peril.  It’s not often you can grow up with a movie series that takes you through an entire decade of growth development, but this is one of the real successes of the movies, the audience’s identification with the characters as if their lives actually mattered, because for so many kids, they do.  That is the sign of exquisite writing, where the unforgettable, magical world they live in, with all the attention to detail, will likely live in our collective imaginations our entire lives.