CD of the Day: ‘Lungs,’ Florence + the Machine (2009)

I bought this album at nearly the exact same moment I started reading Ayn Rand’s “Atlas Shrugged,” and the two works will forever be linked in my heart and mind.

If Rand’s main character in “Atlas,” Dagny Taggart, could sing, she would sound like Florence Welch. Welch conveys utter strength without sacrificing an ounce of her femininity. She’s imposing at times, vulnerable at others—and sometimes both at once. She can wail with the ardent strength of PJ Harvey (“Cosmic Love”), lilt with the grace of The Cranberries’ Dolores O'Riordan (“Howl”), or summon a ghostly power a.k.a. Amy Lee of Evanescence (“Drumming Song”). For “Girl with One Eye,” she even slinks into the persona of a lounge singer.

Stylistically, “Lungs” is just as diverse. Welch’s breakthrough hit, “Kiss With A Fist,” plays like a rambunctious White Stripes song, but it’s the only one like it on the record. Elsewhere she embraces New Age, blues, gospel, and plain ol' rock, while “Hurricane Drunk” is a deliciously twinkling pop song that should make Lily Allen jealous. The constant throughout is a steady diet of thunderous drumming, heard most notably on standout cuts like “Rabbit Heart (Raise It Up)” and “Dog Days Are Over.”

Welch brings all of these various styles together perfectly on the album’s final track, a stirring rendition of “You’ve Got the Love.” Perhaps the best song on the album, it serves as both a reminder of where you’ve just been and why it was all so thrilling.

"Lungs" is easily one of my favorite albums of 2009.

Grade: A-

Favorite Track: “Hurricane Drunk”

Least Favorite Track: “I’m Not Calling You A Liar”

'The Way of Shadows,' Brent Weeks

Brent Weeks’ stunning debut fantasy novel, “The Way of Shadows,” is the story of an urchin who becomes an assassin to escape the living hell of the streets, but must battle his inner morality in the process.

It reminds me of The Gaslight Anthem’s latest album, “The ’59 Sound,” in a way, as Weeks doesn’t necessarily do anything utterly new here but synthesizes his many influences seamlessly. Like TGA, Weeks takes the best parts of the authors he loves to create something that feels, well, new. And, like “The ’59 Sound,” “The Way of Shadows” is utterly compelling from start to finish.

I don’t claim to know Weeks’ full range of influences, but here’s how I interpreted them through my own fantasy lens while tearing through “Shadows”:

• Weeks offers Terry Goodkind’s depth of character without requiring hundreds of pages of dialogue to do so.

• He captures the essence and innocence of childhood like Orson Scott Card (actually, for a while it walks a fine line between influence and downright stealing), but takes a step further into the dark corners of the underground urchin society where Card never went. He also writes with Card’s clarity of purpose and language.

• He presents multifaceted characters with deep flaws like Joe Abercrombie, but allows them more redeeming qualities. In short, you’ll feel OK loving these characters.

• Weeks provides scene after scene of pure, exhilarating action like Matthew Stover, but still adheres to a moral center. Also like Stover, Weeks provides just enough worldbuilding to give his novel depth but not intrude on the narrative flow.

• Like Joel Surnow of “24,” Weeks isn’t afraid to kill significant characters. It adds to the feeling that absolutely no one is safe in these pages.

And, most surprising, there is quite a bit of God talk in “Shadows,” and all of it sincere, not snide. I’m not saying Weeks is a Christian author, and this novel certainly doesn’t avow Christian values as a rule, but it’s utterly refreshing to encounter any characters in popular culture who speak of God with authenticity and truth. The “Christian” characters in “The Way of Shadows” are treated with the same care and respect as his other creations; they are one more color to the tapestry of action, romance, and political intrigue Weeks weaves over the course of 650 wonderful pages.

I cannot recommend this novel highly enough. It’s the most visceral reading experience of a fantasy novel I’ve had since Goodkind’s “Confessor” in 2007.

‘Daemon,’ Daniel Suarez

Daniel Suarez’s debut novel, “Daemon,” will mess with your head.

It will forever change the way you look at the world and the computers that run it. It will make you think twice when you log into your bank account online, or swipe your credit card at the grocery store. It will expose you to technology you thought only existed in the far-flung adventures of some Hollywood futurescope, then make you believe you could see these Silicon Valley devilspawns the next time you walk out your front door.

And that, as much as anything, will scare the crap out of you. I pray the world Suarez describes in “Daemon” doesn’t exist—doesn’t have the possibility of ever existing—but I fear all the more it may be right around the corner.

Consider this passage: “The modern world is a highly efficient, precision machine. But that’s its flaw—one wrench in the works and it all grinds to a halt. So what does our generation get? A culture of lies to hide weakness. Decreasing freedom. All to conceal one simple fact: the assumptions upon which our civilization is based are no longer valid.”

Or this: “They built a twenty-trillion-dollar house of cards. Then they told you to guard it. And they call me insane.”

Or, finally, this: “The Great Diffusion has begun—an era when the nation state dissolves. Technology will cause this. As countries compete for markets in the global economy, diffusion of high technology will accelerate. It will result in a diffusion of power and diffusion of power will make countries an ineffective organizing principle. At first, marginal governments will fail. Larger states will not be equipped to intercede effectively. These lawless regions will become breeding grounds for international crime and terrorism. Threats to cientralized authority will multiply. Centralized power will be defenseless against these distributed threats. You have already experienced the leading edge of this wave.”

Though “Daemon” was only widely published in January, these words were written more than four years ago, long before the subprime crash and the ensuing global economic tailspin we’re facing today. Like I said, scary stuff. Suarez, now in his mid-40s, is a tech industry consultant from California who originally self-published his debut back in 2006. It garnered serious tech-geek cred for its accurate portrayals of various online cultures, including massive multiplayer online role-playing games (MMORPG), such as “World of Warcraft,” which led to its pickup by a major publishing house last year.

Suarez defines a “daemon” as “a computer program that runs continuously in the background and performs specified operations at predetermined times or in response to certain events.” Odds are, as you’re reading this, there are daemons chugging away on your system right now (did you receive a security update this morning?). In the eponymous novel, a brilliant designer uses the principles he developed for his phenomenally successful gaming company to unleash daemons throughout the Internet—after his death. These programs, written ahead of time with mind-boggling precision, begin to trigger some astounding events—events that cost real human beings their real lives. No resets here. It’s like an updated and more frightening version of 1983’s “WarGames” (there’s even a reference to thermonuclear war in the book!).

What follows is a sprawling epic of a techno-thriller; the Daemon is the true main character, while various humans wander in and out of the story to interact with it. Suarez introduces a huge number of characters for a typical novel, and he seems unattached to any of them, for they all merely serve at the pleasure of the Daemon—whether they want to or not. And, wow, can that sucker do some amazing things. I won’t spoil any of the thrills and chills here but, trust me, you will be amazed.

There are times when Suarez overreaches, however. While most of “Daemon” exists in an all-too-plausible world, like any Hollywood blockbuster certain action sequences toward the book’s end simply stretch too far (it sorta reminded me of Christopher Nolan’s blow-up-Gotham ending to “Batman Begins”). But I chalk that up to the travails of being a first-time author.

Overall, “Daemon” is one of those game-changing pop culture events on the line of recent benchmarks like “The Matrix” or “300.” Flawed? Sure. But, like those two recent films, its singular vision overwhelms any minor problems. Suarez’s straightforward, no-nonsense writing style isn’t going to win any fancy literary awards, but “Daemon” is the science-fiction-of-the-now William Gibson has been trying to write about for a decade and, thus far, has failed to capture.

It is now the techno novel by which all future techno novels will be judged.


***One final note: It’s not lost on me most of the comparison I make in this review are films. Suarez is so brilliant at depicting action sequences, even I could adapt this book to a screenplay in no time—you can visualize the scenes in pristine quality as you read. I will be shocked if “Daemon” is not made into a movie in the near future.***

The Future Is Now

William Gibson started writing about the present because he said reality has caught up with science fiction's future.

When I read the sentence "Mind-control games may be the coming thing" in the USA Today, I understand exactly what Gibson's talking about. That proclamation comes from this article about a Star Wars-themed toy due out this year that will allow you to use brain waves to manipulate a small ball—with your mind.

And then, elsewhere in the paper, there's this story about LG unveiling a video cell phone that you wear on your wrist.

I can't decide whether these developments are awesome or scary as all crap.

I don't want to live in William Gibson's future. Or, come to think of it, his present.

Robert Ludlum

Having read about a third of the late Robert Ludlum's novels, I have a pretty good handle on how he operates. From what I can tell, the legendary suspense/thriller author has two kinds of main (male, always male) characters: The military/covert intelligence type, and the Average Joe who's being manipulated by the military/covert intelligence types.

1974's "The Cry of the Halidon," which I just finished, is one of the latter. It is not my preferred Ludlum style. In fact, "Halidon" is without question the worst Ludlum novel I've read; it took dogged determination to get through this rather messy, unfocused work. In the preface, Ludlum makes the rather candid admission that his wife basically had to drag him out of Jamaica, where the novel is set, so he would stop "researching" and get to some actual work. The book reads like it. Convoluted, lacking in intensity (a rarity in Ludlum novels, be they great or mediocre), and, as a result, difficult to follow. Leading man Alexander McAuliff has to be one of Ludlum's shallowest main characters, what with glancing hints at a murdered wife and time spent in the jungles of Vietnam. I won't bore with any more details of why this novel isn't worth your time.

No, I much prefer Ludlum's very non-Average Joe leads, such as Jason Bourne. It's through these characters Ludlum really expands his imagination; these characters routinely accomplish feats that make me wonder how the author even came up with/knew about the tactics of covert warfare, much less execute them in such engaging fashion. Names like Bourne, Beowulf Agate, and The Man from Lisbon, are etched permanently into my brain. If you've never read any Ludlum, "The Bourne Identity" is obviously a good place to start (the film adaptation has very little resemblance—oddly, both still come off well). But my particular favorite Ludlum novel is 1979's "The Matarese Circle," which includes some of the most compelling action storytelling I've ever read. To think Ludlum wrote this novel and "The Bourne Identity" in back-to-back years is a stunning achievement. The man was a machine.

So, if the excellent "Bourne" film trilogy got you thinking about reading Ludlum, trust those instincts. Just be sure to read the back of the book first—if it says anything other than "special agent" or "undercover operative," I'd keep looking.

'Spook Country,' William Gibson

"Obscurity is much praised by elitists, but I disdain it. The audience starts out knowing nothing about your story. It's your job, as a storyteller, to let them in on it. … What takes talent is clarity." —Orson Scott Card

Well, William Gibson don't do clarity, and that's the primary reason why I'm one of the only people I know who loves his novels. He is, almost exclusively, purposefully and doggedly obtuse. He drops you into his novels like you should already know what's going on, which, of course, you never do. I take long gaps between Gibson reads, because my mind has to be sharp and in tip-top shape to keep up with them.

All that being said, his latest novel, 2007's "Spook Country," stinks. The second novel he's written in the present (as opposed to his uncannily imagined future), this work is marred by too much intention. It's easy to imagine a situation where Gibson heard the news reports about "illegal wiretapping" and decided to write a novel about it. Or, in the least, that's the idea that set him off into "Spook Country," which deals tangentially in government conspiracies, no-bid contracts, and the like. For the first time, a Gibson novel reads along the lines of a DNC talking points memo. In a book that is so disjointed, murky, and impenetrable (even for Gibson), these obviously political references stick out like a black-helicopter strobe light in the middle of a pitch-dark night. (Speaking of "dark knights" (OK, sorta), the brilliant Christopher Nolan film does a much better job engaging this issue of surveillance than Gibson's book does).

The most egregious fault of "Spook Country," though, comes back to Gibson's actual writing. The story centers around three central characters, and Gibson devotes a chapter to each back-to-back-to-back almost exclusively until the book reaches its conclusion and the individual plotlines begin to merge. The chapters are quite brief, many less than two pages, so you never really get to know the characters at all or feel anything for them, which has always been a strong point for Gibson. One of the three (I won't tell you which one), serves almost no purpose whatsoever, and having read through the entire novel I still cannot figure out why he receives so much ink.

It's less than 30 minutes until the first Redskins' preseason game begins, and I feel I'm not being very clear, and certainly not very poignant, in my criticism, so I should just end here. "Spook Country" simply tries too hard, even for Gibson. In identifying so clearly the target of his paranoia, Gibson in turn forfeited his ability to pinpoint cultural phenomena, a skill he has been so freakishly accurate with in the past. It's the first book of his I haven't enjoyed at any level, no matter how difficult he always is to read.

Grade: C-

‘Confessor’

Terry Goodkind’s “Confessor” accomplishes the rarest of feats in any narrative medium. As the 11th volume in his renowned Sword of Truth series of novels, this final installment not only brings the story to a satisfying close, it manages to exceed all reasonable expectations.

In preparation for the highly anticipated “Confessor,” I reread “Phantom,” the preceding novel in the series; I probably should have gone back to No. 1, too. One of the most amazing aspects of “Confessor” is the way Goodkind revisits and resolves elements that track all the way back through his world to “Wizard’s First Rule,” first published way back in 1994. I don’t know for sure if Goodkind knew his endpoint when he began this saga or if he just flowed and worked it out as he went; either way, the author’s ability to weave multiple plotlines together in “Confessor” without their connections coming off as forced is stunning. And what a spectacularly gratifying experience this book is, as nearly every character we’ve come to know and love through these novels gets a victory lap—including several we haven’t heard from in years.

If “Confessor” was simply a Sword of Truth family reunion, though, it wouldn’t work. No, with this volume Goodkind delivers some of the most intense passages of the entire series. Though it does drag a bit for about a hundred early pages, upon finishing the book it seems Goodkind was merely building tension to an almost unbearable level before letting it explode and explode and explode some more over the course of the novel’s second half. Several times at the end of a chapter I went back and reread what I’d just gone through, it’s that gripping. My heart pounded, my breath got a little tight, and I broke out into sweats as my eyes scoured the pages. Other times I broke into wide grins, laughed out loud, and even wanted to release an occasional cheer.

I’d like nothing better than to go on and on for hundreds or thousands of words about all the scenes and sections I loved, but that would certainly spoil the experience for others. What I can say, however, is that Goodkind—in true Richard fashion—remained true to himself with this novel, and nothing about “Confessor” besmirches the narrative and philosophical integrity he’s built over the course of 11 books. Not everyone will like the ending, but in this fan’s opinion, I can’t imagine the series concluding in a better way.

Now that the Sword of Truth has reached its conclusion, the true majesty and scope of Goodkind’s work can be fully appreciated. As a whole, these novels never floundered. Sure, different readers will have different entries that didn’t speak to them (mine is “Pillars of Creation”), and his writing is far from the most polished you’ll ever read, but Goodkind’s overall quality is unassailable. The fact that he was able to sustain such intensity over the course of so many thousands of pages is downright remarkable.

But that really comes back to the beginning, and the reason Goodkind became a writer in the first place: The story of Richard and Kahlan. Though he can be longwinded and repeats certain phrases too many times, Goodkind took his time in letting us get to know these two fabulous and singular characters, and this book is the ultimate payoff. Though Goodkind has hinted in the past at writing about Richard and Kahlan beyond the Sword of Truth series, “Confessor” ends so perfectly, I don’t know where he could go from here. I may not even want him to try.

The journey was exemplary. The conclusion is extraordinary. What a wonderful series of books.

Deciphering 'The Golden Compass'

By this point you've probably heard something about "The Golden Compass," a new fantasy movie opening this Friday with an all-star cast headlined by Nicole Kidman and Daniel Craig. The film is based on a novel of the same name by author Philip Pullman, and its generating a bit of controversy since Pullman, a self-proclaimed atheist, didn't even try to hide his attempt at discrediting and, if he's lucky, destroying Christianity.

Attacking Christ and those who believe in Him is nothing new, of course, especially in Hollywood. So that's why I was so glad to read Jeffrey Overstreet's piece on "Compass" over at ChristianityToday.com. It's one of the most intelligent, rational, sensible, and humble responses to such an issue I've ever read; it manages to slice Pullman's work to ribbons while giving the author his due respect and not resorting to rhetoric or histrionics. And while this article is focused on "Compass," Overstreet touches on other topics, too, most notably the nonsense responses of some to the Harry Potter franchise.

Overstreet's dissection is so good, in fact, it really could be about any piece of pop culture teeing up Christianity, because it speaks to both sides of a perpetually heated environment of strife.

I cannot recommend this story highly enough. It provides practical direction for Christians to follow in what can often feel like a world ablaze with hate.

‘Heroes Die,’ by Matthew Stover

I recently finished reading “Heroes Die,” an excellent sci-fi/fantasy novel by Matthew Stover. I don’t post much about books around here, but this work is so fascinating, it requires a mention.

Stover wrote one of my favorite Star Wars novels, 2002’s “Traitor,” a crucial entry in the sprawling “New Jedi Order” series. “Traitor” stands out among the morass of SW fiction because it’s so different from all the others, eschewing straightforward storytelling for more nonlinear, challenging, and thought-provoking prose; nothing about it wrapped up into the typical nice, neat bundle by the end. And even though it remains Stover’s only entry in the post-“Return of the Jedi” Star Wars Expanded Universe, “Traitor” nonetheless irrevocably changed the tone of the NJO and continues to affect the current (albeit middling) “Legacy of the Force” series some five years later.

“Traitor” was also a big deal for Stover as an author, as it effectively put him on the sci-fi/fantasy literary map. Although his first novel, “Iron Dawn,” was published in 1997, “Heroes Die” is his only work still in print (more’s the pity).

“Heroes Die” is a heady brew of gut-clenching action, social and political commentary, and romance. Here's a description to make your head spin: The novel is a combination of William Gibson’s Sprawl trilogy, Terry Goodkind’s “Sword of Truth” series, and Robert Ludlum’s Bourne trilogy. It’s set in a not-too-distant future, presumably after some cataclysmic event has forever altered global society (keep in mind, this was written in 1995, pre-9/11). To get away from the horrors of daily life, where a good number of Earth’s population are little more than slaves, citizens turn to entertainment, and technology has advanced to the point where they can virtually live through created characters’ lives. Here’s the catch: What the characters go through isn’t make-believe. When they’re out on Adventure and get stabbed, they really do get stabbed. No stunt doubles, collapsing blades, and fake blood here.

The Actors’ Adventures occur on Overworld, a planet in an alternate universe that’s straight out of a medieval fantasy novel. Like Goodkind’s “Truth” series, this is a violent world ruled by an all-powerful godlike figure who, though ruthless as a Hitler, believes he’s doing the work of a god for the benefit of his people. And like Gibson’s use of “flipping” into a virtual realm, the Actors in Stover’s novel are actually physically transported to this Overworld and dropped into the middle of strenuous situations; while they engage in their Adventures, the folks back home see and feel everything as though they’re riding right behind the Actors’ eyes.

The fabulous main character is an Actor named Hari Michaelson, whose Overworld persona Caine is a legendary knife-wielding assassin in the mold of Jason Bourne. In “Heroes Die,” Stover pits Michaelson/Caine against the powers-that-be in both worlds; as he struggles to save his wife’s life from the sword-and-sorcery of Overworld, he must simultaneously navigate the politics of Earth and, somehow, try to not get dead on either side.

Don’t expect to gain any moral insight from “Heroes Die,” because Stover makes it quite clear in a Q&A included in the back of the most recent paperback edition that he believes morality is nothing more than a social construct, there is no God, yada, yada, yada (oh, and Republicans are the source of all evil in this country—what a shock). But his novel works on both the visceral and the intellectual level. In the way that Gibson predicted cyberspace and virtual reality 25 years ago, in “Heroes Die,” Stover effectively predicted how reality television would make the horrible misfortunes of a few entertaining for millions. This novel also hints at the astounding emergence of online role-playing games, where some participants seem to feel more comfortable in a simulated nether-world than in their own skin. The future of entertainment Stover paints here doesn’t really seem that far off, and that’s a disturbing notion.

As much as I loved this maelstrom of a novel, I can’t wholly endorse it to everyone because in his attempt to go through the looking glass, Stover uses a mix of first- and third-person narration that forces his readers to actually become the viewers that are so abhorrently portrayed in the book. The action is so intense and thrilling, you can see why millions would want to view it, even as you cringe away from it; Stover has studied several different forms of martial arts, so his depiction of hand-to-hand combat is spot-on brilliant (one fight actually brings to mind the astounding scene in the hotel room from “The Bourne Ultimatum”). “Heroes Die” is incredibly violent, and features a couple characters in particular that are so vile, it’s hard to read through their passages—I almost put this book down for good a few different times.

“Heroes Die” is most certainly NC-17. The brutality and degradation are similar to that of Goodkind, only in Goodkind’s world the darkness is always balanced by light and nobility; in Overworld, there are only dark and darker shades of black, where the best you can cling to is the anti-hero code Caine lives by.

Richard Is Right

Richard Cypher, speaking in Terry Goodkind’s “Naked Empire”:

Compromising with murderers … grants them moral equivalence where none can rightfully exist. Moral equivalence says that you are no better than they; therefore, their belief—that they should be able to torture, rape, or murder you—is just as morally valid as your view—that you have the right to live free of their violence. Moral compromise rejects the concept of right and wrong. It says that everyone is equal, all desires are equally valid, all action is equally valid, so everyone should compromise to get along.

Where could you compromise with those who torture, rape, and murder people? In the number of days a week you will be tortured? In the number of men to be allowed to rape your loved ones? In how many of your family are to be murdered?

No moral equivalence exists in that situation, nor can it exist, so there can be no compromise, only suicide.

To even suggest compromise can exist with such men is to sanction murder.

If only we could find a Richard Cypher in this world.
Then again, someone who comes along these days making this much sense may just be the Antichrist.

In Search of Truth: The Works of Terry Goodkind

I’d like to introduce you to two people I’ve come to know and love over the past six months. Their names are Richard Cypher and Kahlan Amnell—and, yes, technically they don’t exist.
Richard and Kahlan are the main characters in author Terry Goodkind’s 11-novel Sword of Truth saga. I’ve just finished Book 6, “Faith of the Fallen,” one of the best pieces of modern fiction I have ever read.
You can find Goodkind’s novels in any bookstore; they typically occupy an entire shelf in the sci-fi/fantasy section. But that distinction is nominal. When I first heard Goodkind’s disclaimer about his work—he does not intentionally engage in the “world building” typically associated with the genre—I dismissed the notion as nearly insufferable pomposity.

After finishing “Faith of the Fallen” and its predecessor/companion novel, “Soul of the Fire,” I believe his statement without question.

Goodkind is a devotee of writer/philosopher Ayn Rand, founder of the objectivist movement, which, in part, celebrates the best qualities of individuals—namely truth, reason, and love—while eschewing a “collectivist” mentality found in an ideology such as socialism (or liberalism). Goodkind is not naïve; he knows no human being is perfect. But Richard and Kahlan are the summation and embodiment of his hopes for the potential of humanity. He simply uses the trappings of traditional fantasy—magic, swords and sorcery, horses and castles—to showcase his characters’ ideals, and the points he is making about modern society.
He writes Richard and Kahlan in vivid, intimate, oftentimes agonizing detail. No stones in their personalities or thoughts are left unturned (conversations can last 50 pages or more); they are two of the most fully realized characters I’ve ever encountered, and their hopes, fears, desires, flaws, and loves are laid bare before us. Goodkind describes it as capturing us in their souls.
It will sound trite to those unfamiliar with Goodkind’s work (or those simply too cynical to allow his novels to affect their own souls), but his writing is so visceral, Richard and Kahlan feel like real people to me. I think about them when not reading their stories. And when I am reading, I react physically to their successes and failures, their bliss and pain (and there is violent, graphic pain); my stomach tightens, sweat blossoms in my pores, my throat clenches, tears come to my eyes. There have been times when I’ve wanted to throw the book across the room and scream; other times, I smile as wide as I ever have. Goodkind says he experiences the same while writing. The emotions of the scenes are paramount to him, as they are his tools for conveying his ideas.
These books are not perfect from a technical perspective. The first entry in the series, 1995’s “Wizard’s First Rule,” was also Goodkind’s first novel. In the 15 years or so since he began this project, he has honed his craft and freely admits his desire to go back and improve that initial manuscript. But the purpose—and its intended impact on the reader—shines clearly from the outset. And it is simply this:
Richard inspires me to be a better writer, a better husband, a better man, a better human being. Kahlan, too, while also reminding me how blessed I am to be married to a wonderful green-eyed woman and experience real, true love on a daily basis.
I could go on at length about what the Sword of Truth novels have come to mean to me, but that would require divulging details about the books that could spoil the experience for others. By that reasoning, this may be the only time I write about them, I don’t know.
I can assure you this, though: If you like fantasy, you will find a home in Goodkind’s work. If you don’t like fantasy, you may enjoy them all the more. He is a rare author, indeed.

I’ll Show You a Magic Trick: Grading the Potter Movies

Don’t listen to critics and don’t pay attention to reviews—good or bad—when it comes to the Harry Potter movies, because they’re impossible to judge. There’s too much going on, and I’m not just talking about wizards and Muggles, here.
Go look at Entertainment Weekly’s “Critical Mass” chart that rounds up critics’ grades for various movies and you’ll find “Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire” received a “B” from seven out of nine critics polled. That’s hogwarts. The Potter films are such cultural touchstones, some of the only surefire blockbusters in the business, they’re either going to really succeed or really bomb (and that’s got nothing to do with box office numbers); most critics just don’t know what to make of them, I believe, so thus you get a bunch of “B’s” (and I should know, since I gave 2004’s “Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban” a “B+” (check the June 2004 folder to find that review)).
No matter who is at the reins of these films, that person has essentially an insurmountable task. How do you condense several hundred pages of text into a workable movie under, I don’t know, four hours? And how do you condense said material without enraging an absolutely rabid built-in fanbase? And how do you then make said condensed text relatable and, most important, understandable to the Muggles who wander in off the street?
The answer is, you don’t. You simply make the best of an impossible situation.
But that’s what makes reviewing the Harry Potter movies so difficult, because they are so different from "normal" films; you have to throw out any typical “scale” by which other movies are judged.
In the year and a half since “Azkaban” hit theaters, I’ve finally read the first two books of the series. So when I sat down to see “Goblet of Fire,” everything on screen made a little more sense to me and had a lot more emotional impact; even though I hadn’t read this particular installment, I knew the characters much better through the books than the previous three movies, and I brought that deeper relationship with me into the theater experience.
And, as it would happen, this was my best time at a Harry Potter of the four by far. But would I feel the same had I not read a few of the novels? I’ll never know, and therein lies the rub.
“Goblet of Fire” is extremely entertaining—but here’s another problem for reviewers: Is it the source material or the filmmakers that make it so? Or is it simply because the series’ actors are all getting older and better?
It’s even difficult to compare one filmmaker’s work to another within the series. Sure, the first two Christopher Columbus-directed installments stunk (to this Muggle’s eye), but maybe he would have handled the more mature subject matter better than the lighter fare of the early novels. Then again, those that followed Columbus don’t even get to pick their own cast!
The only way to really judge the Harry Potter movies, then, is much different from your average screenplay-to-silver screen production. You have to determine how well the filmmakers successfully captured the essence of the written words in moving pictures. No one is going to be entirely happy—critics are always going to slam the films for following too closely to the text (although Columbus was ridiculously slavish), but critics aren’t the ones spending $100 million on opening weekend. Fans are always going to complain about leaving things out (from what I understand, there are significant chunks removed from “Goblet of Fire”), but a four-hour movie is simply untenable. The answer, then, is finding that delicate balance and creating a movie that will essentially stand on its own but gives more to those who know the source material well.
Given that extreme set of circumstances, “Goblet of Fire” director Mike Newell (“Pushing Tin”) and his predecessor, “Azkaban” director Alfonso Cuaron (“Y tu mama tambien”) succeeded where Columbus’ first two films in the series did not. I favor Cuaron’s directorial style above the others, but Newell’s “Goblet of Fire” is probably my favorite of the four based on overall excellence—even though it contains the series’ darkest material to date, I laughed out loud more this time around, too, and that’s an achievement.
Grade: A- (But this is one time I’ll tell you not to take my word for it)