Adaptive Magic:
Multiplexing Harry Potter and Narnia

I always approach film versions of wildly popular children’s stories with trepidation. Will the filmic adaptation possibly measure up to the pictures I have in my head? The answer to this question is a decided “maybe” for two new movie blockbusters aimed at the younger set: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (built, of course, on J.K. Rowling’s best-selling books), and the first in C.S. Lewis’ seven part “Narnia” series: The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe.

I am intimately familiar with both stories. I devoured Lewis’ writings as a kid, and now, my wife and I are having the same experience with Rowling’s wonderful wordsmithing, as parents of a six-year-old girl absolutely captivated by all things Potter (Our four-year-old son ain’t quite there yet, nor should he be). We have enjoyed repeatedly reading all six Rowling stories aloud over the past year, and English thespian Jim Dale, the remarkable narrator of all the Potter audio books, is on so often in our home that he feels like a member of our family.

And, of course, there is much to like about both stories, which are remarkably similar in many ways. Both Rowling and Lewis’ tales feature British teens dealing with psychically wrenching circumstances that would reduce the average adult to a quivering mass of jelly. (For those of you who aren’t dialed in, Harry is mysteriously orphaned at birth, and later learns that the evil Lord Voldemort murdered his parents, while “Narnia” clan members Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy are separated from their immediate family during WWII’s London blitz and sent to live in a remote country estate).

In both stories, too, our children find themselves in old castles where they discover remarkable parallel universes full of magic, wonder, and fascinating creatures (from fire-breathing dragons to talking beavers and every kind of creature, ghost, and ghoulie in between) and learn that these worlds are driven by a struggle between good and evil in which each child has a central role to play. And, of course, in both stories, our children must overcome both internal obstacles and external enemies in their collective quest to deepen their understandings of their worlds, thwart the forces of evil, and develop character traits vital to success: an ethical sense of fair play, loyal bonds of friendship, and handiness with various spells and weapons.

Both Lewis and Rowling’s writings are remarkably rich, full of epic settings, descriptive detail, imaginative turns of phrase, and clever dialogue. This makes each filmmaker’s task a challenging one. Film is a remarkably impatient medium, not given to subtlety or nuance, and its relentlessly visual nature is both a strength and a weakness.
Predictably, what plays best in both films is the epic nature of the Narnian landscape and the wizarding world respectively. Thanks to the magic of digital special effects, Hogwarts and its environs, and a gradually thawing Narnia, are both breathtakingly beautiful to behold, as are the creatures that inhabit both worlds. (Even the giant wolves and warthogs that make up the White Witch’s army, or Ralph Fiennes’ Voldmort himself, possess a certain visual flair, terrifying though they may be).

More inconsistent are the filmic representations of the major characters themselves. Daniel Radcliffe makes a fine Harry, and Tilda Swinton’s White Witch brilliantly exudes the right blend of evil and charisma throughout. Emma Watson’s Hermione Granger, on the other hand, is too cute and not nearly bookish enough, while Michael Gambon’s Dumbledore is flat, one dimensional, and completely misrepresented (he yells his way through the film – “Silence!” - while the Rowling-created Dumbledore rarely, if ever, raises his voice – part of his magical mojo.) I know what you’re thinking – I’m just describing MY imaginative interpretation of the characters. Not so – anyone familiar with Rowling’s writings would agree. And what to do with, say, the voice of Aslan in your imagination when the filmic Aslan opens his mouth and sounds suspiciously like…actor Liam Neeson?

And then there is the narrative arc. Narnia director Andrew Adamson has a much easier time of it, with a much shorter story to capture. He is generally faithful to Lewis’ tale-telling, though he is drawn to battle scenes in a way that Lewis simply was not (and watching young Edmund and Peter heft their swords somewhat unconvincingly as they ride into battle against giant ogres armed to the teeth, you can see why.) Pity poor “Goblet” director Michael Newell, meanwhile, with an epic book on his hands. “Goblet of Fire’s” first several chapters set the stage for Voldemort’s corporeal return AND take us to the Quidditch World Cup, a task Newell tries to accomplish in under fifteen minutes. Suffice to say, anyone wandering into the theater not having read the books would be pretty much clueless when presented with Newell’s valiant but laughably incomplete celluloid efforts.

And maybe all of this head-scratching – book versus film? - is a good thing. Speaking as a parent, I won’t let my daughter anywhere near the theater for either of these films, preferring instead for her to hold fast to those imaginative images in her head until she gets a bit older. I also appreciate film’s unique power to persuade, compel, and scare – nothing but lobotomy can remove images from your head once they’re in there. (I know many parents who would challenge this decision, and, of course, they must do what they think best for their kids). if the popularity of these two films increases kids’ awareness of some of the most deftly-crafted children’s literature of our time, if a comparative conversation about the merits of book versus film deepens our collective understanding of the trade-offs of each medium, and if both books and films expand our creative imaginings about the world in which we live (and these are big “ifs”), then both our authors and our filmmakers have provided us with two huge holiday treats.