A confession: Before this, I’d never dressed up for a movie.
Last Tuesday night, I was decked out in full Ravenclaw regalia, complete with house crest, wand, and certified Luna Lovegood Raddish Earrings. (The blonde wasn’t part of the costume – I’m pleased to say that that’s a permanent feature.)
Anyway, so there I was, standing on the upper level of my local cinema just before midnight and looking down on the crowds of pointy-hatted fans waiting to collect their tickets or standing around in groups with large buckets of popcorn. There were Harrys and Ginnys and Lunas and a phoenix and a hippogriff and Death Eaters and a couple of Voldemorts. And when it was time to go in and the barrier to the cinemas was removed, the crowd rushed forward with a roar worthy of any Gryffindor lion.
This was not just a movie – not even just THE EPIC FINALE OF THE WORLDWIDE PHENOMENON, as the trailers proclaimed.
This was An Event.
I’m a sentimental lass and endings have always meant a lot to me. Of course, I count myself as lucky to be a part of the generation that grew up with Harry Potter, which adds a great deal to the sentimentality of the occasion. This was a very different moment to when I finished reading book 7 for the first time (2:30 in the morning, in my grandmother’s house, clock ticking quietly, the book falling shut with a soft, reverent sort of thump into the silence).
The atmosphere inside the cinema as we were all waiting for the 12:01am session to begin was fizzing.
- Two teenage boys sitting next to us, pouring cups from the bottle of vodka that they’d smuggled in, spoken matter-of-factly: “I seriously think I’m going to cry when this movie finishes.”
- Girl (slightly worried): “No one’s minding my bag and wallet at the moment, do you think these people are trustworthy?”
Guy: “Of course they are, they’re Harry Potter fans!”
- Boy 1 runs up to Boy 2, who is dressed as a house elf. Boy 1 throws a sock at him, yells “DOBBY! YOU’RE FREE!” and runs away again.
That got the first round of applause for the night, and not the last. I’ve never heard a cinema audience clap and cheer so enthusiastically – not just at the rolling of the credits, but at every significant event throughout the movie. (It didn’t take much to set us off.)
We sounded more like the crowd at a game of football than at the cinema, and I thought that was delightful. Let’s face it, no matter how much you love sport, kicking a ball through a couple of goal posts is never going to measure up to vanquishing the Forces of Evil Once And For All.
And this is why Harry Potter matters. From the robed group in the front row who stood in unison at the end of the credits to wave their wands and declare ‘Mischief Managed!’ with superb satisfaction, to the hysterically crying teenagers when it was over – the costumes, the anticipation, the excitement, the in-jokes, the palpable sense of solidarity. It was people brought together over a story. A simple story about good overcoming evil, about heroism and sacrifice and friendship. We weave our lives around stories and we always have done.
As a writer and a lover of stories myself, to see this fact demonstrated with such clarity gave me a great sense of hope. I thought it was bloody excellent.
Mischief managed, indeed.