"Words are, in my not-so-humble opinion, our most inexhaustible source of magic. Capable of both inflicting injury, and remedying it." —J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
I love me some Harry Potter. We're talkin fervor kinda love. You know that feeling you get when you're at Disneyland at Christmastime and you're watching the fireworks while fake snow falls and Bing sings and you think you might explode from the magic of it all? That's how I feel about Harry Potter.
So naturally I planned on loving Harry Potter and the Cursed Child. Well I didn't. And no one's sadder about that than me. The play format took some adjusting to. Turns out Harry minus J.K.'s prose isn't so magical. But I gave my disappointed self a good talking-to and lowered expectations. Focus on the story, I said, not the writing. And that's where it got tricky, folks. J.K. didn't write the play so my dismay didn't feel quite so disloyal. She was, however, heavily involved in the plot, which turned out to be the biggest sticking point with me. There were elements I loved—the friendship between Scorpius and Albus being top among them. Overall though, the storyline felt too contrived and the characters didn't remain true to themselves, in "my not-so-humble opinion." Cue J.K.'s eye roll.
Maybe it all comes down to the fact that Harry, Ron, and Hermione didn't end up as I'd imagined they would. Apparently you can't mess with my beloved literary characters, even if you created them. In the end, I was left underwhelmed. No fireworks, no Bing, no snow. No magic.
p.s. The play is receiving rave reviews and I do really still want to see it. I think the spectacle of the stage production would distract me from some of the inconsistencies of plot and character. One more reason Tray and I need to make that trip to London!