Grade: B
The series of “Harry Potter” movies is certainly getting darker as the number of installments grows–in the case of this fourth entry from new director Mike Newell, not just in terms of the plot developments and emotional subtext, but visually as well. Working closely with cinematographer Roger Pratt and production designer Stuart Craig, Newell clearly favors images so gloomy and shadow-filled that at first you might think that the bulb in the projector is failing. But the choice is obviously an artistic one: the general dankness of the compositions is intended to complement the more menacing tone of the narrative, which includes death, rifts among friends, repeated threats of a most gruesome sort among its components, and ultimately the rebirth of the fearsome villain at the center of the young hero’s tragic history. Which is just another way of saying that “Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire” is definitely not a nice, sweet kiddie movie, and it’s certainly not suitable for very young viewers; its PG-13 rating is well-earned. But of course the film isn’t the violent, blood-drenched extravaganza so many big Hollywood action films are nowadays, either–in many ways the series seems to be growing up along with its leads and its audience, but not outstripping them unduly. There’s nothing here to offend the sensibilities of those of an appropriate age.
Moreover, for a film that runs nearly two and a half hours (the stated running-time is 157 minutes, but more than ten of those are reserved for the elaborate final credits), “The Goblet of Fire” moves well, providing a nicely-paced, streamlined adaptation of J.K. Rowling’s admittedly bulky tome. Unlike Alfonso Cuaron, whose third episode (“The Prisoner of Azkaban”) reveled in atmosphere and cannily employed feints and pauses to establish mood (or Chris Columbus, whose first two films tended to a sort of insistently plasticine glossiness), Newell mostly sprints on, emphasizing narrative economy more often than not and letting the sumptuous settings (courtesy of production designer Stuart Crane, art directors Neil Lamont, Andrew Ackland-Snow, Mark Bartholomew, Al Bullock, Alan Gilmore, Gary Tomkins and Alexandra Walker, set decorator Stephanie McMillan, and costumer Jany Temime) and the almost offhandedly flawless effects (supervised by Jim Mitchell and John Richardson)–all lovingly captured in Pratt’s elegant cinematography–pretty much speak for themselves, without undue italicizing or special pleading. Under the firm but still sensitive guidance of Newell and editor Mick Audsley, the story plays itself out cleanly without either lagging or becoming overly frenetic. On a project as massive as this one, that’s a commendable accomplishment in itself.
The performances don’t let things down, either. Daniel Radcliffe continues to develop nicely as Harry, showing greater maturity as an actor just as his screen counterpart does as a reluctant hero. And though Rupert Grint, as comic-relief pal Weasley, isn’t nearly as charming a lad as he was in earlier installments–physically he’s entered a rather awkward age, but worse, in this chapter Ron must for too long nurture a row with Harry that even at the start seems contrived–and some of the regular adult cast (Robbie Coltran as Hagrid, Alan Rickman as Snape, Maggie Smith as McGonagall) often feel like mere background figures due to the slimming down of their roles, Emma Watson has grown if anything more engaging as Hermione Granger, and Michael Gambon has by now taken over the part of Dumbledore created by the late Richard Harris with complete authority. There are impressive debuts here as well, with Brendan Gleeson giving new Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor “Mad Eye” Moody a delightfully over-the-top flourish, Roger Lloyd Pack proving a suitably officious (and slightly sinister) Barty Crouch and Robert Pattinson cutting a stalwart figure as Cedric Diggory, Potter’s handsome, honorable schoolmate. And though Miranda Richardson is shrilly unamusing as a gossip columnist, the returning Shirley Henderson makes the most of what amounts to a flashy cameo as sprightly spirit Moaning Myrtle.
No, the problem with “Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire” is with the plot, which, even at the pace screenwriter Steve Kloves and Newell set, seems at once rather pointlessly complex and, in the end, overly familiar; presumably the fault, therefore, lies with the source. There are two major themes at work in it. One involves the onset of puberty among the fourth-year students of Hogwarts, and the ways in which Harry, Ron and Hermione respond to it. This segment of the tale is handled with a combination of cuteness and poignancy that’s distinctly old-fashioned but for the most part not objectionably so. There are exceptions–the big ball scene in which Harry and Ron are pretty much wallflowers while Hermione gets seriously puppy-lovish with a top athlete from another school being most notable, especially when the dance music turns suddenly (and incongruously) from ballroom elegance to hard rock. Generally, though, this part of the story won’t be too irritating, except to kids of an age at which every reference to dating is anathema. In any event, the larger portion of the narrative consists of Voldemort’s elaborate scheme to revivify himself, which involves an assault on the Quidditch World Cup by his henchmen and the use of the Triwizard Tournament, a series of competitions involving specially-selected champions from Hogwarts and two other wizard academies, to achieve his aim. Harry is magically chosen as a special fourth participant in the tournament despite the fact that he’s under age (the cause, for some reason, of Ron’s rift with him), and in the various events–a dragon-fighting test, an underwater rescue mission against some aggressive sprites and snakes, and a search for a prize hidden in a terrifying maze–Harry demonstrates his mettle against Diggory, the brawny Viktor Krum (Stranislav Ianevski) from Durmstrang, and lovely Fleur Delacour (Clemence Poesy) from Beauxbatons. (Surprisingly, for a story written by a woman, the female contestant proves remarkably inept in each of the trials. She more often plays the damsel-in-distress than champion material.) But the outcome of it all is the re-emergence of Voldemort (Ralph Fiennes), whom Harry is finally forced to confront not in his nightmares but for real.
Without going into detail that might spoil things for the uninitiated, the difficulty in all this is why Voldemort should have had to resort to such an extraordinarily complicated scheme to get what he requires for reinvigoration. (The only plausible explanation is the need to fill more than seven hundred pages of text with exciting episodes; a fake blood-drive at Hogwarts would have served his purposes just as well, and been much less taxing for everyone involved.) But even that might be acceptable, from the purely entertainment point of view, if the final confrontation between Harry and Voldemort weren’t so pedestrian. It has plenty of action, of course, as the two hurl sorcerer’s thunderbolts (as well as explanations) at one another, and it’s made more theatrical by the appearance of several other figures. But in the end it comes across as rather tiresomely reminiscent of the thunder-and-lightning battle between Luke Skywalker and the evil Emperor in “The Return of the Jedi”–and Fiennes, in grotesque makeup, hams it up as fearsomely as Ian McDiarmid did as the cowled creep in the earlier picture (it’s not one of his better screen moments). And though what follows–a sequence that gives Gleeson a final opportunity to chew up the scenery–picks things up a bit, it isn’t quite enough.
But while “The Goblet of Fire” doesn’t come close to matching the magic of its predecessor–which wasn’t just a good “Harry Potter” movie but a good movie, period–it’s slick and exciting enough to satisfy the fans of the series, even though the most astonishing wizardry of all in it goes unexplained. That happens when the minor injuries Harry suffers during the tournament are cured overnight; at one point, for instance, he gets a cut on his cheek so nasty that it requires stitches, but the next day it’s gone without the slightest blemish remaining to remind us of it. Now that’s the sort of medical treatment we mere Muggles must envy!
But one shouldn’t expect prescriptions from a fantasy movie. The salient fact is that while this “Goblet” won’t make you forget “Azkaban,” it proves that there’s plenty of life left in the franchise long after most others like it have sunk to the depths. Remember, after all, that the fourth “Star Wars” picture was the miserable “Phantom Menace,” and consider yourself fortunate.