There are two main camps in the Harry Potter movie-book dispute. On one side are those who’ve read all the books. They routinely talk about having grown old with the characters, referring to bit characters fondly as if they are actually friends. As a result, the films do not agree with them. They’ve never found any adaptation to be particularly satisfying, and each one is fervently picked to pieces for having changed a slight but crucial detail about a character or plot line. Time after time, the theater visit turns into a prolonged bash-fest, effectively casting an Impervious Charm on the ignorant, who, plodding alongside silently, are unable to join the conversation. We will call the inhabitants of this camp the Insiders.
On the other side are those who have for some reason or other never gotten around to reading the books. However, they’ve watched most or all of the movies, and enjoy them as standalone products of escapist entertainment. They find equal solidarity with each other, feeling slighted for not knowing the basic Ravenclaw password system, or having to ask what NEWTS are. Each time, they vow again never to see the next release with Insiders. In the name of consistency, we shall call them the Outsiders. The chasm is deep between the two sides; strong opinions are expressed — sometimes at one’s personal expense.
But the real culprit here is not exclusivity, nor pride, or even nerds, but the books themselves.
Consider the scenario of Insiders at a showing of, for the sake of relevancy, The Deathly Hallows Part 1. Now, they are generous people. They want the adaptations to be good. They are willing to forgive and forget that in the Half-Blood Prince, there was an entire scene that should’ve been there but wasn’t. They want to be able to visually relive the experience. Some of them even understand that it’s based on the book — not a clone. Ah, but they will squirm in their seats, and not only because of the nicely done special effects. The appearance of Bill Nighy will delight them, but they will be fiercely distracted by the fact that his character, Rufus Scrimgeour (and his relationship with Harry), is a terribly watered down version of what Ms. Rowling penned. After that, every small glitch and unlucky omission will disengage them even further, successive Portkeys towards the land of despondence. In more than one instance, they imagine themselves abler directors than David Yates.
For them, there is no suspense, obviously, because they know what happens next. Therefore the scenic in-betweens meant to give a break to the pace, become complete time-stoppers. When the audience turn to sniffles at an untimely onscreen death (and there are many in the Deathly Hallows), they long to but are unable to join in, because they’ve already done their mourning three years ago. Tainted by the knowledge of the books, these people will never know how good the movies really are.
Keep this in mind when you next encounter an Insider and the pleasantries turn into how awful they thought the latest film was: know that you’re the fortunate one in this situation, that you’ve never scheduled your life around a book release (amass essentials, lock self in room), never called yourself a Muggle in serious self-pity, and still don’t know what a Horcrux really is. Your mind is uncorrupted, while they struggle to separate reality from Hogwarts. They are people whose lover has died, and subsequent attempts to live normally and date again have failed because nobody will ever measure up to the standard they have created from biased recollections. Simply humor them and move on, and recognize that the books are the real Dementors in this business.
A dying business it is, too. Pundits say that the Modern Age is trying its best to oust books from our daily lives. They fling statistics at us, blaming information saturation, attention-deficit, even technology. Defenders of the old way eulogize the ability to physically turn pages, to stroke the spine of a well-worn paperback. Do you see a parallel here? Again, the true villains in this quarrel are books! Touch screens and audio books are merely stepping stones towards a certain end. Nostalgia is for the weak-minded and the stagnant. In the words of the great comedian Jim Gaffigan, why read the books? You can watch The Order of the Phoenix in two hours, and still have time to come home and nap.