the flying geeks

I got to watch Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire for the first time since going to see it in the theater with about seven hundred family members last November. In the theater, it was a little hard to pay attention, what with the incessant pop corn passing and Uncle Jimmy’s streaming commentary. Uncle Jimmy was a little lost, but mostly taken aback by the level of crappiness displayed by such a successful series of movies.

It wasn’t what I was expecting or hoping for either. As Uncle Jimmy described it, the simplified, episodic storyline was riddled with far too many meaningless and empty conclusions, even for a kid’s movie.

What I realized, though, after watching it in the relative peace and quiet of my living room, however, is that I don’t like this movie for a completely different reason. There’s a subtle disappointment undermining the story.

Between Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone and Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Hermione Granger has undergone a radical, and unexpected transformation. In the span of four movies, four years of this character’s life, she goes from Super Smart Occasional Ass-Kicking Hermione:

to Pretty and Supportive Ineffectual Hermione:

without even a backward glance.

In Sorcerer’s Stone Hermione solved the Big Complicated Puzzle and was instrumental in getting Harry into the climactic battle with the bad guy. In Chamber of Secrets, she concocted the magical potion used to spy on Harry’s nemesis, and then again figured out the Big Complicated Puzzle. In Prisoner of Azkaban, Hermione once again solves the Big Complicated Puzzle and even finds time to sucker punch that nemesis.

In Goblet of Fire Hermione spends her time on five Extremely Important Assignments: 1) being pretty, 2) supporting Harry in some tournament trials (and fretting about his unpreparedness), 3) convincing Ron and Harry to make nice, 4) fawning over a handsome athlete, and 5) being super, extra pretty.

Even in the book, the only real accomplishments of Hermione’s are founding a decidedly ill-received social movement to free some enslaved elves, and capturing a beetle which is really a mean reporter who publishes seriously embellished puff pieces.

Disappointing. But, maybe this is just, you know, art imitating life. Prepubescent girls do get to look forward to having to suddenly give more of a crap about boys and whether one will glance at her (omg!) than about whatever might actually interest her budding intellectual facility.