Grindelwald in Lillestrøm

Wednesday morning, while doing a half-hearted scan through my social media sites, I see an ad for Grindelwalds Forbrytelser. Ah! It’s the opening day for The Crimes of Grindelwald which is the second movie in the Fantastic Beasts series written by J.K. Rowling.

Almost unexpectedly—“Oh gosh,” I’d thought, “here we go with another prequel.”—I’d loved Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them which was the first.  

I saw it in the theater with my older sister and my second to youngest brother. The day we went, we had the entire theater to ourselves except for one other person. My sister and I laughed out loud at more than one moment during the film, filled with delight as if we were children again.

Of course, my brother was a little cooler than we were. He might have stated, “It was good,” with a small shrug when it was all said and done, but he’s not one to gush.  

What I loved most about the film was the character of Newt Scamander. Not that he is played by Eddie Redmayne, though there is that. Redmayne does a fine job. But rather, that Newt loves all the magical creatures, even the ones that wizards and non-wizards fear and hate. I loved that he tries to protect those creatures and show the people of the world that they don’t have to kill the things they fear. I loved that his character is contrasted against the two warring sides: Wizards who want to live peacefully with and unknown by the Non-Wizards (aka Muggles, aka Non-mags) and the Wizards who want to reveal themselves for who they are and step into their power for what they call the greater good. These latter Wizards are headed up by Grindelwald who at first glance doesn’t seem so evil with his desire to let Wizards live their lives out in the open. And yet, as he tries to gather his followers, his crimes (which are still not all quite clear) at least include murder which is no small thing. Surely, murder is crime enough. In that same vein, it’s also vaguely implied that what Grindelwald is going for (beyond the occasional murder here and there) is basically mass slaughter “for the greater good.” But I’m not sure if that mass slaughter is of the opposing Wizards or of the Non-Mags. Or both. Anyway, he’s silver-tongued and when he speaks, he speaks of unity and peace, not of killing. He talks a good talk.

Fantastic Beasts, based in real-world time between the two World Wars and 70 years before the Harry Potter story, presents an interesting contrast between American Wizards and their American Wizarding Ministry (rules, rules, rules, control!) and European Wizards and their European Wizarding Ministries (abide by the rules and obliviate!). The Europeans Wizards seem to view Non-Mags as harmless and interesting rather than as dangerous as the Americans Wizards tend to do. In many ways, the presentation is a reflection on actual cultural differences and historical events. It’s funny, a little bit, in the film, to see it with Wizards and Magical Creatures, but it’s not really funny. In some ways, it’s a little too close to real, a little too close to home.

“It’s a movie about loving what’s frightening,” I said, or something really close to that as I came out of the theater after viewing Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. For, Newt’s story, with his character and his mission, touched me. For too often, we kill what we fear. We come in with wands blazing and wipe out what’s not like us, what we feel is dangerous to us. We smack down laws and forbid things. In the midst of ordering the magic into rules and regulations, we forget the magic. Naturally enough, stories being what they are, there’s a good bit of that in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them—the wands blazing, one side against the other, Us vs. Them, but Newt’s message is not lost. Not on me.

For I want to be like Newt. I want to love all things and I want to help bridge the chasm that separates the feared from the fearful.  

On the other side of fear is love.

On the other side of fear is adventure.

On the other side of fear is friendship.

“It’s a movie about understanding what we fear.” Maybe that’s what I said. For understanding what is feared and why it’s feared often helps remove fear. Understanding (truly understanding) fear helps transform the individual experience and enriches life.

All this to say now, on Wednesday morning, a bit out of character for myself, when I see the advertisement in Norwegian for the movie, I abandon the To Do list I’d made the night before and get online to check movie times.

The town I’m staying in does not have a cinema. But I’m within walking distance of the train station. While Oslo, only half an hour away by train, has a theater, it is also roughly a three mile walk from the station. And then that far back again. Lillestrøm, on the other hand, while a bit further out by train from my town than Oslo, has a cinema which lies only half a mile away from its station.

Also, I haven’t been to Lillestrøm yet.

I buy my movie ticket online, eat my breakfast, pack a lunch, dress in layers, and walk up the hill to the train station.   

Taking full advantage of my day trip, I arrive a few hours before the show’s start time so that I can explore.

From what I can tell, Lillestrøm is a shopper’s town. I am not a shopper. Overall, I’m not really much of a spender. In fact, I can barely justify the ticket expense for this movie. It feels a bit extravagant. But I want to see where this story goes. Stories have power and I’m captivated by this one.  

I want Newt’s character to withstand the events that will surely happen. I want Newt to influence the people around him to be better and kinder, like a ripple effect of a stone thrown in water.

Touring the town street by street, I pass clothing stores, a mall, some odd statues, bike stands, candy shops, fancy sit down restaurants with lit candles and wine glasses on their tables, bars, cafes, a cultural center, hair salons, an eyeglasses shop, and take-away restaurants with no inside seating.

Judging it rather harshly, I find Lillestrøm to be a charmless town, but not an unfriendly one.

After I’ve walked away enough time, and not finding a café that looks inviting enough to entice me inside, I go into the cinema. It’s bright and clean. I take a seat at one of the wooden tables with wooden chairs set up in the lobby as the waiting point for incoming movie-watchers, for me. I read a little of the book I’ve brought along in anticipation of waiting.  

“How long until I can go inside the theater before the movie starts?” I ask the cinema attendant when he walks past me. He looks at his watch.

“Ten minutes before,” he says.

“Thank you.” I’ve still got half an hour to wait. I’m not the only one. A guy is sitting at a table catty corner from me. Two women are waiting on a bench.

I’m pretty sure the movie will be shown in English with Norwegian subtitles, but I gear myself up for watching (and enjoying) it in Norwegian if that’s what happens. After all, I am in Norway.

I read a little more in my book. I check the time. Still twenty minutes to go.

Three adolescent boys saunter in and over to the large candy and popcorn room off to the right. It’s a flashy room, almost Wonka-esque in its presentation and selection. I’ve brought my own snacks, but I go walk through the shop and admire the salted licorice fish (not real fish, just fish shaped candy), the chocolate mice (also not real mice), the gummy candy, the hard candies, the chocolate bars, and the flavored popcorn.

When it’s time, I show my ticket to the attendant and go down the stairs and into the theater. The room feels new with its black upholstered seats, dark walls, and shiny floors. I’m up near the top. The online purchasing tool had made me select my seat and I’d tried to get one that wouldn’t be obstructed by other movie viewers. I find my number and I’m satisfied. As the commercials play (in Norwegian, thank goodness, so I don’t have to worry about inadvertently understanding and being influenced to go out and shop), about eighteen other people come in and find their seats.

Then, finally, the movie begins. To my good fortune, it’s played in English with Norwegian subtitles. I lean back and settle in.

In the trailer for The Crimes of Grindelwald (and also in the movie), Newt tells his brother, “I don’t do sides.”

Although he is known to choose the magical creatures’ side, again and again, in his avoidance of choosing human sides is something pure, solid, and beautiful.

At one point, Dumbledore tells Newt, “Do you know why I admire you, Newt? You do not seek power. You simply ask, ‘Is a thing… right?’”

That’s also what I admire about Newt. That’s the absolute jewel of his character. That ‘doing what’s right because it’s right’ is what I wish for myself. It’s what I wish for the humans I know and love. It’s what I wish for the humans I don’t know and don’t know to love. It’s what I wish for all beings.

Now, of course, in a good story, a character is presented with conflicts that force them to choose. That’s what strengthens or destroys a character. It’s what gives conflict and tension. It’s what drives the narrative forward to either doom or joy. It’s what creates what’s called Character Arc. It’s what develops a character. It’s what makes characters become three dimensional and real to the viewer/reader. For, we all face conflicts that make us choose.

But I don’t want Newt to be sullied by human pettiness. I want him to remain golden, solid, and pure. I want him to go on saving creatures and bridging the gap between magic and fear, between humans and fear, between fear and fear. When faced with a choice, I want him to do what’s right because it’s right. Crossing my fingers, I sit through the movie absorbed, hopeful, and fearful.

The rumor is that the Fantastic Beast story will be a five-film series. With that in mind, and having the first movie already made, this instalment feels a bit like a setup scene. It presents the darkening. The events increase the tension. We get a little backstory of Newt and Leta’s history and also a little of Dumbledore and Grendelwald’s relationship. People, heartbreakingly, do choose sides. While there is some fun in seeing the characters again; Newt, Tina, Queenie, Jacob, and a few of Newt’s creatures, the connection between the characters feels hasty and, in the case of Queenie and Jacob the emotional connection isn’t there the way it should be. The character development seems to have been set aside in order to pump up the drama. For me, this film is not as full or as rich as the first film had been. As the scenes unfold, I do laugh a couple times, but even so, I’m not as enchanted or charmed as I had been with Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. However, knowing that this is only the second chapter, it’s too early to tell if what this film does will work for the story overall. It’s too early to tell if Newt’s character will be completely compromised in the building conflict; if he himself will be changed rather than being the one to change others.

I sit as the credits roll, waiting to see if there is any final scene at the very very end. All the other moviegoers go. The theater staff come in with their cleaning supplies.

One of them says something and I can tell it’s kind of directed at me.

“I’m sorry,” I say, letting her know that English and not Norwegian is what I can speak.

“Do you agree that we have the best cinema?” she asks. She’s cheerful. She’s proud.

“It’s very nice,” I say, because it is. “I’ve come all the way from Nittedal to visit it, in fact.”

“You have? Are you visiting or do you live there?”

“I’m visiting.”

She holds her broom against her side and looks at me. “Why did you choose Norway?”

“Well, I’d never been and I heard it was beautiful.” That’s true. I pause and then add, “It is beautiful.”

She seems pleased. I stand a moment and then with nothing more to add other than, “Thank you,” I wave my hand in goodbye and head for the exit.

“Enjoy your stay,” she says.

I walk my way in the gathering darkness back to the train station, running the movie back again through my mind, comparing it to the first one, comparing it to my expectations and hopes, and analyzing the plot.

As I sit on the train, I pick the scenes apart for the story, for the ways that the characters have remained true to character or not, for the dialogue, for the strength of the narrative as a whole, and for the ways that the story will have to go forward now with what has happened. That’s what I love to do.

Standing up as we pull into Nittedal, I’m pleased I went, but I’m lightly disappointed with the film. Time and the third, fourth, and fifth movie will tell if the story is great or only okay.

Walking down the hill from the train station to the house, I mull over the parts of the movie that had struck me as off or of needing further explanation. There were three points. One had to do with something that Newt says. One had to do with something that Leta Lestrange says. The third had to do with something that Queenie does. Passing beneath the misty white glow of a string of street lights, I reflect on choice. Is there a point when “not doing sides” isn’t the right thing? I want the answer to be no. But, with World War II and with genocide in mind, I have to think that maybe sometimes choosing a side is essential for saving one’s own soul. Sometimes. And is choosing what’s right because it’s right ever the wrong thing to do? Surely, not. Surely, not?

I realize, it’s frightfully irritating to be so vague about the parts that bothered me. But I don’t want to spoil the movie. I’ll let you go, by train or otherwise, to the cinema of your choice and judge it for yourself.

But in the meantime, we should all try to understand what we fear. We should all do things because they’re right. We should always be against genocide. And we should all be kind.