Sunday, September 25, 2016

I Want To Talk About The Voice For A Sec...

Come on Alicia, you can do a better M for YMCA than that.
Something really quite beautiful is happening on the eleventh season of the singing competition, The Voice.

Well, first, my minor gripe out of the way: I wish NBC called them ‘Series’. Season for me, and pretty much for television audiences in America, means a year. Season 11 means a show has been on for 11 years. But no, NBC does two different “seasons” a year, one toward the beginning and the other near the end. Just something to differentiate them would be marvelous.

But enough of that. Following American Idol, a bevy of reality singing competitions flooded the market and oversaturated the genre. Every age group, every genre, every possible incarnation of a singing competition was on nearly any channel. Every single one had a gimmick, so when NBC decided it was time to add one to theirs, they pilfered the Dutch.

NBC already was doing the acapella group competition, The Sing-Off, which never secured much of a following, even though it featured the most qualified judging panel for any reality competition show ever: Ben Folds and Shawn Stockman with either Sara Bareilles, Nicole Scherzinger, or Jewel filling the third spot. Accomplished musicians and talented vocalists, the competition showcased the best judges’ critiques anywhere.

But taking the format from The Voice Of Holland, NBC secured another incredibly credible panel to helm the show: Maroon 5’s frontman Adam Levine, country music star Blake Shelton, the incomparable voice of Christina Aguilera, and the ever charismatic CeeLo Green of Gnarls Barkley. Despite being yet another reality show singing competition in a market shitty with the same tired format, The Voice managed to distinguish itself. The blind auditions were enough of a hook to secure an audience. Even though the judges were high profile, they proved to be invested in the contestants, and eager to share the expertise with their respective teams.

Fast forward 11 years, and we’ve seen people rotate in and out of the middle two chairs: Christina to Shakira, to Gwen Stefani; CeeLo to Usher, to Pharrell. This season marks the first with two women joining regulars Adam and Blake. And what a powerhouse two women they are. Pianist and singer-songwriter R&B extraordinaire Alicia Keys, and one of the new princesses of pop, Miley Cyrus. Taking a page from Madonna, Cyrus courts controversy with many of her performances.
And these are the two women I want to talk about.

I watched the abysmal 12th season (actual season) of American Idol, where much of the air time was devoted to the two feuding judges, Mariah Carey and Nicki Minaj. Don’t worry if you can’t remember the winner, I don’t even remember if there was a competition that year, or if it was just a dozen plus episodes of Mariah and Nicki sitting at a table arguing with Keith Urban inexplicably placed awkwardly between them wishing he could go back to Australia to be as far away from them as possible. (Because Australia is the furthest thing away from everything.) Nicki and Mariah are both amazing, accomplished artists. Mariah was one of those foundation voices of the 90s, with Celine and Whitney, who brought dozens of artists to the table of music; Nicki captured attention and hearts with a string of unforgettable hits that feature eclectic music and her stellar rap skills.

There are stories that have followed Mariah throughout her career about how she can be difficult to share a stage with. There are stories of Nicki being incredibly outspoken. It’s likely both have strong egos and definitely have very strong personalities. I take nothing away from their immense talents, and I also serve no judgment on how they choose to carry themselves. If they have egos, they have no reason to be ashamed of them. So my criticism is not that they did fight while on the show, it’s that the show itself chose to showcase so much of it, and likely even provoke it. It plays into the stereotype that if we feature two women, there will be a catfight.

I’m not a fan of that narrative, nor am I particularly interested in society constantly pitting women against each other. In the run-up to The Voice’s new season, a lot of press and marketing was interested in how Alicia and Miley were going to get along on the show. It’s as if it’s pre-ordained that having two big female personalities, two strong women sharing the spotlight, will inevitably not end well. And it was incredibly refreshing to hear both of them doing their best to quash those speculations. They claim to be more interested in the bigger picture: in representing female artists, in empowering all artists to find their voices. And from just the auditions so far, you see it. And it’s wonderful to see.

It’s what women and girls should be seeing on television and in our society. The toxic combination of elements in our world: capitalist marketing, consumerist thinking, aggressive competitiveness, constant reminders of various inadequacies particularly for women, and the false dichotomy that only one person can do well, has instead contributed to seemingly innocuous but seriously harmful biases, such as: women will always be catty with each other.

You see it all over the internet. Our only means of comparison is to hold one person up in shining example by putting down another. I remember a meme that made the rounds months ago contrasting Malala Yousafzai and Kylie Jenner. Ultimately, it’s a problem of the media, but it highlights a false dichotomy. It is not Kylie’s fault that the media chooses to cover the Kardashians much more than the accomplishments of Malala. Yet she is now made the face of that problem. She is not the cause. Her lifestyle and life choices may be a result, but we’re not here to judge those things. Nothing is inherently wrong with Kylie, even in the light of Malala. They are each living their lives the way they choose. One does not inform the other. If Kylie’s values do not match yours, do not use her as a role model. It’s as simple as that. But to tell others, to insist to young women around the world who are watching them, “This woman is good, this woman is bad,” you’re placing value judgments on things that simply aren’t there. Kylie’s not a humanitarian, she’d have no business in diplomacy. Why would she? Malala is different, look at the insanity and conflict she has weathered. They are simply individuals, but society’s insistence on the binary has forced us to codify one as bad and the other as good. There are plenty of girls who look up to someone like Kylie who don’t share her exact values and priorities. Personally, I think Kylie’s welcome to do what she likes. The people criticizing her for not contributing to more meaningful efforts are most likely not doing their part on that front either anyway. We all could be doing more, and if that was the ultimate message then I’d be behind that, but it’s not. And it’s not fair to place a face of blame on it when that person is ultimately just living their life.

It’s why it’s so astounding and rather heartwarming to watch Alicia and Miley as they are on the show. The two women are not eye candy. They are not second fiddle. They are not stunts, they are here because of who they are and what they have done. Two women who could not be any more different, two women who are immensely talented, two women who are looking to make an impact. And even though they ultimately are in competition against each other, as well as Adam and Blake, they are showing incredible sportsmanship thus far. Wins for their respective teams are celebrated by the other. They advocate for each other, even when they’re the only two who turn for a contestant. One such head-to-head prompts Adam to comment, “Let me get the popcorn!” (It’s the default setting. We’re about to see the two ladies go at it.) Instead, Miley advocates for Alicia, then talks about her own qualities. Alicia does the same. The contestant picks Alicia, Miley high fives her. Obviously, Miley’s disappointed at losing out on a recruit for her team, but she’s forward-sighted enough to know it’s ultimately just a win for everyone. It’s girl power, it’s empowering. And that’s important. Because there’s girls watching.

Individually, I also love how the two acquit themselves on the show. What’s amazing about Alicia Keys, is similar to what I mentioned about Mariah earlier. Keys is a foundational voice of the 00’s, and her soulful voice and her talent at the piano has inspired a generation to music. Many of the contestants cite Alicia as an influence when the judges interview them. No one else, as good as they are, carries quite that same legacy. I love when Alicia embraces that. “You came here to meet me,” she proclaims confidently as the other judges laugh, because they know it’s true. The chance to be mentored by the artist who first influenced you is incredibly enticing. But more than that, Alicia Keys as an artist is undeniable. I love that she almost doesn’t have to say anything. She doesn’t need to sell herself on a contestant. She’s Alicia Keys. You’re probably here because of her.

Miley on the other hand comes in with a deficiency. It’s the elephant in the room. People don’t like her. She’s polarizing. She stirs controversy. She’s provocative. But she needn’t worry (and obviously she doesn’t) because they said similar things about Britney and Christina (two other foundation influencers) but ultimately those talents likewise cannot be denied. Go to any comments section about The Voice, it’s countless comments of: “Big fan of the show, will not be watching because of Miley. Sad to see a judging chair go to someone so untalented.” Really?

Pulling back from this specifically for a moment, I’m weary of people calling things guilty pleasures. First of all, you either like something or you don’t. If you like it because it’s train-wreckingly bad, that’s not a guilty pleasure, that’s the reason you like it. But guilty pleasures do not extend simply to things we’re pretty sure are bad but we like them anyway. There are also guilty pleasures that are good but the majority has chosen to write them off. In this similar situation, much like Miley, is Ke$ha.

I love Ke$ha. I think she’s fucking talented, and a good songwriter, and when given the chance, a marvelous singer. I also happen to think the same thing of Miley. If you don’t like her music, if you don’t like her performances, then she’s simply not your taste. But that doesn’t automatically make her a terrible artist. She has an amazing ear for musicality, and she’s a damn good singer. I also think she’s going to be a great producer of music one day if she ever decides to perform less. But she’s not a guilty pleasure. I unabashedly listen to both of them because I legitimately enjoy them. Look up Miley singing "Jolene." Right now. Do it.

I’ll do it for you.



That husky country twang, the phrasing, the accompaniment… she’s a good artist. And it’s a damn shame that people fail to see that. Behind all the crazy outfits, the outlandish live stunts, is a mature artist. Just because this “out there” type of performance and expression is what she chooses to do with her talents instead of more subdued fare doesn’t automatically discount her as a contributor.
But what’s interesting, and in many ways empowering, is that Miley is all too aware of the predicament. When Miley advocates for herself to contestants, she extolls primarily her virtues as a very expressive performer, as someone who knows music having grown up with it, and as a performer looking to pay it forward. She downplays herself a little, except to the performers who come off as more shy, she reminds them that she’s very good at expressing herself (while in a denim jacket covered in absurdly large flowers). She encourages contestants to “go with something different.”

She knows that there are people going into this writing her off, but she’s not afraid. And it seems to be working. After the first three audition episodes, Alicia has the most recruits, with 6. Right behind her is Miley. She is technically tied with Blake for recruits, but in reality, one of Blake’s he gained outright since no other judge turned. All of Miley’s recruits she had to fight for. (Incidentally, with the exception of Blake’s aforementioned team member, every audition has been a contention.) So she is winning people over, and I hope this show manages to put her over with more people than previously, because she’ll get to show off traits that are not immediately noticeable when she’s on tour or on television: her musicality, her knack for thinking through performances, etc. She was great as a guest mentor in previous seasons, I have every confidence she’s going to be great here.

But like I said, it’s the magic of seeing the two ladies be there for the contestants and command such presence in the room. They’re both smart and sassy (Miley calling out Adam for winning only three out of the ten times he’s been a judge) and it’s very refreshing to have such outspoken, approachable, and charismatic personalities on the show. Pharrell was good, but quiet. Shakira was a bit hit-and-miss for me. I loved Gwen. I loved Usher. I love Christina but not so much on the show. And these two right now tend to bring the best of all their predecessors to the table, while being notable in their own right.

You get to watch dignity and class, with two female artists who will not resort to leaning into the hype, and instead stand on their own reputations and their accomplishments. They are assertive and articulate, they have been fittingly competitive with each other as well as the other two judges on the panel, but they haven't resorted to anything underhanded, anything personal, they have taken no potshots at each other. TV can be compelling without setting women against each other. Competition can be competitive without resorting to resentment. Both women's success is undeniable.

And the contestants are taking that seriously. They are noticing. We should too.


And to sweeten the deal, we still get a catfight every episode. The bromance and rivalry of Adam Levine and Blake Shelton is great TV. It also subtly reminds everyone that cattiness is not an inherently female trait. 

Saturday, August 27, 2016

My Level-Headed Attempt At Explaining Why Harry Potter And The Cursed Child Is More Disappointing Than Any Of My Own Cursed Children I May Have Complicated, Distant Familial Relationships With In The Future


By now, those who have long awaited its release have likely read Cursed Child. And by now, overwhelming disappointment has clouded those people’s judgment of a beloved book series and movie franchise. And by now, the apologists have also come to the fore, attempting to defend it, either on the grounds that a play is meant to be seen and not read (much like children themselves, I think), or that it’s really not as bad as people think and to give it a chance.

It sucks that the first piece of theatre I’ve gotten to write about in a while is such a drag-fest, and not a fabulous drag-fest like at LIPS or something, but instead a total drag of a time. But like my title notes, I am attempting to explain this reasonably. I don’t think the negative feedback from those who have read it is entirely misdirected or misguided. I also don’t take anything from those who have found enjoyment in it. For some, simply getting to be back in the world of Harry Potter is enough, and revisiting the characters in some way and form is magic sufficient. But I do think those who were expecting more, who had higher expectations for the result are justified in their disappointment. I agree that something with the depth of Potter should have received a higher threshold of standards.

Three main things work against Harry Potter And The Cursed Child:

- The scenes are short, lack progression, and don’t accumulate value. 
                   Something I find most unfortunate is that I see a lot of criticism leveled at Cursed Child and even some defending it are arguing, “It’s a play!” and this is completely inaccurate. If a story, even in script-form, seems thin and stagnant, that’s not a criticism of plays as opposed to novels. Certainly, a script is far stripped down from the robustness of a novel, but the dynamics of scenes should never be sacrificed. In fact, they should be even more substantial, because that’s all a play has. Those passages in between lines of dialogue in a novel, where we are privy to the inner thoughts of a character, that all has to be conveyed in only dialogue and the abilities of the actor on stage. A script needs to convey as much of that as possible to the actor. Certainly, there is always room for interpretation, but a scene always has a point, and the characters in the scene are supposed to be looking to gain something. So again, reading it may not fully immerse you while reading it as a book would, but don’t mistake that for playwriting. That’s still bad playwriting. That’s poor scene-building.
                     The basis of drama is a two-person scene. It’s the most straightforward setup in the world. In Cursed Child specifically, the scenes are practically designed to keep our two main characters in conflict, Harry and his son Albus, apart. The two characters don’t grow and change in relation to each other. One could argue that the distance of the relationship is reflected in the make-up of the scenes, which would be fine, but it does nothing to inform their relationship: Albus learns nothing of his father, Harry gains no insight in how to reach his son, nor do the secondary interactions sow mistrust of each other, Albus simply begins to resent his father more, Harry simply begins to distrust his son. But we’ll come back to characters.
                    As a result of the brevity of these scenes, it makes sense that nothing progresses throughout them. No character “wins” the scene, no characters leave a scene better or worse off because of the action or dialogue that took place during the scene. Now, short scenes are not inherently a problem. The problem here is that in addition to the scenes being short, they also achieve nothing for the characters within. They seem to cut off before deeper conversations emerge, before moments of revelation happen to our characters. Very symptomatic of that therefore, is the scenes should accumulate value but they don’t. Things that happen in previous scenes do not directly have bearing on later scenes. Harry and Albus do not eventually mend their relationships directly from the events of the play. If they did, the pivotal emotional breakthrough would have happened during the gang’s final confrontation with the main villain. Instead, it happens in a wrap-up scene post adventure. Harry and Voldemort apparently cannot kill each other with their given wands because of twin wand cores. Even if you take this as complete bullshit, it at least gives a reason to the proceedings. It also inherently ties Harry and Voldemort to this plot specifically. It can be nobody else because they alone share wand twins. Albus ends up coming in a clutch during the final battle because... he's the smallest and could fit in a grate? So. Nothing to inform us of the relationship, nothing to tie them to the proceedings of the plot around them. So again, I just have to reiterate that plays are not inherently thin in immersion. The problem here is the problem with any story that disappoints: it is still simply bad writing.

- The characters lack motivation or intention for anything they do.
                    So now we have to address the deeper problem than things not happening, because those “things” are perpetrated by characters who don’t know what they’re doing. I think this could easily be the main issue of the play. A character has to be sympathetic, we have to at least be understanding of the decisions they are making, even if we don’t necessarily agree with them. The problem with so many characters in this piece is that they are doing things for absolutely no reason. Albus’s plan to avoid going to Hogwarts comes completely out of nowhere. From one conversation he overhears he latches on to a very specific event from his father’s past and decides that can fix everything. At this point, we’re still unclear just what he’s trying to prove. I think it’s that he thinks fixing a mistake made by his father will somehow distinguish him from the famous Potter, except that it’s 1) a plan that further intertwines him to his father’s legacy rather than distinguishing him from it, 2) the death of Cedric Diggory was not Harry’s fault, and 3) it’s overall a piss-poor plan full of too many variables that they cannot account for. Even if you buy into the idea that Delphi manipulates the entire thing, it is then her plan that makes absolutely no sense.
                      I am absolutely willing to believe in large, complicated plans coming together in film or any medium simply because the group is that good and their timing is impeccable. But the work has to be there. There is no reason that Delphi decides to target Amos Diggory. There is no reason that Amos yelling at Harry should be enough to motivate Albus to fix his father’s mistake. Delphi would also have to have known that Albus felt this way about his father, despite only meeting him briefly the very night she accompanies Amos to the Potter house, presumably to carry out this plan in the first place. And this is all the characters. Albus doesn’t give me enough reason to be behind him for his plan. I don’t understand why Harry flies off the rails about a curse, as if he’s the only one in this world who believes in curses. I don’t understand why McGonagall bends to Harry’s irrational wishes under threat of… what, exactly, I don’t know. Malfoy doesn’t give me a reason that he’s chumming around with the trio, and similarly Ron remains largely absent from the proceedings for no real reason.
                        Aristotle’s elements of tragedy, which get extended to all drama, has a loose hierarchy, listing plot at the top, character second. But honestly, character is tops for me. As long as the characters are characters I care about or are at the very least interesting. Characters doing nothing but talking, as long as they have opinions informed by their background and mutual histories is more interesting to me than boring, uninteresting characters doing something, because that makes me not care about what they’re doing. So a bad plot can easily be saved by good characters, but bad characters will make the plot bad, regardless of how good it was in theory. Cursed Child suffers already from a convoluted, bad plot. But the characters, with motivations unclear or nonexistent, make it infinitely worse. All of them are plot devices moving from one required beat to another simply to fulfill the requirements of a plot that feels predetermined, separate from the characters.
I think that’s one of the effective things that sets apart the Harry Potter books. The plots aren’t simply happening to the characters. They are as much intrinsic to the plot as the plot is to them. If you took out these characters from the play and just replaced them with generic names, it doesn’t change anything. The plot operates independently of the characters and that’s not good, because again, what the characters do and why they do it makes us care about their progress.
                        What would a real story about Harry Potter and his friends be about 19 years later? I don’t know for sure, but what about Harry’s struggles of remaining relevant, or living up to the reputation he possessed at half his age? What about the progression of the marriage of Ron and Hermione, two characters who seem to have so little in common except that they care deeply for each other? Potter’s relationship to his child is not an inherently bad idea, nor are the specifics of this plot, but it feels forced upon these characters, without getting at the heart of what makes it unique. Why is Harry finding himself unable to relate to Albus? Why does Albus resent Harry so much, despite the fact that it seems Harry has sunken into irrelevance long before Albus came around? What more reason is there for Delphi to try and meet her father, and why does she believe this is the best plan of action? Again, the characters move as dictated by the plot points set before them, not the other way around, which makes for flat, undefined at best, and inconsistent at worst characters.
                  And speaking of the characters, who are some of these people?
                  I would say almost everyone is hilariously out of character in this story. What makes it especially sad is that it’s arguably the strongest selling point for a follow-up story based on a beloved franchise. We’d like to see where these characters have developed and grown in the past 19 years since we last saw them. And the answers are disappointing. Harry, despite already having raised two children, is impossibly incapable as a father to his third child. Ginny does no better, offering no help or insight. Ron is reduced to comic relief, it seems they took a cue from movie Ron rather than book Ron. The strong women of the books are similarly reduced to piles of irrationality, with Hermione ineffective as Minister, and McGonagall bending to Harry’s will as Headmistress. Draco sulks with guilt instead of grief over his wife’s death and similar to Harry has no parenting skills. He also shortsells his two schoolyears friends Crabbe and Goyle in an offhanded comment where he confesses he would have much preferred being friends with the power trio of Hogwarts. Dumbledore has an extremely puzzling cameo that’s completely out of line with his character from the books and even the movies. This could perhaps be explained away by a line McGonagall says to Harry, that paintings are not the full person, they are memories and fragments. But even then, a character that was constantly a voice of reason offers wild and unfounded advice to a still-influential Harry, who even after having had 19 years of reflection on how Dumbledore acted, still holds him in as high regard. Even Cedric Diggory, who only appears for a scene, has his memory tainted with a weird exchange between him and Albus and Scorpius.
                     It’s less indicative of growth and transformation and rings more like a sitcom that has persisted too long, and the characters have become exaggerated, broad caricatures of themselves, shells and shreds of what they used to be. Ron was always a little dopey, here he’s the clown. Hermione could get frazzled, so she’s a shipwreck here, and Harry seems solely based on his most hormonal self from Order Of The Phoenix. And personally, I find Dumbledore and McGonagall to just be straight character assassinations.


 - And finally, the plot is messy and convoluted.
                       And of course, even despite truncated scenes of no substance and paper thin characters, the plot we’re left with is still not anything to write home about. I know other people have said it, but it does read a lot like fan fiction, and fan fiction has its place, certainly. Revisiting existing plot points with a twist can be a fun what-if exercise. That’s the basis of the story here. Albus and Scorpius venture through the Triwizard Tournament events of Goblet Of Fire to keep Cedric Diggory alive. To what end? They set about their plan through the use of a bootleg Time Turner. Let’s put aside the fact that right at the end of the story, Draco Malfoy reveals he had a fully functional Time Turner all along. Put that aside. We know how messy time travel plots can be and how quickly they can unravel. There’s a reason Prisoner of Azkaban is the only time travel story of the original seven books and a reasoning behind Rowling then retroactively destroying every Time Turner in existence to avoid the mess of implications their existence entails. The issue I have with this particular time travel plot is that it prevents any character growth for almost everyone involved. They’re simply playing parts at different points in time, and in some cases, in different timelines. So the interesting implications of Scorpius’ character in the darkest timeline, where he is heralded as a hero of purebloods, is never explored and this character development is irrelevant anyway because it’s in a timeline that doesn’t count. It also alters nothing inherently about the “real” Scorpius, the one we’ve been following throughout the play thus far. With the way the scenes move and end, insightful conversations and meaningful moments are taken away from us because the scene is over. We have to get to the next part.
                    The inability of the plot to exhibit character growth is exacerbated by the fact that the play still strictly adheres to the timeline of a Hogwarts school year. So our two biggest characters and our main conflict, Harry and Albus, are separated except for sporadic scenes, often taking place the night before Albus goes off for another year to school. Was there are any attempt between the two to mend things during the three months of summer? Apparently not. Something cannot be designated a plothole simply because it happens offstage or offscreen. But a huge problem is that according to the action of the play, nothing happens offstage. The characters exist only in their scenes and remain in stasis while off. There’s nothing wrong with things happening offstage that the audience doesn’t see. It implies that there is life happening in the world of the play outside of what we can see, that there is a larger world outside of the confines of the story. But each scene only builds from the previous scene, which in some cases take place a year apart. That’s incredibly poor planning on the plot. And to reiterate the motivations of the characters, because they seem to lack consistent motivations, the plot itself lacks coherent momentum. Suddenly, we are in the past, and Delphi decides to simply abandon Albus and Scorpius, I guess believing that since they have no clue as to where they are or what Delphi’s intentions are, there is nothing they can do. I still think it’s a hilarious oversight for the daughter of the Dark Lord, who also managed to flawlessly bring this harebrained plan together, anticipating every single choice and idiocy along the way.



Are there good things in the play? The biggest redeeming quality is Scorpius Malfoy. About a quarter of the way in, he gets older and suddenly becomes this excellent, fully realized character. Besides being literally the only one of those in the play, he is a genuinely good character: smart, insecure, funny, and loyal. He’s a little bit uncool, but also quietly confident. I found myself loving Scorpius like I did characters in the original books. Other than that, there is one moment of drama I also was genuinely moved by. During the aforementioned scene where Malfoy confesses to not liking Crabbe and Goyle much, and being jealous of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, Ginny lets the fa├žade fall and confesses the same. Harry is taken aback by this, but Ginny admits that she was also constantly jealous of the close-knit bond of the trio, and it’s a marvelous bit of character development, arguably the most she’s had in eight stories she’s been a part of. That’s wonderful, and should be what the play is serving in general: insight into more sidelined characters, opportunity to develop character dynamics further. What’s so disappointing mostly is that there is so much opportunity squandered and with source material as strong as the seven Harry Potter novels, there really is no reason to come up with such a lackluster plot helmed by poorly written characters.


Obviously, simply reading a script is not a full experience of the play. It has to be seen to be fully enjoyed and critiqued. But that doesn’t mean analysis and criticism of a script by itself is without warrant. I went to school for theatre, we took classes where we analyzed many scripts without ever seeing them. The script can still be judged on the merits of clarity of story, conveyance of character motivation, and quality of lines. Again, not everything can be fully judged, because sometimes things depend on how actors portray characters and deliver lines, or things can be interpreted differently based on staging or a more realized context. Cursed Child lacks these things, the qualities that make a script good. A script that forces those reading it to ask the questions, “What is my character doing?” “Why is my character doing these things?” “How am I supposed to make this moment work as an actor?” but not in an exploratory ‘getting into character’ kind of way, rather in a “Please someone explain to me what’s going on” kind of way, then the scriptwriter has failed to properly convey intentions of the story.



At the conclusion of the story, we’re left with Harry and Albus, their conflict resolved, their relationship on the mend, Harry revises a line he had once said to Albus in the epilogue. “You’re named after two very great men, with very big flaws. And those flaws made them better men.” Really, Harry? Dumbledore’s arrogance and disregard for life and safety and Snape’s unrequited pining and love for a woman that did not love him made them better? No, Harry. It is how Dumbledore continuously sought to be better and threw himself into the fray first to overcome his arrogance, and how Snape chose to protect the one remaining thing on Earth that reminded him of her despite also being reminded by that thing of his childhood tormentors and even going undercover to deceived the most powerful Dark Wizard of all time, for love. Simply, it is not their flaws that made them great. It is how those men chose to confront their flaws and not allow them to define their characters that made them great. Essentially, they are great men despite those flaws. This sums up Cursed Child for me: continuously missing the point.