I admit it. I first fell in love with Harry Potter on celluloid, not on paper. It took the 2001 film Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone to lure me into J.K. Rowling’s enchanted literary realm, but once I turned the first page there was no turning back. The books—particularly my favorite, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire—immediately bewitched my senses with their intriguing, intertwining plots, subtly sardonic humor, and the presence of an ethereal fifth element: a sacred fairy-spell formed from just the right mix of mythology, folk magic, and the inherent, oldfangled charm of British children’s literature at its best.
American Spielberg protégée Chris Columbus crafted the first two films in the series carefully, with the loving kid gloves of an eager-to-please fan. The self-described “Anglophile” 1 took great pains to avoid Americanizing Harry, perhaps taking a courteous step too far in the direction of caution. There were no great risks taken with the films, no flashes of genuine creative brilliance, but they faithfully and fondly brought Rowling’s stories to life. Columbus constructed a mythical Hogwarts using warm honey hues and incandescent lighting; a homey haven that hissed slightly with the hint of slithering nocturnal beasts, bone-chilling secrets, and restless spirits of the dead.
When Columbus passed the wand to Alfonso Cuarón for the third film, I saw an immense, imposing Hogwarts drained of its warmth but injected with a unique style and grainy realism not present in the first two films. Despite the bitter tears of humiliation I shed while enduring the insufferable quips of a woefully miscast shrunken head with a phlegmy Jamaican growl, I still enjoyed the natural acting, the breathtaking visuals, and the linear storyline. I felt a constant driving toward an inevitable conclusion present in every frame of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, with most deviations from the text of the books only adding flavor to Cuarón’s quirky world. With the reverent Columbus still present as executive producer, Rowling’s fairy tale had yet again emerged altered but ultimately unshattered by the film adaptation.
When I heard that Chris Columbus would not be producing the fourth film and that veteran television auteur Mike Newell would be directing, I felt a bit apprehensive. My Harry in the hands of the guy who brought us the film Pushing Tin? The man who bottled the cinematic sparks emitted by teaming John Cusack with Billy Bob Thornton? Still, my optimism returned as I reminded myself that Newell is British, he’s a seasoned filmmaker, and even though Goblet would be trimmed considerably to fit into a single film, the end result would probably exceed expectations. How callow and trusting I was then! Oh, the folly of youth.
I was there the night Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire opened, of course. I waited for hours on the kernel-strewn floor of the movie house until I was allowed to take a seat in the theater. As the lights went down and the title appeared I cautioned myself that there would be no Dobby, no S.P.E.W., no astrology lessons from Trelawney, precious few seconds of those silken Lucius locks, and Hermione would be wearing a pale pink dress instead of the lovely periwinkle blue robes described in the book. I also knew the film’s pace would be rapid and events would feel rushed. I had accepted all of these harsh facts with aplomb. I was mentally prepared. Two hours and thirty-seven minutes later, as I swept up the splintered fragments of my severed cinematic Potterverse, I wondered just what had gone wrong. Why did this movie hate me and all that I regard as holy? I now share with you the result of my ponderings.
The Collaboration of Kloves
I realized that extreme tampering was afoot in the opening scene. When Barty Crouch, Jr. appeared at Voldemort’s feet in Harry’s dream it was clear that the book’s storyline would be mangled, but this needn’t always spell disaster. The 1999 film The Talented Mr. Ripley, for instance, was fundamentally altered from the 1955 novel upon which it was based, yet the result was a solid, effective piece in its own right. However, in Goblet of Fire many of the changes were not only unnecessary, they proved fatal to the film.
Screenwriter Steven Kloves penned the first three screen adaptations of Rowling’s novels and performed the task adequately, if predictably. Though he tended to relegate the character of Ron Weasley to bumbling sidekick status, I had few quarrels with his work until Goblet of Fire. Halfway through the film I began to harbor serious concerns for Mr. Kloves’ mental stability and emotional state. Had he wrestled with a sudden, crippling bout of schizophrenia while writing the script? Was he scribbling on a legal pad that once belonged to Tom Riddle, perhaps? Nope. It turns out to be a far less mysterious plot. The puzzling deviations in the writer’s technique and content were the result of an uncredited collaboration with director Mike Newell and his small screen sitcom style. Newell admits to collaborating extensively with Kloves, calling for the script to be “written and rewritten and re-rewritten right the way through the film.” 2 That explains so much.
It explains, for example, how corny lines such as “I love magic” found their way into the screenplay. If Harry Potter has been a student at Hogwarts for three consecutive years yet still gasps with an owl-eyed, open-mouthed stupor at each display of witchcraft, he’s awfully slow catching on. Did he honestly expect the Weasleys’ tent to be just an ordinary piece of camping equipment from Sears? Furthermore, if Ron is going to utter “bloody hell” four or five times per film, I think he needs a shorter catchphrase. Monosyllabic television trademarks such as Fonzie’s “Aaayy!” or Homer Simpson’s “D’oh!” are better suited to constant repetition and even they are usually limited to once per episode. When catchphrases are delivered ad nauseam, the audience can switch from bemused to suicidal faster than you can say “I can’t believe it’s not butter.” The constant refrain of Ron’s non-magic curse combined with other hokey one-liners such as “There’s something you don’t see every day” and “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours” result in a vague, overall cheapening of the Harry Potter world and reduce the charming characters to flimsy blockbuster action/comedy stars. Why not have Daniel Radcliffe toss a “yippee-ki-yay” at Alan Rickman while we’re at it? Just for old times’ sake.
Even more insidious than the somewhat lowbrow malaise saturating the dialogue is the senseless rearranging of facts from J.K. Rowling’s original story. Though I have never expected the films to be literal, page-by-page interpretations of the books, the original material is so good I cannot appreciate the desire to tamper with it haphazardly unless it’s being edited for time. If Newell and Kloves are going to eliminate Winky the house-elf and the Invisibility Cloak scenario, instead presenting Barty Crouch, Jr. in the post-apocalyptic wasteland of the Quidditch World Cup grounds rather than introducing him in Dumbledore’s Pensieve-stored memory, they could at least mention his escape from Azkaban. Explaining that Crouch has been sent away for his crimes and then showing him free is confusing and unfair to the viewer who is not familiar with the book. Do the dementors permit the early release of psychotic Death Eaters with good behavior? And I’m not even going to mention the bizarre fact that the antagonist’s tongue was incapable of remaining in his mouth. That would require a whole separate essay.
I was also mystified at the scene in which Harry discovers the dead body of Barty Crouch, Sr. in the forest, yet we never see him or anyone else alert Dumbledore. We are left to assume that Dumbledore somehow gleans this information, possibly through an elaborate network of super-sensitive nerve endings embedded in his lengthy fingernails. Afterward, Harry enters Dumbeldore’s office to inquire about the dreams he’s been having featuring Barty Crouch, Jr. and no mention is made whatsoever of the cadaver in the woods. Another puzzler is the inclusion of reporter Rita Skeeter without the inclusion of her accompanying subplot. If the viewer is never to learn that she’s an unregistered animagus who will be blackmailed by Hermione in the future, why add her character to the screenplay at all? Miranda Richardson’s scenes as Skeeter are entertaining yet empty dead-end detours from the tale being told. And just who the heck is the sycophantic “Nigel” and why in the world couldn’t he have been Dennis Creevey, Colin Creevey’s brother, instead? At least a Creevey would provide a tiny connection to the second film and lend some sense of film-to-film continuity. Impromptu plot alteration, like an earthquake, shakes the foundation upon which the characters, their motivations, and hence the ensuing story exist. The after effects are usually far-reaching and destructive.
Who Put the Dumb in Dumbledore?
In the film Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, the character of Albus Dumbledore is established as “the greatest sorcerer in the world.” 3 In the film Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire the world’s greatest sorcerer, when asked by Harry Potter for guidance on the somniatory prophecies of doom he has been envisioning, offers this golden nugget of advice: “I think it’s unwise for you to linger over these dreams, Harry. I think it’s best for you to simply cast them away.”
This line makes Dumbledore appear oblivious and incompetent later when Harry’s dreams prove to be authentically clairvoyant. In the book, Dumbledore tells Harry he thinks it “probable” 4 that the dreams aren’t merely dreams but visions of actual events, yet in the movie he dismisses them as meaningless. Even if Kloves and Newell were intentionally attempting to downplay Dumbledore’s power in order to underscore Harry’s isolation and adolescent insecurity, this is still a flaw because Voldemort’s fear of Dumbledore (as established in the first film) is an essential twine in the fabric of the unfolding multi-film plot. For this fear to be plausible, Dumbledore needs to appear sharp-witted and not cross the line from affable eccentric to preposterous crackpot.
Alternately shouting and mumbling inaudibly, displaying violent losses of temper, and shuffling around Hogwarts like Ozzy Osbourne in a muumuu, Michael Gambon’s Dumbledore in Goblet of Fire is an abomination of the wise, chamber music-loving headmaster described in the books. Gambon was sheepishly handed Richard Harris’s esteemed shoes to fill and I don’t blame the actor for the dumbing-down of Dumbledore. This process began with the script and was exacerbated by the direction, so I suppose Steve Kloves and Mike Newell are the co-culprits of this travesty. Gentlemen, I implore you: please keep Voldemort’s biggest fear and Harry Potter’s role model out of Madam Rosmerta’s oak-matured mead. How can you expect us to believe that anyone in the wizarding world reveres a panicky, absentminded grump who doles out anaemic attempts at advice, wears one of Janis Joplin’s discarded hats, and impulsively attacks his favorite student, throttling little Harry about the shoulders and neck like an abusive stepfather? To make matters worse, due to hastily pasted-together screenwriting, Movie Dumbledore appears to be an ineffective communicator, shabby public speaker and slapdash eulogizer as well.
Ultimately even more disappointing than Dumbledore’s addled belligerence is his failure to explain to Harry why he encountered echoes of his dead parents when his wand met Voldemort’s. Still reeling with emotion from the graveyard trauma, Harry begins to ask the trusted headmaster why he saw the ghostly images of Lily and James Potter that night, but is interrupted by Dumbledore murmuring in the faintest whisper, “Priori Incantatem.” He then proceeds to blatantly not explain what on earth he’s talking about. For all Harry (and anyone who hasn’t read the book) knows, he could have been muttering an Italian obscenity under his breath. He then quickly closes the subject with a cautionary “no spell can bring back the dead, Harry” and tacks on the comforting “Dark and difficult times lie ahead” spiel before he sends the tortured teen off to bed for the night. It would have taken no more than 30 seconds for Dumbledore to provide a basic explanation of the two wands who share a Fawkes feather and the resulting Reverse Spell effect. Really. I’ve timed it. You can try it at home. Surely the pointless two minute and thirty-six second addition of an intermittently flightless, rooftop-crawling Hungarian Horntail could have been shaved a trifle without damaging the plot. There is no logical reason for the Priori Incantatem exposition to have been omitted, unless the filmmakers were attempting to make Dumbledore appear more knowledgeable than everyone else. But why start this campaign at the end of the film?
Yule Be Sorry
One of my favorite elements of the book Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire is the heartache and humor surrounding the Yule Ball event. A formal dance requires a date, and therefore acts as the perfect springboard for romance to enter the world Harry, Ron and Hermione inhabit. Rowling’s novel handled budding adolescent sexuality with grace, wit, sincerity and subtlety, most of which was misplaced in the film translation. Beautiful platinum blonde veela descendant Fleur Delacour, literary sex symbol of the story, bewitches the boys of Hogwarts with her sorcellerie and sends Ron Weasley into a hormonal frenzy, much to the disgust of Hermione Granger. In the film Fleur is portrayed by Clémence Poésy, a thin, nice-looking young woman who wears no make-up, has dark ash-colored hair that is rarely loosened from a tight ponytail, and has been steel wool scrubbed of any onscreen sex appeal she may naturally possess.
Instead of Fleur and the flirtatious bathroom mermaid supplying the film’s amorous allure, Mike Newell made the peculiar decision to surgically remove the original story’s naturally occurring sexuality and artificially transplant it into Rita Skeeter and Moaning Myrtle, two comical yet thoroughly unsexy characters who appear to have overdosed on Amortentia. First Rita mauls Cedric Diggory’s hair and body-slams Harry against a wall, then when Quidditch hunk Krum approaches her in the champion’s tent she briefly touches her breast, caresses his face with her quill and thrashes her tongue around her lips suggestively. I guess the punchline is that she’s old enough to be his mother. Leaping violently from suggestive to downright lecherous is Shirley Henderson’s Moaning Myrtle, who makes Rita seem reserved. In fact, Myrtle’s cringe-worthy symphony of squeals in Harry’s bathwater gives Jayne Mansfield a chaste air of dignified modesty by comparison. A drop or two of sexual innuendo would have sufficed in the prefects’ bath scene, but the director drowns the audience in an entire tubful of overstated, drawn-out insinuations that leave little to the imagination.
It would be infra my dig to further question the details of lonely disembodied souls who sidle into the sudsy laps of naked fourth year students, so I’ll close the subject by mentioning that the book Goblet of Fire happily contains none of the forced, grotesque sexual parodies displayed in the film—just the normal teenage combination of hormones, chemistry and unrequited crushes. By stripping Mlle. Delacour of her sex appeal and injecting it into other characters, Newell inadvertently ruins one of the film’s best jokes: the touching hilarity of Ron’s rejection. The scene is played perfectly by the gifted Rupert Grint, but it loses the majority of its impact because it hasn’t been properly set up; the audience doesn’t see Fleur as irresistible or even exceptionally attractive, so instead of sympathizing with Ron we question what drove him to ask her to the dance at all. It almost seems as if the filmmakers were afraid of giving a powerful-enough-to-be-a-Triwizard-champion teenage girl a powerful sexuality as well, so they dispensed it to a harmless dead girl instead. They also omitted the buildup of sexual tension between Ron and Hermione that finally explodes after the Yule Ball. In the film, Hermione’s anger and Ron’s jealousy seem to spring out of the clear blue, hence their bickering match is unmotivated and perplexing. Hermione has been eyeballing Viktor Krum and following Harry Potter around like a skittish puppy all year while scolding “Ronald” as though he were an insolent child, therefore we don’t believe her when she tearfully implies she’d have rather been Ron’s date. The hurt doesn’t ring true.
The Young Harry Potter Chronicles
Apparently Mike Newell has a minimalist style of directing his actors. With experienced, classically trained British thespians this often delivers the best results, but young actors sometimes require a more hands-on approach. According to Emma Watson, the acting of the teenage stars was “trusted” 5 by Newell. “He didn’t treat us like kids,” 6 she reveals. Only 15 years old when Goblet of Fire was being filmed, perhaps Watson and her performance would have benefited from a smidgeon of coddling. Her quavering-on-the-edge-of-tears voice and shrill, high-strung emoting permeate every scene in which Hermione appears and diminish the integrity of her character. The jittery facial expressions and exasperated sighs she directs at the other characters make her appear gratuitously angry at everyone else in the film most of the time, which is a shame because Emma herself seems to be bright and charming—the perfect material for a Movie Hermione—but the director failed to cultivate and guide this raw material to be captured it at its best. So instead of feeling affectionately, innocuously annoyed with our favorite little pontificating witch as we were in the previous films, the audience simply longs to slip a muscle relaxant in her pumpkin juice.
Also more than mildly annoying is Harry’s boastful, rock star rhetoric in the Gryffindor common room after the first task. (“Who wants me to open it??? D’you want me to open it???”) In this scene, Daniel Radcliffe was apparently instructed to behave like a prop comedian working the crowd. I half expected him to smash the egg with a sledgehammer and thank the Gryffindors for being “the greatest audience in the world!” I was driven to turn my head from the screen in shame for the duration of the scene when Ron is compelled to humbly pay contrition to The Chosen One for daring to interrupt his Vegas-style act. Aside from this painful aberration of his character, Radcliffe’s Harry remains charismatic and dependable in Goblet, if dangerously close to resembling Billie Jean King in her matted shag hairdo days.
Co-stars Matthew Lewis as Neville Longbottom, James and Oliver Phelps as the Weasley twins, Brendan Gleeson as Mad-Eye Moody and Ralph Fiennes as the incarnation of the Dark Lord elevate the whole film with their inspired characterizations, transcending the limitations inherent in the script. Regrettably, the adorable Cho Chang seems shoved into the film as an afterthought, making Harry’s crush on her feel contrived. She is never introduced by name or given any semblance of a background story, she just pops up now and then like a mallet-dodging Whac-A-Mole. I was also disappointed at the paltriness of fleeting yet delightful moments with Professors Snape and McGonagall, and startled to find that not only had Professor Flitwick been made over in the image of a small, mustachioed Moe of Three Stooges fame, but had also adopted Moe’s penchant for using the word “idiot.” At least he didn’t call Hagrid a “wiseguy.” That’s some consolation. Speaking of Hagrid, it was after midnight when I saw Goblet of Fire and I fear I might have dozed off briefly for I seem to remember watching Madame Maxime pluck a fat grub from the depths of Hagrid’s beard and devour it. I trust this was a horrible dream—it couldn’t actually have been included in the film, could it? Certainly a broadly derogatory social commentary on the atrocities of French cuisine could have easily found its way into a dinner table scenario, could it not?
Through A Goblet Darkly
Newell and his Goblet crew apparently interpreted Dumbledore’s “dark and difficult” warning a bit too literally and drenched the entire movie in gloomy lighting which, rather than achieving an ominous mood, merely strains the viewer’s eyes. Cuarón’s Prisoner of Azkaban was visually dark as well, but its dimness had depth. The third film was a gritty playground for shadows and suspicions with bright spring-green flashes of nature adding a rich contrast to the opaque black of night. Newell and friends take the darkness to new depths by refusing to properly light the film, giving Hogwarts the depressing drab of a medieval torture chamber. The scene in which Harry’s name is drawn from the Goblet of Fire is so poorly lit that when Harry walks into the antechamber where the other Triwizard champions are waiting, the white shirt collar of his uniform is the only clearly visible object in the shot. Dumbledore’s office is also almost completely black, the sole light source being the cold blue glare of the Pensieve which is described by J.K. Rowling as emitting a “silvery light, dancing and shimmering.” 7 She takes great measures to remind us that Dumbledore’s office is a snug sanctuary for Harry, symbolizing the fact that our hero’s life is safely protected from Voldemort’s murderous grasp while he’s tucked under Albus Dumbledore’s wing. The Movie Dumbledore comes across as an aloof and emotionally distant man whose grim dungeon of an office reflects his chilly attitude. This may seem like a minor detail, but establishing Dumbledore as a source of comfort for Harry is crucial in order for the audience to fully comprehend the vulnerability Harry will feel after Dumbedore’s death in the sixth film. Each film can have its own unique style, but they must all remain linked by common elements in order to be considered installments of the same saga. Otherwise the end result will be seven mismatched, disjointed pieces chipped off of one master idea; pieces that neither fit together smoothly nor stand completely on their own.
The set design and art direction of the Potter films have always played an important part in enriching the atmosphere of fantasy, but for some reason the magical details seem absent from Goblet of Fire. Where have all the twirled taper candles and antiquated spell books gone? What about the ghosts, the moving staircases and portraits, and rich golden rolls of parchment? In the film, Dumbledore instructs Tournament hopefuls to “write their name upon a piece of parchment and throw it in the flame,” yet instead of parchment they use scraps of lined Muggle notebook paper. If Newell feels that adolescent wizards and witches shun parchment rolls in favor of spiral notebooks the instant they hit puberty, then why keep the word “parchment” in the script? Furthermore, why place the end credits on beautiful smoldering parchment paper if there is none seen in the film? Even Sirius’s letter to Harry appears to be scrawled on ivory card stock from Office Depot, further scraping the fairy dust from the endearing visual mystique created by the earlier films. While we’re on the subject of Sirius, let me add that I realize Gary Oldman is expensive. However, did budget cuts really necessitate replacing him with a bag of quick-lighting charcoal briquettes? With $308 million to blow I would have expected the fireplace visit be more grandly executed, although I must admit the other special effects were superb and Moody’s trunk far surpassed the one described in the book. The underwater dummies used in place of Ron, Hermione, Cho and Gabrielle, however, reach a level of realism not seen on film since 1987’s Mannequin.
Missing from the fourth film is the music of composer John Williams, and his absence leaves a noticeable gap. Although Patrick Doyle is a talented musician, his score fails to capture the whimsical enchantment of the Potterverse. When Hermione descends the stairs at the Yule Ball, the heavy, maudlin swell of music overpowers the scene rather than enhancing it. Earlier in the film, Ron’s bitter jealousy of Harry is accompanied by what sounds to my ears like the tender theme to a daytime drama. Does the phrase “piss off” really warrant a lachrymose violin score?
The ending of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire is a thrown-together mess of a conclusion. It seems unsure whether to end on a hopeful note, a tragic note, a portentous note, a humorous note or a poignant note, so it compromises by fizzling out with a flat uncertainty. “Everything’s going to change now, isn’t it?” asks Hermione. Yup. Sure is. Well. Will you sign my yearbook? Even the final task is a letdown because the champions are given no head starts in the maze based on points they had earned in the previous two tasks, so the whole competition seems futile. The lack of magic in this film—actual magic and not f/x—is more apparent than ever when we are told that the towering maze-hedges will contain no magical creatures, no need for knowledge of magical theory, but will be possessed by some sort of sketchy shrub-demon who might make the contestants “change.” Just as I was starting to swallow this vaguely preternatural concept, all of a sudden the maze uproots itself and attacks! Is this really magic or the result of the same horticultural mutations seen in Day of the Triffids? I hate to be a stickler for details, but an unforgivable deviation from the novel is also made in the maze when Cedric uses a disarming spell on Viktor that does not remotely disarm him, but simply sends him reeling several feet into the air and renders him unconscious. There he lands, knocked out cold, his fingers still tightly wrapped around his wand. If the expelliarmus incantation has nothing to do with disarming, I guess I need to brush up on my Latin.
The movie started to finally win my affections during the creepy graveyard rebirth and especially the following scene in which Harry fulfills Cedric’s final request to return his body to his parents. It had me trembling in its grasp until Amos Diggory’s heartfelt wailing, and then I realized why the powerful emotions seemed forced: they were too rushed. Time is the enemy of the Harry Potter films. It wears this one down to a pale shadow of its original self by excluding not just content but genuine emotional motivation of the characters. Even though most people who see the fourth film will have seen at least one of the previous films, they still need to be presented with a new opportunity and a new reason to care about the characters and that requires time. When a film jumps wildly from scene to scene, frantically flinging in new characters and situations willy-nilly, the seeds of authentic emotional reaction don’t have time to be sown and flourish naturally. Therefore, they must be forced to flower prematurely and that’s when the trouble starts. Even the most talented actor must struggle to overcome the obstacles of a hurried pace. Racing to beat the clock is murder on scenes requiring heavy emotional deliveries; the natural rhythm of reaction is massacred.
In all fairness, Mike Newell and Steve Kloves were presented with the unenviable challenge of bringing a 734-page book to the screen in one single feature when there should have been two, or at least a longer running time with an intermission. This is practically a recipe for disaster, yet they delivered a popular, well-received and funny film. I probably laughed more during Goblet of Fire than any of the previous Potter films, and much of my laughter was with the film, not at it. My overall complaint is a deeper one: I maintain that creating a lucrative motion picture is a hollow victory when it betrays the integrity of the original material. Naturally favorite moments from the book will be eliminated from the film, but Newell and Kloves not only condensed the story, they recklessly embellished and reconstructed the fundamental framework of its spirit. Attempting to improve upon Rowling’s realm displays a basic lack of trust for it, and although the humor in the book is among the best Rowling has written, her humor was cut and Newell’s exaggerated brand of humor was pasted in to guarantee big audience laughs in the theater. Her clever imaginings were apparently deemed too understated for a multi-million dollar budget, so larger-than-life movie clichés were inserted in their place. Like a widescreen 35mm boggart, the movie keeps shape-shifting, wearing itself out to please every single person in the crowd until the whole thing becomes a patchwork quilt of disconnected moments and varied themes. In the process it forfeits the spell that was cast by the source material and kept afloat by the previous films in the series, shattering the fragile enchantment of the Harry Potter world. Here’s hoping that the fifth film has enough magical power to mend the broken pieces.
1. Rhodes, Belinda. “Potter Director’s Brit Passion.” BBC. 13 November, 2001. British Broadcasting Corporation. 22 May, 2006. http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/film/1651592.stm.
2. Feinberg, Daniel. “Screenwriter Will Sit Out One ‘Potter’.” JSOnline. 16 November, 2005. Milwaukee Journal Sentinel. 22 May, 2006. http://www.jsonline.com/story/index.aspx?id=371074.
3. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. Chris Columbus. Warner Bros. Pictures. 2001.
4. Rowling, J.K. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. New York: Scholastic, 2000. p.601.
5. Curtis, Richard. “Conversations With the Cast.” (Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire DVD.) Warner Home Video. 2006.
7. Rowling, J.K. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. New York: Scholastic, 2000. p.583.
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. Chris Columbus. Warner Bros. Pictures. 2002.
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Mike Newell. Warner Bros. Pictures. 2005.
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Alfonso Cuaron. Warner Bros. Pictures. 2004.
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. Chris Columbus. Warner Bros. Pictures. 2001.
Rowling, J.K. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. New York: Scholastic, 2000.
Rowling, J.K. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. New York: Scholastic, 2005.
Rowling, J.K. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. New York: Scholastic, 2003.Rowling, J.K. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. New York: Scholastic, 1997.