Essentially saturated with a consummate propensity for the authentically whimsical and an ingeniously conjured universe of contemporary and mythological assimilations, this second entry into the Harry Potter adaptation series is, like its predecessor, a fabulous inundation of gadgetry and wizardry. With its marathon scope it implements some similar plot weaving analogous to the Star Wars series, meanwhile its subject matter assuming a lighter parallel to The Lord of the Rings momentarily in lieu of the film itself, which is set for release in one highly anticipated month. As, perhaps, the first released sequel in the superficial but highly effective trendy wave of simultaneously-produced, prepackaged series of box-office-draw magnum opuses (which dominated in 2001) Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets packs it intended wallop, frequently swapping The Sorcerer’s Stone’s charm for slightly forbidding maturation.
Though still principally child-and-market-friendly fare, fortunately oozing quite diminutively of trademark Chris Columbus sentiment, this Harry Potter is leaden with significantly controversial violence and a dark sense for sordid locale. Much of the exotic transportation from the first film is in absence but the fundamental architecture is in top form, moppet thespians are surprisingly effective, and the climactic summit is tighter despite some perceived flaws. In amazing parabolic trade this entry chronicles “the hero of a thousand faces” odyssey with (pretty much the same structure as the first minus the heroes introduction) opening with the flight from oppression, return of the prodigal son, mentoring with surrogate parental figures, skeptics suspect hero of heinous deeds, a descent into the lions den, confrontations, and the reemerging. The Chamber of Secrets’ surface story is minutely convoluted and convenient, and with an emphasis on the former particularly from a child’s perspective, but nevertheless resolves most of its loose ends.
The visuals of the journey are hyperbolically zenithal in an exceptional positioning of cinematography and architectural wonderment; once again, fabricating an entirely realistic world of what is traditionally improbable and entirely mythical. The Chamber of Secrets revels in its wondrous ambience of medieval castle construction, floating bridges, conversational art work, the cordiality and/or threat of the apparitional. Alike as well as disparate to The Sorcerer’s Stone there’s a disheartening presence of invisible and invincible deviant iniquity, here it is variably more mature and wholly well-orchestrated. As a rather difficult and morbid read it may repel the younger set who so adeptly accepted the original’s gleefully raucous yarn-spinning (which had a much weaker climax in my opinion), but nonetheless the world’s adaptation is accomplishedly crafted some second time around. I still have not a clue as to how faithful the adaptations are to the novels (and I doubt I will ever get into J.K. Rowlings’ books) yet it is evident that Columbus has professionalized his craft, disregarding his horrifically sugared omnibus.
Tormented in his dungeon-like room over the summer vacation, the young wizard-in-training, Harry Potter (Daniel Radcliffe still in fine form), has been punished by his dementedly sadistic aunt and uncle (Fiona Shaw and Richard Griffiths). A peculiarly masochistic House Elf called Dobby (and as for CGI characters go, is much less irritating than Jar-Jar) visits Harry, and consequently causes the boy’s lock-up, warning him not to Hogwart’s School of Wizardry because dangerous events await him. Harry’s sprung from his “prison” by Ron Weasely (Rupert Grint) and his brother’s via their flying car, arrives back at Hogwarts and reforms their trio, which includes Hermione Granger (a blossoming Emma Watson). When students and grimalkins begin to fall prey to a petrifying beast of mystery, the inquisitive gang learns of an urban myth about an infamous hidden chamber inside the school, in which this terrorizing creature dwells.
Once again, in light of this triumphant magical and ethereal glorification, let’s hope Columbus continually restrains himself and adopts the required caliginous edges that he sanctions here, but quibbles aside, I digress. The synthesis of the sweeping [if derivative] John Williams’ score and an absorbingly nightmarish impression captured with superiority by Roger Pratt, ringing fit to a fittingly droll script by Steven Kloves, all could suggest a heralding of the production as temporary entertainment. But an echelon above the disposable this entry continues to aid the characters assumed role as the next torch-runners for pop-icons with instantaneous legendary status and celebrity. On an inverse end of the spectrum this childhood success could backfire in the future, the consequences of typecasting and child star syndrome are tiresome seeds from this nature of success. Presently the youthful actors perform well, a few bothersome missteps abound naturally, particularly a few Grint moments, but nonetheless inherent inaccuracies are generally dismissed.
As a seething paradigm of innocence’s expedition and of the “rites of passage” extraction The Chamber of Secrets is a splendidly imagined trajectory chronicling the cornucopia of plights from a prison break to the voluntary descent into a dank abyss. Nearly Gilliam in visual virtuosity (Pratt has been Gilliam’s cinematographer on many occasions), though that would be a much tamer Gilliam, and Tolkien in adventurous capacity, the film seems almost simplistic in execution but in puzzle manner it unfolds with miraculous articulation, entertainment and depth. Its tense culmination surreptitiously yet obviously allows for a scene of utterly ludicrous exposition which channels the apex of common action/horror farces with the notorious blunder of a lengthy villainous account to the hero of the plot’s foggy details, however, considering much of the audience and the rather confusing context, such a gaffe warrants condoning.
The Chamber of Secrets is indeed darkly crafted and astonishingly so, it dotes little on trite gags or many cheap shots yet is so gloriously extended, encompassing to an extent the multifarious array of potential phantasmagoria. It indulges, with an unpretentious bravado, in the endless progress of computer technology and the brilliantly conceived palette of dynamic inventions: heroes, sidekicks, creatures, villains, competitions, mysteries, landscapes, and mythology, often punctuated by a British charm. It proves increasingly fascinating as to how and what Y Tu Mama Tambien Latin director Alfonso Cuaron (Columbus is taking a break) adds to the flavor with the next oncoming sequel.