Harry Potter and the Father of the Year

(Why I’m still trying to decide if I liked Harry Potter and the Cursed Child)

The script is an enchanting example of the Brechtian epic theater, and I would be the first to fangirl from the rooftops — if it weren’t such a poor, poor example of a what-if kind of fanfic at the same time.

I will not let myself be swayed to hating on it (there’s been enough of those blogs on the Potternet) because I can understand that, after so many years and such a success of the original series of books, you cannot return to your own work as an author. You come back as a fan, half-blinded by the fame and the responsibility, and all you can write is a fanfic.

What I can’t understand are the fans who read and reviewed the script as if it were a novel, demanding ‘more description’ and ‘more time for the polyjuice potion and emotions and decisions to brew’ (IT’S A PLAY!) and ‘more golden in The Trio’ and ‘more Hermione in Rose’ and whatnot. But I don’t have to understand everything, do I now.

Overall, although the plot had too much time-travelling-deus-ex-machina moments for my taste, I’m sure the story is astonishing as a play, and I’d love to see it someday.