The wash of posters in subways, on busses and taxis that declare “It all ends” on July 15th might portend an earlier than anticipated end of the world prophecy; however, for now, the declaration is geared toward the millions of Harry Potter fans who are lining up to see Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Pt. 2, the finale to the epic franchise that began in November 16, 2001 and has gone on to gross close to six billion dollars in worldwide ticket sales (source).
Credit needs first to be given to J.K. Rowling, who has woven the intriguing tale of a young wizard. First and foremost, she has capitalized on a genius marketing strategy by beginning with a simplistic child’s novel that will continue to attract young readers and impel them to follow Harry’s quest to defeat Voldemort in subsequent novels that get both darker and more literarily complex. The same can be said for the various movie adaptations of the novel that run from the campy, whimsical Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone to the most recent, tragic installment, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Pt. 1.
But, it’s quite a shame that the multi-billion dollar franchise should have never gone beyond Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, primarily because the narrative of the film exemplifies the perils of using time travel. This isn’t to say that this film or the latter were bad, but they should have never happened. Harry died in the third film; thus, the franchise ends sadly and unceremoniously.
As a note to those who have read and studied the books: this critique does not take into account any explanations contained within Rowling’s work. Rather, this analysis of the third act of The Prisoner of Azkaban pertains only to the adapted film version.
Some might suggest that a movie franchise about a school of wizards, werewolves, giants, centaurs and the like shouldn’t be scrutinized so closely, but I disagree. Rather, it should be scrutinized like any other movie because it has the same opportunity to set parameters for its existence. All movies need to establish a truth within their storyline. Within Harry Potter, there is an accepted truth that wizards and the like exist. This is fine as it falls under the required suspension of disbelief and anything preternatural or mystical that happens can be chalked up to the premise of “they’re all wizards.” Casting spells is part of the wizard world as are various ghouls and goblins of the dark arts. There is no problem here.
However, the problem arises when an external element like time travel is introduced into the equation. Time travel is not exclusive to movies about wizardry or mystical beings, so any established rules / beliefs about the possibility of time travel need to be adhered to. I have no issue with the base inclusion of time travel, but it’s the sloppy way in which it’s used that creates a glitch in the narrative that eliminates the final four movies in the franchise — just like Marty McFly coming dangerously close to vanishing from 1985.
Prior to the film’s third act, there are a number of references to time travel, primarily with Hermione attending two classes at once. No issue here. She doesn’t necessarily affect the narrative with her doubling up of credits, though the way she seems to appear like an apparition, prompting Ron and Harry to ask variations of “When did she get here?” is a bit curious in that it is likely someone would notice another student appearing out of thin air. But I digress. There’s also a tongue-in-cheek reference to time travel when a patron of the Leaky Cauldron reads Stephen Hawking’s A Brief History of Time, where he outlines the possibility of time travel in Chapter 11.
There’s a bit of a contradiction in the nod to Hawking’s book and the action within the film inasmuch as Hawking’s theories about time travel are antithetical to the Potter-narrative, and in fact, point out the glaring flaw in the storytelling. Hawking offers two resolutions to the paradoxes of time travel. One is called the “alternate histories hypothesis,” which involves the travelers going back to the past and entering “alternative histories that differ from the recorded history. Thus, they can act freely, without the constraint of consistency with their previous history.” In other words, someone going back could alter the events of the past and not be required to maintain the events of the present. This theory seems to be where the Potter-narrative was going: to alter the history by saving Harry from being killed by the Dementors. However, this theory clashes with a more important resolution to time travel: “the consistent histories approach,” wherein “you could not go back in time unless history has already showed that you had gone back and, while there, had not killed your great-great-grandfather or committed any other acts that would conflict with the history of how you got to your current situation in the present.” While the two resolutions differ slightly in that one you are able to alter the present through your past actions and the other you are prohibited, the crux of both resolutions is that you must exist in order to travel back. In other words, to be in the present and travel back in time, you must exist in the present, yes? A–> B–> A.
This is where The Prisoner of Azkaban goes awry. In the linear time line that the audience experiences, Harry tries to save Sirius Black (Gary Oldman) from the Dementors by offering himself up for the “kiss.” This is all well and good for the noble Harry, who has just found out that Black tried to save his parents as opposed to kill them. As the swarm of Dementors descends on Harry and Sirius, a mysterious figure, who Harry chalks up to being his father, appears from the forest and casts the Patronus charm to repel the assailants, thus allowing both Harry and Sirius to live. And the crowd rejoices when Harry awakens in the hospital ward with Hermione by his side! However, if we revisit the A–> B–> A proof, we see that this is impossible, not based on the premise of time travel, but because Harry would not have been in the present (A) to return to the past (B) to save the present (A).
In an effort to save Sirius from first arrest, then execution, Hermione reveals her “time changer,” a talisman that allows its wearer(s) to travel back to a designated point in time. For both she and Harry, this is prior to the supposed execution of the hippogriff. So, as the linear-time-Hermione, Ron, and Harry discuss options with Hagrid, the future Hermione and Harry sneakily pardon Hagrid’s pet and then make their way through the forest to prevent Sirius’ arrest.
As Harry and Hermione wait in the forest, the Dementors descend upon the linear-Harry and Sirius, prompting future-Hermione to encourage future-Harry to cast the Petronus charm, though he is hesitant, insisting that only a powerful wizard like his father could cast such a spell. Nonetheless, future-Harry is convinced when future-Hermione screams “You’re dying!” which, consequently, should eliminate future-Harry’s subsequent actions and linear-Harry’s survival. If in fact, Harry is “dying,” then without his future self, he would have perished at the mouths of the Dementors, meaning that he would never have woken up in the hospital in the present (A), been able to travel back to save himself (B), and secure his existence in the present (A). Here, the narrative has conflicted with both of Hawking’s resolutions to time travel inasmuch as the traveler perished prior to his venture.
And if Harry died, then the final four installments are moot.
In addition to the narrative glitch in The Prisoner of Azkaban, time travel also becomes a pedestrian trick to fashion a major plot point, primarily that Harry now realizes the wizardly strength that he has. He is no longer a tyro; he has taken a step beyond his class; he has, symbolically, walked in his father’s footsteps. Even though this is an important step in Harry’s character development in subsequent films, the issue is that he never should have learned this, so the storytelling comes off as a bit shoddy as if the point needed to be made and it was thrown in using a cliché without examining the repercussions inherent therein. Without this forced point, the series might have continued had Hermione travelled back alone and cast the Petronus charm herself. Possible? Why not? It stays within the parameters of the film by having its most erudite, scholarly character travel back and save a good friend. Does this put her a bit above Harry? Sure, but Potter could use this as fuel to become stronger in the fourth installment and simultaneously avoid a narrative glitch.
Admittedly, other successful movies have made errors with time travel as well: most notably James Cameron’s The Terminator (1984). A similar issue in narration exists here, but it becomes more of a venial sin. Here’s how: Sarah Connor is tasked with birthing and raising a son who will become the leader of the resistance forces against Skynet. Because of this, Skynet sends back a terminator (Schwarzenegger) to assassinate Connor. In response, John Conner (Sarah’s future son) sends back Kyle Reese (Michael Bein) to protect Sarah. All good so far. As the story goes on, Sarah and Kyle have sex and in the last scene of the movie the audience sees a pregnant Sarah Connor expositing to her unborn son via tape recorder all that has happened and will happen, noting toward the end that she wonders if John will be reluctant to send Kyle back “with the knowledge that he is your father.” The implication here is that if John does not send Kyle, then Sarah will potentially be assassinated in 1984, and John will not exist. However, a potential paradox here is that John would have never existed (A) to send Kyle back to impregnate Sarah (B) to ensure his existence in the present (A). In other words, one potential premise is that John only exists because Kyle and Sarah had sex. However, Kyle and Sarah were only able to have sex because John sent him back. Thus, John does not exist to send Kyle into the past.
This is tricky to get past and ostensibly seems as damning as the Potter-narrative. However, we can’t discount Sarah’s experiences in her present. As she accompanies Kyle to various, momentary safe-havens he explains to her how John claimed to learn everything from his mother, to which Sarah responds “I can’t even balance a checkbook.” Here, we have an admission of ignorance, but we also know that she is currently aware of her future duties as a mother, receiving a crash course on what to teach her son, if you will. That said, it seems possible that whoever became John’s father, whether it be Kyle or some guy she meets on the way to Mexico, Sarah’s experiences in her present and knowledge of her duty as a mother to prevent future human annihilation would be relayed to John regardless.
Did James Cameron intend this when he helped pen the script? The jury’s still out given his penning of Avatar, which is little more than a theft of the child bred from Ferngully and Dances With Wolves, but the larger point here is that this use of time travel – and it’s potential paradox – can be rationalized. Admittedly, the success of Harry Potter matters little on whether or not the franchise should have gone on an additional four installments, but it’s important to scrutinize global successes just as discerningly as any other film for the posterity of quality and solid storytelling – lest future versions of the Final Destination series become the paragon of filmmaking.
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