The boy who lived – The Movie Filter

Years ago a curious trend spread through the U.K., birthplace of author J.K. Rowling and her globally popular series of young wizard novels. Rowling’s publisher began printing nondescript, plain cover editions of her books. Stamped with the ironic sub-label “Adult Version,” they catered to readers of a certain vintage who would rather be caught dead than be seen reading a kid’s book. Though priced higher, these copies quickly sold in the tens of thousands.

Times have changed. This month, adults will not be peeking at another Hermione Granger barb while nodding as if in agreement with Malcolm Gladwell. They will be standing tall with college students, high-schoolers and tweens alike in lines longer than a serpentine basilisk for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part II, the culmination of Rowling’s seven-book, eight-film saga.

It may be summer, but yes, there will be scarves.

At first, adults were embarrassed to read Potter books, but they read them anyway, with or without the plain covers. Now, they appreciate the movies just as much as their children do. Why?

The same reason Harry Potter is going to walk into a forest and stare death in the face, believing some sacrifices do not mean an ultimate end but a glorious restoration. Because beneath the banalities and cynicism of modern culture lies an enduring, innate hope that good will ultimately triumph over evil—even if that hope is hidden behind a sophisticated philosophy or a blank book cover.

Even in our scientific age, hundreds of millions of us pay hard-earned money for the kind of stories that trigger what The Lord of the Rings author J.R.R. Tolkien called “secondary belief” in his 1939 lecture On Fairy-Stories. Primary belief deals in facts and figures, but secondary belief, Tolkien states, is when we know something is fictional, yet it draws us in all the same. We feel frightened for the characters when they are in danger and sad when they are downtrodden.

Most often, these stories depict a kind of supernatural world, one where heroes cheat death, where goodness destroys malice, where the wounded are healed and widows and orphans are shielded from harm. These are stories of a love eternal, a love without parting, and we drink them like water from an overflowing well.

The Potter phenomenon has proven Tolkien correct. We don’t want to believe that love ends at death. We want to believe a parent can save her son through a bold act of self-sacrifice like Harry’s mother does. We want to believe the meek shall inherit the Earth. We seek these stories not because they depict how life is but because they give us a glimpse of how we believe life should be.

The particulars of Rowling’s final book may be cherished details to some and a mystery to others, but deep down we all know what will happen when Harry stands against his nemesis, the murderer of his parents, the dark wizard Voldemort. What will happen is what ought to happen. The boy who lived will live again.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part II debuts July 15.