Yesterday I watched Snape Kills Dumbledore: The Movie, the newest movie rendition of J.K.’s much-loved and -abused series. It’s unfortunately shallow and not fun to watch, as much of the original plot is bulldozed to make way for the WB executives’ idea of the books.
Many things that did not happen in the book were shoehorned in (The Burrow catching fire, romantic relationships developing early, Harry like trains) and things that did, didn’t. Watching the movie of a book also spoils the images that you have of the characters.
Granted, there’s not much difference between what you imagined Harry to look like and Daniel Radcliffe, but Dumbledore was younger for me and Hagrid was bald. The movie’s carefully market-balanced character appearances ruin the fun of creating them in your head.
I had no desire to see this movie, and would not have if the tickets weren’t purchased before I let the purchaser know that I didn’t want to go. It’s killed part of my childhood by another one-seventh and I will refuse to let go of the last bit unless someone threatens me with the Elder Wand.