By Grabthar’s Hammer, By the Suns of Warvan, You Shall Be Avenged

I was trying to just plainly ignore the final Harry Potter movie, but then during the Wimbledon final I spotted him  in the crowd, Alan Rickman, wearing shades and a grey suit, and I understood I owed it to him, and so here I am, ready for the ridiculous multiplex, with the sole support of friend S. (the one who carries a key chain reading and on the seventh day God created Alan Rickman).

I hate the mechanical and ungraceful way Rowling exploited the Snape character starting from book 5. I hate it and I also hate the fact he had to die again in the world premiere a few days ago, and he’s going to die once more tonight in one million theaters, and again in few hours depending on the time zone, and tomorrow through the international date line, and again and again until we all go on holiday, and then on the blue ray and dvd et cetera. And all for the sake of his unappreciative author.

I’m also a little tiny bit worried, because Daniel Radcliff said Rickman is deserving and Oscar here, and Staurt Craig said Snape’s death was moving even on dailies, and nothing will comfort us, not even the swirling coat of a long dark night, as we are in July and nights are maddeningly short and sultry and full of hungry mosquitoes..

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