rickmania returns!

Upon the release of the indie art house film Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2, Alan Rickman will complete his portrayal of Severus Snape.  The world will not be the same.

I like to imagine this was filmed at Alan's real house.

Alan, you have given us so much throughout these 8 Harry Potter movies.  Specifically, you have driven traffic to my blog like no other celebrity or event.  Perennially, the keywords “Alan Rickman” (and more than a few misspellings of that name) have brought dozens and dozens of visitors to this little blog.  Why does your name bring up my blog?  Are there no other worthy writers extolling your virtues as master thespian?

Hands off, Helena. Rickman is for all of us.

New readers may think I’m not being serious.  They may wonder if I’m just using Mr. Rickman’s name in a cynical attempt to drive traffic to this blog.  To them I say BEGONE.  For this is a place where Alan Rickman is revered only slightly less than Bill Watterson and Moses.

Alan Rickman making Maggie Smith look even cooler than usual.

Alan, if you Google your name and visit my blog, welcome.  You have found a true fan, not just of your work as Snape, but for all the wonderful roles you’ve played throughout the years.  From Die Hard to The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy to Galaxy Quest to the Ang Lee version of Sense and Sensibility, you always make your roles your own.  You play badass as easily as comic, something I admire.


Even though Harry Potter has come to an end, let us rejoice!  We have many more years of Alan Rickman ahead of us.


Long live Rickman!

Blog reviews

rickmania is here to stay

alan-rickman-alan-rickman-111662_500_573I joined the rest of the free world last night in finally seeing Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 1.  Although it was not the tour de force on par with Prisoner of Azkaban, it was certainly dynamic, funny, tense, and provided a good diversion from my miserable life for a couple hours.  (For a more thorough and well-written review, please see McBone.  To see how Harry Potter stands up to the Julianne Moore rating scale, see West Lawn Park.)

Harry’s latest magical mystery tour has him scouring the bucolic English countryside in search of Horcruxes.  If you don’t know what a Horcrux is, shame!  No, just kidding.  A Horcrux is an object in which a magical person can hide a piece of his or her soul.  Lord Voldemort, being the evil guy he is, split his soul a bunch of times and Harry has to find and destroy all the pieces before he can tango with Voldemort himself.

I’ve long liked the Potter series because it is a timeless story about a goofy redhead who falls in love with a bossy girl.  A tale which for some reason resonates with me.

A few notes to the filmmakers, which will undoubtedly be ignored because they’ve already finished Part 2.  More Alan Rickman, please!  This movie was sorely lacking in Rickman.  It barely registered on the Rickman scale.  Second, although I enjoyed the animated tale of the Deathly Hallows – it was my favorite part of the book as well – I found the animation a little too computer-y.  Too similar to all the other animated effects throughout the film.  I was hoping for something more old-fashioned, like stop-motion or, heck, regular old hand-drawn 2D.  But I’m picky about that kind of thing.

The cinematography, after the first two movies, has been exceptional, and for this film it became the identifying mark of the story.  Harry and Hermione’s road trip and the melancholy tone of the film all made cinematography hugely important.  It is a beautiful film to look at.

Even though we have to wait until next summer to see the titillating conclusion, we all know how this story ends: Harry, Ron, and Hermione play a concert on a roof.  Get back, Harry!Emma_Watson_in_Harry_Potter_and_the_Deathly_Hallows-_Part_I_Wallpaper_10_800


being thankful for rickman

Alan Rickman is back!

It took me a few days to realize why this blog has been reaching an unprecedented number of views lately.  Turns out it’s all due to Sir Alan Rickman.

As a few of you know, the new Harry Potter movie was recently released into the suburbs.  It has done pretty well there.  The media hype is, unsurprisingly, focused on Alan Rickman.  As this blog is THE source for all things Rickman, it is the first destination of many a Potterhead.

So here you go, a pre-Thanksgiving dose of The Man, Rick:alan rickman alan rickman ladder
Happy Thanksgiving everybody!

Blog reviews

harry potter as…

…a farcical comedy:

Does anybody else think Hugh Grant is the grown-up Harry Potter? Now that’s a movie I’d like to see.


Harry Potter reaches middle age

Some people think that after the sad, sad events in his books, young Harry lives a happy life of bliss. I’m here to break the bad news. After having to watch almost all his friends and family die at the hands of the noseless menace Voldemort, you’d think nothing worse could happen to Harry. Far from living a charmed life, however, Harry’s future is one of pain, heartbreak, and ultimately desolation.

Here are a few chapters from the rest of Harry Potter’s life:

Harry Potter and the Mid-Life Crisis. Harry realizes he is no longer attractive, with his beer gut, his bizarrely-shaped bald patch, and his halitosis. He undergoes radical plastic surgery and comes out looking like an anime character.

Harry Potter and the Ingrown Toenail. It gets infected. Really gross, but for some reason Harry talks about it nonstop whenever guests are over.

Harry Potter and the Colonoscopy. Every man, wizard or not, needs one of these.

Harry Potter and the Werewoman. Harry thinks he’s found a man who turns into a woman every full moon. “This is great!” Harry thinks. “I’ve got a new best friend AND mistress.” Turns out the werewoman is just a transvestite.

Spoiler alert! For those of you who want to peer deep into Harry’s future, here is what you can expect (hint: sorrow).

Harry Potter Sits on a Park Bench Wondering Where the Time Went and, as the Young People Jog By with Their Blackberries and Whatnot, He Looks Down at the Expectant Pigeons and Begins to Weep.

*Still not ready for the weepfest at the multiplex? Further Potter reading can be found here:
Harry Potter by Charles Bukowski
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3


Harry Potter, by Charles Bukowski (PART 3 OF 3)



The doorbell rang. I finished wiping my ass, got into some old clothes and went to the door.


There was a young guy out there with red hair hanging down around his face and a frizzy-hair girl who just kept smiling as if she were crazy.


“Yeh. Who you two guys?”

“She is a woman. Don’t you remember us? From that first train into Hogwarts? That time we defeated Quirinus Quirrell? That other time you saved my younger sister from the Basilisk? That time when we saved your uncle from going back to Azkaban? Remember? That time we helped you figure out the riddles for the TriWizard Tournament? And Dumbledore’s Army? And the time Dumbledore got killed? Then there was that time we all quit school and went searching around the country for Horcruxes? Then we fought against Voldemort and he thought he killed you but he didn’t? Then we grew up and had families and boring jobs and lived happily for ever and ever Amen?”

“Oh, balls, come on in.”

They brought in a flower, some kind of red-orange thing on a green stem. It made a lot more sense than many things, except that it had been murdered. I found a bowl, put the flower in, brought out a jug of wine and put it on the coffeetable.

“You don’t remember Hermione?” Ron asked. “You said you wanted to fuck her.”

She laughed.

“Very nice, but not now.”

“Potski, how are you going to make it without Hogwarts?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll fuck you. Or let you fuck me. Hell, I don’t know.”

“You can sleep on our floor anytime.”

“Can I watch while you fuck?”


We drank.

When the wine was done, we went down and saw a nude floor show, drinking and hollering and laughing. I don’t know who had the money but I think Ron had most of it, which was nice for a change, and I kept laughing and squeezing Hermione’s ass and her thighs and kissing her, but nobody cared. As long as the money lasted, you lasted.

They drove me back and Ron left with Hermione. I got into the door, said goodbye, turned on the radio, found a half-pint of scotch, drank that, laughing, feeling good, finally relaxed, free, burning my fingers with short cigar butts, then made it to the bed, made it to the edge, tripped, fell down, fell down across the mattress, slept, slept, slept…


In the morning it was morning and I was still alive.

Maybe I’ll write a novel, I thought. Maybe I’ll write seven, then make them into movies.

And then I did.


Harry Potter, by Charles Bukowski (PART 2 OF 3)

One class I was assigned to the seat next to Draco Malfoy. He didn’t read. He just sat there. And talked.

A young girl came in and sat down at the end of the row. I heard Malfoy. “Yeah, you cunt! You want my cock in your pussy, don’t you? That’s what you want, you cunt, don’t you?”

I went on reading the textbook. Professor Snape walked past. Malfoy said, “You’re on my list, mother! I’m going to get you, you dirty mother! You rotten bastard! Cocksucker!”

The teachers never bothered Malfoy. Nobody ever bothered Malfoy.

It was too much. I slammed my book shut.

“All right,” I told him, “I’m calling your card! I’m calling your whole stinking deck! You wanna go right here or outside?”

I looked at Malfoy. He was talking to the ceiling, insane: “I told you, you’re on top of my list! I’m going to get you and I’m going to get you good!”

O for Christ’s sake, I thought, I really sucked into that one! The other students were very quiet. I couldn’t blame them.

“POTSKI!” Snape was staring at me.

“What’s the matter, man?”

“No talking in class!”

His whole face glistened in fury. It was astounding. I couldn’t understand it.

“500 points from Gryffindor!”

“All right,” I said.

Snape came running down with the write-up. It was written in longhand. I couldn’t even read it. He had written in such fury that it had come out in blots and slants.

“I’m going to kill that son of a bitch!” Malfoy said.

“I wish you would, fat boy,” I said, “I wish you would.”


I slept in the Forbidden Forest that night. It seemed safer. I was tired and that hard tree root didn’t bother me at all. I slept.

Some time later I was awakened by what sounded like a roar. I never knew that hippogriffs roared. Or more exactly it was many things: a roar, an agitated inhale, and a hiss. I also heard the snapping of jaws. A drunken seventh-year was in the center of a clearing and he had one of the hippogriffs by the tail. The creature tried to twist and reach the seventh-year but found it difficult. The jaws were horrifying but very slow and uncoordinated. A Ravenclaw boy and girl stood watching and laughing. The Ravenclaw kissed the girl and they walked off together leaving the other fighting the hippogriff…

I was next awakened by the sun. My robes were hot. They were almost burning. The seventh-year was gone. So was the hippogriff. On a fallen log sat a girl and two boys. They had evidently slept in the Forest that night too. One of the boys stood up.

“Mickey,” said the girl, “you’ve got a hard-on!”

They laughed.

“How much money we’ve got?”

They looked through their pockets. They had one Knut.

“Well, what are we going to do?”

“I don’t know. Let’s start walking.”

I watched them walk off, out of the Forest, back to Hogwarts.



Harry Potter, by Charles Bukowski (PART 1 OF 3)

I was sitting next to a young girl who didn’t know her Tergeo spell very well.

“Try twisting your wrist this way,” I told her.

An older Hufflepuff boy was sidled up to her.

“You say you’re from Kansas City? Both my parents were born in Kansas City.”

“Is that so?” said the girl.

The she asked me:

“How about the impedimenta spell?”

“Say the word slightly before a clockwise twist.”

She was a little on the plump side but she was ready. I passed. I’d had it with the ladies for a while.

The Hufflepuff was standing real close to her.

“Do you live in England now?”


“Do you like Hogwarts?”

“Oh, yes.”

She turned to me.

“How about fiendfyre?”

“Like this.”

When class was over, the Hufflepuff spoke to me.

“Potski, I timed you on your spells. Do you know what the standard is for those spells?”

I didn’t answer.

“You went 5 minutes over your time for those spells. And you’ve been talking to that Ravenclaw girl next to you.”

What was the use? I didn’t answer.

“I’m going to have to write you up, Potski. Gryffindor will lose points over this.”

Six years. Although each night had been long, the years had gone fast. Six years shot through the head. I had seen this school eat men up.

They either melted or they got fat, huge, especially around the ass and belly. It was the same motions and the same talk. And there I was, dizzy and with pains in the forehead, neck, chest, everywhere. On weekends I had to drink to forget it.

It had been a brutal Tuesday. Some friends of Hermione’s had come to the commons and sat on the couch and chirped, how they really were great wizards, really the best in the nation. The only reason they didn’t get honors was that they didn’t—they said—show off in public like I had.

I had looked at them. If they practiced the way they looked, drinking their coffee and giggling and dipping their scones, it didn’t matter if they showed their magic to others or jammed it.