A 2001 fantasy about a boy wizard, a castle school, and a stone that does exactly what the title says, reviewed by two men whose shared position on wizards is a matter of published law. The double-down was swift, unanimous, and — per the office upstairs — wrong. Management overturned the verdict, and in the written opinion did something the critics consider far worse than disagreeing: he amended his own fantasy doctrine, on the record, from 'Rings persuasion only' to something alarmingly broader. The critics have requested clarification on what else the doctrine covers. The request is pending. They are afraid of the answer.
The ban is the ban. I co-signed it, my colleague notarized it, and Rule 03 is right there on the books: wizards, prophecies, chosen ones — inadmissible. This film contains all three within the first reel, plus a sorting ceremony, which is a prophecy administered by a hat. Under the law of this website, my thumb has nowhere to go but down.
“Here is my footnote, and I’ll keep it brief before the invoice arrives: the movie is made with genuine care. Real sets, real castle stonework, a John Williams score doing honest work. If it were about anything other than wizards, we’d be having a different conversation.”
But it IS about wizards, and I don’t get to carve out exceptions just because the production design is handsome — that way lies chaos, and worse, that way lies my colleague reading Rule 03 aloud at me for an hour. The craft is real. The ban is realer. Thumb down, with a certain institutional regret, and I would like the record to show I did not enjoy the flying practice sequence. The record may show whatever it wants. I did not enjoy it.
For once, a simple case. Rule 03: fantasy is inadmissible. Exhibit A: a wizard. Exhibits B through approximately four hundred: additional wizards. There is an owl postal system. There is a sport played on brooms with rules that collapse under thirty seconds of scrutiny — the golden ball ends the game and is worth more than everything else combined, which means every other player is decorative, which is the most honest thing this film says about its own supporting cast.
“One hundred fifty-two minutes, of which the tax covers forty-four. A children’s film should be OUT by minute ninety. The children have school. I have a ledger.”
I will grant the following, under duress: the castle is a real place with real weight, the British character actors are enjoying themselves professionally, and there are no hobbits — a fact I verified personally and consider the film’s finest achievement. It is still fantasy. The ban is not a mood. It is the law of this establishment, it has kept us safe for years, and I applied it with the enthusiasm my signature requires. Thumb down. Next case.
Overturned, and let me explain what my colleagues watched without noticing. A child is placed with a cruel family under mysterious circumstances. A stranger arrives with sealed information about his past. He enters an institution where a priceless object is being guarded, a staff member is not who he appears to be, and the finale turns on figuring out WHO the inside man is — complete with a logic puzzle, a coded mirror, and a three-headed guard dog protecting a vault. Gentlemen: that is a MYSTERY. It is a whodunit in a robe, set in a castle, staffed by the entire British acting establishment, and I will not sit upstairs and let a whodunit be convicted for its wardrobe. As for the doctrine: the record will now reflect that the Rings clause was a floor, not a fence. What else falls under it will be disclosed as cases arise. The verdict is up. The ban survives; the movie doesn't answer to it.