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Albus & Scorpius’ Bogus Journey: A Cursed Child Script Review

By Katie Majka

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We discuss the characters, plot points, and time travel in the Cursed Child rehearsal script book.

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The overwhelming consensus of Cursed Child reviews—both for the performance as well as the script alone—dictates that the play is better seen than read. And so it goes with plays on the whole: They’re meant to be experienced on the stage, not the page. But when it comes to a cultural phenomenon like Harry Potter, there was no chance the producers could get away with making the eighth story available only to fans with the financial and geographical upper hand to hit London’s West End; thus, the rehearsal script was released to fans around the world.

It was a noble effort, but whether you see or merely read Cursed Child, I recommend forgetting the whole thing happened at all. Now, stuck in the US as I am, I’m unable to see the play and so I can’t speak for it in all its aspects, but I have no doubt that the reviews are right in praising the staging, special effects, and performances. But no amount of on-stage magic can Scourgify this mess of a narrative.

WARNING: Some Cursed Child spoilers follow.

These potential spoilers are vague, but if you haven’t seen the play or read the script and want to remain unspoiled, turn back now….

Cursed Child exemplifies why no one asked for a sequel—because the central conflict that drove Harry Potter no longer exists nineteen-odd years later, which is evidenced by the fact that so much time travel is involved. And unless you’re the Doctor, Bill and Ted, or Marty McFly, time travel probably isn’t for you, as this particular plot device doesn’t tend to work outside science fiction and comedy, and it certainly doesn’t have any place in serious drama. It’s this last genre that Cursed Child seems to be aiming for, but all the wibbly-wobbly shenanigans detract from that goal.

There is substantial disregard to Harry Potter canon in the attempt to make this story work, most obviously in the play’s convoluted use of the aforementioned time travel. Although it was established in Prisoner of Azkaban that the Potterverse operates on a closed time loop—that is to say, predestined, and whatever has happened must happen—the Cursed Child narrative relies on alternate universes born of Albus and Scorpius’ meddling with a temperamental Time-Turner. Even this could be forgiven if it lent anything to the story, but in the end these alternate realities seem inconsequential at best. Most assuredly, the fan-made A Very Potter Sequel tackled the time-travel trope more successfully than this high-end production managed to.

Another instance of the tweaking of established information is how Harry’s scar apparently foretells danger as though he’s some sort of human Sneakoscope. In fact, the only reason Harry’s scar ever twinged was due to the fact that his connection to Voldemort manifested there, where the original Killing Curse rebounded, and thus created the heart of the Horcrux in that lightning-shaped cut.

The reason the scar “had not pained Harry for nineteen years” is because the connection between himself and Voldemort was destroyed upon the latter’s final and failed attempt to kill Harry in Deathly Hallows—he destroyed the Horcrux, not the boy, and thereby eliminated the bond between the two. With Voldemort dead and the Horcrux destroyed, there’s nothing for Harry’s scar to react to, and yet Cursed Child employs it as a means for Harry to sense the danger his son is in when the plot calls for it.

Of course, none of this truly compares to the central plot twist that’s more laughable than it is dramatic; even its shock value results in more of a grunt of one part humor, one part indignation, than a gasp of satisfied surprise. The antagonist of the tale is obvious and, in the end, more than anything reminiscent of a kitschy villain who would certainly twirl their mustache if only they had one. Coming from a world of richly characterized villains like the merciless Voldemort, emotionally abusive Snape, sadistic Umbridge, opportunist Rita Skeeter, and even the incompetent Cornelius Fudge, Cursed Child’s big baddie is a big disappointment.

The absurdity of the plot could perhaps be forgiven at least somewhat if the relationships between the characters were satisfying, plausible, or heartfelt in any way, but most of them lack just as much substance as the story does–at least, on the script page. The tension between Harry and his youngest son, Albus, feels unfounded without actors to fill in the spaces, and his other children hardly exist within the context of the story. Ron is rendered useless in the grand scheme of things, despite the fact that the play talks big on the subject of Ron and Hermione’s romance; and Rose Granger-Weasley doesn’t make enough appearances to have much of a relationship with her own parents, her cousin, or her unrequited paramour Scorpius Malfoy.

There is, however, an exception to this “unfulfilling relationships” rule, in the instantaneous and lasting bond between leads Albus Potter and Scorpius Malfoy, which runs so deep, it jumps off the page. Sadly, the obvious potential romance between the two is nipped in the bud when the writers seem more interested in forcing awkward heteronormative attractions instead. (Albus’ crush on Delphini Diggory, and Scorpius’ on the seldom-there Rose.) That’s not to say that there’s no hope for Albus/Scorpius, but the opportunity for canonization here was rather blatantly ignored.

The contrived tension within these relationships prove to negatively affect the overall tone of the story. While it’s true that Harry Potter contains an undercurrent of sadness throughout, that brand of drama becomes such an overture in Cursed Child that it diminishes some of the themes of the original series: that light is found in the darkness, that there is more than war and its destructive consequences, and that the love found in friendship and family is insurmountable. While ultimately the play ends on something of a bittersweet note that promises a hopeful future, the bulk of the content is drowning in the sort of angst and miscommunication popular in adolescent soap operas. Meanwhile, the fun, whimsical humor so prevalent in the original series is almost nonexistent, surfacing only occasionally by the mercy of Scorpius’ dialogue.

Despite fans’ efforts, the script can’t be defended by claims that it needs to be seen in order to be fully experienced and appreciated. While I have no doubt that this story does indeed work best in this medium, ultimately what it does is create a sort of hierarchy of Harry Potter fans—those who can see the play, and those who can’t. Even when Cursed Child inevitably goes on tour, financial and geographical barriers will exist to prevent scores of fans from attending performances. So unless Cursed Child hits the silver screen, the eighth installment in Harry’s saga will remain just as it is now, which is unattainable to most in its intended medium.

But even if the play becomes available in all its glory to fans worldwide, that accessibility won’t Transfigure the narrative into something palatable. The story is disjointed, pieced together by flowery speech and nonsensical alterations to canon, and characters who behave wildly out of their personalities as fans know them (most notably the often selfish and callous actions of a grown-up Harry). The drama is heavy and the plot so elaborate that it’s often difficult to follow, all of which makes reading the script itself tiresome at best. Certainly the play offers little more clarity than Deathly Hallows’ epilogue, and perhaps things were best left at “All was well.”

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Cursed Child has its moments—few and far between, but they do exist, usually in Scorpius’ company—but overall it fails to deliver the same entertainment value and emotional resonance of the seven stories that came before it.

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