The “Harry Potter” TV Show Needs Peeves
Here’s a question maybe you weren’t expecting: What do you think has made the “Despicable Me” movies so popular? Obviously, Steve Carell basically inventing his own ridiculous, vaguely European accent is part of it, but you can’t get around the importance of the Minions. It’s impossible not to love those insane, sausage-shaped, goggle-wearing, gibberish-speaking weirdos – they got two spin-offs! Now, here’s a follow-up question: What are the Minions if not an Illumination version of Peeves?
We’re moving – albeit agonizingly slowly – toward a decade of new Harry Potter on-screen content, and as the TV show gets more and more real, so do the possibilities. As the gargantuan success of minion-powered movies has shown, there’s a vast market, in the US and around the world, for anarchic, absurdist humor – a market that Peeves can service perfectly.
A lot of the best humor in the core seven Potter books comes from either precise, cleverly written dialogue or closely observed and captured descriptions of the world. You see the former in moments like Harry’s pithy response to Uncle Vernon’s disbelief that he’s watching the news again: “Well, it changes every day, you see.” The latter comes in moments like the train ride home in Chamber of Secrets, when Ginny tells the rest of the compartment that Percy has a girlfriend. The next sentence is perfectly executed in only nine words, simple, clear, and wonderfully crisp:
Fred dropped a stack of books on George’s head.
That’s how the humor usually goes. But Peeves is completely different: He’s funny because he’s ridiculous. The comedy comes from him saying funny words in funny ways (in song and dance, for instance), but it also comes from a more abstract appreciation of the author’s skill: We read a scene like Peeves singing his classic “Oh Potter, you rotter,” and think to ourselves, “How in the world did she come up with that?”
Seriously. Read the lyrics (which, bear in mind, came in Book 2, while Rowling’s writing style was still evolving and the series was in its infancy), and as you read, think about why they’re funny:
“Oh, Potter, you rotter, oh, what have you done, You’re killing off students, you think it’s good fun…”
“You’re killing off students, you think it’s good fun.” You read that, and you can’t help but think: “How in the world did she come up with something that ridiculous?” which, in a sort of virtuous cycle, makes the words themselves even funnier.
In all of Peeves’ best moments, the same dynamic is at work. It’s there when he’s waiting to push the bust of Paracelsus down onto the head of the first person to walk by; when he decides, out of nowhere, to make Neville set fire to his own pants; when he pretends Harry wants things thrown at him; when the suits of armor start forgetting the words to Christmas carols, so he writes his own rude versions to fill in the gaps.
And that, especially, is where Peeves stands out: his songs.
There’s “Oh Potter, you rotter,” but there are also others:
“Most think he’s barking, the Potty wee lad… but some are more kindly and say that he’s sad… but Peevesy knows better and says that he’s mad…”
“We did it, we bashed them, wee Potter’s the one, and Voldy’s gone moldy, so now let’s have fun!”
Peeves being cut from the movies was unfortunate but understandable: There’s only so much time in a movie, and he’s not essential to the main plot. But as far as the TV show is concerned, there’s no excuse.
We need to see Peeves throwing ink (and stink) pellets and dropping water balloons; toppling furniture and cackling wildly; dropping dungbombs in crowded rooms; and beating Umbridge with Professor McGonagall’s walking stick. And, of course, we need to see all his songs – and more! Write new songs. Give us a song about Neville’s pants on fire, Ron’s fear of spiders, Malfoy being a dweeb, Lockhart being a phony. Make Peeves a star.
The thrill of the series comes from total immersion in the whimsy and joy of the magical world. Most of the time, those feelings are furthered by ordinary plot elements: casting spells, flying on brooms, riding a hippogriff, etc. But Peeves captures the wizarding world in his own way: He is the wizarding world, distilled and expressed through comedy. He’s wit and whimsy, vim and vigor, joy and wackiness, the absurd and the magical. He’s not essential to the main plot, but tonally, he’s essential to what makes the wizarding world magical. The TV show can’t forget it.
