There’s a movie about the life of Enid Blyton, the famous writer of books for a wide range of children and youths. (Oh, the back of the library-o-mobile was groaning with the weight of those, back in my day, and much entertainment was had, back in the Eighties amidst the dark woods of Finland, mumbledy-mumbledy-yes.)
In that movie, the actress that plays Enid Blyton is Helena Bonham Carter.
The only other instance I know her from is playing the psychotic blood purist murderess witch Bellatrix Lestrange in the Harry Potter movies.
I am so very much unable to process this combination.
Enid Blyton… and Bellatrix Lestrange.
It seems almost like an excuse for sporking up some fan fiction; but it’s been too long since I’ve read Blyton, and I’ve never read them in English anyway. (Come to think of it, I probably should go and get one of the Adventure books, just for the sake of sheer nostalgia.)
No. I shall resist.
I will not note that Wikipedia mentions the dated attitudes of the books, written in the 40s and the 50s as they were.
I will not mention the witch had a certain sense of the superiority of some people over others, too.
I will not say the Fantastic Five are their brave blond leader Draco, the big blustery provincial barrel-o-laughs Vincent, the cheeky, kind and kinda fat city boy Gregory, the plucky no-nonsense girl Millicent, and their heroic and very smart pet rat Scabbers, or as Draco calls him, Lord Deathfang Sniggers Mudblooddrinker of the Night.
Nor will I say a word, not a word, about their jovial but secretive uncle, Mr. Riddle, who may be a secret agent or something like.
Not a whisper of the sinister goings-on at Gryffindor Island, and the unsavory mudbloods that are mucking there something as queer as a Squib! Won’t Uncle Riddle be surprised when the intrepid Fantastic Five hand him the wickedly lawbreaking kidnappers and Potter-friends of the… Island of Adventure!
“What’re you going to do with them, Uncle Riddle?” Millicent asked, snatching another glance at the ugly, dirty, smelly and mercifully unconscious pack of Muggles.
“Well, young Bulstrode, my dear”, Tom Riddle chortled, “I’ve alerted Constable Nagini to come here at once. He’ll sweep them up in no time! Now tell me, girl, where’re the rest of these inferior animals keeping poor old professor Slughorn? I think I may have a little surprise for them, if you and young Malfoy are amenable to helping me a bit!”
“Oh, but we are!” Millicent Bulstrode cried in delight and jumped up and down like a Muggle in a fireplace.
No. I shall mention no such things.
Because I have better things to do.
Yes, I do.