
Please hold my pumpkin juice, I have an announcement.
The “Harry Potter play” – Harry Potter And The Cursed Child – is every single bit as good as they say.
I could end this article there, really. But for Potter fans, that wouldn’t be very satisfying. Because in the Potterverse, details matter.
A problem: I’m not allowed to tell you the details of The Cursed Child. No-one is. Because the whole production – in London, New York, San Fransisco and Melbourne – is shrouded in a veil of Hogwarts-esque secrecy.
From the program to the tickets to the reviews, in two hemispheres, the same three words are repeated over and over, like a… spell: Keep The Secrets. And there’s no question that walking into Melbourne’s Princess Theatre – impeccably refitted out as the inside of Hogwarts, complete with Hs in the carpet’s weave and gargoyles on the walls – filled with anticipation rather than spoilers only adds to what can only be described as magic.
