It’s a bit humbling when the pop-culture fads of your youth are being used to make awful, awful movies. Without naming names (Michael Bay), I just want to say that my childhood idols haven’t held up well onscreen due to the cruel machinations of Hollywood power players (Michael Bay) who have no respect for the source material, even if it’s basically a toy line (Michael Bay, whoever is directing “G.I. Joe”). I should’ve known when they cast Ivan Drago as He-Man in “Masters of the Universe” back in the late Eighties that any attempt at nostalgia for my era at the Cineplex was doomed to ignominy. Even Frank Langella as Skeletor couldn’t save that turkey (perhaps if he’d played him as a disgraced former American president…nah).

All of this is a longwinded way of me saying the following: I do not understand Harry Potter, but I condone films based upon his many exploits, which are apparently recounted in doorstop-width books that are popular with children of any age. Potter is one of the many things in pop culture (alongside Beyonce, hockey, and woodworking magazines) about which I have no strong feelings, either pro or con. I’m like Switzerland when it comes to the magical boy wizard, appreciative of the fact that he inspires young people to read (always a good thing when you yourself hope to make a living out of writing), but not always cognizant of what exactly it is that he and his friends are doing at their academy. Much like Jonah Hill in the “Funny People” trailer, I’m wondering just when Harry and friends graduate from Hogwarts, and also what kind of employment they can hope to achieve in this economy.

I bring this up mostly because on Sunday evening, I went to see the new Harry Potter film with my aunt, who is a confirmed Potter-fanatic. She has read all the books, she knows all the characters, and (as she proved to me post-film) she can teach a college-level course on what all goes on in the “Potter-verse.” But I have to confess, the movie left me feeling more confused than most of the foreign-language flicks I had to see for one of my classes (I think they were in French, and I’m pretty sure some stuff happened, and everyone learned a lesson at the end, but that might have been the episode of “Scooby Doo” I saw once while under the influence of Red Stripe lager).

I was lost, big-time. The plan had been for me to catch a matinee of “Funny People” (wow, two mentions in one column! You’re welcome for the product placement, Judd Apatow), but that wasn’t happening on account of no concurrent screening times for “People” and “Potter.” So I gamely stepped up to the plate, set my sights on the screen, and came out of it punch-drunk and woozy. Not that all of it was above my head (I totally figured out that the bossy girl loves the redhead, and Harry has his own female admirer), but a lot of it was Greek to me. By the time that old guy who looks like Gandalf was throwing back some icky-looking water, I had to ask myself just what I’d gotten myself into.

This is the part where you would say to me, “hey, smart guy, read the books and you’ll get it.” But apart from providing me with the inspiration for a great come-on line (“you must be a witch, because you just cast a spell on me”), I haven’t had much interest in going down that road. When Potter-mania first broke out circa 1999 or 2000, I was an angry young man in a dead-end job, and I wasn’t interested in the least. Then a cute co-worker of mine mentioned that her sister thought I looked like Harry, so I briefly considered getting on that wagon (you know, because it’s always a good idea to start liking something just because a hot girl you know likes it as well. Never fails). Alas, I was all tuckered-out from my Star Wars fandom, my Beatles obsession, and my love of Monty Python. My nerd quota was full, I didn’t have room for anything more.

And so I continue to live in ignorance of the full scope of Harry Potter’s universe. I suppose one of these days, when everyone I know who is shocked that I am not a Potter nut stops insisting that I would love it, I’ll pick up the first of the Potter tomes (I believe it’s the shortest of the series) and give it a try. I’m not knocking Potter appreciation in the slightest (after all, several attractive girls I know love Harry, and attractive girls are always right), but for the time being, I’m content to sit on the sidelines and take some comfort in the fact that Hollywood hasn’t dumbed down something that is beloved by children the world over. Barring the possibility of Quentin Tarantino directing the official “Smurfs” movie, I will never see a cherished childhood memory brought to the screen in a satisfactory way. The kids who love Potter don’t know how good they’ve got it, and neither do I.