Directed By: Gary Ross
Written By: Gary Ross, Suzanne Collins (Author of the original series), Billy Ray
Starring: Jennifer Lawrence as Katniss, Josh Hutcherson as Peeta, Amandla Stenberg as Rue, Stanley Tucci as Caesar Flickerman
The main creative forces behind this film have an impressive track record (that is, excluding Suzanne Collins, famed plagiarizer of Japanese epic Battle Royale). Ten odd years ago, director/co-writer Gary Ross produced Pleasantville, a film that not only manages to be cheeky, inventive and startlingly original, but that also manages to coax a star-making turn from MTV Best Kiss Award-winner (I quote Tropic Thunder here) Tobey Maguire. Billy Ray, on the other hand, helmed 2003’s fantastic Shattered Glass, a film that is so fiercely intelligent in its exploration of moral ambiguity that it occasionally threatens to eclipse Peter Sarsgaard’s insanely powerful performance as an unwittingly victimized magazine editor pushed to his limits. Even the lead actors have tons of artistic cred, if only because they rose to prominence via critically-acclaimed indie films. Jennifer Lawrence, obviously, is the breakout star of 2010’s heartbreaking Winter’s Bone, and Josh Hutcherson was last seen as the emotionally opaque, big-hearted son Laser in Lisa Cholodenko’s marvelous dramedy The Kids Are All Right. However, despite a fantastic lead performance, big-budget sets and some genuinely incredible action sequences, the film is too bogged down by the weak source material, a crippling lack of self-awareness and its (occasionally) startlingly poor execution.
The movie begins promisingly enough. An introductory short collage of shots reveal District 12 to be the Panem equivalent of a ghetto, but thankfully, surprisingly, it doesn’t descend into cringe-inducing Hollywood dramatizations, and there is no needless sentimental music or extravagant accompaniment to tell us that we’re supposed to feel sorry for poor people. In fact, the first half is my favourite part of the film precisely because there is no music, and the unsentimental, gritty vibe settles well with the film’s grim subject matter. However, as soon as the action kicks in, arbitrary insertions of melodramatic orchestral music start to get increasingly excessive, and exponentially annoying. There are two scenes in particular where the use of music feels particularly ridiculous, but these scenes are problematic too in the context of the film; they are naked turns of irony that contradict the very premise of the film; they are irretrievably out-of-place.
1) When Rue dies
I know I’ll probably be criticized for being heartless and cruel, especially by all of you big-hearted Samaritans who help people on a daily basis by praying before bedtime and not wasting food because poor, bloated children in Africa eat rice off of muddy washing boards, but the Rue/Katniss relationship feels obvious and manipulative to me. The film opens with Katniss singing a lullaby to Prim, her sister, and when Rue is dying, Katniss sings the same lullaby to her. Before she does this, and before she weeps and sobs and screams and dramatically lays Rue in a bed of tuberoses, it is already clear that Rue is supposed to be Prim’s in-game substitute. Amandla Stenberg, who portrays Rue, has big eyes and Corinne Bailey Rae curls and she’s quick-witted and adorable, and this is important because it is very clear to me that the filmmakers have chosen her not for her acting ability, but for her sheer lovableness. They make her cute, they make Katniss cry, so we too would feel something for her death. But let’s think about it. The filmmakers know the material; they know exactly what’s going to happen to Rue. She’s going to die. It’s absolutely clear to them. So what do they do about it? They manipulate us into falling for her, they make us watch as Katniss mourns, wallows in sorrow, and we feel something. At the very core of The Hunger Games is a bitter critique of aestheticized violence, of sadistic entertainment, yet the filmmakers are themselves guilty of using Rue’s death to elicit a sympathetic response from us; the filmmakers are themselves guilty of using her death to make us root for Katniss — because it in Rue’s death we are reminded of Katniss’ love for her sister Prim, and we feel ever strongly about Katniss returning safely to Prim.
If The Hunger Games were really to be taken seriously, such manipulative gestures cannot be allowed to pervade the film; it’s a laughable contradiction that completely undermines the underlying social critique!
2) When Cato is killed by the dog things
When Cato is killed, we as the audience are encouraged to feel triumphant. The camera lunges upwards in a gesture that unequivocally glorifies Peeta and Katniss, and a triumphant orchestral crescendo booms aimlessly in the background. The camera focuses deliberately on Peeta and Katniss, diverting our attention away from the fact that they just killed a person, and instead inviting us to feel happy that they won after all. This is absolutely unacceptable. The books (and the first half of the film) are clearly bitter about the Capitol sadistically slaughtering people from the twelve districts for its sick, twisted brand of entertainment, yet we are invited to be sadistically triumphant when Katniss and Peeta slaughter Cato, a person who, seconds before his death, breaks into a heartbreaking confession of his helplessness? There is no reflection, no invitation extended to the audience to make us realize the real violence and horror of the scene: that the heroes we want to triumph are themselves killers, are themselves disgusting and evil.
These are inexcusable missteps that suggest that the filmmakers don’t really know what The Hunger Games is really about, and that’s incredibly disappointing. Before going to watch the film, I thought it obvious that the real revelation of The Hunger Games shouldn’t be that THERE WILL ALWAYS BE REBELLION WHEN SHIT’S UNFAIR, but that LIFE IS A DISGUSTING GAME OF SURVIVAL AND EVERYONE IS EQUALLY HORRIFIC AND DISGUSTING. I don’t know how this simple, obvious truth could’ve evaded the eyes of filmmakers whom I once considered intelligent. Again, disappointing.
But enough bashing of the filmmakers. Suzanne Collins is responsible for crafting the film’s tenuous premise; she too must be bashed. The script self-knowingly incorporates a sequence at the beginning where the reason for The Hunger Games (the actual games, not the hopelessly superficial film I’m reviewing) is explained (“A little hope is effective”), but this hardly serves as an explanation. So, let me get this straight, k. If one person from my ghetto coal-mining district has a possibility of winning a game and qualifying entry into a world of superior everything, I, along with all my moronic, unintelligent comrades will be kept in line? Oh okay. Just checking. Because for a second I thought that THIS IS UTTERLY RIDICULOUS. It matters not about HOPE or FEAR or whatever. If there is injustice, there will be mass rebellion. And because this single line was given as the excuse for the entire film, I don’t see the point in the film anymore. I don’t see the point in the premise. It just doesn’t make any sense. I also don’t see why the head Gamemaker is made to commit suicide. It just seems overly melodramatic and sensationalist. A very classic OMG YOU DISOBEY, SO YOU DIEEEEEEEEE kind of sequence. Superbly trite and arguably as absurd. Furthermore, Peeta Mellark also doesn’t seem to have a personality. Normally, I would be okay with that; superficial character studies are abound in Hollywood. But I have a problem with getting Josh fucking Hutcherson to play a humorless, empty train wreck. In interviews and in extension, presumably, in real life, Josh Hutcherson is effortlessly charming. He’s funny, self-deprecating and just immensely likeable. Here, he only becomes somewhat likeable in his interview with the Caesar Flickerman (Stanley Tucci in all his scene-stealing magnificence), where he flashes a winning smile, playfully flirts with everyone and descends suddenly into manipulatively tragic pseudo-poeticism. Apart from that scene, he is completely devoid of personality. He obviously has a predilection for dramatic proclamations, the film makes it a point to establish that, but which Hollywood teenthrob doesn’t?
Katniss appears to like Gale (played by glorified extra Liam Hemsworth, who smiles occasionally and speaks even less), but according to the book, she falls in love with Peeta over the course of the games. Of course, this isn’t really conveyed very well in the film, especially since Lawrence’s perpetual hard-faced indifference makes her love for Peeta seem like a bona fide show rather than anything genuine, but we have to assume that she does. WHY WOULD SHE? If she already likes Gale, shouldn’t there be an extra reason why Katniss, an unsmiling, asexual hardass, would compromise on her oh-so-axiomatic principles (she seems like the monogamous type, don’t you think?) to go for Peeta? If Peeta were more likeable and charming (incidentally, like the real Josh Hutcherson), I might believe their relationship. But now, it feels stale and unconvincing.
The film’s only perfect feature is Jennifer Lawrence’s performance. She tears through the film with a deadpan indifference, yet her presence is palpable and eclipsing. She bestows her character with a steely strength of character, but also with a certain wounded, almost primal vulnerability. There are a lot of comparisons between The Hunger Games, Twilight and Harry Potter, but Lawrence is in a league of her own; no young lead can so effortlessly helm a franchise.
Ultimately, this is a film that digs its own grave. It fervently opposes the aestheticization of violence, yet is actively engaged in it. It begins with cinematography reminiscent of a Nazi documentary, suggesting an exploration of evil, but yet actively disengages itself from it. It is, however, rather entertaining; the scene where Katniss runs through forest fires and past charging fireballs is particularly incredible. But being sporadically exciting isn’t enough. A film likes this needs intelligence, and it needs to be more determinedly character-driven. Get Joss Whedon and Noah Baumbach to write the next film’s screenplay, give Josh Hutcherson an actual personality, then maybe this franchise will go somewhere worth following. But the Whedon/Baumbach collaboration will never happen, not in a trillion years. So I have doubts.
KevinScale Rating: 3/5
therein, Therin. 