I Finally Saw Catching Fire

I finally saw Catching Fire.  The movie where all naturally blonde actors become brunettes, and all naturally brunette actors become blondes! That means that I now have two movie reviews to write for you guys, because what would you all do if you didn't have my media guidance?  It's not like you can make decisions and form opinions about books and movies without me, or something!  So, I will get to that, but I first will share my take on one part of The Hunger Games. I really like these books.  They have a lot more poli-sci than squealing fourteen-year-olds would have you believe.  I am not keen on the writing style (darn you present tense), but Suzanne Collins knows her political philosophy, and she also actually knows the meaning of a love triangle.  Not many people seem to understand the meaning of that phrase anymore. 

However, there is one specific aspect of The Hunger Games that I really do not like.  And that is Katniss.  Why?  Well, let me pontificate.  I once wrote this, and after watching the movie tonight, I have decided to resurrect it.  It is the lives of Hunger Games characters, as explained by themselves:  (SPOILER ALERT)

   Hi, my name is Peeta.  At the age of sixteen, I was forced to fight in an arena to the death with other children.  I lived, but almost died of blood poisoning and got my leg amputated. Then, my feelings were manipulated without my knowledge when a girl agreed to marry me for solely political purposes.  After that, I was forced into the arena again, knowing that I had even less chance of surviving this time compared to the last slim chance.  I was electrocuted and then brought back to life and forced to run from incomprehensible beasts in this arena.  Then, I was taken by the government, tortured for information that I didn’t have.  In the off-moments when they weren’t torturing me, they were torturing a friend next to me so that in our moments of non-torture we could still be psychologically tortured by one another’s screams.  When they learned I had no information, they then injected me with hallucinogenic bee venom in order to alter my memories and mental status.  After that, I was “rescued” for political purposes and eventually had to learn what parts of what I believed to be my life were real and what parts were planted in my mind by the government.  Someone who I trusted, knowing I was no longer psychologically stable, then used me, hoping that I would “accidentally” kill those important to me in a fit of insanity.

Hi, my name is Gale.  At the age of fourteen, my father died in a mine accident and I then had to support my family of five by myself. At the age of eighteen, I was whipped within an inch of my life for standing against governmental injustice, but also to manipulate the girl that I loved, and in a way that seems to have been only too perfect in teaching Rule of Law violations to American Heritage students, as the punishment violates 4.5/5 aspects.  The government then firebombed my hometown, fully intending to kill everyone within.  Those who survived only did so under my leadership.  I then joined a resistance against this government, and fought battle after battle, being wounded countless times.  In the end, the other guy got the girl.

 Hi, my name is Finnick.  I was raised in order to enter an arena and fight to the death.  At the age of fourteen, I entered that arena, and won.  At the age of sixteen, I was threatened by the government and forced to enter into high-society male prostitution.   I also had to watch as children who I trained and with whom I was entrusted entered that same arena and usually died.  When I was twenty-four, I was forced to enter that arena again with the expectation that I would give my life to save the life of someone more politically advantageous.  In that arena, my mother-figure died to save both the woman I love and also that politically-advantageous person.  I then joined a resistance, knowing that the woman I loved was insane, vulnerable, and probably being tortured in retaliation for my rebellion and for information that she didn’t have.  In the end, I die a terribly horrid death.

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Hi, my name is Annie.  I went into an arena to fight to the death as a teenager and survived, but only by chance.  I was insane for many, many years from the things I saw in that arena—namely seeing the only person I knew in the arena getting decapitated by a flying tree.  Finally, I was brought back to sanity by the man I loved, only to have him die fighting for the resistance. If it wasn’t hard enough, he also died by decapitation. My only memory of him is our child, who I now raise alone.

 Hi, my name is Johanna.  I was forced into an arena to fight to the death as a teenager, and survived.  Eventually, I was forced to go back into that arena, after many years of seeing the children who I trained die in that arena.  I was given the expectation that I would give my life to save the life of someone more politically advantageous.  I was then taken by the government and tortured by being doused in water and then electrocuted.  In the off-moments when they weren’t torturing me, they were torturing a friend next to me so that in our moments of non-torture we could still be psychologically tortured by one another’s screams.  Eventually, I was rescued, but was then pathologically afraid of water.  While working with the resistance, I was exposed to water at times, and always had a break-down.

Hi, my name is Haymitch.  As a teenager, I was forced into an arena to fight to the death.  I won on a technicality, and the government hated me for it the rest of my life.  I drank myself silly, trying to forget all the things that had gone on there, and was then forced every year to watch a boy and a girl that I helped and trained die in the arena. 

Hi, my name is Katniss.  And I spend at least two books complaining about how no one understands what it’s like to have a hard life. 

That pretty much sums up my problems with it.