A Colorful Dystopia: Review of *The Hunger Games*

Last night a whim took my sister-in-law, wife, and I to see The Hunger Games. 

I hadn't read the book. I didn't know anything about it, other than that it was a movie based on a novel about a dystopic future. A gallon of soda and a bucket of popcorn later, I am happy to have seen it and am eager to read the novel.

Let me be clear: there are elements of the story and plot that I might criticize. For example, I couldn't help but dwell on the obvious structural crisis that pervades the narrative: the protagonist, in order to be the hero, must refrain from killing sympathetic characters in a battle where only one person survives; thus, though an corollary narrative logic, any sympathetic characters have to die unfortunately, on accident, or murdered by one of the bad guys. This seemed a little forced to me.

But what did I expect? Should the protagonist have taken out a sympathetic character? The audience would have had a very different, vexed relationship with her then.

Anyhow, with that aside, this was a really, really interesting movie.

Of primary interest to me was the setting. This dystopic future was so intriguing, visually and conceptually. Visually it was intriguing because you had such intense contrasts in terms of the many layers of society: the rural and naturally simplistic district 12 that suggested an idyllic, Appalachian village in early America; the urban, cosmopolitan, technological, and decadent Capital where all the folks were dressed in crazy colors.

This visual contrast suggested a conceptual one: you see the late post-industrial civilization at every level, from the rustic base of production upward and trough the highest level of society, the decadent and perverse aristocrats. Thus, the film encapsulates a "totalizing" impulse: in the manner of a secondary world fantasy, it wants to "map" a complete society.

Another issue. I was really intrigued by the relationship between the female protagonist and the male protagonist. I read a lot of pulp adventure, and always, always there are scenes where the huge-thewed male hero rescues the scantily clad female "prize-wife" from trouble, who then lolls like a rag doll in his arms, all hair and limbs, as he bumps along and slays with sword and gun.

Here--this did not happen. The main protagonist was the female; the person who needed her help and protection was the male. I know this is not so unique these days; it is, however, exciting to see this narrative structure exhibited in a mainstream Hollywood film. That's worth something.

The last thing I want to note was the image of technology in this film. Technology was presented as being so very powerful in this film, almost to the level of magic; and yet--(and here it where things get weird and interesting)--the technology presented didn't seem to me to be very implausible. All of the over-the-top technology--even the arena where the distinction between the natural and the virtual collapses--didn't feel to me to deviate from a "reality principle" too very much. What does that say about me?

Jim Henson's *The Storyteller*: "The Soldier and Death" and the Pleasure of Narrative Pacing

So, last night we had some friends over for wine and board games. It was a 5 player game and I bowed out, being a host. And so, while everyone played, I sat on the couch and began to aimlessly wander through Netflix's offerings. In the course of these wanderings, I came to watch one of my favorite "film fantasys" of all time, an episode from Jim Henson's 1988 "live-action/puppet" television show, The Storyteller. The episode I watched was called, "The Solider and Death."

If you haven't seen Jim Henson's The Storyteller before, I highly recommend it to you. Here's the concept of the show: each episode takes an obscure, European folktale and relates it through live acting and puppets. There are German folk tales, Russian folk tales, and Celtic folktales. And they are all done, I think, quite well.

The one that has stuck with me the most is "The Soldier and Death," episode 5 of the first season. It stars Bob Peck as the soldier. It relates such a multifaceted and swirling plot that it's very difficult to summarize. Suffice it to say, it's about a miracle worker who, in spite of his humble beginnings, comes to capture death.

There are all sorts of reasons why this is such a good production. Let me try to highlight a few.

In terms of cinematography, this episode (and other ones) is "formally" and "technically" creative. It doesn't just rely upon scene to tell a story. It's utilizes many different "narrative modes". For example, the story isn't told primarily through showing the action of the events. Sometimes the plot is related through the spoken dialog of "the Storyteller" (played by John Hurt). Hurt's acting and storytelling abilities make the folktale thrill almost as much as the puppets and the effects. And the narrative pace is diversified. Sometimes you get slow-paced "scene" and detailed sets; other times you get "summary" and two-dimensional, abstract sets.

Devil puppets

To an extent, you have here three narrative levels: the storyteller telling the stories, the specific scenes where you see the protagonist talking with people and doing things, and the more two-dimensional, abstract scenes where large swaths of the narrative is related in a sentence or two.

Put briefly, this story is great because of its ability to master narrative pace. All in all, "The Soldier and Death" doesn't last any longer than 25 minutes; and yet, in the course of those 25 minutes, you see the main character going from a humble, homeless soldier to a miracle worker, to a kind of epic hero who visits both hell and heaven. You have in these 25 minutes enough material, I think, for a series of novels, but the treatment is such that, after the 25 minutes, you feel like you've truly been taken somewhere.

Another element of this production I love: the puppets. As a little kid, these demon puppets haunted me. After watching this, I had an entire series of nightmares, featuring these little red, be-horned fellas. When I would wake up in the middle of the night, I would imagine that if I looked out my window I would see a similar cabal of demons smiling and chortling there.

Juxtaposing Real Life with the Fantastic: The Gamers: Dorkness Rising

And so it begins. The semester is on me! Tomorrow, I start teaching my “History of the Novel” class; and, I begin, in earnest, the task of writing my dissertation prospectus. Be prepared for "reports" regarding those projects (if they treat on subjects relevant to this blog, of course).

Over "lunch-breakfast" this afternoon a good friend of mine reminded of a movie that I love. And so, I want to review it! Unlike the other film’s I’ve reviewed—the "Rankin and Bass Masterpieces" and The Dark Crystal, this film is not "mainstream," so there's a good chance you might not have heard of it.

Before proceeding into the review proper, however, you should know that it’s streamable on Netflix; also, the production company—an independent film company based out of Seattle called Dead Gentlemen Productions—has DVDs available on their website: Dead Gentlemen Productions

Apparently these folks have quite a following! All I know of them is this film, which I love. I’ve watched it at least five times.

One thing is certain: I’m seeking out more of their stuff. Because it’s not hyperbole when I suggest that this film, released in 2008, is already a kind of “contemporary” cult classic.

Gods! I haven’t even give you the title yet! The film is called The Gamers: Dorkness Rising, and it’s written and directed by Matt Vancil.

What’s it about? Well, it’s a little complicated to explain if you haven't played tabletop roleplaying games like Dungeons and Dragons. And yet—it’s quite easy to explain if you do play roleplaying games. If my description of the plot comes off to you non-RPGers as alienating, don’t be turned away! The humor and cleverness of this film is not so “sub-cultural” that you won’t find yourself laughing and perhaps touched.

Anyhow. Back to the question at hand. What’s it about? It concerns a group of friends who play Dungeons and Dragons together. If you play Dungeons and Dragons, then you know that D&D is a kind of “collaborative storytelling ritual.” Thus, the film also relates the story of this group of friends’s Dungeons and Dragons “campaign,” that is, the story they tell and act out together.

And so you have two narratives here: (1) the story of their real lives, sitting around the game table, laughing, drinking soda, arguing, etc., and (2) the story of their D&D campaign, set in a fantasy world plagued by the evil necromancer Mort Kemnon. So, you have two narratives juxtaposed over top of eachother here: a realistic one and a fantasy one. This narrative juxtaposition is the source of much of the pleasure of the film—its humor, its insights into human character, etc.. Let me try to explain.

An example. There’s one character, Gary, who has decided to play a sorcerer in the D&D game. And so he plays another character, a sorcerer. And yet, he can’t decide on which gender to make his character. And as he’s playing, he sometimes forgets his character is a girl. And so, you have a character in the fantasy world, a sorcerer/sorceress, by the name of Luster, played by two actors: Christian Doyle and Jennifer Page. One scene you have a scantily-clad, sexy sorceress; and the next scene you have a dude in excessively feminine sorceress’s clothing. What is the result of these complicated narrative swirlings that I’m having difficulty articulating here? Hilarity.

Aside front he plot, you have some very good comedic acting in here. The character of Flynn Fine, the womanizing bard (played by Scott C. Brown), is hilarious. There’s a scene where he attempts to use his bard-singing abilities to calm the rage of a marauding band of goblins, and is pin-cushioned with spears. This moved me to tears (tears of laughter, that is). When I watch the film, this scene is a “rewinder-and-play-againer”.

The stories of other characters--the game master, Kevin Lodge (Nathan Rice), and the “rules lawyer,” Cass (Brian Lewis)—are, in addition to being both hilarious and fun, touching stories. Kevin is struggling with writer’s block; Cass is struggling with his need to “win,” to be the best, the greatest, the one. There's another character, the fighter Daphne (Carol Roscoe), who is perfect at being the opposite of the stereotypical mighty-thewed warrior: intelligent, sweet, noble, and--nevertheless--deadly. In a fun way her character shines a lot of light on gender stereotypes.

For being an independent film company, the production value is also quite impressive. Costuming, computer effects, choreography, props, scenery: all of these suggest that this film is indeed an “independent,” low-budget production—and yet, the production elements seem to suggest a characteristic style, a unique flavor that is endearing and impressive rather than cheesy.

Anyhow, I love this movie! In juxtaposing “real life” with “fantasy life,” it reveals important inter-connections between the two; and it does this difficult work with humor and authenticity in a way only an independent production could.

The Dark Crystal: Secondary World Fantasy and the Authority of Material Effects

Today I’m going to review another one of my favorite films, Jim Henson’s, The Dark Crystal.

In this film Jim Henson has imagined an entirely new world. Not only does he create new races of beings—the evil Skeksis, the calm Mystics, the persevering Gelflings--he creates in this film a new planet, an entirely new ecosystem, Thra: its the flora, its fauna, its lifeforms.

There’s something about the “materiality” of these effects that imbue the film with a kind of authenticity, a kind of authenticity the best CGI couldn’t garner.

Jim Henson’s new creations—his novums, if you will--are related through artistic puppets and amazing set designs. I want to talk about them all, but I’m going to limit myself to a few highlights.

The villains of the film, the Skeksis, made such an impression on me as a young kid, and still do. Half-buzzard, half insect, beady eyes, decadent clothing: they suggest dark sorcery and decaying empires.

The main villain, the Chamberlain of the dead emperor (his name is skekSil), was my favorite Skeksi. He was one of those villains you loved to hate. He has this strange little verbal tick. In a high pitched voice he moans, “Mmmmmmm,…” which suggests he thinking. He does this throughout the film, and you come to both love and hate it.

There’s another character, Aughra, a kind of “Yoda-ish” oracle lady who helps the main character understand his fate. She is of some indeterminate race; but she has these buggy eyes and this crazy hair that always stirred me. And her gravely voice and lyrical dialog gives her a genuine authority.

There’s a scene in the film, in Aughra’s astrological laboratory, where she’s explaining “the Great Conjunction” to the protagonist; and there’s this huge model of the many planets and their courses. It’s an amazing sculpture! And you have to remind yourself—that’s not CGI! Someone built that.

Other parts of the film showcase the artistic power of Jim Henson’s studios. There’s one scene when the protagonist stumbles upon an ancient ruin of his race, the Gelflings, and there are bas-relief sculptures on a ruined wall depicting their fraught history (spoiler: all the Gelflings, aside from the two main characters, have had their souls sucked out by the Skeksis). The detail here is astounding. All the vegetation, the water running down the stone, the weeds: all of it is “artificial,” the artistic creation of a studio.

That’s why I think this film is a masterpiece: you immerse yourself in this world and begin to believe in it, and forget that all of those things, those creatures, all of those trees, living plants, natural vistas—they are all artificial creations. Sculptures. Puppets.

In this fantasy film, Jim Henson and company have--as much as anyone can hope to do--created a "secondary world".

The Animation Masterpieces of Rankin and Bass (Part 3 of 3): The Flight of Dragons

So, today is my third and final post of "The Animation Masterpieces of Rankin and Bass." This evening I conclude with reviewing The Flight of Dragons. If you're interested in my previous reviews, then here are the links!


The Hobbit (1977)
The Last Unicorn (1982)

And now--The Flight of Dragons

Of the three Rankin and Bass animation masterpieces I’ve reviewed over the past days, this is my favorite.

Unlike The Hobbit, which was a made for television movie, or, The Last Unicorn, which was released in theaters, The Flight of Dragons was released straight to video in 1982.

I find this intriguing because you would think the best of the three would have the widest public release. Not so. According to my personal opinion, it’s the other way around.

Unlike The Hobbit and The Last Unicorn, this film isn’t based on a single work. It doesn’t have a “primary text,” if you will, to accurately relate or deviate from. It’s based on other works, but it is a mixture of two: (1) the “speculative natural history” book titled Flight of Dragons (1979) by Peter Dickinson, and (2) the novel, The Dragon and the George (1976), by Gordon R. Dickson. I’m not familiar with either of these works (though I wish I was). Needless to say, the narrative of this film is unique and not one that precedes its production.

Some brief plot summary: the film concerns the adventures of a former biology student turned fantasy novelist / fantasy game maker. He creates a very “Dungeons and Dragons” type game and a world to go along with it. And, through some various magical happenings, he gets whisked away to the fantasy world he created. There he finds out that he is the champion of this world. He has to fight an evil necromancer named Ommadon (voiced by James Earl Jones). The story is filled with dragons, elves, rangers, knights, magical spells, fairies, slime worms, dreary taverns, etc..

On the level of plot, it’s very thrilling.

But the plot is not the only thing that endears me to this film. Let me just list some of the elements that make it a masterpiece.

The animation style: Rankin and Bass’s unique animation style comes through here. Slightly strange, borderline grotesque, the artistic style creates a tension between the real world elements the drawings are derived from and the abstractions the drawings are supposed to represent. Thus, there is a kind of rawness / baseness to it.

The drawings are stylized, for sure, but the nature of the stylization is such that it might even be described as a resistance to stylization. In other words, the artists strived for reality while realizing that reality was beyond the pale of animation. In other animated films, artists seem to abstain from any ambition to “realistically” represent something. And in this way you get the “four-fingered” hands of so much animation / cartoons.

The voice acting: There is some strange voice acting in this film, but it endears me to it. Particularly, the voice actor who plays the voice of the Princess character, Millisande, is quite awkward yet completely satisfying for its mystical, almost recitative quality. Also, the voice actor who relates the character of Smrgol the Dragon—James Gregory—is brilliant! He’s an old dragon, tired out by life, and the husky voice no-nonsense delivery completely communicates this. John Ritter does the voice of the main character, Peter Dickinson, and he ramps up the nerdy quality of his voice to the extreme. And, of course, James Earl Jones as the archvillain is just brilliant. He evil laughter is pure art.

The thematic content: For a kid’s film, this flick engages with some serious philosophical issues. Ultimately, this film is about the conflict between magic and science, empiricism and emotion, two fundamentally distinct ways of understanding the world. Without giving away too much of the plot, the main character becomes the avatar for reason and logic, science and math; thus, the baddies become the representatives of superstition, magic, fear, and other emotional ways of coming to terms with the world.

Spoiler alert: It’s a strange twist, but the main character’s quest ultimately preserves “the magical realm,” which is an absolute incongruity considering his way of understanding the world necessarily undermines it.

But I forgive this film this as it really begs the question, “Are our imaginations and flights of fancy, our impulses toward wonder and beautiful ignorance necessarily incompatible with the scientific endeavor? Is there something worthwhile is hearing “a god’s anger” in the thunder rather than, say, “the manifestation of a meteorological phenomenon?” Is there something lost when we “unweave” the rainbow?

The film doesn’t answer this rich question. It’s the source of its aesthetic power is that is even raises it.

The Animation Masterpieces of Rankin and Bass (Part 2 of 3): The Last Unicorn

 My wife is currently in the midst of taking her qualifying exams for her Ph.D.. And so, last night, I atavistically devolved into a little child: I was relegated to our bedroom with a pot of decaf, some cookies, and a DVD copy of Rankin and Bass’s masterpiece, The Last Unicorn.

And now, having had breakfast at a local breakfast joint, Kalie’s Family Restaurant, a couple of real cups of coffee, I’m now poised and ready to continue my series, The Animation Masterpieces of Rankin and Bass.

For those of you who are interested, in my previous post, I reviewed Rankin and Bass’s animated adaption of The Hobbit. Tomorrow I’m going to review my personal favorite, the less widely known flick, The Flight of Dragons.

But first, The Last Unicorn. Be forwarned. This review is a little different. I don’t say anything about the film’s style. Thus, it is more a nostalgic remembrance/homage to it, a sentimental remembrance of the lesson I took away from it as a kid.

I’m not going to waste time summarizing the classic work this film is based on, Peter S. Beagle’s novel of the same name. It appears on many “best works of modern fantasy” lists and is widely considered to be part of the fantasy canon (right next to, say, J.R.R. Tolkien and Ursula K. LeGuin). Suffice it to say this is the story of the last unicorn in the world and her attempt to bring unicorns back.

Let me be clear: this isn’t the most “macho” of movies. It’s a love story about a unicorn. When I was first introduced to this movie (around 10), I felt slightly reluctant to watch it, pressured as I was to love football, baseball, wrestling, and camping and not Atari. How I got over this feeling, came to love unicorns, is an important part of this review/homage.

I remember: when I first saw The Last Unicorn it was broadcast on television, and I was irritated by how the wizard looked: Schmendrick the Magician had teeny-tiny legs, NO BEARD, and was wearing tights! This disturbed me because as a little kid because I had a very clear idea of what wizards were supposed to look like: long gray beards, pointy hats, robes with stars and moons on them.

As I watched, however, I made this connection, came to terms with the irritation Schmendrick’s appearance caused me, and thereby glimpsed the simple yet powerful “message” of the film: “appearances” and are often deceiving.

Sure, you may think a 10 year old is too little to extrapolate “messages” or “lessons” from stories. I beg to differ. I think "sponge-minded" kids are often much more inclined to try to seek out a didactic message or “point,” if you will, in the media they consume than us "rock-minded" jaded adults. That being neither here nor there, trust me on this: I got it. The message of the film, that is. That appearances on deceiving.

In spite of the fact that Schmendrick looked like a twerpy sort of guy, he was actually a powerful magician. In spite of the fact that “Lady Amalthea” looked like a beautiful human princess, she was really a unicorn. Consider the entire sequence of Mommy Fortuna’s circus. Some summary: this witch lady has all of these animals—a lion, a snake, a monkey—bespelled to look like creatures from mythology. People fall into the trap of her illusion and believe in them. I won’t give away a cool part of the film, where one creature—who, like the others, appears to be a creature of mythology—actually is one. But, here we have it again, the message: appearances are deceiving.

Through some twist of thought I applied this lesson to the film and as a little kid I began to happily celebrate unicorns, to doodle them in my notebooks, to draw them shooting lasers out of their eyes.

My logic, though not as elegantly put, went something like this: you, sir, may think unicorns are just for girls. But, sir, they aren’t. They’re awesome. They’re a symbol for how the surface of the world is an illusion. And that there are other things, beyond what we can glimpse with our senses, that are sometimes more and sometimes less fantastical than this life.

In reality it probably went something more like this: I like unicorns, so @#$% you.

Pretty deep thoughts for a little kid. You can believe it. Or not. But take this story of my first experience with the film as a testimony to its artistic power. It was powerful enough to make a little, self-conscious, asthmatic kid afraid of being called a nerd (who is now quite happy to accept that appellation) come to love unicorns as a kind of protest.

The Animation Masterpieces of Rankin and Bass (Part 1 of 3): The Hobbit

Today I want to do something significantly less academic. I’m reviewing one of my favorite films, Rankin and Bass’s, The Hobbit. This will be the first of a series of reviews. I'm going to review two more Rankin and Bass films, which I believe are masterpieces. And so, you know which way the reviews are going to go. Think of them as less reviews and more homages. To two films I aim to celebrate in the coming weeks are Flight of Dragons (1982) and The Last Unicorn (1982).

This is a great film filled with adventure, excitement, wonder, and, believe it or not, action (it was 1977 and swordfights and stabbing giant spiders was still o.k. for wee folks).

I don’t think I need to summarize the widely known plot of The Hobbit, which is very much hewed to by this film. That’s perhaps one of the greatest characteristics of this film: its commitment to accurately relating the plot of the novel. I can’t think of any glaring revision and only one omission (spoiler: the Beorn episode before Bilbo and the dwarfs enter Mirkwood is left out).

To begin, there’s some strange quality about Rankin and Bass’s animation style. It has an authenticity, a kind of realism, that other animation styles (say, for example, Disney’s style in The Black Cauldron), completely lack. There’s a strangeness to the way certain things are drawn. For example, the wood elves. Their legs are really long. They have green skin. Their features are inhuman: wide cheek-bones, flat brows. In juxtaposition to the humans that appear in this film, they look completely different; indeed, they look like a completely different species.

The voice acting, too, is wonderful. John Huston as the voice of Gandalf is absolutely amazing. His smoky, intense voice relates a sense of wisdom and knowledge of other worlds. There’s a kind of tone to his expression, a steadiness that makes it seem as if he is reciting his dialog or expressing an incantation as opposed to merely speaking. Usually this would probably be chalked up to bad voice acting, hewing too closely to “reading the script” as opposed to “acting the script”. But, for Gandalf, it truly works.

Other memorable voices are Brother Theodore’s voice for Gollum. Brother Theodore shows up in a lot of Rankin and Bass’s productions. His strained, high accented voice, sounds exotic and otheworldly. And his screaming of, “Baggins! We hates it! Forever!” kind of creeped me out as a kid. I remember him as the assistant, Ruhk, to Mommy Fortuna in Rankin and Bass’s famous adaptation of Peter S. Beagle, The Last Unicorn.

The music is worth mentioning. It has a very “1970s folk musicy” feel to it that I love. Many of the songs are adaptations of songs written by Tolkien (lyrics only, of course); and to this day, when I’m reading through The Hobbit, I read the lyrics with those melodies in mind.

A more subtle characteristic endears me to this film: its color palette. I don’t know if it’s just my old VHS, but there is a subdued quality to the film’s color palette. The range of colors is softer, more natural, than, say, the intense variety of a Disney film, even an early one like Snow White. I’m not going to try and explain why, but I prefer this subdued color palette. It truly creates a wonderful effect. An important character in The Hobbit is the wildland itself; and when the large natural vistas are portrayed—forests, river valleys, the desolation of Smaug—their coloring and the fine detail of their rendering makes them feel authentic.

The best compliment I can make of this film is that my wife and I, both adults, fall asleep to this film whenever we’ve had a stressful day. It’s an enduring source of comfort, a true "safety-blanket" of a movie, that, through some strange alchemy of the right style of animation, the right voice actors, and the right music, truly stirs in me a sense of wonder.