Mizrachi SA Jewish Observer - Pesach 2016 | Page 50

MOVIE REVIEW

MOVIE REVIEW

FILM REVIEW
THE HUNGER GAMES: MOCKINGJAY PART 2
KEREN ZWICK

YOU SAW the Hunger Games? I saw the

Capitol to take refuge in his mansion. The scene which
unfolds is sickening. The camera pans across hordes of
refugees, clutching to their children and their belongings
in the cold streets of the Capitol. The tension is
palpable. When a child recognises her face in the
masses, the cutting between the child’s stricken
expression and Katniss’s quick and determined
movements seems doomed to end in tragedy. The
audience is led to expect a blow, but nothing can prepare
them for what comes next.

Holocaust.
You saw Panem? I saw Poland.
You saw Snow? I saw Hitler.

This is the fourth and final instalment of the Hunger
Games series. The film, directed by Francis Lawrence,
is an epic retelling of the finale of the now well-known
tale of Katniss Everdeen (Jennifer Lawrence) and Peeta
Mellark (Hosh Hutchinson), civilians from the outlying
districts of Panem. Katniss takes on the totalitarian rule
of the Capitol and President Snow (Donald Sutherland)
and fights for liberty for the twelve oppressed Districts of
Panem. In so doing, Katniss becomes the Mockingjay, a
symbol of the revolution and a moving target for Snow
and his troops. All the while, the violence, damage and
terror of Panem escalate to unprecedented levels.
Perhaps the reason that the Hunger Games trilogy has
proven so popular in both book and film form is that it
speaks to our collective unconscious. While it portends a
dystopian future of a mad world, it also uncannily
reflects our global history. It is set in the future, and
yet it is a tale of the past. What makes it so chilling is
its familiarity – we may not recognise the Capitol, the
make-up, the technology or pods or game makers, but
we recognise the sadism, the disregard of life and the
dehumanisation of those deemed inferior by a selfelected authority.Bertolt Brecht envisioned art to be a
tool for shaping society, rather than a mirror for merely
reflecting it. Mockingjay is powerful because at its core
it is both the mirror and the tool, a dichotomous work
that uses the filmic mechanism to expound on the crisis
facing humanity.
Many know the tale of how the Hunger Games series
came about; creator Suzanne Collins was channel
flicking when she switched between broadcasts of the
Iraq war and the reality TV channel. The inspiration for
a world at war with itself, delighted by suffering,
enamoured with oppression was not an imaginary one –
it is the simple reality of 21st century modern life.
In a Panem, rife with chaos and distrust, Katniss fights
against digital, physical and psychological enemies.
When the rebel forces gain ground, President Snow
invites the traumatised and panicked citizens of the

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“It is set in
the future,
and yet it is
a tale of the
past.”

As the children are passed forward, torn from their
loved ones, screaming and howling, it is impossible not
to recall the very same images haunting the minds of
Holocaust survivors for generations to come; families
shredded, children shuttled off for their “own
protection” but ultimately into the very hands of the
enemy. The same children who are meant to be
protected and shielded, the youth for whom the entire
world has supposedly been built and saved, is, in
seconds, annihilated at the hands of a detonating parcel
bomb.
The parallels are undeniable; Snow’s comment: “We
both know I’m not above killing children, but I’m not
wasteful,” haunts me; evoking images of glasses, shoes
and hair piled up in the death camps I have visited.
Every item, marked, sorted and labelled. Childhood is
merely collateral in a carefully itemised power game.
President Snow, although ailing and aged, is the
archetypal depiction of the leader of a vile regime
clinging to the last remnants of sovereignty.
One could easily substitute Snow with Hitler or Mugabe,
Kim Jong II or Stalin, hiding in the confines of a palace,
watching as the world around falls to pieces, clutching
at the vestiges of a shattered crown. The power of the
analogy is self-evident; surely humanity is capable of
more? For indeed, what is the purpose of history if not to
improve the future?
Certainly, Suzanne Collins is issuing a warning; but
perhaps more than that, she is eliciting a reminder and
that is what makes the tale so terrifying; not the possibility of what could happen, the memory of what already
has and the inevitability of a cycle of conflict that is
rooted d eep within the human psyche. ■

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