The Hunger Games

Every literary adaptation disappoints the audience who made the novel a success. This is a fact. Trainspotting fans were not happy that Tommy was practically written out of Danny Boyle’s film, legions of Middle Earthers were disgusted with Peter Jackson’s entirely justifiable decision to cull Tom Bombadil from his epic Lord of the Rings movies and Stephen King himself was furious at Stanley Kubrick’s interpretation of The Shining. So having not read the novel it was with some relief – and no preconceptions – that I went to see The Hunger Games.

Suzanne Collins’ source material is, apparently, massive with teenagers – despite its adult themes. Set in a dystopian near future, society is divided into twelve districts controlled by the repressive inhabitants of the capital city. Each year, the downtrodden districts are forced to offer up two youngsters as sacrificial lambs for The Hunger Games – a violent reality TV gameshow which pits the twenty-four contestants against each other in a battle to the death. The film’s heroine, Catniss Everdeen (Jennifer Lawrence) actually volunteers to participate in order to prevent her younger sister being forcibly recruited – but will she survive?

It is, of course, a highly derivative storyline. Watching the film it’s impossible not to recall numerous movies which have followed this blueprint: The Running Man, The Truman Show and, most pertinently, Battle Royale. Whether it’s as good as any of these movies is open to debate.

The flaws are legion. Firstly, the preamble is overcooked and overly long. It’s the least interesting part of the story and could have been judiciously edited with minimal effect on the narrative. Secondly, there is little sense that the Games are being watched by anyone. There is little evidence of an audience at all - the fact that Toby Jones’ camp gameshow host has only one line of dialogue hints at some swingeing cuts in this section of the film. And thanks largely to the producers’ insistence that the film obtain a 12A certificate, there is little blood or visceral violence to speak of. Action sequences are frequently shot in such a head spinning fashion as to utterly disorientate the audience and disguise what’s occurred on screen. As a result, there is little sense of genuine peril – a major deal-breaker in a film desperate to position its audience on the edge of their seats.

That said, it’s a compelling story driven by an excellent performance from the brilliant Lawrence. She’s tough but attractive, convincingly hard bitten but believably vulnerable. She’s ably supported by a surprisingly charismatic Lenny Kravitz and a typically grizzled performance from Woody Harrelson as her mentors.

The Hunger Games is enjoyably intense but lacks the sense of satire which would have really marked it out as a special film. Catering for such a young audience has polished its satirical edge to the point of bluntness. Perhaps a director’s cut will emerge which fully satisfies, but for now, The Hunger Games is an entertaining popcorn flick in need of a little more bite.

Rampart

Woody Harrelson is one of Hollywood’s most underrated actors. Perhaps he still suffers from comparisons with his namesake, Woody, the dumb barman he played in Cheers. But he’s an actor of enormous range who makes interesting and brave career choices: porn barons, serial killers, comic characters and blind men. Here, he adds corrupt cop to his roll-call of colourful characters – and it’s possibly his finest performance to date.

David Brown (Harrelson) is the dirtiest of dirty LAPD officers: a law unto himself. As the 90s end and the new millennium begins, a cleaner era of law enforcement is being ushered in, ending the scandal-hit decade which saw increased scrutiny of the police following incidents such as the racially aggravated assault on Rodney King. For Brown, this clean approach to policing is both an affront and a threat: he’s not beyond bullying female colleagues, intimidating witnesses and beating suspects.

When one such attack finds its way onto the TV news, Brown concludes he’s been set up by his own force in order to deflect attention from larger scandals. Refusing to apologise or resign, Brown fights his corner whilst downing cocktails of booze and drugs. As he schemes and plots, his unconventional family life begins to disintegrate as he realises the two sisters he lives with (both of whom have mothered his children) have grown to despise him.

The opening twenty minutes are a masterclass in character creation. In ruthlessly efficient fashion and with very spare dialogue, Brown is established as a hard-drinking, chain-smoking, reckless, dangerous, misogynistic bully. Nonetheless, he’s capable of great charm (effortlessly luring an attractive woman into bed) and intelligence: when called to account for his near-fatal assault he mounts a truly impressive and well-thought defence. That his defence is utterly immoral is beside the point.

What follows is the tale of a man caught in an inevitable downward spiral of crime and counter-crime, lies and self-deceit. Harrelson is magnificent as the conflicted lawman who yearns for the days when his father served the LAPD – days when engaging and collaborating with the enemy were occasionally necessary in the cause of the greater good. Screenwriter James Ellroy’s fingerprints are all over this tale of corruption and brutality – anyone who enjoyed hard-bitten dramas like LA Confidential will find much to admire here.

A great supporting cast featuring the likes of Robin Wright, Sigourney Weaver and Anne Heche are certainly playing second fiddle to the standout performance of Woody Harrelson’s career: an amoral, unlikeable bastard who somehow manages to earn our sympathy. Rampart is a bleak tale, but a truly gripping one.