Although I enjoy watching a bunch of teenagers kill the fuck out of each-other as much as, well, anyone; the plot and execution of “The Hunger Games” left me unsatisfied on a few important points. First of all, in order to have an action movie, one MUST have a car case. That DID NOT happen in the two and a half hours I spent perched in front of my TV waiting for a 69 Ford Mustang to burst through the thick layer of foliage and proceed to chase the principal characters through the jungle while spontaneously catching fire and drooling blood. The closest we got was a pack of what looked like overgrown bulldogs with learning difficulties clumsily stumbling after the protagonists, as well as the two happy recruits from ‘District 12’ being set on fire, although they were wearing fire retardant suits which sort of defeats the point. If you ask me, the only thing retardant about the film was the overall look. I mean, who would dream that in a post apocalyptic big brother style society everyone except Woody Harrelson would dress like a pig in drag. After the first half hour I was so sick of fluorescent wigs, weird makeup, and clothes that look like they’ve been pried off the cold dead bones of MJ himself, I was ready to throw in the towel and concede that everything I had learned about life and movies up to that point was wrong and I should be fed to the bloodthirsty retard hounds depicted in the film immediately.
The ONLY redeeming feature of this otherwise tooth-grinding vomit-inducing faggotry was the always stellar performance of Woody. He played a depressed alcoholic showbiz promoter, and if a character like that doesn’t bring a smile to your face and a warmth to your heart, then you might go ahead and volunteer for some hunger games of your own and let us enjoy the burnt out husk that is left of this world in relative peace.
