Pass the (Microwave) Popcorn: Hunger Games Mockingjay Part 1

Next week, the final installment of The Hunger Games will be released in movie theatres nationwide. 

OMG. 

I'm hoping that my teenage daughter will deign to attend this major cinema event with me. Not because I'm particularly looking forward to it. (I'm not.) Not because I enjoyed the last book in the series more than (or even as much as) the other two. (I didn't.) Not because I give a rat's you-know-what about what happens to Katniss, Peeta or Gale. (I don't.)

I want to go to Hunger Games: Mockingjay 2 with my daughter because (a) she rarely wants to go to movies, and (b) she even more rarely wants to go to them with me. In truth, I'd happily go to pretty much any movie she suggested, pull out the credit card and pay ridiculous sums for seats and popcorn. Yes, I'm a shameless-opportunist-movie-going-ho and I'll be the first to admit it. My darling daughter who used to love going places with her doting mama is too busy these days. And if it takes a big budget dystopian sequel to bring us together for an afternoon ... so be it.

Four years ago, while she was still in middle school, my daughter insisted that I read the books by Suzanne Collins before she would permit me to see the first movie. By the time the two of us sat down in the local multiplex together, she had already seen it twice.

A year later, we saw the second movie. Again, it was a repeat performance for my daughter who managed to see it, not once, not twice, but three times during its opening week — all supported by my credit card, oddly enough. Still, we enjoyed the time together, and I had to admit that the two films stayed true to the books and gave my daughter a fearless — and female — hero to root for.
 
So, fast forward another two years and to prepare for our next outing (not yet confirmed, btw), I recently watched Hunger Games: Mockingjay Part 1 on Amazon Prime. I can't recall who my daughter saw it with when it was released last year, but suffice it to say, 'tweren't me.

The third movie picks up where the second left off. Our gal Katniss (the all-around wonderful Jennifer Laurence) has now survived two Hunger Games and despite a lot of PTSD, she has to stand up and become the symbol of the revolution. The districts have finally had enough (about time!) and they are going to fight until they're free. President Snow (a thoroughly evil Donald Sutherland) will stop at nothing to punish the rebels. Meanwhile, President Coin (Julianne Moore in believable bitch-queen mode) has her own agenda and is happy to use Katniss (and anyone else) to promote it. As for the love triangle from the earlier films, Gale (Liam Hemsworth) is finally in his element as an heroic freedom fighter, while Peeta (Josh Hutcherson), brainwashed in the Capitol, has gone bat-sh*t crazy.

Did I leave anyone out? Oh yeah, Effie Trinket (Elizabeth Banks) is fashioning fashion out of trash bags; Haymitch Abernathy (Woody Harrelson in a part he probably paid to play) still acts like a boozer whether there's booze or not; Caesar Flickerman (Stanley Tucci, my favorite) is still prancing about on air; and Plutarch Heavensbee (the late Philip Seymour Hoffman) remains the steady voice of reason whether he was working for Snow (he wasn't really ... shhhhh) or masterminding the resistance.

If nothing else, we have to give Collins kudos for the names of the characters! They're delightful.

So, I paid my dues, sat through the sequels, and now I'm ready for the fourth and final installment. Katniss and company, here I come.

Assuming that my daughter doesn't have any other plans, of course. 

If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of my book  Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.   

The F-Word

What do we want for our daughters?

I think most mothers of teens would agree that we want our daughters to be happy and smart and kind and successful. I think, if we're honest, we'd also say that we want them to be beautiful and lucky in love. (Despite our best efforts, that Disney-princess "happy ever after" thing is hard to get away from.)

In my case, I'd also add that I want my daughter to be a feminist. (I recently wrote an essay for Women's Voices for Change on that very subject.) Every time my daughter stands up for herself, notices an inequity or admires another woman for all the right reasons, my pride is palpable.

That's one reason I've been happy with some of the contemporary books she chooses to read. (Would I be happier if she reached for Jane Austen, Charlotte Brontë or Louis May Alcott? Well ... um ... YES. I may be a feminist mother but I was also an English major.) Today's popular YA (young adult) dystopian genre includes some fairly kick-ass heroines.

One of these is Tris from Veronica Roth's Divergent series. Even though she's a little too swoony when it comes to her hunky trainer Four, the girl is one tough cookie. Leaping from moving trains, climbing abandoned ferris wheels, hand-to-hand combat (with boys, no less!), this is not a girl who sits at home waiting for the phone to ring while her manicure dries.

When the movie version was released a few months ago, I was happy that Hollywood resisted the urge to take Tris and glam her up for the big screen. Sure, young star Shailene Woodley looks super sultry on the poster, but in the film itself, she is strong and seemingly make-up free. Both Divergent and its precursor The Hunger Games depict future societies in which women live and work (and, apparently, fight to the death) alongside men.

(And the fictional heroines aren't the only inspiration for our teens. Both bestselling novels were written by, you guessed it, women. You go, girls!)

You'd think all this girl power would rub off on the young actress lucky enough to star in Divergent. Earlier this month, TIME magazine asked Woodley if she was a feminist. But, her answer surprised me. Surprised and, frankly, disappointed.

"No because I love men, and I think the idea of ‘raise women to power, take the men away from the power’ is never going to work out because you need balance. With myself, I’m very in touch with my masculine side. And I’m 50 percent feminine and 50 percent masculine, same as I think a lot of us are. And I think that is important to note. And also I think that if men went down and women rose to power, that wouldn’t work either. We have to have a fine balance.

My biggest thing is really sisterhood more than feminism. I don’t know how we as women expect men to respect us because we don’t even seem to respect each other. There’s so much jealousy, so much comparison and envy. And “This girl did this to me and that girl did that to me.” And it’s just so silly and heartbreaking in a way."

So, according to Woodley, sisterhood and feminism have nothing to do with each other. Oh, and you can't be a feminist and love a man. (This will be unhappy news for my husband.)

Shailene, honey, here's the deal ...

Let's start with the F-word itself. Who better to turn to for an official definition than the movement's mother superior, Gloria Steinem?

"A feminist is anyone who recognizes the equality and full humanity of women and men." 

Even without the last two words, Steinem doesn't say anything about taking away anybody's power. You would think the word "equality" would be inarguable.

What have feminists fought for? Freedom. Respect. True citizenship. Women's rights to make choices, to work outside the home, to be represented in government, to have access to healthcare.

Girlfriend, don't bite the hand that feeds you.

Shailene, the next time you vote or earn a half a million dollars for a movie (or speak your mind in a national magazine), thank your real sisters. 

The feminists.

If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of my new book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com. 

Pass The Popcorn: Divergent

I have a lot of close friends who never had a child. I have others whose offspring are already away at college, medical school or out in the real world. Still another (a late bloomer, I guess) has a toddler. Think about that for a moment. Wow, is she brave!

Now, I love these women, I do. But, I also feel sorry for them.

How do my peers, women of a certain age, survive without a teenager on hand to tune them in to what's hot, what's not and what definitely-absolutely-positively cannot be missed?

How, for example, would any of these women know about Divergent? OMG.

Yes, Divergent is the latest pop culture phenom. (And I have my daughter to thank for my intimate knowledge of it.) First was Twilight. Then, The Hunger Games. Now, Divergent.

What happened to teen fiction? Somewhere along the way, the romances of yesteryear (how we all swooned over Healthcliff back in my day!) and the real-life real-girl narratives (Are You There, God? It's Me, Alex) morphed into these dark, dystopian sagas. It's not enough for a heroine to be a typical teenager, riddled with adolescent angst or — worse! — acne. Now, apparently, you have to be in a love triangle with a vampire and a werewolf. Or be in a fight to the death with other teen tributes. Or be a square peg individualist in a round hole faction in a futuristic, post-apocalyptic, bombed-out version of Chicago.

That, my friends, is where Divergent comes in.

Last weekend, my daughter and I had second-row, center seats for the new movie based on Veronica Roth's bestseller. After a war which virtually annihilated the human race, the powers that be decided that the survivors' best chance of ... well ... surviving would be to restructure society into "factions," each based on its members' core personality traits, and each playing a prescribed role for the betterment of all.

Sounds orderly if nothing else, right? The problem is that our heroine, one Tris (née Beatrice) is an anomaly. Despite some standardized testing that makes the SATs look like a walk in the park with puppies and kittens and ice cream, her results are "inconclusive." She doesn't fit into one of the factions. She is, in a word, in a bestseller title, divergent.

So, what would you do if you found you didn't really fit in? Well, naturally you would risk your life to join the toughest group, right? Of course right. 

Tris selects "Dauntless," whose brave members serve as society's warriors. But, choosing Dauntless doesn't mean that Dauntless chooses you. So, Tris has to go through all kinds of initiation hell: leaps out of moving elevated trains, scaling an old ferris wheel, hand-to-hand combat with nasty characters who are considerably larger, stronger and just plain meaner. There's blood. There's guts. 

There's a hunky instructor.

Tris and "Four" (as one smart-mouthed initiate asks, "What, were One, Two and Three taken?") fall in love and foil a deadly coup driven by another faction, the "Erudite." But, even as they escape in the final moments of the movie, we know it ain't over. There are two more Divergent books and probably three more Divergent movies (following the examples of Harry Potter, Twilight and Hunger Games, Hollywood will certainly split the last book into two installments).

Here's what I think my daughter and her peers find so appealing about all this. As teenage girls, they feel a lot like Tris. They are asked to conform. They are pigeon-holed as "brains" or "beauties." They may not be forced to fight each other in a ring, but things can get pretty brutal online.

Here's what I like. Tris is a girl. She's brave; she's strong; she holds her own. She even holds her own against boys. Does she ever!

Here's what I don't like. The way the studio felt the need to glam her up for the movie poster. Shailene Woodley was nowhere near as curvy or "come hither" in the actual film. Her hair was pulled back. And her stretch pants weren't quite that stretched.

Still, if Tinsel-town's executives are willing to produce bazillion dollar projects about a girl ... well ... stretch pants or not, things are looking up.

If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of my new book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.   

Mother-Daughter Book Club: Divergent

A few months ago, my teenage daughter and I saw a "coming attraction" trailer for a new movie called Divergent. In it, a young girl comes of age in a future society in which people are assessed and put into one of five factions based on their personality traits. As with most of these set-ups (Hunger Games, anyone?), the system is corrupt, the people (especially those who still need acne medicine) are exploited, heroes arise, authority is challenged, much mayhem ensues. The whole things ends on one mother of a cliffhanger and we all wait breathlessly for part two.

"We're totally gonna see that!" my daughter proclaimed, as I knew she would. But she then added "I have to read the book first."

Sniff, sniff. As you can imagine, I was proud. Very proud.

For Christmas, my daughter had asked for (and received) a new dressage saddle. Ka-ching! It was understood there would be no other presents. (Of course, it was also understood that I would break my own rule and get her at least a handful of other lesser gifts so we could still have our joyful, cluttered Christmas morning.) I looked for Divergent and found that in the not-always-logical world of shopping online, I could buy the 3-volume hardcover set (Divergent, Insurgent, Allegiance) with free shipping for less than the softcover versions à la carte. Well, I thought, I hope she likes it.

Major understatement.

My daughter devoured Divergent. The novel, an ambitious first by a fairly young author Veronica Roth, weighs in at 496 pages, although the type is fairly generous in size. Still, I was impressed by how quickly it was completed. Even with my daughter's attention necessarily distracted by William Shakespeare's Julius Caesar for Honors English and post-revolutionary France's Louis XVIII for AP World History.

"You have to read this, Mom!"

Under her supervision, I had already read all three Hunger Games books (not to mention all four Twilight — now, there's a week I'll never get back). Meanwhile, I'm two thirds through my own Dickens curriculum (self-inflicted — don't ask), so I welcomed the diversion of Divergent. Aside from the actual writing (which is engaging and fast-paced though hardly a work of literary fine art), here are some pros and cons:

The hero is a girl. A petite (as we are told ... um ... like a thousand times), but an enormously brave and determined one.

This girl (Tris), along with the other girls in the faction she chooses (Dauntless), doesn't seem to mind getting the sh*t kicked out of her on a regular basis. I was reminded of Katniss Eberdeen, but at least in The Hunger Games, Katniss had a bow and arrow between her and her opponents. In Divergent, it's all about the cracked ribs, the broken nose, the sliced ear, the gunshot wounds. Lots of blood, lots and lots of blood.

And, the girls get beat up just as much as the boys. There is no special treatment, no dispensation for the weaker sex. Pummel or be pummeled.

Equality at last? (Um, no thanks.)

There is a convoluted logic to the whole thing. This is really the key to dystopian fiction. With its roots firmly planted in 1984 (which, happily, my daughter will read later this year for school), Brave New World, and the later Handmaid's Tale, the genre takes societal attitudes and laws to the extreme, but in a way that feels somehow plausible. In this way, it's like really good science fiction but without the aliens and genetically engineered creatures from the black lagoon.

And, as I mentioned earlier, Divergent moves; it moves fast. You do care about Tris. She may not be Elizabeth Bennet, but she's a voice of immature reason in a grownup world that's deeply out of whack.

So far, so good, right? Onward to my objection then (there's really just the one).

All in all, Divergent sounds like a fairly feminist book whether you want to drink the dystopian Kool-Aid or not. Unfortunately though, my single biggest issue with it (aside from the unapologetically mercenary use of formula) is that Roth falls back into swooning heroine territory every time Tris notices or is (gasp!) noticed by her hunky trainer Four. We've just read (suffered through) several pages of brutal hand-to-hand combat in which tiny Tris gets her head served back on a juicy platter. Then (gasp!), Four looks her way. She turns to mush. Then (gasp!), Four touches her shoulder. She melts completely. Truly, this resilient little fighter goes gaga at the mere idea of the much older (she's sixteen; he's eighteen — gasp! gasp!) boy's attention to the tune of:

"As he reached for the target, his hand brushed the inside of my wrist. A tremor of electricity ran up my arm. I didn't know what was happening. I was terrified, but I liked it."

All right, I'm paraphrasing, but you get the idea. One sideways glance from the hero and our heroine's bosom is heaving pretty quickly. I'm not sure whether to be happy that some semblance of romance still exists in Tris's kick ass or get your ass kicked world — or to roll my eyes. Sheesh.

Divergent and all the other YA titles like it lend themselves beautifully to the movies. The phenomenon of The Hunger Games franchise is no accident, and I have confidence that Tris and Four will share similar success on the big screen. I admit, the genre will never be my favorite (give me some Jane Austen and a lovely "cuppa" anytime), but I'm not the target audience. Nevertheless, my daughter is reading when she could be texting. She's talking to me about a novel when she could be sulking in her room. 

So, thank you, Veronica Roth. "May the odds be ever in your favor."

Oops, wrong book.

"The future belongs to those who know where they belong."

Peace, out.

If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of my new book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.   

Pass the Popcorn: The Hunger Games: Catching Fire

Let me start this post by quoting my teenage daughter.

"Hunger Games: Catching Fire. I'm speechless."

She did find her voice a moment later, though, and declared it "Frrrrrrrrrrrrkin' brilliant."

My daughter, like teens everywhere from what I'm told, is a rather impatient young person. So, when The Hunger Games: Catching Fire opened last week, she had to see it right away. Right! Away!

However ... my daughter, like teens everywhere, is also not very skilled at planning ahead. So, while it was never a question that she would see Catching Fire on its opening day (if not a sneak preview screening the night before), it became very much a question when our town's tiny cinema was sold out. Sold! Out!

Enter her dear mamma, a.k.a. the enabler. I found seats at a larger multiplex a few towns away. Word spread and I was suddenly putting several tickets on my American Express. The initial plan was that we would drive the eager fans to the theatre, then have a nice dinner somewhere. Another parent was slated to pick them up.

The odds were never in our favor.

Turned out there were too many teens (and not enough seatbelts). Only one adult would be able to go. It also turned out that the game plan had changed. We were now on call for pick-up, not drop-off. My husband marched around in self-righteous indignation, and then settled in for a casual dinner and some DVR catch-up before heading off to retrieve the moviegoers at 10:00 pm. (Father of the Year Award, anyone?)

I was already half asleep when my family returned, but I heard all about the film the next day. In fact, in an act of extremely effective manipulation, my daughter coerced me into buying another round of tickets, this time for the two of us. "I can't wait for you to see it," she cooed. "You're going to lo-o-o-o-ove it." We'd seen the first Hunger Games together, and she didn't hesitate to play the 'it's our tradition, Mom' card. Was I fooled by her sudden interest in my happiness? Of course not. Did I buy the tickets? Of course.

We were supposed to see this wonder of modern moviemaking Sunday night. Imagine my surprise when she came to me Friday with another request. A different set of friends were going that evening. Could she go? Oh, and by the way, could I put the tickets on my charge card? As per usual, I was the best mother in the world ... for about twenty minutes.

To give credit where credit is due, when it finally was my turn to see Hunger Games: Catching Fire, I had to agree that it is an excellent movie. Jennifer Lawrence is the real deal — a fine actress, an apparently down-to-Earth young woman, and the star of a gazillion dollar Hollywood franchise. The movie was exciting and surprisingly well-written. I actually enjoyed it. My daughter, round three, was (again) enthralled. 

The thing is, I remember being so completely obsessed with movies. I saw the Who's Tommy several times when it came out (I won't say when), and my theatre friends and I went to the midnight showing of Rocky Horror every single Saturday for over a year. Who am I to throw stones? (Rice, maybe, playing cards, maybe, but not stones.)

When it comes to my daughter getting what she wants from me, the odds are always in her favor.

If you enjoyed this post, order a copy of my new book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.

Pass the Popcorn: The Hunger Games

Like any self-respecting eighth grader, my daughter saw The Hunger Games on the weekend it opened. Not once, but twice. First, she saw it with two friends from school. The next day, she saw it with a different friend and that girl's family. She came home beaming. 

"I can't wait for you to see it, Mom! You're gonna love it." However, in reality, she could wait for me to see it. In fact, I was forbidden to see it until I had finished the books.

Was I already in the middle of a different book? Yes. Was my workload insane? Yes. Did I have other things to do? Yes, yes, yes. But, I was heartened by the fact that my daughter recognized the value of reading prior to viewing. So, I borrowed my husband's Kindle and read all three books in the course of a few days. Trust me, that is not as grand an accomplishment as one might think. They are extremely quick reads and every chapter ends with a cliffhanger. With my task complete, we decided to hit the multiplex after my daughter finished at the stable Sunday afternoon.

I was looking forward to our movie date. I loved the fact that we were going to see an action adventure movie starring a female protagonist. With all the blood and guts and gore I had just read, this promised to be no typical "chick flick." And, the chick in point, one Katniss Everdeen in case you've been living under a rock, is played by a remarkable young actress who had wowed me a couple of years ago in Winter's Bone, Jennifer Lawrence. 

Most of all, I was looking forward to spending time with my favorite person.

We ran a couple of errands and had a quick lunch at Panera, just ordering soups so that we would have plenty of room for a giant popcorn in the theatre. Once inside, we found great seats and plenty of room to spread out; surprisingly, there weren't a ton of people. When I commented on this, my daughter rolled her eyes: "Duh, it's already been out for a month!" A month, mind you, is a very long time when one is fourteen.

There were too many ads, too many previews (this from a woman who loves previews) and too many service messages about turning off our cell phones. But, finally, it was time for ...

The Hunger Games! ("May the odds be ever in your favor.")

You know, the movie really was good. If I had been in there in my capacity as a cultural journalist writing a thoughtful piece of film criticism, I might complain about the herky-jerky handheld camera work. Or, the confusion of some key fight scenes. Or, the near absence of any subtlety or nuance whatsoever.

But, I was there to have fun with my daughter. The action was non-stop. The sets and costumes and special effects, top-notch. The villains from the Capitol were as superficial and selfish as I had pictured them. Katniss was as brave and good. Her rival boyfriends, Peeta and Gale, were true and just handsome enough to turn the target audience's heads. (There's an ongoing online debate amongst the teen girl set right now. "Are you Team Peeta or Team Gale?" And, in a rather clever if slightly naughty compound word, if you are rooting for Peeta's romance with Katniss then you are "Pro Peeniss." Ugh.) 

For me, Woody Harrelson practically stole the show as a boozy misanthropic former champion and current mentor to the star-crossed Tributes from District Twelve. It was all just fun!

Until it wasn't. Twenty minutes before the end of the movie, the screen went black; the soundtrack stopped a moment later. A few patrons left their seats to go and get the theatre management. The rest of us sat in what would have been the dark except that everyone had whipped out their cell phones about a nanosecond after the projector malfunction. It was eery seeing individual faces illuminated by cell phone screens. 

"WTF," I thought. "You can't wait five minutes to see if the movie comes back on?" And, in case you were wondering, this was a group of adults not teenagers. (After all, every teenager in the area had already seen the movie about a month ago.)

A woman from the theatre came in and explained that they were fixing the projector. She apologized and handed out free passes (two per person!) for a future movie. After about a ten-minute delay, the movie started again. My daughter and I were psyched! Four free tickets and we still got to see the end of the movie.

Katniss and Peeta were trapped on top of the Cornucopia with the vicious "Career" Tribute from District Two, Cato, and a bloodthirsty "muttation" dog pack below them when ... the unthinkable happened. The movie stopped. Again. OMG!!!

This time, they couldn't get the projector fixed. So they passed out another free pass for each of us and we went out into the bright lights of the lobby. There was another showing down the hall, and we could have sneaked in. But, it had just started and despite my (genuine) disappointment in missing the last five minutes, I really couldn't sit through the whole thing again. There was homework and laundry and dinner waiting for us, so we reluctantly left.

Technology to the rescue! As soon as we got home, my daughter booted up her laptop, Googled "Hunger Games Last Ten Minutes," and found a bootlegged clip on YouTube. For the record, I am not one to condone online copyright infringement. But, I was willing to make an exception. The last few minutes of the movie were exciting despite the tiny screen, and the less than professional video quality. Katniss and Peeta returned to District Twelve and the sinister President Snow plotted his next move.

Net net: we now have six free movie passes, we had a wonderful afternoon together and (thank you, nameless YouTube pirate) we got to see the happy (well, happy until movie two is released) ending.

The odds were most definitely ever in our favor.