By Giulia Magni
“ Are you, are you coming to the tree?
Where I told you to run so we’d both be free?
Strange things did happen here
No stranger would it be
If we met at midnight in the hanging tree.. ”
Lucy Gray
There has been no end to the remarkable narrative prowess of The Hunger Games, and the latest cinematic production is nothing short of spectacular. Derived entirely from Suzanne Collins’ dystopian novels, the film saga commenced in 2012 and concluded in 2015. Anticipation and nostalgia enveloped fans, myself included, as we eagerly awaited the release of another chapter. In 2020, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes novel by Suzanne Collins was released and now, under the direction of Francis Lawrence, materialized into a majestic film, possessing a robust identity that, while remaining faithful to its source, manages to transcend the narrative confines of the novel.
From my perspective, this new chapter was crafted for an older audience, who, having initially read the saga in their youth, have now matured into adulthood. Positioned as a prequel to the original trilogy, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes unfolds 64 years prior to the inaugural novel’s events. The film adeptly forges numerous symbolic connections and cinematic references while delving into more profound and mature themes, notably the complexities of human nature It unveils the genesis of the villain—the true tale of Coriolanus Snow, the future tyrannical president of Panem. The narrative unfurls when Snow is an 18-year-old student at Panem Academy, belonging to one of Capitol City’s most affluent and influential families, which had succumbed to ruin following the Dark Days and his father’s demise.
Residing in an archaic and desolate Panem, scarred by war and decay, Coriolanus, along with his grandmother and cousin Tigris, navigates a life far removed from the opulence associated with their lineage. The film accurately portrays Coriolanus’ discontent with his destitute circumstances, perceiving it as both a dishonour and an injustice against his birthright—a sentiment fueled by the family motto, “The Snows lands on top, like snow.” An opportunity arises for this young boy when he is selected, along with twenty-three other Capitol City Academy students, to mentor a tribute, Lucy Gray Baird of District 12, in the Tenth Annual Hunger Games. Recognizing the potential windfall that accompanies victory, Coriolanus endeavours to secure the title, desperate to salvage his home and fund his future university studies.
The film intricately unravels the psychology of this villain, elucidating his origins without portraying him in a positive light. Motivated by personal ambition and an insatiable thirst for power, as well as conflicting emotions of affection for Lucy Gray along with feeling guilty for the state of oppression exercised by Capitol City over the districts, Coriolanus—the snake—assists Lucy—the songbird—in every conceivable way. He even proposes to the Games’ Chief Strategist, Voluminia Gaul, a means to enhance the Games’ allure, which was lost due to the purely animalistic way in which tributes were represented. It is in this film that the genesis of the modern Hunger Games, characterized by extreme technology and performative elements, audience support, and sponsorship dynamics, is unveiled. Corionalus emerges as the true architect of the spectacle that will define the Hunger Games as we know them.
Within his methodical plan, Lucy Gray becomes a disruptive element, complicating matters with her charm and the emotions she evokes in him. Despite their mutual attraction, both are unwavering in their commitment to their moral principles, ultimately leading to a betrayal of each other. In the denouement, Coriolanus is shattered but resolute, and pivots towards a singular devotion to ambition, the driving force that has consistently guided his choices.
64 years later, Katniss Everdeen serves as a reminder of Lucy Gray. Intrigued to witness the extent of Katniss’s defiance, Snow catches a reflection of the one individual he failed to manipulate in his past—a defiance that captivates and challenges him.
To conclude, this film is a powerful portrayal that elucidates the origins and intricacies of the villain’s psychology without veering into a redemptive narrative. Coriolanus’s realization, over time, is that the Games exist as a stark reminder of the inherent violence within human nature, encapsulating the belief that the world itself is an arena. The prequel concludes with Snow’s aged voice, 64 years later, intoning the poignant reflection: “It is the things we love most that destroy us,” a familiar statement now richly infused with new meaning, bringing the narrative full circle. A goose-bumpy closure.
Illustration by Francesca Corno
