WTF! We went to the new “Hunger Games” the other night with high hopes (and big appetites). We thought we were attending one of those regional cooking contests. You know: BBQ or chili or pie. But the only food in sight was stale popcorn with carcinogenic “butter”, limp nachos with cheese, and Raisinettes. Yes, we found ourselves at the movies with a mob of loopy fans dressed in togas and loin cloths. Unhappy, but always conformists, we decided to go ahead and take off our pants and settle in to watch the flick.
About halfway in, my old fogey pal was snoozing. I, however, was on the edge of my seat (primarily because he had slumped over and was laying on my back). What was happening?! Murder and mayhem and lots of freaky costumes. Clearly, another anti-hunting diatribe from the Hollywood improperganda machine.
The whole thing could have been avoided had the main characters not replied: “I’m game!” when they were asked to participate in a bizarre collectivist ritual purported to be fun.
And that was exactly what we were thinking about our own decision to stay and watch the film, a flashy re-hash of a theme that has been exploited numerous times before.
Wait! Did someone say “hash”? Oh, man, now we’re really hungry!