Score: 4 / 5
A prequel book based on the backstory of the antagonist was probably not what most fans expected ten years after the Hunger Games books were published. However, once its release, it was a sure thing a film adaptation would be in the works. Thankfully, director Francis Lawrence returns to the franchise, carefully maintaining aesthetic and thematic through-lines with the earlier films. This story is set sixty-four years prior to Katniss Everdeen's first time in the titular games, so very few of the characters are the same (though some names like Heavensbee and Flickerman reveal ancestry in fun ways). And while the world is slightly different than the one established previously, it's instantly recognizable as the chilling world of Panem. Here, it hasn't been a dystopian hellscape for long, and this film dramatizes what is only the tenth annual Hunger Games.
It's a remarkably faithful adaptation of the novel, one that honors its story and characters admirably given the book's length (well, the film is plenty long to accommodate) and scope. The primary difference I noticed is that the book features detailed and long-winded philosophical conversations between the young Coriolanus Snow and his colleagues as he climbs the ranks of students, mentors, and finally gamemakers. The film slyly bypasses these, making the film notably more action-oriented than the book, though that's surely not a bad thing given its target audience and the flavor of previous installments. I personally like this series the farther it gets from the titular games; it's the politics and historical references I find most fascinating, and this story feels like a huge step in the right direction (like Mockingjay and its sequel). Additional references to things like District 13, Katniss, Mockingjays, and more are fun in the moment, though they do leave me wanting more.
And it's arguably partly due to the odd nature of the source material here. The book is as odd as the film in that while it's lovely to return to Panem and the ideas in the series, it begs the question of whether Collins has more "origin" stories to tell -- about Coin, for example, or the First Rebellion against the Capitol, when District 13 went underground -- because that would be super cool if they were written as such. The thing about The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes is that it's hard to tell if it's meant to be a standalone prequel. Especially its ending, which features a missing protagonist and the imminent rise of a villain, doesn't quite wrap up this story in satisfying dramatic terms, making us wonder if this is meant to be the start of a series focused on a young Snow.
The film belongs squarely to Tom Blyth in his performance as a young Coriolanus Snow, and it's a gripping performance, due to his striking beauty and arresting presence on screen. It's a shame he neither looks nor acts like Donald Sutherland, but then, who does? What Blyth brings, apart from youthful curiosity and desperation, is a sense of profound entitlement based purely on his own ambition. He's not from the wealthiest of families -- his too-brief scenes with Grandma'am (Fionnula Flanagan) and cousin Tigris (Hunter Schafer) indicate their filial warmth and financial duress -- but he's terrifyingly smart; Snow clearly changes his physical presence and mannerisms once he leaves home and is out among his peers and superiors, making himself more like them and even above them. He navigates a world of appearances and facades with deft footwork and a chilling poker face, developing his manipulations even as his integrity begins to crumble. There comes a point when he can't be bothered to justify or even label what he's doing as moral, much less his goals. It's just so subtle -- and was in the book, too -- which makes Snow such a fascinating and insidious character.
As for the film itself, I had a grand time soaking it all in. Due to its earlier time period, the design of costumes and props is retro, seemingly inspired by '50s decor, perhaps best showcased in the Hunger Games operational hub. A wall of old-style televisions, in front of wood paneling, displays views from within the arena while commentator Lucky Flickerman (Jason Schwartzman) hosts the first-ever national broadcast. He's delightful but in a more restrained way than his descendant, played by a zany Stanley Tucci, though this film features very little camp or comedy. The Capitol is a more dangerous place in this era, so its glamor is notably minimal, perhaps explaining why we get to know so few of its denizens in this film. Peter Dinklage plays Casca Highbottom, the dean of the Academy who co-imagined the Hunger Games and now is mentally tortured by the horror he has wrought with its implementation. Dr. Volumnia Gaul, sadistic and megalomaniacal head gamemaker, is played gleefully by Viola Davis, who imbues the eccentric character with camp and chews so much scenery she'll surely need dentures.
As I said, it's a fabulous film, much heavier and more bitter than I expected and almost devoid of humor, one that very much honors and continues what has come before. Rachel Zegler (West Side Story, Shazam: Fury of the Gods) plays Lucy Gray Baird, a traveling musician and burgeoning revolutionary who gets conscripted into the games, and her stunning voice and surprising physicality help her a lot, because her acting chops feel a little out of their depth here (though she's also not given much dynamics to play with by the screenplay, in which she's pretty one-note, so to speak). When the games do happen, in the middle act, it's more brutal than before, perhaps because of the starved and sick competitors (it's clear they'll be pampered in subsequent years, as the games become more spectacular and popular) and perhaps because of the comparatively small arena. But it's in the final act that I was most intrigued, after Snow and Baird have developed something more than mentorship connections that feel distinctly romantic or manipulative. While Lucy Gray is more fully herself, "Coryo" is steely and cold, and their fraught dance of tension during the denouement and emotional climax is a haunting and deeply uncomfortable end to the larger-than-life story. Which is to say, it's brave and bold and memorable, and not at all what I expected from this franchise at this late point.
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