Movie Review: The Hunger Games (or: North Korean Idol)

Recantly, Ado and I went to Hunger Games at Midtown Arts Cinema, also known, as Ado puts it, as beatnick central.  What you have to understand about this theater is that it adjoins a semi-rowdy bar called The Highlander, which is known for its pitcher of tots (used to be an actual pitcher of tater tots, but the ones at the bottom got so soaked in grease as to be inedible, so it's now just a mass of tater tots served on a plate-- still called a 'pitcher of tots,') and the free availability of PBR and cocaine inside.  Air hockey, pool, indoor smoking and restrooms that are undoubtedly cesspits of venereal disease round out the package.

The Midtown Arts theater to the south is generally characterized by a third-world kind of feel.  Screening rooms are smallish, and the seating is flatter than traditional theater seating, putting you lower behind the person in front of you-- if they're wearing a church hat, God help you.  Screens are generally small, but close.  Ado got to experience a small flap when a dirty landgrab went down in the second AND third rows, but I'll let her tell it herself:

We purchased tickets in advance, having heard this Hunger Games movie was quite popular.  So, knowing we were sure to get seats, we arrived about 15 minutes before the film started, and headed into one of two screening room options.  We chose Theater 1, on the ticket-ripper's advice, and headed in.  The room was tiny, and already very full.  And what's with people in theaters?  Why does everybody, knowing it's going to be a packed house, feel the need to still leave that buffer seat between them and the strangers sitting next to them?  Swine flu?  Highlander regulars?  Just sit next to them.  But I digress.

The Rooster and I enjoy each other, and we like to sit next to each other in a theater.  Luckily, we found about eight open seats in rows two and three, so we made our move.  Just as we were gearing up to sit down for two hours of murderous child exploitation, we hear an "um, those seats are saved."  Oh, ok, let us just move to the row behind, which had several open seats.  Same girl: "um, those are saved too."  This is where the Rooster starts to get his feather ruffled.  He plainly looks at her and says, "you can't save eight seats."  She begged to differ.  Rooster will tell his side of the story...

So, what Ado is too kind to mention is that this woman looked like Whoopi Goldberg.  I'm not kidding.  She didn't have the Sister Act II paunch, but she was working on it.  She had the dirty, earthen look to her that said: if she had a child, it would undoubtedly breast feed well into its fifth year.  I hated her.  She was saving like twenty percent of the theater and doing it without a shred of moral repugnance at her act.  Ado wouldn't let me engage with the woman for long (fearing, no doubt, Whoopi's cruel wrath) so I simply told her that her position was ridiculous and left it at that.

Some gents in the next row up were kind enough to move one seat closer to a stranger so we could sit on the two end seats.  The dudes, who were clearly life partners of some sort, were just tickled pink with the situation unfolding directly in front of them, and were actively jeering Whoopi.  They were downright hilarious, and their handholding somehow didn't threaten Ado's and my relationship.  Or really the sanctity of marriage, but what do we know about that?  I think Ado wants to describe the motley crew that eventually slimed into the "saved" seats...

I'm not gonna lie, I didn't want Rooster to engage this woman because I feared her friends were going to be Brock Lesnar-esque.  I mean, who has the stones to save eight seats unless the people you're saving them for play for some professional football team?  Well, I was wrong.  The group of misfits who slowly trickled in was quite a sight.  I was lucky enough to get a full crack shot courtesy of the pudgy fellow sitting directly in front of me, and the gent sitting in front of Rooster had a fro so wild his friends slid a drinking straw into it (gross), and it stayed.  And he was wearing a velvet smoking jacket. Like a jackass.

Rooster here again, and, with the seating melodrama beat to death in the above paragraphs, it's on to the movie review!  We're going to proceed along a set rubric here-- each of us will talk about things we liked, things we disliked about the movie, and then we'll place it between two movies of similar quality.  You'll see how it works.

The Hunger Games, I've been told, depicts a post-apocalyptic world.  I came in with no prior knowledge of the storyline, so all I saw was Stanley Tucci, with purple hair, as seemingly the only television personality, which I guess is a good indicator that the apocalypse has come to pass. The whole thing reminded me of North Korea, with the outlying provinces at near-starvation levels while the privileged few consume Olympic sized pools of cognac, quarterly.  I don't know that North Korean children would be healthy enough to have a good war, but that's beside the point.

The premise is that each 'District,' as a punishment for a past rebellion against the 'Capitol' some years ago, must pay a yearly penance of two children, one of each gender, to compete in the Hunger Games, a no holds barred competition of, well, murder.  The children are of various ages and weights, such that there are small, meek players that are destined to be killed within minutes of the competition's start.  The object is to remain standing, and to be the last one doing so.  The winner gets to keep his or her life.

The competition is broadcast to the Districts with live feeds streamed from too-conveniently positioned cameras in the battle area, where the children wield weapons with varying success against their fellow 'tributes.'  I won't tell you what happens, but I will tell you what I liked about the movie.

I liked the movie's political bent, making itself into a haves vs. have nots platform for thought.  I liked Stanley Tucci, despite my disparaging remarks above, and I liked its version of the totalitarian state.  The violence allowed and perpetrated by the state was just limited enough to be believable, but just horrible enough to be shocking.  The state's efforts to control the media lent realism to the fictitious regime.  The attention to detail, I thought, was good.

As to what I didn't like, there is, in the middle of this movie, a death scene (spoiler! OMG!  Someone dies!)  that is so drawn out, it makes you want to actually leave the theater, murder a homeless man, and then come back for the cut.  The scene is so overdone, it gets you looking at your watch, which helps you keep in mind that this movie runs for 142 minutes, which can be a very long time if you're sitting downwind of Whoopi and the gang.  So, the movie's stubborn desire to make sure you REALLY get it is probably my biggest gripe.  I could have used someone less Kristin Stewart-y in the main role, but where are you going to find a 17 year old Anna Nicole Smith these days?  The drama club has taken over Hollywood, and the salad days, my friends, are over.

So, to put it between two movies with similar entertainment value:

The Hunger Games is better than Sherlock Holmes , but not as good as Jurassic Park.

Now, for my (Ado's) review of the film.  The premise, although we've seen it before (Running Man anyone?) was great.  Kids being forced to battle to the death to honor their corrupt 'Capitol', and having it all broadcast live for their horrified families to witness?  Um, awesome!  But for some reason, I didn't care one bit about any of the characters in this film.  Maybe it was the names:  Katniss, Primrose, Peeta?  I don't relate to girls named Katniss and Primrose.  And Peeta just sounds like the way Lois from The Family Guy says 'Peter.'  I'm always confused when authors and screenwriters feel the need to give the characters in their storylines weird names.  I thought about it the entire movie.  Jennifer Lawrence was a good choice for the lead, considering she pretty much just reprised her role in Winter's Bone.  A girl from rural W. VA, poor, no dad, spending a lot of time walking around outside and hunting for food.  But I do think she was a worthy pick.

I had more complaints about the film than raves.  First, it was WAY too long.  Maybe if the filmmakers cut out the extended close-up shots of Katniss' distressed face, they could have shaved off about 30 minutes.  For someone who was literally running for her life, she did spend a lot of time pausing for various, unknown reasons.  Let see here, OH, the rule change 3/4 of the way into the film, that was SO lame!  I get it, no one wants main characters to be killed off.  But I find it hard to believe the Capitol (in real life, obvi) would change the game just to foster some sappy love story angle.  That was unrealistic.  One victor, that's it.  This may sound creepy and morbid, but I expected it to be a little more violent.  I'll give the filmmakers a pass on that one, seeing as they needed the PG-13 rating to attract the tween fans of the books.  The only other serious gripe I had was the introduction of the dogs at the end.  In my opinion, that was dirty pool.  The game was going a little long, so they bring in rabid, mutant dogs to speed up the killing process?  Why?  Give the kids time!  They'll whack each other eventually.

I loved the sculpted facial hair of Seneca Crane!  It was like Color Me Badd all over again.  Effie Trinket's outfits were outrageous, and I loved every scene she was in.  In my opinion, Elizabeth Banks stole the show!  The Capitol style in general was eye candy, and it made me want to live in the future just so I could strut around with pink hair, and crazy, bright, futuristic, but still kinda 80s-looking clothing.  Although, with my luck, I'd be stuck in District 12, so I'd have to wear that prairie-style garb.

I'd put The Hunger Games above The Running Man (better clothes, no bad accents) but below Castaway (Tom Hanks and Wilson were more captivating than Katniss and Peeta).

May the odds be ever in your favor.

They're all just a bunch of Seabiscuits

So, Ado and I were slumming through the Netflix on demands for some mind-numbing time heroin, and she noted to me that some of the sci-fi titles on the screen sounded vaguely like race horse names.  With this in mind, we excitedly scrolled through a less than scientific sampling of the other titles on demand and realized that this phenomenon was not just a sci-fi thing, it was an EPIDEMIC.  Think of a couple of the highest-grossing films of 2011-- for instance, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, or maybe Warhorse or Haywire (that last one being a dull pun, of course.)

But, the more we thought about this, we became convinced that, without the aid of Google and with no prior knowledge of the movie or horse, the names of the two would be completely indistinguishable... On to the challenge, then!  Of course, we can't control for what you know, or whether you use such chicanery as search engines, but here's the list, which is derived from a sampling of Rotten Tomatoes' Top 100 Art House & International Movies of All Time list (so you hopefully don't know them!) and the names of past winners of either the Belmont Stakes, the Kentucky Derby or Preakness:


1.  Bandit Queen (1994)
2.  Timber Country (1995)
3.  Local Hero (1983)
4.  Caveat (1983)
5.  Unbridled (1990)
6.  Animal Kingdom (2010)
7.   Canonero II (1971)
8.  Afghan Star (2008)
9.  Danzig Connection (1986)
10.  Last Train Home (2009)

Give it a shot, horse or movie?

Answer Sheet!

1.  Bandit Queen (1994)- Movie
2.  Timber Country (1995)- Preakness winner
3.  Local Hero (1983)- Movie
4.  Caveat (1983)- Belmont Stakes winner
5.  Unbridled (1990)- Kentucky Derby winner-- thought this was going to be a movie, didn't you?
6.  Animal Kingdom (2010)-  Movie!  You did see the 2010, right?  Animal Kingdom, the horse, didn't win the Kentucky Derby until 2011, so you probably got that one wrong... Right? http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/animal_kingdom/
7.   Canonero II (1971)- Preakness winner
8.  Afghan Star (2008)- Movie
9.  Danzig Connection (1986)- Belmont Stakes winner
10.  Last Train Home (2009)- Movie

Welcome to Atlanta, Where the Players Play--or--Most White People in Zone 3 Since 1953

Upon learning of  my exact arrival date, Rooster set out to throw an epic "Welcome to Atlanta" party at the soon-to-be-Christened "Woodster" residence in beautiful Zone 3. 

It was to be the party of the century (or at least the week of October 1st), complete with friends, music, ribs, and all the booze one can safely consume.  He called every friend dear to his heart and begged them to let go of their misgivings about driving south of I-20.  For one night, venture out of the warm, safe confines of Lindbergh and Sandy Springs, and do it up ghetto stylie.  To his delight, everyone agreed to brave the Desoto Avenue antics, and the party plans were set.

Atlanta residents would be represented, but how could I bring Tacoma to dirty?  Ask friends to fly across these great states for one night of partying?  Duh.  Well, to be fair, of the three friends who showed up from the Northwest, one is a flight attendant (Jenny), one is the flight attendant's resident boy-toy (Anthony-or "Anfernee"), and one moved to Enterprise, AL for training and was only a three hour drive away (one Tom Tupa).  But still, how popular would I look, having three friends from back home come to my Zone 3 party? Prom queen popular. 

The morning of the party, Tom Tupa arrived and Rooster, Tupa, and I set out to run standard pre-party errands: Kroger (for bbq fixin's, beer, chips, ice, etc.), Target (for a blow-up mattress for Jenny and Anfernee), and Marshall's (for an ice bucket, and sheets for the new blow-up mattress).  When we returned mid-day, it was time to get the party started by cracking first beer.  After Rooster made the short trip to Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport to pick up the rest of my Tacoma crew, my contribution to the shindig was complete.  Slowly, everyone arrived and the soiree was fully underway.  Here are a few pieces of photographic gold for you to feast your eyes upon. 

Val, giving fashionistas everywhere the finger by wearing white after Labor Day.

Mr. Charles, our DJ for the evening.

Scott and Joanna arriving in style.

The Overfields

 We all looked pretty lucid while the sun was awake.  And we just kept going... 

  

Rooster gives me a lift so my head can actually get in the shot.

Jenny telling dirty jokes.

End of the night hookah sesh (just flavored tobacco.  Don't worry, Army).

 The inaugural Woodster party went off without a hitch.  Even the dogs (specifically, Ryan) behaved themselves and made us proud parents.  I felt welcomed and embraced by my new Atlanta family, and hopefully it was the first of many social events to be held at Websterwood.

-Ado

Fartin' around with the Fireplace

Before.

Sometime in September, 2011, Ado and the Rooster became completely unsatisfied with the state of their fireplace.  The status quo, being a gloss white paint job on the brick and hearth (pictured at right), was simply insufficient to give the living room any sort of character.  The fireplace is, to the best of our ability to determine, nonfunctional.  There is a firestop inside the chimney just above the fireplace itself, indicating that some previous owner decided that the fire risk presented by the circa 1924 chimney was too great to justify continued use.  Given the Rooster's risk aversion respecting fire, we elected not to try to put the fireplace back in service as such, but instead to make it a decorative installation that would give the living room an aesthetic focal point.

The gloss white on the bricks operated to conceal ("gloss over"-- if you'll let us get away with a shameful pun) the cracks in and porosity of the bricks, giving the whole fireplace a bland, faux-fireplace appearance. A+R decided that if the fireplace was nonfunctional, it should at least be beautiful.

Rooster decided that the best way to draw the eye to the fireplace was to apply an unabashedly bright color.  Rooster thought orange would do quite nicely, especially in a flat paint which would create contrast along the mortar lines and give the brick a more natural, weathered appearance that would emphasize their texture. Despite Ado's misgivings about the color selection, she begrudgingly put her full faith in Rooster on this count, citing the fact that he would be made to paint over the orange if it didn't suit the boss's (Ado's) taste when complete.

Our trip to home depot revealed a plethora of orange colors that made the decision as to which color to use fairly difficult.  To make matters worse, when we had settled on a color from the Martha Stewart line, or some other high-falutin' proprietary pallet, the fine folks at Home Depot refused to mix the color in any base except for the one produced by Martha Stewart (or whatever manufacturer the color chip came from.)  Rooster, having worked in a hardware store paint department during high school, knew to a moral certainty that the paint pimps at the Depot had the technological capability to simply apply the same colorant formula to ANY base (including the much cheaper store brand paint) and achieve the same color.  However, in a low-down move that very well could violate federal antitrust law, the paint department refused to do this.

As a result of the Depot's stubborn refusal to get right, Ado and the Rooster were forced into selecting an almost-identical color from the ghetto swatches, where the colors are not tagged with the creative names* that make you really want to buy them.  So, we ended up with "LA606 Pumpkin 6," after eliminating from contention Pumpkins 1 through 5.  Obviously, the asshats at the generic paint factory have little incentive to exercise artistic license, and follow the same naming conventions as do owners of budget Chinese restaurants like the omnipresent "Happy Mandarin Garden III" or "Chin Chin 2."

A deliciously sexy paint prep laborer is very hard to find, but luckily enough Rooster found
Ado in the  Home Depot parking lot, looking for some trabajo.

After the Depot run was done, and the team hatefest directed at Home Depot was duly completed, the real work began.  The first step we took was to rough up the existing gloss finish on the brick with a 300-400 grit sanding sponge.  The dust was there, but not unbearable.  After sanding, we wiped down the bricks and hearth with a chemical solution to further break down the gloss paint, making it sufficiently porous to accept the new, flat coating.  After the surface prep was done, we began the most dreaded part of any painting project: taping.

Having finished the taping (Rooster's lines were-- obviously-- far superior to those established by Ado, but her sweet ass made up for her shoddy workmanship), Websterwood Painting, LP** set to work.  The first few brush strokes thoroughly tested Ado's "full faith" in Rooster's color decision, as the difference in appearance of the fireplace was, initially, quite shocking, as was the disturbingly low level of Rooster's pants.

They say crack kills, but Rooster is still kickin'.

 After a couple hours of painting, having established the esprit de corps that comes along with team efforts in potentially PTSD-inducing situations, we put the final coat on the fireplace, and it was starting to look like it was intended by the heavens to spend the rest of its days wearing Pumpkin #6.  So, to properly set off the orange, and to incorporate another, more natural color element, Websterwood elected to tile the hearth using glass mosaic tiles.  These tiles are exceedingly easy to work with, because they're set on a mesh backing that helps to maintain their spacing while setting the tile.  A light coat of mastic on the hearth, a short waiting period for it to tackify, and then the tiles were set!

Next came the grouting, which provided its own set of headaches.  Primary among these was the repugnant campaign of propaganda from Lowe's and Home Depot which tries to convince consumers that they need a "grout float" to properly grout in tiles.  When we went to the grout/ mastic/ trowel aisle, we discovered that grout floats, like the one pictured at right were going for approximately one year's tuition at an elite private university (actually, about $30... but who's counting?)  Websterwood Painting is no friend of cost overruns, so we came to the mutual, executive decision to pass on the surgical-grade grout float.  Instead, Rooster searched his extensive knowledge archive of rubber products for a solution and arrived at the following conclusion:  let's try a squeegee.  As you can see from the pictured grout float, the operative parts are simply rubber edges set at an angle.  So, after telling the Depot vultures to pound sand, Websterwood took a quick trip to Target, and found the following:
  If you click on the squeegee, you will be redirected to Target's website showing that this GEM of a construction tool (any port in a storm!) has prices that vary by store.  This means that, in Detroit, the little bastard is probably free.  We paid about $3.50, if memory serves.  This amount may have just exceeded the sales tax on the aforementioned grout float.  And, wonder of wonders, it did the same damn thing.  The Home Depot "professionals" can take their vile, lying asses straight to Mississippi (I would say Hell, but I don't want to let those bastards off easy!)

After grouting the tiles in and squeegeeing the excess, we sponged off the excess grout the next day (in fairness, Rooster was VERY concerned that the excess grout on top of the tiles would harden and defy removal efforts if left overnight, but Ado's devil-may-care attitude prevailed when she assured Rooster that the excess would "come right off" the glass tiles even the next day or thereafter.  At 1:30am, it was very easy for Rooster to trust Ado on that count and that trust was vindicated when, approximately one week after the initial grouting, Rooster got back after it with the sponge.  With a little warm water, and having the benefit of the smooth surface of the glass, the dried excess grout slid off faster than greased owl shit on a hockey rink.

The final product, after approximately $200.00 in expense and countless, yet enjoyable man hours (person hours?) looks like this:

With the addition of a decorative burnt bronze-finish fireplace screen, our living room has not only a focal point, but something of a showpiece.  Visitors, even if they were so inclined, cannot fail to notice the orange color, and are very complimentary of the tile (although Rooster suspects those visitors attribute a lot more effort and heartache to the tile job than it actually took).  To finalize this project, Websterwood Painting plans to subcontract with even a marginally-competent finish carpenter to trim out the edges of the hearth, but that, like many other loose ends on home improvement projects, is currently on the back burner.

The thrust of this post is not simply to highlight the fireplace, but, rather, is to point up the work that went into the project.  While Rooster had expressed desire to change the fireplace finish for some time, it would likely never have been accomplished without the loving but firm application of Ado's spurs.  And, once the project was underway, Ado's contributions on both the labor and moral support fronts were invaluable to its completion.  For Rooster, this project was something of a revelation, which is easily translatable into advice to similarly situated gentlemen: if you have a Honey-Do (not honeydew, which I refuse to trust until this cantaloupe clusterfuck is cleared up) List, make every effort to involve its maker, your own honey, in its completion.  Not only do you get some cheap/free labor out of the deal, but the memories made while sharing the sweat, frustration and unwarranted, union-style break times of a project like this will keep you looking at whatever your finished product is and smiling.

-ROOSTER

*As a side note regarding creative color names,  Rooster invites all readers to listen to the Ricky Smiley Morning Show (syndicated throughout Black America) and pay close attention to their resident sweet boy, Gary with the Tea, who craps out a segment called the "Colour [kuh-lure] of the Day."  Gary describes a color with an ultra-premium-sounding name, and then identifies the commonplace name for the color, in the following pattern:  "Here's your kuh-luuuure of the day y'all:  On the high end, you call it Mysterious Blueberry Chaos.  And down there on the low end, honey, it's called indigo."  More Colours of the Day may be found at http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=35458402975&v=wall

**Limited Partnership ;)