Shakespeare Volunteers as Tribute: The Romeo and Juliet subtext in The Hunger Games

Is love a tender thing? It is too rough,

Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like a thorn. […]

I’ll be a candle holder, and look on.

The game was ne’er so fair, and I am done.

(Romeo and Juliet, Act 1, Sc. 4, 25-39)

In this statement, William Shakespeare captures the cruel tension that exists within Romeo’s feelings of love. “Fair” takes upon a dual meaning; for Romeo, love was never so “beautiful,” but it was also never so “reasonable” or “even-handed.” It’s fair but unfair. Love is simultaneously life-affirming and life-destroying … especially in Romeo and Juliet. It’s a beautiful game that creates and kills a pair of star-crossed lovers. And it’s a game that’s adapted into Suzanne Collins’ popular novel and motion picture.

            The Hunger Games novel includes a variety of allusions to Shakespeare’s romance. This is immediately evident in frequent references to Katniss and Peeta as “star-crossed” lovers; like Romeo and Juliet, their love is tragic based on circumstance. While Romeo and Juliet are at odds because of their families, Katniss and Peeta are at odds because of their government. And the odds are never in their favour because, after all, love is ne’er so fair.

            However, the Romeo and Juliet storyline is grounded as meta-fiction. The Games are televised and their love becomes theatrical. Thus, the final act in the Games, not the novel, parallels the final scene in Romeo and Juliet. They grab the berries and threaten a double suicide; like Romeo and Juliet, one refuses to live without the other no matter how irrational the decision is. They’re lovers so rushed and determined to demonstrate their affection for each other that they forget the value of their lives. Katniss has no intention of killing herself; the berries are simply another piece in her performance of “love.” It highlights the wild perceptions of love constructed within stories and art.

            Katniss is aware of its theatricality, calling attention to its construction and development. From this conscious position, Katniss is capable of dissecting and deconstructing the typical romantic relationship. She’s capable, and, to an extent, she does deconstruct this relationship. But this is still teen fiction; its only revolution exists within the novels.

Through this meta-fiction of a romantic storyline, the statement Katniss reveals is small but clear. From a removed vantage point, Katniss reveals every movement and expression that an audience could consider as “love.” From silent whispers to soft kisses, Katniss considers every detail and how it can be perceived as love. But she rarely believes any of it herself. She highlights how meaningless these actions are without any motivation or feeling behind them. In the arena, a kiss is simply a performance to receive some bread. I know that’s not love, you know that’s not love, and it’s only the gold diggers that are telling us otherwise. In this meta-fictional mode, however, Collins digs deeper into a more authentic source of love.

             To find Katniss’ real perception and understanding of love, we have to understand her character. She’s constantly paranoid about owing people anything. From a loaf of bread to people saving her life, Katniss hates to be in debt. She likes to stand on her own two feet; she likes to be independent. This is why she hunts for her family and does whatever she can to provide. It’s also why she is more concerned with an unsettled debt with Thresh than she is with the reality of her situation. However, this attitude is developed and altered as her understanding grows.

              It’s on the chariot toward the Games that Katniss’ relationship with Peeta is truly ignited. She is grateful to hold his hand because she feels his support, but she also recognizes that she is similarly supporting him. Even after the games, she continues to hold Peeta’s hand throughout the interviews and, without a leg to stand on, Peeta is also happy to find his balance. This mutual support is easily recognized as “love.” It’s so recognizable that we slap it on the top of a pastry and call it a wedding cake. But this isn’t the kind of love Katniss has for Peeta.

              Katniss explains the plan she executed in the arena and Peeta lets go of her hand. Peeta is hurt and Katniss is notably knocked off balance. For Peeta, mutual support is a thing reserved for romantic love; he puts it on a pastry pedestal. But Katniss encounters and embraces many forms of love, understanding that all of them require mutual support. I’m certain this is a theme taken up in the following novel, but Collins’ begins her statement in The Hunger Games. She demonstrates that love isn’t shallow and it can, and should be able to (perhaps in the following novels), exist in many forms.

              The parody of Romeo and Juliet highlights how selfish love is. Romeo and Juliet ignore everyone but themselves; they shut out the rest of the world, thinking only of their love. Katniss, on the other hand, considers the reactions and feelings of everyone at home; her family, Peeta’s family, and the rest of their district are just as present as their “love” for each other.

             The Romeo and Juliet subtext provided an excellent amount of depth to the novel. Like many great dystopias, The Hunger Games looks backwards more acutely than it looks forward. Collins is entrenched in the themes and images of Shakespeare’s tragedy. In the quote that opens this entry, Romeo compares love to a rose, but he does not focus on its vibrant colours or petals; instead, he complains that it pricks like a thorn. Once again, love is beautiful but threatening. Collins evokes this through the villainous President Snow and his white roses in the later novels of the trilogy. He’s a true Machiavellian villain, both loved and feared by his citizens, and Collins grapples with the dangers of this leadership.

             The novel impressed me with these references layered into it. It’s evidently written for a younger audience and the love stories are trite and awkward, but the most interesting relationship exists between the novel and Shakespeare’s tragedy. Collins even picks up a theatrical pacing in the novel. It encourages the audience to read on as every chapter ends by bleeding into the next. The ups and downs are constant leaving the audience with no clear space to pause.

             I’ll get an analysis of the film out as soon as I can. Will the theatrical pacing carry over from novel to film? Can the presence of Romeo and Juliet stand strong? Or will the relationships be Breaking Down into more familiar territory? I’m both eager and afraid to find out.

F. Scott Fitzgerald and Baz Luhrmann's The Great Gatsby: Can Gatz be Gatsby?

Set in New York during the roaring 20s, F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby (1925) outlines the clash between old money and new money, past love and present love, and the thinly veiled hypocrisies of the American Dream.

Throughout the novel, Gatsby works within a façade, mystifying his past to glorify his present. With an image of wealth and an Oxford dialect, Gatsby inserts himself into the upper-class. Gatz tries to “be” of fine breed, but he is both within and without. In other words, Gatz cannot be Gatsby; his upper-class façade eventually falls apart. Thus, Gatz (which is also a slang term for pistol) is inevitably shot. Beneath the surface of the person he tries to be, Gatsby is tragically overwhelmed by the identity of his past.  

The concepts and themes of false appearances and inescapable realities run throughout the novel; every character’s world comes crashing down when their outward image fails them. Gatsby achieves the monetary wealth of the American Dream, but he does not fit in, and, as a result, he never starts a family with Daisy. Tom stands for traditional American values of family, but his wife and his mistress eventually collide. Similar to Gatsby, Myrtle works to marry into the upper-class. She tries to push Daisy out of Tom’s life, but, in the end, she is left pushing daisies for an eternity. Boundless dreams crash into immovable facts, revealing some depressing realities for the characters involved.

In its most recent film adaptation, Baz Luhrmann takes the wheel from Fitzgerald, hoping to bring these themes and characters to the wide screen. Watching the previews for the film, however, made me very nervous. The screen filled with colours, lights, cars, and fireworks, pummelling me in every way to get my attention. Actors began to drop the name “Gatsby” as many times as possible, trying to ground the myriad of images in some sort of context. Without sound, it could have been an ad for a new Fast and Furious film. Credits plastered the screen with the names of famous songwriters from Beyonce to Will. I. Am. Finally, the infamous “filmed in 3D” stamped the close of the preview. It was as though someone had read The Great Gatsby, but the font was displayed in all caps.   

I began to worry that Luhrmann’s adaptation would face the inverted trouble of Gatsby. Despite his outward appearance, Gatsby’s identity and past inflates to the surface. I feared that the film would berate the audience with a flashy appearance, disguising a complete lack of substance underneath. Whereas Gatsby cannot escape the reality that lies beneath, the preview gave me the impression that the film would remain trapped in only the concerns of appearance. This practice doesn’t always equate to a terrible film, but it does threaten to equate a terrible adaptation. I want something that feels like the novel just as much as it looks like the novel.

To my surprise, however, the themes of the novel were brought apparently to the surface of the film. Through clever uses of colour and mise-en-scene, Lurhmann translates the complexities of the characters to a visual medium. Lurhmann’s construction of Gatsby relies on how he is framed in every shot. Consider Gatsby’s first date with Daisy at Nick’s home. The room is filled with bright, white flowers; Gatsby amongst them in a white suit, trying to blend with them and emulate their splendour. However, his nerves cause him to wander to the window. In this shot, Gatsby is framed by the flowers, but he has also stepped into a smaller frame outlined by the window panes. The dark clouds and rain seen through the windows separates Gatsby from the flowers he tries to blend with. Gatsby struggles between the person he tries to be for Daisy and the dark reality of who he is. As Daisy is about to enter the room, a close-up shot of Gatsby’s nervous face is framed solely by window pane; dark clouds and rain contrast the white flowers that had filled the previous shots. Gatsby is paranoid that the reality underneath (the Gatsby within the inner-frame) is displayed on the surface. His true identity threatens to push the flowers away, revealing him to Daisy. It’s an excellent sequence of visuals that highlights some primary themes within Fitzgerald’s novel.

Unfortunately, the character interactions that follow these visuals steer away from the subtlety of the novel. Rather than transcribing or developing themes from Fitzgerald’s novel, Gatsby’s first date with Daisy becomes an excerpt from a Hugh Grant Romantic Comedy. Gatsby begins to fumble with a clock on the mantle, breaking it under the pressure of his nerves. Nick goes to exit the house, but Gatsby stops him; Nick is forced to calm Gatsby down with some simple advice. Gatsby then returns to Daisy, trying to overcome the “wrong-couple” dynamic she evokes with Tom. Lurhmann emphasizes this dynamic, cutting to a shot of the home just across the water. Aligning an awkward protagonist, a supporting friend, blonde bait and her looming husband, the film veers into rom-com territory. Lurhmann demystifies Gatsby, submitting him to the popular language cinema. The glasses of Dr. Eckleburg suddenly became the glasses of Woody Allen, but the two have very different views of New York. Luckily, Lurhmann blurs through the Daisy/Gatsby romance with an overlapping edit of images.

Similar to Gatsby, the contradictions of Tom Buchannan’s character are also creatively displayed in visuals. At his introduction, Tom is hosting a dinner party at his home. In the establishing shot of the grand manor, Lurhmann emphasises a balanced mise-en-scene. White columns and straight paths highlight the vertical, consistently running parallel with each other; entire set point up. In other words, the sky is the limit for Tom. Contrasting the flowers that shroud Gatsby (bushes and trees similarly shroud shots of Gatsby’s house), Tom’s home is clear, bright, and seemingly honest. This ideal continues as Tom greets Nick into his home through long hallways with tall windows.

However, these visuals are twisted in Tom’s apartment with Myrtle. While the apartment still emphasises the vertical, everything is skewed and unbalanced. The building reaches for the sky amongst many others doing the same, but the varying levels of height disturb the scene. The blotchy colour of window lights and floating smog further diminishes the vertical sentiment. Dark and bright red stripes on the wallpaper substitute the white columns of Tom’s home Windows, doors, couches, and curtains hug the edges of frame to tilt the balance; the room looks like a chaotic mess, getting worse as more people and more alcohol enters the room. The vertical no longer points to the sky, but instead traps the viewer in a claustrophobic mess. It becomes a prison run by Tom’s many vices. Tom’s home says “reach,” but his apartment screams “overreached.” Luhrmann highlights the contradictions Tom faces in his pursuit and achievement of the American Dream.

By contrast to Tom and Gatsby, however, Nick Carraway’s transition from page to screen is much more over the top. Whereas the conflicting identities held within Tom and Gatsby remain separate, Nick’s conflicted self is brought immediately to the surface. In the novel, Nick Carraway simply gets “carried away” into whatever situation he encounters. Nick is swept away by the business opportunities in New York, and he follows every proposal made by Gatsby, Jordan, Tom, or Daisy. Like thousands of others with dreams in New York, Nick becomes a cab driver, subjected to the whims of those surrounding him. He comments and judges, but the other characters decide where to go and how to get there. Throughout the novel, Nick gets trapped in the lives of other before pathetically noticing he’s reached his thirtieth birthday. In the end, everyone leaves him without offering a tip or even saying goodbye.

Similar to Nick, Lurhmann seems to get carried away in re-constructing the characters in his story. Just as Nick exaggerates Gatsby’s character, Lurhmann exaggerates Nick. In order to justify Nick’s narration, Lurhmann depicts him writing about his experience while trapped within an asylum. There is no longer a development to recognize the weaknesses in Nick’s character; instead, Lurhmann insists they are there, calling the audience to seek them out. While this is an interesting tactic to raise the themes of Fitzgerald’s novel, he sacrifices the subtlety of Nick’s character. The “insanity” Nick exhibits in the novel surrounds his weak sense of self; he does not fit into the American dream, so he simply watches others take their shots. In the novel, there is a balance between the absurdity of the world and Nick’s disposition, but Lurhmann shoe-horns this into the film. At least in the opening scene, the character construction feels forced.
            On the other hand, the use of the written word in Nick’s narration evokes some interesting themes. When Nick begins to write his story, he scribbles furiously onto a page, describing the party at Tom’s apartment. The chicken-scratch cursive scrolls onto the screen; he crosses out words, uncertain of his experience, and dressing it up as much as possible. By contrast, when writing about Gatsby’s love for Daisy, the words appear typed out, rising in and out of the screen’s foreground. Gatsby’s love, unlike the party, is expressed with certainty. These separate styles of writing come together in the final scene of the film. Nick types out his title page: “Gatsby,” but after a second glance, he prefaces the title in pen. “THE GREAT” is scrawled win the same chicken-scratch writing, emphasizing the duplicity and uncertainty of Gatsby’s identity.

Final Thoughts:
            Lurhmann plays it safe with his adaptation of Fitzgerald’s novel. Using visual cues in the mise-en-scene of many shots, Lurhmann translates many of the novel’s themes onto the widescreen. Nick’s hand writing and typing also creatively re-constructs elements of the novel. The major characters are (for the most part) faithfully re-imagined. Although, “old sport” is Lurhmann’s primary means of displaying high class. The “old sport” revelation on the yacht was shallower than the green screen it was riding on. Nick’s position in the asylum is the only creative leap Lurhmann tries to make; it doesn’t fall flat, but it also doesn’t bring anything new or fresh to the story.
            All in all, the film is worth watching only after reading the novel. The film brings out some major themes, highlighting them for the audience. However, flashy parties and a grandiose soundtrack aren’t enough to keep the attention of a viewer that hasn’t read the novel. Themes and characters are displayed on the screen, but they don’t take on a life of their own. It’s more of a picture book than a film adaptation; the colours and sights are all there, but the viewer is kept on the sidelines. Characters and events feel static and emotionless until the final scenes. The anger of Tom and Gatsby is far more exhilarating than their love for Daisy. That is the only moment they truly rise off the page.

 Epilogue:
            While films can try to capture every major scene, theme, concept, and character in the novel, many things get left on the cutting room’s floor. No matter what, films will always be short stories, so when they try to be novels, pages will get left out. However, many of these missing pages will receive quick nods or oblique references. Consider them treats for the fans of the original piece; a raised eyebrow; or a great, all knowing, everything is going to be O.K smile.
            I was disappointed to see Nick’s excursion with the photographer, Mr.Mckee, left out of the film. In the novel, Nick eludes to a brief, late night encounter with the photographer following the party at Tom’s apartment. The experience with the photographer, “clad in his underwear,” incites an interesting dynamic in Gatsby and Nick’s relationship. At times, Nick reveals love and jealousy for Gatsby, producing a variety of subtle conflicts within the narratives. Unfortunately, the scene with Mr. Mckee is left out of the film, and the Nick/Gatsby relationship loses its edge. Tom makes a minor reference at the apartment in the film, suggesting Nick “prefers to watch,” but this is not nearly as explicit as Fitzgerald.

This could be left out for a variety of reasons: to reduce the running time, to sanitize the film, or maybe it didn’t seem important to the producers or Lurhmann. A subtle reference to the Nick/Gatsby relationship, however, rings out toward the end of the film. At the initial dinner party in Tom’s home, the ringing phone is highlighted, emphasizing his affair with Myrtle. The camera provides a close-up as the phone rattles, ending the conversation at the table. This shot is paralleled toward the end of the film when Gatsby is desperately awaiting a call from Daisy, his one true love. There is a close-up on the phone as it shivers with the expectation of a forbidden love. Gatsby slowly approaches the phone, but it is Nick’s voice that answers. In this parallel, Nick becomes Gatsby’s mistress, his love on the side of Daisy. Brilliant.

            I hope you made it all the way through this! But even if you didn’t, what were your opinions on the novel and/or the film? What did Lurhmann leave out or change that had you cringing or smiling?
            Shifting gears, I’ve just started reading Suzanne Collins’ The Hunger Games, and I’ll be watching the Gary Ross’ film adaptation immediately after. I’ll fight my way through that and pray that someone is hungry for another analysis!