Two weeks out from the release of Catching Fire, the second of four installments in the Hunger Games cinematic saga, I have to make a confession: I have no idea what’s going to happen.
When I saw the first Hunger Games movie, I didn’t know anything about the series beyond the vague impression that it had something to do with a futuristic gladiator-battle involving children and that Jennifer Lawrence dyed her hair. I knew nothing of the author’s backstory or the trilogy’s plot, and I was not prepared for the brutality, the depth, the richness or the excitement I would find in the film.
Basically, I wasn’t prepared for how much I was going to like it.
I went to see the movie with two of my friends who had not only read the entire series but had already seen the movie multiple times. After a while, I think they each decided that watching the movie was not nearly as entertaining as watching me watch the movie. I was enraptured in every development and devastated by every twist, visibly and audibly reacting to every boom of the cannon and draw of Katniss’ bow.
I must have looked silly with my knees pulled up to my chin during the showdown with Cato or with tears in my eyes after Rue’s impromptu funeral inspired riots in one of the districts. My jaw dropped when I first saw Effie Trinket in her Antoinette-esque getup, as I had seen no promo images from the film and had kind of assumed the whole thing took place in some sort of jungle. Imagine my surprise when the tributes were bullet-trained to the surreal, psychotropic Capital and introduced to the bizarre alien people with the neon hair and no eyebrows. I didn’t even know what to do with myself. I couldn’t keep up with how impressed I was. I didn’t know whether to pay attention to the stunning visuals, the prescient cultural and political commentary, the brisk and compelling plot or the stellar performances from the supporting cast comprising Woody Harrelson, Elizabeth Banks, Stanley Tucci and Lenny Kravitz, none of whom I had any idea were going to be in the movie.
I had no guesses about how Katniss was going to make it out alive, and I had no clue that the real plot of the series would follow the rebellion of the districts, which I’m assuming it does. (Does it?! Don’t tell me.)
It was one of the most thrilling and memorable experiences I’ve had in a movie theater, and I’m certain that it’s because my expectations going in were virtually nonexistent. Before the credits had even come up I knew I needed to replicate that experience. I set the goal, right there in the theater seat: I would avoid Hunger Games spoilers for the next several years.
I’ve revealed this secret ambition to only a few carefully chosen confidants who I was sure wouldn’t betray me. They’ve all had exactly the same reaction: “I envy you.” They’ve all told me they wish they could experience it for the first time again, that they didn’t know what was in store. I aim to live out their dreams.
I’ve started by avoiding conversations, articles, images, trailers and even Google searches related to the series. I’ve seen a poster for Catching Fire, and that’s it. Katniss is wearing a very pretty dress. I have no idea why. It’s fantastic.
Two weeks away from the premiere (I’m going to the midnight showing with another friend who has also read the whole series), the weight of spoiler avoidance is becoming so heavy not even Peeta could lift it. The books are a cultural phenomenon and knowledge of their plot is a given among my generation, but I’ve made a promise to sit in the corner with my hands over my ears for as long as it takes — all in the name of the in-theater experience. It’s a commitment, but I expect it will be worth it. As long as no one spoils it for me.
Haylee Pearl is a junior studying journalism and copy chief for The Post. Don’t email her and spoil the Hunger Games trilogy at hp208311@ohiou.edu.
