Tribute to a Trilogy of Truth

Let me start by saying, Clap your hands if you think that title is awesome!
*bursts of applause from the peanut gallery*
Thank you, thank you. Now, I suppose you'd like to know the point of the title you didn't clap about. The trilogy to which I am referring is, of course, the most popular one in the world right now:
THE HUNGER GAMES (by Suzanne Collins. *Hooray!*)
And why am I writing a tribute to this trilogy, as if the hundreds of millions of book sales and hundreds of millions of dollars in movie revenue do not provide enough recognition? As if my opinion were worth anything? Because the opinions that don't produce revenue are sometimes the most valuable in non-monetary ways. I can bear this out by my own experience: My best friends have not paid money to read my book, but after getting it shoved in their face a few times some of them have given some pretty constructive criticism. Likewise, I have not bought a copy of any of the Hunger Games books; the first two I checked out from the library and the third I borrowed from my sister. *Thank you!!* Yet, I would venture to say that I appreciated the story's relevance a lot more than most of the 11 to 20-year-olds who went to midnight showings of the film just to see Josh Hutcherson duke it out with some hot Careers who know how to use a sword. Or their boyfriends who joined them to see Jennifer Lawrence in that red dress.
I, personally, do think that Josh Hutcherson is one attractive human being, and Jennifer Lawrence was an excellent depiction of Katniss. But to me and a minority of Hunger Games fans out there, these young actors' performances made them more than "rising stars" or "the new sensation". I almost wish that their careers could be limited to this trilogy, that they would never play in anything else, so that this is what they'd be remembered for. Because Jennifer Lawrence was not just a ridiculously talented actress playing the role of "the girl on fire"; for two hours she became, body and soul, Katniss Everdeen of District 12. And Josh Hutcherson was not just a ridiculously handsome kid playing a character that girls across the country have swooned over; for two hours I connected with him as Peeta Mellark, the eloquent and personable and infuriatingly good person that Suzanne Collins meant to portray.
And every other person in the film contributed something meaningful to it, even just by walking around the set in an outfit that said "Look at me, I'm a rich and sheltered resident of the Capitol and I will never have to put my name in twenty times for tesserae." As Caesar Flickerman, the one whose job it is to make the Games look like innocent fun, Stanley Tucci portrayed exactly the right touch of sorrow and disgust for the plight of the Tributes. As Cinna, someone made rich and famous by the privilege of dressing these Tributes, Lenny Kravitz's disregard for the glory--and compassion towards those who suffer as a result of it--is touching. As Rue, Amandla Stenberg doesn't ask for pity but moves us to it anyway, and I'm certain that, as her death played out, there was not a dry eye in the audience at the movie showing I attended. My 25-year-old "big brother" figure was sitting next to me, and he cried.
Did the majority of the audience know why they were crying? Of course, a little girl died and it was sad. She should not have died. It wasn't fair. Yes, I acknowledge and agree with all of that. But Rue's was not the only death I cried over at that moment. Do you know what I mean?
If so, I raise three fingers to you, friend, for having the insight to discern the TRUTH behind these phrases: "Thank you for your children. And thank you all for the bread."

Thanks for reading,

Brooklyn

P.S. Visit my web site for samples of "The Hunger Anthems", my series of poems written as a tribute to the trilogy.