The Girl Who Was on Fire by Diana Peterfreund, Carrie Ryan, Jennifer Lynn Barnes, Leah Wilson, Terri Clark, Blythe Woolston
Authors: Diana Peterfreund, Carrie Ryan, Jennifer Lynn Barnes, Leah Wilson, Terri Clark, Blythe Woolston
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much.
Of course, in order to win the Hunger Games and lead the rebellion that follows, Katniss must betray that realness and
employ all sorts of calculated gambits, losing herself in a maze of self-constructed imagery. Once she becomes famous, she is forced to consider how much of her persona is real and how much is fashioned by her many handlers, from Cinna to Haymitch to President Coin—all of whom do not end up well. Thus the Hunger Games presents us with the kind of hero that not only Panem but America likes best: the reluctant one, unexpectedly brilliant when challenged and then, once famous, desirous of a simpler life.
In preparing The Terminator , James Cameron studied the narrative characteristics of the ten most successful films of all time. He found a common thread: ordinary people in extraordinary situations. 10 Implicit in “ordinariness” is realness, authenticity, and humility, traits that Katniss has in spades. No wonder the Hunger Games seemed like a good fit for the big screen.
I went to a television studio to meet my media trainer. I will call her Jessica, which might have also been her real name.
Jessica wore a perfectly tailored dark suit. She shook my hand (down-up-down, crisp) while I stared at the ceiling, which was so high that it allowed for wind currents. Humongous lights—like chrome bombs—beamed down on a wide blank area with two chairs.
“That’s where we’re going to do the practice interview,” Jessica said. “But first, makeup!”
I was taken to a back room and plunked in a dental chair. A
woman my age poofed powder on my face with the clinical detachment of a doctor. I was not sure if I should speak to her. Perhaps this was like getting a haircut and it was better not to distract her. After a while it got too uncomfortable.
“How’s my ... ah, skin?”
“You don’t have many pimples, which is good.”
“I have them on my back.”
“Didn’t really need to know that!”
She stood me up. I glanced at myself in the mirror before leaving her chamber; I looked like something from In the Night Kitchen. I never realized that people on TV wore this much makeup. It had weight.
“Your shirt is going to be a problem,” Jessica said.
“Why?” The only thing I knew about being on television was that you weren’t supposed to wear white—it glows. So I had on a horizontal striped shirt, which in hindsight I had no reason to own.
“Stripes confuse the camera. You’ll appear to be shifting left and right.”
“Do you want me to take it off?”
“No! Just, next time, wear something solid.”
She led me to the chairs. A man stood behind a television camera a few feet from them. It struck me how big the camera was; it looked like a surface-mounted weapon from World War II. The editor waved at me from the sidelines. “You’re doing great, Ned!”
“We just want to get a little bit of test footage to find your strengths and weaknesses,” Jessica said. She sat in one chair and motioned for me to take the other. She crossed her legs. I crossed my legs, thought that must look weird, uncrossed them, felt exposed, crossed them again. I glanced at the camera. There it was: the red eye.
Like the Eye of Sauron in Middle Earth. Like the faces projected on the sky to recap the day’s casualties in the Hunger Games. Like the piercing pupil of God staring me down and daring me not to mess up. I knew my image was not being broadcast anywhere—this was all a test; it was going on a tape that no one would see!—but that was the same red eye that newscasters saw when they were piped into hundreds of millions of households. It was the same eye that Leonardo DiCaprio saw.
“So Ned, why don’t you tell us about your book?”
“Uh ... my ... uh ...”
I could not stop looking at the eye. I had a lot to learn.
Heroes and heroines were not always like Katniss Everdeen. A quick trip through myth shows that, far from realness, exceptionalism was the prerequisite
Of course, in order to win the Hunger Games and lead the rebellion that follows, Katniss must betray that realness and
employ all sorts of calculated gambits, losing herself in a maze of self-constructed imagery. Once she becomes famous, she is forced to consider how much of her persona is real and how much is fashioned by her many handlers, from Cinna to Haymitch to President Coin—all of whom do not end up well. Thus the Hunger Games presents us with the kind of hero that not only Panem but America likes best: the reluctant one, unexpectedly brilliant when challenged and then, once famous, desirous of a simpler life.
In preparing The Terminator , James Cameron studied the narrative characteristics of the ten most successful films of all time. He found a common thread: ordinary people in extraordinary situations. 10 Implicit in “ordinariness” is realness, authenticity, and humility, traits that Katniss has in spades. No wonder the Hunger Games seemed like a good fit for the big screen.
I went to a television studio to meet my media trainer. I will call her Jessica, which might have also been her real name.
Jessica wore a perfectly tailored dark suit. She shook my hand (down-up-down, crisp) while I stared at the ceiling, which was so high that it allowed for wind currents. Humongous lights—like chrome bombs—beamed down on a wide blank area with two chairs.
“That’s where we’re going to do the practice interview,” Jessica said. “But first, makeup!”
I was taken to a back room and plunked in a dental chair. A
woman my age poofed powder on my face with the clinical detachment of a doctor. I was not sure if I should speak to her. Perhaps this was like getting a haircut and it was better not to distract her. After a while it got too uncomfortable.
“How’s my ... ah, skin?”
“You don’t have many pimples, which is good.”
“I have them on my back.”
“Didn’t really need to know that!”
She stood me up. I glanced at myself in the mirror before leaving her chamber; I looked like something from In the Night Kitchen. I never realized that people on TV wore this much makeup. It had weight.
“Your shirt is going to be a problem,” Jessica said.
“Why?” The only thing I knew about being on television was that you weren’t supposed to wear white—it glows. So I had on a horizontal striped shirt, which in hindsight I had no reason to own.
“Stripes confuse the camera. You’ll appear to be shifting left and right.”
“Do you want me to take it off?”
“No! Just, next time, wear something solid.”
She led me to the chairs. A man stood behind a television camera a few feet from them. It struck me how big the camera was; it looked like a surface-mounted weapon from World War II. The editor waved at me from the sidelines. “You’re doing great, Ned!”
“We just want to get a little bit of test footage to find your strengths and weaknesses,” Jessica said. She sat in one chair and motioned for me to take the other. She crossed her legs. I crossed my legs, thought that must look weird, uncrossed them, felt exposed, crossed them again. I glanced at the camera. There it was: the red eye.
Like the Eye of Sauron in Middle Earth. Like the faces projected on the sky to recap the day’s casualties in the Hunger Games. Like the piercing pupil of God staring me down and daring me not to mess up. I knew my image was not being broadcast anywhere—this was all a test; it was going on a tape that no one would see!—but that was the same red eye that newscasters saw when they were piped into hundreds of millions of households. It was the same eye that Leonardo DiCaprio saw.
“So Ned, why don’t you tell us about your book?”
“Uh ... my ... uh ...”
I could not stop looking at the eye. I had a lot to learn.
Heroes and heroines were not always like Katniss Everdeen. A quick trip through myth shows that, far from realness, exceptionalism was the prerequisite
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