Thoughts on the tragedy in Connecticut

A few days ago, I listened for the first time to a tremendously powerful Phil Ochs song, 'Crucifixion.' It's about the life, death and legacy of a widely beloved figure. (Let's put aside the song's religious connotations for the moment.) Today, as the news coverage of the horrendous massacre in a Connecticut elementary school accumulates, I think of a stanza from the song, the stanza depicting the immediate aftermath of the figure's death:

     They say they can't believe it, it's a sacrilegious shame
     Now who would want to hurt such a hero of the game?
     But you know I predicted it; I knew he had to fall
     How did it happen? I hope his suffering was small
     Tell me every detail, I've got to know it all
     And do you have a picture of the pain?

The public's love for this figure is matched by a disturbing hunger for the specifics of his cruel death. I am reminded of this as I see the media's unfortunately familiar response to this kind of tragedy. They voraciously seek to uncover any information they can broadcast in order to satisfy the demand for coverage. You can see their shocking tactic of demanding information from children — children! — who were just dangerously close to their classmates' slaughter. Children who could very well be traumatized. That's shameless exploitation, or at least it borders on it. Multiple Facebook friends of mine have compared these journalists to vultures.

And we've seen this hunger for the sordid details before. We saw it after the shootings in Aurora, Colorado, this past summer. We see it in this culture where the public's focus shifts so often and so quickly from the victims to the killer. When I first heard the news today, I desperately hoped, for a brief moment, that the shooter wouldn't receive coverage, that we could mourn the loss of these children and allow the victims' families to mourn. Now people are already dissecting the contents of the (misidentified) alleged perpetrator's Facebook page. We know the tendency for the humanity in situations like these to get drowned out in the feedback loop of media coverage. Focus on the killer feeds this media frenzy, and as a result we forget the tragedy and the loss and concentrate instead on the danger and the fear; we become further entrenched in our convictions of how we should deal with the fear and danger. Real and relevant concerns like gun control get lost in a mess of political buzzwords and hollow rhetoric.

Consider the words from the next stanza of 'Crucifixion,' depicting the aftermath of the death as it becomes less immediate:

     Time takes her toll and the memory fades...
     The drama is distorted to what they want to hear
     Swimming in their sorrow, in the twisting of a tear
     As they wait for the new thrill parade

We must remember the innocent whose lives were taken and mourn them as fellow human beings, not as spectators. Right now there's been an outpouring of compassion for the families of the dead. As we have the necessary conversations on how to improve our society and culture to prevent these atrocities from happening, we can't afford to lose sight of that humanity and that caring.

On the eve of the release of 'The Hunger Games,' I ponder.

I am not looking forward to five or however many years of Hunger Games mania.

The ubiquitous franchises just won't stop. We only recently finished a decade of Harry Potter making its presence known everywhere, and it's almost time for all the talk about Twilight to end, and just when I thought I could take a breath of fresh air, we have another franchise thrust upon us. I know that franchises are essentially the lifeblood of Hollywood now, but I'm just weary of this barrage of teen novels-cum-movies media flying around everywhere, impossible to ignore.

(In contrast, the restored version of Abel Gance's silent epic Napoleon has its first of four screenings in California — the only screenings it will get in the U.S. at all — on Saturday. It has got to be the most monumental cinema event in this country in years, and it probably will be for years to come. A once-in-a-lifetime happening, and I've barely heard any talk of it at all.)

I've read the Hunger Games books. I don't hate them. They are real page-turners, but not the kind of books that I would care much about after having read them. The concept is a jumbled combination of heavy-handed metaphors and historical parallels with various story premises we are already familiar with. Suzanne Collins has taken the 'kids fighting each other to the death' idea, which we know from Lord of the Flies and its evolution, coupled with the archetype of 'The Most Dangerous Game,' into Battle Royale. Collins adds a bit of Schwarzenegger's The Running Man, the reality TV aspect — which, actually, I find the most interesting about this whole thing. For me, the value of the movie hinges on whether the filmmakers really make good use of the reality-show of the plot and incorporate it into the perspective of the film. As the film's audience, we can alternate among the perspectives of watchers of the plot, watchers of the show within the film, and combatants within the show. If the filmmakers are intelligent, they can make us aware that, by being entertained by the 'games,' we are becoming the audience watching TV within the film, thrilling to bloodshed and death. Once we become aware of that, then we can grapple with the spectacle of brutality. If these layers of perspective are structured in an inventive way, then we can view the film as something more than just a repetition of things we've seen before.

I read the books with the luxury of not knowing which actors had been cast in the films (though somehow I did always suspect Jennifer Lawrence). The cast of the film doesn't terribly excite me (with the exception of the one actor I actually know), but there are bright spots: namely Woody Harrelson, Toby Jones and Donald Sutherland. (I don't think I would picture any literary character as Lenny Kravitz, ever.) However, I'm afraid that Jones and Sutherland won't have much to work with. I've already forgotten the character Jones is playing, as it's probably minor, and as for Sutherland, he can probably do the evil ruler bit in his sleep. If you want to see a really, really horrifyingly menacing Sutherland — and I mean full-on nightmare-inducing — watch him in Bernardo Bertolucci's 1900. I can pretty much guarantee it will freak you out. President Snow has got nothing on the 1900 Sutherland.

That leaves us with Harrelson, in a role that should be pretty substantial. When reading the book I didn't picture a Harrelson type. His character's name is Haymitch, which makes me think of the Scottish name Hamish, and the first (and only, really) Hamish who comes to mind is Hamish Imlach, the Scottish folk singer and raconteur whom you would probably only know of if you were either into Scottish folk music or had seen him turn up in whatever documentary he turned up in. I think it was Acoustic Routes, which, again, you probably don't know of unless you're into folk music. Hamish Imlach might not be the best Haymitch, unless you wanted Haymitch to sing 'Cod Liver Oil and the Orange Juice' every so often (which I find to be an okay idea, actually). Recently I opened Google and searched for the terms "Haymitch Abernathy" and "Hamish Imlach," each in quotes, simultaneously. Much to my disappointment, no results turned up.

My point, before that tangent, was to say that I had pictured Haymitch as a drunk Scot, or really just a drunk with an accent. I tried to think of which actors I would actually picture in the role. Drunk, washed-up Lee Marvin (à la Cat Ballou), although there's no foreign accent there. Washed-up Sean Connery (à la The Untouchables), maybe, or drunk, washed-up Oliver Reed (à la Gladiator. Actually, his character in Gladiator might not have been a drunk, but Oliver Reed was usually pretty drunk in real life). All of those are either dead or no longer acting. Regardless, were I to mention any of them — 'an Oliver Reed type,' say — most people would probably give me a weird look, as if to say, 'That's ridiculous.' Which it very well might be.

Another actor who comes to mind is Billy Connolly, the Scottish actor whom a lot of you might know as 'Il Duce' from the movie The Boondock Saints. I think he'd make a good drunk has-been. Actually, you know, Billy Connolly is also a raconteur and musician, taught, of course, by — who else? — Hamish Imlach.

(Connolly was also the host of that documentary, Acoustic Routes. Yes, I have to complete all the obscure circles here. It's a good movie, worth seeking out. There are a lot of great folk musicians in it, like Bert Jansch and Martin Carthy.)

But I like Harrelson, and I think I'd enjoy watching him in this role. Except for that awful, awful wig they've put on him. I mean, I know this is supposed to be the future and all and the styles are bound to be different than ours, but the first thing to come to my mind when I see that wig is 'silly.' He looks silly. Really, I'm half expecting to spend the entire film thinking, 'What's with that wig?' I honestly can't expect anyone to take him seriously with that whatever-the-hell-it-is on his head. To quote the great sage Ali G: 'Look at it! How come him iz wearin' dat?'

Regardless, though, of how much I go on about it, the film is what it is, and if I have to hear about the Hunger Games franchise nonstop out of every media outlet there is for the next five years or whatever, then I'll just have to live with it.

But now I've gotten myself thinking of Oliver Reed again — Oliver Reed! Oliver Reed, if he were alive, would be perfect for the Haymitch role. Maybe he would find it dumb or not worth his time; I don't know. But if Oliver Reed were in The Hunger Games, then I would jump to see it with the same enthusiasm exuded by all those delirious fans.

Unless they put him in that stupid wig, that is. Though I'd like to think that Mr. Reed would fight his way out of that makeup choice. Actually, I'd totally watch that fight. Oliver Reed, man. Badass.