The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes (2023)

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There was a moment about halfway through The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes when I thought this may be the 2nd best Hunger Games adaptation of Suzanne Collins’ best-selling books of them all (the 2012 original is the best, of course). Split into three parts, this prequel installment quickly establishes its own unique identity, despite having the same director, never needing to match the energy of its parent series while also using it occasionally as a tool when necessary.

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Set decades before Katniss Everdeen’s saga and told from the side of the wealthy Capitol (rather than the impoverished Districts) this time around, the story follows a poor boy whose family has pretended to be rich all these years simply because of the patriarch’s ostensible invention of the Games themselves. The son, Coriolanus Snow (Tom Blyth), becomes part of the first wave of Academy students to actually mentor their selected tributes, who are each taken from the Districts and must fight to the death in an annual sporting event. The lone survivor wins extra food for their people that year.

Always the diplomat, Snow simultaneously develops new innovations for the Games — suggesting it be televised and having the idea to airdrop resources for their participants in the arena — and still manages to fall in love with his tribute, Lucy Gray (Rachel Zegler).

In the way of classic films like Scarface or The Man Who Knew Too Much, the story evolves considerably and keeps going long after the 10th-annual Hunger Games are over with. Yet still, these first two acts are the highlights. The arena event is gripping and takes some real chances with how it unfolds. And the way Snow politicizes his opportunity is crafty yet not slimy, as most films would have made it.

In the original films, Snow is the President of Panem and the ultimate dystopian villain. He wields propaganda in his favor and holds the survival of the Capitol to the highest degree, even if it means a majority of his people (the twelve Districts) go to bed starving every night. Suzanne Collins’ novels convey the typical trope of totalitarianism masked as altruism that we’ve seen so many times before but entrances us with their fantastical details, a love triangle, and the inherent uniqueness of the futuristic arena death matches.

The first and second books, and their corresponding film adaptations, follow a similar recipe and get their characters to the marquee Games where we see them strategize, fight, hide, and kill. However, the third and fourth film, taken from the third book Mockingjay which has been unforgivably split into two parts, are nearly rubbish.

I watched The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes for completionist purposes but was wildly surprised by how much I was enjoying it. That is, until the third act hits and things start to get messy.

You see, director Francis Lawrence and his writers Michael Lesslie and Michael Arndt establish a particular motivation for Snow early on in the film. Since hasn’t got much more money than the poor Districts, he operates with a chip on his shoulder. He resents his rich classmates for their privilege as well as their snobbery but also convinces himself of loyalty to the Capitol simply because he has no other option. If they spit him out, he has no rich father to run to since both his parents are dead. His dependence is not a manifestation by his superiors but his pride is certainly exploited.

When he meets Lucy Gray, he goes above and beyond to make sure that she trusts him. And he even exhibits transparency in his intentions by telling her that he does have his own ambitions in mind, as well as her own safety. As the two grow their bond, the audience starts to wonder how this man will eventually become the face of corruption in later storylines. While Snow may seem dubious about his empathy for the underprivileged, he never shows that he’s a bad person. In fact, quite the opposite is true.

This is precisely why when he supplants his motivation in the third act, it feels unwarranted. Suddenly, he starts betraying his cohorts and becoming overwhelmed with staunch belief in the Capitol’s philosophies, where previously he just seemed to tolerate them. The trigger that ignites his switch is never clear enough and becomes buried even further underneath obfuscated political tension between him and his best friend Sejanus Plinth (Josh Andres Rivera). Matters between Snow and Lucy Gray get tarnished, but this feels unrealistic as well.

Sure, he gets banished from the Capitol for cheating in the Games, but does he even really want to be there in the first place? He seems much more at peace in his new assignment as Peacekeeper in the 12th District, where his best friend and his lover are. And yet, he desperately wants his old life back? But why?

It’s here where Snow quickly devolves from a developed protagonist to a utilitarian pawn that exists merely to serve the plot and a predestined trajectory. Where the studio split up Mockingjay into two movies as a cash-grab, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes was too big of an arc for a single film.

Luckily, the performances are mostly good. Blyth, a relative newcomer, surprises with his ability to buy into the role even when the script has abandoned him completely. And the supporting cast is held up by brilliant acting from Peter Dinklage, Viola Davis, and Jason Schwartzman.

Zegler, in only her third film, proves once again why she’s not yet deserving of the roles she’s given. Obviously prioritizing her acting class techniques over full immersion into the performance, the star can never establish believable chemistry with her co-star. Blyth’s character has fully pledged his life to Lucy Gray but Zegler seems almost disinterested. To the point where it doesn’t even feel like a love story anymore, thus nullifying any sort of internal conflict Snow would actually be having about whether or not to choose the Capitol or her.

Despite its rushed and emotionally incomplete third act, The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes wraps up its one-off prequel fairly well with poignant punctuation in the end. It’s just too bad that punctuation couldn’t have felt a bit more earned. Still, this may be the second-best film in the entire saga, and Tom Blyth gives a compelling performance as the man who would become the most despicable of them all. It’s just a shame he wasn’t given a costar worthy of his casting.