By: Natasha Noam Gol

For those who somehow missed it, The Hunger Games is set in Panem, a world where the Capitol forces kids to fight to the death as “entertainment.” What’s fun for Capitol elites is brutal punishment for the districts, a reminder of who’s in charge. Enter Katniss Everdeen, who accidentally becomes the face of a revolution. Not content with just traumatizing us through the original trilogy, Collins gave us The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, which explores how Snow—the villain we love to hate—came to power. And because Collins knows we’re suckers for pain, she’s releasing Sunrise in the Reaping in 2025, focusing on Haymitch Abernathy’s propaganda-laden past.

What makes these stories compelling isn’t just the high-stakes drama—it’s how they dissect systems of control. From surveillance to spectacle, Collins gives us a crash course in media manipulation, all wrapped in a bow of dystopian chaos.

When we think of pop culture blockbusters, they’re often dismissed as shallow or juvenile—cue the eye rolls for Harry Potter or Mean Girls. But dig a little deeper, and some so-called “teen fiction” rivals Orwell’s 1984 in societal critique. Case in point: The Hunger Games. Written by Suzanne Collins, this dystopian epic might be set in Panem, but it’s a mirror reflecting the chilling interplay of media, power, and control. And while the original trilogy gave us rebellion, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes—the prequel exploring the rise of Coriolanus Snow—dives into how media manipulation and spectacle are born. Spoiler alert: this franchise is way smarter than it gets credit for.

The Power of Spectacle

Humans have always been drawn to the gruesome and grotesque. Ancient Romans had their colosseums, and now we have true-crime podcasts and reality TV. The Hunger Games takes this voyeuristic craving to the extreme, turning child murder into prime-time entertainment.

The Capitol doesn’t just broadcast the Games; it turns them into a spectacle that serves as both punishment and distraction. Theatrics are everything—tributes are dressed up, given tragic backstories, and forced to perform for the audience’s favor. This mirrors what Debord (1995) describes as society’s obsession with spectacle, where everything—yes, even war—is reduced to entertainment. The Games might look like a punishment for the districts, but they’re actually a tool to keep the masses in check, masking oppression with flashy theatrics.

In The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, young Snow learns the art of audience manipulation, realizing that keeping people entertained is just as powerful as fear. The Capitol citizens, oblivious to the Games’ brutality, watch them like we binge-watch The Bachelor: glued to the screen, rooting for their favorites, and pretending the ethics don’t matter.

Media, Manipulation, and the Audience

Media theorists like Ang (1985) and Jewkes (2011) have a lot to say about how audiences engage with spectacle. Ang analyzed the global success of Dallas, noting how audiences simultaneously criticize and enjoy it—a kind of guilty pleasure viewing. Sound familiar?

The districts are forced to watch the Games as punishment, but even Capitol citizens, who don’t have to, tune in religiously. Why? Because media manipulation works. The Capitol uses the Games to create a captive audience, much like Jewkes’ (2011) description of prisoners consuming the media forced upon them. Capitol viewers aren’t prisoners, but they’ve internalized the manipulation.

The tributes themselves catch on quickly. They understand the power of controlling their narrative, turning into what Bird (2011) calls “produsers”—both producers and users of media. By shaping their public image, they gain audience support, which can mean the difference between life and death.

Katniss, the ultimate produser, becomes a symbol of rebellion because she learns to weaponize the Capitol’s own media against it. Her flaming dress? Iconic. Her fake love story with Peeta? Genius. She takes the Capitol’s spectacle and flips it on its head, making her the ultimate player in this dystopian PR game.

Surveillance: Welcome to Panem’s Panopticon

If you’ve ever hesitated to Google something because “the FBI might be watching,” congratulations—you already understand Foucault’s (1977) Panopticon. It’s a prison design where inmates can’t tell if they’re being watched, so they behave as though they always are. This principle applies to Panem, where the Capitol’s surveillance creates constant fear.

Even when technology fails (and let’s face it, Panem doesn’t exactly scream “state-of-the-art”), the districts live as though Big Brother is watching. It’s this fear that keeps them docile, even when they aren’t actually under surveillance.

But surveillance isn’t just about control—it’s also about resistance. Katniss uses the Capitol’s cameras to send her own messages, like honoring Rue with a salute or refusing to kill Peeta. These moments of defiance remind us that surveillance can backfire, turning tools of oppression into symbols of rebellion.

Why Pop Culture Deserves a Seat in Academia

Despite its brilliance, The Hunger Games is often dismissed as “pop culture fluff.” Academia still struggles to take pop culture seriously, clinging to the idea that only “high art” deserves attention. (Looking at you, Adorno.)

But media scholars like Jenkins (2006) argue that we’re no longer just passive consumers—we’re active participants. From TikTok trends to The Hunger Games fandoms, pop culture shapes how we see the world. Ignoring this in academia is not only elitist; it’s a missed opportunity to connect theory with real-world examples.

Take The Hunger Games: it’s a treasure trove of concepts like Debord’s spectacle, Foucault’s surveillance, and Jenkins’ convergence culture. Want to teach students about power structures? Forget dry textbooks—just show them Katniss setting the Capitol on fire (metaphorically, of course).

Millennials and Gen Z, raised on franchises like The Hunger Games, understand cultural critique better than most professors give them credit for. These generations are fluent in the language of memes, TikToks, and fan theories. If academia refuses to embrace pop culture, it risks alienating students and missing out on a wealth of insights.

To sum it up…

The Hunger Games isn’t just a story about kids fighting to survive—it’s a masterclass in media manipulation, spectacle, and resistance. Whether it’s Snow learning to distract a nation with bloodshed or Katniss using the Capitol’s own tools against it, the series shows how media shapes power and control.

So, the next time someone dismisses The Hunger Games as “just teen fiction,” feel free to hand them a copy of Foucault—or better yet, Debord—and say, “May the odds be ever in your favor.”