For a film that is ostensibly about youths murdering each other for the enjoyment of the upper crust, The Hunger Games spends a curious amount of time on constructing haute couture. It's okay to be a badass, just make sure you can also rock a strapless chiffon.
In the future, when all is ruled by peace and good rock music, shaped by surfer dudes from San Dimas, CA, we'll all be wearing neon foam rubber.
If you're an immortal and youthful peacenik, you'll wear the drabbest possible clothing.
Tyrannical aliens from the planet Psychlo not only look weird, they dress weird. What is up with their hair? And isn't there a more discreet way to inhale your native planet's air than those snot-looking tubes?
Tyrannical cult leaders in a post-apocalyptic wasteland must dress in fetish gear. Which, I guess was the only clothing that survived the apocalypse. Wouldn't the desert warrant more coverage?
“I can turn animals into men. What's a good way to inspire their loyalty? I know! I'll dress like a gay circus tent!”
I can't speak to anything in this bonkers-ass movie. The fashions are actually the least of its troubles. But they are part of its troubles.
I'm not sure that our ultra-popular media personalities will ever look like the slinky, leaopard-and-rose-wearing Ruby Rhod in the wonderfully out-there Luc Besson sci-fi freakout.
Between the bizarro, multi-armed woman, the rock bands of the future, the Cirque du Soliel performance, and the usual Han Solo disco pants, we're looking at the work of a drunken tailor.