Episode III: renewed hope

I am one of the freaks and geeks that stands in line for hours to buy tickets to the midnight show of all STAR WARS movies when they are released. For Episode I waited 51/2 hours in steaming parking lot, drinking diet Dr. Pepper and engaging in plastic light sabre duels with my fellow freaks and geeks. I have been a Star Wars fan my entire life. I remember my dad making popcorn on the stove whenever one of the original three was run on TV, and we'd all pile up on the big blue L-shaped couch and I would ask, "Which one is this?" and my mom would reply, "the one with Yoda." And I would be happy. (I was equally happy when the answer was "The one with the Ewoks" or "The one with the Death Star.) By the time I reached puberty I was rapidly moving away from the Catholic Church in which I was raised and looking for new answers. When I was 12 Timothy Zahn published "The Heir to the Empire" and I found my savior. For years my parents couldn't get me to listen unless they spoke in Yoda-ese. Although I had been raised with a belief in the Force, I was too young even when The Return of the Jedi came out to see it in the theatre. I had heard the stories of how great the special effects were, and I was certainly a promoter of the cultural phenom that became all things Jedi, but I was missing that key experience. I felt left out, jipped.

It was with this frame of mind that heard the first whispers, lo these many years ago, that GL was working on Episodes I-III. I waited cautiously, not daring to hope. Then the tablet was handed down from the mountain top of Skywalker Ranch: it was true. A release date for Episode I.

So there I was in the theatre at 11 o'clock on a school night (I was sophomore in college, and I had classes in the morning, but half the campus was at that theatre, so I knew I wouldn't be the only one cutting in the morning. I wouldn't be remotely surprised to learn that one or two of the wookie suits I saw that night had professors in them.) The theatre was jammed, and the atmosphere was as charged as Palpatine's cuticles. When the house lights dimmed and those magic words appeared on the screen, "It was a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away..." I think I cried. There was dead silence, and we held our collective breath and each others' hands. We were all waiting for the same thing. All these pilgrims, about to reach Nirvana. And that first chord...

The opening chord of the title theme and the blazing, school-bus yellow words "STAR WARS." For a split second there was shock, as though a bomb had gone off. In a way, it had. Then the pandemonium errupted. The crowd sprang to it's feet, cheered, screamed, waved light sabres. It was an orgy of joy, relief, disbelief and fulfilment. And it was all downhill from there.

After that first chord of the opening title, the movie was basically a giant disappointment. Most of the characters were stupid, badly cast, and badly acted. I couldn't relate to any of them. It was a kids' movie filled with inconsistencies. The duels between Qui Gon Jin, Obi Wan, and Darth Maul were art, deadly ballets carried out lethal grace, precision, and drama. Aside from that, the movie had few redeeming moments. (For the love of God, why didn't they cast Haley Joes Osmett to play Anakin!?!? That alone would have improved the movie by 150%.)

When Episode II came out, we all repeated the experience, but with considerably less enthusiasm. Feeling that George had betrayed his most loyal fans with the crap in Episode I, we had much lower expectations. But we hoped that he listed to the criticism from the first movie and would realize the error of his ways. He didn't and didn't. Episode II was better, but only marginally. The loathsome and unnecessary Jar Jar Stinks had a diminished role (thank the Maker), and the obnoxious taletless Jake Lloyd was replaced by the lanky Canadian Hayden Christenson, who did a credible job with the whole teen angst thang. But really, when "credible" is a significant improvement, you really didn't have anywhere to go but up, did you?

Fast forward to Wednesday afternoon. After two pathetic disappointments, I wasn't even going to bother with Episode III. I figured I'd rent it. I was sick of seeing the dignity my beloved STAR WARS characters - Yoda, Artoo, Chewie - betrayed to cereal box marketing. The past 10 weeks have been Space Balls incarnate. The merchandising nauseated me. I felt cheapened, dirty. Then I read a review from a trusted reviewer. It was good. I read another. They agreed that III was significantly better than its predecessors. "Fine," I thought. "I'll bite. Otherwise, it'll be just my luck that I miss the only good one." I went to the theatre on Wednesday afternoon to buy a ticket to the midnight show. No line, plenty of tickets left. Noo problem, mon.

At eleven o'clock, my folks were in bed. I let the dog out for one last widdle, grabbed my Reses Pieces (essential for any proper cinematic experience), and left. The line at the theater was out the door, around the building, across the parking lot, and ended in the parking lot of the credit union next door. The crowd was painfully optimistic. Their enthusiasm was contagious, and I allowed myself to become excited. I didn't want to be jaded any more; I didn't want to be cynical. I wanted to meet this with the same blind ecstacy with which I entered the theater for Episode I, but I just couldn't work myself up that high.

From the first word of the introduction as it slid out into the distance, I knew this one would be different. Better. I knew because the word was "War!" That marvelous Anglo-Saxon monosyllable brought me straight back to Beowulf, to "Hwaet!" I knew then that Lucas had finally allowed himself to return to the cultural, mythological, dogmatic and literary roots from which he drew so much of the material for Episodes IV, V, and VI, but which he all but ignored in I and II. IV, V, and VI were sucessful because he stole, melted down, and poured together elements of mythologies from all over the world. He addressed the fundamental issue of good v. evil, and he did it with personal and cosmic drama.

Here, finally, was the story we had been waiting for: The Fall. With parallels to both the fall of Lucifer, who craved power, and the fall of Man, who craved god-like knowledge, we watched as Anakin (a now SMOLDERING 20-something Hayden Christenson), slowly collapsed under his own greed. I wondered how Lucas would create drama in a movie where everyone knew the ending before entering the theater. He did it by making us watch a train wreck in slow motion, powerless to stop it. He did it by taking Anakin to the brink and back over and over. We saw moments of contrition, moments of regret. He wasn't purely evil; we felt the conflict within him. We wanted to scream "NO, ANAKIN! DON'T DO IT!" but like in the dream, no sound comes out of our mouths. Lucas was laying the symbolism on with a trowel, but that's OK. I loved watching the final battle for Anakin's soul play out in the molten depths of Dante's Hell.

In the great tradition of Greek tragedy, we watched the drama play out on both a personal and a state (or rather, galactic) level. With painful irony, it is the very extreme actions one takes to avoid a thing which bring the thing into being. It is Anakin's desperate desire to save Padme which destroys her, and the Galaxy's equally desperate desire for order which spawns the most evil regime in the history of history. The audience cannot escape. We are trapped in a dramatic pincer movement between the microcosmic and macrocosmic claws of the plot.

Lucas also allowed himself some contemporary political commentary. One of the best lines of the film is uttered by Senator Padme who weakly states, "So this is how liberty dies... with thunderous applause." Other good lines included "Only the Sith deal in absolutes" (take that, Christian Right) and "If you're not my friend, you're my enemy." It was nice to hear that last one coming from an acknowledged bad guy, rather than in a speech from one who touts himself as a great American hero.

Lucas also touched on the Victorian debate of natural v. artificial. We see a droid with consumption who is foul, in part, because he is not fully droid, not fully animal. He is a hybrid, a freak. He is not what the Force intended. When Obi-Wan chases him down, the droid freak takes refuge in another machine, another artifical creation. Obi-Wan, always taking the natural, and therefore good, approach, opts for a ride on a really cute cocatrice that cheerfully barks like a beagle puppy. Finally, in a blatantly (but still rather cool) Frankenstein moment, the ultimate evil hybrid, Darth Vader, tears himself from the talble of his creation with jerkey leg movements, and the monster is born. This is what comes of fucking with the natural order, of playing god.

The film wasn't perfect. There were some inconsistencies in the timeline, conflicts with things said by Obi-Wan in Episode IV. They ruined Kashyyyk. But really, that's all details. They did fuck up a lot of minutia, but it's still just minutia. For once, Lucas got the Big Picture right. The focus was The Fall, and that was done with pain, precision, heart, and respect for mythologies that told the same story thousands of years ago. I am happy. This pilgrim has found what she was seeking.