To call Star Wars a little derivative is a bit like calling
Donald Trump a little irresponsible. It’s more than an understatement, it’s a
redundancy. The original Star Wars concept was derived from every previous
fairy-tale archetype known to man, and this new one is derived from the
original. It’s a mirror image copy of the original, with bits of episodes five
and six thrown in completion. Watching it, I thought two things:
First: Did
it need to be? Did we need to begin with a young orphan in a desert? Did we
need a cute little droid with secret plans hidden within him? Did the
super-villain need to wear a mask? Did we need a cantina scene, complete with
mock bar-band? Another planet-sized planet destroyer, with more holographic
visitations from the Big Boss guy? More familial strife? More long dog-fights
through stretches of impossibly lengthy duct work? Did we need to undo three
films worth of Han Solo’s character development to bring him back exactly as we
found him[1]?
Did we need to restore the status quo to this mythical world? Sure. Why not?
Second:. This
is so fucking cool. Despite all the above, I loved every minute of it, the
contrived plot, the cliched dialogue, the snarling villains, the blatant
self-reference and the shameless melodrama. Especially the shameless melodrama.
I loved it all. I didn’t think they could do it anymore; I thought space opera
of this kind was extinct forever, banished in the wake of disco-dancing irony.
Hallelujah! There’s no irony to be found here. And no disco songs! Abrhams and
company aren’t joking around here: they mean it. They believe it. And it shows.
Despite all the above, traits which I normally despise in a movie, it’s done
here with such panache, gravitas and wide-eyed sincerity, I could not help but
be swept along for the ride, my reservations left far-far behind.
Best of
all: there is no trace of the prequels. No Jar-Jar Binks, no planet Naboo, no
crude racial stereotypes. The rules of good (if simple) story-telling and
tasteful aesthetics apply here – the villains are menacing, the heroes are
charismatic, there is emotional investment in the story, and it actually
looks good. We get a world here that looks like people actually live in it, not
the blue-screen barf of the prequels. In fact, there’s not a trace of the
garish, asymmetrical ugliness that defined the prequels. We can finally pretend
they never existed. That is probably the best thing of all.
I probably
could pick it apart and find all sorts of things to get annoyed with. Let’s be
honest here, this is more of a video-game than a movie, written by committee,
designed for merchandise, specifically constructed to appeal to our sentimental
attachment to childhood memories. But I think it’s high time someone respected
my sentimental attachment to my childhood memories. In this rotten world, where
ISIS exists but Motorhead no longer does, and where even
Doctor Who will let you down, I’ll take what I can get. I want my
adventure stories back, and finally I got one.
Hallelujah.
[1] To be fair, this is sort of
explained – he was reacting to trauma, the only way he knew how. Fair enough.
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