An Appreciation of Star Wars Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back

WARNING: SPOILERS FOLLOW

As an 80s kid, there was never just one singular Star Wars movie. The original three films constituted a complete, coherent trilogy, and to watch the entire saga meant sitting through all three movies beginning-to-end. In this respect, The Empire Strikes Back was always the obligatory middle bit. In my youth, I regarded it as that cool film with the walking machines in the snow, the Millennium Falcon navigates an asteroid field, Luke falls down a hole in some sky city, R2 spits mud, and Yoda trolls everybody. There's plenty to love.

Oh no! They're striking back! RUN!

As an adult who frequently engages the film forums, I find that Episode V always tops everybody's lists of all-time favorite films. Even more than the '77 original. And it's not hard to see why--the film is damn near perfect. The story is on-point in the way it continues the adventure and pits existing characters against dangerous new enemies and perils. It's to the point where the story takes daring twists that offer compelling challenges, and this extends to the famous reveal in which Darth Vader tells Luke "No, I am your father!" Just five words, but the dramatic weight hits squarely in the audience's hearts and minds. It forces us to recontextualize everything that was told to us in the previous episode, and it sets up personal stakes that have to be reconciled in the next. It's such a famous line and moment that it's been parodied and spoken ad nauseam--often incorrectly to add context outside of the movie, resulting in a Mandela Effect (which is just bogus in my opinion, Vader always said "No" first).

As a film, I can't fault it for anything. Cinematography is top-notch. Acting bears a lot more gravitas than in A New Hope, and it works. The production looks decent, to the point of pushing the scope and scale of the movie and showing exciting new ships, monsters, and effects. And, of course, the writing is decent.

And yet, I find it hard to get excited over this episode like everyone else. When I was younger, I found myself bored with certain parts (most especially the Cloud City scenes). In my later years, I've fallen asleep during it. It seems unheard of to be bored, but in time I realized why this happened. There is such a thing as being too perfect, and this film is the prime example of it.

The Riddle of the Middle

Wow. So exciting. Much adventure.

Most of my gripes about The Empire Strikes Back stems from the nature of the film--as the middle part of the trilogy, it achieves all the things that the middle of any story should do. But that is the entire film, and it has the effect of dampening action, both dramatic and theatrical. It shouldn't be the case given the sheer amount of action the film has--we spend the first quarter or so of the movie watching the Battle of Hoth, and everything afterwards is the Empire chasing the Falcon.

And yet, that's part of the problem--most of the film is driven by chases. It is interesting and exciting when the Falcon hits the asteroid field, encounters the exogorth, or hides on the side of a Star Destroyer. But every other scene involving the Falcon seems to be about flying from (or even flying towards) Star Destroyers with little more variance. And it all happens again when they leave Bespin and have to evade the Executor one last time. By that point, I just want the film to end already.

Even outside of the space chase scenes, we're treated to scenes that are either characters talking a lot (which happens on Hoth, Bespin, and Dagobah), or characters running from one point to another--throughout the last act it feels as though Leia, Lando, and the two droids spend their time rushing across the whole city, and it becomes repetitive and tiring.

My fatigue stems from the movie's place in the overall trilogy. Even though A New Hope has a complete three-act structure on its own, it also serves as the first act of an overarching three-act trilogy. It is the film that introduces the core characters, the universe they live in, and important concepts like the Force. As the middle part of the trilogy, The Empire Strikes Back has the burden of lifting the second act of the trilogy, which means bridging the story from the beginning (which is enthralling in how it hooks the audience and pulls them into a sweeping space adventure) and the end (which is enthralling in how it wraps all the lingering strands together in a grand finale). What does the middle offer? Changes primarily, and it's good because the film makes the effort to evolve the characters through challenges and failure. But in a series that's most memorable for its epic battles and special effects, the film makes the unusual decision to front-load itself with its biggest setpiece (the Hoth battle) and leave the rest to focus on the story. It is an important story worth telling, but the structure has the odd effect of seeming to diminish more as it goes on. I suspect this is because the biggest stakes are with the Hoth battle, and everything else at the film's actual climax is whittled down to strictly personal stakes. To me, it betrays the film's role as a middle chapter, not as a film that can stand on its own.

Laugh It Up, Fuzzball

It wouldn't be Star Wars without some kind of comedy, and there are some great zingers in Episode V. And yet, after hearing the lines hundreds of times, they don't make me laugh anymore. I think the film's funnier parts occur with Yoda's introduction and some of the bickering between Han and Leia. But every other funny scene is usually something with C-3PO, who comes off as incredibly annoying. That's probably because everything he says is contrarian or a complaint. And it seems to be done on purpose to generate some of that comedic banter between him, Han, Chewie, and everyone else. For the most part, I just wanted him to shut up.

The bigger issue with the comedy is that it's so on-point that it doesn't really surprise, please, or illicit laughter. It's just kinda there. You see it coming. You see it going. That only leaves the dramatic scenes to carry the movie, which they do admirably. But it has the effect of draining the life out of this film. It's all important and I wouldn't ask for the film to be made any other way, because it really is perfect. But in its perfection, it is missing a certain spark or pop that made A New Hope, Return of the Jedi, and The Force Awakens so much fun. Heck, I even get a kick out of all the ill-advised humor of The Last Jedi.

I suppose that most film fans are drawn to the dark, dry, serious nature of Episode V, and many probably wish that all of the films in the series had this same quality. For whatever odd reason, I prefer a little more camp and goofiness in my Star Wars diet. Without those qualities, it all comes off as overly stiff.

One Perfect Twist

"Junior, give me your other hand!"

Despite all the qualities I dislike about the film, one can't help but to admire the one thing it's most remembered for--the "I am your father" twist. This scene could have gone any number of ways--the original script read it as if Vader told Luke that Obi-Wan killed his father, but the real reveal was kept under wraps and not given to the actors until they were on-set. Even the cast members were blown-away by the big twist.

It's all led up to this moment--all the exposition given in A New Hope set up audiences to accept Luke as the son of some great Jedi who was betrayed and murdered by Vader. To conflate Vader and Anakin as one and the same is a jarring revelation with immense implications. The first and most obvious issue that's addresses is that Obi-Wan lied (or told the truth from his "point of view," suggesting that Vader and Anakin are two separate and distinct personalities, one good and one evil). Luke vocalizes this inconsistency in the film, assuring us that the filmmakers didn't forget what Obi-Wan told Luke originally--it's simply a good question for another time.

What has probably captivated audience's imaginations the most is simply the notion of being related to evil. One could read into the lore a little and realize that at some point Anakin had to turn on the Jedi Order and do some pretty nasty things to become Darth Vader (and this is indeed shown in the prequel trilogy). Vader is no longer just a two-bit Imperial thug, he is a fallen hero. This puts Luke in the precarious position--as the next in the bloodline, he may have inherited all of Vader's traits and capacity for evil (and we see this emerge in Return of the Jedi, even if just briefly).

Vader's character is further deepened by this twist thanks to the way it reveals his motivations. Despite him and Luke being enemies, Vader never shows any intention of killing Luke outright. Everything he does in the movie he does to preserve Luke's life, which shows that he cares deep down. This may be the sliver of good that Luke sees in him. Vader seems to always cover this up by promising the Emperor that Luke will be turned to the Dark Side. What winds up happening is that Vader's actions say one thing and his words say another--this in turn shows the inner conflict he feels concerning his son.

It is at this moment in the series that the past, present, and future intersect and becomes a sucker-punch to Luke's face. His realization is a profound turning point for the series, for it is the precise moment in which the pretense of his youthful adventures are town down and he's shown a cold, cynical truth that will affect who he becomes. It's a turning point that just about any good character will go through in order to change, and a changing character is the most profound type. All great stories have changing (or dynamic) characters in some form--Luke's pattern is on-point, and we can all tell by the film's end that he won't be the same after all these events.

Luke's decision immediately after the reveal is to simply fall. This simple action shows that he was more willing to sacrifice himself than to succumb to evil, regardless of the fact that it was his father temping him. This is the last hurdle he overcomes before returning in the next chapter as a matured Jedi Knight. This is the moment he changes--the culmination of a long string of lessons and failures.

That Is Why He Fails

Very helpful Ben. Thanks.

Luke's arc in A New Hope was subtle, amounting to little more than realizing his full potential with the Force. It is a big enough step to make the movie feel uplifting and triumphant, but Luke doesn't change as a character. The person he was at the beginning remains the same by the end.

The same is not true by the end of The Empire Strikes Back. When we first see Luke, he seems chipper as ever. Just moments into the film, he's smacked by a wampa and dragged to an ice cave to be eaten. Even though he uses the Force to escape (really, him relying on the same heroic qualities that were established beforehand), he faces the next problem of surviving in the wilds. He only gets out of this mess when Han saves him (and later a snowspeeder squad).

After the battle of Hoth, Luke is on his own. He manages to crash his X-Wing on Dagobah, and it looks hopeless that he'll be able to leave again. He searches for Yoda, finds the little guy right under his nose, but doesn't have the foresight to see through Yoda's pretense and recognize him as the Jedi Master. Yoda himself shows skepticism that Luke actually has what it takes, but the training commences anyway on Obi-Wan's insistence. What follows is a training montage with a string of lessons--just about all of them stem from Luke's misunderstanding of the world or an outright failure to complete a task.

Luke spends the entire movie falling flat on his face--a complete opposite of A New Hope, where he had so much success and enabled the Rebels' victory. The things that made him successful in the past now work against him--his impulsiveness, nativity, and lust for adventure. All of that, combined with his relationship to Han and Leia, forces him to fall right into Vader's trap, where he experiences the ultimate failure. He isn't able to save Han in the end. Leia and the others save themselves before saving Luke, now battered and missing a hand.

The events of the film, like life itself, had beaten Luke to the point of humility. The lessons of Yoda and the words of Vader stick with him because his previous experiences without all that knowledge had failed him. With new knowledge and experience, he will come back stronger and wiser. Thus, a character is successfully morphed through the process of repeatedly failing.

All of this also has the effect of reinforcing Yoda's speech concerning a Jedi's indifference towards adventure and action. As an adventure film, Empire Strikes Back places much emphasis on danger and peril, to the point where it's bleaker, crueler, and more nihilistic than any other Star Wars film. From the opening scene onward, everything in the universe seems to want to kill or hurt Luke, including his own father. Any pretense he has about "adventure" in its most idealistic form (something that A New Hope emphasized more) is torn down, adding to the truth and humility that Luke experiences.

Of course, all of this taking up one movie makes the experience a downer. Some folks find this admirable for a Star Wars film, and I'll admit that the mournful finale fits the tone and story aptly. That doesn't make it satisfying though. There is still an Empire to fight. Luke will have to face his father again at some point. Han is still in peril. The whole galaxy remains oppressed. Even though Return of the Jedi addresses all these points, I could never truly accept the ambiguous ending of Empire Strikes Back as the end of a stand-alone adventure--it might as well end with a big "to be concluded" title card.

The Power of the Dark Side

So many stars, so many wars...

Despite my reservations about the film's pacing, structure, and a certain "stiffness" to its presentation, there are other things to admire. And those things are:

• As a film, it is indeed objectively better than A New Hope and Return of the Jedi. This extends to:
• The script--it's on-point and I really can't recall any lines I consider to be awkward or goofy.
• The performances, all on-point.
• The production design, now seeming bigger and expanded with a wider range of filming locations, big sets, elaborate props and costumes, and elaborate special effects (including a whole new slew of awesome-looking ship and vehicle models, new creatures, and more).
• Sound design, which is strong and punchy.
• John Williams' music score, which is still phenomenal.
• The filming style, which I believe is something Irvin Kershner brought to the table. Camera angles are often really interesting, and there are a few movements that evoke a stronger emotion--it's a grade more powerful than George Lucas' style, which is more distant and objective in nature.
• The film expands on the Star Wars universe in pretty exciting ways. Some of the great new things we see in the film include:
• Ice planet Hoth, with its tauntauns, wampas, and blizzards.
• A slew of technology, including probe droids, bigger Star Destroyers, TIE Bombers, AT-ATs, AT-STs, Snowspeeders, cloud cars, and carbonite freezing. Among other things.
• A city in the clouds. In fact, it's not that common to see (or read about) settlements on gas giants, and I admire that Bespin is something more unusual and exotic than a typical exoplanet.
• We see the exogorth--a huge creature literally living in the vacuum of space. 
• We are introduced to Yoda.
• We see the Emperor for the first time. Which only makes sense for a Galactic Empire. Duh.
• We see bounty hunters for the first time, of which Boba Fett gets his fair share of the spotlight--enough to peg him as a quiet, dastardly villain, but not to the point of overkill.
• We see the Force being used in a more tangible way, with Luke using it to lift things for the first time. We also see the Dark Side in more use as Vader chokes his command staff arbitrarily and throws things at Luke. We are also introduced to the notion of the Force being used to foresee future events.
• We see Force ghosts for the first time. In A New Hope, we only heard them.
• This may be more of a character-driven reveal, but it is worth noting that we see a brief glimpse of Vader without his helmet from the back of his head. The scarring we see is an important indication that Vader is still a human being beneath his suit and mask, and he suffered through horrific pain previously--pain that shaped him into an icon of evil.
• One scene that stands out is the scene where Luke crawls into a cave and fights a vision of Vader. When he beheads Vader, the mask explodes and Luke sees his own face. One could argue that this scene stops the movie dead in favor of a metaphor, which becomes shorthand for the psychological conflict Luke faces. And yet, this is one of those scenes that encapsulates what the film is about thematically, and I feel it's important enough to warrant the extra few minutes to watch. The battle with oneself is probably the most compelling conflict any story can tackle, and this is a creative (and visual) way for the film to address it.
• As I mentioned in my post about Attack of the Clones, the romance between Han and Leia works pretty well. And it works not because the characters tell their feelings outright, and nothing in the script tells us that they love each other. It is shown, gradually as they spend time bickering and sniping each other, before drawing closer in the midst of conflict and finding chemistry. All of this happens because the characters change each other--Han stuck with the rebellion across two movies, proving to Leia that he's not just a scoundrel. Leia in turn lightens up around Han. Opposites always attract, and it makes sense for these two to come together. It even gets to the point where their fighting becomes a form of playful banter, and it's kind of charming that way. Even the whole "I love you" "I know" exchange is on point (it's worth noting that the cast spent a lot of time deciding on Han's best response in this scene). 
• I like how Piett watches all his fellow officers die, and he winds up living in the end despite losing the Falcon in the last scene. There's a morbid irony to his constant promotions.

It is a perfect film in the end. So much so that I find it a tad overrated. And yet, I wouldn't fault anybody for praising it as the best or an all-time favorite--the film does exactly what it's supposed to do with competency, emotion, and thought. I just wish there was more zing to it--something that A New Hope and Return of the Jedi provide with their spirited adventurism and humor, but it comes at the expense of gravitas.

What's admirable is that The Empire Strikes Back is a film that beats the sh*t out of its hero and leaves him half-way dead, hand-less, and hanging off the bottom end of Cloud City, left wondering about all the lies he was fed throughout his sheltered life. It might even resonate more with me now, in a time when I'm personally reflecting on failures and the misconceptions I once believed in. Watching the Empire strike back is hardly a feel-good experience (and it tries my patience sometimes), but it is an important step in the overarching journey of Luke Skywalker and his eventual rise as a Jedi Knight.

An Appreciation of Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope

WARNING: SPOILERS FOLLOW

In 1977, one film blasted audiences into a galaxy far, far away. For two whimsical hours, they beheld the grandiose spectacle of interstellar war, the likes of which had never before been shown with such detailed and eye-popping special effects. From the dusty vistas of desert worlds to the cold halls of a huge planet-destroying space station, a thriving universe full of aliens, rogues, rebels, and robots came to life before everyone's eyes. Fantasy and adventure had rarely ever been animated in such a detailed and brisk manner. Much less with an endearing and memorable cast of characters, brimming with energy and spunk.

Star Wars obliterated the box office that year. It enthralled one generation of film-goers, and their children would enjoy the same adventures with just as much zeal. I was one of those children. The film was simply always there, on TV and VHS tape, to be viewed over and over. It was played in our schools as a treat. I had a mean collection of action figures (ships and all) and Micro Machines. I'd go so far as carrying them to patches of dirt and mud outside to recreate battles, or perhaps the Dagobah scenes from The Empire Strikes Back. As the 90s rolled on, a plethora of new books and video games expanded and deepened the lore in exciting ways, often capturing my imagination. I occasionally bought booster packs for the customizable card game (I still have those cards, they're too awesome to give up). Sharing this fandom with other kids felt like a game that was boundless and never-ending.

Ah, old friends reunited at last...

There are reasons to be cynical about Star Wars today, especially when approaching it as a brand or a franchise. The film itself has changed since 1977, thanks to the much-maligned Special Edition re-releases (there have now been three or so iterations). The prequel and sequel trilogies has fans crying out about bad writing, bad storytelling, and misguided creative decisions (especially regarding characters), and even politics. I can't help but to put a more critical eye on the saga as a whole, and realize that perhaps it's not all above reproach. Perhaps even the original '77 film has its flaws and shortcomings, leaving only The Empire Strikes Back as the one truly perfect film of the series.

And yet, I can't bring myself to hate these film as much as others have. I still feel a twinge of joy watching the prequels and recalling the immense hype of the late 90s. I still admire the Disney-produced round of films, even if only for how they look. As for the original, it remains my favorite of the entire series. There is too much to admire, too much to love, and too much to take away. I could name a dozen or so films that are "better" and invoke stronger thoughts and feelings. And yet, Star Wars (along with its two follow-ups) remains just as important and influential to me.

Wretched Hives of Scum and Villainy

As much praise as I can give to the spirit and wonder of Star Wars, it's not necessarily the whimsical aspects that always attracted me. The film has princesses (and therefore kingdoms), wizards (in the form of Jedi Knights), magic (aka the Force), and some wonderful-looking places (like Yavin IV). But you know what catches my eye more? The filthy-looking spaceships. The dirt-encrusted droids. A bar full of crazy aliens, which includes a humanoid hammerhead shark, bug-eyed green people, and Satan. There are smugglers, bounty hunters, spies, and rogues galore. There are stormtroopers, who basically look like living plastic skeletons. And of course Darth Vader, who's basically a cyborg samurai dressed in black.

It's easy to simply copy and paste world-building from previous works, especially for Star Wars, which bears a strong semblance to a whole history of sci-fi serials like Buck Rodgers or Flash Gordon. They all may share things in common, but they are not alike. Star Wars distinguishes itself for having unique aspects that other films don't have. Not to mention, the unique production design that gives shape and form to every little detail in the frame. Each location has a unique look, feel, and soundscape. Every alien or droid has its own language. It all gives the film and its settings texture, visually and audibly. It happens to be so punchy, gritty, and outlandish that it becomes its own universe. As the various sequels and prequels have proven, there's no limit to what this universe can entail.

It just so happens that most things we see in the original trilogy are pretty awesome things. Aside from the details mentioned above, all of the spaceships in Star Wars look really cool. The Star Destroyers, the X-Wing, the Millennium Falcon, the Tantive IV--these are all ships I love looking at and seeing in action. Same goes for the plethora of aliens, troopers, rebels, droids. They bustle around hangar bays, steely hallways with slick lights, maintenance corridors, and gantries over bottomless pits. In A New Hope, we have the uniquely exciting shots of X-Wings and TIE Fighters rushing down an artificial canyon. Even if something is ugly-looking, it tends to fit the world, and therefore remains interesting to behold.

No no no, dig UP stupid!

The filmmakers went to great lengths to make everything in the film appear lived-in, and it works phenomenally. All the dirt and grit painted onto the costumes, props, and models help sell the world as a place that's old and run-down (and in direct contrast to the prequel trilogy, where most things were new and prosperous, and therefore shiny). No further explanation is necessary--we watch the character use all the tools and technology they have, and we understand how it all works and how these characters live in this universe. Many aspects wind up playing a part in the story or in specific scenes (such as having garbage mashers on the Death Star--it only makes sense a station that big ships and stations would have these facilities for their trash, and it becomes an interesting setpiece for the characters). Watching ships move, land, load, and unload clues us all in on how the basic logistics of this universe works. We never need an explanation for how characters move around, how supplies are shipped, and how armies deploy, we are shown all of this.

There are probably some aspects to this galactic civilization that could have been expanded upon. We never see Coruscant or the Imperial seat of power, much less the Emperor. We don't see any particularly prosperous places (was Alderaan one such place? We'll never know). We don't see much about the economic systems (although it's not much of a stretch to visualize how trading works in this galaxy). Much of this is hardly missed though, because it's all beyond the scope of the story. What matters the most is how the Empire impacts the galaxy, and we see that first-hand as the Empire slaughters many rebels, slays Luke's aunt and uncle, and polices Mos Eisley. They are everywhere, and it is clearly authoritarian in nature. This gives us the reasoning behind the conflict between the rebels and the Empire, and it's what pushes Luke to fight for good.

The beauty of all of this is how it is all shown, and rarely told. What helps is that this was all part of the director's intention. Once George Lucas laid eyes on Akira Kurosawa's The Hidden Fortress, he was smitten with the cinematic style, which instantly teleported audiences to feudal Japan for a brisk adventure following two peasants, a general, and a princess across enemy territory (sound familiar?). Lucas filmed Star Wars with the intention of recreating the effect of watching a foreign film--to watch it is like watching a film from another galaxy, to the point where all the world-building had to be created and shown on-screen, naturally and organically.

The other thing that helped in all of this is the script.

Where The Fun Begins

Leia demonstrates how to properly set up a Macguffin.

Given the amount of time Lucas spent in drafting and rewriting the script, it feels as though he struggled to find the best balance between showing things and telling things. Some important pieces of exposition remain, and they're not all bad. The following things are explicitly told to us through the script:

• The Force needs to be explained. Obi-Wan provides a brief and concise explanation to Luke, who in turn stands in as the surrogate for the audience to receive this information. Given that no more Jedi exist at this point, this explanation feels warranted in this context.
• The situation with Luke's father needed an explanation. What Obi-Wan tells him isn't necessarily the whole truth, but what he says is still a direct explanation that tells us the backstory--that Darth Vader betrayed and killed Anakin.
• The Imperials have a round-table discussion on the Death Star. Their dialogue establishes that the Galactic Senate is officially dissolved, which is a nice piece of background information (but only necessary in context of the prequels, where the senate is fully shown).
• Sand People walk single-file to hide their numbers. This detail is given to prove that stormtroopers gunned down a sandcrawler and made it look like a Tusken Rader attack.
• In the same scene, Obi-Wan points out that the blaster marks are too precise to be Sand People. I have to call BS on this, knowing how poor stormtrooper aiming actually is.
• There is a moment in which Han explains hastily to Luke how hyperspace works--the navcomputer needs to calculate a route or else they'd collide with random objects in space. Having never flown in space before, Luke needs this spelled out to him. It's clear to me though that this explanation is blurted out to address a question that the audience might have: why do they have to wait to go to hyperspace. In the heat of a chase, it might seem more logical to just throw the switch and leave the system. Han's explanation addresses why this is not an option.
• C-3PO explains to everybody that shutting off a power node will deactivate the tractor beam that's keeping the Falcon in the Death Star hangar bay. This always felt a little out-of-place to me, and it's quite dry to listen to.
• Before the final battle, all the rebel pilots gather and are briefed on what they must exactly do. This establishes the specific method in which they must destroy the Death Star (by running down a trench and shooting a two-meter hole). Just about every Star Wars film has a war briefing scene like this, and even though it might seem like an infodump, I don't think it's particularly bad. Warfighters have mission briefings all the time--they can't go into battle without knowing their objectives and plan of attack. Scenes like this come off as creditable in my view, and they rarely overstay their welcome.

The following aspects are shown to us:

•  The power of the Force. Obi-Wan explains what it is, but says nothing about the extent of what a Jedi is capable of. 
• Darth Vader demonstrates the Dark Side by choking some rebels and Admiral Motti. 
• Luke demonstrates a beginner's level of Force use by blocking a remote's shots with a lightsaber while blind. 
• Obi-Wan uses Jedi mind tricks on stormtroopers at least twice. 
• The whole time on the Death Star, he and Vader sense each other and are inevitably drawn into a duel. 
• By the film's end, Obi-Wan "becomes more powerful" than anyone can possibly imagine, and we hear his ghostly voice at key moments. This, in turn, convinces Luke to use the Force, rather than his targeting computer, to deliver the winning shot against the Death Star.
• Imperial oppression may be hinted at with certain pieces of dialogue, but it's also shown through what Imperials actually do in the film.
• The opening scenes show plenty as it is with faceless stormtroopers gunning down rebels (who, in fact, have their faces shown on-screen, so we see their expressions of fear and anxiety). This is followed-up with Vader himself marching over the bodies and casually killing a rebel.
• Stormtroopers combing the desert and the towns, performing door-to-door searches, screening landspeeders, and searching the cantina.
• Alien informants spying on Han, Luke and the gang and reporting them to stormtoopers, who then open fire on the Falcon as it leaves.
• Perhaps the biggest and most important scene is the one where Luke finds the homestead in a charred ruin, his aunt and uncle slain.
• Leia is imprisoned, interrogated, a droid comes at her with a needle, and she's ultimately coerced with the threat of violence against her people.
• Tarkin destroys Alderaan, despite Leia giving into his interrogation (granted, she gave them bad intel). A thousand voices cried out in terror, then silenced. It doesn't get more sobering than that.
• The Death Star itself is explicitly described as an instrument of terror, which serves to "keep the local systems in line." Ruling through fear is a form of tyranny, and the Tarkin doctrine is likely inspired by the way Nazis were organized during WWII (where, like the Imperials, officers would fight each other for power rather than actually work together).
• It is never entirely shown in these films, but I know through other media that the Empire is intolerant towards alien races. I suppose we see that briefly when Chewbaca is referred to as a "thing." If nothing else though, you can see plainly that every Imperial officer is a white male human.
• These aspects are further explored in some of the books and media of the Expanded Universe. Grand Admiral Thrawn is one of the most celebrated characters precisely because he breaks the mold as the sole alien officer in the Empire. Admiral Dalaa is the only female officer I'm aware of, but while the events of the movies occurred she spent her time stationed in a remote sector, far away from the Emperor's scrutiny.
•  Perhaps the most important aspect is characterization.
• Luke Skywalker is presented to us as a young blonde dude in white, looking no different than any number of classical heroes from Achilles to Flash Gordon. As we watch his daily routine at the farm, we can see that he's peppy and yearns for some action, but is held back by his duties and the onslaught of menial chores his aunt and uncle unload on him. This sets up the core conflict--Luke wants to leave Tatooine, but can't. Not until external forces cause him to move by necessity (this, in turn, becomes the call to adventure). With wide-eyed wonder and enthusiasm, Luke gallivants from scene to scene learning about the Force, fighting for the Rebellion, and ultimately saving the day. This becomes a fulfilling adventure for both the hero and the audience. By the end, he even grows from being an insignificant farm boy to a character of power. All of this is expressed through the scenes, thanks to the dialogue (including all his whining), Mark Hamill's performance, and the action.
• Darth Vader just looks evil. You can tell from the moment he walks onto the Tantive IV that he's the bad guy, courtesy of the black costume and the dramatic music cue. The sound of his breathing adds a level of menace to all his scenes, and perhaps a level of mystery as we wonder how this guy became so damaged that he needs life support all the time. Without an expression (thanks to the mask), he retains a level of mystery, but we hear his angst in his voice at certain scenes. Regardless of what we know from other films, Vader is shown at the height of his villainy, to the point where he comes off as rather one-note. For this film, that's just fine--we see enough to paint him as a bad guy we love to hate.
• Han Solo's first appearance exudes confidence, if not outright arrogance. Some brief dialogue hints at trouble with gangsters, but when he runs into Greedo he shows ruthlessness and stoicism. The while time, there's a certain tough-guy swagger as he turns his back on Greedo's body and flips a coin to the bartender.
• I've read my fair share of complaints over how the shoot-out's alteration changed this characterization. It's something I would have never given any thought to if it wasn't pointed out. Frankly, I think the point remains the same regardless of who shot first--Han kills Greedo all the same and proves that he's capable of getting his hands dirty. What many viewers liked in the original is that he simply shot the green dude without precedent--we all knew Geedo would shoot anyway, so we don't hold it against Han for committing preemptive murder. What fans loved is that this showed an even colder ruthlessness. Perhaps it goes to show that it only takes a matter of seconds to change a character from a stone cold killer to someone more passive (because I guess the altered scene makes it more like an act of self-defense--how could Geedo be such a bad shot anyway?).
• What I admire about Han is the arc he goes through by the film's end. You can tell throughout the film that his reward is all he cares about once all is said and done. Once they all land of Yavin, he collects and takes off, expressing indifference towards Luke, Leia, and the Rebellion. This is all within character, but you can see some level of conflict through Han's face and the way Chewbaca challenges him. All of this winds up becoming a setup for the film's final deus ex machina--the moment in which Han shows up in the final battle and saves Luke. It's very much against his character, but what we take away is that his conscience and his attachment to the team drew him back. Thus, Han transforms from a cold anti-hero into...well, a better anti-hero.
• Princess Leia easily captures everyone's imagination with the cool way she stands her ground against stormtroopers and snaps back at Tarkin. Her urgent commands and banter gives her attitude, which is admirable in the way she shows strength and toughness. I gotta say though, it does come off as incredibly spiteful at times, what with her calling Luke short, Chewie a "walking carpet," criticizing the Falcon, criticizing most of Han's decisions and even his personality, among other things. She whines...just like Luke actually. Like brother like sister, I guess, Jeez. But at least she seems to lighten up by the film's end when they're all on Yavin.
• Obi-Wan Kenobi is hinted at as some kind of crazy old man. When we finally see him, he's basically the film's equivalent to Gandalf, in the sense that he's a wizard, he's wise and knows things, and he has a certain good-natured eccentricity. Obi-Wan shows his skill with the Force at quite a few key moments, but he also shows a lot of practical knowledge as he talks about the lay of the land, the nature of Sand People, and gives advise to Luke. He is very on-point in fulfilling the archetype of a mentor and a wise old man.
• Chewbaca is a rather one-dimensional character with no speaking lines, just lots of growling. He does become an endearing sidekick thanks to the loyalty he shows to Han (a lifelong chemistry that's now been established in Solo). What helps too is that Chewie shows immense strength in the heat of battle, and he shows humor and personality when interacting with other characters.
• The two droids. Hell, all the droids. In any other film, a droid would be cold, emotionless, and expressionless, because why would a machine have a consciousness? Star Wars negates this issue completely by treating all its droid characters as sentient beings on the same level as all the aliens and humans. Thus, even though R2-D2 and C-3PO have no moving facial expressions, they still show personality that we can grow attached to. C-3PO has the obvious advantage with his body language and constant yammering. R2, however, always impressed me with the way he plays off of C-3PO. R2 shows his belligerence as he argues and always tries to do his own thing. He also shows initiative and agency. At times, humor too. This is mighty impressive for a machine that's simply a cylinder on wheels.
•  Pieces of world-building.
• C-3PO fusses around and makes a random statement "we'll be sent to the spice mines of Kessel!" We actually see Kessel in Solo, but back in 1977, audiences could only imagine what a "spice mine" on an alien planet would be like. Name-dropping places like this helped drive home the idea that the galaxy is huge and full of varying worlds. In the course of the movie we're also clued in on places like Dantooine. The screen-test dialogue for Luke described Sulust, which is a place used in Return of the Jedi. 
• The dialogue often references past events, including the Clone Wars (name-dropped just once or twice), and the Jedi Purge (first described by Obi-Wan, pegging Vader's involvement in it, then again in an exchange between Vader and Tarkin). It's never explained in great detail, but these references reach beyond the scope of the movie's conflict to establish history in an organic way.

Nobody Talks Like This!

With a rebel yell, Han shoots more, more, more.

Despite all the strengths I can see in the script, I can't help but to recall the behind-the-scenes footage in which Mark Hamill describes his first screen-test as Luke. While reading the lines, his first reaction to the dialogue was confusion, because in his words, "nobody talks like this!"

He's not wrong. Dialogue in Star Wars is strange, to the point where it's easy to mock. Part of the issue may be because of how much of it is used to relay information. It's not like there's a whole lot of infodumping, but there are some occasional oddball lines where exposition is disguised in character voice. One example:

"Traveling through hyperspace ain't like dusting crops, boy! Without precise calculations we could fly right through a star or bounce too close to a supernova and that'd end your trip real quick, wouldn't it?"

In some cases, it's just the word choices being weird or the lines themselves being overly-structured. It comes close to looking like purple prose. Examples:

If there's a bright center to the universe, you're on the planet that it's farthest from."

"Don't be too proud of this technological terror you've constructed. The ability to destroy a planet is insignificant next to the power of the Force."

"Kid, I've flown from one side of this galaxy to the other, and I've seen a lot of strange stuff, but I've never seen anything to make me believe that there's one all-powerful Force controlling everything. 'Cause no mystical energy field controls my destiny. It's all a lot of simple tricks and nonsense."

"I recognized your foul stench when I was brought on-board!"

"You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy."

The weird thing is, I wouldn't ask for any of these lines to be changed. They may be unrealistic, but they fit the tone and context of the film, to the point of adding to the camp. It's probably an intentional choice, but for these movies it's creditable. Not every story, especially fantasies, need gravitas all the time.

What is admirable is that these lines still avoid the trap of telling too much, because they are given in character voice to express an idea in a different way. Luke's line about being on the "planet farthest from" is his way of saying Tatooine is a backwater planet. It has the added effect of carrying his attitude, emphasizing that it is a sh*thole. Other lines have the same effect of having more than one purpose, and that's what makes the writing effective.

Steps Into a Larger World

Adventure is calling...

As it is often reported, Star Wars follows the pattern of the hero's journey as closely as a Mynok on a power coupling. The hero's journey is also known as the monomyth. This was all chronicled in Joseph Campbell's The Hero With a Thousand Faces, which Lucas himself would have read and drawn inspiration from. Upon doing so, Lucas invoked a common structure that's familiar in many legends and myths from all over the world.

This is not a structure I studied particularly thoroughly. Truth is, I find that story structure might be one of my weak spots. But I don't think it's too hard to see how and why it works. Looking at the basic diagram, which shows a circle looping back on itself, I can't help but to think of the classic "there and back again" formula that made Tolkien's stories timeless. But Luke Skywalker doesn't exactly go "there and back again," given that he doesn't return to Tatooine when the journey is completed. He does grow though, and by Return of the Jedi he assuredly achieves the last step of the monomyth, which is the "freedom to live."

Taking a cursory glance at the hero's journey table, I feel as though a lot of pieces don't fit quite as smoothly into A New Hope's story. A meeting with a goddess? Apothesis? Do these really happen? However, the monomyth structure has its variants, and Star Wars seems to fit smoother with Christopher Vogler's interpretation. Using his table, I can see how the story fits in the following way:

Departure (or Separation)

1. Call to adventure--adventure comes to Luke in the form of droids, and R2 plays him a piece of Leia's message to Obi-Wan. Of course, Luke is intrigued, if not outright smitten by Leia's image.
2. Refusal of the call--Luke's farm duties keep him tethered in place, and he initially refuses to find Obi-Wan. R2 takes it upon himself to leave.
3. Supernatural aid--Obi-Wan appears and serves as the mentor, who introduces Luke to the Force and a brief history of Luke's father. They are all made aware of the Rebellion's need for help, but Luke refuses the call here too, citing his obligations to the farm. Only when the farm is blasted does he have nowhere left to turn to.
4. Crossing the threshold--they all go to Mos Eisley.

Initiation

1. Tests, allies, enemies--even though things seem to be going well with Luke and Obi-Wan hooking up with Han, they all fall under fire from stormtroopers, then they're chased by Star Destroyers.
2. Approach to the innermost cave--the Millennium Falcon is captured and pulled into the Death Star. In a way, it actually looks like it's taken into a cave, only it's really a hangar. 
3. Ordeal--Luke and Han rescue Leia, they all have to fight stormtroopers.
4. Reward--to escape the trash compactor, they all work together and achieve their escape.

Return

1. The road back--Obi-Wan sacrifices himself so that the others can escape, and they do. They all assemble at Yavin and prepare for battle.
2. The resurrection--while the rebels attack the Death Star, Luke hears Obi-Wan's voice and he uses the Force to fire his torpedoes. It works.
3. Return with the elixir--the rebels win, everybody gets medals (except Chewbaca, wtf?).

It's also worth noting that all of this still fits within the traditional three-act formula, where there's exposition, rising action, a climax, then falling action. I've also heard it said that most movies can be split into quarters--by the first quarter, the inciting incident should have happened (this could be when Luke leaves the farm and enters Mos Eisley), by the halfway point the heroes' plan fails and they have to regroup and come up with a new plan (in this case, Alderaan is destroyed and everybody is captured), the third quarter is everything leading up to the climax, then the last quarter is the climax and resolution. Star Wars fits all these patterns pretty comfortably.

One other way of looking at it (and it's implicit to the mononmyth) is that most stories are about taking a character out of the normal world and pushing them into a different world. This happens to Luke quite literally.

Saved By The Edit

You hear that? The editor just cut the original opening. This is madness!

 Maybe you've heard this before, or maybe you haven't, but it has been said that Star Wars was saved in the edit. The initial cut of the movie was radically different than the final product, because it was edited in the same traditional manner as many other movies of the time. The result was a slower pace and an unengaging story. It took the efforts of editors Paul Hirsch, Richard Chew, and Marcia Griffin (who later married Lucas) to rectify the film's shortcomings.

To achieve the optimal pacing and reactions, the film used a few creative techniques, to include running some scenes in reverse (good example being that shot of the Tusken Raider pumping his staff in the air). The editors were selective in certain shots (horrid-looking close-ups of Luke in the landspeeder were ditched in favor of the long tracking shots, with dialogue dubbed over it). This extends to the way the film opens--there is a deleted opening that shows Luke bumming around his moisture farm and seeing the space battle from the ground--this segues into scenes with his buddies at Toche Station. While the chemistry he has with his friends pays off a little in the final battle, these scenes had the adverse effect of getting in the way--in the final film, Luke is introduced a good fifteen minutes later, in a way that's organic and revealing, leaving only the exciting battle scenes for the opening shots.

What helped the film the most, however, were the decisions that affected the arrangement of scenes later on. Many of the Death Star scenes that show Vader and the Grand Moffs talking were originally arranged at rather random spots, which disrupted the pacing and the way information was relayed to audiences. In the final cut, many of the Imperial scenes are arranged in closer proximity, as are other select scenes, which improved the flow substantially and changed the way information, threat, characterization, and reveals occurred.

What I find most impressive is that the film was not originally scripted to have the Death Star target Yavin during the final battle. All it took was a collection of shots of Leia and Tarkin in their respective locations, with voice-overs playing over the footage. Some shots were even recycled from previous scenes. These changes added a time constraint to the scene--the rebels had to win or else they'd lose their base and all hope of winning the war. Without that time constraint, I can't imagine the battle having nearly as much tension as it does now. On top of that, the nature of the battle characterizes the rebels in different ways--if they flew in and attacked the Death Star unprovoked, they'd basically be terrorists. In the final film, the Imperials come off as more tyrannical, and the rebels are merely defending themselves (in addition to fighting for the greater good).

It also had the rebel fighters performing multiple runs in the trench and failing before Luke lands the final shots (and even then, Luke does the run twice). It was originally repetitive, whereas in the final film there's only one failed attempt--it's all that's needed to convey the idea and set Luke up for success.

There are many other small fixes, and they are covered extensively in a Youtube video essay entitled "How Star Wars Was Saved in the Edit." Suffice to say, even though the actors and director pulled their weight admirably, the editors shaped their work into something polished and complete.

Perfect Imperfection

But will they ALL stay on target?

How does one achieve perfection in anything? There are many pieces of art (including films) that many have hailed as perfect masterpieces, but to me they often come off as droll, stiff, and lifeless precisely because they are so perfect. Sometimes a thing can be so perfect it's actually boring. This doesn't happen with the A New Hope. The experience and story is on-point, and yet it maintains a sense of spirit that makes it perfect entertainment. This is achieved not because the film is perfect, but because there's a certain level of imperfection that keeps it low-key.

You can see through the shooting and editing how imperfect the film can be. Some scenes feel like they're chopped short. You can tell where some shots are reversed. If you have really good eyes, you can probably tell where some scenes are recycled, and where the dialogue is dubbed over scenes that had a different intention originally. Combine that with a few obvious bloopers (such as the famous stormtrooper who bangs his helmet against a door), and the low-fi nature of the special effects, the film always felt rough around the edges. By comparison, The Empire Strikes Back has a lot more polish, to the point where I can't fault it for any specific thing. But I appreciate A New Hope the most of all the Star Wars films precisely because of its imperfections.

Part of the reason is the pop and zest such imperfections add to the flavor of the film. It's not exactly easy to describe, but you can see it in the campy dialogue, the over-enthusiastic acting, the goofiness of the stormtroopers, the goofiness of the droids and aliens, and even the occasional blooper. It is one goofy movie, but it fits the spirit of adventure so well because it's all snappy, energetic, and it fills the characters with personality and humor. Combine this with the few truly emotional moments (such as the binary sunset scene), and it becomes a complete, fulfilling experience.

Much of the camp is clearly intentional, given the hilarious moments where Han trolls a guy on the intercom, stormtroopers bumble around blast doors, R2 and 3PO always fight, and the love triangle that happens between Luke Han and Leia. These gags emerge from each character's situation, and what makes them funny is that these gags are the characters' natural reactions that fit their given personalities. As goofy as these scenes can be, they never feel forced or unnatural.

On top of all that, the practical and special effects are purposefully made imperfect to provide a rough, lived-in feel. It was Lucas' intent to deviate from the traditional view of science fiction, where settings were always sleek and clean. Star Wars presents a layer of grit and sleaze that illustrates a worn-down universe under the tyranny of the Empire. None of this could have worked if every set and model was perfectly designed and implemented. In my eyes, the movie is perfect precisely because of its imperfections, even the unintentional.

The Force Will Be With You

Despite my praise for the film being imperfect, there are a few imperfections that I do find a little disagreeable.

• Much of the first act focuses on R2 and 3PO splitting ways, then coming back together in a sandcrawler. This happens in all of ten minutes. What is the point, even? Both could have been captured by the Jawas all in one scene--the time they are apart is so fleeting I don't think it even matters. I suspect this is simply carried over from the plot structure of The Hidden Fortress, where two peasants go through the same motions. That separation happens for a much more important purpose--to situate the characters in the middle of a battle and show why they have to stick together--whereas the two droids already survived a battle and have no reason to separate (other than C-3PO being a jerk). This could have all been written differently.
• After the Millennium Falcon escapes the Death Star and blows up the four TIE fighters, you can see out its cockpit that they're all just kinda floating in space. Shouldn't they be in hyperspace zooming towards Yavin? Why was that never even changed in the SE cuts? Or were they so close to Yavin that they could get there at sublight speed? If so, that seems overly convenient.
• As mentioned above, some dialogue comes off as unnatural-sounding. I think it's at its worst when the characters spout it out really fast. This happens with the following lines:
• "Commander, tear this ship apart until you find those plans! And bring me all passengers, I want them alive!" All of this just sounds like "RAH RAH RAH RAH" to my ears.
• "Don't call me a mindless philosopher, you overweight glob of grease!" This is a mouthful to retort with within a few seconds in a middle of a battle. Other lines, like "You watch your language!" manage to relay similar characterizations in much shorter time and with less purple prose.
• The whole "traveling through hyperspace ain't like dusting crops, boy!" spiel.
• "I'm Luke Skywalker. I'm here to rescue you." Whoa whoa whoa slow down there tiger, who are you again?

And that's it really, unless you count any Special Edition changes (seriously, eff that Jabba the Hutt scene).

And Chewie gets a medal too right? RIGHT?!

Even after forty-two years, the legacy of Star Wars persists across a huge footprint of media, including a dozen films now. As an experience, an influence, and a piece of pop culture, the film has always been an essential piece of adventure fiction and fantasy. It embodies escapism, whimsy, action, magic, and more. It does so with flair, immersion, and color. There is much to admire in the craft of the film, the script, and the story, to the point where it always comes up in writing circles I've been in. To this day, the film remains an endearing favorite and a classic. While fans everywhere seem to become more  and more jaded thanks to the expanded lore of the prequel and sequel trilogy, I tend to think that the magic and wonder of the original persists and can still be enjoyed on its own merits.

Perhaps there is still a goofy ten-year-old kid in me that looks up to the film and marvels at all the high-speed action, spaceships, the wonder of strange worlds, and the power of the Force. It will be with us, always.

An Appreciation of Rogue One: A Star Wars Story

WARNING: SPOILERS FOLLOW FOR STAR WARS AND SUICIDE SQUAD

Just one year after Disney reawakened the Star Wars brand, LucasFilm rolled out the first of what would become many anthology films. The focus on their first spin-off film would be the crack team of rebel soldiers that stole the Death Star plans in the events leading up to A New Hope. The team: Rogue One.

Surprisingly, this is the one time Vader doesn't scream "NOOOOOOOOO!!!" when he probably should have.

In 2016, I was cautiously optimistic over the film. I felt as though its hype was most palpable with the online discussions, but I don't remember talking about the film much in the real world. I saw the film on the big screen, alone, and I came out of it with mixed feelings. Unfortunately, my feelings remain mixed to this day.

It's a bit of a letdown because the trailer made this look like a slam dunk of a film. It has iconography. A strong female lead. Phenomenal action and special effect scenes. Darth Vader returns. AT-ATs return. Donnie Yen, Forest Whitaker, and Mads Mikkelsen as costars. What could possibly go wrong?

The script. That's what can go wrong.

Oh, It's Beautiful!

There are plenty of things I liked and admired about Rogue One. Those things are:

• Pretty much the entire last half of the film. I have many gripes about the first half, but once Rogue One reaches Scarif the film becomes focused, exciting, fun, and it genuinely feels like a full-blown Star Wars adventure. This extends not only to the battle scenes (and I gotta say the space battle is spectacular), but also to the plotting and personality of the characters, which shine the best during this mission than in the rest of the film. 
• Despite all my complaints about the film's first half, one of the most satisfying payoffs is the scene where Jyn faces off against Krennic. Even though Jyn doesn't fight or kill him (Cassian shoots him instead), it is still rather awesome to hear her announce who she is and declare that her father's vengeance is complete. If there's any semblance of an arc in this story, this would be its completion, and it feels inherently vindictive and just.
• The final scene, in which Darth Vader slaughters a bunch of rebels to take back the Death Star transmissions, is one of the best of the series. Partly because the show of power is incredible--this is easily the best scene Vader has that demonstrates how strong and ruthless he can be in a fight. It's also notable for the desperation of the rebel soldiers, who give their lives to pass the data (in turn, symbolizing hope) to the Tantive IV. This leads directly into A New Hope, and it feels like a bridge is successfully completed between the movies. 
• Much of the film's best comedy comes from K-2SO, a sarcastic droid. His lines and the way he plays off of characters are unexpected and quite funny.
• I do like the fact that Mon Mothma and Bail Organa have speaking roles throughout the film. Both never really had enough screen time in the other movies they appear in.
• The film's quality is as good as they come. Can't say I care much for the music score (which is shocking considering that Michael Giacchino's work is usually awesome). The cinematography is decent, but I'm a little ambivalent towards the use of handheld cameras (I suppose it's more of a good thing since this is meant to be a more literal war film). Otherwise, the film looks decent with its steadier photography, editing, and top-notch production quality. I like the actors just fine. Sound effects are spectacular. Special effects are decent (save for the god-awful resurrections of Tarkin and Leia).
• Now and then, there are scenes in most Star Wars films that can convey story and theme through the power of really good images. In Rogue One, I feel as though the following shots succeed in invoking stronger meaning:
• Most of the opening sequence showing the Imperial troops landing outside of Galen Erso's home. The combination of scenes--Jyn running, the soldiers marching ahead, Galen in the field facing them--is enough to show us what this scene is about. I do wish more was put into it, but as it is I admire how this piece contributes to the story.
• The Death Star's initial reveal, with light gradually sweeping over its surface as its dish is being installed.
• The Death Star eclipsing the sun.
• The Death Star cresting over Scarif's surface.
• The scene where Jyn and Cassian embrace each other as a destructive firestorm mushrooms in the distance and eventually engulfs them.
• Darth Vader activates his lightsaber in darkness.
• When the rebels escape, Darth Vader stands on a platform and looks down on the Tantive IV.

We're Rebels Aren't We?

She's a rebel. She rebels.

What do you think about when you think of a call-sign like Rogue One? Probably not a group of tough professionals, but a ragtag gang of outcasts and criminals who stick together. Something like The Dirty Dozen, Kelly's Heroes, The Guns of Navarone, or The Inglorious Bastards, but in space.

If you ask me what glues Rogue One together as a team, I really couldn't tell you. What throws me off about the Rogue One film is that the team doesn't seem to bond together, they simply follow Jyn or Cassian scene-to-scene until they arrive on Scarif and fight. The only thing that unifies them is their duty to the Rebellion and a desire to bring the fight to the Empire. That's nice and all, but the film never really dig into why these characters stick together on a personal level. Îmwe, Malbus, K2, and Rook are all one-note characters with a small amount of personality but no deep traits. I seriously don't know why any of them want to support the Rebellion--they simply do. Cassian is already a rebel, and Jyn's reasons are implicit to the story (since we see what the Empire did to her family). Whenever any of the characters interact, all they can really talk about is how much they want to rebel. Or something about the Force. Or something about the Whills, which doesn't even contribute to the plot. Or something about finding Galen, which seems to be Jyn's sole motivation.

This is the same problem I have with Suicide Squad--in that film, a team is slapped together and forced to do a mission with the threat of having their heads blown off. The neck implants are a good enough reason for the team to stick together, but halfway through the movie it becomes irrelevant (at least for Harley Quinn) and everybody could have just walked away without consequences. And yet, the film had the gall to explicitly decry a theme of "family" and have all the characters band together against the Enchantress. Their reasoning--family--doesn't hold water because the team has no reason to become a family. They were all bad guys with their own interests, and nothing united those interests (if anything Enchantress could have united their interests more than anything else). With Rogue One, the reasons behind the mission are pretty clear, but the problem remains that there's no real reason for the characters to stay together. Rook is one character I've grown to appreciate because his situation makes the most sense--as an Imperial defector, he can't exactly go back. Even after some pain and scorn, his best choice is to stay with the rebels, and it's refreshing to see him pull his weight as he does. But Îmwe and Malbus? I suppose their home was destroyed on Jedha, but otherwise they could have flown off somewhere and had no more impact on the story. Same for K2--granted, he does help the gang breach the Scarif vault, but if he didn't exist in the story these scenes could have simply been written differently. The only two that really matter are Cassian and Jyn.

Suicide Squad at least has a scene where all the characters sit down and have drinks, and they all spill their secrets. It doesn't quite absolve the film of its problems, but Rogue One's characters never even make the effort. They all just kinda follow each other. Nobody digs into each other's pasts, nobody connects over common interests or traits--there's simply no chemistry. For all the side characters, there's also no motivation shown or revealed.

The leads are more solid--Jyn's motivation is to find her father at all costs. Cassian wants to support the Rebellion, and will do what it takes. Since their goals differ, the two characters do clash at certain moments, and this generates some fleeting character tension. Even then, I feel like the story could have dug deeper yet.

I Know the Pieces Fit

The most frustrating thing is that all the pieces are there in Rogue One to make this an emotionally-fulfilling experience. It falls short for me every single time I see it, even though it seems like all the right scenes exist.

When Imperials are invited to tea.

One of the best things the film does is drop us in the middle of an important scene--the Imperials landing on Lah'mu to take Galen away and murder his family. This should be a gut-wrenching sequence. What do we really see in it though? Galen and Lyra express their love to Jyn, and the story presses on. Everything that happens later, including the deaths of both parents, and even Jyn's sacrifice, hinges on what this scene sets up. But it doesn't really set up a strong family per se. The only defining thing about this family is that they love each other. But so do most families, so all their exchanges come off as superficial.

What would have helped is if Galen and Jyn shared more than a cute nickname (for that matter, why Stardust? Exploring the reason behind that pet name could have revealed more about their relationship). They could have shared ideals. Or they could have clashed over ideals and generated some compelling conflict. We see no real chemistry one way or the other, they simply do things because the script says they love each other. We're supposed to care for them when Galen is killed, but to me it just felt cliched.

Unfortunately, this extends to the relationship between Jyn and Cassian as well. I'm not even clear if they're supposed to fall in love with each other or not--it feels like they should, but don't. Every time they have a moment together, their conversation devolves into something along the lines of "we have to do this" "no we have to do that" exchange and it becomes droll. Their final moment being swallowed up by an explosion is meant to be cathartic and sobering, but the effect falls short on me because their chemistry was never really there to begin with.

I really wanted to look up to Jyn as a strong character, in all the same ways I look up to Rey. And the pieces exist for Jyn to be a character worth caring about--not only because of her backstory on Lah'mu, but also because of her next scenes which shows her as a prisoner and a criminal (thus suggesting that she's tough, rebellious, and has a fighting spirit). I expected a strong rise arc out of her, to the point where she could inspire rebellion, but this never really happens. Jyn doesn't change at all in the course of the story. None of the character do. There's nothing learned. Without chemistry, personality, or motivation, all the pieces that the film has that should be obvious connections fall flat. I really can not bring myself to care for this team, or for Jyn, because of this.

All of this I blame on the script. Instead of tying up the pieces with good "show don't tell" dialogue or scenes, the film keeps shoving exposition in our faces. It's either dialogue that tells the characters where to go, directly answers story questions, or tells us a surface-level explanation for character actions. The best dialogue seems reserved for the more humorous lines, and perhaps one or two other scenes, but that's it. I feel like the film is meant to be emotionally deeper than this, but it doesn't make the effort to give us a reason (other than because Jyn has a father who died and the Empire is evil--so what?)

Unfortunately, I feel that the same problem exists in Gareth Edwards' other films--2014's Godzilla also has a story hinged on a character looking for a lost father, but once again the reasons to make us care fall short. For a Godzilla film it's more forgivable because we're all more invested in Godzilla himself. Don't even get me started on Monsters--the characters in that movie made me want to throw myself into a Sarlaac Pit. Given this track record, I'm inclined to say that Edwards is good at his action and horror setpieces and being selective on what threats to show, but I've yet to see him provide a film with a story worth caring (or crying) about.

One Last Mission

Rogue One seems to gel together the best when the team lands on Scarif and raids the Imperial base (doing so against the wishes of the rebel commanders, which truly makes the Rogue One team roguish). I think part of the reason is that all of the characters' goals align in this mission. Jyn's goals align with the rebels because stealing the Death Star plans also fulfills the goals of her father, thus granting personal stakes to the fight. I wish I knew what everyone else's personal stakes are, but they're all there working as a team, and it's refreshing to see all the characters pull their weight. I also find it refreshing that the rebel fleet zooms in to support Rogue One rather than to leave them there. I think it goes to show that watching characters and forces team up can be an inspiring, uplifting experience.

The entire last half of the film maintains its momentum and interest because the stakes keep escalating. The ground battle keeps growing bigger as walkers and troopers pour out of the facility and rebels have to fight them. Jyn and Cassian are the primary characters who ascend the Imperial tower, and they face a string of challenges, to include fighting, figuring out how to access the vault, and figuring out how to transmit the data. Even the space fleet experiences difficulties that have to be resolved. The constant rhythm of problems and problem solving (as well as causes and effects) gives the long battle sequence the structure necessary to keep its audience hooked.

A Fistfull Of Hope

In their last moments, Jyn and Cassian were blinded.

I wish I could say more about Rogue One. I also wish I could dig up more useful nuggets of storytelling wisdom. Unfortunately, much of its characters and story fell flat for me, save for the actual mission where all the cool stuff happens. I suppose you can chalk it up to the movie having a really great payoff for a lackluster setup. The things that fell flat for me were a combination of mismanaged expectations (I blame the trailers for setting Jyn up as someone spunkier than what we got) and too much expository writing that fails to capture the "why" of character motivations.

I'm also a little miffed at these aspects:

• Forrest Whittaker's performance really grates on me. Sorry.
• I have no idea what the Whills are and why it has guardians. Any reference to the Force has no direct connection to the story or characters--having Force-sensitive characters and folklore mixed into this militaristic film serves no purpose and has no payoff, and I wish this stuff was saved for a film where it would mean something and actually matter. Considering the Whills was a term conceived in Lucas' original scripts for A New Hope, I think it deserves a little more attention and gravitas--as it is, it's more of a passing reference.
• CGI reconstructions of Tarkin and Leia do not look good. They look like they belong in a modern video game. It's funny too because Star Wars has pushed the envelopes of special effects for so long, and bringing old actors back with CGI only makes sense for episodes like this. Somehow, the Marvel movies manage to progress this technology far better than LucasFilm did.
• R2-D2 and C-3PO have cameos. I really didn't need to see them in this film, much less hear them speak. I suppose it's necessary to make the connection that they will board the Tantive IV, explaining their presence in A New Hope. And yet, I don't feel it's all that necessary since Revenge of the Sith did the same thing. In Rogue One, the two droids' inclusion feels rather shoehorned.

But aside from these complaints, the film is a lot of fun and it looks cool. No matter how much I wish more effort was put into the story, I do enjoy the film more on each viewing. So much so that I'd rather watch this over The Phantom Menace, Attack of the Clones, and Solo.

Rogue One was the first Star Wars film to break the traditional mold of the numbered episodes (no opening crawl, film just smash-cuts to the opening scene, different music, different cinematography, different feel overall). It opened up the possibilities for a variety of filmmakers to put their own spin on the Star Wars universe, just as countless novels did. Although the fate of the anthology films remains dubious thanks to the fan backlash after The Last Jedi, Rogue One is far from a failure and I'm still intrigued to see if more anthology films will come out to show us even more of this sprawling galaxy.

An Appreciation for Solo: A Star Wars Story

WARNING: SPOILERS FOLLOW

Who doesn't love Han Solo, the rootin'-est tootin'-est gun-slinging smuggler in the Outer Rim? Harrison Ford gave a definitive performance in the three original Star Wars films (and heck, I didn't mind him in The Force Awakens either). Like a modernized John Wayne in space, he embodied a certain swagger and ruthlessness that defined the character as roguish, but charming and good-hearted in the end. One can't help but to speculate on where such a character came from and what his previous adventures might have been like. In 2018, Disney obliged all of us with their second anthology film--Solo.

Please shoot first. Please shoot first. Please...YES!

The film didn't quite perform as well as everybody hoped, and I've seen many folks point to The Last Jedi as the cause for the audience's lack of enthusiasm or hype. I went into the film feeling like it's business as usual, so perhaps I felt some post-TLJ apathy myself. Me and my dad came out of the film satisfied, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. The film seemed...fine...nothing more and nothing less.

After a couple of viewings, I find the film somewhat forgettable, if not flat-out unnecessary and bland. I could chalk it up to quite a few issues, but the biggest thing is that I never really wanted or asked for a Han Solo prequel movie. In fact, many viewers didn't.

Keep a Little Optimism

The film is hardly a total wash for me. There are things I like about the film, like...

• The focus on the Star Wars underworld. We always see glimpses of it throughout all the other movies, but this is the first (and currently only) film where the story is completely devoted to shady characters, crime syndicates, and the criminal activities they engage in. Han is an anti-hero and it's easy to see how his character is molded from this environment. The film winds up rolling up a few genres (adventure, westerns, heist films, crime drama) in a way that feels organic. I feel like the film hits up all these marks spot-on.
• I generally like the villains in this movie. Beckett fits the story like a glove, serving as both a mentor and an antagonist for Han. The two mirror each other aptly, and it's clear that Han learns much of his ways from Beckett. I also find Dryden Vos to be a a good "love to hate" villain, and the final fight between him, Han, and Qi'Ra is quite exciting.
• The cast is dang near perfect. 
• I had no problems with Alden Ehrenreich as the lead, I felt he captured the personality and traits of Han Solo quite well. It's not like Harrison Ford levels of greatness, but I found myself liking the character through Alden's performance, so I think that makes it a success. 
• Woody Harrelson is basically playing Woody Harrelson. And the role of Beckett calls for Woody Harrelson. Woody Harrelson delivered this admirably.
• Donald Glover offers the most pleasing surprise of the film by providing the most perfect performance of Lando Calrissian since Billy Dee Williams. I might even prefer Glover over Williams, since I feel that Glover relays a bit more range between the grit and swagger. He just comes off as one cool cat, and I love watching the guy.
• No complaints about Emilia Clarke, Thandie Newton, or Paul Bettany. Or Jon Fravreau or Ray Park or Linda Hunt or...anybody really. They all pulled their weight admirably.
• Despite my gripes about the film's color grading and lighting, it does look pretty sharp and impressive at times. Biggest standouts are the stuff in the beginning with the train heist, the scenes in the middle during the mine heist and the Kessel run, and at the end with the western-inspired standoff.
• For all that goes, those are all the scenes I enjoy the most. The film didn't really hook me with its first thirty or so minutes, but once the Kessel mission started I dug it a lot more. I suspect this is because from that point on the film relied far less on exposition and "telling" and more on consistent action beats with character personalities sprinkled in. Just as any film should be.
• The whole Kessel run sequence seems to be the best and most exciting thing about the movie. It boasts striking imagery (including a Star Destroyer shrouded in a vortex of space clouds, a myriad of Lovecraftian monsters, and an escape from a black-hole-like anomaly). It's also remains thrilling thanks to the time constraints put on the story (via the coaxium), the escalation of stakes, and the way each problem cuts things so close to the wire. Each problem winds up causing or revealing certain prequel checkboxes to become checked (which includes showing exactly what Han meant by completing the run in 12 parsecs, installing L3 as a sentient AI in the Millennium Falcon, and even showing how the Falcon became so beat-up. Not that any of this needed that much explanation, but it is pretty smooth how all these aspects aligned throughout the single event).
• I am also fond of the scene where Han first meets Chewbacca. It echoes a similar scene in Return of the Jedi when Luke is dropped into the Rancor pit. In both cases, this is a story problem that the hero overcomes--in Solo, Han escapes from the pit by befriending the monster instead of defeating him. It's nothing surprising, since we go into the movie knowing that the two become life-long friends, but I still enjoy the scene all the same (more than likely because of the way it's staged, built-up, and written).
• When Han and Beckett face off for the last time, Han shoots him in mid-sentence. After all these years of hearing the controversy over how the shootout between Han and Greedo was changed, this scene practically screams at us that Han always shoots first. Hell yeah.
• Designs for the ships, vehicles, costumes, helmets, weapons are all top-notch and look awesome.
• Sound design is good.

The Smuggler's Checkboxes

Lando challenges Han to a friendly game of Go Fish.

Solo is a prequel for a character who's already introduced with his own load of baggage. In A New Hope, we meet Han (and Chewie) as a man looking out for himself, but with a bounty on his head. He has no love of the Empire, but he has the fastest ship in the galaxy and a history with Lando Calrissian. Solo manages to encapsulate all of these points and support them with specific scenes.

• Han has to win the Falcon in a card game. That's always been a thing. It doesn't actually happen in the course of Solo's story, but it does happen by its end.
• Han and Lando become frenemies. All the stuff they go through in the film pretty much speaks for itself, and a few throwback moments reinforces their eventual reunion in The Empire Strikes Back (most especially the sudden hug Han gives Lando, and that moment where they're all like "I hate you," "I know.")
• Han and Chewie meet, and Chewie becomes indebted to Han for life. As mentioned above, I do like how this plays out, but it's hardly surprising.
• Han completes the Kessel Run in an amazing 12 parsecs. Did that mean in time? Or distance? For years nobody really knew. Now we know it's distance, because Han took a shortcut. Okay, sure, why not?
• Han's surname remains unknown, so the name Solo is given to him on the spot by an Imperial officer. Many viewers have been irked by this, and even I'll admit that it's excessive. I liked the name Solo as a kind of made-up nonsense, no different than Obi-Wan Kenobi and countless other Star Wars names. I always saw the name Solo as an alien name. Now it's revealed that it's not and Han is literally solo. The more I think about it, the more frustrating it actually is. It really wasn't necessary to put this in the film.
• Also not necessary: the gold dice that Han likes to hang on all his vehicles. This was a thing passed around The Last Jedi like it's some kind of family heirloom, but in the original trilogy I hardly ever noticed the dice in the Falcon in any scene. I feel as though the Disney-led films have been pushing the dice as a physical trinket to instantly connect audiences to memories of the Falcon, Han, and the adventures they had.
• Maybe not necessary, but strangely welcome: sticking L3 in the Falcon's computer, which explains why C-3PO is able to talk to the ship in The Empire Strikes Back and comment on its strange dialect.
• Few other throwbacks. Han says "I have a good feeling about this."

Checking off all these points amounts to very little tension or surprise in the film, and it might be some of the reason why the film never fully blew me away. What hurts the film even more is knowing that most of the characters (largely Han, Chewie, Lando) and the Falcon must survive by the end, since they all reappear in future stories. So when there are moments where Lando is shot or Chewie almost has his head knocked off, there is no real tension--we know that they'll all avoid death one way or another.

Adventure Begins (So We're Told)

I absolutely do not love the opening acts of this film.

The film opens with title cards. Not just the classic "A long time ago in a galaxy far far away" line--it continues with the following cards:

It is a lawless time. Crime Syndicates compete for resources - food, medicine, and hyperfuel. 

On the shipbuilding planet of Corellia, the foul Lady Proxima forces runaways into a life of crime in exchange for shelter and protection. 

On these mean streets, a young man fights for survival, but yearns to fly among the stars...

None of this is necessary. NONE. All these cards accomplish is telling us the scene we're about to see. The only added context is the background information behind the syndicates and Lady Proxima, who exists in the film for all of five minutes. All of this information, including the background, could have easily been shown to us instead, either through action, scenery, or dialogue. The last card, which explicitly tells us Han's character, is something that's shown through the entirety of the film. As it is, these cards spoon-feed us information and it kind of ticks me off (not as much as the god-awful Prince of Persia title cards, but hot dang this comes close).

You don't say...

After this light reading, the film immediately jumps into a scene with Han flying a speeder to meet Qi'Ra, they give Lady Proxima the slip, and they attempt to escape the planet. They wind up splitting ways, which gives Han his first major goal--to reunite with Qi'Ra. I can appreciate this set-up, but it falls a little short for me because just about every line given in these parts are expository. Little personality is relayed, lots of information continues to be spoon-fed to us.

This continues even into Han's years in the Imperial service, in scenes that I felt were far too short. I guess they had to have been to get to the next major plot point--Han meeting Beckett and his team. Still, I would have loved to have seen more of Han in the Imperial service. I could easily see him becoming sick and disenfranchised with it, which would give him more motivation to join Beckett. As it is, he only splits from the Empire because of Qi'Ra--I guess that's all he needs.

For the next part, we're given character introductions and exposition for a motley gang of rogues who ultimately die. Beckett is the only interesting one in the bunch and the only one on his team that survives the mountain heist. I really couldn't bring myself to like or care for all the side characters (except maybe Rio Durant). All of these scenes come off as procedural and a waste of time, really.

Han inevitably lands himself a new job with the Crimson Dawn, and more exposition leads him on the path to meet Lando, do the Kessel run, and go through with the rest of the movie's events. This stuff kinda writes itself, to the point where it's predictable. But I do think the amount of "telling" scenes are reduced throughout the last half, so the film becomes more palatable and fun. As it is, the opening acts come off as choppy, expositional, and garish.

Fastest Hunk of Junk in the Galaxy

Don't use the high beams in the fog.

Han Solo is not the sole star of the movie. The Millennium Falcon is an iconic ship, and in some respects it can be considered a character in its own right (at least as much as the Starship Enterprise could be, or the Titanic, or the Black Pearl, or other famous ships). It becomes a bit of a Macguffin for the film, but it is ultimately gratifying to see Han man the ship's controls towards the end. Not to mention the few beauty shots of the ship when it first appears, and the many external shots of the ship as it flies planet-to-planet. Seeing the ship in a pristine condition is nice--I do admire how clean and slick the ship is at its beginning, but it still bears familiar features.

It does remind me that the film does juggle something important: the iconography of its characters and their histories. I really can't fault the film for the way it dresses up Han and has him pose with his blaster--he looks cool in most scenes, just as he should. Same goes for Lando, who not only looks great holding a blaster but also holding cards. And his expressions--the smiles, the grimaces--echoes Billy Dee Williams' portrayal cleverly. The film never really strives for iconic scenes of its own, but I think it does fair justice to pre-existing icons.

I Don't Like It, I Don't Agree With It, But I Accept It

Few other interesting things about this film:

• Darth Maul returns, apparently in charge of the Crimson Dawn. It's a good scene and all, but I was left a little perplexed as to how and why this character returned this way after all the years that passed. Yeah, I know he came back in the cartoons, but I still find it hard to swallow after being cut in half in The Phantom Menace. All that being said, if a second Solo movie comes out, I will be looking forward to seeing Maul in action. Dude deserves more screentime.
• L3, despite coming off as a little annoying, is strangely funny to watch.
• It's a Ron Howard film. I'm usually quite ambivalent towards his films, but I do believe he's at his best with adventure fiction (as evidenced by Willow, which I believe shares a similar vibe and pace to Solo). As such, I think he did a fair job in directing (or rather, completing) Solo. I do kinda wonder how this project would have fared under the original directors--Phil Lord and Christpher Miller--but the decision to fire them is unsurprising given their established track record directing comedies. Solo has its funny moments, but it really needed to be an adventure with grit, and not a parody.

In general, I came out of the film pleased with its adventurous aspects. The amount of "tell don't show" writing bugs me, mostly in the opening acts. Much of the film is predictable, tension-less, and rather safe in nature, but it does kick into high gear eventually and become a thrilling experience all the same. It comes close to being my least-favorite of the Star Wars films (second only to Attack of the Clones), but I think its biggest failure is in how bland and procedural it seems, rather than its overall competency.

Fly, you fool!