An Appreciation of Star Wars Episode VI: Return of the Jedi

WARNING: SPOILERS FOLLOW

In 1983, two things happened of rather significant importance to me personally. First, I was born. Yay! Second, the original Star Wars trilogy ended with Return of the Jedi. This would be the last adventure for a generation, in which evil will be vanquished once and for all.

Now witness the firepower of this fully armed and operational third act climax!

Return of the Jedi is one of a fistful of movies that made me appreciate the cathartic value of a grand finale. The film is as grand as they come, and to this day, I’d contend that the Battle of Endor boasts the best-looking space battle on film. The sheer ambition with the models, animation, and scale really shows in the final product. All of that juxtapose to all the shenanigans in Jabba’s palace and Endor’s forests, and the film exudes the same spirit of adventure I loved in A New Hope, but with more polish.

Of course, the film is hardly perfect. But I’m okay with that, especially given my feelings over the perfection of The Empire Strikes Back. There are goofy moments in Return of the Jedi, but I never minded them at all. To me, this movie represents a return to joy and the spirit of adventure. But the most important thing the film does is resolve the lingering threads of previous films and achieve a genuinely satisfying conclusion.

One Perfect Finale

If the entire Star Wars trilogy is a three-act story overall, then Return of the Jedi embodies the entire last act—in itself, an all-out climax. And really, the film is a long string of action sequences—half of which takes place on Tatooine to resolve the issue with Han, and the other half takes place on Endor for everything else. Scenes in between on Dagobah and Sulust are very brief before the “endgame” commences. What keeps me glued to the screen the whole time is that both halves of the story are built-up by having the characters make a plan and execute it. Their plans ultimately don’t work, causing them to improvise, adapt, and execute new plans throughout the story. This keeps the battle scenes rolling for very long, consistent periods of time without coming off as repetitive, boring, or overly-noisy.

There is a crap-ton of action in Return of the Jedi, but the moments in between the action remain compelling thanks to the way the scenes address the characters and the outstanding conflict between them. Previous films had set up at least a couple of arcs that needed to be resolved—the biggest and most important one is between Luke and his father. This in turn winds up tapping into an implicit conflict between Vader and the Emperor. It all collides in the Throne Room fight, which remains my favorite scene in the whole series. The actual fight is incredible in the raw emotional power Luke shows as he’s tempted by the Dark Side and skirts its edge. But what happens afterwards are the moments that alters the galaxy’s destiny—Luke chooses the way of the Jedi (through non-violence) once and for all. When the Emperor tries to kill him, Vader chooses to overthrow him (literally), thus choosing his son’s life over his own well-being once and for all. These choices, though simple, result in consequences that lead to an Emperor’s demise, a father’s atonement, and a hero’s affirmation in goodness. This is the way the Jedi returned. All of it carries an emotional power that hits me harder than everything in The Empire Strikes Back.

There are other threads that are wrapped up. The three-way love triangle between Luke, Leia, and Han is tidily resolved by pegging Leia as Luke’s sister, which seems to make Leia’s relationship with Han more validated (even if it makes the kissy scenes with Luke more cringey). In the scene where Luke tells Leia about their relationship, we can see a brief burst of tension erupting when Leia pushes Han away. This lasts only a moment before Han turns around and apologizes—I appreciate this moment because it shows a certain nobility in Han, and in turn this shows how far he’s come since the first movie.

The issue of Obi-Wan telling Luke a different story about his father is addressed, and it never was a hard thing to fix anyway. All it took was Obi-Wan's ghost reappearing and brushing it all off as a "different point-of-view," suggesting that he never really lied because to him Anakin had actually died and was supplanted by Vader as an alter ego. It does little to mask the disparity between movies--I am pretty certain that Vader being Luke's father was never planned in A New Hope, so this becomes a kind of retcon. But for all intents and purposes, this is a sufficient explanation. What helps is that it remains within Obi-Wan's character--he always had a sly way of nudging Luke in certain directions, and if you rewatch A New Hope with the sequels in mind, it seems as though he does know more about Vader than he's willing to admit.

By the film's end, all the heroes unite in a victory celebration. All the antagonists--both major and minor--are dispatched in some way. The Empire is (supposedly) fallen. There are no story questions left to answer. No more threads left hanging (although the adventure can continue in a new era or generation, as numerous novels and the Disney movies proved). The film ends on a high note, with Luke and all his companions together, and the ghosts of Anakin, Yoda, and Obi-Wan watching them fondly. It's as good of an ending as I could ask for from this film series.

Jabba No Bother

Jabba is amused by his own subplot.

Han could have been written out of the movie entirely, given the behind-the-scenes tension between Harrison Ford and George Lucas. The actor had expressed an unwillingness to continue playing the role, which promoted the direction in Empire Strikes Back to freeze Han and have him shipped away. Ford ultimately did return for one more episode, and it does prompt the story to address how he’ll rejoin the team of heroes for the final fight. Jabba the Hutt was always teased in the previous two movies, so this subplot always felt inevitable to me. One lingering thread that had to be addressed.

Scenes in Jabba’s palace always interested and excited me. It is a literal hive of scum and villainy—there is an air of sleaze, grotesqueness, and grit that’s very fitting in a series full of bounty hunters, smugglers, and rebels. It’s as if they took the cantina scene in A New Hope and amplified it tenfold.

The film has a sly way of stringing its audience along, first following the two droids into the palace with no context concerning what will happen. They are unaware of the full plan, so we are too--when Luke's hologram reveals that the two droids are to be gifted to Jabba, it's a shock to all of us, and it's one of the first twists that happens in the whole sequence. The next big surprise is that the bounty hunter claiming Chewbacca's bounty is actually Leia, and she's the one who frees Han (although Jabba anticipates this move and captures them all--fortunately, Lando remains hidden among his rabble, so we know that there's more to the plan). At this point, Luke enters the palace to take care of the rest. I don't think he goes in with a plan at this point, but he prepares himself by hiding his lightsaber in R2 (who is now also among Jabba's gang). By the time they're all on the sail barge, all the pieces Luke needs for success are in place, and it's just a matter of fighting his way out (which, in turn, comes together thanks to how all the heroes overcome their respective challenges--Leia kills Jabba, R2 saves C3PO, Han saves Lando, Boba Fett is killed by accident).

It is inherently satisfying to watch the heroes succeed though their own machinations. But it would have been really boring if their plan went off without a hitch. There is no way they could have expected Jabba to discover and capture Leia, or trap Luke in the Rancor pit. For these instances, Luke had to rely on improvisation to escape danger and protect his friends--this called for a combination of skill, luck, guile, adaptation, and strength to get out of it all alive. These are all heroic traits that Luke embodies--he's had some of them since the beginning, but with his experience and past failures, he taps into his qualities in a more sublime way.

Luke Skywalker, Rise

Luke's greatest enemy--his own right hand.

One can argue that Luke has no real arc in Return of the Jedi. He remains the same person in the end of the movie as he is in the beginning. In between this and Empire Strikes Back, there is a notable difference--after all the defeat he faced before, he bounced back stronger, wiser, calmer, and more prepared. That alone made him a much more appealing character, and I love watching him kick butt throughout the movie.

In the last couple of movies, Luke's role in combat has been rather modest. He did land the winning shot against the Death Star, took down a few walkers on Hoth, but he's had very few scenes where he's shown in shootouts, duels, and close quarters fighting. In Return of the Jedi, Luke is finally given a plethora of scenes where he's the centerpiece of the fighting--he fights against the Rancor and wins (without the use of his lightsaber nonetheless), he escapes execution and fights a small army of ruffians on skiffs, he takes out scout troopers on speeder bikes, and in the end he lands a crippling blow against Vader. He has way more awesome wins here than in any other movie. All of this could only happen here because of the nature of his arc--at this point of the story, he has finally gained the skills necessary to become a more formidable fighter. It's a far cry from the whiny farmboy he started out as.

And yet, there are more important traits he shows that he's never had before. Patience, for one. He comes off as a calmer, quieter character who doesn't rush into combat or show as much impulse. Many of the exchanges he has with other characters are heartfelt and somber, in contrast to previous movies where he seems to brim with energy.

Luke's temper is tested in the end, but even in those moments he knows better than to cross the line into rage and he chooses to discard his weapon rather than to murder his own father. With this action--one of the most important character decisions in the series--he chooses nonviolence, which reflects the Jedi way (at least in a fundamental form, the Jedi Order is shown in the prequels to have become warfighters, but that may have been one of the reasons why it collapsed in the end).

The contrast Luke shows with his former self shows that he has changed, and he makes the final transformation in the movie's endgame. I've known one or two people who've said that in final victory over the Emperor Luke becomes useless. He just lies there and lets himself become zapped, calling out for his father for mercy. This is a moment where all the badass traits seem to dissolve, and you could say that Luke becomes a wimp. And yet, this is an inevitable direction to push Vader to make the right choice. It might even be the case where Luke martyrs himself on purpose, to help save his dad. Either way, this becomes Vader's victory in the end moreso than Luke's. And that's the point--a villain becomes redeemed, and Luke would go on to become the person Anakin failed to become.

Luke is a character I could always take or leave in the other movies, but in Return of the Jedi, all these aspects makes him much more interesting in my eyes.

It's A Trap!

Eywa is not pleased.

As I noticed with The Phantom Menace, Return of the Jedi handles its last battle by layering multiple narratives and intercutting between them. Once the Battle of Endor commences, it gradually unspools into a sprawling conflict that takes place on the planet's surface and in space. Both arenas have their heroes who have to overcome a myriad of obstacles and problems. It's especially deceptive since it seems like it'd be a straightforward victory, but the ground forces are ambushed and captured before they can rig up the bunker to explode, and the Rebel Fleet is caught between the Death Star II's shields and the Imperial fleet.

Between the two arenas, things only get worse. The Rebel Fleet falls under fire from the Death Star's main cannon, and the Ewoks seem to fail repeatedly. Yes, it's silly that the Ewoks are involved at all, but the way I see it their victory is enabled with one fairly creditable twist--it happens when Chewbacca takes over an AT-ST and obliterates the other walkers. Once that happens, Han has a way to fool the Imperials into opening the bunker, and it allows them to finally take out the shield generator. Ewoks alone couldn't have done this--they were best served as a distraction to spring the heroes from captivity (and as a kind of guerilla fighters, they did succeed in a few minor wins). The original concept to use Wookies on Kashyyk would have probably been more awesome, but I wouldn't want to mess with no Ewok either. Those little psychos nearly ate the main characters.

These threads are further entwined with the Luke/Vader/Emperor fight in the throne room. What's notable is that the Emperor's threats offer some short-lived dramatic irony, as he tells Luke outright about the forest ambush and the operational Death Star canon.

The way the three narratives are cut overlap each other so that dialogue and actions in each have impacts across the whole battle. It allows the battle to carry on for nearly half the movie without suffering any drag. Even the most prolonged sequence is pieced together from a myriad of micro-tensions and scenes that always pit the heroes against new challenges, forcing them to improvise as they go. Victories do eventually happen, but the film is careful to show a string of failures leading up to them (which includes seeing some Ewoks getting blasted, some rebel fighters exploding, rebels losing space and ground, and the heroes losing their chances or opportunities to gain an upper hand). The problems have gravity that weighs things down, but when there's an upswing it feels quite triumphant.

There are films where the ebb and flow of battle are less prevalent, or even non-existent, and it results in long battle scenes that bore audiences. It could be that some of these movies fail to engage their characters in the events, or vice-versa. Characters might not be in danger at all, so the stakes fall flat and we wind up not caring about them. For the most part though, it boils down to spectacle overriding the story--it's obnoxious at best and exhausting at worst. Thirty or more minutes of Endor is consistently brisk and fun--by comparison, thirty minutes of anything from Michael Bay's Transformers series will make you want to gouge your eyes out. Thirty minutes of the Metropolis fight in Man of Steel will give you a headache. All of the Battle of the Five Armies from the third Hobbit movie will make you shrug. These and other lengthy battle scenes fall short for one reason or another. Return of the Jedi manages to avoid all these problems thanks to the way it tracks each character and engages in the problems they face, rather than focusing solely on the spectacle of battle.

End of an Empire

You maniac! You blew it up!

When the fighting stops, the film gives a very brief denouement that amounts to nothing more than Vader's cremation and the heroes partying it up with the Ewoks (and in the Special Edition cuts, we see celebrations break out across the galaxy, including Coruscant (which, in 1997, was the first time anybody had seen the awesome city-planet on-screen)). Amidst all the goofy dancing and shenanigans, the movie ends on an earnest note with the Force ghosts and a final shot of all the heroes grouped together. For the intents of the three original movies, this is all that's needed--a simple focus on characters enjoying the moment of their victory.

With other movies contributing to the Star Wars universe, there are larger questions that the film doesn't address (and it really can't, given that for the longest time this was the end of the saga, period). Was "balance of the Force" actually achieved? I'm still not entirely certain--I would have thought this happens with both the Jedi Order and the Sith defeated, leaving Luke as the last Jedi standing (and I think think this is Lucas' intention or canon--that "balance" means all good and no bad). But I have seen arguments from other fans pointing out that balance should be an even number of good and evil, or none of either, or something. Funnily enough, that's a concept Snoke alludes to in The Last Jedi. But the fact that we have a Sequel Trilogy also indicates that nothing is actually over with this series--the Empire may have fallen, but new evil takes root and a new round of heroes has to rise to the challenge. In that sense, if balance was achieved in Return of the Jedi, it's a short-lived victory. Vader's sacrifice might not even mean much when Palpatine returns in the Rise of Skywalker (although that's not a hard twist to follow given that Palpatine may have stolen the secrets of life and death from Darth Plagueis). The Force is thrown out of whack again, despite everyone's best efforts.

The political ramifications of the Emperor's (temporary?) demise is not covered by any movie. Somewhere between Return of the Jedi and The Force Awakens, there is a New Republic established. It wouldn't have happened overnight--the whole galaxy would have surely been in turmoil given the sheer power vacuum the Emperor would have left behind. Anarchy--literally, the transitional chaos between transitioning forms of government--would have consumed many worlds (including Coruscant) and probably led to civil unrest, warring factions, and a divided universe. All of that is glossed over. Probably because it's not as nice of an ending as watching Ewoks use Imperial helmets as drums. It's also something that goes beyond the story's immediate scope, which is more interested in showing the end of Luke's and Anakin's journeys amidst a Rebel victory. What will happen the next day? It's nobody's concern in this movie, but I think a line or two could have addressed the issue adequately.

There are other things I admire in Return of the Jedi. Some additional praise I have are as follows:

• Luke Skywalker in black. Hell yeah.
• You know, despite all the gripes about Ewoks, I still like certain things about their scenes. I like how they regard C-3PO as a god--there are sci-fi writers who've written entire books about how aliens, robots, or technology can be easily misconstrued as magic, and the film works that angle in pretty smoothly, even if it's not a theme that's explored to its fullest potential. I like the peril the heroes are in when the Ewoks capture and threaten to cook them. I like Leia's first encounter with Wicket (the sequence with the sniper is actually fairly suspenseful). I even like some of the nonsense words the Ewoks used (there is one instance in which one of them says something that sounds like "he is nice," and it can't be unheard. For some reason, when I was a kid I adopted "yub yub" as some kind of nonsense I said all the time, and it stuck with me and a couple of my friends).
• Just as The Empire Strikes Back did, the film introduces awesome new things--ships, vehicles, weapons, aliens, and entire worlds--that help expand the universe. Some old things are brought back, including more AT-STs, and so many stormtroopers. What we also get are speeder bikes, sail barges, flying skiffs, Mon Calamari cruisers, a myriad of new fighters (including TIE Interceptors, A-Wings, and my personal favorite, the B-Wings). We see scout troopers and red guards for the first time. Not to mention the insane number of new aliens we see bumming around Jabba's palace.
• We also see much more of the Emperor Palpatine. This is the first time we see him in the flesh, and when he gets out of his chair, we see Force lightning being used for the first time. 
• I always liked Admiral Ackbar. I don't even know why. Mon Mothma deserves a shoutout too, and her being the leader of the Rebellion I wish she was in more of the movies (thankfully she is seen more in Rogue One).
• On occasion, there are scenes or individual shots that elicit thoughts and emotions with mere images and no words. Even though there are a lot of punchy images to behold throughout the trilogy, Return of the Jedi manages to grab my heartstrings the most with these specific scenes:
• Much of the throne room scenes look decent, but it really hits home when Palpatine finally tempts Luke into a fight, and we see the Emperor laughing through the two lightsaber beams. What really gives me chills is the last bit of the fight, when Vader elicits Luke's rage he furiously backs Vader into the walkway--the combination of camera movement, choreography, and music elevated the scene to cathartic levels.
• Vader's cremation scene is appropriately somber and feels like the right way to tie up the father/son conflict. Between the flames and the medium shots of Luke's expression, I can genuinely feel for it.
• Visually, the film overall looks unique. The last couple of Star Wars films were deeply steeped in grunge, desolate, and industrial settings, which often looked oppressive and scummy. We still see much of that with Jabba's palace, but afterwards the film shows a lot more blue and green, and it's a pallet I find appealing and wish was in more space movies. Something about the forest scenes, especially when composited with the ships and walkers, look pretty cool to my eyes.
• John Williams' score is on-point, as usual. What stands out to me in Return of the Jedi is the dramatic cue used when the Rebels first approach the Death Star (on the soundtrack it's labelled as "Into the Trap")--I rather wish that theme was used more and for longer, but for the one scene it's pretty chilling.
• The dance number in Jabba's palace always called for something sleazy to match the setting. The song used in the original theatrical release--a bizarre alien number called "Lapti Nek"--fit the bill perfectly. It doesn't have any of the swing of "Jedi Rocks," but that's fine--"Lapti Nek" still had beat, but with some combination of blues, disco, and 80s style synths. Sy Snootles' vocals were lower-pitched and a bit grody perhaps, but it seemed fitting.

There are a few things to dislike about Return of the Jedi. Those things are:

• Tonally, the film seems to flip-flop between the darkness and grunge we see in the other movies, and an elevated level of light-heartedness. Ewoks betray the lighter tone the most given their cute nature and the funnier antics they share with the heroes. There's no denying that most of it is aimed as a younger audience. I have recently heard somewhere that the original script called for Wookies to be used instead of Ewoks, and that the movie's battle was supposed to be on Kashyyk instead of Endor. How awesome would it have been to see an army of Wookies winning the final ground battle against the Empire (especially since the Imperials enslaved the Wookies--the battle could have entailed their liberation). The decision to make them all Ewoks was a business decision that would have sold more toys to more families, and it shows in the final product. What could have been epic is made a bit tame. When you're a kid in the 80s, I just rolled with it and accepted that Ewoks could defeat an Empire, sure. Recently, fans have expressed their dislike of the little critters more, citing it as an unlikely victory (I think it still works because of Chewie's involvement, as mentioned above). I think the real issue is that we can see the business decision for what it is.
• As much as I enjoy watching the ground battle, it did occur to me recently that I have no idea how the Ewoks were able to do the things they could. They have catapults that seem to appear out of nowhere. They somehow arrange for a pair of logs to swing from trees and smash one of the walkers. They somehow arrange for a whole bunch of logs to roll down a slope and topple another walker. Logistically, all of these things would have required a lot of manpower, heavy lifting, and coordination that would not have been possible on the fly, especially for critters of this size.
• The film, as it was with Empire Strikes Back, starts off strangely weak. Both movies open with, simply, ships in space. They move. They launch shuttles, which dock and unload people. The opening lines of Return of the Jedi serve only to inform us that the Emperor will he hanging around the Death Star II. I mean, sure, the ships look cool and all, but what ever happened to the in media res method that A New Hope (and Revenge of the Sith) used? I much prefer it when these movies open with a bang. I would have even accepted this one opening with the two droids approaching Jabba's palace, which is where the story really seems to start anyway. You could skip the first few minutes of the movie and miss nothing.
• The three original films were handled by three different directors, and you can see the differences in their styles when you look at how scenes are paced, how the actors are blocked, and what kinds of camera angles they use. Ivan Kershner probably found the best balance of cinematic technique for The Empire Strikes Back, whereas Richard Marquand offers little new to the table. Return of the Jedi looks good and all, but its best scenes are the more dramatic ones (like the throne room scenes). The film bears a more workman-quality look, with little in the cinematography and composition that I find particularly moving. But from Lucas' comments, it seems as though Marquand was picked for how well he worked with actors and his previous work on suspense films. I think those qualities come through fine when evaluating performances. But the other odd thing I noticed about Return of the Jedi is how it slows to a crawl between the major story scenes, resulting in large chunks where characters share a sentimental chat (this seems to happen in any scene between Luke and Yoda, Luke and Obi-Wan's ghost, Luke and Leia, Leia and Han, and Luke and Vader). It's not such huge drag, but it feels tonally soft when these scenes happen, and I suspect is might stem from Marquand's style.
• This is the second time the Death Star is used as the core problem of a Star Wars movie (and sadly it won't be the last). I suppose the Empire could just build another one, sure, and it does present huge stakes, but it retreads old territory. It would have been more exciting to see something else in its place. 
• Speeder bikes in a forest are utterly impractical. There's no way a scout trooper could navigate through the dense trees at such high speeds without regular crashes. Walkers make more sense here (and there are some, yes). The speeder bikes should have been introduced in the last couple of movies, where the environments were much more open.
• Boba Fett goes out like a chump.

And that's it. Few major nitpicks, but for the most part I've always loved the movie. Its entire runtime is a climax to a film arc that pushes its characters to the tops of their peaks. This is the only film where I find Luke to be pretty awesome, because he does a lot of awesome things instead of whining. It's also a joy to watch Han come out of the carbonite, even if Harrison Ford got sick of playing the character. Watching cuddly Ewoks in action is a small price to pay for some of the best space battles in the series, and a heart-wrenching finale that pits Luke against his own father, and even himself. It helps that the story is woven with multiple strands that intersect and keeps the long-winded finale interesting and compelling.

It is done.

For a time, I would have pegged this as my favorite of the original trilogy. Right now, I'd probably place it second behind A New Hope. Both exude a kind of adventurous spirit that I find wonderful and exciting. Even though new threats would pop up in the galaxy, the film ties up all the story threads it has to, and it does so with heart. I still think this is a great ending for a great trilogy.

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.