An Appreciation of Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace

WARNING: SPOILERS FOLLOW

You just had to have been there in the summer of 1999. Sixteen years after the original Star Wars trilogy wrapped up, The Phantom Menace dropped and promised a return to a universe everybody knew and love. Only now, it's bigger. Finally, we’d all see concepts, places, and events that were explored in spinoff books and games. We’d finally see what Coruscant, the city planet, looks like. We’d see that the Old Republic and Jedi Order look like and how they work (or rather, how they fail). There’d be incredible lightsaber fights. There’d be major space and ground battles. There’d be Podracing. All of that wrapped around a story about one beloved character’s descent into the Dark Side.

We waited so long to see more of this...wars in the stars.

I breathed in the hype as early as ’98, when I saw the news in a magazine that LucasFilm had greenlit the prequel series and filming was underway. Throughout my sophomore year in high-school, I regularly checked on StarWars.com to find news and pictures (for some reason, never bothered with the behind-the-scenes webisodes—I suppose I was more interested in the final product than seeing the production). I spread the news to anybody who listened. In the months leading up to the film’s release, I have fond memories of playing the crap out of John Williams’ score (by far my second-favorite Star Wars score behind A New Hope).

When I finally saw the film, I felt it delivered everything I could ask for. My sixteen-year-old-self gawked in awe at the CGI dreamscape—the first of its kind, really—which brought the fantastic vistas of Coruscant and Naboo to life. Oh yes, the space battles, blaster shoot-outs, lightsaber duels, and the Podracing all quickened my pulse. I even geeked out over the senate scenes. It captivated me in all the ways other favorite films had, and I came out of it feeling inspired and blown-away.

The film was the talk of the town for a while. It was one of the only two films I saw twice on the big-screen (the other being 2009’s Avatar). The second time was with members of my extended family, and the film held up just fine for me. We had insightful discussions about its achievements. At school, students and teachers alike expressed their fandom, and it truly felt like the event of the year.

Focus Determines Reality

Here it is twenty years later, and it’s time for a reality check: The Phantom Menace, despite all its hype and success, was not all it was cracked up to be. Oh, I still enjoy it to some degree, but even in ’99 I caught wind of the common criticisms on the Internet.

In the days before tablets, this stood out.

Let’s be real—it was 1999 and I was a teenager. Just two years later, I’d watch Battlefield Earth in the cinema and consider it one of the coolest films I’d seen. My opinion back then might as well be invalid.

The late 90s and early 00s in general was a pretty goofy time, and The Phantom Menace slid right into a comfortable mold next to all the slapstick comedies (Galaxy Quest, Austin Powers, Dude, Where’s My Car?) and adventure films of the time (The Mummy, Charlie’s Angels, the Brosnan Bond films). There was good, serious cinema as well, but back then it was the sillier films that caught my attention more. After all, they were colorful, funny, and full of spirit.

As time passed, some things held up and many haven’t. The Phantom Menace is one of the ones that did not. The funny thing is, I am not the same person I was twenty years ago. I know more now about writing and storytelling than I did back then, so many of the issues I was previously blind to are now blatantly clear. One could make an argument that nothing is the film’s fault—after all, I am the one who changed and developed these opinions after so-much study and contemplation. But by that reasoning, maybe Battlefield Earth is beyond reproach too?

Subjectivity in art is a hard issue to grasp, especially in the age of the Internet where anonymity allows people to rip each other apart for something as inconsequential as tastes. Debates and arguments ramble on because we all have our own opinions about movies and nobody is ever really right or wrong (unless addressing an objective fact). Some people may genuinely know more about a film’s production, a filmmaker’s mindset, and conventions. Other people just want to see the pretty spaceships and laser swords. I somehow flipped-flopped from the latter to the former.

If it wasn’t for nostalgia, I might not enjoy it quite as much. If it wasn’t for twenty years’ worth of watching other, better films, I might not be as critical and still praise the film. I might never love it as much as I did in ’99, but I still value it. My current reality is: the film is strictly a guilty pleasure.

The Bombad

Oh yes, this is the shot that makes the movie worth it.

I wound up writing so many negative points about the movie, I realized it would be easier to list the positives first. Some might say there are no positives to this movie, and the more I think about it the more I can see why. Still, there are good things to talk about, and these are the aspects I appreciate out of the film:

• Right from the start, we can see that this is a different time and place from where Episodes IV, V, and VI took place in. The ships are sleeker. Shiny, even. There are droids everywhere. Gungans have shields. The galaxy is ruled from a city planet. It is a stark contrast from the original trilogy, where technology is clunkier, more robust, and often grimy-looking. Some viewers find the disparity problematic, but I don’t think they should. Episodes I, II, and III take place in a time of a republic, where there is prosperity. It’s supposed to look more beautiful. Technology is supposed to be more abundant. All of this sets up the future Empire as an oppressive force that causes technology, the economy, and society to degrade more. This, in turn, mirrors the disparity of society when the Roman Republic transitioned to an Empire, where society shifted from something cultural to something more militaristic. Or, if you prefer, it mirrors WWII and how most materials were manufactured less for aesthetic or cultural value and more for the war effort, which resulted in clunkier, uglier, more robust equipment.
• For what it’s worth, I consider the technology in the original trilogy (and now the sequel trilogy) to be superior to prequel things in their own way. Pit an X-Wing against a Naboo fighter, and I don’t think there’d be any competition—the Naboo fleet doesn’t even have hyperdrive. Droid fighters drop like flies (probably for the same reason as TIE fighters—they’re mass produced, quantity over quality, for the purpose of swarming enemies). OT ships, guns, and things look uglier, but prequel tech always seemed more fragile by comparison. And I think that’s just fine.
• This production spares no expense on anything, much less imagination. For all the prequels, it seems as though everything Lucas and his team could think of, they used. In The Phantom Menace in particular, it is quite novel and exciting to see such things as the two-sided lightsaber, all the new ships, Coruscant, the galactic senate, different kinds of troopers and droids, so many creatures, creatures with weapons and shields, and so much more. It is a huge universe with endless possibilities—so much so that it feels like they threw in everything and the kitchen sink. Some decisions are strange this way, but I appreciate the fact that the film doesn’t give us anything common or clichéd. It gives us things like droids on racks, frog people fighting hovering tanks with little blue balls, a devil-man villain, a flying chariot race, and more. 
• Even though I gripe about how goofy the battle droids are, I have always admired the design of them. They might be fragile and useless, but they are pretty sleek and I like watching them doing mundane things like marching, invading, patrolling, manning consoles (...wait, they're machines, why do they have to use starship controls like normal people? Couldn't they use scomp links like R2?).
• Going hand-in-hand with the production quality, I also admire the beautification of the settings. All the Italian scenes are so lush and elegant, it makes Naboo look like a wonderful planet I’d love to live on. Its grasslands, forests, and oceans look wonderful and are really nice backdrops for the action—very few other films bother to look this nice with their action scenes (Return of the Jedi and Star Trek: Insurrection comes to mind—otherwise, I’m drawing a blank). Coruscant is always an impressive sight, and after reading about it throughout the 90s the on-screen reveal of it did not disappoint.
• One thing Star Wars always has are transition shots. You might not even notice them because they’re fleeting, but they are often a brief shot that simply shows a location before the actual scene happens. This can be something as simple as Anakin’s hovel to something as complex as the Trade Federation ships hovering over Naboo. All of these do catch my eye because they’re quick moments of well-composed photography that sets the scene and orientates us. The transition shots in The Phantom Menace are as expert as ever—if somebody made a ten-hour video looping shots of Theed, the Federation blockade, and Coruscant, I could be mesmerized for the whole time.
• I’ve always enjoyed the Podracing scene as an action sequence. Its place in the story is problematic, but on its own merits it is a great-looking scene with bombastic sound design and tons of detail. I appreciate all of the smaller-scale narratives that collectively build up the scene (which includes individual racers being wiped out, obstacles, random Sand People attacks, Sebulba’s shenanigans). At its climax, it is inherently cathartic to see Sebulba get his comeuppance while Anakin speeds away—all tied together in a massive sand explosion.
• The light-saber duel between Darth Maul and Obi-Wan/Qui-Gon is pretty awesome. There are things to nitpick about it, but it was purposefully choreographed to be a dance-like scene in the same style as other 90s wire-fu and martial arts pictures, and the scene succeeds in its intention. The build-up to it is genuinely tense, especially in the opening moments when the doors slide open and “Duel of the Fates” starts playing. The way it’s cut, shot, and staged holds my attention perfectly. The final outcome of the fight is probably the most emotionally gut-wrenching scene in the movie.
• The film delivers a micro-twist before the final battle, revealing that Amidala had a body double the whole time and Padme is really the handmaiden that Anakin interacted with. What helps sell this is that it was foreshadowed in previous scenes, with the way Padme would react and respond to specific situations (primarily questioning Qui-Gon’s decisions with Anakin and fixing the ship and such). I also appreciate how the body double is presented as more of a blank doll-like figure rather than a fully fleshed-out character—the seemingly pompous make-up work makes sense here. Can’t say I care for how the twist is used (to convince the Gungans to fight in the end), but I like how it’s built-up.
• This film and Return of the Jedi do something with their battle scenes that I find most engaging—they take multiple different narratives and entwine them in a way so that certain beats and rhythms align. Across all the narratives, there will be a point where something fails and it will seem as though the heroes will lose, and this happens all at the exact same time (Padme is captured and taken to the Viceroy’s throne room, Anakin’s ship fails and he’s surrounded, Qui-Gon dies, and the Gungan army is routed). In the next scenes for each, all of the heroes will either turn the situation around, recover, or strike back (and some combination of these events saves the Gungans in their situation). The reason this works is because the film evenly intercuts short scenes from each of these threads together. Each scene is so brisk that they never overstay their welcome, even though the overall battle takes up a huge chunk of screen-time. The film even finds space to intercut some occasional shots of Nute Gunray on his ship and some droid reaction shots. It is a very broad, omniscient view of the battle, and it’s pretty satisfying. 
• Every time Queen Amidala talks, it's in this pseudo-French accent which I assume is a native Naboo dialect. I don't think many folks really liked it, but I always thought it was kinda sexy.
• The sound design was always distinctive and punchy in all the Star Wars movies. The soundscape of the prequels is a fresh pallete, with particular emphasis on loads of creature sounds, weird-sounding weapons, and engine noises. Some of it can be repetitive and noisy. But there are occasional bursts where the sound is genuinely impressive—the Podracers are exceptionally awesome to hear.
• John Williams’ score remains one of my favorites of the lot. Star Wars music is at its best when memorable cues kick in for specific themes and characters, and The Phantom Menace score is loaded with spectacular themes and fanfares. The music in itself has nuances and connections that makes it feel wholesome and complex—maybe even more than the movie.   

Wow. Such cinematography. Much film.

• The cinematography—the most powerful of films can relay its story with less dialogue and punchy, impactful images. There are quite a few shots in The Phantom Menace that achieve this, despite all the problematic dialogue, and these are the moments worth watching.
• When the Trade Federation lands, there is a sort of double-take of Queen Amidala staring out the window in despair. Each cut brings the camera closer until we are actually looking out the window and seeing the droids marching around.
• Darth Maul’s landing on Tatooine. Maybe because his ship looks so similar to Vader’s in A New Hope.
• When Darth Maul fights Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon in the desert, most of the scene is strictly close-ups of the sabers clashing and robes swirling. This is not exactly an easy scene to watch, but it’s easy to see what it’s trying to do—to theatrically show us a violent “dance.” What I love the most is how the scene ends, with Maul standing alone watching the ship fly away.
• On Coruscant, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon have a chat on a balcony overlooking the city as the sun sets.
• When the battle of Naboo starts, we see the Gungan army marching out of the fog. Across the field, droid tanks hovering over the grass. Something about this setup always looked good to me.
• During the last battle, the doors open and Darth Maul is standing there. Cue “Duel of the Fates.” Lightsabers ignite. Holy crap, his has two ends!
• During the lightsaber duel, there is a moment where the camera pushes in on all three characters as they’re poised with their sabers.
• As Mace Windu questions who is the master and who is the apprentice, the camera pans and focuses on Palpatine—the master in front of them the whole time.
• Every Star Wars film that Lucas made ends with a carefully-composed scene where all the heroes are shown in a wide view, and the positioning and posing can be quite obvious, almost like it’s a painting. In The Phantom Menace, we see all the heroes—Anakin, Obi-Wan, Padme, Yoda, Boss Nass holding up an orb—on top of a staircase in the middle of a parade. It kinda mirrors the throne room ceremony in A New Hope, but with a lot more pomp.
•  Plenty of criticism has been flung at George Lucas over the years, but I have to hand it to him that there is a sense of passion and heart plugged into the prequel movies. There are loads of films produced year after year that are simply heartless, made with workman quality, and they leave zero impact when they’re done.
• What matters the most? Story. The prequels have a good story worth telling, and there are nuances that can make it pop in some surprising ways. I have pages of gripes down below, but I can’t deny that the deeper I look at it, the more I like what I see if you ignore specific issues with the plot, pace, structure, and dialogue.
• I like the fact that the film foreshadows Anakin’s fall arc this early, going so far as underscoring Anakin’s fear, which inevitably leads to the path to the Dark Side.
• That being said, the film’s focus seems to be on the same thing that A New Hope focused on—a Skywalker’s dream to leave a humdrum life behind and have an adventure. To have a purpose in life and make a difference. It is an inherently inspiring story.
• There’s no real way to mask Palpatine’s real identity as Darth Sidious, so the film very slyly slips in a few clues to show us how he manipulates everybody around him and eventually gets what he wants. Clearly the first step in his master-plan, and it becomes an interesting hook to see how he achieves the next step.

The Poodoo

We...do not talk about this scene.

Now, here’s some griping. I’ve had a few of these criticisms since the film’s opening—others, I find myself nodding in agreement as I see other people’s analysis and critiques.

• Expectations vs reality: the point of a prequel trilogy is to deliver Anakin Skywalker’s backstory. What did we get in The Phantom Menace? Pretty much A New Hope with a younger protagonist. The film makes very few strides in developing the arc that transforms Anakin into Darth Vader. It does lay down some of the pieces that future films use, but I came out of the film a little bewildered that Anakin himself doesn’t actually change in the course of the film.
• To be fair to Lucas and his intentions. I’m pretty sure he made the decision to make Anakin a kid to show that he’s untainted, innocent, and pure. Future episodes show his gradual corruption through his experiences and troubles. The first episode probably doesn’t warrant a significant character arc, but I still feel as though there is a missed opportunity with Anakin’s setup.
• I suspect part of the issue is that Anakin doesn’t change. What does he actually learn in the movie? That dreams come true? Big whoop. What Luke learned was more profound—he realized he could become somebody better and become part of something bigger. It was an arc of self-actualization, and it’s rather inspiring. Anakin is handed this in the course of the story—aside from winning the Podrace, he had no real hand in joining the larger universe beyond Tatooine. The film positioned him on the path to Vader, and in doing so, there's no indication he learned, changed, or grew in a significant way.
• Anakin is a slave living in a crummy dusthole. Watto regularly exploits him. And yet, he has his mommy, he’s able to eat and sleep comfortably, and somehow he has enough freedom to walk the streets, Podrace, and build his own droids. The conditions he lives in are only slightly worse than when Luke bummed around his uncle’s moisture farm. I wouldn’t ask for Anakin to be hurt or tormented, but the setting and conditions could have called for more oppression, which in turn would have hardened him more (and gave him even stronger reasons for wanting to leave and make things better). If you want a good rise arc, you need to have your character start low to begin with (granted, this series a fall arc, but you can still set up Anakin by having him rise first—that should have been the goal of The Phantom Menace).
• Anakin only affects the story in a couple of places—one, by winning his freedom at the Podrace (which is a victory we can all see coming anyway), and two by sitting in a fighter, overriding its auto-fly feature, and spinning. He has no say in joining Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon—there’s nothing much to say because they offer what he wants: a way off of Tatooine to achieve his dreams. In discussing his future and participating in the final battle, Anakin has no input. Simultaneously, nothing in these scenes changes him.
• The biggest thing to wonder about back in 1999 was the simple question of how this kid could become one of the most evil characters in the universe. When you see the trailer, there’s this incredibly cathartic moment where Obi-Wan screams “Nooooooo!” and there’s a shot of Anakin running and something blowing up. It would have you believe that Anakin does something that starts his journey to the Dark Side. Except that never happens, largely because of all the issues above. One could argue (and maybe Lucas would argue) that this is not the point in which Anakin’s downfall should happen. But even Harry Potter faces darkness and conflicts with himself in the first story. There’s no reason why some seeds of Anakin’s fall shouldn’t be planted (few are uncovered, yes, but these are only told to us through the Jedi council’s probing, never shown and never really manifested as anything that affects the plot). How hard would it have been to have some moment—maybe disobedience or anger—that would have shown Anakin approaching the slippery slope?
• The Phantom Menace remains the goofiest of the main Star Wars films (I say “main” because I still haven’t seen those Ewok films—not sure I ever will). Goofy can be good sometimes, and all Star Wars movies are full of moments that are funny and endearing because of them. Episode 1 has a lot of these moments that try hard, but they don’t really elicit laughs.
• We need to talk about Jar Jar Binks. He is considered one of the worst characters in cinema precisely because his goofiness goes above and beyond what we can consider tastefully funny. Biggest problem I see is that he’s so nervous and hyper that he becomes neurotic, and neurotic characters annoy me more and more since they tend to dramatize small, inconsequential things. In all his clumsiness and panic, Jar Jar assuredly destroys most places he visits, and it causes us to roll our eyes more than anything. Couple that with the strange, baby-like Gungan lingo, and he becomes a walking, talking cringe-fest.
• In defense of the stupid little Gungan, I do have to say that after reading Terry Brooks’ novelization, I actually found Jar Jar less irritating. The book made him a little more sympathetic, and I daresay his scenes came off as a little more amusing. I think this is one of those cases where he’s funnier on paper than in execution—maybe it’s Lucas’ direction or maybe it’s the horrible Gungan accent. It likely boils down to the film simply giving us no reason to care—as a book, you have introspection that lets us see where the character comes from, but on film (especially with Lucas’ preference for wide objective shots), we’re not given any insight on how this character ticks other than he’s clumsy. So, he comes off as a one-note clown. He didn’t have to be. We have decades of comedians (like Charlie Chaplin) to prove that clumsy characters can still work if they’re sympathetic and have motivations. These aspects never come up on film, so it all falls horribly flat.
• There are points in The Phantom Menace where Jar Jar’s antics pay off. As he’s promoted to a general (for some reason), he spends most of the last battle fumbling from one thing to another, accidentally scoring some wins for the Gungans. He manages to take down some tanks and droids this way. It’s stuff I actually did find amusing, and watching it today I have no qualms about these scenes. I appreciate that the film found a purpose for all of Jar Jar’s stupidity, and it seems to channel the classic 1920s style of comedy that Chaplin and Keaton pioneered (probably on purpose). I also appreciate that these minor victories didn’t actually work in the long run—the Gungans lose the ground battle and are rounded up by the droids, which built up the stakes so that the other characters had to win.
• In the behind-the-scenes footage, Lucas is clearly quite excited about Jar Jar. Not because of how deep or moving the character is, but because this is the first time a full character, with lines and performances, can be integrated into a live-action film. It was a technical landmark at the time, and it actually looked good. As a special effect, the character holds about as well as those Jurassic Park dinosaurs. Maybe this is an indicator that Lucas was more interested in whether or not he could, he didn’t stop think about whether he should.
• Jar Jar is not the sole source of The Phantom Menace’s comedy, for better or for worse. There are quite a few jokes where animals fart in a character’s general direction, or characters step in droppings. Hilarious, isn’t it? 
• Battle droids don't help, with their twitchiness and the brainless things they say. "Roger roger" is cute the first time seeing the movie, but I have to ask, why are military killing machines talking like this?
• Speaking of battle droids, it needs to be addressed that they are so useless they present no threat to the Jedi. Even Lucas says that the Jedi can "cut through them like butter." This can be a problem since every time the Jedi fight droids there's no threat or tension, we're just watching a bunch of machines getting kicked around. We're probably supposed to be hooked on the larger problems they face, but really if it wasn't for the destroyers that rolled up they could have ended this movie within ten minutes.

Why are you here? Shouldn't you be feeding your Rancor or something?

• Hey, you remember Jabba the Hutt, right? Surely, you love C-3PO and R2-D2. They all come back, isn’t that great? Eh, no. It’s not great. R2 is a great character and all, but I didn’t really need to see him again in the prequel movies. To include him in The Phantom Menace feels like a shoehorned carryover from the original movies, only there to please fans who expect some familiarity. What role does R2 actually serve? He does save Padme once in Episode II, does some shenanigans in III, but if he was removed from the prequels completely very little would change. Same for C-3PO—there is no reason for his inclusion, and even less reason for Anakin to be his creator. Any comedy 3PO provides is daft, and any commentary he gives is so on-the-nose he might as well have said nothing. If anything, adding 3PO to the mix introduces a new problem that had to be fixed in Episode III (and it was)—his memory of these events had to be wiped. As far as Jabba’s inclusion in The Phantom Menace goes, I just always kinda shrugged. Jabba was an awesome villain for Return of the Jedi. But anybody could have kicked off the Boonta Eve Podrace, it didn’t have to be him.
• Similarly, I really wish everybody wasn’t marooned on Tatooine—the same planet that Luke and his aunt/uncle started on. I get the feeling that Lucas wanted this to show how things come full circle, and to me it comes off as repetitive and recycled. This was an opportunity to show us a new world, not more sand.
• Midichlorians. This makes everybody roll their eyes. It demystifies the Force with science.
• This fleeting piece of dialogue didn’t bother me that much, but I am more bothered that they use it as a metric to quickly ascertain Anakin’s abilities, rather than, oh I dunno, actually using the Force?
• Lucas’ intentions were to expand on the notion that the Force is a mystical connection between life forms, and that extends to a connection between microbial life and multicellular organisms. I think the concept is elegant, but it’s poorly presented, precisely because of the above bullet—it’s used as a metric, which leads us to think that midiclorians are a source or conduit for the Force. The whole issue really needed to either be fleshed out, or cut out.
• Even in ’99, I think I threw up a little in my mouth when I heard the whole “chosen one” cliché discussed by the characters. Nowadays I just kinda shrug it off, especially knowing that the prophecy of the Chosen One didn’t go the way everybody thought it would. It is introduced in this movie and of course Anakin is pegged as the Chosen One, leading to the Jedi debate and their head-scratching decision to deny him training (seriously, Mace Windu is a d*ck). What I hate about the whole Chosen One angle is that it is a cliché—it’s been overused as a way to thrust greatness on heroes and make them instantly something to root for. It can be interesting in certain situations, but in Star Wars it felt like they were merely following a familiar pattern or trope just for the hell of it. Even after seeing the full prequel series, I’m still confused about what “Balance of the Force” really means. The prophecy given in the movie is so vague, and it elicits no real emotion since we’re never shown why exactly the Force is out of balance (I mean, sure, Sith exist, but the Jedi maintained the peace for a thousand years, so why is this such a big deal?). Anakin is already special—making him the Chosen One is not an inspired decision.
• Quality. And let’s be real—George Lucas was never particularly good with actors and performances. He’s at his best with the editing and technical aspects. It’s great that he can conceive these stories and so much of the world-building, but he really does need help fleshing out the scripts. He had that help with the originals, thanks largely to Lawrence Kasdan. Taking on the prequel movies, I suspect Lucas became so over-excited at the technological possibilities that he whipped out his scripts without other input. You can read all over the Internet about how he shut down criticism, surrounded himself with yes-men, and had all the money and power in the world to make what he wanted to without any limitation. Well, this movie is what you get when that happens.
• Performances in The Phantom Menace will range anywhere from extremely wooden to extremely goofy. Which is a shame because the cast is generally good—Ewan McGregor, Natalie Portman, Ian McDiamid, Liam Neeson, and Samuel L. Jackson are all noteworthy players who have to make do with what they’re given. Jake Lloyd overacts, although I find it hard to picture the movie without that level of exuberance—I actually kinda wish the other actors overacted in the same way (and let’s be real, A New Hope is loaded with silly overacting, so it would have rhymed like poetry). I can’t even fault Ahmed Best. It’s the script and direction that fell short. Many of the scripts problems are explained all over this post. The direction—needed something more to bring these characters to life.
• Special effects are everywhere in this movie. Some hold up handsomely—the space battle, for example, is nice. Some effects remain cartoony or have not aged well—mostly the creature effects and certain backgrounds. What hurts this film (and the prequels overall) is that there’s so much green-screen work that there’s no masking the film’s artificial veneer. It’s not quite as digital-looking as the next couple of films, but The Phantom Menace has its moments that look flat and unreal. I do appreciate that LucasFilm used as many locations and practical effects as they did, but they could have done it more, or used what they had in different ways to achieve a more organic look.

This Turn of Events Is Unfortunate

What actually happens in The Phantom Menace? The plot is focused entirely on a political crisis of sorts—a droid army occupies Naboo, but the queen escapes with the help of the Jedi. For what seems like the first quarter of the movie, these are the main heroes. But they become marooned on Taooine for a huge chunk of time, and in the course of finding a way to take off again they pick up the actual protagonist—Anakin. They fly to Coruscant and politics ensue. It amounts to nothing, and the Jedi council deny Anakin’s training. So they all fly back to Naboo to take it back by force. And they win.

Menacing phantom confirmed.

The opening act starts off surprisingly dry and uneventful—while A New Hope opened with an eye-popping space battle, The Phantom Menace begins with mundane formalities as a Jedi ship docks and Nute Gunray tries to get rid of them. The chase picks up and the film remains pretty entertaining up until they land on Tatooine. Then, it all screeches to a halt. The middle sags hard, even with the marvels of a Podrace, a scuffle with Darth Maul, and the Coruscant drama. The problem is that narrative momentum is non-existent this whole time. The good news is that things pick up again for the finale.

Two major action scenes exist that suck up a huge amount of screen-time—one is the Podrace and the other is the final battle. During these two scenes, where does the story actually go? In their outcomes, all that happens is that the heroes get what they want (except for Qui-Gon).

• With the Podrace scene, you can tell how this will play out from miles away. The film can only proceed to the next plot point if Anakin succeeds, so he has to. You go into it knowing he’ll win. So for six or ten minutes, we watch the Podrace and all its perils without feeling any lasting suspense. As much as I appreciate the scene on a shot-by-shot basis, its place in the story serves a rather minor purpose—it’s the way in which Anakin leaves his previous life behind. It’s a broad story mechanic that could have worked any number of ways—Qui-Gon could have found a way to remove Anakin’s explosive implant, among other solutions. But they risk all the stakes on the Podrace because…well, it’s Boonta Eve, so why not?
• The last battle is the manner in which Naboo triumphs over the Trade Federation. The best that can be said about it is that Darth Maul’s appearance brings up valid story questions that the Jedi contemplate over, and carry into the next episodes. Everything else is, simply, spectacle. It didn’t even matter if the Gungan army wins or not—Amidala literally pegs them as a distraction, and there’s an implicit expectation that they might lose. Her raid on the palace is the sole goal—to corner the Viceroy and force his surrender—and it works. Nothing much else can be said about it. In fact, the space battle becomes redundant because it works—if Amidala has the Viceroy at gunpoint, she could always force him to stand down the droid army. Having Anakin deliver the torpedo that brings the army down declaws the Federation, but is not entirely necessary given the queen’s success. If you shortened each of these segments, little would be lost.

Huge action sequences, but little-to-no attempt to make characters learn or grow during them (with the exception of Obi-Wan perhaps). Not to mention, the overarching story doesn’t advance much—both of these can be whittled down to one simple sentence: “and then they won.” The only tension felt are in the micro moments where the characters are briefly disadvantaged. The only surprise is that Qui-Gon is killed.

The action scenes drag. The Coruscant senate scenes drag. The Tatooine scenes drag. The only scenes that don’t are the parts where the Jedi help Amidala leave Naboo. I suspect these are the reasons:

• Character agency comes up dry. The plot rolls through the motions of going from point A to point B and so on without the characters really fussing over the choice of it. There could have been countless other options to their problems, but they all unanimously agree on plans as they come up and execute them. And most of the time, the plot works out exactly as they said it would (the Podrace is a success, the battle is a success). The only real decisions being made are the ones where the characters needs aren’t being met (Qui-Gon decides to train Anakin himself, Amidala decides to take the fight back to Naboo). Even then, those are very few and far-between. Anakin makes no decisions of his own and never influences the plot’s direction, despite being the focal point of the prequels and becoming a new member of the heroes’ team. Because of all this, the film very dryly jerks from scene to scene, feeling artificially-constructed to resemble a plot, using action scenes to resemble action.
• This is an especially strange effect for this film because it generates tension in micro bursts that are isolated to specific sequences. On Tatooine, the film goes to great lengths to establish the core problems (the ship’s busted, Watto has the parts they need, but the characters can’t get them). On Coruscant, the film gives us subtle amounts of tension (the corrupt senate can't get their act together to help Naboo, Palpatine manipulates Amidala and her situation for his gain, the Jedi council is so stiff they won’t recognize Anakin or train him). These micro-tensions keep the scenes going, but the problem is they are external problems that are overcome by plot (win the Podrace, win your freedom) or by the only two character decisions made in the entire film. 

No no, silly script, you only think that and assume we know nothing.

• What really makes every scene grate is the use of exposition. Star Wars has always had issues balancing it out, but the original trilogy accomplished a very lean and effective style by having its script trimmed over and over again. Without that level of critique and limitation, the prequels are loaded with “tell don’t show” scenes, which are rather droll. Here are some examples to consider:
• When the droid invasion happens, it is repeated often that people are starving in camps and such. These are never shown. I really can’t care about the starving Naboo people if they are completely off-screen.
• I can see the bind—this is a kid’s movie and showing people suffering this way would be tonally inconsistent. And yet, this never stopped oppression from being shown in other movies (including a village massacre in The Force Awakens). I think it would have benefited the film’s stakes to show some glimpse of the Naboo people’s plight in some way—it didn’t have to be death camps and such, but even something as simple as having people rounded and marched around would have gone a long ways in expressing the Trade Federation’s evil (inhumanity enforced by droids nonetheless).
• On Tatooine, exposition frequently pops up to explain to us all of the following. Every single one of these instances can be shown in someway, but are either simply told, or told in additon to being shown:
• Slavery exists and is bad.
• Sebulba is a Dug and a jerk.
• Sandstorms are very, very dangerous.
• Anakin is the only human Podracer in the galaxy (which always sounded like Bantha poodoo to me, but the Force is with him, so who am I to argue?).
• Anakin has never actually won a race.
• Shmi doesn’t approve of Anakin’s racing.
• Anakin has no father (what the actual heck?).
• It’s Anakin’s destiny to help the Jedi and get off of Tatooine (did this even need to be stated?).
• That Jar Jar fellow is very odd indeed (thanks 3PO for saying this out loud, otherwise I guess we’d never know for sure).
• Pod-Racing consists of three circuits (thanks 3PO for saying this out loud, like everything else. Jeez.).
• Palpatine often talks about the corruption of bureaucrats and the ineffectiveness of the senate. We see this for ourselves with the actual senate scene. It makes me wonder if his initial meeting with Amidala even serves a purpose in the movie.
• Scenes in the Jedi Temple pretty much only exist so the characters can sit around in a circle and talk. They do cover important topics, such as Anakin’s fate, who was that Darth Maul guy, and what to do about the Naboo situation. Beyond that, everything else is expositional gravy. What really hurts these scenes (and the senate scenes) are that there’s no movement—everybody literally sits still. The story goes nowhere (other than denying the heroes their desired outcome). 
• Before the last battle, there is exposition to explain the queen's plan to retake Naboo. In itself, it's not much of a problem—battle briefing scenes exist in all the Star Wars movies and it's perfectly creditable that warfighters would get together and explicitly tell each other their plan. But there are a couple of funny quirks to this scene:
• At one point, both Padme and Panaka face the audience as they talk. I only recently realized this happens because the camera switches to Obi-Wan's and Qui'Gon's POV, to whom Padme and Panaka are speaking. So, kudos I guess to Lucas for using subjective camera angles. But why do it here? It makes me feel like the queen is telling me, the audience member, what they're doing. It's very weird and jarring.
• At the scene's end, Padme finishes the conversation by saying "That is why we must not fail to get the Viceroy." My reaction is always "No! Really? You think?"
• On paper, I understand why this line exists—Padme is pretty much telling us that this plan is the only path they have for success, otherwise they lose everything. It all hinges on capturing the Viceroy, and there is no option for failure.
• That being said, the line always stood out and bugged me because it initially struck me as a little snarky. Must be the delivery.

No, seriously, what are you two looking at?!

The Negotiations Were Short

Couple of other minor issues bug me the more I see them. First of all, when the queen and the gang first leave Naboo, they simply walk into a hangar and the ship's crew is coralled in a space on the floor. Why are they all just sitting there? Droids were previously marching prisoners to camps—shouldn't they be doing the same with these guys? As it is, they are placed so conveniently that Qui-Gon and the gang require zero effort to commandeer the ship once they take out the droids (which, in themselves, represent no threat to the Jedi. If there are no droidekas around, they probably could have just stormed the palace and captured the vicereoy at that exact moment instead of merely escaping).

One more plot hole: it takes a huge amount of risk and effort for the queen and the gang to escape Naboo. When they fly back, they land in the forest completely unchallenged. What happened to the Federation blockade? It's obviously still in orbit, since it's defeated in the battle later, but are we to believe that the queen's ship just snuck past them when they returned? If so, why couldn't they have snuck past them at the movie's beginning?

Better yet, why not have the blockade continue to be a problem that the queen has to navigate to get back to the planet? This simple obstacle could have changed the entire way the last battle plays out, and it could have been a more dynamic and interesting scenario. Instead, they somehow get past and land safely without any explanation as to how. And no ship that small has a cloaking device, come on.

No Civility, Only Politics

Even if you dismiss writing quality, few issues with the plot remain. Not only the above matters of agency, tension, and narrative momentum. Some things are simply flaky.

One issue that strikes me as funny now was something brought up on Youtube (I think CinemaSins)—the villain’s sole goal in this movie is to get Queen Amidala to sign a treaty that “makes the invasion legal.” Now wait a minute—an invasion by definition is illegal. How can a document make it a legal invasion? That’s an oxymoron.

It could be a case of simply bad wording, but the question remains, who cares about a treaty when the planet’s already been taken by force and the senate decries it as fake news? Nute Gunray already won half an hour into the movie. And by the halfway point, when Chancellor Vallorum is voted out for no-confidence, Palpatine (Sidious) already won.

Dental plan! Darth Maul needs braces.

Understanding the villains' motivations here are tricky, because it’s two separate factions (the Trade Federation under Sith influence) and they have two different ideas of what their goals should be. Sidious is clearly exploiting Nute Gunray’s desire to take over Naboo, but because of that their goals don’t necessarily align. It doesn’t matter to Sidious what happens to Naboo because his goal is to become the new chancellor—once that happens, the Trade Federation’s wants become a non-issue (although I suspect it would have been within Sidious’ best interests for Naboo to win, to make him look good publicly). So why does Sidious keep asking for a treaty? What’s so special about Naboo that he needs to control it legally? Especially since this never comes up again in the next episodes?

For that matter, why is the Trade Federation so hot to occupy Naboo? The opening crawl might have mentioned something about taxes and such, but the only thing that comes up on-screen is, simply, Nute Gunray wants that planet, dammit. Maybe it’s supposed to be implicit that it’s for profit, or that it’s because Sidious demands it, but this makes Nute out to be a very flat, passionless character. Which is a shame, because I love how spiteful he becomes in Attack of the Clones, going so far as to trying to take revenge on Amidala. And it contrasts nicely with his obvious cowardice. There’s a sliver of a good villain in Nute—I just wish I knew more about why he wanted Naboo so badly.

But the real eye-catching villain of the movie is hands-down Darth Maul. You can’t unsee that unique, wicked red-and-black make-up, those skull-horns, or that vicious smile with the sharp teeth. This is a villain with pure presence and intimidation. To watch him fight with skill and menace is a real treat. But, what else is there to this character? He takes orders from Sidious and does them. His only dialogue mentions something about revenge against the Jedi, and I guess that’s all he cares about. Then he dies.

Darth Maul is the only indication that a literal phantom menace exists to the heroes, but he’s here today and gone tomorrow. He’s an easy guy to shrug off and forget about. Having him stick around for the other episodes would have probably unified the series in a more interesting way. But what I would have wanted to see more is actual characterization. If it is hate and revenge he desires, I’d like to know why. Did the Jedi diss his mama or something? Was he brainwashed by Sidious to hate everybody? What if he secretly loathes Sidious and plots to overthrow him (as it seems all Sith do inevitably anyway)? There are endless things that could have gone on in his head, but we see absolutely no sign that anything is going on in there. He’s just in the movie to fight.

We Will Watch This Series With Great Interest

I’m ultimately torn on this movie. On one hand, there’s a sense of wonder and awe to its sublime visual palette. It is inherently fun to watch the Jedi in action, with the mystic Force at their side as they hop from one marvelous world to another, facing down droids and aliens alike. Even though it rehashes A New Hope, it is a story worth telling with characters I’ve grown to admire and appreciate. There are occasional bursts of brilliance and color that makes the movie pop in a spirited way.

On the other hand, it’s script shows the weaknesses of a writing process that simply didn’t massage the text enough, resulting in inefficient scenes and dialogue, wonky structure, and tons of unfunny comedy. For a non-discerning teenager, these were non-issues. As a grown-up, I can’t help but to cringe a little.

And yet, I will fondly look upon the movie for its strengths. If I can turn off my brain and let the film run on its own accord, I can stomach the whole thing, even to the point of shrugging off Jar Jar in most scenes. There are smaller things that make the movie work, even when the bigger issues of momentum and character agency fail. There are countless ways this movie can be improved, but taking what we have in reality, I’m generally okay with the final product.

I’m not sure I can ever go back to the state of mind I was in before, where the film truly knocked my socks off. There are moments where I remember how I felt though, and it is a kind of magic that feels inherent to the Star Wars brand. I appreciate that the film wears its heart on its sleeve and tried hard. That’s a lot more value than what other films offer year after year.

They could be heroes just for just this one shot.