Film Review: The Color Out Of Space (2019)

Imagine, if you can, the terror of encountering something so alien that you can't really see it. A color outside the spectrum of human vision. A color that will transform everything around it into an otherworldly monstrosity.

This is the eerie, unnamed thing that invades the Gardner farm when a meteorite lands on their property. It's a precarious household already, with one teenage son (Brendan Meyer) hooked on weed, one teenage daughter (Madeleine Arthur) dabbling with Wiccan rituals and the Necronomicon (because it wouldn't be Lovecraft without it, duh), and the mother (Joely Richardson) struggling to make ends meet with her Internet business in the wake of a mastectomy. The father (Nicholas Cage) tries his hardest to keep the family glued together despite his ill-advised investment in alpacas. Their youngest son (Julian Hilliard) watches with awe as neon lights erupt at night. Before long, every family member witnesses unsettling and macabre episodes that preclude the coming of what might be a larger alien force that can't even be comprehended.

Richard Stanley adapts HP Lovecraft's short story with a surprising amount of personality, especially since Lovecraft's stories are best known for their ideas and monsters than their characters. Despite all their dramas and issues, the Gardner family are an interesting pack I can root for, before watching in dismay as they all fall apart. As expected, the cosmic forces become the centerpiece of the movie, and it does deliver ample amounts of grotesque abominations and dazzling neon lights.

The film has been criticized for the mere audacity of trying to capture something that is literally "unfilmable," a feat that makes this particular Lovecraft story a failure to adapt. And yet, that never stopped Stanley, just as it never stopped a few other films before this one--most notably, 2010's Die Farbe, which cleverly showed the unfilmable color by turning the entire film black-and-white, save for the alien threat (which was a vibrant pink). What Die Farbe failed to do, however, was engage. It was a very droll affair with no characters to latch onto and very drab composition. While I kind of wish Stanley's film would have used the same B&W trick, I think he captures the theme just fine by doubling-down on the neon lighting--cheap perhaps, but the film smartly contrasts its alien colors with muted, natural colors around the farm. I think it's just fine that way.

The chain of uncanny encounters are hardly new. Some of the mutations invoke the same formless monstrosities that made John Carpenter's The Thing so memorable. What happens to the plant life is something that we've recently seen in Jeff Vandermeer's Annihilation, and its film adaptation (and it just so happens that the shimmering-eye effect from Garland's film is also repeated here). Even the premise echoes the Jody Verrill's tragic tale from Creepshow (itself based on a Stephen King short story, with King himself playing the part in Romero's film). It felt as though a brief history of cosmic horror cinema played before my eyes, but it never came off as a rip-off. If anything, all these horror callbacks probably owe their successes to Lovecraft to begin with--to see the creature and gore effects carried over feels like a circle has been completed.

One thing I find striking is how much of the family conflict reminded me of other Stephen King works--most especially The Shining, with Nathan Gardner's arc mirroring the madness and familial pressures that Jack Torrence faced (influenced by other forces nonetheless). It's especially uncanny that Nicholas Cage and Jack Nicholson play their respective father figures with an exaggerated level of expression, both walking the fine line of insanity between terrifying menace and over-the-top absurdity. The Cage Rage is as volatile as ever, with outbursts that will elicit a laugh or two (maybe even a meme). And yet, Cage also embodies insanity in a way that invokes threat and fear.

The story by nature splits its time among all its characters, pushing the two teenage leads as the real protagonists who discover the alien threat first. But it's a random hydrologist (Elliot Knight) who gives the bookending narration and leads the charge in the end. With all these varied points-of-views (many of which carry emotional baggage), it's hard to latch onto any single character to root for (doubly so when characters make dumb decisions or act strangely, which happens on occasion). The experience is made palatable with fair writing quality, solid camera composition, and an appropriately synthetic score from Colin Stetson.

2019's version of The Color Out Of Space achieves the right effect, invoking horrific visions of glowing entities and unnatural monsters in the midst of a troubled family. There's a lot more spunk and spirit to the characters than existed in the short story and other adaptations--coupled with the film's solid quality, I find much to enjoy and appreciate. However, customary to the themes of Lovecraft, this is a bleak, nihilistic experience that harps much on the fragile nature of mankind next to cosmic things that can't be truly seen or understood. Combined with a fair amount of gore and occult tropes, and some outrageous scenes, it can be a harsh watch. What I find more redeemable, however, is Nicholas Cage's extraordinary acting, which despite having laughable moments is actually terrifying (just like Nicholson from The Shining). I am also smitten by the film's style, effects, and its ability to maintain tension and mystery. Rent and behold the colors for yourself, if you dare!

7/10 

An Appreciation of Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi

WARNING: SPOILERS FOLLOW

The fall of 2017 was hardly an easy year for me. I had completed a long drive (from Utah to Georgia), leaving behind a job I had fulfilled for almost five years but felt utterly terrible about. It was a time when I looked back on past mistakes with remorse and expected only the worst out of the future. It made the present angst-ridden and anxious. All around me I perceived expectations I couldn’t meet, decisions that defied common sense, lack of common courtesy from others, destructive criticism, impossible deadlines, and failure. It would take a long time to shed much of this fear and doubt, but even today, I struggle to overcome the shame of failure and the past. Often times, it makes the present seem tenser than it actually is. Focus determines reality.

Some folks may not believe in fate or God, but amazingly, some things appeared in my life at this timeframe that helped put this seemingly-nihilistic reality in a new perspective. Some of it was the music that came out at the time—nothing could have lifted my spirit more than Queens of the Stone Age crooning “every fortress falls, this is not the end.” In itself, Josh Homme wrote these lyrics as assurance to his children that, in the midst of death or darkness, everything would turn out okay in the end. I felt similar forms of life-affirming messages and optimism out of UNKLE’s The Road and Anathema’s The Optimist. It was as if the universe subtly planted positive messages through the media I consumed, reminding me that all bad things come to pass eventually and inspiring me to endure and move forward.

Then The Last Jedi hit theaters. Somewhere in the chaos of finding a new house, moving into it, adjusting to a new workplace and the array of personalities within, I marched myself to the theater to dutifully see it in mid-December. By that time, the hype had passed uneventfully—trailers caught my eye, certainly, but after reading/hearing years’ worth of gripes over every single Star Wars movie, any excitement I felt was equally negated, and I felt rather neutral when I took my seat in the theater. But when the LucasFilm logo gleamed on the screen, my pulse quickened, and I remembered that this was a Star Wars film I was about to see. For over two hours (the longest runtime yet!) I was absorbed and invested in Rey’s continuing adventure. And this time, it hit home harder than I expected. Despite the same-but-different approach of the movies, The Last Jedi had an uncanny knack of walloping me with surprises. But with its focus on overcoming failure, the movie was a cathartic and powerful experience in its own right.

Fly like a Falcon into the future...

Let’s not kid ourselves—the movie’s not perfect. I found that out once I logged into the Internet to gauge other viewers' reactions, only to find everything melting down into a toxic puddle of trolling and personal attacks. It was much like the prequel era, when everywhere I went all I saw were phrases like "my childhood is ruined!" The mantra now was "Rian Johnson ruined Star Wars!" Or, if you prefer, "Disney ruined Star Wars!" Or, perhaps most accurately, "Kathleen Kennedy ruined Star Wars!" How many times can a thing be ruined, exactly?

Two years later, little has changed. Most common complaints and comments I had read (but rarely heard spoken aloud) keep getting repeated ad nauseam. Some things I realize are genuine problems. Other things, I just can't see or agree with. I have my own opinions about many of these issues, and chances are they don’t necessarily jive with popular opinion. If you hate the movie, that’s fine—I  understand why, since I’ve read the critiques often and see where many of them are coming from. I do hope that my point of view can shed light on certain things so that folks can understand why I enjoy and appreciate the film despite its flaws and its failure to please fans.

There will be much to unpack here.

The Fall of Skywalker

Who is the last Jedi that the film’s title alludes to? By the end of Return of the Jedi, it seemed as though it was to be Luke. The role of the new trilogy is to pass the torch along to Rey, and the film succeeds in this (notably, when Luke declares “I will not be the last Jedi,” the film match-cuts his face with Rey’s, providing a smart visual cue that she is indeed the one who will finish what Luke
started).

Perhaps the biggest problem with The Last Jedi is in how it characterizes Luke. After all, in the three original movies, Luke had gone through a complete arc (with its own successes and failures) that molded him into a wise, confident hero. Some years later, we find him moping in isolation on an island, unable and unwilling to move on from his failure with his nephew and the loss of his temple. What happened to the experienced, resilient Jedi we knew in Return of the Jedi?

This turn towards cynicism, guilt, and shame is not becoming for a hero of Luke’s standing. I understand why viewers may be disappointing to find him in such a mopey state—after all he had gone through, this all feels out of character.

Mark Hamill's real-life reaction to the movie.

The thing is, I don’t blame the film itself for painting the character this way. I mean, after The Force Awakens, what did we all expect? That Luke would hop in his X-Wing and cut down the First Order with his laser-sword? He was absent from Episode VII for a good reason. It’s not like he was just waiting on the island for somebody to find him and bring him back into the fight—he purposefully exiled himself. That direction was clear in The Force Awakens, and The Last Jedi runs with this angle by exploring the reasons why Luke chose this.

The reason makes sense to me logically. We see that one simple lapse of judgment causes Ben’s murderous outburst. Many argue that Luke would never even consider murdering Ben. But this makes the assumption that Luke is perfect and would never succumb to the call of the void. That is, the thoughts of evil or violence that seem to come out of nowhere and pass within seconds. This happens to most people at some point in their lives. If somebody were to stand at the edge of a cliff, they may have a thought coming out of nowhere that they should jump. This unnerves them to the point where they back off slowly. And this happens to Luke when he peers into Ben’s mind and contemplates killing him. He had previously heard the call of the void when he had Vader at the tip of his saber—he chose not to give in. And he chose again not to murder Ben. Yes, I can absolutely believe that Luke could have had a dark thought cross his mind, especially if it involves the morality of a righteous kill. 

I make one assumption with Luke’s flashback—that he sees something so evil in Ben’s mind that it prompts him to consider taking up the saber against Ben. Whatever it was must have been just the most evil thing imaginable. Mass murder. Genocide. Torture. Destruction. The Dark Side could take on many forms, and if it endangered the greater good, why wouldn’t Luke ignite his saber to protect the Republic?

He doesn’t because he knows it’s wrong, which is an affirmation in objective morality (which, as Immanuel Kant wrote about, dictates that there are some things you’d never do to another individual no matter what the cause, especially if it meant using people as a means to an end). This contrasts directly with the utilitaristic view that killing one boy could save thousands or more. What is right in this case? Luke could have probably slain Ben and saved his other students, but he doesn’t because of the lessons he already learned before—that violence is not the answer, and spilling blood (of his nephew nonetheless) is wrong. Unfortunately, the damage was already done, not because of what he thought or did, but because of the optics of it. The triple-flashback scenes are an exercise in points of view (a theme Obi-Wan introduced previously in Return of the Jedi). Luke could have probably stood there with a bunny rabbit in his hands—Ben would have still freaked out about it if he felt threatened.

Personally, I have no problem accepting all of this and the direction it took (leading Luke into self-imposed exile). What I think would have helped make this more palatable would have been if we had more shown to us regarding what Ben was thinking and how much damage he had caused. The little punk mass-murdered everyone in the Jedi temple, probably including younglings. He burned it all to the ground and turned his back on his family. He’s no different than a school shooter, and that level of evil and inhumanity is heavy. But we don’t feel the weight of it in the films because the event is shown in fleeting flashbacks (none of which show any subtantial suffering) with Luke’s voiceover (which flatly tells what he was thinking, but shows nothing specific of the darkness he saw). To imagine Luke spending years to rebuild the Jedi Order, only to watch it all fall apart overnight with the blood of all his students on his nephew’s hands (all of which was his responsibility, but he was blind-sighted) is a gut-punch. Luke may have overcome some failure in his past adventures, but never like this. He never faced mass death on his watch.

Vader did though. Vader committed to the slaughter of the former Jedi Order, to the point where he became the embodiment of death and terror. It could be that Luke sees that same evil in himself and his nephew, and chose to hide himself out of fear of allowing such evil to make things worse. Of course, his mistake is that his isolation allows the First Order to take control of the galaxy. I think we all would have liked it if Luke bounced back from the Jedi temple’s burning and helped the Resistance. But I understand the exile angle and can roll with it just fine. Especially since it achieves these important effects:

• It’s a story problem that Rey has to solve in the film’s first hour or so—convince Luke to help the Resistance. He does give her a couple of lessons, but not without pushback. The conflict between Luke and Rey keeps the film moving during all the Acht-To scenes.
• Luke had completed the hero’s journey already, so the film takes the next logical step and advances him into the cranky old mentor archetype—similar to Obi-Wan and Yoda. It goes beyond that though (and I have a board member of Blu-Ray.com to thank for pointing this out)—it is a common trope in martial arts pictures to show sword masters reach such a high level of skill that they don’t even need swords anymore. Sometimes, a simple stick will suffice. There is often a parable in which a student will seek out the greatest such-and-such master of all time, and when the student approaches the master, the master may look down on a weapon with confusion since they don’t remember what it was used for originally. This happens to Luke when he takes the lightsaber and chucks it over his shoulder. Yes, it’s unexpected (and perhaps spiteful), especially after waiting for his reaction for two years. But it mirrors Luke’s rejection of the saber in Return of the Jedi, and it affirms the non-violent stand-off he has with Kylo. As the master who no longer recognizes a tool of violence, of course he’d just toss it.
• The story’s trajectory from Luke’s standpoint becomes a rise arc, out of darkness and into the light. That is an inherently uplifting and inspiring direction, and I feel it the most in the finale, when Luke literally walks out of a dark passage, through a ring of fire, and into light. Reading into it even deeper, I also see it as an affirmation of nihilistic optimism—that is, the affirmation that despite the cruelty and darkness of the universe (a universe that is inherently uncaring and cruel), one can still find hope and purpose through individual action and identity. As mentioned further below, Kylo has a similar turn as he rejects his identity (symbolized by his helmet, which becomes smashed) and seeks to reinvent his reality through destruction. Rey is caught between them in her own struggle for identity, but it’s Luke that shows everyone that light can still prevail even in the wake of destruction and nihilism. This, in turn, became the theme that spoke to me personally and inspired me through my own age of cynicism.
• A Youtube channel brought this detail to my attention: in A New Hope, in the famous shot of Luke staring at the binary sunset, the frame is purposefully staged so that Luke is looking left-to-right, which is a cinematic way of showing a character looking into the future. When Luke beholds the future in this scene, he sees only desolation, because he is stuck at the homestead and seems to have no future. And the suns are setting, which threatens to plunge his world into darkness. The Last Jedi reverses this shot to show Luke staring right-to-left, which is the movie’s way of symbolizing him looking back at the past. This time, he sits on a mountaintop, which symbolizes his achievement of enlightenment. And he stares at a binary sunrise, which symbolizes the receding of darkness. And while he kinda frowned and walked away in A New Hope, he faces the sunrise in The Last Jedi and gives a teary-eyed smile. I found this whole scene powerful on its own, but knowing the parallels and symbolism involved, I appreciate the scene even more and I feel it’s a great send-off for the character.

Snoke’s On You

This is the worst mall Santa ever.

Ever since the release of The Force Awakens, fans have clamored for a backstory to substantiate Snoke’s existence in these films. Even I wanted to see at least a little something to bridge the gap between trilogies. Everybody expected an explanation in The Last Jedi. We’re never given one. What happens instead is that Snoke is tricked and sliced in half, prompting an all-out fight before Kylo takes control of the First Order. I thought this whole sequence was awesome, especially with the surprise that the Big Bad is killed off so early by his own underling.

But fans are outraged, and up to the release of Rise of Skywalker, the prevailing argument is that The Last Jedi ruined all potential story direction. This just boggles my mind for a couple of reasons:

• A Big Bad isn’t needed. We already have Kylo Ren front-and-center, and his arc should be the main focus. He’s the Supreme Leader now. He’s matured since his introduction, and he has more power. Between him and Hux, there are already plenty of enemies left to resolve in Episode IX. The fact that they brought back Palpatine, killed off Hux and introduced Pryde just ticks me off—Palps’ inclusion does little more than rob Kylo of power and agency, and add stakes to the series where stakes aren’t really needed (because the galaxy is already in peril from the First Order). And Pryde—why even? Hux could have been a menace as-is. Replacing him with Pryde amounts to very little of a payoff, and Pryde has no depth or development. Continuing the plot of the movies with just Kylo and Hux was very much possible—it’s a shame that filmmakers had so little faith that they resorted to appeasing fans by adding in unnecessary antagonists.
• The Last Jedi does something that every storyteller should be excited about—it clears the slate so that Rise of Skywalker could have taken whatever direction it needed to resolve the series’ lingering conflicts. TLJ did leave some threads hanging—the First Order is still a threat, we don’t know how Rey and Kylo’s journeys end, and we don’t know what the fate of the Jedi actually is. Everything else can be filled in something new: rumors were that Lucas envisioned a Fantastic Voyage style microverse for the Sequel Trilogy, and that would have been spectacular precisely because Star Wars already indulged in bigger-scale threats. Collin Trevorrow, once attached to direct Episode IX, had a treatment that involved conflict on Coruscant, among other things. These directions, and the countless others presented in non-canon books, comics, and video games, could have given us something bold, exciting, and fresh. I didn’t anticipate Episode IX for its Big Bad or answers to questions like “where did Snoke come from?” I hoped for something original.

Trolling For Hugs

Porgs demonstrate how to set up expectations...

Comedy has always been part of the Star Wars formula, and I found it refreshing that The Last Jedi found ways to inject levity where it did. However, many fans have pointed out that many of the jokes are out-of-place.

What I appreciated in A New Hope and The Force Awakens is that the comedy stemmed from the characters and the situations they found themselves in. Many of the jokes in The Last Jedi are less rooted in characters and stem from situations instead. If you cut certain bits out, it wouldn’t even affect the flow of the scenes much, and that may be an indicator that the humor really is out of place.

The film always did elicit a chuckle or two from me though. One of the biggest being in the opening, when Luke receives the lightsaber and just throws it over his shoulder. We waited two years to see what he’d do. We all kind of expected something more—words perhaps, maybe a dramatic action, and emotion. We get none of that, and I couldn’t help but to laugh out loud despite myself. And that’s how it goes with many things—the jokes, the plot, the character arcs. Most of the film yanks the rug from under the audience. Not every audience enjoys this effect though, especially if it amounts to making a joke at their expense. 

At the same time, I forgive the saber toss because it pulls off bathos—the comedy that stems from undercutting a serious, emotional moment with comedy. This happens all the time in Marvel movies—it works well in Guardians of the Galaxy, such that the moment when Ronan is about to wipe out all life on Xandar and he’s stopped by Star Lord dancing. A dramatic moment is interrupted, and we can’t help but to laugh at the ridiculous “dance-off” that suddenly happens. Similarly, the dramatic moment of Luke having his lightsaber returned is undercut with the ridiculous motion of him just throwing it away. As mentioned above though, it lines up with the direction the character has taken.

One joke that has rubbed many fans the wrong way is the opening scene in which Poe distracts Hux by calling him. After a lengthy exchange of “I’ll hold” and “can he hear me?” sort of responses, Poe ends the call by dissing Hux’s mama. I suppose it’s out-of-place because it’s something taken from Earth’s street talk and is worked into the movie’s dialogue. It’s not the punchline that appeals to me though—it’s the back-and-forth I found amusing. I think it’s well within Poe’s character to troll Hux this way, and it’s within Hux’s character to not really get it. Between this and other scenes where Hux is trolled, I started to feel for the guy. There is far more that happens to him in this movie than in the other two Abrams films, and given that he has a difference of opinion with Kylo towards the end, I was really hoping the conflict would evolve into something substantial for the third film (it amounts to Hux becoming a mole).

I’ve seen fans get upset over Porgs…for some reason. I suspect it’s because, like Ewoks, their inclusion is an obvious marketing decision to make and sell toys and such. And yet, I find the little space-puffins cute and I love the scene where they guilt-trip Chewbacca from eating one of them.

I like the one bit where Rey slices some rocks and they crash down on the monks’ cart. I like the bit where Kylo slams Hux into a wall and reaction of the pilots in the foreground. Most other jokes I can take or leave. Many of the shenanigans on Canto Bight are pretty goofy (such as having a belching alien stick coins in BB-8, but I like that BB goes on to shoot coins at some guards later). I didn’t mind watching Finn bumble around in a leaky bacta suit (but I’ve seen many fans become outraged, arguing that Finn becomes a bumbling fool this way). As for jokes that arise from characters being themselves, the most notable thing is probably the scene where Rey literally reaches out for the Force and Luke trolls her with a reed or something—even this is a little daft.

Traveling Through Hyperspace Ain’t Like Dusting Crops, Lady

In space, no one can hear fans scream.

One other criticism that I just can’t see eye-to-eye with is the idea that The Last Jedi broke the world-building. This stems from the scene in which Holdo throws a cruiser into hyperspace directly into Snoke’s ship, which devastates much of the First Order fleet.

To me, this was something awesome and new. And I didn’t think of this as anything impossible or improbable, since it’s been established in A New Hope that hyperspace collisions are possible. Han only gives us one rule about hyperspeed travel, and it’s simply that a nav computer is needed to calculate courses that avoid collisions. It’s only logical that this happens because lightspeed collisions are possible, and might have even happened before.

Where things unravel is when the logic is applied retroactively. Surely, if this sort of thing is possible, then why not go back to the events of A New Hope and send a ship to collide with the Death Star? It would have been less risky and costly than the Yavin battle, and done earlier, it could have saved Alderaan from destruction.

I have problems with this argument though.

• By this logic, modern warfighters should be manufacturing disposable drones and planes to ram into targets. After all, history proved that airplanes can be weaponized in such a way. To my knowledge though, we aren’t throwing planes and drones into large targets, we’re only flying them. Kamikaze vehicles and drones should be possible, but it doesn’t seem to be the norm. That’s because planes and vehicles aren’t made for that purpose, and it’d be far too expensive and wasteful to use them this way. Similarly, ships in Star Wars are sophisticated and complicated—to waste them in a bunch of hyperspeed kamikaze runs would be a waste of money and resources (to include hyperdrive fuel). We don’t really know how big and expensive hyperdrives are, but if you had a V8 engine in your hands, would you chose to use it to drive, or kinetically chuck it at the nearest yacht? These things are simply not made for that purpose.
• I will throw the series a bone and suggest that hyperspeed torpedoes may be a possibility. It’s just a question of how small and cheap hyperdrives can be made (and I suspect that, realistically, it might not be feasible. In which case, it’s question of whether or not throwaway ships can be mass-produced that are droid-operated). I honestly would have loved to see some kind of arms race arise out of hyperspeed technology (but once again, Rise of Skywalker didn’t even bother to pick up the ball).
• I tend to believe that most characters in Star Wars (and other franchises, like Star Trek) simply don’t willingly rely on hyperspeed collisions as a tactic. It’s a waste of a perfectly good ship (which are expensive and valuable) that should be used for other purposes. The thought just never occurs to them unless there’s no other choice. On a broader level though, I’m quite certain that the thought never occurred to George Lucas either when he penned the original three movies. The Last Jedi picks up on the possibility and shows it in a spectacular manner—just because it’s never shown before doesn’t mean it was never possible before though, it just wasn’t considered. I feel like this shouldn’t be a restraint on this or future films. I’d rather see the films embrace possibilities like this—otherwise, the universe only grows smaller and less interesting.

Holding For Holdo

Flying purple man-eater.

On the first viewing, I found myself a little bewildered, and perhaps even frustrated, over the central plot. What happens in the movie happens because of the divide between the Rebel fighters (including Poe, Finn, and Rose) and the Rebel leaders (Leia, who’s taken out of action in the first act, so a new character named Holdo takes over). Holdo (and Rose) has elicited some of the worst loathing from fans, but even the mildest of complaints have echoed the one thought I had at the time: why the actual eff didn’t Holdo tell Poe what the plan was from the beginning?

On a second viewing, this became a total non-issue. Because, like many things in the movie, it’s based entirely on different points of view. Viewing the movie from Holdo and Leia’s perspective, I realized that Poe is a bit of an a-hole. We want to root for him because he shows off such incredible skill in the dogfights and he gets things done. But the goal of the opening battle was achieved—the Resistance evacuated the planet and the fleet was ready to jump. Poe disobeyed direct orders, sending an entire squad of bombers to their deaths on a desperate run to destroy one Dreadnaught. Even though the Resistance succeeds, we see Leia mournfully look at a screen that shows all the Resistance fighters wiped out. While Poe and the others celebrate victory, Leia is left questioning the cost of it. Poe literally threw lives away to destroy a single target.

In short time, the victory is proven useless as the First Order tracks the Resistance fleet down and forces them to run. By that time, Poe was rightfully demoted. And when Holdo takes command, she understandably doesn’t trust Poe or his harebrained schemes. She has no reason to disclose her plans to a loose cannon who could just as soon endanger the entire fleet. Loose lips sink ships. And indeed, when vital information and plans are relayed on unsecured channels, it’s DJ who picks them up and betrays them all to the First Order.

You know what the difference between Poe and Holdo is? When Poe makes a decision, it’s a reckless one that causes the deaths of his squadmates. When Holdo makes a decision, it’s done to preserve lives. Even her decision to ram the cruiser into Snoke’s ship was made to protect the transports heading to Crait, rather than just destroying a target. When the Resistance members are holed up on Crait, Poe is given a choice—lead his team into an Alamo-type of fight, or show patience and find a different way. When he stops to think things over, he realizes the “crystal foxes” are gone, and this leads him to find an alternate escape route. In this respect, Poe finally learns to prioritize saving lives rather than putting up a fight, especially against bad odds.

In this regard, Poe undergoes an arc in which he learns that he won’t win the war by destroying what he hates, but by protecting what he loves.

I can hear you groaning now.

Kiss From A Rose

Another happy landing.

The fan backlash against Rose Tico has been extraordinarily volatile. The character never really bothered me to such an extreme degree…but I didn’t fall head-over-heels in love with her either. 

I can see the point where Rose’s dialogue on Canto Bight serves as a social commentary on various injustices. It’s especially strange that some of this is directed at the exploitation of animals—this was always been a thing for Star Wars, but now the morality of it is questioned with little need for it in the overall story (even though it does lead to Rose and Finn’s escape from the city). In a way, however, this can come off as so much of a PSA that it comes off as condescending. If this aspect was cut from the movie, little would have been changed (many argue that all of the Canto Bight scenes should have been cut, but I disagree—more on that later).

The most disagreeable moments happen during the final battle on Crait. When Finn starts his flight into the beam of the First Order’s massive cannon, Rose swoops in front of him and smashes him out of the beams’ path. When this scene started to happen, it seemed like it would be a cathartic moment to watch Finn go out in a blaze of glory, sacrificing his life to save his friends. But let’s be real—he would have likely stopped the assault, but not the entire First Order. There were still walkers, and Kylo himself, poised at the doors, and they would have claimed their victory regardless of whether Finn succeeded in his suicide run or not. The thing is, we’ve seen so many other movies where the suicide run works (such as 2009’s Star Trek, Independence Day, and hell, we just saw Paige and Holdo sacrifice themselves in this very movie), the heroic sacrifice has become something of a cliché in itself. The movie lines events up for this moment, then pulls the rug from under us (notice a pattern yet?). But in this case, the motivation is to underscore the difference between throwing a life away and saving lives. This is all brought to a head when Rose gives her little speech and her little kiss to Finn—she declares the theme outright that it’s better to protect what you love rather than to destroy what you hate.

As cringey as this exchange is, she’s not wrong. It’s been proven before throughout Star Wars. Every battle in the original trilogy was not waged with the sole purpose of destroying Imperial targets—the Rebels were always motivated to protect themselves and others from Imperial tyranny, and the only way was to destroy both Death Stars (and later, the Starkiller base). When Luke comes face–to-face with Vader, using his anger to destroy him would have only given the Emperor what he wanted—Luke overcomes this temptation by protecting his father and rejecting violence. Then, things are flipped—the Empire is overthrown when Vader decides to protect what he loves (killing the Emperor in the process). On the flipside, the failures and moral downfall Anakin experiences in the prequels happen because he selfishly tries too hard to hold onto the people he loves, but not necessarily to protect them. He ultimately succumbs to evil because he becomes hellbent on destroying everything he hates.

In context of the Sequel Trilogy, however, Rose’s point is counterbalanced by Kylo. He devotes himself to destroying all he hates so much that he willingly tears down Luke’s temple and slaughters his students. How does one fight this kind of evil? Doing so with more violence and hate is not the answer—even if such rage manages to bring down the First Order, the price would be felt in the consequences and the fallout, which could lead to a new form of tyranny. This is how the struggle perpetuates itself—the only way to break the cycle is to commit to love, not hate. And in its purest form, that means laying down the blasters and lightsabers and committing to a nonviolent solution.

This is what Luke does in the end. We spend the entire movie waiting for his comeback, and when it happens it’s not what we expect. He doesn’t take a swing or even defend himself, he merely stands there in front of Kylo and stalls for time. He does this to protect the ones he loves, and thanks to Poe and Rey, they all escape. Kylo’s own rage blinded him to Luke’s trick, and he is ultimately made into a fool.

Blight on Bight

Galaxy's Edge is looking really swank these days.

One of the most common criticisms I’ve seen is that the entire Canto Bight subplot should have been cut from the movie. Reason being that the scenes are “useless.”

I question this line of thinking, because the events of the film couldn’t have gone the way they had if Finn and Rose didn’t pick up a codebreaker. Granted, they also enable their failure by picking up the wrong codebreaker, but that never really surprised or upset me in any major way—they all made mistakes through brash action, and they had to pay for it. Couple that with DJ’s role in the film mirroring Lando’s, and the fact remains that a treacherous character was warranted. The entire purpose of the Canto Bight sequence is to put the characters in the situation where they make the wrong decision to trust DJ.

I suppose you could argue that DJ could have entered the picture some other way. He could have even been a Resistance crew member, so an excursion away from the fleet would have been unnecessary. But, it wouldn’t be Star Wars without taking the characters to other worlds. The plot by nature has the fleet at a standstill in the middle of space—the need for a codebreaker prompts the characters to travel to an exotic new planet, which satisfies the itch for an exciting new world to explore. Folks may not like the PSA dialogue concerning slavery and animal abuse, but hot dang, Canto Bight is a luscious planet with a lot of cool ships and interesting creatures. It’s probably the slickest and most imaginative thing I’ve seen since the flying hotel from The Fifth Element.

When Finn and Rose zipped over to Canto Bight, I could tell that this was to The Last Jedi was the Cloud City scenes were to The Empire Strikes Back. Could they have cut out the Cloud City subplot? Possibly—Han and the gang could have been rounded up on the Executor, and the Vader/Luke duel could have taken place there. But we’d be missing out on a key component of the plot (namely, Lando’s betrayal), and we’d miss out on the chance to behold a visually-striking new environment.

Dark Rises

Some men just want to watch the Throne Room burn.

In The Force Awakens, I found myself appreciating Kylo Ren as a villain thanks to the superficial qualities that were revealed. The helmet and voice were cool. His tantrums reflected a volatility and angst we had never seen in any other Star Wars character (even Anakin was rather mild by comparison). Some viewers hated him as a whiny emo manchild and a wannabe—but isn’t that the point?

With The Last Jedi, I found myself appreciating Kylo even further. The reason for this happens immediately after Snoke chews him out (and man oh man, Snoke’s rant seems directly ripped from audience reactions of The Force Awakens, as he lays into Kylo for letting an untrained girl beat him and for wearing a ridiculous helmet). Kylo takes off the helmet and smashes it against the wall—this moment struck a chord because it’s a conscious decision he makes to destroy this thing he tried to be (an identity he sought through Vader) and become his own person. He spends the rest of the movie unmasked, perhaps trying to show to everyone (and Snoke) that he’s not just a child or a wannabe.

Kylo’s methods and motivations are revealed when he tells Rey, “Let the past die. Kill it, if you have to. That's the only way to become what you are meant to be.” His approach, it seems, is to reinvent his identity by killing what came before. Just as he smashed is helmet (a symbol that was inspired by the past) and let his face speak for itself, he compels Rey to do the same. The thing is, Kylo’s destructive approach is so hate-ridden that it becomes nihilistic, if not a little anarchist.

The idea of killing oneself and being reborn was explored by other great villains before—most notably Tyler Durden from Fight Club. In a story centered on rehabilitation and fixing oneself, Tyler is the one who tells the main character “Self-improvement is masturbation. Now, self-destruction might be the answer.” By this, he asserts a message that you can’t fix yourself. One can conform to society and hide certain aspects of themselves, but they can’t change themselves through therapy or social programs. You can only tear yourself down and rebuild a new persona. And in doing so, one finds freedom (and Tyler reinforces this by saying “It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything”).Tyler himself is a new persona within the main character, and the story becomes a battle between competing egos. The ego-battle happens in Star Wars too—only when the lives of Anakin and Ben Solo are torn down are they free to become the villains that lurked beneath their masks. Kylo outright echoes this method in The Force Awakens, when he tells Han that he killed Ben.

Of course, the sad irony of Anakin’s tale is that he fails to stop injustice in the galaxy—he winds up supporting a tyrannical government that represents the exact opposite of freedom (and he is ultimately not free, he becomes bound to the Emperor). Anakin was once a slave, and he’d go on to rule an Empire built on slavery (even if it’s never explicitly stated, the Empire did employ Wookies, among other races, as slaves). Kylo, on the other hand, takes the anarchist approach by slaying Snoke—an act that suggests he won't conform to the First Order's hierarchy. Instead, he frees himself from bondage and gives himself control. This makes him all the more dangerous.

There is an appealing quality to the notion of having something die and reborn. Characters like Tyler Durden, The Joker, and Kylo Ren emancipate themselves through destruction and realize their true selves. Tyler and Joker come off as “cool” with the carefree way they saunter into each scene and challenge authority and society—Kylo less so because he’s still such an angry brat you just want to punch. But at least he stands up for himself, takes control, and becomes his own person. Nothing can forgive him for what he’s done (I’m still struggling to figure out of the events of Rise of Skywalker even work as a redemption arc—this bastard killed Han after all). By the end of The Last Jedi, he’s fully committed to killing the past, to the point of slaying his former master. I find these traits more admirable than making him a wannabe Vader.

However, Kylo is only one half of a whole picture.

Light Rises

Take that, rock!

I think everybody expected the new movies to copy the original trilogy so much that we all went into it expecting a reveal on Rey’s character that would rival the twist in The Empire Strikes Back. The problem is it’d seem too lazy to suggest that Rey is a lost Skywalker daughter. In fact, any twist that could be conceived by fans would have been too predictable.

Except for the one truth that Rey ultimately does learn: she is nobody. Her lineage is not special, there is no heroic or noble blood in her, she was born from junk traders who sold her off and went drinking. It’s cold, but it’s the truth that Rey always knew, and Kylo verbalized it for her.

Is this satisfying? Hardly. But any other “twist” would have been less satisfying, and ran the risk of coming off as contrived, lazy, or unlikely (as it is with the twist we're ultimately given--that Rey is Palpatine's granddaughter, but that's an issue I plan to address with a Rise of Skywalker post). 

The “twist” is not the point anyway—the truth is the point. Luke had to contend with various truths in his journey, and he comes to learn harsher lessons as he grows older. Rey does the same—in her case, after coming so far on her own and realizing her potential with the Force, she must now learn that she has no place in the story and the universe at large couldn’t care less about her existence. To hear that you’re a nobody and nothing actually matters is a hard pill to swallow.

Now imagine that, after learning that the hero you worshiped all your life is actually a cynical coward in hiding, that the Jedi Order was deceived and torn down by Sith Lord Sidious, and there would be no help for the Resistance. Up to the point where Rey faces Kylo, she is given many hard truths that demonstrate that her life wasn’t what she thought it was. By definition, this is the peak of her arc and the moment she changes.

Her change is subtle though, especially since she already started off rather overpowered. All she does in this movie is recommit to the Light Side. When given the choice to join Kylo, she rejects him and saves the Resistance. Why? It’s never stated or shown in any clear way, but I suspect her relationship with Leia, Finn, Poe, and Chewie far outweighs anything Kylo has to offer. Since she adopts the name of Skywalker by the end of the saga, I suppose that’s the point—she found her own family, and therefore her own identity.

Post-Modern Post-Mordem

Kylo Ren yells at the cat with the salad.

It's been mentioned above already, but it's worth pointing out in its own section that most of The Last Jedi is devoted to "subverting expectations." Meaning, the movie does its darnedest to give you something you never saw coming, to the point where it sets you up to think in one direction, but then the film pulls the rug from under you.

• You expected Luke to do something with that lightsaber? Screw you! He just chucks it.
• You expected Luke to join Rey and fight the First Order? Not! He's in exile and won't budge.
• You think Finn and Rose can meet the codebreaker on Canto Bight without a problem? Think again! They're all arrested for a parking violation.
• That machine you see that looks so big and intimidating? Ha! It's just an iron. 
• Oh hey, Leia's awake. You think she'll side with Poe? Not! She shoots first.
• You expected Finn, Rose, and DJ to reach the thing that will shut off the First Order's hyperspace tracking? Wrong! They're all captured and nearly executed. Partly because of DJ, but also because a random droid spotted them and BB-8 sucks at stealth.
• Curious about Snoke? Too bad! He's chopped in half and doesn't mean jack squat now.
• You think Finn will bravely sacrifice himself in a blaze of glory? Nope! Rose gives him a love tap.
• You think Luke is really going to fight Kylo in the flesh? No! Luke is just a Force projection.

There may be even more instances than this.

The problem with this approach is that there's a certain spite directed at the audience every time something like this happens--I'm not sure if it's intentional, but some of these twists can make you feel like a fool precisely because the film sets you up to think one way, then slap you with the thing you're not expecting. Often times this happens based on existing cliches (such as the heroic sacrifice angle, or the general adventure pattern we've already seen in seven other Star Wars movies). It can come off as insulting the audience.

And yet, there are some twists I admire (as mentioned already, I don't mind the saber toss, or Luke's final projection trick). The best that these scenes can do is deconstruct the formula and cliches of Star Wars to offer something different. In some respects, we're given odd situations where innocuous or mundane things affect the story in major ways. In other cases, broader tropes are challenged and something totally different happens.

Deconstructionism has been a trend over the past decade, with films like Watchmen, Wanted, Kick-Ass, and Deadpool ripping into superhero cliches (and they more or less reflect their respective comics at least in spirit--Wanted is totally different, but the other two are spot-on). Kingsman: The Secret Service does the same to typical British spy films (especially James Bond). All of these stories actively (and often spitefully) tears apart the traditional notions of heroes, villains, good and evil, and the way things turn out. Despite their efforts, most of these movies wind up playing into genre tropes anyway--Kick-Ass is still about superheroes kicking ass, even when it explicitly shows that being a masked vigilante is horrifically dangerous and villains have no restraint. However, Watchmen is a movie that achieves a different outcome, and is all the smarter for it. That is a story that succeeds in building something fresh and new out of its deconstructionist premise.

I'd say that The Last Jedi is at least partway successful as a post-modern work. Some elements of the Star Wars formula can never be fully excised (such as the humor, the need for exotic new locations, the black-and-white morality, and above all, the film broadly mirrors The Empire Strikes Back in terms of structure). What it does accomplish through its constant rug-pulling is pushing the story and characters to a point where a battle or last-stand is not enough. Like Watchmen, the ending for The Last Jedi hinges on a solution where optics influence the outcome rather than more violence.

The point that The Last Jedi reaches through deconstruction is to show how to move on from failure--by learning from the past, letting go of it, and returning to one's roots. Many folks can't help but to see Kylo's explicit dialogue about letting the past die, but this is the villain's perspective, which is dangerous and anarchic. What Luke, Rey, and ghost Yoda prove is that when you strip away the failures of the Jedi Order (including the new order Luke tried to build), you have to find a new foundation. Rey ultimately paves a new path for the Jedi by squirreling away the original Jedi texts, while Yoda blasts the symbol of the Jedi--the ancient tree--to ashes. This in turn mirrors the way the movie itself burns through the typical Star Wars symbols, structures, and tropes to underscore what being a Jedi should be about.

Some folks commented that this is not the place to introduce deconstructionism, since this is the middle of the trilogy and audiences expect some questions to be answered or resolved. The film gives only a few full answers, some partial answers, and others are ignored. Maybe it's a valid criticism--at times, the film truly doesn't give what the audience wants.

Always Two Or More There Are

Push it real good.

Duality is a theme that always interests me, and it always existed in Star Wars on a very fundamental level (good and evil). What I enjoyed about The Last Jedi is how it expands on the “balance of the Force” theme by underscoring duality as it exists on the Force scale. As Snoke explains, “Dark rises, light rises to meet it,” which describes the dyad relationship between Rey and Kylo. When they fight together in the Throne Room, we visually see a Taoist representation of duality as their lightsabers and clothing contrast, but they are together in the center of the frame. It’s as if they become a living Ying and Yang for Star Wars.

The Last Jedi does something else I find admirable—it creates parallels, not only within itself but with other movies in the series. And this is the first time I actually became aware that a story can do this, and it often creates a kind of unity that can show important story elements, such as change, contrast, and theme.

• Luke throwing his saber away reminds me of how he did the same in Return of the Jedi.
• Snoke's dialogue about dark and light rising brings to mind the idea of balance of the Force, which was echoed in the Prequel Trilogy (although Lucas' idea of balance was all Jedi and no Sith, whereas this movie suggests equal levels on both sides).
• Luke uses the term "laser sword," the same way Anakin did in The Phantom Menace.
• When Rey connects to the Force, there is a brief moment where pebbles levitate around her hand. At the end of the film, she levitates dozens of rocks, which enables the Resistance to escape. Both these scenes match up nicely, but it’s doubly-impressive that it clashes with Rey’s previous skepticism that lifting rocks can actually help. Of course, it all matches up with Luke’s training on Dagobah, where he had to lift rocks.
• Reflecting Obi-Wan's words about points of view, the film also toys around with perspectives often. The best example of this is the repeated flashback we see of the moment when Kylo Ren decided to destroy Luke's temple. From Kylo's perspective, we see Luke standing over him with his saber ignited and a psycho look on his face. When Luke discusses that night, we see a brief moment in which he's unarmed and Kylo just brings the room down around him and goes nuts. The third (and I'd presume the most factual) flashback shows that both sides have truth to them. Just as Obi-Wan said, these truths depend greatly on their respective points of view.
• As mentioned above, we’re given parallels with the “heroic sacrifice” angle. Repeatedly, in fact. Within the first act, we’re shown Paige’s sacrifice, which follows a familiar pattern and expectation we’ve come to accept from many other films (within the series and outside of it). Holdo continues the pattern with her sacrifice, but only when the situation is so dire that she has no other choice. But when Finn begins his suicide run, it is interrupted and Rose draws our attention to how futile all these sacrifices actually are.
• Briefly, there is a First Order droid that looks just like BB-8, but is all black.
• Towards the end of the film, we’re given a parallel to A New Hope as Luke gazes at a twin sunset. As mentioned before, we’re given thematic unity as Luke looks back into the past from a point of attained enlightenment. This shows that his journey is complete, as he fades into the next life.
• The way he fades out lines up with the way Obi-Wan and Yoda faded out when they perished too.

More importantly, parallels are used to answer the seven basic questions of narrative drama. Those questions are:

• What do the characters want?
• What do the characters need?
• How do those wants and needs conflict with each other within the character?
• How do they conflict with the outside world? 
• How do they conflict with other characters?
• How does the character change through those conflicts and does the resolution affect them?
• What impact does that change have on everyone else?

The story by nature answers these questions by planting its three leads between two characters that represent their wants and needs.

• Poe wants to destroy the First Order, but he needs to grow into a leader. He is torn between Leia and Holdo. Even though the two are on the same side, Leia is much more forgiving of Poe’s recklessness than Holdo, whereas Holdo’s actions set the bar for leadership. Maybe they all suck at communicating though?
• Finn wants to run away (initially because he was afraid of the First Order, but the next time it’s because he’s worried about Rey). He needs to become a rebel. He is torn between DJ and Rose (and I’d argue Phasma as well to a lesser extent, who pops up to remind us of where he came from, and how he must be punished for leaving his stormtrooper cohort).
• I find it harder to pin down Rey’s wants, probably because it aligns with her needs—to find an identity. However you spin it though, she is torn between Luke and Kylo. They both offer her truth and perspective, but in the end she seems to reject both. I believe it’s the film’s message that Rey needed to find her own identity (and in turn, mirroring my previous musings about optimistic nihilism).

The counter-argument here is that just because a story addresses wants and needs this way doesn't make it any stronger. Indeed, the arc for Finn could probably be improved if he was given more choices or chances to show agency--as it is, he's whisked from one point to another and simply lectured to by the opposing characters he's caught between. I also find a little hard to answer all seven of the questions or every character--some of the impacts aren't fully seen or felt.

I gotta say though, I appreciate the effort this film makes. I'm not even sure if I can identify this kind of effort in Rise of Skywalker, and there are probably hundreds of movies outside the series that don't have any of these conflicts at all. Stories without conflict and narrative momentum annoy me the most--there's enough in The Last Jedi to keep me engaged with both the action and the characters, and that's good enough for me.

A Legacy of Hope

And they say Crackerjack prizes have gone downhill...

One thing The Last Jedi does that I don’t see in the other films is that it broadens its POV scope to include inconsequential characters doing mundane things in other corners of the universe. Specifically, this happens with the kid slaves on Canto Bight, who not only contribute to Finn and Rose’s escape, but are given their own scene at the film’s end that shows them playing with makeshift toys. We even see that one kid (the “broom boy”) seems to be Force-sensitive.

It’s a little jarring to see these scenes round off the film, when the majority of the saga is focused on the Skywalker clan and hardly anybody else, much less nameless rabble like this. What I admire, however, is the meta theme that the film hints at—the kids mirror real-life fans, especially the children who grew up with the original Star Wars lore and all the toys that came with it. It’s easy to become jaded by the capitalist agenda of studios, but the film underscores a bigger point about storytelling. Star Wars has always been about heroes and legends worth looking up to. By finding role models and experiencing their trials and failures, we strive to become heroes ourselves and find our own path for identity and purpose. That is the point of the film’s final shot, which shows the broom boy looking at the stars the same way Luke and Rey did. I still think the way he holds the broom comes off as...a...coming of age thing, I guess…but he also bears the Rebel starbird ring on his finger, which always stood for the good guys in the series.

Couple this with Rose’s speech about “protecting what you love,” and it seems as though the film is gently pushing a message to fans—stop being haters and focus on what you love. Given the backlash against all the films, I have a feeling the message is either lost or ignored. Some folks would probably argue that their displeasure with the films is justified (although I still find some criticisms hard to accept, and I believe some fans are just looking for reasons to rip the films to shreds).

If nothing else though, these scenes help frame the rest of the movie in a way that show how it fits in the scope of a larger universe—something that The Force Awakens was sorely missing, despite having the entire New Republic wiped out. The scope broadens, to the point where the legend of the Resistance is contextualized, and we’re left with the promise that hope exists and the galaxy will respond in the next episode.

The Best Worst Movie Ever Made?

Watching a Star Wars film always promises fun and excitement, but it never compares to high art. And yet, there are moments in The Last Jedi that I feel go way above-and-beyond normal popcorn movie fare, and it elevates the experience to incredible forms of expression and feeling that I find cathartic, gut-wrenching, or just plain beautiful.

• Paige’s sacrifice is the first scene that happens that made me realize this film was something different and special. After all, this character is an unnamed nobody, but we spend a good few minutes watching her struggle to deliver the bomber’s payload. It’s a long, drawn-out sequence, entirely wordless, with a lot of slow-motion. It’s all beautifully-shot, with unique camera angles and intense close-ups. It forces us to spend a moment with Paige during the last moments of her life, so we experience her desperation, and we can feel the weight of her actions. I’m personally awed by this whole sequence.
• When Rey receives Luke’s training, she spends a moment describing what she feels when connected to the Force. The film goes on to intercut short bursts of images to match her words—life, death. The combination of images and words assigns thematic power to the Force, which encompasses the entire universe. It’s an elegant way to contextualize something that was always treated as a soft magic system. I’m personally awed by this scene, all the way to those stunning moments where pebbles levitate and water rushes over Rey’s head.
• The entire Throne Room scene. The way Snoke tosses Rey around the room is an incredible show of power. I am continuously impressed by the way Kylo tricks Snoke, even as this thoughts were being read aloud. It was very smooth how Kylo masked his true intention by turning both lightsabers at the same time, leading Snoke to believe one thing before he is slain. This, in turn, correlates to the theme of points of view. But the moment in which the saber flies through Snoke, into Rey’s hand, before a fight breaks out, leaves me gobsmacked every time. Even when the scene continues, I am personally awed by how the Throne Room burns down and segues into Rey and Kylo’s final reach for the Skywalker lightsaber.
• The sequence in which Rose and Finn are nearly executed by Phasma, and then they fight, is just plain awesome. On a lesser note, I still kind of wonder if the shot of Phasma’s eye staring out of her cracked helmet is a deliberate callback to RoboCop.
• Holdo’s maneuver gives me the chills every time. Maybe it’s the spectacular visuals. Maybe it’s the lack of sound (and in a series built from constant noise, silence stands out in a chilling way). More importantly, I’m awed that the scene aligns with the other narrative turning points (Rose and Finn’s execution, the Throne Room fight), so we’re given a triple-whammy climax. The only other movie I know of that does this is Cloud Atlas, which is also remarkable in the same way. The only thing missing is a monologue.
• Just in passing: there is a spectacular shot of Leia looking out on the Crait horizon with half her face obscured by her collar. The costume is very unique, and something in her pose suggests an attitude that’s regal but wise. I feel like this is a shot that belongs in Dune more than Star Wars, but that makes me appreciate it more.
• The final duel, in which Luke and Kylo finally face off on Crait’s surface. The build-up to it is nice, with Luke finally connecting with Leia and winking at C-3PO. All of this gives us what we want—a chance to see Luke talk to his old buddies before fighting the bad guy. But with the unexpected twist—that he’s really just a projection—we’re given a theme that we need, that violence is not necessarily the way, that hate is blinding, and that preserving life is a Jedi’s way. Visually, cinematically, performance-wise, the entire sequence is dazzling and well-made, yet it invokes emotion and awe. I am impressed by Luke’s show of power as he projects himself across entire light-years, even at the expense of his body. To me, this is a perfectly emotional and cathartic send-off for the character, and a fine way to reach a climax.

Salty feelings.

Given the criticisms the film received over the years, it’s obviously not perfect. Some things I’ll acknowledge and find problematic are the following:

• We see how Rose and Finn make it to Crait, but how the actual heck does Rey transition from the Throne Room to the Millennium Falcon’s cockpit? This just happens with no bridge or explanation—if she never showed up for the rest of the film, we could have assumed she died from Holdo’s collision. I suspect the film purposefully misdirects us with all the dazzling action Finn and Rose go through, and we kind of forget that Rey is still out there somewhere, somehow moving from one ship to another. How though? I dunno.
• C-3PO’s arm was red in The Force Awakens for some reason. It’s not in any other film. It’s never addressed, explained, or mentioned again.
• I didn’t mind seeing Yoda’s Force ghost again, and I didn’t mind said ghost actually using Force powers. I just kinda hate the puppet they used—Yoda’s face looks like it was smacked against a wall or something.

 One more issue I see brought up quite a bit, but don't really care about one way or another:

• Porgs. I'm cool with them.
• During the opening battle scene, the bombers are aligned in such a way that it looks as though rows of bombs "drop" onto the dreadnaught. This leads fans to clamor that this is physically stupid, because there's no gravity in space.
• Let's be real folks, the bombs are shot out in one direction, they will continue in that direction no matter what the orientation is unless that momentum is interrupted. This scene could have probably worked just as well if the bombers were up-side down, or if the bombs were shot out a different direction. It's only shown as downward because, theatrically, it resembles the classic bombers we're used to seeing in WWII planes and such.
• Besides, this is Star Wars. Realistic physics was thrown out the window in favor of theatricality years ago--the Battle of Yavin in itself disregards practical space combat in favor of mirroring The Dam Busters, in which fighters dogfight their way to make a trench run and drop a payload. Does this really make sense in space? Eh, who cares? It looks awesome.
• The real gripe this scene deserves is that the bombers move so bloody slowly, I wonder where all them Y-Wings are at.
• Luke and the green milk scene.
• This doesn't trigger or upset me personally, but it seems like viewers everywhere draw attention to this one scene relentlessly. I suppose it's something I could do without, really, but as it is I think the scene is there to echo Aunt Beru's blue milk, thus suggesting that some things about Luke never really changed.
• The "Leia Poppins" scene.
• To be fair, this only looks ridiculous because of the long shot they use and the way the scene is animated. I think the opening close-ups of the scene are gorgeous though.
• Look, it's been thirty-something years since the events of The Empire Strikes Back, when we first learned that Leia has Force powers. Between then and now, I can totally accept that she would have trained and learned at least a little something. If anything, I like how The Last Jedi uses this opportunity to reveal just how powerful she's become.
• Tragically, Carrie Fischer passed away after filming. This left little possibility for Leia to return in Episode IX. Therefore, there is an argument that Leia should have been killed off in The Last Jedi.
• Maybe. Sure. I guess? It was a surprise to see Leia survive the entire events of the film, but I was equally surprised by how much the character contributed to the story. It probably could have been written differently, but it also would have been more disappointing if she was genuinely killed off when the ship's bridge exploded. Or at any other instance during battle.

These are additional things I love about the film:

• Just about every scene looks great in terms of cinematography, framing, composition, lighting, production quality, special effects, practical effects, and performances. Even during the weaker scenes, the film still looks and sounds phenomenal, and I don't think there's any shot or scene anywhere I'd consider to be bad. I'm actually awed by all of it.
• Similarly, camera movements consistently impress me. There are a lot of scenes where the camera pushes and pulls on characters' faces, and quite a few shots where the camera fluidly glides across scenes. I find it elegant.
• Even though Poe does make major mistakes and is responsible for the death of his squadmates, I do like his personality still, and I like how it is shown in the opening act to underscore his recklessness.
• I like how, during the final duel, there are clues to show that Luke is not really there. They're quite obvious, but you might not notice them on the first viewing because, like Kylo, you may be too invested in how the scene looks. Biggest indicators are that Luke's hair and costume changed from how he appears on Acht-To, the fact that he holds the same lightsaber that was broken moments ago, and the fact that he appears so suddenly without explanation (first viewing, I assumed he fished his X-Wing out of the water, but then how could it have still been working?). And while Kylo leaves red footprints behind on the planet's surface, Luke does not.

The Last Jedi didn't give audiences what they wanted. It gave us a post-modern story where Luke is not the hero we expected him to be, but a mopey cynic hiding in isolation. Couple that with the way the script trolls the audience and makes them feel foolish, then heap on a lot of minor details that fans loathe, like "Leia Poppins," Porgs, lightspeed collisions, gravity in space, Luke milking an alien and drinking it, Rose, Canto Bight, Yoda with his crunched-up face, Force ghosts using powers now, Snoke getting killed off too early, Holdo and the way she, Leia, Rose, and Rey make all the male characters look like fools, and...

You know what? This movie sucks!

And yet, I don't hate it like many other fans, because I can't help but to shrug off most of these issues and gravitate towards the deeper thematic material I see within the story. I feel that there's a lot of inspiring messages buried there. Combined with the film's craftsmanship and performances, and a few very strong pieces of cinematography, and I see a Star Wars film far more valuable than most of the others before it.

As it is though, it looks as though I value this on the same level as I value Sucker Punch, Cloud Atlas, or David Lynch's Dune--all films that are flawed, some at a level that's genuinely terrible, but I still love them for specific reasons. It often boils down to how the experience goes--it's been horrible for some people, but not for me. The Last Jedi stands near the top of the pyramid for guilty-pleasure movies, because aside from entertaining me, it offered a reflection on darkness, failure, and identity that resonated with my own feelings. Given that Rise of Skywalker let me down so much, I'm now even more inclined to push The Last Jedi on a pedestal of its own--a flawed gem, but one that sparkles more than the Prequel and Anthology movies, and shows more complexity than the Abrams ones. In the long run, I suspect I'll look up to The Last Jedi with more fondness, for all its daring and inspiration.

The circle is now complete.

An Appreciation of Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens

WARNING: SPOILERS FOLLOW

In 2005, I had accepted that it was all over. We had six Star Wars films altogether, amounting to a complete account of Anakin Skywalker's descent into the Dark Side, and his redemption. Plus some cartoons. For years, this seemed like plenty.

Seven years later, the unthinkable happened--George Lucas sold it all to Disney. Within a short time, announcements rolled through that a new trilogy of numbered episodes was coming, with anthology movies in the off-years. The goal was to have new movies rolled out with the regularity of the James Bond franchise. They weren't talking about pumping them out cheaply either--they'd be movies with real talent behind them, and real practical effects rather than bad-looking CGI.

JJ Abrams had done no wrong by me at the time. I loved the high-paced adventure he crafted out of Star Trek, so pegging him as the director of Episode VII seemed like a perfect fit. The script was hammered out from some familiar names (including Lawrence Kasdan). Actors were mostly fresh new names I had never heard of before (although I've since seen and come to appreciate the performances that Adam Driver, Oscar Isaac, John Boyega, Domhnall Gleeson, and Lupita Nyong'o put forth in many other modern films--they are all pretty awesome performers). What was more exciting is that Harrison Ford, Carrie Fischer, Mark Hamill, and Anthony Daniels were all reprising their roles. They'd even bring back John Williams to score the music.

Despite George Lucas not being involved anymore, it looked as though LucasFilm would devote itself to delivering a quality trilogy that fans would eat up. Every new piece of information, every new image, and every new trailer promised a new must-see experience that elicited the same adventurous spirit, whimsy, and exhilaration that A New Hope delivered decades ago. The bad taste of the prequel trilogy, with all their bad comedy, wooden performances, and flat storytelling would be washed away.

That's no moon, that's a...moon...

In the summer of 2015, I saw the film on a rather large 3D screen with a friend from work. I came out of it feeling satisfied--the film's quality was pleasing to behold, but was still very brisk, punchy, and full of heart. Action scenes were spectacular, of course. I found myself liking the new cast members, including Daisy Ridley as the new heroine of the series. The first thing my friend asked was "who is she the child of?" This only prompted the anticipation of more movies to answer the questions left hanging, this one being the most prominent since we're all expecting a twist to rival the one in The Empire Strikes Back. After all, it was a marvelous narrative trick that made the original series deep and rewatchable, and it seemed as though the new movies were setting themselves up for a new round of compelling narrative mysteries.

I Have A Mixed Feeling About This

The Force Awakens came out at a time when I was starting to regard films with a slightly more critical eye, and I was learning to knock certain things off their respective pedestals. I used to be quite the blind Star Wars fan, unwilling to accept the flaws in previous films and holding each one up as a perfect slice of adventurism. I even rated the prequels that highly. Around 2015, I decided for the first time that maybe Star Wars isn't what it's cracked up to be.

A younger version of myself would have easily slapped The Force Awakens on its own pedestal. As a thirty-two-year-old, I found myself lifting other films, like The Revenant, Ex Machina, and Mad Max: Fury Road, on pedestals above Star Wars. Those films offered a little something deeper--perhaps a touch of artistic cinematography, deeper writing, more compelling characters, and maybe even better action scenes. I wound up ranking The Force Awakens third best or so that year, but it probably deserves to be dropped a little lower.

The strange thing is, the movie feels like it should be the best thing ever when you're in the middle of watching it. When it's over and you take a step back, it's easier to shrug off and see it as something a little less special. It could be a sign that maybe this film is not made with genuine artistic merit in mind, but as a heartless cash grab. It struck while the iron was hot and ignited many fans' love, but the fire has since gone out, leaving behind many burned viewers pointing out how shallow the film actually is.

After all these years, I realize they might not be all wrong.

Same Movie. No, New Movie.

Let's face it--The Force Awakens carbon-copies the plot of A New Hope, often times incorporating the same beats. And it does so without any regard to the original stories and films--such as The Hidden Fortress--that inspired Lucas in the first place. Laying it out in a very broad perspective, the two episodes have the following in common:

• Opening crawl reveals that bad guys have a world-destroying superweapon (oh really, this sh*t again?).
• Start with an action scene where stormtroopers raid something.
• Villain enters action scene, all in black, with a helmet. Says nothing at first. When he does speak, villain's voice is eerily distorted. Goes on to interrogate rebels.
• Vital information is hidden inside a droid, which goes off on some desert planet to find help.
• Did we mention--movie starts on a sandy desert planet (AGAIN?!).
• We come across the hero/heroine stuck on desert planet, living day-to-day doing crummy work while they secretly yearn to leave the planet and have a great adventure. He/she is also Force sensitive.
• Hero meets droid and adventure ensues.
• Heroes board the Millennium Falcon (yeah, I should have seen that coming) and make a harrowing escape.
• Han Solo has trouble with local gangsters.
• A scene exists in a cantina or bar populated by various aliens.
• Heroes are betrayed by shady aliens secretly reporting their position to the bad guys.
• Superweapon destroys a planet (or two), throwing the galaxy in peril.
• Heroes have to enter the superweapon space station at some point to rescue a character in peril.
• The Rebels/Resistance have a briefing detailing their plan to destroy the superweapon.
• The Rebels/Resistance destroy the superweapon by flying into it and blowing something up.

As if the parallels aren't enough, The Force Awakens creates additional throwbacks by having Rey put on a Rebel helmet while sitting at the foot of a fallen AT-AT, Finn pulls up a remote at random (same one Luke would have trained with in A New Hope, I assume anyway), the holographic chess game blinks on at one point, Rey does the Jedi mind trick on a stormtrooper all Obi-Wan style, and Han jokes about tossing Phasma in the trash compactor. Are you feeling nostalgic yet? No? No worries, HAN AND CHEWIE ARE BACK! Woooooo!

To be fair, some of the nostalgia (especially in regards to bringing back original cast members and having an occasional wrecked ship in the background) doesn't bother me that much. But it does call attention to itself repeatedly, subtly nudging at the audience. It's a fast and easy way for the film to recall memories and emotion with mere props and passing dialogue. Even the revamped costumes, updated ship designs and weapons, all look remarkably close to the same kinds of things from the original trilogy. It's quite clear that the filmmakers wanted to distance themselves from the prequels, with all its indulgences and departures, and hook audiences by sticking with what worked before.

One Perfect Introduction

This AT-AT fought a sandworm on Arrakis and lost.

In a time when I struggled to understand what "show don't tell" really means, it took a film like this to demonstrate its execution with remarkable efficiency. Even though the film opens with a crawl that tells us background information and jumps into a scene where characters reveal the primary conflict, it's the next scene that really struck me with how well-executed it is. It's the scene where the new heroine of the series--Rey--is introduced.

For several minutes, there's hardly any dialogue. We simply watch Rey in a slice-of-life montage, in which she scavenges for paltry rations. The film shows us that Jakku is a desolate place full of wrecks and relics of the past. It's populated by aliens, robots, and alien/robot hybrids of some kind that like to yell at Rey when she fails to pull her weight. She scrapes by on a quarter-portion of food (including some kind of self-baking biscuit, which is awesome). She counts the days on a wall full of tally marks. She wears a Rebel helmet and looks up at flying ships, clearly waiting for something.

Within these few minutes, we already get a good idea of who Rey is. When she maneuvers through the inside of a wrecked spaceship, we see that she knows what she's doing, which shows physical skill, confidence, and perhaps some technical prowess. The harshness of the desert and the aliens around her rolls off her back, as she's clearly accustomed to it. But the moments in which she gazes at the sky shows the same kind of longing for adventure that Luke showed in A New Hope. All of this is shown to us with zero dialogue--literally, showing and not telling.

Between this scene and the parts that follow (in which Rey rescues BB-8, then runs across Finn), we're shown a character worth caring for. She is revealed to be personable (perhaps even good-humored), compassionate, and able to fend for herself. All of these are traits that make her likable, and I can't help but to feel for her from the start.

Rey Of Light

One problem that's been pointed out repeatedly by fans and critics is that Rey is so perfect, she's too perfect. When a character is too perfect, they are often labeled a Mary Sue (or Gary Stu). This is a term that was originally given to characters written in fan fiction (notably Star Trek) that became nothing more than the author's wish fulfillment.

Rey comes off as a Mary Sue character because of the following moments:

• In the Millennium Falcon, Rey seems to know all the nooks and crannies of the ship and what all the components do. Her knowledge matches Han's to an uncanny degree.
• When captive, she uses the Jedi mind trick on FN-1824, despite having never trained in the Force.
• This being said, I think a fair argument can be made that Rey had just experienced Kylo using mind tricks just moments before, and she successfully reversed it. This would have given her the know-how to trick a weaker-minded Stormtrooper.
• Despite having never trained or learned the Force or how to use a lightsaber, she succeeds in fighting and defeating Kylo Ren.
• This is a tricky one--Kylo took a hit from Chewie's bowcaster and was bleeding badly, which weakens him enough that even Finn stood toe-to-toe with him for a brief spat. I'd also argue that Rey's fighting style is the sloppiest of all the movies, and it's supposed to be--this is her first duel, she's only going off of intuition and impulse. She nearly gets herself struck down, until one dramatic moment where she finds clarity and is able to push back. The fight is a struggle, and it shows.
• One neat detail I always liked about this is that Rey's style matches Palpatine's from Revenge of the Sith--they both use a lot of jabbing motions.
• Rey is one angry fighter. The way she grimaces and scowls during these scenes is intense. It's like she's a Palpatine or something. This doesn't show any of the constraint or zen-like skill that characters like Obi-Wan showed previously.

The prevailing argument for all of Rey's victories is that she never fails, and is therefore unbelievably good at everything.

Look at you, all perfect and stuff...

I beg to differ, because she does fail at certain moments. When she's poking around the Falcon, she nearly releases a poison gas that could have killed everyone. On the Eravana, Rey messes something up and lets all the rathtars loose on the ship. When she's given a blaster, she neglects to take the safety off. When she tries the Jedi mind trick, the Stormtrooper initially mocks her. And the way she flew the Falcon on Jakku? Worst flying ever!

But for each of these micro-failures, she always succeeds on the rebound, so the failure is very short-lived. I feel as though the effort is there to show her as a noob, but it's rarely felt because she is overpowered. I want to believe that the point of Rey's arc across the three movies is to show how she controls all this power, especially since she comes from the lineage of the most powerful Sith lord in the galaxy. However, the movies' trajectory is to show how Rey finds her own identity--it's the way she uses her power that affects her path, and throughout the next two movies she sways from the Dark Side to the Light Side until she finally accepts the identity of Skywalker. In this context, I have less of a problem accepting Rey as a character, even if she is overpowered and some kind of Mary Sue.

Besides, she's likable.

Snoke 'Em If You Got Them

So, we're just dropped in the middle of this new chapter where the First Order is wreaking havoc across the galaxy, there's a Resistance for some reason, and all the heroes we once knew are not quite front-and-center. It takes time for Han, Chewie, and Leia to make their appearances, but Luke becomes the MacGuffin that Rey has to find (and eventually convince to come out of exile). We eventually learn that Kylo is Han and Leia's son. Luke was working to rebuild the Jedi Order but Ben turned evil, burned the temple down, and slaughtered all of Luke's students. All of this happened because of a new Big Bad named Snoke (the hell kind of name is this anyway?) and a new group of Dark Side users called the Knights of Ren. In Rise of Skywalker, we find out that Snoke and the Knights were actually created by zombie Palpatine.

But the thing is...how, even?

Return of the Jedi left us with a galaxy free of the Empire's tyranny. With no Sith left, the Force was in balance. Luke was the last Jedi (until he wasn't). Everything was set right, so how did it all get so wrong in The Force Awakens? The most head-scratching thing about the Sequel Trilogy is that it doesn't really bother to bridge itself with previous episodes, and I'm left wondering more about who Snoke is, how exactly he influenced and corrupted Ben, and how the First Order can come into being (and allowed to grow unchecked by the New Republic).

I believe many of these answers were relegated to other media--mostly novels. I haven't read them (yet). I've read some fans saying that they're okay with the backstories existing in books and comics, so that the films can stand on their own without having the burden of explaining all these issues. I find it unsatisfying because the backstory and information we crave directly affects our understanding of the story as it transitioned from the old series to the new. When I scratch my head trying to comprehend the era of the First Order and the Resistance, I'd rather not have to buy more media to fill in the gaps that the movies didn't bother to cover (granted, I give The Matrix a pass for doing the same thing, but there's a heck of a difference between things like understanding The Second Renaissance, seeing where the Kid character came from, seeing how the Oracle changed between movies, seeing the fate of the Osiris, and things like a whole new galaxy suddenly happening with new villains, new governments, new conflicts and struggles, and even a new history that has to be revealed).

They could have addressed certain pieces of information in the film. Even though exposition is a form of "telling" and not showing, past movies have shown it can be done well in Star Wars, especially when it's married with character personalities and voices.

Wait a minute...they did! For some bloody reason, scenes that describe the New Republic in greater detail were cut from the movie. Those scenes can be seen on the Blu-Ray. They were short, but they were just enough to give us a better, more complete picture of galactic politics. I honestly don't even know why these scenes were cut. As it is, we only see one scene of the New Republic, and it's the scene where it's blown away by the Starkiller base. From that point on, the Resistance and its heroes exist in a vacuum.

So, who shot first? You shot first? I shot first?

I believe the greater issue, however, is that the Sequel Trilogy may have started off in the wrong spot. If the time frame of the story was adjusted further into the past, it could have been written to have certain things in the movies' scope. We could have seen Luke's temple in its pristine shape, and his students. We could have seen Snoke influencing Ben, and his eventual betrayal. We could have seen the Knights of Ren in action. We could have seen how the First Order is born. We could have seen how the New Republic works and why it ignores the growth of the First Order. Conflict between the Republic and Leia could have allowed us to see how the Resistance came into being. All of this is shoved into books and comics, but it didn't have to be. This could have been a movie in itself, and it could have been a fair bridge between the two trilogies.

Even more frustrating is this kind of story was told before. Hardly the same way, but the idea of a New Republic facing new threats and Luke building his own temple were explored in a plethora of Expanded Universe novels. Millions of words have given us smart, fun, imaginative stories that took the next generation of Skywalkers to epic directions. LucasFilm made a conscious decision to strike all of this as non-canon, and didn't even bother to draw inspiration from any of these sources. They certainly didn't bother referring to the treatments Lucas had drafted. All of this only makes it more transparent that the filmmakers wanted to make a product that would make money--to do so, they aligned the story in a way that allowed its reveals of the villains, heroes, and their conflict to match up with A New Hope beat-for-beat. That meant fast-forwarding events into the future, but at the expense of crafting an organic continuation.

Always On The Move...

JJ Abrams always had a fast and loose way of telling his stories. A Youtuber made the point that Abrams' movies are built with plot, not scenes. Meaning, Abrams' movies never really settle down to let the characters talk and express themselves in a way that reveals information or pieces of the story. I feel this is a valid complaint for Rise of Skywalker, which seems so rushed and choppy that it seems to gloss over characters and their relationships (and certainly their arcs). I don't feel the same way about The Force Awakens. Even though the movie has its fair share of chases, shoot-outs, duels, and battles, the movie does space itself agreeably, with ample time given to show us characterization.

I feel this happens the best with the aforementioned scenes that show Rey as a scavenger. We see scenes of Finn struggling with himself. Kylo has a scene where he speaks to Vader's helmet, and it's quite revealing. There are plenty of scenes that show Rey and Finn interacting with Han and Chewie. Leia shares some screentime with Han and Rey. Scenes like these fill in the story just fine, and I always came out of the film feeling like the characters have warmth.

There are some things in The Force Awakens I find less agreeable, and it's precisely the same issue with Abrams' other films--in his effort to keep the pace high, he keeps the exposition as breezy as possible. This includes having the Resistance spitball their plan in a very low-key way, rather than having a stiff briefing like you see in A New Hope or Return of the Jedi. The scene amounts to Han saying "How do we blow it up? There's always a way to do that." Then they figure out that they have to take down the Starkiller shields and attack a specific spot. That's it. For a group of militant fighters, this feels sloppy and inauthentic.

The exchange between Poe and Finn in the TIE fighter, in which Finn gets his name, also feels very rushed. They're in the middle of escaping--they chose now to introduce each other and pick a name? The only thing more frustrating is watching 2009's Star Trek to see how Kirk gets in the command chair.

The Sword In The Box

Legendary loot.

This movie makes a rather big fuss over the lightsaber. As in, THE lightsaber. As if it's a thing now that lightsabers carry the memories of their past owners and it can be passed around as a powerful artifact. By the movie's end, the Skywalker lightsaber seems to choose Rey as it flies into her hand. And indeed, Maz confirmes that the lightsaber "calls" to her.

This was something I had heard rumored for years before the movie even came about--that an episode VII script was floating around, and the movie was planned to start with a shot of Luke's severed hand floating in space, and his lightsaber. Given that the movie still runs with the lightsaber as a plot device, it seems as though this draft was used in part for the final product (maybe this is Michael Ardnt's contribution). I honestly wouldn't have minded the severed hand intro, but understandably, it's probably too morbid for this movie series.

I understand why the lightsaber is a big deal. It's a physical way to pass the torch to Rey--especially for the one lightsaber that had existed through two whole generations of Skywalkers. And the idea of a lightsaber being a legend brings to mind stories like Excalibur. It's fitting for a space fantasy, but I'm not a fan of using the Skywalker saber this way.

For one thing, lightsabers came a dime a dozen in the prequels. There is even a scene or two where Jedi have spares and can toss them to Anakin and Obi-Wan in the middle of battle (as happens in the Geonosis arena fight). Anakin loses one saber in the droid factory, and just kinda moans about it, seeming more inconvenienced that Obi-Wan will yell at him rather than actually losing an item of power. By that movie's end, Anakin dual-wields two sabers held by other people. I don't even know what saber he uses in Revenge of the Sith--I lost track by that point, and for all I know he could have still been using the spare that was tossed to him before. Then Luke goes and looses it on Bespin--all he does is built a new one. His own nonetheless--Luke's green saber is more than a weapon at that point, it's a symbol that he had found his own path and identity as a Jedi, and can stand up to Vader. In light of all this, what value does a lightsaber really have? Obi-Wan previously says that it is a Jedi's life (which makes no sense if the Jedi are "encouraged to love" and abstain from war, but whatever George). I contend that a lightsaber is a tool at the least, an important rite of passage at best.

To put this much significance in the lightsaber suggests that the Force can manifest in objects. As initially defined, it is a magic system that's derived from living beings throughout the cosmos (and Lucas' intention was always to reveal that the midichlorians facilitate the Force on behalf of microscopic creatures called the Whills, which essentially rule the universe through people--this is what we would have probably seen if he made the Sequel Trilogy). The key theme is life. To have the dead objects (weapons nonetheless) possess power goes against the established intention and lore, and this is another reason why the finale of Rise of Skywalker disappoints--it boils down to Rey harnessing the Force from lightsabers to melt Palpatine's face off. Because...absolute power, I guess?

What bugs me the most about the Skywalker lightsaber's inclusion in The Force Awakens is in understanding how it even arrived at Maz's place. Last time we saw it, it was plummeting through the clouds of Bespin. Any gas giant will have layers of dense liquid, and a solid core, that would crush any physical object that falls through it. Not that it matters for a fantasy film, but the thing that's not addressed is how exactly did it survive intact? Somebody had to have retrieved it (somehow, on a gas giant, against all physical odds and possibilities) and the saber must have passed hands and found its way to Takodana. The film does bring up the question of how in the dialogue, but in the midst of peril, all Maz says is "a good question...for another time!" The only thing this line tells me is that the screenwriters themselves don't know and don't want to get into it. What ticks me off the most, however, is that this question remains open throughout the whole trilogy. It is never answered.

Once again, I've seen one or two fans say they'd rather have this detail relegated to a comic or something. I still think a few lines could have been enough to bridge the lightsaber across the movies--as it is, I feel like the writers are just telling me to shut up and accept that the saber is there and Finn is going to use it now. Just deal with it.

Okay, fine. I just wonder if Luke's severed hand is preserved in another box in Maz's basement.

A Legend Dies

Why, Ben, why?

I think everybody was bummed when Kylo killed Han Solo. People might still be ticked off about it. And I wouldn't blame them because the Sequel Trilogy fails to do the one thing we all wanted: to reunite Han, Luke, and Leia on-screen gain. With Han slain, this becomes impossible. It's perhaps even more frustrating because Luke and Leia both perish alone in the next two sequels (although, thankfully, Luke does exchange some last words with Leia in The Last Jedi).

What we do get is a brief scene between Han and Leia. Their awkward dialogue does a good job of showing us the tension and estrangement the two feel, but their chemistry bubbles up again when they address the core issue: that their son may be worth saving. Han believes it enough to approach Kylo on the Starkiller base and try to win him over.

Much like the dialogue that opens the film, the dialogue between Kylo and Han is a little vague and cryptic. With retrospect and insight, it makes sense though. Kylo says he knows what he has to do, but doesn't know if he has the strength to do it. The thing that makes this interesting is that we don't know what he's talking about until he takes action. At first glance, we might think he's talking about staying good--it's a thing he knows he must do, given that his family would want it. But it turns out he's actually talking about committing to the Dark Side--to rid himself of the last shred of goodness and kill his past. This makes the scene play out in a very suspenseful manner. On a rewatch, once we know what happens, the scene carries dramatic irony, and it remains compelling because we know something the characters don't, and can't help but to watch the tragedy unfold.

I admire this dialogue even more now that Rise of Skywalker repeats the exact same dialogue but flips the circumstances around--in that case, the thing Kylo knows he has to do is actually flip back to the Light Side and chuck his lightsaber. And he does. It's nice how that plays out, although I'm not entirely sold on his redemption. But that's a good question for another time!

Chewie...We're Home

Here are a few more small things that bug me about The Force Awakens:

• Maz Kanata is a character I thought I liked at first glance, but on rewatches she actually started to rub me the wrong way. I think because my first impression was that she's a little kooky, but the execution is actually rather stiff. It could be because most of the dialogue that follows is exposition, and we're not really given much more zing aside from the obnoxious way she singles out Han and then crawls on the table towards Finn. Can't fault Lupita Nyong'o or the visual effects people--the character is just a tad annoying, and it's probably the way she was written.
• Captain Phasma--even though she has this awesome chrome armor and Gwendoline Christie's performance is decent, there is practically nothing to her character. Considering that she dies in the next movie, I am rather let down that the little screentime she has reveals hardly anything about who she really is. Granted, there are other minor villains that are never explored that deeply (Darth Maul, for example), but Phasma feels like a bigger letdown since the trailers and promos put her front-and-center somewhat.
• One of the most distinguished actors on the cast is Max Von Sydow, and fans speculated for months on what his role would be. He's probably the most prolific actor to the series since Christopher Lee, or Sir Alec Guiness. Sydow's scenes are sadly limited to just the opening sequence, in which he's promptly killed. His sole role is to give exposition (which I don't mind so much since his words are kind of cryptic and make rewatches more rewarding), but I would have preferred seeing him more involved with the story (especially since this character has a history with the Solo family, but it's never even touched upon again). It feels like a huge waste of talent. 
• We don't see any of the Knights of Ren until Rise of Skywalker. I feel like the Ren title was made up as an alternative to using Darth again (but this makes little sense when the First Order is revealed to be under Sith control anyway--dude should have just been called Darth Kylo). Ren is a name (or title?) that's never explained or explored. Even in Rise of Skywalker, it amounts to nothing more than a bunch of thugs. Considering that The Mandalorian went to lengths to show us Mandalorian culture, values, and philosophy, I think a little more thought and detail could have been put into the Knights of Ren to give them more depth and significance (actually, I'd also welcome more shown on the Sith too--all that stuff of Exegol is a bit head-scratching).
• Some scenes and shots exist that were never actually used. One shot I wish was left in the final film is one used in the trailer that shows Kylo stepping into the forest, pausing, then igniting his lightsaber.

Here are more things I appreciate:

• Finn, as a character, is one of the most interesting additions to the Star Wars lore. This is the first time we see a stormtrooper defect, much less one who shows a conscience, shows emotion, and removes his helmet. I like how he spends most of the film trying to escape the First Order--this may actually be the first protagonist in the series who's sole goal is to flee, whereas every other character faces danger. The films' events, and Finn's connection to Rey and Poe, ultimately forces him to fight as a rebel, and he's set up to become a promising new hero by the film's end. He even gets to fight with the lightsaber a couple of times, how cool is that?
• Despite all the criticisms that Rey is a Mary Sue, I do like how her goal is set up to return to Jakku and keep waiting for her parents. Even though she shows excitement over the pieces of history and lore she runs across (including meeting the legendary Han Solo), she shows no interest in leaving her situation for a grand adventure--she only does so when Maz makes her face the truth, that her parents aren't coming back for her. This forces her to side with the Resistance, and eventually she's set on a path to find her own identity. This kind of arc is interesting enough for me to overlook the fact that she's overpowered (although I would have liked it more if the film addressed her power and made it a struggle for her to attain self control).
• Character relationships are pretty interesting. It is genuinely heartwarming to see Finn, Poe, and Rey connect as they do, but it's even more interesting to see Leia and Han treat Rey as a kind of surrogate daughter. It's led fans to speculate if Rey could have been Kylo's long-lost brother (although that was ultimately debunked).
• I admire the scene where Kylo and Poe meet for the first time--Poe's icebreaker is funny, but more importantly it reveals his character in a natural way.
• That moment when a random stormtrooper yells "traitor!" and challenges Finn to a one-on-one fight. For a time, this became a meme, and the one stormtrooper was given an identity (as TR8R). It is a pretty cool moment in a fight scene would have otherwise been less remarkable. Moreover, fans like it when an underling rises up above the rest and gives the heroes a bigger challenge.
• The comedy in general always manages to elicit a chuckle or two from me. There are quite a few jokes and lines I love (most especially Han scolding Finn, "That's not how the Force works!"). Few jokes don't hold up, but the majority of it gives the film a lighthearted appeal and personality to the characters. I feel that it works.
• The production value is phenomenal. Designs for the costumes, props, ships, weapons, creatures, and worlds are all top-notch and they look phenomenal on-screen. Filmmakers made a conscious choice to use as many practical effects as they could, and it reflects well in the final product.
• Every Star Wars film endeavors to feature a planet with a specific environment (this does give rise to a cliche that's probably looked down on today--that planets have only one climate--but part of the joy of a Star Wars is seeing what exotic location the backdrop will be. With The Force Awakens, we're given an alpine environment and a lush forest, which lends the film some of the nicest scenery of the series. Can't say I'm that thrilled that the film retreads desert territory, but I appreciate the new locales quite a bit.
• There are times when a Star Wars movie will flex some cinematic muscle and use its cinematography to show aspects of its story rather than relying on dialogue. In The Force Awakens, these shots really blew me away:
• The opening shot, which shows a First Order battleship cutting across the frame as if stabbing the planet behind it.
• The first shot of Rey, in which we only see her in a mask, but she's looking directly at the camera (as mentioned earlier, this is also a match-cut with Finn and his helmet).
• There's a spectacular shot during the Jakku chase where the camera follows the Falcon as it does a 360-degree loop in the sky. That might be one of the most inventive camera moves I've seen throughout the 2010s.
• When Han Solo dies, the scene darkens as the Starkiller base drains a nearby star. The lighting ultimately matches the on-screen action, in addition to contrasting the blue and red lights. The scene overall looked very theatrical and unique.
• The film's last scene, where Rey wordlessly holds the lightsaber towards Luke. The last couple of minutes leading up to this moment were gorgeous, especially with the background of Skellig Michael. The expressions both Rey and Luke give tell us everything we need to know. It is shame we have to see the next moment in the next movie (and the next movie wound up ticking off lots of fans by having Luke toss the lightsaber over his shoulder). But I wouldn't know of any better way to end this chapter.
• Sound design is decent.
• John Williams' score is generally solid--the themes for Rey and Kylo are memorable standouts. Rey's Theme in particular stands out from all the usual marches and fanfares since it has a more flowing, light-hearted, whimsical sound. Very fitting for a fantasy story, and I think it sounds nice.

The ultimate Red vs Blue episode.

The Force Awakens is a fun film--maybe even one of the funnest of the series. It looks spectacular, the characters are lovable, and the film invokes strong nostalgia through its production and by bringing back classic characters. Unfortunately, it does all this without saying a whole lot that's fresh or new. You could say Rey is so perfect that she faces no challenges and is boring. You could say that Kylo is a wimpy villain compared to Vader. You could say the story is exactly like A New Hope. You could say a lot of things that undercuts the integrity of the story, even though it sets up enough mystery boxes to keep you invested in the series.

I prefer to see the film for its strengths--there are many weaknesses, but any disappointment I have is directed solely on the payoffs we're given in the next installments (especially Rise of Skywalker). This movie succeeded in laying the groundwork and winning fans' hearts back. There was an awakening, and we all felt it for a time.