The Star Wars Heresies

Re-Experiencing Episode One

2012-02-12T22:18:00.001-08:00

- The Saga Returns to Theaters -

Saturday was a good day to see Episode One: The Phantom Menace once again, and not only in theaters, but in an added dimension!

Granted, it was extremely cold, especially after balmy temperatures all month. Not to mention the significant other woke-up with a sinus headache, and was understandably reticent about going to see a 3D movie. And, oh yeah, the Mall of Georgia was insanely crowded, with throngs of busy consumers at every turn. I had to park about a mile away, and then face the icy cold wind.

Still, any day you're going to see a Star Wars movie on the big screen is a good day, am I right?

After grabbing lunch in the food court, I wound my way up to the cinema. Happily, a lot of the crowds were buzzing around there, too. Better still, some of them were in costume.

I'd already emailed a friend in the Rebel Legion about any special events around town and, sure enough, various troops were heading out to the local theaters. The 501st were there as well and, hate on Star Wars all you want, but the crowds were totally geeking out. All it takes is a couple of fans in robes and lightsabers, and everyone's five years old again. Young and old, male and female, all were standing around waiting to get their picture taken with a Jedi or stormtrooper.

They totally suffused the place with positive vibes in the Force and, as they always do, set the whole thing in the right spirit.

Amazingly, there was actually a line to get in the afternoon showing. And apparently the one before that. My pictures aside, the place was packed. Not sold out, granted, but certainly Episode One was making an impressive debut for the middle of February when the Blu-Ray had only recently come out.

And it was a good line, too. A lot of people had Star Wars t-shirts on over their long-sleeved seasonal wear, and I got into a fascinating discussion with a lady and her husband regarding Hindu and Buddhist themes in the saga. She'd written a lot of papers on the subject, and had apparently taught Star Wars in a comparative religion class. The whole outing was refreshingly hater-free.

When we got into the theater, all the lights were still on, and stormtroopers were escorting customers to the aisles. There was predictably a lot of "move along, move along" bits. Apparently it worked, because everyone filed to the back and top, with only a few souls bravely choosing the first couple of aisles. I staked out a place midway, my only regret being I hadn't waited for my Rebel Legion peeps to take in a later show. Oh well. I was happy to see the place was at least seventy-to-eighty percent full by the time the movie started.

This has been repeated all over the internet, but to see the Lucasfilm logo with the Twentieth Century Fox logo is always a borderline mythic experience. And now it was hovering off the screen! As usual, it took a few minutes to get acclimated to the added dimensions, but the opening crawl was incredibly effective, the letters now floating above the field of space.

As for the movie, I didn't really settle into it until Tatooine, what with so much to soak in and look at. I did develop a slight headache before the podrace, but nothing a quick pain reliever couldn't handle. Still, it never fails. I'm simply incapable of sitting down to a Star Wars movie and not being eventually engrossed in the characters and story. By the time the Battle of Naboo started, I was literally leaning forward, on the edge of my seat.

But we know all of this. As for the 3D, it was really, really well done. It really immersed one in the film while being subtle, at times almost too much so. Not as impressive as Avatar, maybe, but still amazing for a film not made for the format. Inevitably, it did darken the picture and the lines along the edges got a little fuzzy, but Episode One is a very bright, colorful film, so that helped offset it a little.

Effects supervisor John Knoll has gone on record before the release saying a lot of the big, epic scenes and "money-shots" hadn't been altered much, and true enough. The podrace, for instance, seemed pretty contained. There are a couple of first-person shots where one does feel totally right there, hurtling along in the desert at several hundred miles an hour. And it was nice to see the closeup of bounty hunter Aurra Sing. Still, a lot of wide-shots seemed to have been left alone.

For me, the most effective use of the 3D were the more unexpected bits. For instance, when Jedi or Senators or aliens were just standing around talking, it's almost like the characters are in the theater with you. Anytime Watto was flapping around the screen was great also, as was Jar Jar's swim to Otoh Gunga. Some of the shots around the aerial platforms above Coruscant were likewise stunning, particularly the one at night.

And incidentally, this is the Blu-Ray cut of the film. All the extra DVD bits are there, and of course the great CGI Yoda. He looks fantastic, especially when he appears right in front of the audience after knighting Obi-Wan. Infinitely better than the early puppet.

The scenes that absolutely popped out at me often involved windows. For example, when Queen Amidala looks up at the Trade Federation invading Naboo, yeah, I seriously thought I was about to fall through the windows. Very cool. The same thing happened when gazing out the cockpit window of the Nubian spaceship. A very rich sense of scale and depth.

Perhaps it was just the brilliance of the original scene, but when the doors in the Naboo hangar opened and Maul was just ominously standing there ... that was incredibly awesome. Like doors really were opening up for the audience. And yeah, not to underrate Revenge of the Sith, but this probably was the best duel of any of the films.

Of course, the moment came during the parade in Theed when the movie was almost over. I didn't know if I could elicit any applause from the audience or not. The credits started, and someone in the back started clapping. It would have died out, but I chimed in. And then a couple of others did. It was pretty cool. Maybe twenty or thirty percent of the audience gave a short round of applause. Impressive for a twelve year old film often lauded as the "worst" of the saga, on a bitterly cold weekend in February.

After it was all over, the Rebel Legion guys and gals were already gone. They really want to do a troop at my library, which I'm going to have to arrange. I stopped by Barnes and Noble and bought the Sukhavati DVD I'd borrowed from a friend of mine. It was only appropriate to toast the whole event with a little Joseph Campbell. Especially because Naboo is Sukhavati, but that's another post altogether.

Hope everyone had as good a time as I did. The box office seems to be humming along, so bring on Episode II!

MTFBWY.

The Phantom Menace Returns

2012-02-06T17:37:00.000-08:00

With less than a week to go, Star Wars: Episode One: The Phantom Menace at last returns. A live action SW film hasn't been seen on the silver screen since 2005. As great as the Blu-Ray box set was, nothing can quite engulf a person like going to an actual theater and sitting down in front of the opening crawl, with John Williams' music erupting from the speakers.

If anyone reading this needs any incentive to get out to the cinema, I have just the thing. One is The New Beginning, my own article recalling my experience back in 1999. The other is a brilliant piece by prequel fan Bob Clark, which can be found here. Do yourself a favor and give it a scroll through if you haven't yet. Or better still, take the time to actually print it out and read it.

And if that doesn't inspire enough, might I recommend a few books from the EU? And this isn't the ordinary EU as it's been run for awhile, this is EU with major correspondence between the authors and Lucasfilm, including Dave Filoni of Clone Wars fame and even the Maker himself.

Darth Plagueis is a treasure trove of material. It also has some special relevance for The Phantom Menace, casting some new rays of meaning on Palpatine's role in the film. James Luceno does an excellent job here, as he has in most of his other works. And best of all, if you're ever in a position where Palpatine turns to you and asks, "Have you ever heard the tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise?", you can just knowingly smile.

While Plagueis is rightly getting a lot of attention, The Wrath of Darth Maul by Rider Windham is an epic read, too. Again, this has some full-on collaboration between Windham and Luceno and Katie Lucas, all in a much-appreciated effort to consolidate continuity not only in the EU, but also with the films and the CW. I'm only halfway through this one and I'm told it contains some major spoilers regarding Maul's return, so consider yourself warned. I've also been assured the return is going to be done with near mythic brilliance, so I'm reading it ahead of time.

Incidentally, if anyone is around the Atlanta area, the Rebel Legion and the 501st will be setting up shop at the Mall of Georgia Regal Cinema on the afternoon of February 11th. I personally am going to try to attend this one, as it promises to be a good time. I know they're going to be doing events all over the place, so everyone should check out what the situation is going to be around their neighborhood.

I hope everyone has a great time. See ya at the movies.

Father of the Hunt

2012-01-30T18:05:00.000-08:00

“I’m just a simple man trying to make

my way in the universe.”

- Jango Fett

In Attack of the Clones, audiences first meet the most skilled and resourceful bounty hunter in the galaxy on the edge of a skyscraper, high above the towering, planet-wide metropolis of Coruscant. It is a secret meeting between himself and Zam Wesell, the shape-shifting Clawdite who has already made one attempt on the life of Senator Padme Amidala. Farming out his assignment so the line back to him will be that much harder to follow, he awards a pair of deadly poisonous, centipede-like creatures to his employee, arguing “more subtlety” is required this time. In classic noir fashion, he slips away again, his hand in the plot only revealed in the recall of a lethal rifle shot when he has to kill a captured Zam himself.

When he first steps from the shadows, Jango Fett already brings with him a rich legacy, one born not only from the internal saga of Star Wars, but from all the epic stories and myths that inspired it. His formidable, armor-clad form is forever bound to the role of hunter and father in the single episode that he appears in, and such roles carry within them millennia of mythic weight and symbolic implication.

Perhaps the biggest influence on the philosophical and psychological undertones of the saga, the late scholar Joseph Campbell constantly conjured up images of the hunt in his writings. He referenced the vast, Paleolithic caves again and again in his work. Initiations for early hunters were once undertaken beneath jagged, domed ceilings decorated by great stags, mighty bulls, and herds of long-extinct bison, all doomed to gallop across the rocks forever. This was not simply art but magic, a kind of mystic participation between man and animal, hunter and hunted.

In Primitive Mythology, the first book in the Masks of God series, Campbell outlined the importance of the hunt, citing ritual itself as one way of assuaging guilt when a tribesmen was forced to kill an animal that for them was half-divine. “The hunt itself, therefore, is a rite of sacrifice, sacred,” he explained, adding, “And not a rawly secular affair.” As opposed to a planting society, where the accent is on the group, a community of hunters and gatherers likewise focuses on the individual, one often nursed on equal doses of danger and solitude.

Such elements obviously play consist roles in the life of a galactic bounty hunter, even as the original emphasis has drastically shifted. In stark contrast to the reverence and kinship between predator and prey in early times, this type of hunter works for the highest bidder, operating in the jungles of capitalism and commerce. And those stalked and hunted down are not birds and animals, but rather sentient beings that have run astray of moneyed groups or individuals.

This is certainly the case with Jango Fett.[1] While navigating the Byzantine maze of Attack of the Clones’ plot, Jango works for two powerful clients that are practically at cross purposes. His short-term job revolves around the assassination of Senator Amidala of Naboo, who has angered the Neimodians of the Trade Federation by repelling their invasion in the last film. It is no small irony that Jango’s task is to take the former Queen out of the picture, given her opposition to building a Grand Army of the Republic. Especially when Jango’s second clients are taken into account, the very cloners who are using him as the genetic template for their army.

Of course, the smoke-and-mirrors of the plot is really being controlled and orchestrated by a nefarious Sith Lord, so both sides actually bow to the same master. Nonetheless, the cloners of Kamino unhesitatingly refer to Jango’s pay as “considerable” and, given Nute Gunray’s fury at Amidala, audiences can be sure his price for delivering “her head on my desk” isn’t bad either. Make no mistake; it all comes down to the cold hard credits lining the bounty hunter’s bank account.

Complete with his legendary Mandalorian armor and helmeted visor, one glance at Jango Fett makes it clear why his services are highly sought after by any and all sides. That he is usually masked and covered in segmented silver plating speaks of a hard, implacable personality, a cold and impersonal figure who can get the job, any job, done. Surrounded by armor, Jango, like his son after him, is more crustacean than his foes, with bone surrounding flesh rather than the other way around.[2]

In his Dictionary of Symbolism, Hans Biedermann remarks how “Garments capable of enclosing the entire body lend optical unity to the human form and give it the appearance of power.” This clearly rings true for Jango Fett who, like all the masked and armored characters in Star Wars, emanates formidability from his single antenna down to his spiked boots. There is also an old mythic notion that something of the “aura” of the wearer is transmitted to their garments, says Biedermann, which is why the robes and capes of religious figures have always been important. It is only fitting then, that our last shot of young Boba Fett is in the Geonosian arena after his father has been cut down, cradling his fallen helmet and pressing it against his own head.[3]

Yet not only is his outfit self-enclosed and striking, Jango Fett has the gadgetry to back it up, a deadly array of gear that has transformed him into a living weapon. In A Short History of Myth, religious historian Karen Armstrong makes an observation ripe with significance here. “Humans were ill-equipped for hunting, because they were weaker and smaller than most of their prey,” Armstrong writes, serendipitously adding, “They had to compensate for this by developing new weapons and techniques.” The battle in the Geonosian arena offers a fine example of this, space opera-style. Jango holds his own against a charging Reek, only to fell the great beast with a single, well-aimed shot from one of his blaster pistols.

But as audiences know, that was nothing compared to the built-in weaponry seen in full display on a rainy platform on the water world of Kamino. Having traced the mysterious saberdart used to end Zam Wesell’s life and career, Obi-Wan Kenobi arrives at Tipoca City. During his tour with the pale, long-limbed Kaminoans, Obi-Wan learns that for the past ten years, Jango Fett has been the DNA template for 2,000 clone troopers, with another million still in development. In a tense, pitch-perfect scene, the Jedi confronts Jango in his apartment, exchanging clipped, terse bits of dialogue.[4] As the two size each other up, the polite words betray a building mistrust laced with everything that isn’t being said.

A fight seems inevitable and, after Obi-Wan is ordered to capture the bounty hunter by the Jedi Council, one explodes in spectacular form.

With young Boba behind the guns of the infamous Slave I, the two warriors attack, lightsaber flashing and twin pistols blazing. Despite a burst from his flame throwers in the Geonosian arena, this is the scene during which Jango Fett unleashes his full hunting arsenal.

Obi-Wan quickly finds himself under assault from Jango’s jet-pack missile, not to mention wrist-mounted whipcord throwers. During the first half of the fight, the bounty hunter is likewise shooting back and forth across the rain-streaked sky in a deadly, aerial ballet, sometimes even dragging his opponent behind him. After a surprising exchange of low-tech kicks, punches, and head-butts, the two topple over the side of the platform. Still not out of tricks, Jango uses a set of retractable claws built into the forearm of his outfit to stop his descent, while Obi-Wan nearly falls into the dark waves below.

While his escape is impeded by a homing beacon planted on his ship, Jango nonetheless gains ground over Obi-Wan, one of the few beings in the galaxy who could disarm a Jedi and keep his lightsaber away from him for a few minutes.

It is no surprise why the Kaminoans chose him as their template, which leads into the next mythic archetype Jango holds, that of father. Yet he is no ordinary father. As far as the culture of clones is concerned, he is like the All-Father of myth, the god who goes on to sire an entire race.

His legacy echoes back to the Babylonian Apsu, the Egyptian Osiris, the Greek Zeus, the Indian Indra, and the Norse Odin, as well as any father-deity whose children go on to shape the destiny of the world. The history of the clone army is a pivotal one in that far away galaxy, their military prowess first valiantly serving the Republic, then becoming the iron fist consolidating the rule of the Empire.[5] Long after his demise at the saber of Mace Windu, Jango’s swarthy features continue to be seen throughout the stars, his face an inadvertent bid for something approaching genetic immortality.

Yet it is the faceless visage of Jango’s armored mask that is also inherited by legions of clone troopers, all who will be known for their striking white helmets, all of them eerily reminiscent of that greatest of bounty hunters. Joseph Campbell pointed out in Primitive Mythology the importance of masks, especially when used to invoke a particular deity. In ancient festivals, he notes how a mask was revered and experienced as a “veritable apparition of the mythical being that it represents.” One can almost imagine hints of Jango’s legend filtering down through the similar armor of the clones. Campbell explains that, through the use of masks, gods can be in more than one place at a time and, “wherever he comes, the impact of his presence is the same: it is not reduced through multiplication.” Jango’s isn’t either, at least not until the time when the stormtroopers take over and his genetic samples are exhausted.[6]

Yet despite the countless children that bear his likeness, the solitary hunter awards only one the title of “son,” and it is only for this clone that he likewise willingly takes up the mantle of “father.”

As the Prime Minister of Kamino explains to Obi-Wan Kenobi, part of Jango’s price was “an unaltered clone for himself.” Unlike the other clones, there was no genetic tampering to speed up the aging process, as well as no engineering to render him less independent and more obedient. This clone was to be an exact replica of Jango Fett, with the rogue’s personality whole and intact.

For the first time, audiences begin to see a surprising sentimentality lurking beneath all the weapons and armor. Jango clearly shares an affinity with his son Boba, one obviously reciprocated. While part of Jango’s motives are to raise a son the way he wanted to be raised, to sharpen his skills from the beginning, and thus mold him into a hunter even greater than himself, there is a real relationship between the two.

One of their key scenes together involves Obi-Wan giving chase to Slave I in his nimble Jedi starfighter. Not only does the sequence highlight another parallel with The Empire Strikes Back’s classic asteroid field chase, it also offers a glimpse into how this interesting father-son dynamic operates. Some fathers play catch with their sons; Jango takes his on perilous flights through asteroids, now hunting his prey with cannons, torpedoes, and sonic charges.[7]

To his credit, Boba acquits himself well. Amid all the daring maneuvers up, under, and even through the asteroid belt surrounding Geonosis, he only loses his cool in the passenger seat a couple of times. For the rest of the sequence, the young Boba cheers his old man on, taking pleasure in the dangerous game of cat-and-mouse, even chuckling impishly when it seems their Jedi target has been beaten.[8]

For his part, the elder Jango takes pleasure in showing his offspring how his work is done, commenting and explaining to what would otherwise have been a cold, solitary cockpit. Like countless fathers before him, he wants not only the best for his son, but for his son to be the best. And given his legacy as the bounty hunter who finally captures Han Solo, Boba Fett certainly does his father proud.

Despite his defeat to Mace Windu’s famous purple saber, Jango Fett is a near perfect addition to the pantheon of Star Wars characters. Continuing the legend of that epic saga, Jango is at once recognizable but alien; familiar yet exotic; man but also myth. The rich archetypes of hunter and father are once again ignited and brought to life for the millionth time, only now finding expression behind a masked visor and a forbidding set of Mandalorian armor.

[1] As R.A. Salvatore memorably puts it in the Attack of the Clones novelization: “When Jango Fett wanted you caught, you were caught. When Jango Fett wanted you dead, you were dead.”

[2] In Bob Clark’s excellent thesis/film review of Attack of the Clones, he interestingly points out, “As played by capable New Zealand actor Temuera Morrison, Jango stands as a classic movie tough guy, a blunt mouthed thug-for-hire who’d be just as intimidating in a fedora and trench coat as he is in battle-ready armor.” Fair and astute observation, though he wouldn’t be as mythic.

[3] The same could be said for his taking to the controls of Slave I later.

[4] Including Fett’s classic, “I’m just a simple man trying to make my way in the universe.” Despite complaints about wooden dialogue, this is arguably the most versatile line in all of Star Wars, guaranteed to work in an endless number of personal, professional, and social situations.

[5] As Jango prophetically intones on behalf of his progeny: “They’ll do their job well. I guarantee that.”

[6] Likewise explaining why the troopers in the original trilogy can’t shoot straight.

[7] Though according to Salvatore’s novelization, the two do spend some quality time with more traditional fare, such as fishing, Kamino-style.

[8] As pointed out on the DVD commentary, Boba doesn’t fall for Han’s trick with the Falcon because he learned from his father’s mistakes, believing his quarry Obi-Wan to be dead when he had only shut his systems down and taken refuge on an asteroid.

The Greatest Speech Ever....

2011-12-08T18:39:00.000-08:00

Courtesy of Chaplin, now courtesy of Darth Vader and the Clone Wars. Sheer artistry, friends. Watch and listen and be inspired.

And Happy Holidays to everyone from the SW Heresies.

HOW A JEDI MASTER MAKES WAR

2011-12-01T19:47:00.000-08:00

- A Study of Ambush -

"Begun, the Clone War has."

- Yoda

The conclusion of the Star Wars prequels found a powerful schism running not only through the center of that long ago, far away galaxy, but also through the very heart of the Grand Master of the Jedi Order himself.

Yoda began the saga at the top of the Jedi Temple in the bright center of the galaxy, only to have fallen into the swampy lowlands on a hopelessly backwater planet by the time his help was needed again. Bound to the holistic Force, he likewise served a corrupt, divided Republic on the verge of tearing itself apart. Eventually arguing that wars do not make one great, he also led one of the largest armies ever created in one of the biggest galactic conflicts of all time.

It is only fitting that the first episode of The Clone Wars television series prominently features Master Yoda. He very famously foresaw that, "In this war, danger there is, of losing who we are." As the series has progressed, audiences have watched the Jedi, the perennial "peace-keepers who failed to keep the peace,"[1] struggle to maintain their pacifistic philosophy, even within combat situations that constantly undermine it.

Yet even during a rigged war fought largely by programmed masses of clones or battle droids, the Jedi stand out, their ancient wisdom often filtering through and teasing inspiration out of sources very few others would even notice. This fascinating paradox is on full display in Yoda's character in Ambush.

On the remote, neutral moon of Rugosa, the Republic and the Separatists are once again vying for allies to join their respective causes. In full ceremonial garb, King Katuunko of the Toydarians has invited Yoda to negotiate on the Republic's behalf for a supply base in that sector.[2] However, Asajj Ventress, the deadly, pale-skinned apprentice of the Sith Lord Count Dooku, arrives first, bringing with her a Separatist trap.

In space, several frigates pop out of lightspeed, promptly launching an attack on the Republic shuttle approaching Rugosa. Adamant that they must reach the surface of the moon, Yoda calmly advises they launch all the escape pods in order to confuse their enemy. From the beginning, the little master uses cunning to outwit the enemy, rather than simply retaliating with aggression.

Shooting toward Rugosa, the pod Yoda shares with three other clones nonetheless takes its share of pummeling. For his part, Yoda tellingly assumes something akin to a meditative pose in one of the seats, coolly assessing the situation even as it rattles the clones. For anyone familiar with the inscrutable stories surrounding Zen masters, the scene is somewhat evocative of D.T. Suzuki, one of the first purveyors of Eastern wisdom in the West. As Monica Furlong points out in Zen Effects, "Suzuki was good at dropping off during turbulent airplane flights, a child at home in the universe, unworried and serene."

At his best, this passage describes Yoda as well. "After all," Irvin Kershner noted at his creation in The Making of The Empire Strikes Back, "he is a Zen master." [3] Beyond words and theory, Zen Buddhism as it came to flourish in China and then Japan is first and foremost not spirituality or a philosophy, but an experience. Contrary to an egocentricity which constantly separates and divides, Zen is a direct experience of the universe as a whole. One has set aside their limited idea of "self" only to discover that their real center of being is the center of all life. This breeds a rather spontaneous, enlightened personality that acts as naturally and deliberately as stars and planets, rocks and trees, streams and rainfall.

Yoda demonstrates this kind of understanding throughout the episode. After landing in the escape pod, he speaks to King Katuunko via hologram, coyly mentioning he was unaware that Count Dooku had been invited to the meeting. Even though the snouted king establishes that the Separatists invited themselves, Yoda unflinchingly accepts the challenge dropped by Ventress. If her battalion of battle droids can capture him, Rugosa will go to the Separatists; if he eludes them, the moon will be open to the Republic.

Yet even as a droid carrier thunders overhead, Yoda still takes the time to pause and reflect. "Beautiful, this moon is, hmm? Amazing, the universe is." For the first time since the original trilogy, audiences begin to see Yoda away from the decadence and intrigue of Coruscant, free from his executive burdens within the Jedi Order. He is once again on a vibrant world imbued with the Living Force, "a child at home in the universe," drinking in the wondrous beauty of existence, and is all the better for it.

His three clone companions, however, find themselves unable to comprehend their eccentric little master. Born for battle, they nonetheless are overwhelmed by the odds; initially their thinking seems as linear and mechanical as their droid foes. "At ease, be," Yoda advises, as their trek to Katuunko begins. "To reach our goal, a straight path we will not follow."

The poet William Blake once wrote that, "Improvement makes strait roads; but the crooked roads without Improvement, are Roads of Genius." As Yoda draws out the battle droids intent on capturing them, he aptly demonstrates this. His enemy proves cumbersome and inadaptable as their heavy tanks roll into the dense coral foliage, their Euclidean minds unable to think in any way but the straight lines in which they also march. "Size is not everything, huh?" Yoda asks his clone troopers, as he smoothly breezes across the landscape. "Smaller in number are we, but larger in mind."

Taking the fight to them, Yoda himself ambushes two patrols of battle droids. Giggling impishly, he deftly bounces about, over, and in between wildly blasting droids to a clueless chorus of "roger, roger." [4]As an impatient Ventress gets reports from afar, her mechanical minions fall victim to a form of Jedi Judo. Another principle from the Far East, in judo (and aikido) all the aggressive energy of an opponent is deflected back at them, their own force leading them to their doom. Feinting and dodging, Yoda takes down an entire patrol of battle droids without firing a shot, their blaster bolts constantly missing the mark and hitting each other.

Minutes later, Yoda's small squad is pinned down by super battle droids. Again, the master responds by crossing his legs and sitting down, easily capturing one of the supers in the Force. The super keeps firing even when redirected at his own patrol, the droids once again destroying each other in a hail of blaster fire. The group doesn't retreat until the heavily-armored droidekas roll onto the scene, Yoda still deflecting fire while hitching a ride on the back of a clone.[5]

Meanwhile, King Katuunko anxiously hovers about, asking his Republic contact if he is having trouble with the droid battalion. "Trouble? I know nothing of this trouble," Yoda answers, as calmly as ever. "Look forward to our meeting soon, I do." He's practically winking at Asajj Ventress, who crushes the hologram device in frustration.

Even against the relentless march of the droids, Yoda advises rest for himself and his battle-weary men. Fittingly, he guides the clones into the dark recesses of a cave, a form of shelter ripe for mythic initiations. According to Signs and Symbols, a symbolism dictionary by Mark O'Connell and Raje Airey, the cave represents rebirth, creativity, and even the hidden potentials of the womb. It is about a return to insight or, as in this case, inner sight.

Beside a humming glow-lamp, the clones lament their lack of firepower, but their wise sage shrugs off their anxiety. "All around us is that which we need to prevail," Yoda advises, igniting his shining green blade. Literally and metaphorically, he is bringing illumination to them, opening up a new way of seeing. Tellingly, he uses his saber to turn a blaster rifle into a crutch for a wounded clone, fashioning an instrument of war into an aid for healing.

Asked to take off their helmets, the clones argue there's nothing much to see since they're genetically identical. Yoda is unconvinced, posing as much of a riddle for them as any Zen master to his pupils. In The Method of Zen, Eugen Herrigel, a German professor who studied the Zen arts for six years in Japan, noted this attitude. It perfectly conveys what the clones are probably feeling:

He becomes aware, almost with dismay, that he is consorting

with a people of quite a different mold from the ordinary. They

seem to be ruled by a special star, not only in what they do, in

their talk, in their silences, but more particularly in their casual

behavior: in the way they stand or walk, or drink tea, or drive away

a mosquito. It is as if the world they live in had sets its own

incomparable stamp on their whole being.

Surely, this description matches what it would be like to trek across a remote moon with a nine-hundred year old Jedi Master.

For his part, Yoda is likewise one who can no doubt sink into himself, changing his state of consciousness as easily as someone flicking on and off a light switch. "Deceive you, eyes can," he reassures the clones. "In the Force, very different each one of you are." [6] The mystical energy field created by all living things is not only tangibly felt, but is almost a new way of seeing altogether. As Herrigel says in Method, the master sees things illuminated by their true source, and "lets each thing be itself."

Becoming that teacher once more, Yoda interacts with the clones as individuals. The first he tells to look to his comrades for inspiration; the second to use his mind instead of his weapons to out-think the enemy; and the third that the war is long, and one must survive it to prevail. "Clones you may be," he simply yet sagely states, "But the Force resides in all life forms." It surrounds and binds the galaxy, but also imbues every life with its idiomatic stamp. As Herrigel remarks of the Zen master:

It then seems to him that things do not come to him in his vision,

but that they come to "themselves," and that only then do they

attain full reality, as if Being were beholding itself in everything

that is, as if it embraced and sustained the process of seeing.

Simply change the word "Being" to "the Force" and the sentiment works perfectly.

His clones open to this new reality, Yoda leads them back out of the cave at the sound of passing assault tanks. Confident in his troops, he dives down the ravine to meet the Separatist column head-on. Soon utterly surrounded by blaster rifles and tank cannons, Yoda doesn't attack, but rather eases down to

meditate.[7] When a battle droid informs Ventress he's "just sitting here in front of our tanks," this panics her and she orders him to shoot Yoda that instant. [8]

With an awesome bit of sound design, Yoda suddenly streaks up into the air and dives like a falling missile. Eventually hitting the ground, he doesn't stay there for long. Spinning and wheeling, leaping and diving, the little Jedi Master decimates his opponents. Stabbing a droid here and cutting open a vehicle there, he even takes out a tank with another one, flipping onto the cannon and out of the way again before it fires. A whirling dervish of paradoxes, he is simultaneously young and old, gentle and deadly, coaxing a still, steady aura even in the blinding soul of action.

Watching the battle from afar, the wry King Katuunko observes that there is a lot of smoke for an alleged surrender. Ventress tries to communicate with her droids, a hologram of one falling as Yoda races by and decapitates him. Incidentally, this is one of the more sublime bits with the battle droids, not to mention the one wailing, "I-just-got-promoted" as he's Force-pulled back to his doom.

The tide of the battle turns for a moment when more destroyer droids roll up, only the three newly inspired clones step in with a well-aimed shot. The droidekas are soon taken care of in an avalanche, and the fight ends with Yoda sitting easily on a rock. Centering himself in meditation, he allows a butterfly-like nebray to light on his arm. This scene is reminiscent of the Taoist sage Lao Tzu, who was sometimes depicted in Chinese art as being so in tune with nature that colorful birds and butterflies would light on him.

"Learn something, today?" Yoda asks his clone friends, and then reminds them of their manners. "Not polite to be late." Another great juxtaposition, coming from someone who just tore apart half a battalion.

With King Katuunko convinced one Jedi is now worth a thousand battle droids, Count Dooku grows tired of negotiation. Thinking his successor might be easier to cut a deal with, he orders his eager apprentice to kill Katuunko. Striking out with twin red sabers, Ventress finds her blow caught in mid-air. Yoda steps onto the scene, effortlessly disarming her with the Force. Taking a moment to examine the hilt design, he carelessly tosses the lightsabers back, rendering her so inconsequential next to his skills it doesn't matter if she's armed or not.[9]

Taking a page from her master Dooku, Ventress fires an explosion, creating a distraction so she can get away. Saved from the Sith, King Katuunko tells Yoda negotiations are not necessary, and presents him with a ceremonial sword. As gunships arrive, the Toydarians agree to house a Republic base in their system.

This establishes a fine tone not only for the series, but also for the Jedi themselves. Yoda is wise but whimsical; cool but firm; gentle but dangerous. He may be a whirlwind of opposites, but he usually juggles them with the finesse of an expert entertainer. Perhaps losing the war but not himself, there are few scenes more satisfying than the master poised on a rock communing with his fellow creatures after unleashing havoc on a droid army.

These lines are from a translation and commentary by Stephen Mitchell in The Second Book of the Tao, and while they refer to the Chinese philosopher Chuang-Tzu, they strongly describe this scene with Yoda:

We love to see the sage get the best of it, coming to his conclusion

like a tonic chord ... He is planted in his own integrity, and there he

stands, gnarled and knotted, perfectly at ease with himself, his roots

deep in earth, his branches held up to let the light in.[10]

So this, finally, is how a Jedi master makes war.

Also available here.

[1] As Sugi aptly put it in Bounty Hunters.

[2] So great to see another Toydarian besides Watto right out of the gate. And a snappy dresser, too.

[3] In the same book, writer Lawrence Kasdan also refers to his inspiration as Shimada, the lead character in Akira Kurosawa's film Seven Samurai.

[4] The excellent Clone Wars encyclopedia helps explain that the battle droids have been pushed to the limits of their programming: "Some Battle Droids react by talking endlessly about what they're doing, attempting to handle data overflows in their strained logic modules." Makes sense, and I always thought it was kind of funny.

[5] A nice nod to Luke's training scenes on Dagobah a generation later.

[6] Another nice old trilogy nod, this time to Luke's training scenes with old Ben on the Millennium Falcon.

[7] In the coolest bit of meditation since Qui-Gon Jinn gathered his energy during his battle with Darth Maul.

[8] I would like to think this references "shikantaza" in the Soto Zen Buddhist school, literally translated "just sitting."

[9] A quick moment, but nonetheless one of Yoda's grooviest, right up there with the scene in which he walks into Palpatine's office and knocks out two royal guards with a Force-flick of the wrist.

[10] Equally fitting is the fact that Mitchell considered using Yoda as a mouthpiece for his translation of that classic book of Eastern philosophy, the Tao Te Ching.

THE SAGA IN A PARAGRAPH

2011-10-23T14:03:00.000-07:00

The Hero With a Thousand Faces

Joseph Campbell

Third Edition

Page 5

The unconscious sends all sorts of vapors, odd beings,

terrors, and deluding images up into the mind -

whether in dream, broad daylight, or insanity;

for the human kingdom,

beneath the floor of the comparatively neat

little dwelling that we call our consciousness,

goes down into unsuspected Aladdin caves.

There not only jewels

but also dangerous jinn abide:

the inconvenient or resisted psychological powers that

we have not thought or dared to integrate into our lives.

And they may remain unsuspected,

or, on the other hand, some chance word,

the smell of a landscape,

the taste of a cup of tea,

or the glance of an eye may

touch a magic spring,

and then dangerous messengers

begin to appear in the brain.

These are dangerous because they

threaten the fabric of the security

into which we have built ourselves and our family.

But they are fiendishly fascinating

too, for they carry keys

that open the whole realm of the

desired and feared adventure of

the discovery of the self.

Destruction of the world that we

have built and in which we live,

and of ourselves within it;

but then a wonderful reconstruction

of the bolder, cleaner, more

spacious, and fully human life -

that is the lure,

the promise

and the terror,

of these disturbing night visitants from the

mythological realm that we carry within.

The End

THE BIG CON II

2011-09-26T09:00:00.000-07:00

As a veteran of Dragoncon, I have seen fans award their favorite actors and artists with all kinds of things. Though I might have still been reticent about handing out essays to busy people with busy careers, it just adds a little extra spark to my writing life to think Lucasfilm artists might be reading something of mine. I know the brilliant, multi-talented Matthew Wood appreciated my Deconstructing Vader but, given our share philosophical interests, that was pretty much a given.

Yet as it turned out, there was even more activity on the literary front that weekend. A series of visits to the three central Dealer Rooms proved to be lucrative, though happily in unexpected, inexpensive ways.

I must admit I am a fool for Dealer Rooms, particularly ones as sublime as the Marriott Marquis offers. My first time, I had to stumble around in trembling geek ecstasy, with row after row, aisle after aisle, spilling with those superfluous yet wonderful items so dear to a fanboy heart. This time was no different.

Boxes of comics, lines of costumes, shelves bristling with toys, walls of posters, geeky t-shirts from floor to ceiling, expertly designed film memorablia, DVD cases of old TV favorites, the occasional glittering weapon or jewelry displays, piles of genre books and novels and, of course, more bootleg copies of the Holiday Special than one could shake a handful of Wookiee fur at were all there, waiting to be looted.

Just as well. As many have observed, whatever the problems Hasbro is having with distribution, they're enormous. It's a sad, familiar tale, but like every other fan, I know the bitter taste of disappointment when you walk down that toy aisle in Target or Walmart ... and the same four action figures that have been warming the pegs are still hanging there, mocking you.

My particular poison is Dengar, a Sandtrooper, a Clone Trooper, and that stupid yet ubiquitous Cloud City pilot. And that's just Vintage! Nevermind the new Ahsoka which was supposed to have been out months ago that I've never even seen in a store. And as for the Saga Legends, Fanboys icon Kyle Newman said it best - Saga Losers.

However, that formidable champion of the classic Vintage cardback would have been proud. I finally saw and touched a Vintage Jango Fett and Zam Wessell first hand. I still wish I'd had Morrison sign the Fett, but that ship had already blasted into hyperspace. I walked away from both of them in the end, and also from a ludicrously overpriced Savage Opress (which I happily scored at Toys R Us a week after for a decent price). Still, I could resist buying a Vintage Return of the Jedi Wicket for an incredible eight dollars.

Somewhere, Newman is smiling, and if Warwicke Davis ever manages to make it down South, he's so signing it.

My forays into the Dealer Rooms also presented another bright and shining opportunity. Wandering rather aimlessly, I nonetheless came across a generous display of finely crafted books, which is always a good thing. Better still, they all seemed to focus on genre fiction and scholarly interpretation. Not too surprisingly, they boasted a lot of Joss Whedon inspired material, but also offered a title or two on Star Wars. The handsome banner stretched across the vendor display simply read: McFarland.

Almost by accident, I struck up a conversation with the friendly gentleman selling all the material. As it turned out, the vendor had actually designed a lot of the covers. Stylish and classy, they'd already caught my eye.

My writer brain picqued with interest, I discovered McFarland and Company had been around for some thirty years, and often specialized in areas where popular art and culture intersects with scholarship and philosophy, the inspired country I could easily immigrate to and live happily ever after in. The books were certainly produced at an exquisitely high quality, despite McFarland being a smaller, university-style press out of North Carolina.

After talking with the vendor about my own writing experience, he surprised me by asking, "Do you think you have a book in you?"

I'd already told him about my queries for a fiction agent, but he was specifically talking about my Star Wars stuff. The rarest of things, McFarland was actually looking for authors. I replied in the affirmative, he took down my contact information, and presented me with a form for a book proposal.

To be honest, I simply have too much material for the internet. I've spent a year getting notes together, as well as outlining a book on the prequels. If circumstances permit, I would love to do a book on the prequel trilogy, followed by one on the originals, with perhaps a collection of essays or something on the Clone Wars for a finale.

With the right contacts and recommendations, not to mention social media, they might even be reasonably successful. I'd pondered floating a proposal to Open Court or Pop Smart books, but McFarland is certainly an intriguing contender.

So after this interesting new development, I popped down to the official conference room for the Star Wars track. I had to smile the moment I walked in.

With familiar posters and banners lining the walls, it was also really imaginatively designed. A small assortment of cracked rocks were designated the "shards of Alderaan;" various crudely-constructed artifacts were right out of the Ewok village on Endor; and a severed Wampa arm was on proud display on the far wall. Best of all, I finally got to see one of those inspired Tauntaun sleeping bags.

I eventually sat down to a live version of a Dragoncon Clone Wars Roundtable a row or two in front of a local friend from the Rebel Legion (Hello, Karen!). But that's the con for you. You and fifty thousand of your closest friends. I also had a good discussion with a guy named Gil sporting a fantastic Clone Wars Obi-Wan uniform. Not to mention a girl who wanted to write a thesis on Dragoncon and its sociological implications (what a read that would be).

As the panel discussion began, I was surprised to see Bryan Young there taking the lead. I had just begun following him on Big Shiny Robot and, after that panel, I've made a concerted effort to read more of his stuff. He was knowledgeable and passionate about the Wars, and certainly impressed me.

With a couple of exceptions, most notably an Indiana Jones panel that I was practically leading a few years back before it was over, I have trouble getting a word in edgewise during these group discussions. Usually I don't even try, content just to listen to the varying and hopefully enlightening opinions. That trend continued, only the one time I did win the floor, it was a topic that had already been discussed on the Forcecast's Clone Wars Roundtable. The issue was when the Clone Wars officially ended.

While still wanting to say something on subjects two topics ago, I did point out that on Mustafar in Revenge of the Sith, Anakin never actually deactivated the legions of battle droids roaming the galaxy as he was ordered to. The arrival of Padme's ship interrupted him. Everyone pretty much argued that there was a time lag between Padme landing and the order, even Young, and that he did finish his mission.

However, everyone was wrong. If you go and watch the scene, it's seamless, with no cuts whatsoever. Anakin's head literally turns from Palpatine's hologram to the beeping controls announcing Padme's ship, so we never actually saw the Clone Wars end on screen.

A minor point, perhaps, but it's nice to have this blog to set the record straight.

"I wanted to kill that drooling bastard since the first moment I saw him."

Never one for reticence, Carrie Fisher was quick to establish her feelings toward Jabba the Hutt in the packed Atrium Ballroom in the Marriott when I saw her.

It was early in the morning, but Princess Leia was certainly in fine form. Her wit as sharp as a lightsaber, she was enjoying a cigarette in a long silver holder, which always adds a dash of class to nicotine consumption. It was another all-star Star Wars panel playing to an enthusiastic audience.

Peter Mayhew was in attendance again, eventually fielding questions about the Blu-Ray release. "George fixes things for the better ninety percent of the time," Peter remarked, admittedly followed by a derisive little snort from Fisher, which was actually pretty funny.

Still popular with adults and children alike, Ashley Eckstein was also there. I don't think anyone asked the "How will Ahsoka die?" question, but she did make clear how "directly involved" George Lucas is with the Clone Wars series.

This is a point Dave Filoni likewise made during his last Star Wars Insider interview. So yeah, it's canon.

On a personal note, I would like to add that this means Even Piell did in fact die in the Citadel episodes. Period. The Character Encyclopedia will back me up here.

The swarthy Temuera Morrison also had a place at the table, offering some interesting tidbits here and there. As his charming New Zealand accent nicely filled the vast room, he felt that, "I owe my career to my voice."

While no one can underestimate the talent of Dee Bradley Baker who manages to imbue each clone trooper with a distinct inflection every week, I was surprised to learn Morrison was eager for a phone call to ask him to lend his own voice to the Clone Wars series. That would have been really interesting.

In the end, though, it was Carrie Fisher who really stole the show. It was a pretty big deal for me. No matter how large the ballroom was, she was there and I was there, occupying the same space. I had never been so close to one of the Big Three from the original trilogy and, when you really start to think that she was there from the beginning, it's pretty amazing.

Of course, when I was four or five, I was completely convinced I was going to marry Princess Leia, but that's another story.

It was really nice to hear her relay experiences from the set of the "holy trilogy," as well as giving props to George Lucas.

"He invented a whole universe," she admitted, writer to writer. "Hemmingway didn't do that." A very good point, and one that never gets brought up in the endless critiques of Lucas' writing.

That said, she is Carrie Fisher, and it seems to be a full time job. When talking about recording the holographic message to Ben Kenobi, she quipped about the insufferable dialogue in that scene being the reason why she'd had to have "electroshock treatment."

Again, the juxtaposition between her and her fictional Alderaanian princess persona is always ripe for comedy, which she certainly wasn't shy about mining.

"He's in a f*ing plastic mask," she likewise noted, commenting on her frustrations everytime David Prowse would forget or mess up his dialogue and then ask for another take. It's just not the sort of language Leia would use.

On a side note, I also like Fisher's analysis of reality television: "I spent years trying to escape reality. I don't want to watch it on TV."

Inevitable at a convention, an audience member memorably fired off a question about the infamous Holiday Special. Peter Mayhew shrugged it off as just a job, though he did reference the fact that his Wookiee family onscreen had a curious tendency to be acted by the wrong sex.

As for Fisher, she just smiled into the microphone and joked, "They use that instead of waterboarding now, I hear."

Given the appreciative roar of laughter and applause from the audience, I think we can assume she was joking ... probably.

On our last night at Dragoncon, my significant other and I made our way past the Loft bar in the Marriott. Incidentally, probably the best place to people watch ever, not to mention you never know what stars are going to pop up there. With our friend Alex gone and her ARTC shows finished, Patti and I decided to check out one last panel.

I suggested the "Adult Themes in Star Wars" discussion, not really knowing just how, um, "adult" those themes were going to be. No refined philosophical or symbolism discussions here. Playing to a room stuffed with fans, the panel seemed uncommonly interested in who was really sleeping with who, the implications ranging across species as well as sides of the Force.

It was mildly amusing for about five minutes, but by the time the conversation turned to Sith lightning as an aphrodisiac, it was pretty much time to bail.

At least we did run into another acquaintance of ours out on the floor (Hey, Louis), not to mention just lose ourselves one last time in all the sights and sounds the con had to offer. I would say smells too but that's a pretty dicey proposition on the last day of any con.

It was that bittersweet time when whatever is currently passing for reality was encroaching on the fun. And like deepsea divers coming up from the depths, one can't just re-enter said reality too quickly. There really does need to be some sort of decompression chamber for the transition back into mundane life, a life where one doesn't pass a stormtrooper or a Jedi every five minutes.

(And keep in mind all of this was just the Star Wars relevant half of the con!)

On the plus side, I did spot a familiar sight towering over the costumed throngs before we left. Familiar and furry. It was none other than a life-size Chewbacca, somehow navigating the busy, half-intoxicated crowds.

I'd seen the costume before, so I quickly slid over and asked for a picture. I doubt we could much be heard over the noise, but he did nod.

I gently put an arm around his imposing form, but this Chewie was having none of it. He wrapped me in a furry headlock and pulled me close, as in character as a human playing a Wookiee could be. Patti took a great picture, and what better way to end a con?

Best. Hug. Ever.

P.S. Dragoncon TV is one of the greatest things about the con. Our mutual friend/acquaintance from the Atlanta Radio Theater Company plays the older Obi-Wan in this clip.

P.P.S. And if you need another great blog/site to Force-flood your fandom, check out Secrets of the Force!

THE BIG CON

2011-09-21T15:32:00.000-07:00

Whether it was the will of the Force or not, a day or so before Dragoncon, the "Nooo" Blu-Ray controversy erupted across the internet. I'm sure everyone privy to this can understand my growing trepidation.

In Atlanta, GA, Dragoncon takes place every Labor Day weekend. The biggest con in the Southeast, it is a unique four day adventure, a sublime descent into perpetual fandom. Awesome celebrities, brilliant costumes, fascinating panels, homemade robots, author readings, avant garde musicians, wallet-breaking dealer rooms, and about sixty thousand fans make up the spine of the convention.

Words always abandon me when it comes to capturing the true essence of Dragoncon. Perhaps a friend summed it up best when he described it as Halloween, Christmas, and New Year's Eve, all rolled into one. It is a time of ecstatic, fan-driven revelry, because in this case, the geeks truly inherit the Earth. For four days anyway.

So naturally I was concerned. As a Star Wars fan, I didn't want my highly-anticipated weekend to dissolve into a bitch-and-moan fest about new changes to the "holy trilogy" and the ruined childhoods that inevitably followed. Fandom had just turned a corner, too, right before lapsing back into its all too familiar, bipolar habits.

Still, I needn't have worried. After getting my con badge in record time thanks to a co-worker in line (good job, Todd) and a new scanning system, I made my way from the Sheraton down to the Hilton. Already, costumed characters were deftly navigating increasingly crowded sidewalks with the practiced ease of veteran con-goers. There was a tangible excitement growing in the air, as though the city itself were anxiously waiting for the geek-inspired madness to finally erupt.

Appropriately, I saw an astromech droid beeping and whirring in the middle of a crowd of excited families the moment I stepped out of the Atlanta heat and into the merciful cool of the Hilton lobby. And not just any astromech droid, but the astromech droid. A fully-functioning, lovingly-crafted R2-D2 was winning considerable attention, with male and female, young and old, all eagerly posing to have their picture taken with him.

This is Star Wars, I thought to myself, breathing a silent sigh of relief. No angry internet posts, no ponderous petitions, no grumbling and complaining. No matter their age, everyone was six years old again and grinning from ear to ear.

This was the real magic of the saga, no matter how lost in the shuffle it might get sometimes. The moment was brilliant in its genuiness and sincerity, and as fresh and spontaneous as it was that long ago summer of 1977. And I then knew, if I didn't already, that this power as intangible as the Force itself was never going away, despite all the anonymous legions of critics and second-guessers.

I have to admit, as I lined up for my own photo of R2, I had a nostalgic Fanboys moment, one that Dragoncon always promised and rarely failed to deliver.

We're home, boys.

Not too surprisingly, when I arrived with my crew the next day, my second panel was a Star Wars one in the Hyatt. And what a Wars panel to jumpstart the weekend with, featuring the likes of the gargantuan Peter Mayhew, who played Chewbacca in four of the films; Ashley Eckstein, the voice of Ahsoka Tano in the Clone Wars; and Tom Kane, who famously voices Yoda but also a plethora of others. As usual, they were all as talented, gracious, and funny as any fan could have asked for.

Unfortunately, I was a tad late, having yet to find my con-footing in the now five hotels that play host to the event. As a ten year veteran, I have very little excuse on that front, no matter the width and breadth of the endless ballrooms and conference suites begging to be investigated. I snagged a decent seat, though I was proud to see there was barely standing room before it was all over. As I said, the Wars just aren't going away.

It was also gratifying to hear Tom and Ashley saying early on that they personally loved all the films, and they were all Star Wars. Even better was the resounding applause this elicited from the Force-inspired audience. It nicely cleansed the palate after days of online moaning over the Blu-Ray edition.

Early on, Ashley expressed my own feelings again, remarking how great the saga was going to be once the Clone Wars were complete, and the whole canon could be watched in its entirety. This right before a little kid bravely stepped up to the microphone and asked her how dirty Ahsoka got while fighting those "lizards" in the season three finale.

I should point out another boy stepped up to the plate not long after to make sure they knew the correct species name was "Trandoshan." Perhaps another Leland Chee of the Holocron fame in the making?

Anyway, I should also point out how great these actors were with the real fans inheriting the Force, namely the kids. It must have been awesome to be in the same room with Ahsoka, Yoda, and Chewbacca at such a young age. My mind probably would have overheated like an excited radiator. Quite frankly, it still did, especially when Tom Kane broke out the Yoda voice, a voice poignantly recognizable and pregnant with mythic resonance.

Ashley assured the first boy that her on-screen persona did indeed get "very" dirty during her ordeal, answering with that sweet sincerity that could be her tradework. Since Chewbacca made his animated debut in those episodes, Tom assured the audience that at least she didn't need as much shampoo as her Wookiee companion, to which the iconic Peter Mayhew agreed. "You should see the water bill."

After deftly fielding the inevitable "How does Ahsoka die?" question, Ashley was really put on the spot when a little girl asked her who Anakin cared the most about, Ahsoka or R2-D2. Ashley admitted to being biased but, as it turns out, her own personal favorite is R2. Tom sensibly added that surely Anakin has a "backup for R2 on a harddrive somewhere."

Ashley also expressed interest in another team-up between Ahsoka and Barriss Offee, clearly enjoying that dynamic as much as the fans.

But it was all fun. One of the highlights of panel was Ashley harkening back to another acting job, that of Jan Brady in The Brady Bunch television movie. She expertly and colorfully paraphrased that character's catchphrase: "Yoda, Yoda, Yoda!"

Speaking of the little green master, Tom admitted a lot of the work he's done with the character has come from his own insight and understanding. After all, he's done twenty times more Yoda than Frank Oz now, much of which has no frame of reference or template at all.

He also spoke of his other characters, including the Narrator voice which gives the classic vibe of an old-time radio announcer before every episode. While he missed the opening crawl in the Clone Wars movie, he thought it worked very well on television, which is true enough.

Then he proclaimed the role of the Narrator as "small but very important," giving the same great inflection that the announcer does, much to the delight of the audience.

His other most well-known character is of course Yularin, who Tom is very interested in, particularly his rise to the admiral we see in the Death Star. "As a fan, I want to know," Tom remarked, right as an ice cream truck or something started backing up next to the exit door I was camped out by.

Over the dull blare of the noise, I did notice that Tom used the word "mindful" to describe his awareness of all the talented people who can do Yoda's voice, so key points for that.

By the time the truck outside had apparently slid into a parking place, Ashley recounted a story about her nieces and nephews. With her impressive Star Wars credentials, it's become an issue over who gets to sit next to her at dinner, which she described as providing some nice bonding moments.

Seriously, can you imagine being a kid and having Ahsoka for an aunt?

Anyway, she also admitted to having showrunner Dave Filoni on speed-dial to ensure she doesn't give any secrets away when she's being needled for questions, which probably isn't a bad idea.

After another round of questions regarding everyone's favorite Clone Wars episodes, the topic invariably turned to the end of season three. Peter Mayhew spoke a little about his original stint on Star Wars, emphasizing that it was so important that it was "his own eyes seen on screen." Given the furry Wookiee costume, that was about all he had to work with.

Everyone was happy to learn Peter actually went to Skywalker Ranch to ensure the animators got the look and walk of Chewbacca just perfect. "It was a labor of love to get the hair and everything right," he said. It was indeed and, as always, it showed on screen.

Arguably the best moment came when a fan asked the three stars who they thought shot first in the cantina, Han Solo or Greedo. Tom sided with Han, Ashely opted out, but Peter had the best reply to that burning question which has kept fanboys up at night for the past fourteen years.

"I didn't see," he deadpanned, thinking back to that long ago cantina. "I was too busy finishing my drink."

Of course, no Dragoncon would be complete without a visit to the Hall of Fame, that huge set of banquet rooms on the upper floor of the Hilton that is lined with row after row of tables. Stationed behind said tables are all the sci-fi and fantasy celebrities hosted by the con, with autograph hounds and picture seekers alike continuously winding around them.

The Hall of Fame is where I'd first seen David Prowse, the original Darth Vader, and met the always awesome Ray Park, who portrayed the high-kicking, devil-faced Darth Maul. It was a good scene for Darths, though no Sith Lords were on my agenda that day. First up was a bounty hunter. With deference to his son Boba, perhaps the bounty hunter.

While boasting no helmeted armor that afternoon, Jango Fett was nonetheless towards the back of the hall, live and in person.

"Hi, I'm Paul," I cleverly said, stepping up to the table with hand extended. Already standing, the New Zealand-born Temuera Morrison gave me an appropriately strong handshake, as one might expect from the man who played one of the baddest bounty hunters in the galaxy. "Nice to meet you, Paul."

It didn't surprise me to learn later on that Morrison was in fact the voice of Air New Zealand. The guy has a really great accent, on-screen and in-person. Of course, I can't recall a lot of the conversation, because one does get a little star-struck at these things. The first time I met Peter Mayhew, I had an almost five minute conversation with him. While I'm told I acquitted myself quite well, to this day I can barely remember a word.

I do recall Morrison and I briefly chatting about Daniel Logan, who of course played his son in the film. While I didn't meet him, I did see him at a panel last year. Funny and gregarious, Daniel regaled us with behind-the-scenes comedy, including the times he had to pull a fully-costumed Morrison out of the Lazy-Boy chair in his room because he couldn't stand up.

All the armored duds may be very impressive onscreen, but one good push in reality and even Vader would be on his back like a helpless turtle.

"It's great that both of you have made an appearance here," I remarked, as I picked out a nifty photo for an autograph.

"Daniel's a great kid," Morrison acknowledged, signing the pic with gusto.

"Yeah, if only we could bring him out of his shell," I joked, gratefully getting my autograph.

Of course, I had something for him, too. As a Star Wars scholar and essayist extraordinaire (or so I tell myself), I had made a point to compose a few pages on the characters brought to life by several of the actors in attendance. Slipping him a folder, I watched him flip through my Jango Fett analysis ("Father of the Hunt" for the curious, which will inevitably debut somewhere).

"Thanks," Morrison said with a quick, Jango-esque nod. "I need you guys to keep me informed about all this. You all know more about him than I do."

Next stop in the Hall of Fame was down in the left hand corner of the busy room, with a couple of tables reserved for the voice cast of the Clone Wars. As the Force would have it, both Ahsoka and Yoda were there, and I managed to grab a moment with the latter at a rare time when the crowds were down.

The great Tom Kane was sitting there, looking as wise and alert as the master he brings to life every week. He was also wearing a fantastic baseball jersey shirt with one simple word inscribed across it: Jedi.

After getting the requisite introductions out of the way, I firmly shook his hand. "You know, the Clone Wars cast is not simply talented," I began, making sure I had his eye, "But you guys are some of the best ambassadors Star Wars fans could hope for."

He accepted the compliment graciously, and I think he could tell I meant it. I would tell Ashley the same thing, earnestly trying to convey just how much their contributions to Star Wars have been appreciated, not to mention their accessibility with the fans.

We talked for a few minutes, the conversation soon turning back into what the Wars meant to us. As he'd said earlier, the often derided prequels were as much Star Wars to him as the originals, and I obviously feel the same way. As do most of us, I think.

"And now with the Clone Wars, we're on our third generation of fans," I pointed out, selecting a groovy Yoda pic for him to sign. "I sometimes feel I was the perfect age for the original trilogy, and the perfect age for the prequels."

Taking my photo, I mentioned how The Phantom Menace had debuted during the summer I was starting my last year of college. As an English major, I'd spent years learning how to analyze stories and interpret poetry and, while not the most marketable skill, it magnified my appreciation of George Lucas and Star Wars a hundredfold.

Never one to pass up a good segue, I likewise presented him with an essay of mine on the first episode of the animated series, Ambush. It analyzed Yoda's adventure with some allusions to Eastern philosophy, and here's hoping he enjoys it. Called "How a Jedi Makes War," it will hopefully appear as a Forcecast editorial in the next month or so.

Tom thanked me for it and we shook hands again. He also whipped out his Yoda voice on me with the effortless ease of a master, but I was so geeked out I have no idea what he actually said.

By this time, the crowd around Ashley a table over was finally thinning. I'd been fortunate enough to meet her the year before but, predictably, I had another essay in my bookbag. This one can be read online, as it chronicled the season two episode Lightsaber Lost.

I'd remarked to her last time how much I'd enjoyed it. I recall she'd gotten a telling sparkle in her eye then, saying, "Wait till you see some of the episodes next season." Now I know that was inspired by the landmark Mortis trilogy, her favorite.

When I finally stepped up to the table, Ashley was readying to leave. "I'm already late for an interview," she explained, kindly offering a quick autograph.

Since I wanted a moment to actually talk to her, I elected to let a few kids see her instead. It's amazing, but even in a hurry, she was all attentive and generous with her time.

I used my own time wisely until she said she was scheduled to come back. After grabbing something to eat in the food court, I wondered back to the Hilton. Her Universe, Ashley's sci-fi fashion line for women, had set up shop outside the Hall of Fame. After checking out the unique design of the shirts, I went back in and stole a moment with Peter Mayhew.

"I already have your autograph, but I just wanted to tell you how moving Chewbacca's return was in the Clone Wars," I told him, adding, "I didn't expect it to have such emotional resonance for me."

With his Wookiee-like mane of graying hair, Peter smiled. "It was done right." We talked a few moments and then I got to shake his hand, too. Incidentally, if any of you out there haven't shaken Peter's hand, it's quite an experience. It swallowed my own, easily twice it's size. Just the way it should be.

When Ashley came back around, I remembered her interview with the Force.net correspondent that showed up online last con.

"So was it with Mandy B?" I asked, establishing a little in-fandom knowledge. The ever sweet and lovely Ashley shook her head. "Nope, I don't have anything lined up with Mandy this year."

To be honest, I wanted to talk to Ashley in particular. Last year, I was once again readying myself to set sail on the sometimes turbulent seas of Star Wars fandom. After the epic Revenge of the Sith, my energy and enthusiasm for the Wars was admittedly waning a bit. Especially after all the interminable infighting about the prequels.

Or at least it was until the Clone Wars, not to mention this other little show called the Forcecast. When I mentioned the two hosts, Jason and Jimmy Mac, Ashley's own enthusiasm grew.

"Those guys," she said simply, "Are awesome."

"I wouldn't go that far," I replied, only of course I didn't. I joke. Naturally, I agreed wholeheartedly. I took a minute to thank her for all her appearances on the show, telling her just how much we listeners appreciated it.

"We didn't have that with the prequels, much less with the originals," I remarked, thinking back to those days when three month old interviews in Starlog magazine were the closest thing to interaction we had with our on-screen heroes.

Recounting what I'd told Tom about my experiences with The Phantom Menace in college, I reminded her of my eagerness to get back to writing about that galaxy far, far away. Since we'd last spoken, I'd taken to mainline fandom again, producing any number of works on my own blog as well as for the Forcecast editorials project.

I informed her I had enough material for a book or two now (more on that in Part 2), and it all really started again with the republication of my old The Case for Jar Jar essay courtesy of Jimmy Mac.

Presenting her with my Slower and Less Intense essay on Tera Sinube, I assured her it was her own copy. There was maybe a split second with everyone where they all wondered if I expected them to read my stuff then and there. I joked about them having to read it on the spot but no, I at least had the foresight to print out copies ahead of time.

"Well, I do like to ramble sometimes," I admitted, as if anyone reading this hadn't noticed. "But if you ever get really bored, I hope you enjoy reading it."

"Oh, I'll definitely read it," Ashley replied with sincere interest, even adding, "Have you ever done anything on the Mortis trilogy? I would love to read something on that, too."

I had to shake my head. "Well, I've made a few notes, but nothing dissertation-worthy, yet." However, I promise to work on that in case she comes back with Her Universe next year.

Unable to resist another autograph, I asked her for a picture as well. She graciously agreed, though one of the perils of having a significant other as well as friends who all work for the Atlanta Radio Theater Company is that one often traverses Dragoncon alone.

This means cameras have to be passed off to willing photographers in line. While I am grateful I got a shot, I would have appreciated if the amateur photographer had waited for me to look ahead and smile after fielding a question about my camera.

From the looks of things, that was just too much to ask. Great one of Ash, though.

Join me for Part Two, in which:

Princess Leia swears like a sailor;

Shards of Alderaan are discovered;

And I get hugged by a Wookiee.

Just Say No

2011-09-14T17:27:00.000-07:00

Each Man is in His Spectre’s Power

Until the arrival of that hour,

When his humanity awake,

And cast his Spectre into the lake.

- William Blake

Perhaps it’s fitting that William Blake and Star Wars offer up so many interesting parallels.

After all, Blake really was the first visionary poet to create his own mythology, to offer up an idiomatic stamp on the collective unconscious. It isn’t too much to say that he set in motion what Joseph Campbell called the “Age of Creative Mythology,” where the artist is no longer working within the confines of a socially-accepted mythology, but rather creating his own. Regardless, there are certain points in Anakin Skywalker’s journey that I can only define as Blakean, and these lines from Jerusalem echo throughout the climactic scene in Return of the Jedi when the Emperor is finally cast down a reactor shaft.

Of course, no one wants to read about this sort of thing. We all know by now that a simple, one syllable word has been inserted, not once, but twice into this pivotal moment in the Blu-Ray release of the saga. As usual, childhoods have been raped, lives have been ruined, and the internet is an indignant, vengeful pit of fury and anguish. Incidentally, it would be nice to belong to a fandom that doesn’t have a collective meltdown every year, but that’s not the case here. Anyway, before I put together a post chronicling my wacky adventures at Dragoncon, I felt the entire interweb would be holding it’s breath until I chimed in on the “Nooooo” controversy. So I’m providing just what we need – the 90,587,435^th online commentary on the subject.

My two cents on the changes are pretty straightforward. No surprise, I think George Lucas, as the living artist, can do anything he wants to his work. I will also agree with Peter Mayhew (aka Chewbacca) at Dragoncon that ninety percent of the changes are for the better. The only change I have a real problem with is the Greedo-shooting-first fiasco, which is by far the most grievous misstep Lucasfilm has made thus far. Everything else, from the updated space battle in Hope, to the fabulously expanded Cloud City in Empire, and even the more alien Sarlaac Pit in Jedi, works just fine. Hayden Christenson looks a little out of place as a Force ghost at the end, but it makes as much sense to put him in that scene as it does a non-burnt, eyebrow-sporting Sebastian Shaw.

As for the new changes, I love Ewoks, as most of you probably know. And they even blink, now? Perfect. I like the new Krayt dragon shriek courtesy of Obi-Wan Kenobi (and Matt Wood). In my opinion, it sounds much more akin to a sound a human would make. And as for the Dug in Jabba’s Palace … look, I totally dig the Dug. One of the cooler alien designs out of Episode One. But the deal-breaker for most was clearly the “Nooooo” uttered up by Vader when striking down the Emperor with righteous fury.

I love that original scene. LOVE it. I think it’s every bit as powerful as the “Luke, I am your father” scene in Empire. It’s not only one of the classics of cinema, it is the climax of the entire six film saga. If you’re not cheering when Palpatine takes a nosedive down that shaft after all we know about him from the prequels, time to get that midichlorian count checked. Honestly, it was perfect, just the way it was. No tweaking necessary. Yes, I think it was something of a misstep. The scene played out so well with Vader’s silent, brooding glances doled out equally between his enraged master and his pleading son.

Having said that, I can safely confirm that my childhood is safely intact. Not only that, but free from any form of molestation. Quite honestly, George Lucas was one of the few things holding my childhood together in the first place so I, unlike everyone else in my broken-family generation apparently, feel as though I still owe him. I want to take this opportunity to point this out.

I also want to call out the hundreds of online commentators who are now claiming they have an artistic license to Star Wars because they helped “fund” Lucas’ empire. This is really amazing. Sometimes you guys just out-do yourselves. This may come as a shock, but when you were watching these movies over and over again as children, you weren’t making future investments. You weren’t purchasing stock in Lucasfilm. No matter how much money you shelled out on Empire merchandise, it in no way, shape, or form gives you the right to dictate artistic policy thirty years later.

You bought a toy back then? Okay, you got a toy. You saved your grass-cutting money to go buy a ticket to see A New Hope again? Okay, you got to see A New Hope again. Your grandparents gave you money for a Chewbacca t-shirt? Okay, you got a Chewbacca t-shirt.

End of story. Game over. Transaction complete.

As a creator myself, I have never suffered a moment’s delusion that I somehow own the Star Wars franchise. I sleep so much more soundly because it is so firm and fast in the bewildering mazes of my brain where that ownership lies. Sorry, the public is free to love or hate whatever they want, but the artist is absolutely and equally at liberty to create and recreate and recreate again in any and all ways they see fit.

That’s why interpretation is so important. That is something that the audience can do, and do well. I defer to none other than Jimmy Mac of the Forcecast for as an example.

Despite initial reservations, Jimmy delivered a great critical interpretation of why the change was made on last week’s show. He cited the return of the “Noooo” as emblematic of the return of Anakin Skywalker himself. If we follow that the last vestige of Anakin pretty much burned itself out during the (also derided) “Noooo” in Sith, it makes perfect sense for him to say the same thing again as he rises from the ashes. It echoes his scream over his dead wife, thus creating a nice poetic symmetry between the two trilogies. After all, his children were his last living link to Padme, and we all know what a fan of mirroring and parallels Lucas is.

As I myself wrote, if Star Wars is going to be myth, it’s also going to be poetry. This makes sense, and is exactly the kind of criticism Lucas has called for again and again (and rarely gotten). For the record, it is much better than the “Noooo” in Sith and, lest we forget, no one’s even seen it yet in context.

I am going to try really, really hard not to do a tailspin down the neverending chasm of fan arguments, because that’s not what this blog is really about. And the whole thing just goes around in really boring circles. I believe George Lucas owns Star Wars. Others believe they do because they bought a collector’s cup at Burger King thirty years ago. Whatever.

But no matter what the fanbase thinks of the changes, at least the argument that Lucas is now in this solely for the money can be laid to rest. Clearly, money is not the issue. Quite honestly, he can be applauded for continuing to care about his work, for at least having enough interest to tweak this, to try and improve that. He’s not just churning out product as-is for a quick buck. If the “green catcher’s mitt with eyes” (again Jimmy Mac) Yoda doesn’t work in Episode One, he’s going to take the time and money to craft a better, CGI one. And I personally can’t wait.

In my opinion, all the technological upgrades in the Special (and Specialer) Editions were great improvements. It’s always exciting to get new Star Wars, to see these watched and re-watched films with a slightly newer lens. As for the more controversial changes, Lucas sticks to his artistic guns, if nothing else. Far from trying to suck more money out of the older fans, if anything, he’s scoring less. The new additions always risk alienating my generation, as Lucas has to know. His movies are the way he wants his movies to be, even in the face of perpetual scorn and ridicule from his “fans.”

And while I’m already navigating the slippery slope of Star Wars fandom against my better judgment, am I the only one who thinks my generation of fans has treated George Lucas like crap? Yes, it’s a bit ridiculous to worry much about the feelings of a billionaire, but sometimes this fandom is just embarrassing. Over the past decade, I’ve heard everything about Lucas criticized, from his writing to his directing, from his work to his motivations, from his appearance to his family. Apparently Katie Lucas has had to block people on Twitter who insist on continuously, and personally, attacking her father.

There is actually a theory circulating that the addition of Vader’s “Nooo” on blu-ray is Lucas intentionally flicking his nose at fandom. Part of me really hopes that’s true. From the things I’ve read online for the past dozen years or so, if these people were my “fans” I frankly would have told them to get a life and screw off a long time ago. The thoughtless venom spewed has been utterly ridiculous. And often downright shameful.

Personally, I’ve toyed with the idea of developing the most Special Edition ever, one in which Greedo not simply shoots first and misses, but actually sets off a thermonuclear warhead at the table. It reduces the cantina to ashes, blows the whole of Mos Eisley apart, and a dust cloud erupts on the planetary surface of Tatooine, clearly visible from space. Then Han shoots Greedo last, calmly dusts himself off, and nonchalantly walks away.

And keep in mind this is coming from someone who hates that change, too. But if it had ruined Star Wars for me, I would have simply found another hobby. I wouldn’t have wasted fourteen years doing everything in my power to insult and ridicule my childhood hero, whining and complaining about the saga I’m allegedly still a fan of, much less make the fandom itself over into an angry, divisive, reactionary, mean-spirited, and, at times, miserable place to be.

Sigh.

It’s probably a waste of my time and yours, but one last thing about fandoms’ reaction to the blu-ray release that’s really annoying me.

For months now, “fans” have been running amuck on the Amazon forums and talkbacks regarding the blu-rays. If they were furious about not getting the original trilogy in the non-special edition (even though it just came out on DVD a few years ago), they’re positively livid about the newer changes. And they’re making it their life mission to let everyone know it.

Again, it’s not that they’re simply refusing to buy the set. They can buy it or not. Really, who cares? But the attitude behind that refusal is really too much to stomach. A few cursory scans reveal a fandom deliriously drunk on its own bravado, with people cancelling their orders and then strutting about, high-fiving each other, clapping each other on the back, and engaging in other displays of online adolescent machismo.

From the way these fanboys are acting for no other reason than they’ve opted out of a deluxe blu-ray set, you’d think they’d just toppled the Third Reich. In their hyperactive minds, they’re being badass nonconformists. They’re sticking it to the Man. They’re giving the finger to the System. To paraphrase one proud talkbacker: “I’m not drinking the Lucasfilm kool-aid this time! Yeah!!!”

Dude, seriously?

Guys, let’s get some things very, very clear.

You’re not making a statement.

You’re not rebels, mavericks, dissidents, or heroes.

You’re not winning a desperate battle to preserve film history.

You’re just a bunch of freakin’ nerds who aren’t going to buy a blu-ray!

Again, besides Amazon, who gives a damn?

I didn’t purchase X-Men: First Class at Target the other day. It doesn’t make me a badass, freethinking rebel striking a blow against Marvel Studios, nor does it make the people who did pick it up mindless Stan Lee slaves. So get a grip.

If you don’t want the Star Wars blu-rays, don’t buy them. I certainly don’t care. Just drop all this ridiculous, self-congratulatory posing and posturing. Even if George Lucas hand-delivered the originals to some people on pristine blu-rays tomorrow, we all know they’d just be complaining about something else ten minutes later. Because that’s what they do.

The irony is that these people really are that attached to the originals. They can’t live with change; they can’t adapt. Letting go is impossible. Then they respond with fear and anger and hatred. For some reason, the story does sound oddly familiar …

P.S. Check out A Certain Point of View. It’s an awesome blog, and updated way more frequently than this one. May the midichlorians be with you.

The New Beginning

2011-08-18T18:32:00.000-07:00

- An Episode One Retrospective -

Though I cannot particularly recall when I first discovered that George Lucas was going to make more Star Wars films, I do remember the magazine clipping that someone had saved for me announcing them. An intense quiet built up around me the moment I learned the first three films narrating the back-story of Darth Vader were finally going to be brought to life. While my fandom had been dormant for some time, this short article was enough to fire a single spark inside me, igniting an excitement that would burn steadily for years.

A first generation fan, Star Wars was the very first film I'd seen in a theater. I was so young I'd barely known what a cinema was, but the moment that Star Destroyer thundered overhead exchanging laser-fire with the fleeing Blockade Runner, I was utterly captivated. Somehow, a skinny, bearded director with a closet full of flannel shirts and scuffed Nikes had managed to capture everything in a bottle that would thrill, inspire, and delight an entire generation of children like nothing else ever had. His space-age fairy tales saturated our young lives - it was the air our imaginations breathed, the very water they swam in. For us, George Lucas was nothing short of a maestro who'd conducted a galaxy-wide symphony. He'd taken the fixed stars of our childhood, populated them with modern gods and goddesses, and brought them to life through the magic of film.

So it was quite a moment to learn that he was going to be doing it all over again.

Many of us have spent a fair amount of time crafting analytical essays about the prequels, mining the subtext, and interpreting the symbolism. As rewarding as this is, I've elected to spin something more immediate and visceral this time around, and maybe even more important. For this ode to the prequels, I wanted to talk about the experience itself, that golden feeling that only settles over the world when new Star Wars films are on the way and the profound exhilaration that shakes it when they finally arrive.

When word officially spread that Lucas was once again going to take us into the world of Jedi and Sith, droids and spaceships, lightsabers and blaster bolts, the faint embers of fandom were stoked into a burning blaze. And, despite some grumbling about changes with the special editions, this was before the armchair critics and professional haters had consolidated into an empire, before the dark times on the forums and talkbacks across the 'net. It was a world when every scrap of news and every released photograph was something of an event.

Daily visits to the early Force.net were rewarded with continuous information and speculation alike. Eventually, the announcement came that the first episode had been cast, Liam Neeson, Ewan MacGregor, Natalie Portman, and some kid named Jake Lloyd winning top billing. Fans started rolling their tongues around exotic-sounding names such as "Qui-Gon Jinn" and "Padme Amidala," "Naboo" and Coruscant." Every new issue of the Star Wars Insider featured exciting updates courtesy of producer Rick McCallum, and the pages in front of them could never turn fast enough.

One trip to Ain't It Cool News finally provided the title of the new episode, something that had been speculated over forever, with fake ones constantly leaking on the Internet. The reaction was palpable when my eyes first fell across the words The Phantom Menace, a visceral feeling right in the gut. It took a moment to digest the pulpy-sounding title, but the longer you played around with it, the more appropriate it seemed. Incidentally, this was also about the time talk on AICN centered on a little script called Fanboys, which narrated the adventure of four lifelong friends who tried to break into Skywalker Ranch to see the new episode because one of them was terminally ill, although the actual movie wouldn't be made for some time.

Without question, the single most thrilling moment before the actual film was the release of the teaser trailer. For the first time in two decades, new footage from a new Star Wars film was going to make its debut, a mere couple of minutes that nonetheless had the entire fan community delirious with anticipation. This was going to be Episode One in embryo, a delicious taste of the film before its release in May. Force-starved fans even braved the likes of Meet Joe Black and The Waterboy to win a glimpse of that galaxy far, far away again, often buying tickets for movies they never even bothered watching (guilty as charged). The media covered the teaser trailer as though it was a movie in its own right, and critics went so far as to review and discuss it.

In college at the time, I had classes all day and sadly missed going with a friend of mine who I always seemed to have philosophy classes with. Later that evening, I did manage to sneak off and watch the coveted preview. The small audience was nonetheless electric, especially when the screen went dark and the Lucasfilm logo filled it. Words and images began drifting across the screen, beautifully highlighted by the first strains of the familiar Force theme.

Every generation has a legend ... Then mysterious, mounted creatures started riding out of a fog-drenched swamp. Every journey has a first step ... Then a herd of dewbacks grazed on the sun-scorched dunes of Tatooine. Every saga has a beginning ... Then the first glimpses of a strikingly beautiful, classical city, and the ornately-costumed queen who overlooked it.

When the screen went black again for a split second, the entire world was holding its breath. The entire world, in a magical, mystical moment that somehow seemed to last an eternity. Then John Williams' score blasted through the speakers, and everything exploded into a genius collage of thrilling scenes and rich images.

Pods shot across a desert. Spaceships flew past frame. Lightsabers twirled. Lasers fired. Then the first haunting line from the prequels was heard - "You refer to the prophecy of the one who will bring balance to the Force. You believe it's this ... boy?" Cut to a cherubic-looking Anakin. The trailer was breathless, dynamic, inspired, a deftly-cut look at a "more civilized age." Speeders, battle droids, a double-bladed lightsaber, and Yoda's quotable monologue on fear, hate, and the dark side. It was all there. Not to mention the collective chill of excitement and anticipation that raced down every fan's back with the simple line - "Anakin Skywalker, meet Obi-Wan Kenobi."

By the time we'd all spilled into the lobby to discuss what we'd seen, any lingering anxieties about the prequels were utterly blown away by that singular experience, so much so that it partly carried me on through all three films. Whatever adult defenses I'd marshaled since the original trilogy, whatever dubious critical eye I'd gained in film class, it was honestly all over at that moment. Any cynicism or doubts in me were washed away in a tide of sheer, overwhelming prequel goodness. Watching those rapidfire, luminous images, I for one was forever convinced that the magic was back, that the galaxy far, far away was alive and well and still breathing that mystical energy field known as the Force.

Seeing the artistry of computer graphics painting entire worlds thrilled me from the start. The parade of new characters, as well as the actors portraying them, were all dead-on from the first trailer. As with the original trilogy, all the humans, aliens, and droids were like old acquaintances, the film partly family reunion. Since the beginning, Lucas has always been able to take the totally new and exotic and simultaneously drape a thin veil of familiarity over it. As a child, my impression of Lucas was that he was as much an archeologist as a creator, as though he'd actually unearthed ancient relics from some far away galaxy, dusted them off, and reanimated them with the power of myth for our entertainment and edification.

It was difficult to suppress this delightfully uncanny feeling again when standing in front of the unforgettable teaser poster for the first time. A young, innocent, sandy-haired moppet on Tatooine casting the shadow of the archetypal villain of our childhood made for a great juxtaposition. Much like the film itself, the poster was rich with symbolism, as it conjured an image that looked like something out of a dream analyzed by Carl Jung.

Next up came all the behind-the-scenes interviews and, before it was all over, it was difficult to pass a newsstand without a Jedi Knight or Sith Lord lurking on the magazine cover. Vanity Fair kicked it all into high gear with a gorgeous, multiple-page spread. The photo of Lucas in

Tunisia

again gave that odd-feeling of homecoming, with an intelligent cover story introducing the new players on the galactic stage. Another highlight was the philosophical interview between Lucas and Bill Moyers in TIME, as they sat at Skywalker Ranch where The Power of Myth had been filmed. The circle was truly complete, with the padawan becoming the mythic master.

During all of this, the merchandise began hitting, starting with a mail-away Mace Windu figure. Then the big release came that spring, and I was hanging at Media Play counting down to midnight with a huge group of increasingly anxious fans. The store reopened that night, and it looked as though the movie itself had exploded in the meantime. The Phantom Menace had spawned posters, t-shirts, books, games, and of course the sought-after novelization. Naturally after that, every Walmart and Target had shelves dripping with toys, the deliciously devilish visage of Darth Maul adorning just about everything. The cynical may scorn the merchandising aspect, though it’s as much a part of Star Wars as the Force itself.

For me, those action figures, those plastic incarnations of our favorite heroes and villains, are simply modern versions of the carefully molded clay figurines of gods and goddesses dating back into prehistory. The thrill of getting the toy likeness of Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, Anakin, Darth Maul, Watto, Palpatine, and all the rest was palpable and electric. It put a smile on my face, much like seeing Lucas interviewed on 60 Minutes (incidentally, contrary to the haters, Lucas often has that effect on me).

The weeks leading up to the release of Episode One were unlike anything our culture has since produced. No one has forgotten the lines populated by increasingly colorful Star Wars fans that stretched around movie theaters. Nor the first time their ears heard the haunting chorus of The Duel of the Fates. Nor for that matter the spoiler-filled track listing on the soundtrack inappropriately announcing "Qui-Gon's Noble End."

Securing tickets ahead of time, I sat down in a darkened theater early opening day, the crowds breathless with anticipation. As the curtain pulled back and the screen filled with the previews for the summer movies, it was time for the first Star Wars film in sixteen years to deliver on all the hype. The Phantom Menace would polarize and divide the fan community like nothing before. It would inspire bitter flame-fests across the Internet. It would be analyzed and second-guessed a million times over.

Of course, to be fair, The Phantom Menace would also thrill, inspire, and delight a new generation of little Star Wars fans who would embrace Jar Jar and midichlorians as naturally as we embraced wookiees and stormtroopers.

But none of us knew that at the time, nor did we need to know. All we did know was that the day was here, the hour was upon us, and we were about to be transported out of our mundane lives. In many ways, we were about to go home again after a sixteen year exile.

Then that half-sacred blue font appeared on the screen - A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away ...

And, for the next two hours anyway, all was right with the world.

* This was sort of going to tie in with the 3-D release in February, but what the hey. I suppose it still does.

** Also available at The Forcecast!

The Living Force

2011-07-10T19:56:00.000-07:00

“The Force is what gives the Jedi his power. It’s an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us. It penetrates us. It binds the galaxy together.”

- Obi-Wan Kenobi

The most unique character in Star Wars, the one that permeates, guides, and flows through the complete saga, is the mysterious energy known only as “the Force.”

Any detailed discussion of the Star Wars galaxy must really begin with the acknowledgement of this living field of mystical energy. It informs the entire stage, as well as the characters acting upon it. The Force not only binds the galaxy, it also makes it live and breathe, ebb and flow. Its ineffable presence is what truly makes Star Wars mythic, for like all genuine myths, it once again brings the universe to life for us in a way modern stories rarely do.

In the Annotated Screenplays of the original trilogy, Lucas outlined his ideas in early story conferences:

The act of living generates a force field, an energy. That energy surrounds

us … There is a giant mass of energy in the universe that has a good side

and a bad side. We are part of the Force because we generate the

power that makes the Force live. When we die, we become

part of that Force, so we never really die.

This established much of the framework for what grew into a complex, fully-realized cosmology.

It also reminds me of what the British writer and thinker Aldous Huxley called the “perennial philosophy.” In it, he identified a common thread running through nearly all religious traditions. This thread followed that there was a vast Ground of Being shared by all; that it is both transcendent and immanent; and that the purpose of existence is to know, love, and finally become one with this Ground. Huxley defined this as the “Minimum Working Hypothesis,” and the Force clearly fills this role in that galaxy far, far away.

Yet there is more than one view of the Force, as hinted at in the prequel trilogy. One can even infer from Episode One that there is something of a denominational schism within the Jedi Order itself. Though all dedicated to maintaining peace and justice in the galaxy, the Jedi of that time are bound by codes and councils, somewhat removed from the Force Yoda and old Ben Kenobi waxed lyrical about in the original films. As was discussed in the last post, it was the maverick Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn who really found the heart and soul of the Force, who followed its will as a poet follows his muse, and passed it on to the next generation. [1]

One of the very first lines in the prequels centers on Qui-Gon’s insistence about being mindful of the “Living Force.” While the Jedi Council often seem fixated on the distant past or uncertain future, the Living Force is by contrast grounded in the present moment, the “here and now,” the only reality we can truly know. As such, it is also steeped in flashes of intuition, focused spontaneity, as well as an empathy with and deep connection to all beings.

This “living” quality is perhaps the seminal idea in all mythic traditions. In our own history, it permeated the world of our ancestors. The sun was a chariot driven across the sky by a deity, or the moon was the eye of a goddess, or the earth itself was a living body. When such imaginings were revealed to not be literally true, the Cartesian and Newtonian models that dominated much of eighteenth and nineteenth century science dictated a mechanistic, almost clockwork universe held together by little more than dead matter and dumb luck. With the natural world basically mere automata, all consciousness and intelligence were thought to exist solely in the turnings of the human mind. [2]

In sharp contrast to this, the intuitive, imaginative world of myth always pictured the surrounding universe as something animated, intelligent, and responsive, a magical energy the gifted could play as effortlessly as a master pianist could a piano. The Force brilliantly continues this metaphor. From a certain point of view, the Jedi are as much musicians as warrior-monks, the Force their scaled, stringed instrument. When the Jedi selectively strum or pluck certain strings, a harmony of power erupts. The more skilled the master, the more complex the rhythm, the more astounding the feat. [3]

Again in the Annotated Screenplays, Lawrence Kasdan, writer of Episodes V-VI, defined the Force as the “combined vibrations of all living things.” So perhaps the explanation really is a good one, the Force that we so powerfully see in action really the effect of something akin to musical vibrations on the surrounding world. Either way, the important point is that, as in all myth, there is a creative participation between humanity and the cosmos, and that said cosmos is alive and attentive.

One could also argue that this “living” quality is at the base of most mystical experiences as well. As recounted in William James’ The Varieties of Religious Experience,” Richard Bucke eloquently explains the sensation of what he called “cosmic consciousness,” which overtook him one seemingly ordinary day:

Among other things, I did not merely come to believe, but I saw that

the universe is not composed of dead matter, but is, on the contrary,

a living Presence: I became conscious in myself of eternal life.

Bucke’s commentary brings to mind the passage in Terry Brooks’ novelization of Episode One regarding how the Jedi began as a theological or philosophical study group, and it took an enormous amount of time before they even became aware of the Force.

One has to wonder if Bucke’s experience of “cosmic consciousness” was all that different from the first Jedi who spontaneously realized he or she was immersed in a vast field of living energy. [4]

Equally intriguing is the realization that beings in the galaxy far, far away create the Force, rather than the other way around. As Yoda himself said, “Life creates it. Makes it grow,” once again establishing this is the “living” Force that is being discussed, as taught by Qui-Gon. This also neatly ties in with Joseph Campbell’s thoughts on spirituality in The Power of Myth series: “Spiritual life is the bouquet, the perfume, the flowering and fulfillment of a human life, not a supernatural virtue imposed upon it.” So the Force grows out of the organic world as naturally as an oak tree grows from an acorn. [5]

All of this is to again emphasize that the Star Wars galaxy is in fact animate, and the effects of this on the characters within have to be seismic. The basic psychology of someone living in such a reality is no doubt going to be drastically different from someone living in a passive, unresponsive one. The importance Jedi stress about letting go and having faith is important, because such a reality offers a natural “buoyancy” that supports and sustains someone when they do so.

In one of his classic lectures on Zen Buddhism, Alan Watts likened the universe to “water.” To let go is to conversely be held up, while to struggle is to drown. The same could be said of life in the Star Wars galaxy, with water perhaps being the best metaphor yet for the Force.

To imagine the Force as a kind of galaxy-wide ocean, filling all the spaces between the stars, planets, and moons, is to see and feel its reality all the more. While billions of beings swim in it as oblivious to its currents as fish are to water, there are others who come to feel the flow of its tides, and even partially control them. One could also visualize significant events creating ripples like a stone dropped in a pond, with said ripples traveling back and forth in time and space, enabling the gifted to see visions of the always-in-motion future.

Incidentally, this interpretation of Force energy also makes good sense of the Jedi Order’s prohibition of things like “attachment” and “possession,” which play a substantial role in the prequels. As the Jedi teach, the Force exists within and without, both embracing the galaxy as well as uniting it. From this certain point of view, all of existence is fundamentally one, resulting in a wholeness that is as real as any of the particulars one may cling to.
To again invoke a Zen metaphor, the ocean may produce individual waves that constantly crest and trough, but the water composing the waves is the true field of existence which is constant. If one becomes too infatuated with a single wave rather than allowing its natural rising and falling, suffering inevitably follows. To ignore that oneness of things [6] by fixating on a particular point [7] is called avidya in Sanskrit, often translated simply as delusion.

It is well worth pointing out a truly extraordinary passage in the Episode III novelization which highlights this point. Matthew Stover brilliantly paints a portrait of a Jedi master in his prime, as he experiences reality when viewed through the shining kaleidoscope of the Force, in a rare moment when the dark side has receded and the energy is pure and perfect once more:

The Force flows through him and around him as though he has stepped into a crystal-pure waterfall lost in the green coils of a forgotten rain forest; when he opens himself to that sparkling stream it flows into him and through him and out again without the slightest interference from his conscious will. The part of him that calls itself Obi-Wan Kenobi

is no more than a ripple, an eddy in the pool into which he endlessly pours.

The passage goes on to describe how he shares a fundamental identity with the ship he is on, the lightsaber taken from him, the battle droids surrounding him, and even the cyborg general who wants to kill him. All of this is caught up in the inexorable flow that is the Force, a flow that is beyond questions and answers, belief and doubt.

The Force simply is, as constant as the silent stars shining throughout the galaxy. Its luminous reality pours from all the worlds, only to flow back to guide, inform, and connect them. This cross-pollinating energy plays the star systems like a harp, the resulting rhythms being the saga we all know and love ... [8]

[1] Albeit it as a Force ghost. Yes, we really need that deleted scene that tells us all this at the end of Episode III.

[2] This historical debate naturally continues in all six Star Wars films to great effect.

[3] Such as levitating an X-Wing.

[4] Or at least I do, but I’m weird like that.

[5] This biological root makes the dreaded midichlorians totally sensible, though lucky you, we won’t tackle that until a later date.

[6] The Force.

[7] Like say, a certain Senator from Naboo.

[8] Interestingly, I rediscovered a quote from Percy Shelley who once conjured up an image that he intuitively sensed when he let go his conscious self and was inspired to write poetry: “There is a power by which we are surrounded, like the atmosphere in which some motionless lyre is suspended, which visits with its breath our silent chords, at will.” Our very own Romantic poet could have been channeling the Living Force, no?

Qui-Gon Jinn: Jedi Knight of Infinite Faith

2011-05-26T22:59:00.000-07:00

- This article was originally published by yours truly on Space.com back on July 22, 2000. This was a long time ago, on an internet far, far away, during the epic Phantom Heresies series. Readers here and on Facebook have requested these articles, though most of the old links don't work because Space.com doesn't provide an updated platform for stuff over ten years old. I inquired if I could put some of my stuff up here and, as I didn't get a reply, I don't suppose anyone gives a damn. So here's the article, as well a retrospective -

Jedi Knight of Infinite Faith

The Star Wars films are famous for their mystical mentors. Fans of the saga have embraced these teachers from the beginning, allowing Obi-Wan to lecture us to "trust our feelings" or Yoda to preach that we are "luminous beings."

As it does most aspects of the Star Wars universe, The Phantom Menace makes these sages considerably more problematic. In particular, Master Qui-Gon Jinn has engendered controversy that never seemed to swirl around Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Qui-Gon is a skilled diplomat, caring teacher, ferocious fighter, and as wise and calm as any master before him. But while some fans have embraced him as the father they wished they'd had, others have panned him for his occasionally unethical behavior and for insisting on the training of Anakin Skywalker - even over the decision of the Jedi Council.

The Great Schisms

Like most things in The Phantom Menace, the dispute between Qui-Gon and the Council is built on structural opposition.

Young Obi-Wan and most of the other Jedi revere the Force as a unifier, an energy field that has to do with destiny. On the other hand, the Force Qui-Gon follows is expressly "the living" Force, highlighting intuition and empathy with all living creatures.

Significantly, while Yoda and Obi-Wan frequently sermonize about the dark side as contrasted to the light, Qui-Gon never mentions either. Perhaps he does not even believe in polarization and irreconcilable opposites, light sides and dark sides.

By contrast, the Council seems completely focused in schisms of the past or battles in the future, so much so that they fail to take decisive action in the present. It is Qui-Gon who admonishes his disciple to "keep your concentration here and now where it belongs."

It is this affinity with the Living Force that enables Qui-Gon to discover both Jar Jar and Anakin, two characters with pivotal roles in galactic history. Without the former, the Naboo and the Gungans would never have been united; without the latter, the Force would never have achieved balance.

His focus on the present leads him to the realization that the Sith have returned and that Anakin is the Chosen One. He confronts the Council on both issues, and history proves him correct both times.

Jedi Knight of Faith

Qui-Gon is the Jedi Master closest to being a living vessel of the Force. He deals as an equal with aliens others only regard as "pathetic lifeforms," and his faith is unshakable.

Confident that "nothing happens by accident," he allows the Force to take him wherever he needs to go. Whether navigating the treacherous waters of Naboo or faced with a broken hyperdrive on Tatooine, Qui-Gon advises his companions to relax and let the Force guide them.

He may explain the Council's official stance on midi-cholorians to Anakin, but he treats the Will of the Force as an ineffable but conscious entity. Its mysterious ways never bother him.

Virtue of the Absurd

Many watchers of The Phantom Menace are uncomfortable with Qui-Gon's easy use of the Jedi Mind Trick, or his willingness to lie to Anakin about his blood sample.

Perhaps "unethical" actions like these are best understood by looking at Danish philosopher Soren Kierkegaard's exploration of the Old Testament story of Abraham and Isaac.

God commanded Abraham to sacrifice Isaac, his only son, as a test of faith - a demand that defied both reason and decency, even though Abraham, as a man of faith, had no choice but to obey. In the end, Isaac was saved and his father was rewarded.

In his book Fear and Trembling, Kierkegaard used this story as an example of the frequently absurd nature of the spiritual life, developing an ideal he called the Knight of Faith.

Knights of Faith - limited to a select few, who have transcended religion by making an authentic leap of faith - have recognized that their duty was to God, not to local ethics or politics. Kierkegaard called this state of being the "absolute relationship to the absolute," one that cannot be justified by words or reason, and can only be understood by those who have had the same experience.

These Knights are released from conventional morality because their actions are a personal command from God. When Qui-Gon tells Obi-Wan, "I shall do what I must," he means he is acting on behalf of the Will of the Force, which is immutable and beyond appeal.

He has no real choice in the matter. He walks a narrow course, cannot take counsel from others, and, for the most part, cannot be understood.

The Great Chain of Being

Though driven by a divine will, Qui-Gon remains humble. He wears the guise of a peasant farmer, and walks easily in the real world.

Kierkegaard presents his champion as a commoner who "delights" and "interacts" with others, going home every night to eat supper and enjoy a pipe. And indeed, Qui-Gon looks more at home sitting around a dinner table in a Tatooine slave hovel than in the austere Jedi Temple on Coruscant.

Qui-Gon's instinctive sense of connection permeates every situation. He constantly touches his fellow characters, senses a possible sympathetic relationship with Jar Jar, and even - in one subtle moment on the Theed catwalks - shows Darth Maul a moment of mercy.

This is irrational, but so is faith. Kierkegaard correctly labeled it as a feeling, referring to it as the "highest passion in a human being."

Qui-Gon would no doubt explain the Force in the same way, leaning close and advising in his even voice, "Feel, don't think. Use your instincts. May the Force be with you."

Retrospective

- As I was retyping this, I remembered the phrase "Pure Vessel of the Force" which someone on the Jedi Council Forums had coined back in the day. Though it does seem odd now, there was so much controversy surrounding Qui-Gon Jinn after the summer of '99. As for me personally, I gravitated towards him instantly, like a mynock to a power cable. He was the one Jedi who seemed at the top of his game, even amidst the complacency and dogmatism of the Jedi Order.

While it certainly works, I'm not so sure I would imagine the Force in the absolute terms that Kierkegaard would have. Obviously I was enjoying showing off the "A" I'd earned in existentialism a few semesters before, though judging from everything we've learned about the Force, it does seem much closer to an elemental phenomenon as anything.

Conscious and alive, the Force may possess a particular will or way it wants to naturally flow and manifest, but interpreting it as having a personality is a bit much. I would also question my notion of Qui-Gon not necessarily acknowledging a light or a dark side, though Lucas himself has said these are the "simplest" parts of a very complex cosmic construct. And that might perhaps go along with what we learned in the Mortis trilogy in season three of the Clone Wars.

As for Qui-Gon, there has been endless speculation as to what would have happened had he remained for Episode Two and Three. In retrospect, it seems Darth Maul played an absolutely pivotal role in the history of that galaxy far, far away when he pulled that cheap lightsaber-handle-to-the-forehead trick with Qui-Gon and then ran him through. Things would have turned out differently to be certain.

Obi-Wan takes too much of the blame when it comes to Anakin's dark fate. After all, he was barely out of his own padawan-hood when he took up the mantle of championing the Chosen One. It was too much to ask of one so young, and obviously the Jedi Council didn't exactly help the situation any. Aside from a stoic lecture from Yoda about loss and attachment, they barely took any interest in Anakin at all.

Had Qui-Gon been around, it is fair to speculate he would have allowed Anakin to visit his mother Shmi every now and again. Given his own seeming affinity for her, he may have even facilitated it. Likewise, he would have been a confidant for Anakin when it came to his relationship to Padme Amidala; not a stoic, centuries old master, but a sympathetic and understanding father figure. Not to mention he also would have provided an older mentor that helped limit Palpatine's influence on Anakin, who clearly sets his sights on the young protege hours after Qui-Gon dies on Naboo.

As great a Jedi as Obi-Wan Kenobi was, he simply didn't have the experience and wisdom of his late master, nor his deep understanding of the Living Force. As has been pointed out on more than one Forcecast commentary, most of what audiences have grown to know as the Force is rooted right in Qui-Gon's teachings. The Force as an energy field created by all living things, that surrounds and penetrates us, that binds us all together ... all of this is derived from the spirit of Qui-Gon Jinn teaching Yoda and Obi-Wan in their respective exiles during the trilogies.

Let's not forget that Qui-Gon Jinn is derived from the Chinese qi-gong, meaning "life force," and the Arabic jinn, meaning "genie" or "tutelary spirit." His name literally translates as "Spirit of the Living Force."

Fittingly in one of the last scenes in Revenge of the Sith, we learn that Qui-Gon has indeed figured it all out, that he is the first Jedi ever to pass over into the netherworld of the Force and yet retain his individuality. Perhaps it goes back to the "pure vessel" theory; perhaps he was so one with the Force in life that when death came it wasn't as great a transition for him as for others (William Blake comes to mind, when he remarked that death is merely "passing from one room to another"). Even without time to prepare and disappear, Qui-Gon nonetheless effortlessly merged with the Force.

Though tragically cut from Revenge of the Sith (Kyle Newman will back me up on the tragic part), there is an extended scene on Polis Massa where Yoda is meditating, immersing deeper and deeper into the energies of the Force, and encounters the steady voice of Qui-Gon Jinn. Fortunately the brilliant novelization by Matthew Stover narrates it in full, with Yoda accepting responsibility for what has happened, admitting that he did not allow the Jedi Order to change when it needed to. If I may recount the last words of Qui-Gon here -

With my help, you can learn to join with the Force, yet retain consciousness. You can join your light to it forever. Perhaps, in time, even your physical self.

Yoda mentions eternal life.

The ultimate goal of the Sith, yet they can never achieve it; it comes only by the release of self, not the exaltation of self. It comes through compassion, not greed. Love is the answer to the darkness.

Yoda muses on this skill.

It cannot be granted; it can only be taught. It is yours to learn, if you wish it.

And then we get a passage or two which Qui-Gon worshipers have been waiting on since Episode One -

Slowly, Yoda nodded. "A very great Jedi Master you have become, Qui-Gon Jinn. A very great Jedi Master you always were, but too blind I was to see it."

He rose, and folded his hands before him, and inclined his head in the Jedi bow of respect. The bow of the student, in the presence of the Master.

"Your apprentice, I gratefully become."

And the Force as we have always known it blossoms into being.

Rumblings in the Force ...

2011-04-30T16:01:00.000-07:00

First off, I just love this picture.

Second off, check out these links to essays by friend of the Forcecast Michael Faulkner.

The Lessons of Lucasian Vision is a great exploration of what makes Lucasian cinema different from the standard issue films populating the multiplexes, and Tragedy of the Heart analyzes some of the mythic roots of Padme's unfortunate demise at the end of Revenge of the Sith.

Third off, I'm amazed (and kinda honored) that I'm still remembered on the web for the Star Wars essays and editorials I wrote many, many Iegoan moons ago. I am trying to get some of the links working for all the old Space.com stuff, though apparently most of the content has not been updated for the new site. Maybe I can re-post some of it here even though I sold it by the word.

Star Wars Scholasticism still holds an enormous pull for a lot of people, and that remains a constant source of Blakean delight for me. My very own Deconstructing Vader has been translated into French by the same gentleman who translates Brad Warner's Zen books, so let me be the first to say I hope the French enjoy it. I'm also very pleased that Matthew Wood of Sound Design and General Grievous fame gave the thumbs up to that very same essay. I figured with the Alan Watts and Star Wars tie-in it would be hard to resist, but that at least one person at Skywalker Ranch has read an editorial of mine is very, very exciting.

I can't help but notice that I'm also quoted on the Amidala wikipedia page, which is nifty. I don't know if that makes me some kind of expert, but I'll take what I can get.

Fourth off, if you need some prequel love, there is no better place than the ever-fabulous, often-updated Star Wars Prequel Appreciation Society. We are developing a cross-pollinating, symbiotic relationship, much in the style of the Naboo and the Gungans. I'm not sure which is which, but anyway ...

Lastly, I would also like to say that I am working on something rather big. After years of being away from the game and writing a couple of Young Adult novels (the last of which is still making the rounds), I really, really have a lot to say on that galaxy far, far away. Probably more than this blog and even the Forcecast editorials can handle. We'll see. But if you guys keep reading, I will certainly try to keep writing ...

MTFBWY

You Can't Be Serious

2011-04-14T13:22:00.000-07:00

During all of this EU canon controversy, a startling thought occurred to me. Alan Watts once remarked that - as "sincere" a philosopher as he was - he simply wasn't a "serious" one.

While the point of these editorials is to provide a counterpoint to the shallow negativity surrounding the saga as well as offer a lot of examples of its significance and depth, I can honestly say I don't take Star Wars that seriously. I don't believe it's meant to be that serious, and perhaps a lot of trouble erupts in fandom because of the teeth-clenched earnestness of those who want to make it so. Instead, Star Wars strikes me as extraordinarily sincere, as does its maker, and maybe the reason I continue to enjoy both so much is that I simply value sincerity over seriousness.

Seriousness implies a certain gravity, a certain weight, a certain necessity. Like when one goes to the doctor and wants to know "Is it serious?" Seriousness inevitably evolves into an almost grim life-or-death struggle because, after all, the stakes are incredibly important. Everything hangs on the outcome when something is deadly serious. This is a remarkably effective way of draining the life, vitality, and energy out of any project, because it must be successful. It has to happen, and we have to make it happen.

On the other hand, sincerity implies a certain open, relaxed honesty to the situation whatever it turns out to be. Someone can be sincere and playful simultaneously, but no one can pull off being both serious and playful at the same time. So, which exactly, is the most applicable attitude to Star Wars? Maybe we've all forgotten, but Star Wars was supposed to be fun, not something you had to go see, or something you had to like.

Star Wars is really all about play. Lucas created a galaxy-wide sandbox, and basically said, "Have fun." To this day, I feel it's the best imaginary playground ever invented. Even here, on this very blog, I'm playing, arranging interesting patterns of words and ideas for amusement and entertainment. As I once stated years ago on Suite101, these essays are written in much the same spirit as a little kid waving a toy lightsaber in the air, while jumping up and down on their bed, and should be read in exactly the same manner.

This is why so many things that drive many fans into a near murderous rage (at least online) pretty much don't bother me at all. I genuinely love Ewoks, and sometimes even speculate what it would be like to be one for a day. I love the prequels, from the corny dialogue to the stylized acting. I even love Jar Jar, and occasionally lapse into Gungan speak (incidentally, all the haters should try this once and awhile - just translate all those rants and see how silly they really do sound). Sure, I may not like Greedo shooting first in the cantina, but I'm not losing sleep over it. As for the people who sit in the theater and anxiously wring their hands while trying to figure out whether or not a scene has too much CGI ... that's utterly baffling to me.

I personally have never watched a Star Wars movie and not had a blast. That's what they're there for, after all. And that's why I'm still here.

But this fandom sometimes seems so completely consumed with its own self-important seriousness that it oftentimes can barely enjoy what it's a fan of. Which, I assume, was the original point. Maybe some people don't have enough to worry about, so they have to use Star Wars to generate their weekly quota of stress and anxiety. Who knows?

Personally, I feel this is missing the mark, although I almost experience twinges of sympathy for those caught in the middle. I admit, I get caught up in the hating and heated arguments in fandom more than I should. Still, that's the only thing about this saga that I don't like or enjoy. So many people don't strike me as sincere fans anymore, only serious ones. Being a fan becomes a kind of morbid duty, a chore, another thing to check off the list of things that must be done, and then they take it out on the rest of us. This even includes the rather dubious attempts to protect the franchise from its own maker.

For the record, I do not have a problem with fans writing a petition to insure the continuity of the Expanded Universe and presenting it to Lucas. To me, this is the most irrelevant thing in the world, and the other fandoms I'm part of seem to feel the same. If someone just likes to connect the dots and retcon all the disparate characters and story elements into a kind of fascinating, enjoyable game, I would personally say that was the way to go. Still, if people feel absolutely compelled to draft elaborate petitions, then they should do so. Here's to lightspeed on their journey.

The part I do have a problem with is the underlying, unstated sentiments of such a proposal. It seems that if you don't tie Lucas down and question him relentlessly regarding the canonicity of Coruscant Nights, even if you couldn't care less, you're not only failing your duty as a fan, but also as a human being. This is the last bit of the Petition of 2000's response to the Forcecast's admittedly harsh reaction to their mandate -

To these people, Lucas cannot, should not, must not be questioned. And that's not a position I can ever get onboard with or even understand. Blind allegiance to an authority figure is one of the great evils of this world, and while its existence in SW fandom is relatively harmless, it's a symptom of a much larger, far less amusing problem.

Taking things maybe a little too seriously there? You think, maybe? Thank the Force it's only "relatively harmless." Maybe we can all band together and limit the cultural damage. And my reply on Facebook, which has yet to be answered -

I still want to know why these petitioners are talking like this. I don't question Lucas' authority, because he doesn't have any. Obviously, the petitioners feel differently. In point of fact, they have imbued Lucas with so much authority that they literally form petitions to win his approval of their point of view. Unlike the rest of us, they can't simply take what they like and ignore the rest, they want to make Lucas to make up their mind for them. The real question is why are they so helplessly dependent on Lucas' imaginary authority that they can't function without it. And then they turn around and accuse his fans of of "blind allegiance to an authority figure."

Again, what is this alleged authority that Lucas has that's so morally imperative to question? If your fandom has evolved to the point that you form petitions to Lucas that mirror the petition that was submitted to the Emperor of the galaxy because you project the same amount of authority on one that the other has, the continuity of the EU is probably the least of your worries. Stop wasting $30 a pop on the interminable "Fate of the Jedi" series, and start saving up for therapy. Lucas isn't controlling you, man. He's not a president, or the pope. You don't have to wait until he exiles or excommunicates you from the fandom. You can walk away any time. So you might want to do so while you still can.

See what happens there? Then I start taking things too seriously. Life is just too short. I still want to know the rationale for projecting all this authority on Lucas, though. As I stated elsewhere, I'm a huge Harry Potter fan too, yet no one accuses me of blind allegiance to JK Rowling's authority (?). But Lucas is always held to a different standard as everyone else. And his fans too, which is sad, because I honestly don't have a clue what, how, or why I'm supposed to question him. The base that whole idea is built on is so faulty I barely no how to respond.

It's not anyone's job to interrogate artists everytime someone encounters their creative work. They can either like it or dislike it, love it or hate it, be inspired by it or not be inspired by it. And again, only in Star Wars fandom would anyone say differently. If I went on an Impressionist website and said I loved Monet, no one would start berating me for not questioning his authority, nor would anyone call me a mindless Monet slave. Yet if the pattern is repeated on a Star Wars forum and I said I loved Lucas, that's precisely what would happen.

It is also worth bringing up that the Petition people cited the "myth" about Lucas being the sole creator of Star Wars. I can't imagine where they got that one from. Only I can, right from my own comments section -Tell me if you feel that Lucas is such a "spiritual, philosophical" storyteller after you read the truth behind the myth in Michael Kaminsky's "The Secret History of Star Wars," which reprints many of Lucas salient interviews over the years. No "fictious portrait" that, but the plain truth.

This book keeps being brought up and it goes to show exactly where fandom's head is at sometimes. I don't know why people keep throwing it up like some kind of a challenge (or better yet, why I take it seriously). While I've only read pieces online and have visited the website, as near as I can tell The Secret History of Star Wars is being touted as some kind of explosive, shocking work featuring never-before-known revelations about Lucas and the saga. Revelations Lucasfilm has gone to elaborate lengths to bury, hide, and suppress.

Perhaps I'm missing something, but if this vast conspiracy is true, Lucasfilm is doing an extraordinarily bad job of keeping it hidden. The site claims Lucas is doing everything possible to suppress the unaltered original trilogy and pretend it never existed, which is odd, because there were plenty of copies of it on DVD the last time I was at Wal-mart. And Target. And Best Buy. And Toys R Us. Then there is the issue of that little book, The Making of Star Wars by the awesome J. W. Rinzler, which perfectly outlines everything that is also allegedly being rewritten and suppressed, out in plain view for anyone with a competent literacy level to read. Oh yeah, and The Making of The Empire Strikes Back too, both of which are officially licensed by Lucasfilm and can be found in fine bookstores everywhere.

Being a sincere Star Wars fan rather than a serious one, I simply don't care about all this stuff, even though people insist on stomping up to me and telling me all about it. None of it strikes me as "secret" so much as just elaborate and complicated. Yes, we all know Star Wars didn't spring fully formed from Lucas' skull like Athena bursting out of Zeus. No one in their right mind has ever claimed such a thing (and sorry, but this goes for the prequels and the Clone Wars as well). One of the sticking points of The Secret History seems to be that Lucas now claims that his saga has always been about the "Tragedy of Darth Vader," and it's a big conspiracy that it wasn't. Actually, I disproved this one with two and a half minutes of research, when I saw that Lucas freely admitted to Vanity Fair in 2005 that he didn't have that part worked out until the late, late nineties. Again, it's not much of a secret if everyone says what's going on.

All the information I've seen from scanning through the book is stuff I pretty much already knew. Unless I'm missing something, it's been out in plain view for the past thirty years for anyone who's taken the time to look for it. Like I said in my last post, that so few people have is precisely the reason why all of it can be erroneously labelled as a "secret." Everyone knows Lucas has changed the number of films from nine or twelve to six and, quite frankly, I couldn't care less. That Lucas has changed his mind in the last thirty years hardly constitutes a conspiracy. I've changed my mind in the last thirty minutes, but I'm not held under the same scrutiny.

Perhaps this book is invaluable for the fan who's desperately trying to convince themselves Gary Kurtz really wrote and directed A New Hope and Lucas was just along for the ride, but I'm not, so it's all kinda superfluous to me. Now that I've gone back and revisited it, the whole affair seems pretty status quo. He'll no doubt have more readers than me when it's all over, but I don't see anything really new or daring going on there. I know it's supposed to be a self-styled "defiance" against the Lucasfilm version of history, but it's really just preaching to the online choir. If you want a real challenge to the status quo, go check out my .The Case for Jar Jar. Now that's daring and subversive.

I would also suggest going online and purchasing a copy of the George Lucas Interviews book, which features some great interviews from the early seventies to the late nineties. Again, I don't have an anti-Lucas agenda but rather a pro- one and so, to me, they all hang together with remarkable consistency. All the interviews I've ever read with the man have increased my respect for him rather than the other way around. If I was flying blind concerning Lucas and his history like most fans apparently are, maybe this "secret" stuff would be blowing me away. But I'm not, and it doesn't (or as another poster put it much better than I could - I read the online version of "Secret History" a while back, and my reaction to it could more or less be compared to Claude Rains in "Casablanca," shocked to discover that there's gambling at Rick's cafe).

With this taken into account, I hope that in the future those of you who've read The Secret History will refrain from coming up to me and acting like Dan Brown fans who've convinced themselves they're privy to buried truths the rest of the world remains oblivious to. That part is really annoying. Quite frankly, Star Wars has been under the "singular" stewardship of George Lucas for over thirty years and is absolutely blossoming and thriving unlike ever before, with two new generations who love the special editions and the prequels and the Clone Wars as much as we did the originals. So like it or not (not), he is doing something right.

The fact of the matter is, all the myths that have been built up around George Lucas are wide of the mark. Mine, yours, everyone's. Because the real Lucas isn't the myth that fans bash or praise; he's just a guy. He wakes up in the morning, takes a shower, raids his closet for flannel shirts and blue jeans, goes downstairs, eats breakfast, takes his kids to school, and is closer to the rest of us than most will allow him to be. He makes good decisions and bad ones, but so do the rest of us. And I shudder to think what most of our lives would look like when held up to the same relentless scrutiny as his.

A lot of people online seem to labor under the impression that he's become a "money hungry, effects obsessed egomaniac." Other people, including myself, regard him as a "uniquely spiritual, philosophical filmmaker." Again, he's probably neither, or both, but my base is an extremely lucrative one to build on. Amazing things start to happen when Star Wars is viewed with that assumption in mind, as I've helped demonstrate for over a decade. And if I didn't feel that way, I wouldn't be a fan, nor could I possibly enjoy all of it as much as I do.

Everytime I see Lucas during an interview, it's hard not to smile. I look carefully at those eyes, and see the sparkling whimsy in them, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't take any of this that seriously either. At the end of the day, he's just playing with incredibly complicated patterns of light, color, sound, and music on an enormous canvas, and I for one sincerely like to watch him go.

P.S. I'm actually tired of talking. That got a little like work for a minute. I'll try for some actual philosophy next time.

The Other Expanded Universe

2011-04-08T16:48:00.000-07:00

When Jedi Master Even Piell became one with the Force and was sent over the lava-falls in one of the last Clone Wars episodes of the season, it shook a small yet vocal part of Star Wars fandom. Rather than simply being moved by a noble death, they collectively bristled, arguing that the formidable Piell had already been killed in the Expanded Universe timeline. Though once a little-respected, largely inconsequential tale in the ever-growing market of Star Wars literature, Coruscant Nights unexpectedly became something of a fault line running through the heart of that galaxy far, far away.

The question of what constitutes canon in the Star Wars saga has been an increasingly touchy subject in the fan community. For some, the plethora of books, comics, and games constituting the Expanded Universe almost trump the films themselves, with a certain fringe element even suggesting that George Lucas should hang up his Jedi robes and retire his lightsaber, and allow the authors of all the tie-in novels to take over stewardship of the galaxy he created. For others, canon was never that big of a deal. Actually, since I've read enough tie-in stories with other franchises, I was surprised to learn there were any issues with Star Wars canon at all. When I first heard the controversy, admittedly my first thought was "Oh, the novels are supposed to be canon?"

For me, there has never been any issue with canon, because I've always been first and foremost interested in the films. This is changing thanks to the Clone Wars series, but it still has the direct input of George Lucas and is coming down directly from Skywalker Ranch. That is really all I care about, and I should admit now that I'm a Lucas man all the way. Or at least I am in the same sense that Harry Potter always described himself as a Dumbledore man all the way. That's just the way it is for me. Lucas started this party thirty plus years ago, and I just haven't seen or read anything that has caused me to discount him or believe others could somehow do better Star Wars. Others feel differently, which is fine, though I personally feel this is kinda missing the point.

Just as something as insignificant as Coruscant Nights has led to larger issues, so has this controversy led directly to much bigger issues concerning Lucas, Star Wars, and fandom in general. It seems to me the focus of many fans is too narrow, focusing almost exclusively in-universe. In other words, after viewing the films, the lens is turned almost immediately to the Expanded Universe, that self-perpetuating tidal wave of fiction that currently floods the bookstores. As much as the novels outside of Lucas' storytelling have boosted fandom and carried it through the dark times when no films were on the horizon, they've hurt it as well. Not only have they diluted the property in certain ways, but they've also made a divisive and quarrelsome community even moreso. The reasons for this are a little complicated.

My own experience with the EU has been fairly straightforward. Actually, most of my own significant moments with the EU were born out of the old Marvel comic book series, particularly during the almost unbearable wait between The Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi. Sure, everyone knew Han Solo wouldn't be rescued until the next movie, but as a kid, the search alone was thrilling. Yet those old Marvel days have been dismissed from hallowed EU canon, much like Alan Dean Foster's Splinter of the Mind’s Eye. The exclusion comes because the comic series and that first tie-in novel were found to clearly be incompatible with Empire and Jedi.

And that was just one comic series and one novel. This is nothing when weighed against the monthly additions to the overly complicated canon currently putting cracks down over-stacked bookcases. The relationship between Luke and Leia, Anakin's identity as Darth Vader, the origins of the Mandalorians, and lots of other issues as established in the original EU were rendered superfluous by the two last films of the classic trilogy. It's no wonder that the continuous stream of material from Del Rey and Dark Horse has enormous difficulty keeping everything straight. But either way, it just wasn't that big of a deal back in the day. The internet is part of the issue, something that no one had to contend with in fandom back in the late seventies and early eighties (if it had been around, I do sometimes get the unsettling feeling that the online continuity police would have gathered to debate whether Empire or Jedi should be admitted into canon).

My current status as a sometimes consumer of the EU remains remarkably drama free. The novels are there, and if I have an itch left vacant by George-Level canon, sometimes I'll read them to scratch it. I'm slowly making my way through the Darth Bane and Han Solo trilogies and, while I'm enjoying both, I'm not clinging to their canonicity like a Sith Lord Force choking a clone. Maybe they happened, or maybe they didn't. I can keep that part of my brain just vague and fuzzy enough where it's not a crisis, or even of much concern. When the last page has been turned, it really comes down to whether the story was good or bad, or whether I enjoyed it or not. At the end of the day, they're all just a fun diversion, and for me that’s all they were intended to be.

Of course, if an author scored face-time with George Lucas, then that does add a little more relevance to a work. The prequel novelizations are one of the few books that falls into this category. As recounted in his book Sometimes the Magic Works, Terry Brooks got the royal treatment at Skywalker Ranch while writing The Phantom Menace, not to mention the hours he spent talking on the phone with Lucas as he went over his original notes. R. A. Salvatore likewise met with the Maker, and his Attack of the Clones novel fills in some of the holes left by deleted scenes in the film. For me, though, the show stopper was Revenge of the Sith. Matthew Stover composed not only a great novelization, but a lyrical one as well. His character work, his poetic descriptions, as well as simply his understanding of the Force, are all pretty much unparalleled in Star Wars literature for me. But Stover also boasted a firm grounding in Eastern philosophy, and such grounding has always been important, as I’ll discuss later.

And again, just for the record, Sean Stewart’s Dark Rendezvous Clone Wars novel is an absolute favorite of mine. Not only beautifully written, it also offers pitch perfect portrayals of Yoda and Count Dooku. And I for one got really attached to the Jedi younglings in it as well. I’m also a big fan of the James Luceno prequel era stuff. Having said that, if the Clone Wars series renders it irrelevant apocrypha, I’m not batting an eye, nor am I writing petitions and organizing online rallies. But that’s just me.

One last bit of my personal relationship with the EU. I say personal because I’m probably in a minority of one on this, but it doesn’t seem fair to omit my own peculiar take here. If I’ve failed to mention any post Jedi EU (though I did love the groovy Ewok movies as a kid), it’s because I don’t consider it any of it relevant to canon. Yes, this even includes the beloved Timothy Zhan trilogy, whether officially recognized or not.

Everyone knows Star Wars is something of a space age fairy tale, with “a long time ago” being the galactic equivalent of our very own “once upon a time.” It took me years to figure out why the post-Jedi EU rang so hollow to me, especially when most fans were waxing lyrical about being able to hear John Williams music as Grand Admiral Thrawn flew across the stars. Perhaps I should get my hearing checked, but I think most of the trouble lies in that final scene with Luke, Han, Leia, and everyone else gathered around the fire on Endor at the end of Jedi. If it all started with “once upon a time,” then that’s a “happily ever after” shot if I’ve ever seen one. Skywalker saga over, curtains fall. I have no more urge to follow the Star Wars characters around than I do to keep track of the actual day-to-day married life of all those fairy tale princes and princesses after they finally tie the knot. This is no reflection on the authors or the storytelling, just the nature of the saga as I see it.

But even when considering the content - Solo kids going to the dark side, Chewbacca wrestling a moon before dying, Luke reforming the Jedi Order, a geriatric Fett wheel-chairing around Slave 1 … none of it holds the slightest appeal for me. Not only does the whole thing feel like a misstep, it now just goes on interminably, with no end in sight. If Legacy of the Force was like beating a dead horse, Fate of the Jedi was like pulling his teeth out, setting him on fire, and beating him some more. At some point, presumably before Luke’s actually hobbling around a galactic rest home and the story’s now about his long lost, second Skywalker cousin twice removed who has to bring balance to the Force for the twentieth time, I fully expect Ferris Bueller to step in, face the fans, and say something to the effect of, “It’s over. Go home.”

Now that I’ve alienated practically everyone (except maybe Jason), I want to examine some of the aforementioned effects the EU has had, as well as what Star Wars as a whole really is. I suppose the next logical question for me posed by other fans would be about my feelings if Lucas decided to turn the tables and make Episodes VII-IX after all. “Happily ever after” shot or no, I admittedly would feel as though I’d made the Kessel Run in less than eleven parsecs.

That this isn’t a contradiction is simply because there has never been any doubt in my mind that Lucas is the Maker, coupled with the fact that all of the Star Wars he’s personally created is completely permeated with that utterly intangible Star Wars feeling that overtakes me when I consume it. In over thirty years of fandom, this has been the case. Of course, it’s probably helped that I’ve never attempted or even seen any point in trying to outsmart or second-guess George Lucas. Since the beginning of the internet, some people have managed to make a secondary career out of doing exactly that, but for me personally, it’s his party and if I wasn’t having a good time, I would have grabbed my jacket and left years ago.

From a certain point of view, that a lot of fans should have left but never did is in no small part the responsibility of the EU. It has taken the fandom a sizeable distance from G-Level Star Wars since the early nineties, conjuring up not so much an expanded universe as a parallel one. This seems to be the case with something like Joe Schreiber’s Death Troopers. True, it was different and exciting, but it was also bloody and gory and Imperials were eating each other and by the time it was all over, it just wasn’t Star Wars to me. This isn’t to say it was bad by any stretch, so much as to say that putting a stormtrooper on a book cover doesn’t necessarily make the book Star Wars.

The very first article I ever sold was to space.com, and it talked about the prequel backlash as well as the it’s-hip-to-be-square-ness of Star Wars in general. This kind of ties in with the Great Nerd Debate of 2011, but the only thing that really makes Star Wars cool is the fact that it’s never tried to be cool. G-Level canon has not only brought us Han Solo, Boba Fett, and Darth Maul, it’s also brought us Jar Jar, Ewoks, and mouse droids. My feeling is that the very thing that makes Star Wars what it is isn’t the exclusion of one side to the other, but rather the balance between the two.

This balance is precisely what makes Star Wars so unique, something that is non-existent in all of the EU I’ve encountered. G-Level canon is what it is, and it’s always been brave enough to wear itself on its sleeve. I personally find that very charming. The sense of whimsy and silliness in Star Wars is usually so lost in the EU that fans are often flabbergasted when they finally get around to seeing a new film and find such elements there. That G-Level canon never tries to be cool and dark makes it that much more genuine and rewarding when it is. Next to that, the EU merely poses, trying to make something cooler than was ever intended, and coming off as (dare I say it?) nerdier as a result.

As alluded to at the beginning, the real problem comes when certain fringe elements in fandom begin to resent Lucas and his additions to his own saga. Oh, very few overtly admit it (although I've run into some that did), but the feeling is always there. However subtly. This hit something of a peak during the Mandalorian trilogy in season two of the Clone Wars, fanned on by Karen Traviss’ blog. Never mind that if I recall correctly she completely destroyed the Mandalorian continuity I had grown up with in the comics first.

The one thing I do take issue with is the backlash Lucas sometimes gets when these kinds of problems arise. I’ve taken some time to figure this out, this oddest of phenomena when the creator of something is no longer wanted in the creative process. Again, I think these faulty lines of reasoning can be subtly traced back to the EU, which has helped breed a part of fandom so endlessly insular and self-referential it can’t see past its own nose.

Frankly, the ever-widening abyss between G-Level canon and the fringe elements of this fandom is due to an almost total lack of understanding and communication. To be sure, there are people who can tell you the exact chapter, page, and probably paragraph in Coruscant Nights when Even Piell meets his cruel demise (and sorry, but they always sound like the Comic Book Guy in The Simpsons in my head). The problem is, while they can tell you all about that, I have very real doubts that they can tell you about much of anything else.

This most certainly includes information on George Lucas. It doesn’t irritate me nearly as much as it once did when fans hate on Lucas, because I’ve finally figured out they have absolutely no idea who or what they’re talking about. This isn’t a slam, but a simple observation. Aside from the odd bit of information about where he was born or maybe where he went to film school, the more belligerent fans have clearly painted a fictitious portrait of Lucas that exists solely on internet forums and talkbacks. And these same fans are just caught in an infinite online loop of misinformation, assumption, and, for some odd reason, paranoia.

Maybe the reason why I continue to have a great amount of respect and admiration for George Lucas is that I’ve actually bothered to find out stuff about him. Rather than simply parroting what the trolls and online conspiracy theorists are saying, I’ve read quite a few books and interviews about the man, from Skywalking to the latest Star Wars Insider. The George Lucas Interviews book is a favorite of mine thanks to the Forcecast, and The Cinema of George Lucas remains one of my most treasured birthday gifts. My EU is more behind-the-scenes than anything, and I’ve torn through about every Making Of book and video I could find. The Mythology of SW, Lucas’ interview with Bill Moyers at Skywalker Ranch which mirrors The Power of Myth, gave a timely glimpse into his thinking at the time of the prequels, and it subsequently influenced my viewing of them.

Speaking of The Power of Myth, Joseph Campbell once wisely remarked that if a person is ever fortunate enough to find an artist who really speaks to them, make it a point to find out who inspired them, and then who inspired them, and so on. If someone takes the time to do this, Campbell predicts the universe will start to unfold in a remarkably unified, harmonious manner. I’ve found this to be very solid advice; with Lucas as my starting point, I found Campbell, and then found the people who inspired him, even taking my senior seminar on James Joyce as a result.

As fate would have it, this was about a couple of semesters before The Phantom Menace came out. About as primed on myth, symbolism, and literary analysis as I could be, I was pretty much blown away by the first prequel. It was rather disheartening to go online and discover that the most literate, analytical response to the film a lot of first generation fans could offer was to type “Jar Jar Sux!!!” five hundred times and post it in a talkback.

No doubt some are about to reasonably argue that they didn’t have to know anything about comparative mythology and so on to enjoy the original trilogy. True enough. On the other hand, the generation of children who grew up loving the prequels didn’t need to either. The point stands, though, that if older fans can no longer intuitively appreciate new Star Wars films like they did when they were children, and then refuse to intellectually appreciate them as adults, the possibility of enjoyment is getting pretty slim.

Again, it’s one thing not to like what one’s seeing, and another entirely to not know what one’s seeing. This goes for the reception of the prequels, as well as understanding the Maker himself. This is why Lucas is so often perceived online as a money-hungry, effects-obsessed egomaniac, and yet I still respect him as a uniquely spiritual, philosophical filmmaker.

When the Phantom Menace DVD arrived chocked full of special features, I admit I freeze-framed the bookshelves behind him on the first web documentary to review his reading material. Quite frankly, there wasn’t a Karen Traviss book anywhere in sight, but what was there ranged from history to child psychology, from philosophy to comparative religion. For a fan such as myself, I personally was far more impressed that he’d read Elaine Pagels than that his office wasn’t cluttered with charts and graphs trying to pinpoint Greedo’s exact birth date.

In other words, if we follow Campbell's suggestion, Lucas' inspiration has never really been the EU. The occasional character or planet name may be employed by G-Level canon but, by and large, Lucas has always pointed Star Wars beyond itself. It seems to me fans should be grateful for that. Often the fans who aren't dismiss anything Lucas has to say that sounds deep or scholarly as merely pretentious, though the original trilogy is as grounded in mythic scholarship as the prequels.

One of the reasons Lucas took so long writing the first Star Wars was the amount of research he did. While The Hero With a Thousand Faces is by far the most publicized, he has stated in more than one interview that he read around a hundred books during the writing process. A hundred books. Perhaps I'm wrong, but Traviss probably didn't comb through a hundred books about folklore and fairy tale, myth and metaphor, while writing her Mandalore stuff. Bits of this reading list have shown up here and there, and quite frankly, that's my expanded universe.

The works of Joseph Campbell, Carl Jung, Alan Watts, Karen Armstrong, Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Bruno Bettelheim, Mircea Eliade, and quite a few others from East and West alike are far more essential to understanding and appreciating Star Wars than a hundred Fate of the Jedi novels. And it's fascinating, horizon-broadening stuff, too.

Along these lines, Campbell's central thesis that all myths are inflections of the monomyth, the one great story moving behind all the little ones, provides another aspect of this expanded universe. As Star Wars is but another inflection of the monomyth, a great deal of its flavor can be found in ancient storytelling. From Sumeria to Egypt, from Greece to Rome, from India to England, all these sacred stories echo Star Wars in one way or another. Whether it be Gilgamesh searching for immortality, or Odysseus trying to get back to Ithaca, or the Buddha facing down temptation, or Galahad searching for the Holy Grail, or Dante navigating the Inferno with Virgil, elements of all these stories carry within them the intangible feeling evoked by that galaxy far, far away.

And just for the record, while I may not hear the Force theme when reading the latest EU novel, it is utterly impossible for me to read the scenes in Paradise Lost when the archangel Michael and the Devil are battling with flaming swords and not hear Duel of the Fates. Because ultimately, these mythic stories and poems that depict what Campbell called "the soul's high adventure" are what Star Wars is, and where it lives and breathes.

And perhaps if some paid more attention to that aspect of the saga instead of arguing about the canonicity of Coruscant Nights, the fandom would be immeasurably improved.

Deconstructing Vader

2011-02-20T10:23:00.000-08:00

A Portrait of the Dark Side

“Do you think you can take over the world and improve it?

I do not think it can be done. The world is sacred.

It you try to change it, you will ruin it.

If you try to grasp it, you will lose it.”

- Lao Tzu

Tao Te Ching

On one of the most important days of his fateful life, young Anakin Skywalker has to decide whether to stay with his beloved mother on Tatooine or travel to the stars to a new life among the Jedi. Even though she must remain in the Outer Rim as a slave, his mother Shmi is willing to let him go. When Anakin protests that he doesn’t want things between them to change, she wisely replies that he cannot stop change, any more than he can “stop the suns from setting.”

Years later, Anakin chooses yet another path, one in which he is remade into a dark lord of the Sith. This path consumes him, as he sets himself the impossible task of stopping a sunset. The effort ruins him within and without, and his redemption only comes when he finally accepts his mother’s words as revealed through the actions of his son. Behind all the mythic drama underlies a basic struggle forever playing out in every human heart and mind.

The whispers and promises of the dark side are far more ubiquitous than most realize. It feasts most thoroughly when unexamined hatreds and haunting fears rise up in response to life, intensifying anxieties until there seems to be no choice but to turn to the very dark source generating them and expect help. The dark side promises power over life but never admits the more power one has to control life the more power one needs, creating a vicious cycle so self-consuming and self-defeating it is reputed to forever dominate one’s destiny.

The rise and fall and ultimate redemption of Anakin Skywalker illustrates this perfectly, a path that is seen most clearly and vividly when viewed through the lens of the Buddhist philosophical tradition. The creation of the ego, the dangers of attachment, and the importance of compassion all center on this one character and play out across a grand galactic canvas.

As a young boy on Tatooine, Anakin is as remarkable for his good nature as he is for his midichlorian count, especially considering the dark lord he eventually becomes. As his mother remarks, “he knows nothing of greed,” and as Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn observes, “he gives without any thought of reward.” This is a being in touch with what is known in Zen as one’s “original nature,” a nature that is free and open and moves through life “like a ball in a mountain stream.” Anakin’s willingness to help others ends in him winning not only the Boonta Eve podrace, but also his own freedom.

Ironically, a new kind of slavery begins to close around him almost immediately. Despite his mother Shmi’s warning not to “look back” when he leaves home, he continues to do so, his mind tentatively making its first attempts to grasp at life and hold it too closely.

The One and The Many

On Coruscant, Yoda and the Jedi Council quickly sense this during their initial evaluation. As ironic as it may be given their Order’s own inability to change and adapt, the Jedi are correct in assessing the dilemma that will haunt Anakin the rest of his life. It is a dilemma that they do not fully understand or relate to. As perfectly innocent and natural as it may be to fear losing one’s only parent, those closely attuned to the ebb and flow of the Force embrace another perspective that does much to stifle such anxieties.

For those deeply immersed in the energies of the Force, the galaxy must be experienced very differently than it is by most beings. Since the beginning, the Force is clearly interpreted as a field of energy created and sustained by life itself. Various individuals have the ability to channel this power and do astounding feats. Even more importantly, however, the Force exists within and without, both embracing the galaxy as well as uniting it. From this point of view, all of existence is fundamentally one, resulting in a wholeness that is as real as any of the particulars one may grow attached to.

To use a favorite metaphor of Zen Buddhism, the sea may produce individual waves that constantly crest and trough, but the water composing the waves is the true field of existence which is constant. If one becomes too infatuated with a single wave rather than allowing its natural rising and falling, suffering inevitably follows. To ignore the oneness of things by fixating on a particular point is called avidya in Sanskrit, often translated simply as “delusion.”

There is considerable evidence that the Jedi feel much the same way.

After years of being trained by Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin grows into a stubborn and headstrong adolescent. Raised outside the Jedi Order, the young learner constantly finds himself chafing under its traditions and dogma. While he understands that “attachment” and “possession” are “forbidden,” apparently no one on the Council ever takes the time to express why. Without the average padawan’s background in the Force since birth, Anakin struggles with his attachments again and again, particularly as they pertain to his mother and, later, the love of his life, Padme Amidala.

Haunted by dreams of his mother’s death, Anakin eventually seeks her out on Tatooine. After taking vengeance on the Tusken Raiders who abducted and finally killed her, he returns to the homestead where Padme is waiting for him. Before breaking down completely, he tinkers with a broken shifter, remarking, “Life seems so much simpler when you’re fixing things. I’m good at fixing things … always was.” This is one of his most telling statements, as it foreshadows an outlook that views life as something mechanical, a malfunctioning machine one can stand aside from and arbitrarily “fix” to one’s liking.

As Cheri Huber, an American Zen teacher for over thirty years, once lectured, “We are taught to believe life should be a certain way. When it isn't and we aren't, we assume there's something wrong and something should be done to fix things. Suffering happens when we want life to be other than the way it is." And the dilemma of Anakin Skywalker is really no more complicated than that.

Interpreting his mother’s passing as a personal failure, Anakin begins to build up and harden his ego, proclaiming he will one day “learn to stop people from dying.” In Buddhism, life is seen as a flowing pattern, a flux of elements known as aggregates. At its root this pattern is understood to be impermanent, and all suffering arises from our refusal to accept this impermanence. Like Anakin, we develop an ego, a kind of fictional construct, to protect us from changes we don’t like. Particularly death. However, this false persona is a wrong move, creating yet another source of tension by strengthening the illusion that we are separate from life and can somehow control it.

Throughout his life, Anakin’s other mentor, Chancellor Palpatine, plays a key role in the development of his ego. From childhood onward, Palpatine has crafted and shaped his protégé’s attitude, constantly whispering in his ear, telling him that life should indeed “be a certain way.” He points out that the Jedi don’t trust him, admonishes the Council when they don’t select him for special missions, and assures him he’s going to be greater and more powerful than all of them. He even positions Anakin on the Council knowing full well they will use him as bait to lure his true agenda into the open. As he sows the seeds of fear and paranoia, the Sith Lord perfectly acts the role of what is called “conditioned mind” in Zen.

This conditioning ripens when Anakin receives more dreams of an ominous future which ripple backwards in the Force. Now married to Padme in secret, he learns that not only is her life threatened, but the life of their unborn child as well. And in classic mythological fashion, he vows to save her “from [his] nightmares,” only to set in motion the karmic chain of events that ultimately ends in her death.

In his final attempt to reconcile with the Jedi Council, though, Anakin does seek out help from Yoda. The centuries-old sage fails to understand his student, vaguely instructing him not to “mourn” or “miss” those who die and “transform into the Force.” The reality of a unified energy field that lives and breathes a greater whole escapes Anakin, and an important opportunity is lost. Still, Yoda is philosophically correct when he states, “Fear of loss is a path to the dark side.”

Punk rocker, monster movie marketer, and Soto Zen priest, Brad Warner does a formidable Yoda impression as well. He also helpfully lays out the fundamental paradox of attachment in his colorfully titled Zen tome, Sit Down and Shut Up. Many have taken issue with the Jedi mandate forbidding attachment, arguing that one should be attached to the people they care about. From a Buddhist perspective, however, this conditioned impulse arises from a mistaken view of life and the universe.

As Warner explains, “Love, or desire, leads to taking. You try and make that which is separate from yourself ‘yours’.” The problem with this position is that it is based on a dualistic idea where what is regarded as “self” and what is regarded as “other” are two forever opposite and disconnected realities with no relation whatsoever. Everything gets utterly confused, Warner says, when we “make those things we desire into our possessions” because “that which you desire to incorporate into yourself was never apart from you to begin with.” Again, it’s like a wave refusing to acknowledge its unity with the rest of the water, and then straining to make itself crest forever.

When Palpatine claims the Sith have mastered the power of life over death, Anakin cannot resist the temptation because at that point he sees himself as something cut off and divorced from life, and has no choice but to turn back on the galaxy and attempt to control it. Warner sums this up by saying, “I suspect that much, perhaps even all, of the ‘evil’ that is done in the world is a kind of test, as a way for the ‘evil-doer’ to try and prove to him- or herself that he or she really is separate from the rest of creation.”

This is the basic schizophrenia of the dark side. All the Sith Lords suffer from a split psyche, so much so that they have to literally create a second dark side persona that begins with “darth.” Rarely has the impossible duality of the conditioned mind been more eloquently expressed than when Anakin is gazing across the Coruscant cityscape toward Padme and she towards him, trapped between the hellish choice of letting her die or turning to the dark side.

Cause and Effect

When Anakin charges into the Chancellor’s office and is forced to (literally) disarm Council leader Mace Windu to save Palpatine, he sets in motion a horrible chain of cause-and-effect, his karmic destiny set by the events of that night. Karma is often thought of as “action,” specifically the actions the ego takes in order to manipulate people and events to its liking. More often than not, it stirs up so much confusion one can no longer see, this action of running faster and faster yet staying in the same place.

In the classic The Way of Zen, Alan Watts defines karma as a kind of action that always requires yet more action, eloquently outlining the path Anakin sets for himself:

Man is involved in karma when he interferes with the world in such a way that he is compelled to go on interfering, when the solution of a problem creates still more problems to be solved, when the control of one thing creates the need to control several others. Karma is thus the fate of everyone who “tries to be God.” He lays a trap for the world in which he himself eventually gets caught.

Anakin desperately needs to control Padme’s fate, which causes him to interfere with Mace Windu’s arrest of Palpatine. This subsequently sets in motion Order 66, where all the Jedi across the galaxy are slaughtered. In an attempt to gain more and more power, Anakin has to march into the Jedi Temple and kill even the younglings, which is symbolic of him killing off the good, innocent parts of himself. This requires still more action when Palpatine orders him to the lava-saturated planet of Mustafar to take care of the Separatist Council.

After his murder of the Separatist leaders, Anakin pauses on a walkway to stare into a black sun, a single tear running down his face as his path is now set (George Lucas himself remarked in a commentary that after the death of Mace Windu, he has no choice but to continue his dark side journey, regardless of whether he wants to or not). Founder of the Buddhist Lodge in London, Christmas Humphries once noted that in Buddhism, “We are not punished because of what we do, but by it,” as Anakin’s tear clearly shows.

By the time Padme confronts Anakin about his actions, though his ego has already crystallized into Darth Vader, building itself up into the biggest and baddest thing in the galaxy, all in an attempt to mask the fears eating away at it. Horrified, Padme tries to get Anakin to leave the newly formed Empire behind, but now he is equally infatuated with power. He even admits he wants to overthrow Emperor Palpatine, saying, “And together, you and I can rule the galaxy. Make things the way we want them to be.” Again, the galaxy is broken, and he wants to fix it.

Yet all of this was born from a desire to shield Padme from an imagined future. His attempt to become more powerful than any Jedi was for her, “to protect [her].” Unfortunately, he never listened to Brad Warner, who candidly wrote, “Ultimately, you can’t ever save anybody from anything but you.”

Anakin fails to see the basic paradox here, which is that the more protection one has, the more one needs. To be completely protected from life is to be completely isolated from life. The only way to insure Padme’s continued safety is to encase her in carbonite and lock her away in a vault somewhere, which would obviously defeat the purpose of keeping her alive. Life in its very essence is insecurity and impermanence, and that is precisely what gives it its rhythm, spontaneity, and joy.

When Obi-Wan arrives on that platform on Mustafar, Anakin’s conditioned ego has totally consumed him. Fearful and paranoid, he shouts to his former master, “You will not take her from me!” His ego can only see Padme as an object now, which is the only way an ego can see things. He angrily paces back and forth, proclaiming that I have a new Empire, and I have brought peace and security to it. Obi-Wan observes he has become the very thing he once fought against, which is a theme of Buddhism as well as Star Wars.

One of the signature moves of the Sith is the Force choke, which is really symbolic of their need to grasp and hold on to life, as opposed to allowing it to flow freely and naturally. During a talk, Alan Watts once likened the ego to “an invisible hand grasping at smoke,” and the Force choke is a nice visual metaphor for those who take seriously the universe’s illusory permanence. Grabbing at one thing inevitably leads to grabbing at another, and it never stops until one is on a platform on Mustafar, choking the life out of the very person they love more than anyone in the galaxy.

Realizing the threat his former padawan has become, Obi-Wan has no choice but to engage him in a ferocious lightsaber duel. The two battle across the structure built to mine the fiery landscape, even as the shields fail and it begins to disintegrate in the lava. Obi-Wan of course gets the upper hand and the higher ground, leaving his limbless opponent burning beside a river of fire. Finally, Vader’s body is wrecked, reflecting the tortured psyche within.

The Self in the Castle

Pieced back together by machines, Vader endures a gruesome resurrection at the hands of Palpatine. Now encased in a menacing black suit, he has literally become the fictional armored ego, the fearsome persona, which he adopted earlier. Imprisoned in this making of himself, he is protected by his life support systems but entombed by them as well.

Breath is of great importance to Buddhist philosophy and practice, as it is our most basic unity with the rest of life. When we breathe in oxygen and breathe out carbon dioxide, we are engaged in reciprocity with the organic world, a kind of giving and receiving that forms the simplest of all symbiotic circles. That Vader’s breathing is mechanical and artificial demonstrates how utterly corrupted and disconnected he has become.

This begins Vader’s time of exile from his original nature. As a young man, his home had once been wherever his mom was and, later, wherever his wife was. With both of them dead, Vader is literally and figuratively homeless, spending decades on Star Destroyers which wander space imposing Imperial law on the citizens of the galaxy.

In his first book, The Spirit of Zen, Alan Watts describes what Vader has become and why he has become it with almost uncanny accuracy:

Briefly, [the Buddha’s] doctrine is that man suffers because of his craving to possess and keep forever things which are essentially impermanent. Chief among these things is his own person, for this is his means of isolating himself from the rest of life, his castle into which he can retreat and from which he can assert himself against external forces. He believes that this fortified and isolated position is the best means of obtaining happiness; it enables him to fight against change, to strive to keep pleasing things for himself, to shut out suffering and to shape circumstances as he wills.

Darth Vader is the perfect visual metaphor of the “self” in the “castle.”

Yet when he transforms his “self” into a fortified castle, there is an enormous price to be paid. It goes beyond never being able to see the world with his own eyes, hear it with his own ears, and touch it with his own skin. It is a walling off of himself, a refusal to be hurt again, that results in a total disconnection from life, light, and love.

Great significance is often attached to facing hard facts, and as he strides about the galaxy in an armored shell, choking Rebel officers during the Empire’s reign of terror, Darth Vader could be said to be the ultimate hard fact. This toughened attitude may work, but with every increase in hardness comes a subsequent loss of sensitivity. Being sensitive does open one up to pain, but it also opens one up to experience in general. As protected as Vader may be in his black armor, it would be impossible for him to enjoy a simple kiss from Padme, or enjoy the feel of the warm sun and cool breezes of Naboo’s Lake Country. His younger self reveled in the “soft” and “smooth” green world, his stilted dialogue nonetheless telling and ironic.

The Taoist sage Lao-Tzu eloquently sums this paradox up nicely, “When people are born they are gentle and soft. At death they are hard and stiff. Suppleness and tenderness are therefore the characteristics of life. Rigidity and hardness are the characteristics of death.”

And death is certainly what Vader deals out, even to his own subordinates. To him, the Imperial officers are merely cogs in the machine that is the Empire. If one malfunctions, it is discarded and replaced much like a broken part. Ironically, he often dispatches his officers by Force choking them, as if karma dooms him to continually enact Padme's demise. Likewise, it could be argued that when he freezes Han Solo in carbonite in Cloud City, he is also acting out what he has done to himself.

After all, until the realization that Luke Skywalker is his son, Vader is spiritually and emotionally frozen too. After Luke’s destruction of the Death Star, he becomes obsessed with finding him, no doubt anxious to turn him into another possession. There are many parallels here that demonstrate Vader is still bound in the chains of karma he forged for himself. He tortures Han Solo and Leia Organa, sending ripples in the Force of Luke’s attachments being threatened, as well as again extending the offer to overthrow the Emperor and rule the galaxy with someone.

Letting Go

After their first lightsaber duel, Luke is battered and broken as well. Learning from Yoda that Vader is his father, he quickly echoes Padme’s last insight that “There is still good in him.” Armed with this faith, he allows himself to be captured on Endor. When Luke confronts Vader, he tells the dark lord he has accepted that he was once Anakin Skywalker, his father. When Vader dismisses the name, Luke tells him, “It’s the name of your true self. You’ve only forgotten.” This “true self” that he speaks of is not the ego, of course, but rather the enlightened buddha consciousness which everyone is originally born into.

Even when Vader presents him to the Emperor as a prize ripe for conversion, Luke still does not give up hope, sensing the “good” in him, the “conflict.” The importance of karuna, or compassion, is central to the Buddhist insight that all life is connected and interdependent. In The Power of Myth, Joseph Campbell translates com-passion as “suffering with,” citing the bodhisattva as one who attains enlightenment but comes back to the world of suffering for all beings anyway.

Very much like a bodhisattva, Luke somehow understands that while his father may be an evil that needs to be destroyed, he is also a person suffering terribly who needs compassion. Thanks to his experience in the cave on Dagobah, he also understands his father is - on some level - himself. Campbell points out that the mythic theme of “atonement with the father” also means at-one-ment with the father. Contrary to his father, though, Luke is so open to life that he realizes he must also accept the possibility of death. It is only by surrendering to the vicious lightning attack of the Emperor that he fittingly finds the cracks in the armor of his long lost father.

Finally opening his heart to someone else again and taking his pain as his own, Vader spectacularly lifts the Emperor up into the air and mightily hurls him down a deep reactor shaft (best moment ever). This act is a totally focused example of one-pointed meditation, an understanding of what needs to be done, and a doing of it.

As Warner describes it in Sit Down and Shut Up, “He isn’t concerned with some future state of enlightenment. He isn’t concerned with addressing whatever wrongs we may have committed in the past. We cannot act in the past or future. We can only act right now.” No longer trapped in the past or attempting to control the future, Vader opens himself to the present moment, and rids the galaxy of the monster ego that wants to rule it forever.

Afterwards, even in the hangar of a Death Star that’s under attack, all Vader cares about is seeing his son “with [his] own eyes.” When Luke protests that he’ll die without the life support of his mask and armor, he calmly replies, “Nothing can stop that now.” Finally, Anakin has made peace with impermanence. He realizes that just as one can only breathe properly by letting go of the breath as opposed to simply holding it in, he can only live again by dying.

Luke carefully takes off his mask, revealing an older, surprisingly frail man. Deathly pale, Anakin nonetheless manages a faint smile for his son. When Luke tells him he has to save him, Anakin assures him he already has. Freed from his armored shell at last, he finally surrenders his ego, lets the suns set, and dies.

His body consumed in a ceremonial pyre, Anakin appears to Luke one final time during the celebration on Endor. No longer imprisoned as Vader, he is a young Jedi knight once more. As his shimmering blue apparition stands beside Yoda and Obi-Wan, it is very difficult not to recall the timeless words of William Blake –

He who binds to himself a joy

Does the winged life destroy

But he who kisses the joy as it flies

Lives in eternity’s sunrise.

* Now available at TheForceCast

A History of Heresy

2011-01-10T18:10:00.000-08:00

The title of this blog originated in an old series I worked on courtesy of Space.com colorfully known as The Phantom Heresies. It was devoted to bringing academic study to the first Star Wars prequel, and was "heretical" in that it was during a time when the films were under fire from critics and some "fans" alike (notice my use of sarcastic quote marks around "fans"). The basic heresy was that Star Wars was worthy of scholarly study, and the results showed that not only was it worthy, but it thrived under it.

Much like the saga itself, this tradition of Star Wars Scholasticism refuses to go quietly into the night. As The Clone Wars continues to blast across the galaxy and win over a third generation of fans, the ForceCast is developing a forum in which Star Wars can once again be critically analyzed and discussed.

These essays are a reminder that this tradition has been around since the start of the prequels, and here are a few excellent examples.

The Jungian analyst Stephen Galipeau framed a great critical review of The Phantom Menace at The Jung Page.

David Begor likewise crafted an excellent look at the symbolism in Attack of the Clones at Bright Lights Film Journal.

And this is a great piece on the Clone Wars series by Jason Tiearney at The Forcecast.

As a side note, I had no idea this existed until a few days ago, but the Saga Journal is a truly inspiring online Star Wars academic site.

Hope you all enjoy as we take our own first steps into a larger world, and realize just how deep the mythos of this wacky space opera runs ...

Reading the Force

2010-12-02T10:48:00.000-08:00

How to Interpret a Galaxy

I think of mythology as the homeland of the muses, the inspirers of art, the inspirers of poetry. To see life as a poem and yourself as participating in a poem is what the myth does for you.

- Joseph Campbell

The Power of Myth

Most Star Wars fans should be familiar with the arresting image in Attack of the Clones when Anakin Skywalker both literally and metaphorically takes his first plunge into the abyss of the dark side.

Searching for his mother who has been captured by Tusken Raiders on Tatooine, Anakin is framed on the side of a cliff overlooking their encampment. Crouching against the backdrop of a night sky filled with stars, he is determined to rescue his mother, no matter the cost. When he dives down to the desert below, his black cloak billowing in the wind, the symbolism is ripe for anyone raised in the Western tradition.

Moments before he slaughters the Tusken Raiders in a blind rage, Anakin literally and figuratively falls out of heaven.

The connections between Star Wars and mythology have been well documented, so much so that it is difficult to read an article or editorial about that galaxy far, far away without said connection being pointed out. If the writer or reporter in question has done any homework whatsoever, he may toss the name “Joseph Campbell” around. If he is even more well-versed on the subject, he might even mention the “Hero’s Journey,” Campbell’s oft-quoted phrase that refers to the sequence of events the archetypal characters of myth and legend eternally enact.

While all these connections are accurate, it’s rare that they are ever pushed any further, or that their implications are explored. Everyone has heard a thousand times how George Lucas created Star Wars to fill the void left by the absence of modern myth. Everyone likewise knows he consulted the now classic book by famed mythologist Joseph Campbell, The Hero With a Thousand Faces. Those paying closer attention realized that Campbell and Lucas enjoyed their own master and padawan relationship, with Bill Moyers’ hit PBS series The Power of Myth even being filmed at Skywalker Ranch.

Still, Joseph Campbell’s work in comparative mythology encompassed far more than tracing the similar threads that mythic heroes followed. Its implications for how we view Star Wars are likewise far more reaching than simply drawing comparisons between the Skywalkers and various characters out of Greek or Arthurian legend. Perhaps Campbell’s finest contribution to the understanding of myth and religion was his insight that such things were poetry, not prose, and should be read accordingly.

Campbell felt that to interpret the epic stories of East and West alike as ancient newspaper reports chronicling long ago events was to miss the point entirely. Throughout The Power of Myth series, he led the conversation back again and again to the idea that the fantastic language of myth is the language of poetry, a language evoking inner dramas and mysteries rather than outlining outer realities and history. For Campbell, myth was almost synonymous with metaphor, a vocabulary of symbols and images pointing to a living experience perpetually playing out in the collective unconscious of every human mind.

When Star Wars is read as poetry rather than prose, the saga has a remarkable tendency to open up into something richer and more profound (much like it did in my example at the beginning). Entire dimensions of meaning can be teased out of it once one begins taking this “first step into a larger world,” as Obi-Wan Kenobi might say. This isn’t too revolutionary. As Campbell pointed out, poetry is a language that has to be “penetrated,” because it offers “implications and suggestions that go past the words themselves.” A competent poet uses his verse to echo beyond itself, doing in words what a painter does when he uses a vanishing point to give the illusion of three dimensions on what is really a flat surface.

Too many critics dismiss Star Wars without taking this step, and so never come to terms with everything the saga has to offer. This is equally true of a lot of things in the Western cultural canon, particularly poetry. Despite modern resistance to verse, however, it really is the language humanity has been speaking since the dawn of civilization.

Myth has almost always been expressed in poetry, dating back to Gilgamesh, the Mesopotamian epic credited as the world’s first story. When Homer told the story of the Trojan War and its aftermath, poetry was his vehicle of choice, and that’s true of his imitator Virgil as well when he spun his tale of Rome’s founding. Our own English tongue produced its original Beowulf in the verse of an unknown bard. This is to say nothing of Dante and Milton who, like Lucas, told their own myths of love and war, fall and redemption.

Regardless of complaints about “wooden” dialogue, it seems only logical that if Star Wars is going to be regarded as modern myth, it’s only half a step away from being regarded as poetry. This isn’t arguing execution (which could be argued forever), so much as intent and style. There are certain criteria that make a poem a poem, and the rest of this essay is going to revolve around whether or not our favorite space opera does indeed fit said criteria.

On a very basic level, there is a certain ineffable, immediate quality that imbues poetry with all its force (or in this case, Force). Emily Dickinson summed it up perfectly when she said “If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.” All I can personally say is that when I first saw the Millennium Falcon blast into lightspeed when I was four years old, I physically felt as if the top of my head had been taken off, and that was that.

It seems doubtful that anyone still reading this doesn’t know exactly what I’m talking about. The very first time a Star Destroyer thundered overhead, bickering droids made their way down a corridor, an armored dark lord of the Sith stepped into that same corridor moments later, a young boy stood dreaming in front of setting twin suns, a humming blue lightsaber activated … the list is endless. All of these images forever imprinted on my psyche, bringing an entire universe to life in their wake. The sheer electricity generated by such moments cannot be rationally explained any more than the best poetry can. As Dickinson remarked, they can only be intuitively experienced.

Beyond this simple emotional recognition, poetry also evokes a rhythmic quality. This is a quality shared by myth, and it is explored in great depth by Mircea Eliade. In The Myth of the Eternal Return, Eliade defines myth as an “indefinite repetition of archetypes,” citing countless examples of primitive people who enacted the same rites and rituals over and over again. Rather than the linear, progressive view of history embraced by the Western world, archaic societies lived in a “sacred history” dictated by endlessly repeated mythic patterns.

Star Wars operates in much the same way, and this has become especially apparent with the completion of the prequel trilogy. In the great DVD documentary The Beginning, George Lucas himself states that his saga is likewise a repetition of archetypes. At one point the Great Flannelled One tells his film crew that young Anakin’s destruction of the Trade Federation ship is purposefully juxtaposed with Luke’s direct hit on the Death Star. “It’s like poetry, they rhyme,” Lucas explains, nicely demonstrating that I’m not just making all this stuff up. He says of the films that “every stanza kind of rhymes with the last one.”

So the archetypal beats and mythic rhythms of Star Wars are intentional, which would explain why they are everywhere, woven into the very fabric of the Skywalker saga. In particular, the prequel and original trilogies contain many images that mirror what has or what will happen.

For instance, when the prequel trilogy begins, there are only two remaining Sith, a master and an apprentice. They are in hiding, confined to the shadows after their order has been destroyed. When the original trilogy opens, the situation has almost completely reversed itself, with only two surviving Jedi in hiding. They are also master and apprentice (or at least they started out that way). The master is introduced in the proverbial ivory tower in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant in the prequels, only to have fallen all the way to the swampy lowlands of Dagobah by the time the original trilogy unfolds. The Sith have conversely ascended to power, with the Emperor occupying a tower on the second Death Star that mirrors its Jedi counterpart.

Even the initial battles of the two trilogies echo each other, with Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi bursting through a smoke-filled corridor attacking battle droids, in much the same way as Darth Vader and his stormtroopers do when fighting rebel troops. Likewise, the final battles of the first and the last film feature Sith lords plummeting to their doom down those bottomless reactor shafts that seem to litter the galaxy. And in both trilogies, there is a young Skywalker to be recruited to one of the opposing sides of the Force.

Beyond their childhoods on Tatooine, Anakin and Luke Skywalker’s paths clearly mirror one another throughout. In the second film of each trilogy, both lose a hand to a Sith lord in a lightsaber battle. When Anakin attempts to turn his son to the dark side, he threatens his attachment to Han and Leia in much the same way as Palpatine exploited his love for Padme. In Revenge of the Sith, Anakin’s face is half-obscured by shadow in Palpatine’s office when he turns to the dark side, much like Luke’s is in Return of the Jedi in the Death Star throne room. Yet as we all know, Anakin picks his lightsaber back up, as opposed to Luke, who slings his away. And when the end of the last trilogy comes, it is the humanizing son who unmasks the father, in contrast with the impersonal machine that first masked him three films prior.

And of course, all the characters “have a bad feeling” about something at one point or another, that vague sense of existential unease lingering in the rhythms of the Force.

But beyond all this, poetry is first and foremost that which transcends its own words, that which always says more than is apparent at first glance. This plays out quite well in A New Hope when old Obi-Wan tells Luke about his father’s fate. When he remarks that Vader “betrayed and murdered” his father, he was of course speaking poetically. During the conversation on Dagobah in Return of the Jedi, he makes the metaphor explicit by admitting that when Anakin adopted the Vader mantle, the good man who was Anakin was “destroyed.” The literal-minded Luke obviously didn’t get the memo that he was in an epic poem, hence the shock of the “I am your father” proclamation.

Poetry, much like Obi-Wan, always operates from “a certain point of view,” containing a flexibility not to be found in prose. Yet because of this, it is very difficult to do much more than scratch the surface of a poem during the first reading. The same is really true of Star Wars, which no doubt so dazzles critics with special effects on their first and often only viewing they sometimes find little else about it to recommend. In the final part of this essay, this interpretive theory will be put to the test by another scene from Attack of the Clones.

Toward the end of that film, Anakin and Padme travel to Geonosis to save Obi-Wan from the fallen Jedi Count Dooku. Both committed to their respective duties of Jedi and Senator, the two have dismissed their romantic feelings for one another, despite the fact that the audience knows their repressed love must bring the twins of the original trilogy into being. Joseph Campbell would have defined this as the “refusal of the call” to adventure, this particular adventure being to awaken certain aspects of their psyches and open them up to a larger emotional experience.

One criticism of the film is the sudden coming together of Anakin and Padme at the end, yet part of their love story is symbolically enacted and worked out during a scene added after the close of production. After being chased out of a cavern by swarming Geonosians, the two find themselves overlooking a vast droid factory, only to be nearly devoured by it. While mostly computer-generated, the adventure through the factory brings them exactly where they need to be to usher a new hope into the galaxy.

As Joseph Campbell stated in The Power of Myth interviews, the “refusal of the summons converts the adventure into the negative.” The refusal of relationship between Anakin and Padme mythically means that what they won’t experience positively, they are going to experience negatively. When the floor retracts from under their feet this fall not only represents their failure, but also “rhymes” with their offspring when they will successfully swing across their own chasm in the Death Star a few films (or stanzas) later.

Campbell also notes in Power how the setting of the story is often a kind of symbolic manifestation of where the characters are internally, and so in this case Anakin and Padme find themselves trapped on the endless conveyor belts of a factory. They have been tossed into a mechanistic world, with “machines making machines” in an almost automated parody of reproduction. After stifling the natural love that would have bloomed between them, they have split their heads from their hearts, and their minds from their bodies.

Surely C-3PO’s eventual decapitation in all the chaos is commentary on this split.

One of Campbell’s favorite motifs out of Native American myth was the “refusal of the suitors,” tales usually starring eligible young women who reject any and all potential mates who try to gain their favor. This motif plays out a little with Padme (as well as with Leia later), who has lulled a part of herself asleep. After all, earlier in the film, she literally was asleep in her quarters on Coruscant, only to wake up when Anakin jumped onto her bed with his lightsaber flashing.

Sometimes a lightsaber is just a lightsaber, but the borderline Freudian imagery continues in the factory when Padme struggles with another Geonosian only to fall into a large, cup-like container. She is carted off against her will by one of the automated machines, whisked away into another part of the factory that looks as though she’s passing through the jaws of hell. The cup is a timeworn feminine symbol, and hers is about to be filled with burning, molten liquid spilling out of a large nozzle. As always, R2-D2 is quietly and efficiently working behind the scenes, the little droid saving her from the symbolism at the last second.

Meanwhile, Anakin is having his own problems. After dispatching several more Geonosians, he still falls prey to machinery, an automated arm knocking him down onto a conveyor belt. His own arm is snared and nearly welded down to a mechanism, rhyming and foreshadowing the years he will spend as “more machine” than man. His failure to woo Padme is reflected in his lightsaber hilt that is neatly split in half, emasculating imagery if ever there was any.

After the two survive all this, is it really a surprise when they pledge themselves to each other in the next scene?

Of course, some will argue Lucas was just trying to sell more video games with yet another generic action scene. Maybe he was, but for me, that’s a really boring interpretation. As the Romantic poet William Wordsworth wrote, not only do we “half-perceive” the world, but we “half-create” it too. This holds as true for us when we sit down with a book of nineteenth century verse as it does when we break out the popcorn and slide a Star Wars DVD into the Playstation. At the end of the day, we’re creating the experience as much as having it, so why not make it as interesting as possible?

That has always been my mantra when it comes to interpreting Star Wars, and continues to be. “Your focus determines your reality” isn’t just a trendy Jedi aphorism, after all. From a certain point of view, Star Wars really is the epic poem of our modern age, taking the timeless themes of mythology and weaving them throughout a vast universe that we’re only beginning to learn how to live in. At its best, it teaches us how to think in multiple dimensions as opposed to only one, and simultaneously turns our eyes to the stars.

Like any good poetry, Star Wars offers a lens through which we can view not only the world from a different vantage point, but also the deep, abiding mystery that is ourselves.

* Also available at TheForcecast

Slower and Less Intense

2010-12-02T10:34:00.000-08:00

A Study of Tera Sinube

Those who are wise won’t be busy, and

those who are too busy can’t be wise.

- Lin Yutang

The Importance of Living

The Clone Wars animated series has consistently capitalized on George Lucas’ famous and oft-quoted maxim concerning the overall direction of the Star Wars saga, “Faster and more intense.” Almost every week, fans are treated to furious lightsaber duels, fighters spinning and wheeling against the vast backdrop of space, and enormous battles that erupt across countless alien worlds.

Not to mention more star-streaking jumps to lightspeed than even the films themselves offered.

Yet in the season two episode Lightsaber Lost, the “faster and more intense” mantra is cleverly subverted by the character of Tera Sinube, an elderly Jedi master who is pulled back into active duty by a young padawan in need of his assistance. His particular brand of expertise not only helps reunite her with the missing lightsaber of the title, but single-handedly calls into question the tacit assumption that “faster and more intense” is the only way to live life in that galaxy far, far away.

While boasting its fair share of breathless chases and epic stunts, Lightsaber Lost also offers a quiet philosophy at its core, and the Tera Sinube character is its beating heart. Doing what Star Wars does best, this story is served well by stunning visuals and the best computer animation available, but it carries with it timely and timeless themes celebrating not simply patience, but the surprising virtues of moving slowly.

Not long after the episode begins, the padawan Ahsoka Tano abruptly realizes her lightsaber has been stolen by one of the many thugs populating the Coruscant underworld. Though growing increasingly skilled in the ways of the Force, the Jedi learner is also proud and impetuous, and decides not to confide to her master that her saber was taken during their mission.

After all, she’s been the last in a long line of padawans receiving the “this weapon is your life” speech.

Of course, the lightsaber itself has always been more than simply a weapon. Since the beginning of the saga, it has been the symbol of “a more civilized age,” the thing that immediately sets the Jedi apart. George Lucas has used the saber to echo back to the stories of the knights of the Round Table and the samurai, evoking times in our own fabled past when honor was paramount. The glowing blades also conjure up the flaming swords of Biblical and Buddhist lore, whether it be the ones angels used to guard the way into the Garden of Eden, or the one the bodhisattva Manjushri used to cut away ignorance and delusion.

Perhaps it is not too much to say that the lightsaber is the humming soul of the Jedi who meticulously crafts and constructs it, and maybe that’s what our little Togruta padawan really lost.

With nowhere else to turn, the bereft Ahsoka marches into the vast Archives in the Jedi Temple. It is there that Jocasta Nu, the galactic archetype for knowledgeable librarians everywhere, guides her to a new mentor. As a retired Jedi sleuth, Tera Sinube is an alleged expert in the Coruscant underworld, and Jocasta assures Ahsoka he will be most helpful on her quest. For her part, Ahsoka is considerably less sure about this, especially when they finally discover the Cosian master nestled away at a computer console, having clearly dozed off in the middle of his research.

While Ahsoka is not impressed and Sinube himself insists he was only “resting my eyes,” for me this scene calls into sharp contrast another old patriarch of the galaxy. Let’s be honest. It’s almost impossible to imagine a Republic senator or corporate power broker ever walking into Palpatine’s office and finding the Supreme Chancellor contently snoozing at his desk. Generally speaking, catching someone enjoying a quiet little nap in the middle of the day is a good indication that the being in question is at least not a power-driven lunatic trying to take over the galaxy. This alone speaks volumes about Sinube.

Anyway, Ahsoka is naturally worried that the elder Jedi is going to slow down her pursuit and, in classic fairy tale style, it is true that Sinube doesn’t cut a particularly impressive figure at first (especially when he finally rises from his station and is so bent over with age he remains the same height as when he was sitting). Their relationship is pretty clearly established in this scene, with Ahsoka anxiously pacing around while he fumbles and mumbles around the computer database. Though Sinube’s hokey pun about “fishy” aliens pulls a grimace out of Ahsoka, she is nonetheless relieved when he manages to track down the thief in question.

With the suspect identified, Ahsoka is ready to launch the quest for her lightsaber. She tellingly refers to Sinube as “gramps,” predictably squirming and backing away before he can follow. She’s obviously looking for a tactful way of ditching the old guy, not unlike a teenage girl who’s terrified a grandparent might want to accompany her to the mall. But Sinube hasn’t been on assignment in years, and sagely warns Ahsoka, “if you don’t slow down, you won’t find what you’re looking for.”

As the unlikely pair journey to one of the capital’s slum districts, their fast and slow dynamic becomes even more apparent. Ahsoka is quick to flare up and demand to know who’s been trying to sell her missing saber. By contrast, Sinube follows his nose, going along with the various alien dealers they meet up with, more or less just staying alert and letting the exchanges play out as they will. Pretty soon, the elderly Jedi master learns the whereabouts of Bannamu the pickpocket, though he still insists on moving slowly and deliberately throughout the investigation.

The ideas of “fast” and “slow” are about more than mere changes in rates of speed in this episode, and the same holds true for Canadian journalist Carl Honore. As opposed to a simple shifting of gears, Honore describes them as shorthand for “ways of being, or philosophies of life.”

In his cheerfully subversive, internationally bestselling book In Praise of Slowness, Honore posits that “Fast is busy, controlling, aggressive, hurried, analytical, stressed, superficial, impatient, active, quantity-over-quality.” Interestingly enough, some of those attributes almost smell of the dark side. “Slow is the opposite,” he argues, adding it is “calm, careful, receptive, still, intuitive, unhurried, patient, reflective, quality-over-quantity.” By contrast, plenty of light side mantras lurk in that definition.

To Honore, slowness doesn’t mean mere sluggishness, but rather taking the time to make real connections with ourselves and the world. Modern culture finds itself precariously out of balance because all the emphasis is on speed, and the virtues of going fast have been eaten up by the law of diminishing returns. Our society is therefore largely defined by traffic jams, road rage, overwork, ringing alarm clocks, sleep deprivation, instant coffee, microwaved meals, fast food, violent indigestion, and the perpetual need for faster and faster Internet connections.

Maybe all of this has something to do with the fact that the average American attention span is somewhere under eight seconds and maybe it doesn’t, but it does eloquently outline much of the subtext found in Lightsaber Lost.

Tera Sinube’s philosophy continues to play out in the scene when he and Ahsoka are creeping along the halls of Bannamu’s hideout. Sinube chastises his young ward, warning her that she needs to be quieter. Ahsoka grumpily acknowledges him, but she doesn’t get his real meaning.

“Not quiet with your mouth,” he explains, “Quiet with your mind.” Sinube tells Ahsoka that her “worry is equal to his,” and that if only her busy mind would grow silent, she could sense the thief’s anxiety.

Again, this is the kind of ancient wisdom that is sprinkled throughout Star Wars. The Jedi and the Force have been linked with Eastern philosophy since the saga began, with more than one lightsaber-wielding adept spouting proverbs which could have just as easily sprung from the mouth of a spiritual master in China or

Japan

centuries ago. The line about quieting one’s mind is actually one of the aphorisms of the Indian sage Patanjali, who noted that the beginning of yoga was the slowing of the perpetual turnings of our consciousness. Tera Sinube operates in this sphere of enlightened teachers, all of whom have traditionally valued silence over speech and stillness over action.

In his seminal book The Way of Zen, Alan Watts wrote that the first principle of any of the Far Eastern arts is that “hurry, and all that it involves, is fatal.” Zen Buddhism in particular is not about chasing after things like truth, but rather getting out of its way and allowing truth to reveal itself to you. Part of Zen discipline conversely means accepting that this is a process, and one that can’t be hurried any more than an acorn can be hurried into an oak tree. From this point of view, putting a finish line at the end of the race unnecessarily separates the beginning from the end, when it’s all really one process. As Watts remarked, “for it is when there is no goal and no rush that the human senses are open to receive the world.”

This is precisely what Sinube is slyly teaching Ahsoka throughout the episode, but in part he’s also letting her find it out for herself. After all, there has always been much talk in the Jedi philosophy about “letting go.” It is the same in the Zen arts, for it is only when one lets things happen rather than egotistically trying to make them happen that life starts functioning properly. The art is to let the canvas paint itself, the flowers arrange themselves, and even the arrow find its own way to the target.

Or in the case of Tera Sinube, it’s pretty much about letting the criminals capture themselves.

After interrogating the truly fishy Bannamu, Sinube and Ahsoka travel to the upper east side, where a being named Nack Movers lives. Or at least, he had once lived there. Not long after purchasing Ahsoka’s lightsaber, poor Nack is dead on his apartment floor.

When our two Jedi arrive, they not only find Nack’s lifeless body, but his quivering girlfriend Ione Marcy. Sinube senses that Ione seems terrified of something other than the gang who allegedly killed her Transdoshan snuggle-bunny (my phrasing). Still impatient, Ahsoka stomps into the adjacent room, and is confronted by another girl by the name of Cassie Cryar. Once Ahsoka spots her beloved lightsaber in Cassie’s hand, she sees the mask-sporting thief dive out the window.

As Ahsoka gives chase, Sinube seemingly acts as a comfort to Ione, while simultaneously planting a tracking beacon on her. Ever the sleuth, he teases out information about the crime scene Sherlock Holmes-style, noting that not only was Nack Movers poisoned, but that Ione has a very hard time keeping her odd alien hands from shaking. Sinube finally tells her she wasn’t afraid because her Transdoshan love-muffin (still my phrasing) was killed, but rather because she was in league with the saber-stealing girl. When Ione gives herself away and bursts out of the apartment, Sinube simply shakes his head and sadly laments, “Off she goes. Always rushing.”

During all this, Ahsoka and Cassie have taken rushing to a whole new level, a stunning chase ensuing across the endless Coruscant skyline. Unfortunately for the still saberless padawan, Cassie is an incredibly nimble Terrelian Jango Jumper, one capable of acrobatic feats that could rival that of a Force-user. The pursuit across the rooftops is truly amazing, with both girls diving, flipping, leaping, and pouncing from one narrow ledge to the next.

Yet, predictably, all these death-defying jumps are to no avail, as Ahsoka loses her quarry. In one of the more memorable bits of the episode, our young Togruta heroine winds up sliding down a giant animated billboard of a Stalin-esque Palpatine, who’s busy spreading baseless, anti-Jedi propaganda (again, one of the worst things about wannabe galactic tyrants is that they never seem to catch up on their sleep, much less take a day off).

After borrowing a police speeder with maybe the help of a mind-trick or two, Sinube putters up to the side of a building where his student has had no choice but to finally stop hurrying and sit down. Pleased she’s finally learning patience, Sinube invites her on the little speeder, though when’s he behind the controls, “speeder” is pretty much a misnomer. The two crawl across the skylanes as the rest of the flying traffic furiously races by. Ahsoka turns impatient teenager again until Sinube calmly explains he planted a tracking beacon on Ione, and there’s no rush because he knows right where the femme fatales are fleeing to.

Soon after the Jedi odd couple arrives at the hover train station where the beacon is transmitting, Ione Marcy stumbles into the waiting arms of some police droids. As Sinube coolly addresses how rude she was to hurry off in the middle of their conversation, Ahsoka once more gives chase to Cassie Cryar, who speeds away on a hover train. Wildly wielding the stolen saber with all the finesse of a Kowakian monkey-lizard, Cassie crashes into a passenger car and grabs some hostages.

Ahsoka does give a moment’s pause here and, to her credit, tries to negotiate with the panicked Jango Jumper. Yet when the train pulls into the next station, it is Sinube who saves the day. Like a formidable oak that has been planted there waiting all along, he stands in the way when the train doors slide open. Suddenly revealing that his wicked cool cane pulls double duty as a lightsaber, he snaps the flashing blue blade into action. With several fluid moves, he effortlessly disarms Cassie and deftly flicks Ahsoka’s saber right into her waiting hand. Using the other half of his cane, he knocks Cassie out, and she is soon in the hands of the authorities.

Reunited with her saber, Ahsoka is properly awestruck. “For a guy who moves slow,” she admits, “you always seem to get ahead of me.” As centered as ever, Sinube merely replies, “The value of moving slowly is that one can always clearly see the way ahead.” This is surely a bit of wisdom the Jedi Order as a whole could have learned from, particularly as they stumble through the “cloud of the dark side” obscuring the real reasons for the Clone Wars.

Master and padawan return to the Jedi Temple, that towering structure that grew as slowly as the wisdom that fostered the whole Order. In the end, Sinube gently requests that Ahsoka only “pass on” what she has learned, and she does exactly that. The episode calls back to the interplay of the young and the old that was once quite common among tribal cultures still living out their myths and sacred stories. The timeless truths were passed on into new hearts and minds, from one generation to the next. As we watch Ahsoka learn a new way of knowledge and experience from Sinube, that archetypal rhythm has once again found another chord.

Tera Sinube was born out of The Clone Wars series, but he has a certain quality about him that makes him seem as though he’s been patiently waiting his turn backstage since that first opening crawl rolled up into space. Perhaps that’s why his championing of slowness is down to an art form. Charming and humorous, he represents what was best about the Jedi Order before the Empire and the Dark Times. He’s also a quiet reminder that, as cool and exhilarating as it is to make the jump into hyperspace, in order to really feel and appreciate our kinship with the stars, sometimes we have to cut right to the sublight engines, and just let ourselves coast.

“Wisely, and slow,” Shakespeare himself advised. “They stumble that run fast.”

* Also available at Forcecast.net