In my previous post about Star Wars I said that religion is the acting out of a myth on a group level. You enter within yourself with the aid of the myth and confront your opposing forces and re-integrate, healing and bringing yourself back into balance and harmony. Our culture has divorced itself from this reality, confusing the mistakes of groups of people for the activity that made that group so powerful to begin with. In a possibly coincidental move our modern society has stripped out all its art and made horrific buildings for us to worship and live in, denying the existence of the soul and telling us that religion is merely something you learn with your head, not something that plays out in your heart. We call this liturgy, the work of the people.
The traditionalist in me wants to blame Protestantism for de-mythologizing Christianity, but the simple fact of the matter is they reframed the mythology into an extended Sermon on the Mount, complete with more comfortable seating. But that's not who we as Catholics and Orthodox are, is it? No, we live the Paschal cycle in our worship: the passion, death, resurrection, and ascension of Jesus is played out every Sunday. We enter this myth, we relive it, and God touches down and we are made like Him. The story becomes reality in us, Christ really is there, in the Eucharist. What happens on the outside (the Consecration) moves into us and we are changed.
But how do we do this? The key to reliving a myth is creating a trance-like state in whoever is celebrating it. All religions have realized that the ability to reach into ourselves and individuate requires an altered consciousness, which means changing the material world around us in a way that allows us to slip into this trance more easily until it becomes second nature. Generally these environments are designed down to the last detail because us humans are rather picky animals and need specific things to get us into this trance. Roman Catholics, with their emphasis on the closeness of Christ to us, traditionally use statuary, while us Easterners, who emphasize the transcendence of God, use 2D imagery in the form of icons. Our American sensibilities would have us think that simple and plain is a good idea, but the closer this space matches our own the worse it is at its job. The closer the worship space resembles a dream the better.
Which brings us to the problem of pews. This is a pretty emotional issue I've found. For whatever reason people seem to think that by eliminating pews there will no longer be a place to sit and they won't be taken care of. Sitting is safe. Sitting is secure. But the kingdom of God suffers violence and the violent take it by force and violence is not associated with sitting, by and large. Most dreams don't feature sitting either. Now, like I'd said before, Protestants get a bit of a pass, because their model seems to the Sermon on the Mount, where the crowds learned from Jesus. Since we associate sitting with learning it's a good symbol and symbols are king in dream-world. But that's not the model us apostolic Christians use. No, we follow Christ up Mount Calvary, watch Him die, and go to the tomb to find it empty and ascend with and in Christ in the Spirit to be with the Father. We picked the myth with a lot of walking, standing around and waiting, and then staring up at the sky in wonder. And, since our bodies must participate in the myth, we have to get them moving. We're not sitting around and waiting for Christ to comes to us, we're going with Him every Sunday, hopefully a little farther each time. Your body must participate.
Of course there's the inevitable backlash against the suggestion that we undo a Protestant innovation. What about the sick? The elderly? The pregnant? What if I broke my leg? Or what I stand every day for 12 hours? The list of questions of infirmity go on and on.The Church is a hospital, not torture chamber. If you're tired, sit down! No church I'm aware of that did this (and they all did until Protestantism went with a different myth) didn't have a ring of benches around the edge so that way if you needed to, you could sit. Or, y'know, sit on the floor. You are a child of God, after all, it is your house.
But maybe you're still not convinced. Maybe that's too much of a hurdle for you to wrap your head around. It's understandable. We associate churches with pews here in America. Without pews what on earth would you do? If you get the opportunity (which is rare here in the States) try it out for a good month or three. Get your body used to being free of that padded coffin you've been confined to all your life. If, at the end of your little experiment your experience of liturgy hasn't been markedly better then tell me I'm full of it. That's fine. But don't knock it till you try it!
Until then, however, live out the story. It's possible to get more images in our churches, and indeed we must. To not have images is not Christian, it's a requirement by Ecumenical Council, right up there with believing that Christ is God and God is Trinity. Your senses must be a part of your worship. It is required and has been for a very long time now. Go and be a part of the story, as opposed to bring a spectator.
Like all big projects it's hard to get a grasp on Star Wars. Before I even thought about writing this series on a blog I watched I-III, Rogue, and then IV-VII 8 times, blowing up my Facebook with my thoughts as they came to me, and then watched VIII 3 times. My knowledge of the canon outside of these films isn't complete, but I've seen most of Rebels and Clone Wars and read some of the comics and am aware of some of the developments in the novels. So I think I've got a decent idea of what Star Wars is.
So what is it?
Star Wars is mythology. This is the first and most important point and it cannot be overstated. I try not to reference Lucas or anyone else's vision for this series, but it's important that he made Star Wars based on the monomyth by Joseph Campbell. Genre is a huge part of approaching a work and the fact that Star Wars is mythology changes the ball game.
So what is mythology? Contrary to popular belief, a myth is not some fanciful lie that a whole lot of people have bought into. That's an invention of our ridiculous Western culture and is relatively recent. A myth is a story that is always true, if not always factual. This is because myths are meant to be played out on an interior level. Myths are not so much a direct message but a series of scenarios that, when entered into and played out in our psyches, creates a message. And, while there's a generally consistent message that most people will agree with, the genius of the myth is that since it's a story, as opposed to a non-narrative, people will come to their own conclusions as well. This means that a myth will generate commentary on it and create its own culture over time.
Religion is a group activity of acting out a myth. Religious people may argue this, but this is refuted simply by asking Catholics how many times they pictured themselves at the foot of the cross or Orthodox put themselves in the place of the Publican or to ask any Christian why we have services on Sunday, not Saturday or Tuesday or any other day ending in Y.
Star Wars is an intergenerational tale. The question of Star Wars is a complicated one: is a problem isolated to one generation? Or does it go down the generations, showing up in different ways in different people? And how do you resolve it? It's a question most don't think to ask. We assume that our issues are isolated to just us because Westerners are raised in a highly individualistic society that forgets we are as communal as we are individual. While this answer isn't surprising for atheists it's a huge surprise that it's the common gut response most Christians would give. My knowledge of other faiths is lacking enough to where I don't want to try and characterize them, but I doubt that Hindus would say no... maybe. Dunno. I'm Eastern Christian. I'll just stick to what I know.
Most Christians I know would definitively say that our problems are our own, until they remember that generational sin is a very real and scriptural thing and that Jesus not only doesn't cancel it but tells His apostles that all the sins of the previous generations will fall on the Hebrews of the generation He was living in, as shown by the destruction of the Temple 40 years later.
But, having remembered this, they'll shrug and forget about it. This is a colossal mistake.
And atheists, before you think this is something you can skate around, think again. Transgenerational trauma is a thing. Before you say "But it's wikipedia!" go look at the sources. We inherit trauma somehow. So it makes a difference what happened in your family tree, even if you didn't know your parents. Proving this is beyond the scope of this blog (and this author) but suffice it to say I've had enough experiences with transgenerational trauma to know they're onto something.
Hilariously missing the point.
Star Wars is not about any single world issue. Please stop thinking it is. From the ridiculous "Star Wars ruined my childhood" to "The Last Jedi professes feminism" to "Star Wars is about the elevation of fantasy in modern cinema" just... stop. Please. Mythology doesn't give a damn about what's going on in the world right now. Even if the intent of the creator was to promote feminism or promote fantasy and hope in cinema or cynicism- or whatever other random garbage is going on this week- mythological concerns trump, subvert, and banish any and all un-mythological methods foisted upon it. And that's because the mythological story itself is only half of the equation. You, by bringing yourself to the story, are the other half of mythology. Someone may intend harm by making a myth but they can't take over your half of the equation. Even the worst myth I've ever seen, Batman vs. Superman, can be worked out to the good of a person if that's what they intend. And I think Snyder is the most poisonous filmmaker of the last ten years! Even he can't wreck you if you don't wish it.
Mythology requires you to set aside the world and sink down into your mind and actually think. If you're going to watch Star Wars or interact with any other type of mythology you're going to have to let go of everything you think you care about and just be.
Star Wars is primarily visual in its story-telling. This is a tricky one, because most people are going to say "It's a movie, duh." But it's a statement that requires more thought. Star Wars tells stories by showing you a series of images, like any other movie. But, unlike a lot of other movies, Star Wars requires that you take the image first and primarily. Not dialogue, not exposition, not even music! The image is primary. You actually have to know how to look at images and deconstruct them, an act most of us are not familiar with doing. It's not something I pretend to be a master of either, in all honesty, but there are a few rules that, followed properly, completely transform the experience of Star Wars. This is the visual shorthand I've picked up on.
From left to right is good, from right to left is bad. We watch movies the same way we read, which for us Westerners means that something coming from the left is going to perceived as comfortable and good, whereas from the right is uncomfortable and bad. Star Wars uses this rule exhaustively and you'll need to know it to make sense of any of my commentary at all. And in the same vein up to down is descent into darkness and going up is rising from darkness.
If two scenes are butted up against each other they are related purposefully. Without this rule literally nothing in Star Wars makes sense. You may, again, say "But the only reason why movies work is because juxtaposed scenes relate!" And you'd be right, but what might seem like coincidence and something weird is not in Star War. This rule will especially come to play in the much-maligned Prequels where Lucas links entire scenes together that we're not used to see being strung together.
Color is very important. This, of course, refers to constant white/grey/black color symbolism of Star Wars, although there are lot more symbols than that. But the thing is that colors can have more than one meaning. White doesn't just mean purity and goodness, it also means naivete. Black doesn't just mean evil and the abyss, it also stands for single-purposed and mystery (which is probably why our clergy and monks wear the color so often). The same applies to lightsaber colors, which are summed up nicely in the below video.
Star Wars is not about good vs. evil. Peter Lee, regarded as one of the biggest Star Wars fans of all time, had this to tell me about Star Wars at one point: "Star Wars is not about Good vs. Evil. It's about learning to tell the difference between the two." What most people think is moral confusion is merely the demand that you actually think and process what you're seeing. Nothing in Star Wars is actually simple, not anymore. If you miss those days and wish to stick with Episode IV you're more than welcome to do so, but this analysis sure won't.
Star Wars is not about answers. Come to think of it most mythology isn't, but is instead an examination of conscience in story form, an inventory you're supposed to take of yourself. In that case who cares where the dragon and your own inner demons came from? Finding out why they exist doesn't make them go away, only either killing them (like in most versions of St. George) or taming it and making it your servant (the minority and probably truer view) does the trick. So it doesn't matter how old the Jedi order is or who Snoke is or even where any of the main characters got their power from. The fact is they have it and so do you.
You are Anakin
You are Luke
You are Rey
And Han and Finn and Leia and Darth Vader and Tarkin and all of them, all at once. That's what's important, not whether or not Luke was thinking about killing himself on Ach-To or not. Stop asking needless questions and sink down into your consciousness and get to work.
Star Wars is a ring plot. Star Wars accomplishes all the above points with what's call a ring composition. Much better men than I have written about this before, and so I hope they don't mind if I simply link to them and stand on their shoulders. But, in case anyone doesn't want to read 9 pages of brilliance, a ring plot is where the ending is the beginning. Each movie is a ring unto itself and each trilogy is a ring unto itself and, with the the completion of the third trilogy, the whole thing will (probably) be a complete ring.
Star Wars' rings, however, are not necessarily plot based, but are image and situation-based. I'll try and point this out as we go, but if you're still confused, please look at Dr. Seuss up above as that's the perfect ring plot. The juxtaposition of images creates a story based off of comparison, not plot, which takes a back seat to the random associations we form in our heads when we stop trying to control what we think and just exist, which creates thoughts quite naturally. Star Wars accomplishes this with a very basic structure: opening scenario, subversion of the scenario, and repeating the beginning with the subversion folded into it.
Don't believe me? Let's start with the one movie we can argue didn't have this in mind, A New Hope. We start with a battle that ends in the leader walking down a corridor between soldiers. It's a scene of death and horror, instigated by a lonely old soul in a walking iron lung. Fear rules the day.
What do we end with?
A group of friends who just came back from a huge battle. They're hale and whole and happy. There's no fear here, but hope instead. These images are meant to be compared and contrasted on an analogical level because they are messages in and of themselves and are what the plot was made for.
One could argue this was done by accident, but if it was Lucas certainly kept repeating the accident over six films. After a certain point it's just stubbornness to say differently, but people can be surprising. Like I said, I'll get more into each episode as it comes up, but suffice it to say this is how Star Wars has been from the beginning. And most of us probably missed it on a conscious level. Whether that's a flaw or a feature is up for debate. I certainly don't know. Regardless, the ring theory is what I'll be using to examine the current 9 films.
Star Wars is not an easy thing to dissect. Most of us have had the mythology and wonder and inquisitiveness blasted out of our heads over the course of our life and it's hard to regain it. What's worse, most of us don't notice it's gone, we've been so thoroughly brainwashed to think that the funny little vapid stories that get made by our society should be more important than the only story that matters: yours. And Star Wars is intentionally set up to play you out against yourself, to see your foibles and evils on the silver screen, for only you to see, and try and figure how to best stop the interior violence most of us have numbed ourselves to. Stop ignoring your story. The fate of you depends on it.
This is the beginning of a long, long series of reviews about Star Wars. When I think about Last Jedi and what I want to say on it I find myself wanting to say something about the whole series and so I'll start at the beginning: Episode I. Yeah, you're probably headdesking that, but numerically it's the first episode in the series, so that's where I'm going to start. But first I have to ask a simple question: when looking at art do we look at the piece first or the creator? The work or the intentions that went into the work?
See, before a certain point, I would have probably said look at the creator and his intent, not the work. I mean, it's so easy for us to do that these days, isn't it? With DVD extras and journals and blogs and all the access we have to the mind of the creators it's just as entertaining to look at what was being made as the end product.
Then I went to a psych ward.
In a story that I may tell someday, I got shipped to a psych ward as part of my illustrious career in the Army. It's a long story, but those are definitely places you want to stay out of if you are sane. And the cookies are not as good as what were advertised to me in years past, sadly enough. Fortunately the particular one I was in allowed us to draw with pencils but I couldn't have a drawstring in my shorts because of the fear I'd hang myself with it, nevermind the fact that the string in that thing probably wasn't long enough to do such a thing. Life is weird sometimes, but I digress. As part of passing the time I would draw compositions for paintings that I had in mind whenever I got out. I had been checked in as more of a precaution as opposed to being in actual danger and I was feeling the need to get out so I fantasized about paintings I would make once they finally realized that I wasn't actually crazy, just in need of some help.
A Russian Orthodox chaplain came in and saw my sketches and recognized them for being icon sketches. He took a look at one of my compositions and started chatting with me about it. As we talked he completely broke the piece down, commenting on my choice of figures and placement as well as one detail that was completely wrong but still added a layer of theology to the piece that I had never even considered. I normally put a whole lot of thought into how I set things up so I was surprised that he had found things in what I had drawn that I could never have considered, because the piece was far too close to me to see it properly. And yet he had added something to it that I would never have considered. But he was correct, the piece did speak that particular way. The piece was independent from me, even if it was mine. My thoughts and my dreams went into that humble little sketch, but in the end its statement was not the one I intended, even if my intentions were still part of its make-up.
And that's most definitely true of Star Wars. We have this idea that somehow Star Wars was finished and so therefore we knew what it was, which is clearly not the case. Star Wars continues and, like it or not, that means the content will change. And that the sum of that statement will be more than Lucas, Abrams, or Johnson intended. And that statement is more than the original trilogy now, by a long shot. Gone are the days when we thought we could make do with "good" Luke saving "bad" Vader, although to be honest those days were never here to begin with. Star Wars was almost always intended to be more than the Original Trilogy.
And let's get this out of the way: it was never the Legend material. Never. While there's some good stuff in there like the Thrawn trilogy you get much closer to Dark Empire more often than not. Lucas never intended to be beholden to the EU, considering it secondary. Disney had every right to remove most of it from canon and, while there are some aspects that are good and I'll miss them, the vast majority of it was nothing more than glorified fan fiction that made tons of cash. The morality of that is... not really questionable. I don't think it should have been done to begin with, especially since Lucas never intended to honor it. But yet, here we are, decades later, with a lot of people thinking that decades of fanfiction is Star Wars. It's not.
So what is Star Wars? What are we going to use in this obsessively long and probably insane review of it? We'll deal with what Star Wars as a whole says next week, but for the purposes of this review it's the movies. There's so much to cover just there that, for the moment, we'll just stick to the movies, bringing in bits from the TV shows and comics and novels as they're pertinent. But that's it. I'll be leaving DVD extras and what George intended by the side and what others think he intended by the side, far away. I suppose that means I'll try and be objective. We'll see if I succeed.
Dark is a very odd show. The first two episodes are some of the most excruciating hours I've spent watching in my life. But it changes at the third episode. What began as a somber knockoff of Stranger Things turns into a unique show that, while its plot is predictable, becomes an interesting character study that uses time travel to speak about humanity in a way I hadn't have anticipated.
Let's get those two episodes out of the way. They're really slow and grating and the characters are very hard to like. I had no idea from those two episodes why the reviews I'd read raved about the show, so I decided to go to the third episode and I would quit after that. I'm really glad I did, but it certainly wasn't for the plot. Every cliche in the book is used here. If you've seen any time travel movie for more than five minutes you know what's coming up. I obviously don't want to speak more about it than that, but just know that you can probably see it coming a mile away.
So what in the world did I like about Dark? Somehow the sum is greater than the parts that make it up. As I progressed through the show I was given more and more information about the characters and find that, as horrible as some of these people could be, I started to care. The situations flip and flip and flip and all of a sudden you realize that you've lost track of the plot because you're keeping track of this huge cast of characters who have a gigantic amount of information about them. Eventually it all just gels together into this huge statement about humanity and how limited we are and how beautifully flawed we are and all of a sudden the first season is over and you're wondering how you got sucked in...
That's pretty much exactly how that worked for me. The first two hours crawled and the next eight flew right by. I don't want to say anything more than that cause I probably ruined most of the surprises in store, but honestly if you're going into this show for the plot you're probably going to be highly disappointed. Go for the wonderfully broken circus show that is humanity. Go for it. Maybe you can tell me how the heck I got sucked in.
"By praying for those who wrong us we overthrow the devil; opposing them we are wounded by him."
-St Mark the Ascetic, On the Spiritual Law
To be wronged by another or to witness wrong is a horrific thing. Even witnessing a wrong is an injury to the soul, because we're all human and share a common bond. But it's imperative that we forgive others because not only did someone do something unnatural to you by harming you but they committed something unnatural against themselves; evil hurts the perpetrator, not just the victim. But it's easy for the victim to forget this and twist the hurt to put themselves in a far worse state of hurt than what the perpetrator did to them. This isn't to downplay the original wound, far from it! But to hate the one who wounds you only makes the wound worse. Hate will not The only way to fix this is to repent of the hatred for your enemy and pray for them.
All people start off with a basic trust of others as children, who are aware of the bonds that are between all things. A lot of people later in life comes to think of as a naïve dream. They couldn't be more wrong; we are all connected by virtue of being human and sharing in the same nature. We are to see everyone and everything as intrinsically connected and therefore worthy of love, because to love others is to love yourself. The Fathers teach that only when we love everyone in this way, as God does, that we are purified of the passions, which are the thoughts and sentiments that stop us from objective thought.
But the offense and harm others give us tempt us to give up this love and objectivity. Being wronged by another creates a crisis within someone's soul. It challenges the basic trust that we all have in men, a trust that is only too easy to give up. We must not do this, under any circumstance, because denying that connection we have to others is only denial and is not an actual cutting of ties. You can't say "Because so-and-so hurt me I withdraw my connection from him". That's logically absurd, because your decision to say you cut ties with your enemy is only possible because you have a connection to your enemy in the first place! What sad folly, to accept the lie that we can forget the ones who hurt us, that connection is only determined by pleasure and happiness, when connection is gained by merely existing; by virtue of that person existing you are connected to them. All we do by denying this is to stop up our ears and eyes. But the tragedy grows. Denying something so obvious only makes us hurt worse and so, eventually, that person becomes a god to us, a god that we must run from at all costs. And so we board ourselves up in our own little private prisons, trying to keep the memory of that person from the rest of us, locking the portion of ourselves that is connected to that hateful perpetrator that we loathe. We then fracture and suffer a far worse wound than what was originally dealt to us. We then condemn ourselves to Hell.
This atrocity is committed with the sin of anger, of which St. John Cassian says there is no actually healthy variety in his work On the Eight Vices. "Leaves, whether gold or lead, placed over the eyes, obstruct the sight equally, for the value of the gold does not affect the blindness it produces." Anger can only be used against two things: the passions within us and the demons that cause those passions. Nothing else deserves our anger, nothing at all, even those that hurt us. And since, as St. Mark the Ascetic says in On the Spiritual Law: "Just as a thought is made manifest through actions and words, so is our future reward through the impulses of the heart. Thus a merciful heart will receive mercy, while a merciless heart will receive the opposite."
This, of course, is heard too late for majority of us so we can avoid anger. Generally speaking wounds that give us the opportunity to start denying connections happen when we're far too young to process what we're doing. Some of us lost this love of neighbor years, sometimes decades, ago and have trained hatred into our very bodies; habits have a physical component, after all. Sin is a lot more than a decision, it's a habit, a series of decisions ingrained into our nervous systems. The decision to not see God is a way of life. The only way to fix this problem is to change it back to the way God intended, to repent.
How do we do repent? The Fathers are very clear about what we should do, which is to pray for one's enemies. In "A Night in the Desert of the Holy Mountain" by Metropolitan Hierotheos Vlachos the anonymous Gerondas advises to pray the Jesus Prayer as "Lord Jesus Christ have mercy on your servant" as the formula for praying for others. Names should be left aside, because God knows who you wish to pray for and what they need. And, as Saint Nicolai Velimorivich says in his classic prayer "Bless My Enemies, Oh Lord" enemies are the servants of God, our cruel friends. Our enemies still have the image of God in them and are, no matter their intentions, channels of grace from God. We may not like what grace they impart, but it doesn't change that grace comes from them.
But anyone who tries this way of life figures out very quickly that it's not just hard, but impossible. What's done to anyone is too much to bear because, no matter what happens, a human cannot actually solve human problems. It's normal to feel heights of forgiveness, only to fall into something that looks even worse than what you were before. The key, as with anything, is to keep going. Don't deny whatever pain it was that was dealt, just refuse to stay in it, but forgive and ask God to have mercy on you for your cold hard heart. At the end of the day God is merely waiting for you to finally realize that you mean your forgiveness.
When I first started hearing the story of the Nativity as a child I'd always wonder a bit about Joseph and felt intimidated by the "traditional" Roman Catholic take on him: that he was a young and virile man who, without question, took Mary into his home and provided for her, not sleeping with her, teaching and caring for this young child who he believed to be God. Try as I might, I couldn't relate to Joseph as a person. I didn't know if anyone could react the way he did. How could anyone hear such a story from a twelve year old girl and not feel at least a little doubt? I felt disconnected from the average Roman Catholic's thoughts on the matter.
Turns out the Orthodox Church has preserved the original story as it was told in the Proto-evangelium of James, which clearly outlines what Joseph did: doubt, and hard. When he heard that Mary was pregnant Joseph lost it. In this earlier account Joseph was an older man who had just recently lost his wife of forty years, only to be entrusted with Mary so her virginity could be preserved, by lot, after much protest on Joseph's part. So Joseph was more than a little upset when he found out that Mary was pregnant. He wanted to know why the supposedly most pure woman in the world had gone and turned back on her vow of virginity with a random stranger and wouldn't hear anything to the contrary, storming out on Mary. Joseph was done. He was an old man who missed his wife who just wanted to be left alone. And here he was, stuck in a bonafide first-century teenage drama.
It took Gabriel coming to Joseph in a dream to get him to not divorce Mary. And even then, Joseph doubted. Right up to the Nativity Joseph worried and fretted and wondered if he was crazy to trust his dream and Mary. Most of his family disowned him for being a dirty old man because, by adopting Jesus, Joseph communicated that he, an 80 year old man, had had sex with a 12 or 13 year old girl immediately after being entrusted with her, while still in mourning over his wife of 40 years. Not exactly a good look for him. Joseph was probably ruined socially by accepting Jesus. Only St. James, his youngest son, stood by him, having been comforted by Mary in the wake of his mother's death and therefore knowing her a good deal better than the rest of his family, who resented her for "replacing" their mother. But eventually Joseph did come around, he did believe that this strange child from this strange young woman that had been foisted on him was indeed the Christ and he spent the rest of his life defending that child.
But it did not happen overnight. Nor did it happen in a few weeks, or even a few months. So don't feel bad if, at times, you find yourself wondering if God is really taking care of you, even as He's doing it. Don't worry, you're in incredible company. Saint Joseph doubted and look at how it turned out for him. He got to live with God Himself, something that brought more comfort and peace to his old and hurting soul than he could have ever imagined. And that's what Christ has in mind for all of us.
Go ahead and doubt if you must. Just put the next foot down on the path.
A long time ago a director-writer by the name of Rian Johnson created an indie film called Brick. It's one of the most brilliant films I'll probably ever see in my life. The dialogue, the visual repetitions and puns, and the unnerving apathy about letting you have any closure, of any kind, are practically a song to me. It's a deliciously uncomfortable movie, not pulling any punches, emotional or otherwise. However, this was the only movie of Johnson's that left us in the lurch like this. The Brothers' Bloom and Looper, while incredible, felt much safer than Brick. Something in the visceral bite of this film had caught my attention and I missed it in Johnson's further movies. And while it appeared again in Breaking Bad I wondered if I would ever see a movie that presented us with the problem of the human heart in even a similar way to Brick.
Welcome to The Last Jedi, the most divisive movie of 2017. And what a wonderful surprise it is. Not only does Johnson have his bite back, but he unloaded it on the franchise that inarguably needed it the most: Star Wars. The iron focus on the central conflict and the refusal to focus on anything we might think is important has been divisive. And that can only be a good thing and, historically speaking, par for the course. The middle acts of Star Wars have always been about overturning what came before and intentionally making people uncomfortable, the actors included; James Earl Jones thought Vader was lying when he recorded the famous line, after all. So the fact that Last Jedi has created the same controversy right down to the plummeting second week sales of its previous installments can only mean the movie did its job. But that's not what's really important, is it? People complaining about Star Wars, horribly missing its point, and feeling instead of thinking about what's been presented them is nothing new.
SPOILERS START HERE. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED
When I wrote my last post about Luke, I was fairly certain I had it right. And I did, right up until a point. But there was something incredibly important that I'd missed: Luke doubted his way. Him staring down at his lightsaber, trying to figure out if it's worth it to kill a sleeping boy? For just that one moment he almost gave into something lesser. But that doubt destroyed his temple. He faltered and lost everything.
Yeah, I'd wanna die too.
There's something ironic about Luke, the person who everyone thinks of as "the hero", managing to do something none of us could, making him all the more heroic for staying his hand, even against what he must have thought to be his better judgment. But that's a level of subtlety I suppose most people didn't catch. And that level of deftness in handling the characters is the hallmark of this movie. These are people, not your idols. The movie knows it and handles them. There is never a moment where someone has been dropped, where they have a neutral reaction to anything. Everyone is always moving, going after their agenda, regardless of whether you see it or not. There is so much packed into this movie it will, not can, take multiple viewings to catch it all.
Each character is given an arc. Note that I didn't say main characters, but anyone who is on the screen at any given point in time is going through some form of an arc: Rose is trying to understand Finn, who is learning that some things are worth fighting for, while Luke is fighting his richly-deserved nihilism while Rey is learning to accept herself without her parents while Ben is refusing to let his be... you get the idea. You could go on and on. As a Luke fanboy I of course glomped onto Luke's the fastest, although subsequent viewings will unpeel the layers from everyone else for me.
By the time I got to the end of the movie I was overwhelmed. Luke's passing on was so beautifully done I could hardly believe Johnson had done it. In peace Luke finally became one with everything and passed on, similarly to how Obi-Wan and Yoda had moved on when they realized that they were not necessary corporeally anymore. I could hardly process it, honestly. I'm barely doing it now. So, as time progresses, I'll continue to unpack what I saw and, after a few viewings, y'all will be hearing a lot more. But that ending fight with Luke was, by far and away, the best part of a genius movie.
Before I end this post, I'll draw my line in the sand. The Last Jedi is the best Star Wars movie, period. The characters, the plot, the intricacy, the foreshadowing, it's as close to perfect as we're going to get before the next Rian Johnson trilogy. Cause that's what we'll be getting, and for that I can't be grateful enough. I understand people disagree, and quite viscerally at that. But, again, par for the course. Twenty years from now this movie will be in the slot that Empire currently is in for most people: the best Star Wars movie, the one that redefined the franchise.
Or it'll be the Rian Johnson trilogy instead. Either way the people who hate this movie are wrong.
Now excuse me while I go and think about this a ton more.
