So the other day, I had an epiphany. Well, maybe not a pure epiphany, but at least
the sudden insight needed to ask a certain question: “Do I actually hate Star Wars?”
It seems implausible, at a glance. My understanding of Star Wars, even beyond its unshakable place in culture and history,
is that it’s storytelling pared down to its most simple and effective
form. (That’s not so true of the
prequels, I hear, but everybody would rather ignore those, so I will too for
now). So by that logic, hating Star Wars means hating the fundamentals
-- if not the very concept -- of fiction.
That’s kind of a problem for a guy who’s trying to become a purveyor of
fiction in his own right. Obviously, I’m
not that far off the deep end.
But I haven’t cared about Star Wars for a long time, if at all. I know what’s in the movies, because --
cultural osmosis outside -- I’ve seen each of them once or twice. And I’ve never had any real problems with them,
even in the face of things like the Plinkett reviews. They were just kind of…there. I’m basically like,
“Oh, Han Solo? Yeah, he’s all
right.” And then I move on. It’s not as if I’ve never been moved to tears
by a fictional character, but even if the seven movies (to date) have their
strong points, I can’t share the enthusiasm of others. I’ll just shrug and say “Yeah, it’s all
right.” And then I’ll move on.
That’s the case with The Force Awakens, as well. And
I’ll explain why (with full spoilers) in a bit.