Whether you went to see the films ten times each, spent all your money on stickers, pieces of card and grossly-misshapen action figures, or just cast a disinterested eye over a small circular photograph that fell from your crisp packet as you cast it into the bin, the Star Wars trilogy has been impossible to escape from, and for this page will remain so.
Star Wars, the movie, has gone in and out of fashion over the years - such are the vagaries of popular opinion. But opinion has been less willing to doubt that, whatever the individual merits of the three films, the original is the one which will best stand the test of time. Although it is an important element, this fact is not entirely down to the films content. In the trilogy as it stands, the latter two films clearly have a built in disadvantage regarding their structure, as both pick up the story 'so far' and thus lack a proper beginning. Empire goes one worse and lacks a proper ending (it has narrative closure, but that's not the same thing). Even before questions of style are considered, it's clear that these structural imperfections will have an impact on their status as artistic works, and indeed as films in their own right.
Many film purists refuse to accept the sequels for just this reason. While I sympathise with their dogmatism, this article is not written for them. As we all now know, the 'Star Wars' saga was conceived as a three part story from a very early stage (the upcoming three-part prequel was formulated alongside it, though only as a roughly worked out 'back-story'.) Although for commercial reasons it needed to, the first film was never intended to stand alone. Various narrative adjustments had to be made to enable this, the results of which are mixed; they make the film more cohesive in itself, but hamper its integration into the trilogy. Most obvious is the huge, celebratory ending, which is a perfectly fitting climax to the events which preceded it, but jars when it is shown to lead to the downbeat sequel. Watch the two back-to-back and the discordance is quite dramatic. The only real concession to the film's place in the larger story is the escape of Darth Vader, and even that, in context, seems like just another Saturday morning serial cliché - no continuation is hinted at, merely the convention that the baddie lives to fight another day.
This sort of analysis is only possible, or relevant, with the benefit of hindsight. Lucas was entirely right to make the film he did back in 1977. What is particularly interesting is that he chose to start the story in what is effectively the middle, purely because it is almost certainly the only episode of the six he had planned which could, with a bit of tweaking, stand on its own (although the upcoming episode one should come close). The nature of this tweaking demonstrates Lucas' fine judgement. As an optimist, hoping that the series would continue, he dropped in just enough background information to pave the way for the episodes which would be set both after and before. But as a pragmatist - or perhaps just as an artist - he made sure that it never looked forced or unnecessary. In fact, he able to turn these entirely functional plot devices to more worthy use as aids to characterisation, atmosphere and scene-setting. It is the casual manner in which characters talk of the past and future, their lives and those of others in the galaxy around them, which gives the film its subtle realism and lifts it high above the general run of fantasy and science fiction. The way the Star Wars universe is landscaped and its history painted is reminiscent of Tolkien - not as broad or as dense, but equally vivid; the product of a filmic rather than a literary mind. So carefully was the 'back-story' blended in to, what I suppose Lucas would call, the front-story, that even after two additional films, we still dont know how much of it is yet to be picked up on. To highlight some throwaway lines at random: will we see the 'Clone Wars'? The destruction of the Jedi and the Old Republic? Yes, we probably will. And will we find out what on Tattoine is 'worse' than the Sandpeople? Probably not. But until the Star Wars series is complete, no-one will know how much of Lucas' 'grand vision' was planned and how much was bluff.
That this naturalistic side to the Star Wars world exists happily alongside the purely fantastical is largely a result of Lucas' clever and often understated direction. The camerawork switches from a semi-documentary feel in some of the early scenes to classic Hollywood swashbuckling and tense aerial combat, taking in along the way an unexpected bit of aestheticism (the twin sunset), standard sci-fi futurism (the Death Star), and perfectly judged comic relief from R2D2 and C3P0, who are never quite this funny again. The achievement of such an elegant balance is another reason why Star Wars succeeds more completely than its successors - it truly has something for everyone. By comparison, Empire and Jedi look rather one-trick, relying too much on the goodwill of an audience familiar with the original. Each expands upon merely an aspect of their progenitor and as a result proves less satisfying. This leads to the admittedly tempting tendency to view the two sequels as the grim, downbeat one and the fluffy, inconsequential one. The differences are not quite that extreme; but each successive episode certainly leaves a less striking impression than the one before.
In its defence, Empire does at least feel like a step forward stylistically. It starts oddly, extrapolating the story from the end of Star Wars in a way that may be entirely valid, but which has not even been hinted at previously, and which few contemporary filmgoers could have expected. It is a dark time for the rebellion, read the titles, and no further explanation is given for the revisionist reduction of the first film's major victory to just one more episode in an ongoing losing battle. One thread which is picked up on and expanded considerably is the role of the Jedi and their mysterious powers. By the end of the second episode it is possible to step back from the canvas and see that the 'star wars' themselves are secondary to a more weighty story concerning the 'Balance of the Force,' as it were. This is the story (which Star Wars paved the way for in another throwaway line) of the Emperor's ascent to power, and the role it played in the rise and fall of Anakin Skywalker. If the film's chosen starting point confused audiences on its release, one can only imagine the effect its cliff-hanger ending had.
The story which connects these two 'dark times' is in itself fairly traditional. It takes the major motifs of Star Wars and reworks them, telling the story almost in reverse to create the disconcerting twin themes of loss and pursuit. This time the narrative starts with a big battle sequence, which our heroes only narrowly escape, while in the middle the Millennium Falcon plays cat-and-mouse with the Empire, as before. Only at the end does Luke have some more of the plot explained to him, which is pretty much where we came in in Star Wars. Thus, for most of the film, the audience are as much in the dark as the players.
With such nebulous start and end points the film could not work with a narrative any less strong or propelling. Most of the characters exemplify the situation of the Alliance itself, in that they are constantly on the run, fleeing what seems like an inevitable fate. Only Luke shows any control over his own destiny, breaking out of this cycle to begin his training with Yoda. His eventual decision to reject the transcendent, calming influence of the force and rush back to the plot to help his friends is the turning point in the trilogy. It is also the only point at which the main plot line (Luke/Anakin) crosses paths with the trilogy's main subplot - the Han/Jabba shenanigans. As Vader hands Solo over to the unnamed 'bounty hunter', the two plots once more go their separate ways. In this context, it's a wonderful moment, throwing the different layers of Lucas' world into sharp relief against each other: the socio-political struggle of the rebellion against the forces of oppression; the struggle between the universal forces of good and evil personified by the Luke, Vader and the Emperor; and the seedy underclass of mercenaries and smugglers who eke out a shifty existence between the cracks. One can only hope that the three prequels will show a similar elegance and economy of vision and not get bogged down in crowd-pleasing details.
The dark edge to Empire is not just a result of the plotting - it is also reflective of the way the balance has shifted away from swashbuckling towards philosophy (much of it given to the comical Yoda who helps sweeten what might otherwise be an unpalatable pill). It's in these scenes that the trilogy reaches its apotheosis in terms of intelligence and soul; amidst the gloom, Star Wars finds its heart and its head, neither of which is hidden too far beneath the surface. The film ends with such a sense of loss that it's no wonder many were expecting the third instalment to follow a similar vein. On the other hand, there is also the feeling that things cannot get any worse, which perhaps justifies a change of mood - and that is what we get. No sooner have we accepted this grim new Star Wars universe than Return of the Jedi gives as dramatic a shift again, plunging us into the Muppet Show, no less.
Although various factors contribute to the relative failure of Jedi, perhaps the most peculiar is the question of the film's absurd similarity to the original Star Wars. The success of Empire had bought Lucas the freedom to make the film however he wanted, so why opt for a pale imitation of a former success? Perhaps it is simply because Lucas never viewed Star Wars as a success in the same way that the rest of the world did. He went on record, as he recently reiterated when justifying the Special Edition, as saying that he was only 40% happy with the film's realisation. This is patently untrue - otherwise he would have had to change far more than a few minutes to bring the film up to an acceptable standard - but nevertheless he seemed to believe it.
It is as though Lucas attempted to exorcise the frustrations he felt during the making of Star Wars by remaking the story on the scale he originally wanted. In the process he demonstrates conclusively that bigger is not necessarily better. Sadly, Jedi for the most part takes those elements of the original which Lucas would probably sum up as 'fun' and exaggerates them, often losing those qualities which made the first film so special. The world the film inhabits lacks the realistic tone of both its predecessors', often bordering on cartoonish - cartoonish creatures, cartoonish humour, even, fatally, cartoonish emotions. The director has often been blamed, but this seems unfair. Marquand has a bland visual style - again, self-consciously 'Lucasesque' when what was really needed was some fresh ideas - but it was his malleable personality which the executive producer particularly admired. It has been suggested that Lucas directed the film vicariously through Marquand, a painless way of obtaining the required result without having to deal with troublesome actors - or, indeed, setting a foot outside America.
Direct comparisons with Star Wars show up the problems. The creatures in Jabba's palace, while more outlandish, seem to lack the strangeness of the cantina residents, and thus, paradoxically, their verisimilitude. The final battle is just too busy and frantic to engage the senses, leaving the viewer overwhelmed rather than gripped. As a villain the Emperor, while obviously 'evil', is not as sinister as Vader or even as plain nasty as Tarkin. Most infamous of all the film's flaws are those cute little furry ones, the ewoks. While there is nothing intrinsically incongruous about this cuteness - a variety of midget characters, such as R2D2, the jawas and Yoda, have already taken a similar short cut to our emotions - the direction unfortunately shoves it down the viewer's throat like so much treacle.
With a bit of goodwill, most of these problems can be defended, simply by looking a little deeper than the admittedly unhelpful production standards. For example, the Emperor may be the epitome of the dark side of the force, but he is still just a man - a politician with ideas above his station. The novelisation, based on an earlier and fuller script, fleshes his character out beyond that of a rolling eyed lunatic, and it's a tragedy that most of this was cut in favour of second-rate muppetry. Even the ewoks, on the surface just a gimmick with one eye on the sentimental leanings of the family audience and the other on merchandising, have a rationale. Their function in the film is as a literal representation of the 'little people', the disinterested masses whose lives are about to come into contact with the corrupt Empire for the first time. The scene where C3P0 narrates to them the 'story so far', although quite irritating to watch, is not superfluous. It is in its way another turning point, where the importance of the rebels' struggle is reiterated and its righteousness reaffirmed. The unsophisticated natives are so moved by the fundamental truths of the epic battle 'twixt good and evil that they unilaterally decide to aid the small band of rebels, a decision which proves crucial to their ultimate victory. It's a shame the direction does not make this clearer, instead of focusing on more cutesy business - still, subtlety never sold any soft toys.
Faced with such a catalogue of faults, it is often concluded that the film is entirely without merit. However, as the concluding episode of the trilogy the film's most important contribution is its ending, and in this respect it can be counted a success. It is everything that the trilogy needs (and, come to that, the sextet), and also by far the most powerful and gripping part of the film itself. There is a sense that the Jabba interlude, while 'fun', is merely a diversion, and the endless rubbish with the ewoks more so, but at last we return to the main plot. Some criticise the film for being overconcerned with the continuity of the overarching tale, but a final chapter which veered off in a new direction and failed to tie up the narrative threads it is fed would surely be failing in its duty to the story and its viewers - something we cannot, on this score at least, fault Lucas on. Dramatically the high point comes when Vader uncovers the existence of Luke's twin sister and threatens to divert his attentions to her instead, thus bringing to the boil this long-simmering battle.
The conclusion seems at first rather low-key for such an epic tale, particularly when compared with the much more elaborate spectacle afforded the less final ending of the first film. In fact, Jedi's downbeat denouement is one of its strengths, perhaps the most important factor preventing the viewer from leaving the cinema with a nasty, sugary taste in the mouth. The fact that it is biased towards Luke and Vader, and ends with confirmation of the latter's redemption, is further and conclusive proof that the story is primarily concerned with the struggle between the absolute forces of good and evil, as represented by the lifelong vacillations of Anakin Skywalker. The titular 'Star Wars' are merely the backdrop. One of the most exciting and inventive backdrops the cinema has ever seen, perhaps, but a backdrop nonetheless. How many other epic narratives have thrown away such a tale in just giving colour to their main story?
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