Invitation2Artivism — This time, it’s personal.
A SPACE-OPERA INTERLUDE — PART 2
Three years later, the Empire struck back… and like the rest of the world, I was gob-smacked.
Not only do tauntauns “smell bad” (bombshell), but Darth Vader turns out to be Uncle Ben’s brother… or something like that.
“I think it’s even better than the first one,” I said to my dad on the way out of the theater. Yoda the Jedi Master had not disappointed. He’d actually lived up to the novelization, which I’d read before my first opportunity to see the film.
“Whoa, there,” Dad cautioned. He was older, wise in the ways of the world, and knew about overenthusiasm.
I paused and considered. Maybe the first Star Wars was better. I missed the banthas and jawas in this movie… and poor Greedo (so fried).
But the AT-AT “snow-walkers” were cool as heck! And so were the bounty hunters! And the Star Destroyers’ pursuit of the Falcon! And Boba Fett, Cloud City, Luke vs. Vader, etc.!
The George Lucas spell had a vise-like hold on me, there was no disputing it.
Even after watching the ewok-strewn mess that was “Return of the Jedi,” I was still sold on the franchise.
Still feeling The Force.
Even after that godawful performance by Ian McDiarmid in “Jedi” as Emperor Hackneyed Palpatine. Cackle, cackle, cackle…
Jabba’s palace and the film’s opening, including the Rancor, rescued that film. Plus the cycle-speeder things zipping through the forest. And the Admiral.
Even if the film was patently idiotic, by the end.
It was still Star Wars. Legit enough.
“Luke. Take this mask off, so I can see you with my own eyes. Not a black man’s.” (Sorry, James Earl Jones!)
But I was still sold.