I was recently asked whether I was “excited” about the inevitable
yet improbable announcement of new Star
Wars movies to be produced and released by Disney. As previously indicated,
I am rather apprehensive about the whole affair. Honestly, I don’t know how I
feel about it, but I know I’m not “excited,” if that word is measured by a distinct
rise in heart rate when I think about the prospect of more Star Wars movies. If “excited” means that other things I’ve been
anticipating now seem bland in comparison, then no, I’m not excited.
Now rumors are solidifying into news: Harrison Ford wants
in, Steven Spielberg won’t touch the damn thing with a double-bladed lightsaber, and the latest is that Michael Arndt, writer of Toy Story 3, has written a treatment and
will be penning the script for Episode VII.
Nothing against Arndt (Toy
Story 3 was witty, and shows he could write within an established story
world), but I think I would be much more excited (and happier) if, instead of
bringing us the continuing adventures of the Skywalker clan, they simply remade
the existing Star Wars movies. A
Pixar version, a Wes Anderson version, a version of Phantom Menace where Jar Jar is magically deleted from every scene
and then you are astounded to realize that Obi-Wan and Qui-Gonn were just
talking to each other the whole time and there never was a Jar Jar! Etc., etc.,
whatever.
With remakes, we could expect the unannounced director (and
any later artists at the helm) to make Star
Wars his/her own, to apply an unusual vision, to revel in reinterpreting
what has come before. But to continue
Star Wars “officially,” but have it done by hands other than George Lucas’s, I
wonder how closely they can hew to his voice. If the movies are to continue the
story using the major original-trilogy actors, I’m not willing to entertain any
grotesque notions that a distinctive voice would somehow be preferable to
imitating the Lucas style. And yes, I realize that Empire Strikes Back and Return
of the Jedi were directed by two different men, but surely under the firm
oversight of Lucas.
What is Star Wars
without George Lucas? What is it without his inexplicable brain giving birth to
operatic lightsaber duels, a galactic menagerie of creatures, sleazebags peddling
death sticks, high-speed vehicle chases and races, and line after line of
dialogue just awkward enough to challenge even the gravest thespian? You can
say it’s a formula easily copied, and often copied in the last three decades of
American cinema. True that, and yet it’s Star
Wars that we remember and salivate over while the legions of followers are
forgotten.
Whatever Lucas’s shortcomings, I think his greatest talent,
besides just inventing the vastness that is Star
Wars, is that he knows how to tell a visual story clearly. He knows how to
get the audience from point A to B to C without leaving them hopelessly lost,
and that’s something that many celebrated filmmakers can struggle with.
For example, there’s been minor squawking over at the Star Wars fantasy camp (which is what the internet has become over the past week and a half) about getting
Christopher Nolan to direct Episode VII,
and though I greatly admire his films, they tend to be a royal mess because
they’re overstuffed with speeches and ideas and fisticuffs, with little awareness
of how to connect one thing to another. He often can’t even make sense out of
simple fistfights in the Batman
movies. How on earth is he going to choreograph something as potentially complicated
as a lightsaber clash? (Here’s hoping Luke wields the green beam once again!)
* * *
Star Wars is
becoming (or has become, some would say) something greater than a collection of
one man’s stories; its artistic progeny are already legion, in the form of
books and games, and it will continue to be the wellspring of reinterpretations
and additions, “fan fictions” some would derisively call them, but perhaps the
better way of understanding the Expanded Universe is to see it as the natural
outgrowth of an original body of myth.
The chief analogues in my mind are 1) classical Greek and
Roman mythology, and 2) the myth-making renaissance of 20th century
comic books.
Classical mythology (alongside the Bible, which is a codified
mythology – that’s right, I said it), is the source material for pretty much
every story that western civilization has come to tell. The stories of Zeus and
Hercules and the Medusa and so on, though their origins are now murky, came to
be reinterpreted by various writers during antiquity, and though certain
traditional storylines became established, they were hardly sacrosanct.
Homer and Hesiod wrote about existing myths, tweaking them,
including and excluding details as they pleased. Aeschylus, Sophocles, and
Euripides adapted from Homer and Hesiod and other early storytellers, making
the myths relevant to their times and personal values. One interesting example
is Euripides’s play, Helen, which
describes a lesser known variant of the story of Helen of Troy, where a
“phantom” double of Helen is substituted for her by Hera and Athena, and it is
the double that is abducted by Paris. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to the mere
mortals, the real Helen was spirited away to Egypt, and thus could not be held
culpable for the carnage of the Trojan War. This is no recent revisionism, but
a revered writer from antiquity who thought the variant was worth exploring,
despite the fact that a traditional version existed.
In like fashion, comic book writers, and later, TV producers
and filmmakers, have taken liberally from previous comics sources, and over
time have become bolder about deviating from the traditional or canonical
stories.
Though most comics followers will disagree, one could plausibly
say that anything not written by the original creator can be considered “fan
fiction.” Any Spider-Man story that
was not among the original set created by Stan Lee and Steve Ditko is fan
fiction, regardless of whether it was published by Marvel or by, say, Czardoz
Contra World. The fact that Stan Lee approves of later Marvel versions makes
them, what, somehow authentic? As authentic as the innumerable Star Wars novels and games that George
Lucas has rubber-stamped?
Ultimately, what seems to matter is not whether a story can
be considered canonical and true to the original artist’s intention, but
rather, whether it is any good. Who begrudges the wealth of Spider-Man and
Superman comics that came well after the heyday of their creators? Who
begrudges Christopher Nolan’s Dark Knight
trilogy for creating new characters and not adhering strictly to any particular
preexisting storylines?
The destiny of mythology is to be manipulated and reimagined
by subsequent generations. This has already happened with Star Wars to a certain extent, but generally under the radar of the
mainstream fan, who does not typically read stuff like the Thrawn Trilogy or New Jedi
Order novels. Episode VII will be
the bigger moment, when the franchise is presented to the world at large as a
thing beyond its original form, as a story that is bigger than any one person’s
ability to tell it, and worthy of retellings by any person able to lift the
weight of the material.
* * *
There are probably a lot of people who can’t accept that
this Star Wars thing they grew up
with has become so much bigger than just their pet movie. And that
consequently, it’s going to be the template for endless new waves of creativity,
hopefully by people who are genuinely prepared to handle the subject matter.
Having said that, my greatest worry is that I’ll come out of
Episode VII thinking, “Well that was
very good, but it wasn’t Star Wars.”
And it astonishes me that the “real” Luke, Leia, and Han would appear in
another Star Wars, and yet it sounds
like this is really happening. It’s like someone writing a few more books to tack
onto the end of the Old Testament. How about a sequel to the Book of Job? Probably
a raging controversy even back when the New Testament was being compiled, so
how could you take it seriously now? You’d say, “Job 2: The Misery Continues?
After all this time? I guess there must be some money in it.”
The original trilogy feels far too established, and despite
all of Lucas’s attempts to “refresh” it every few years, it’s fairly well set
in stone, and to imagine Harrison Ford playing old man Solo just seems wrong to
me. Of course, as soon as the first trailer appears in 2014, I may be singing a
different tune, and be grateful that they’re getting an encore. After all, it
was pleasant to see Indiana Jones cracking his whip again after a 19-year
absence.
I do wonder how the old guard will adapt to a new director’s
sensibilities and a new writer’s words. Actors don’t usually have the final
say, but would Mark Hamill be okay with some whippersnapper director telling him how a 60-year-old Luke Skywalker is supposed to talk? Would Harrison Ford tolerate
any deviation from his conception of a character he owns in all but legal
terms? Would Carrie Fisher insist that, yes, she does still fit into her old
slave girl costume, and she’ll prove it in front of everyone?
And with Lucas all but gone, is John Williams coming back to
score the film, or is it time to pass that torch as well? James Newton Howard
is the first name to cross my mind as having an appropriate sensibility, though
Michael Giacchino has history with Disney/Pixar, and did a great sci-fi score
for Star Trek. Thankfully, I’m sure
Hans Zimmer will be on the far side of the Disney lot working on the next Pirates film.
And finally, how many kinds of wipes will be used?
Horizontal and vertical, surely. Probably diagonal, too. But what about clock and
pinwheel wipes? Or vertical blind wipes? Will there be star wipes?!? That’s
when I’ll get excited!
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