Star Wars on Trial (22 page)

Dr. Brin, in his generous introduction (and I do mean that-remember, this is a guy who's carried out nothing less than an intellectual serial mugging on the prequel films over the past half-decade), alludes to the emotional impact of The Empire Strikes Back and the promise therein, in his words, "that meaning can coexist with adventure."

The Star Wars films, like the first Matrix film (my much-abused brain recoils from acknowledging the existence of the later two), possess what I often refer to as "opt-in philosophical depth." They can be enjoyed, without diminishment, as nothing more than amiable, fast-moving action/adventure pieces overflowing with visual innovation. They can also be divertingly dissected on a deeper level-the level of Campbellian journeys, mythic resonance, political allusion and ethical argument.

It is this last quality, the ethical component of the Star Wars films, that I credit in hindsight with cementing them as the cultural cornerstone of my early years. My childhood was filled with flashy media-transforming robots, laser blasts, gun battles, spaceships and so forth-but only the Star Wars films seemed to provide instruction in something to aspire to. I was raised atheist in a home pleasantly free from political, philosophical or theological dogma, and I am unashamed to admit that most of my initial notions of higher virtue were shaped by the actions of fictional rebels-and one fictional knight-in a galaxy far, far away.

LET'S TALK ABOUT WHAT WE'RE NOT GONNA TALK ABOUT

Now, technically, the subject of religion in the Star Wars films comes under my purview along with ethics, but I'm not going to pound many keys on its behalf. I consider the topic too slight to discuss with more than grunts and hand gestures, unless those involved in the discussion want to spin wild exaggerations and extrapolations of the subject to keep the conversation going. Frankly, I'd rather stick a dry spaghetti noodle in my ear and attempt to scratch my hypothalamus.

Simply put, the "religion/spirituality" (quotation marks well deserved) of the Star Wars films, as revealed on-screen, amounts to nothing worth qualitative analysis. The closest any character comes to uttering a religious opinion is Yoda in The Empire Strikes Back:

YODA: Size matters not. Look at me. Judge me by my size, do you? Hmm? Hmm. And well you should not. For my ally is the Force, and a powerful ally it is. Life creates it ... makes it grow. Its energy surrounds us and binds us. Luminous beings are we, not this crude matter.

However, inasmuch as this has the outward appearance of religiosity, it must be remembered that Yoda has nine centuries of insight into the nature of life, death and the Force-coming from him, this is not an expression of theological opinion but rather a straightforward report on how the universe functions. It's the metaphysical equivalent of a mechanic explaining how your car's alternator works.

There are several references in A New Hope to the "religion" of Darth Vader and Obi-Wan Kenobi, but I think we can safely dismiss those as a mere expression of the context in which laymen (Han Solo, the Death Star command staff) frame the mysterious abilities of the Force-sensitive.

Although the Jedi of the prequel trilogy are steeped in the trappings of religion (they have a "temple," they meditate, they have a considerable fetish for robes and platitudes), it seems clear that they do not pray and they do not anthropomorphize the Force. The attitude the Jedi display toward it is akin to that of a nuclear technician to his reactor-respect and veneration, certainly, but not worship. Additionally, their meditation seems mostly to be a form of mental self-maintenance, designed to prevent them from exploding into kill-crazy lightsaber rampages for minor aggravations like, say, Meatless Tuesdays in the Jedi Temple cafeteria.

Other than that, no character in any of the films expresses faith in a higher power (well, nobody who isn't an Ewok), or pleads with one for intercession, or draws open strength from theological beliefs. In my opinion, rumors of genuine religion in the Star Wars films are greatly exaggerated. That which doesn't exist can't really be attacked and, conveniently, requires no further defense. As Watto might say, "I need something more real...." So let's get back to ethics.

WHO ARE YOU GOING TO BELIEVE, ME OR THAT OTHER TRILOGY?

The two Star Wars trilogies were filmed nearly two decades apart, and it's fair to say that there is a significant difference in the ethical substance of each set of films. This raises the question of which trilogy should be considered to have, for lack of a better term, precedence in the presumed articulation of the series' ethical vision. The original trilogy, for being the chronological culmination of the sixepisode story? Or the prequel trilogy, for being George Lucas's more recent work, and for the fact that he conceived and directed it from a position of commanding influence, effectively able to do whatever he damn well pleased?

The latter argument might make for intriguing speculation, but for the sake of my argument I'm going to go with the former. After all, we're discussing the ethical content of the films as expressed within their fictional narrative; clearly the chronology of that narrative deserves to win out over the chronology of film production.

With that settled, I can begin to lay out my position that the critical ethical development-the moral articulation which can be considered "victorious" over all others in the Star Wars narrative-is the manner in which Luke Skywalker becomes a Jedi Knight. Lucas has said that the twin trilogies are about the fall and redemption of Darth Vader, but I believe that's only true to a point. Vader is indeed a primary lens through which the events of the films are examined, but if we want to uncover the strongest, most consistent and most admirable thread of virtue in the tapestry, we should pay less attention to the father's journey, and more to the son's.

FIRST WE GOT PUNKED BY THE SITH. THEN THE LITTLE BASTARD FACT-CHECKED US.

To understand Luke's struggle (and his triumph), one might begin by reflecting on the Jedi who instruct him in the birds and the bees of Force sensitivity.

The Star Wars films establish beyond a glimmer of all possible doubt that Obi-Wan Kenobi and Yoda, wise and well-meaning as they are, are not the sort of guys you'd want to trust with the management of your mutual fund. The venerable Jedi Masters are actually quite the pair of shifty-eyed sons-of-bitches, and the web of guilt, lies and manipulation they construct over the course of the two trilogies is epic.

Detractors of the films (and of the personal vision of George Lucas) enthusiastically seize upon this point as though it were a revelation-as though the series' writer/creator and its fans might somehow be surprised to learn that the two older Jedi are frequently evasive, selfish and dishonest. But while some second-guessing of Lucas's judgment in the construction of his films is justifiable, in this instance it seems both uncharitable and easily refuted. Lucas clearly worries a great deal about the ethical image his characters presentin at least one instance, he worried far too much.

In the original version of A New Hope, Han Solo is accosted by Greedo in the Mos Eisley cantina. Han keeps the Rodian bounty hunter talking long enough to stealthily unholster his blaster pistol beneath the table and caramelize the poor fellow like a glazed ham. Apparently, Lucas fretted about Han Solo's image enough to design an infamous alteration in the 1997 special edition of A New Hope. In the modified film, Greedo actually snaps off a blaster shot a split-second before Solo does and misses, ludicrously, from the distance of two and a half feet.

Not only does the added blaster bolt look silly, it wasn't necessary in the first place. There is absolutely no doubt that Han shoots Greedo in clear self-defense, immediately after Greedo tells him that he doesn't care about bringing him to Jabba the Hutt alive:

HAN SOLO: Even I get boarded sometimes. Do you think I had a choice?

GREEDO: You can tell that to Jabba. He may only take your ship.

HAN SOLO: Over my dead body!

GREEDO: That's the idea ... I've been looking forward to this for a long time.

Yet even this supremely justifiable preemptive blasting was deemed unwholesome enough to warrant a jarring change. Now, with that under his belt, does George Lucas strike you as the sort of writer/director who could plow through six films blithely unaware that two of his central characters like to fold, spindle and mutilate the truth?

Sure Obi-Wan and Yoda are a pair of liars (and wouldn't you feel like fudging the facts a bit if the alternative was to admit that the Sith played the Jedi like a cheap trombone, and that your bad judgment helped usher in decades of bloody tyranny?). Obi-Wan and Yoda are liars because their deceptions set them up in direct ethical opposition to Luke, for the sake of the story. Materially, the two elderly Jedi are Luke's allies. Morally, the two of them are villains-yes, villains-that Luke must confront and overcome on several occasions in order to bring about a true and lasting victory over the Sith and their Empire.

Make no mistake: Luke's saga in the original Star Wars trilogy isn't a rediscovery of the ways of the Jedi of the Old Republic. It's the story of how he puts himself on an escape trajectory from almost everything they stood for.

OLD REPUBLIC JEDI: AMBULATORY OUIJA BOARDS WITH SWORDS

Consider the Jedi of the Republic as presented in the prequel trilogy. By and large, they're as decadent (in their own fashion) as the slowly dying government they serve. Insular, ascetic, pompous, detached, overconfident and indecisive-even the better ones display some or all of these traits at various points. Again, critics seem to seize on this as though it were an accident-"How can we completely sympathize with this pack of arrogant space hippies?" The only reasonable response is: What makes you think you're supposed to completely sympathize with them?

The list of moral screwups perpetrated by the last generation of Old Republic Jedi is pretty overwhelming. Ponder:

• When presented with the most powerful Force-sensitive being in centuries, they decide not to guide him in any fashion. Apparently, leaving him to run around and discover his powers on his own (or under the tutelage of interested third parties like the Sith) is a much better idea.

• When presented with clear evidence that a Sith is behind the Republic-shaking events on Naboo, they dispatch the same Master/Padawan team that has already failed to beat the Sith once, with no reinforcements. Apparently, the thought of sending three dozen bright young lightsaber duelists to beat Darth Maul like a dirty carpet doesn't occur to anyone-and as a result, Qui-Gon Jinn is slain.

• When presented with the massive ethical quandary of a huge army of sentient beings cloned to serve as blaster fodder, the Jedi shrug their shoulders and put the poor suckers to immediate use without discussion.

• When they become suspicious that someone or something is manipulating Chancellor Palpatine, the Jedi Council continues to place the burden of spying on Anakin-a Jedi known to be insubordinate, proud and volatile, with possibly compromised loyalties. We all know what happens next.

When Obi-Wan Kenobi meets Luke Skywalker in A New Hope, he speaks wistfully of the Republic era as "a more civilized age." He neglects to mention, of course, that the tragedy of the Old Republic Jedi was at least partially self-inflicted. He begins his association with Luke not just by lying to him about his father's fate, but by attempting to inveigle him into an undeservedly charitable view of the Order that Obi-Wan accidentally helped destroy. The message is clear in the prequels, and Obi-Wan's behavior only amplifies it in Episodes IV-VI: the path of the Old Republic Jedi is something Luke must shun, not celebrate.

ETHICS 101: A FRIEND IS SOMEONE WHO'LL STUFF YOU INTO A GUTTED TAUNTAUN

So much, then, for the prequel trilogy, a murky series of events in which few characters, even the survivors, manage to cover themselves in glory. The Jedi display an almost callous disregard for the emotional comfort of the boy who grows up to lead their slaughter-even Anakin's closest friend, Obi-Wan, is capable of turning a remarkably cold and dismissive shoulder toward him. Consistent ethical behavior is nowhere to be found... and the Galaxy suffers for it.

By contrast, the ethical core of Episodes IV-VI is almost ebullient; the unpretentious message enshrined at the heart of the original trilogy's story boils down to "stick with your friends and loved ones even when the whole universe seems to have it in for you." In A New Hope, Luke rushes off alone the moment he realizes his aunt and uncle might be in danger-a foolish but highly compassionate decision. He then elects to stay with the Rebellion and participate in a suicide mission rather than escape with Han. In the end, his example inspires Han to return as well, postponing his vital reckoning with Jabba the Hutt for the sake of saving his friends and their cause.

The displays of loyalty in The Empire Strikes Back are heartbreaking. Han risks a bitter, lonely death for a slim chance of finding Luke alive. Luke stubbornly ignores Yoda's pleas to finish his training in favor of rushing off to help his endangered friends. Lando Calrissian, in the hope of redeeming himself, gives up his entire Cloud City mining operation while trying to save Han, Leia and Chewbacca. Most strikingly, Luke chooses to fling himself to possible death rather than accept Darth Vader's offer of a partnership to rule the Galaxy-a partnership that would surely destroy his friends and everything they've fought for as members of the Rebel Alliance.

Luke's moral resolve is an inarticulate and even shortsighted thing, but it shows him to be ethically superior to his teachers-he will not allow his friends to suffer while he stands by and does nothing for them, and he won't even consider using them as chess pieces in some far-ranging game of Jedi against Sith in which the lives of the non-Force-sensitive do not count. The Jedi of the Old Republic dis couraged the emotional connections of love and friendship; Luke is defined to his very core by those connections. The efforts of Luke's mentors to mold him in the fashion of their generation of Jedimore ascetic, more detached, more aloof-fail continually, and while they are cranky about this failure, events prove them wrong in every respect.