Star Wars on Trial (9 page)

Let's go back to comparing George Lucas's space-adventure epic to its chief competitor-Star Trek. The differences at first seem superficial, but they add up.

We have already see how one saga has an air force motif (tiny fighters) while the other appears naval. In Star Trek, the big ship is heroic and the cooperative effort required to maintain it is depicted as honorable. Indeed, Star Trek sees technology as useful and es sentially friendly-if at times also dangerous. Education is a great emancipator of the humble (e.g., Starfleet Academy). Futuristic institutions are basically good-natured (the Federation), though of course one must fight outbreaks of incompetence, secrecy and corruption. Professionalism is respected, lesser characters make a difference, and henchmen often become brave whistle-blowers-as they do in America today.

In Star Trek, when authorities are defied, it is in order to overcome their mistakes or expose particular villains, not to portray all government as inherently hopeless. Good cops sometimes come when you call for help. Ironically, this image fosters useful criticism of authority, because it suggests that any of us can gain access to our flawed institutions-if we are determined enough-and perhaps even fix them with fierce tools of citizenship.

Above all, whenever you encounter Homo superior in Star Treksome hyper-evolved, better-than-human fellow with powers beyond our mortal kin-the demigod is subjected to scrutiny and skeptical worry! Such mutant uber-types are given a chance to prove they mean no harm. But when they throw their weight around, normal folk rise up and look them in the eye. This happens so often in Trek-as well as shows like Stargate and Babylon 5-that it has become a true sci-fi tradition.

By contrast, the choices in Star Wars are stark and limited. As in Tolkien's Lord of the Rings, you can join either the Dark Lord or the Chosen Prince (with his pointy-eared elf advisors). Ultimately, the oppressed "rebels" in Star Wars have no recourse in law or markets or science or democracy. They can only pick sides in a civil war between two wings of the same genetically superior royal family.

(The same royal family? Oh, but it's right there, in front of you! The implication that bubbles out of the quirky SW obsession, with heaping coincidence upon coincidence. The Emperor comes from the same narrow aristocracy-on Planet Naboo-as Luke's mother. Probably, they're cousins. As for Anakin's mother, who's to say she didn't come from the same place? A gene pool of midichlorian mutants, engaged in a family spat, and galaxy-wide hell ensues. It's a reach, but thoughtprovoking. Is it any wonder that, in Star Trek, demigod mutants are always treated with skepticism, not reflex worship?)

Yes, Star Trek had its own problems and faults. The television episodes often devolved into soap operas. Many of the movies were very badly written. Trek at times seemed preachy, or turgidly politically correct, especially in its post-Kirk incarnations. (For example, every species has to mate with every other one, interbreeding with almost compulsive abandon. The only male heroes who are allowed any testosterone-in The Next Generation-are Klingons, because cultural diversity outweighs sexual correctness. In other words, it's okay for them to be macho 'cause it is "their way.") Nevertheless, Trek tried to grapple with genuine issues, giving complex voices even to its villains and asking hard questions about pitfalls we may face while groping for tomorrow.

Anyway, when it comes to portraying human destiny, where would you rather live, assuming you'll be a normal citizen and no demigod? In Roddenberry's Federation? Or Lucas's Empire?

THE FEUDAL REFLEX

George Lucas defends his elitist view, telling the New York Times, "That's sort of why I say a benevolent despot is the ideal ruler. He can actually get things done. The idea that power corrupts is very true and it's a big human who can get past that."3
He further says we are a sad culture, bereft of the confidence or inspiration that strong leaders can provide.

And yet, aren't we the very same culture that produced George Lucas and gave him so many opportunities? The same society that raised all those brilliant experts for him to hire-boldly creative folks who pour both individual inspiration and cooperative skill into his films, working at a monolithic corporate institution that nevertheless, functions pretty well?

A culture that defies the old homogenizing impulse by worshipping eccentricity, with unprecedented hunger for the different, new or strange? In what way can such a civilization be said to lack confidence? And just how would a king or despot help?

In historical fact, all of history's despots, combined, never managed to "get things done" as well as this rambunctious, self-critical civilization of free and sovereign citizens, who have finally broken free of worshipping a ruling class and begun thinking for themselves. Democracy can seem frustrating and messy at times, but it delivers. So why do few filmmakers-other than Steven Spielberg-own up to that basic fact?

Having said all that, let me again acknowledge that Star Wars harks to an old and very, very deeply human archetype. Those who listened to Homer recite The Iliad by a roaring fire knew great drama. Achilles could slay a thousand with the sweep of a hand-as Darth Vader helps Tarkin murder billions with the press of a button-but none of those casualties matters next to the personal saga of a great one. The slaughtered victims are mere minions, after all. Extras, without families or hopes to worry about shattering. Spear-carriers. Only the demigod's personal drama is important.

Thus, few protest the apotheosis of Darth Vader-nee Anakin Skywalker-in Return of theJedi. With a single, sudden act-slaying his master at the cost of his own life-he gives in to a fatal attachment and saves his own son... and thus achieves redemption. Entry into Jedi Heaven.

To put it in perspective, let's imagine that the allies managed to capture Adolf Hitler at the end of the Second World War, putting him on trial for war crimes. The prosecution spends months listing all the horrors done at his behest. Then it is the turn of Hitler's defense attorney, who rises and utters just one sentence:

"But, Your Honors ... Adolf did save the life of his own son!"

Gasp! The prosecutors blanch. "We didn't know that! Of course all charges should be dismissed at once!" The allies then throw a big parade for Hitler down the avenues of Nuremberg.

This may sound silly, but isn't that the lesson taught by Return of the Jedi?

Along with the bizarre notion that getting angry at an evil will suddenly cause you to switch sides and join that evil.... Say what?

Then it only gets worse.

How many of us have argued late at night over the philosophical conundrum- "Would you go back in time and kill Hitler as a boy, if given a chance?" It's a genuine moral puzzler, with many possible ethical answers. Still, most people, however they ultimately respond, would admit being at least tempted to say yes, if only to save millions of Hitler's victims.

Yet in The Phantom Menace, George Lucas asks us to gush with warm feelings toward a cute blond little boy... one who will later grow up to help murder the population of Earth many times over. Hey, while we're at it, why not bring out the Hitler family album, so we may croon over pictures of adorable little Adolf and marvel over his childhood exploits! He, too, was innocent till he turned to the "dark side," so by all means let us adore him.

To his credit, Lucas does not try to excuse this macabre joke by citing the lamest excuse of all, "It's only a movie." Rather, he sticks to his guns, holding up his saga as an agonized Greek tragedy worthy of Oedipus-an epic tale of a fallen hero, trapped by hubris and fate.

Alas, if that were true, wouldn't Star Wars by now have given us a better-than-caricature view of the dark side? Don't swallow it. The apotheosis of a mass murderer is exactly what it seems. And we should find it chilling.

Only then it gets worse. Much worse. For you see, there is another Lucasian character that makes the adoration of young Darth seem positively benign.

It's Yoda. One of the most horrid creatures ever to snarl at us from the silver screen.

VICIOUS LITTLE OVEN MITT

Remember the final scene in Return of the Jedi, when Luke gazes into a fire to see Obi-Wan, Yoda and Vader smiling in the flames? I briefly found myself hoping it was Jedi Hell, for the amount of pain those three unleashed on their galaxy, and for all the damned lies they told.

Okay, now Brin has gone completely around the bend. What, in all the galaxy, could he have against little Yoda?

Well, for starters, how about this simple challenge: can you name a single scene in which Yoda is actually forthcoming, informative or generously helpful?

This supposedly all-wise figure rejects young Anakin, because he senses "too much fear." (Despite the fact that we spent most of The Phantom Menace marveling over a nine-year-old's dauntless courage.)

He foresees danger, if the boy isn't trained properly... then refuses to train him.

When Master Mace wants to inform the Republic that dire conspiracies are afoot, Yoda insists on secrecy, which only worsens the calamity. Just as his lies to Luke almost ruin everything much later. Lies that he conveniently gets out of explaining by pulling the old "death-fade" trick. (Well, Luke was always kind of a dim bulb.)

Then there is all that smarmy lecturing-a withered old prune telling a virile young man that he shouldn't give in to the human yearning for "attachments." Forcing Anakin to fulfill those basic human needs in secret.

Um ... all right. One can understand demanding that a young adept avoid undue distraction while focusing hard on his training. But to cut off all thought of loved ones, even when they are suffering? Where is the "wisdom" in that?

Especially when it came to the tragic situation of Anakin's mother. Tell me, which approach is more likely to help the boy focus? Leave Mom to endure slavery on far-off Tatooine? Or maybe dip into the treasury to buy her freedom and get her a nice little house on Naboo, in gratitude for the way Anakin saved Amidala and all her people? Would it be too much "attachment" to get a nice card, once a year, showing her happy in her garden? Call it insurance, to keep such a powerful apprentice from getting ... well ... angry.

Oh, but it gets worse. Later on, other Prosecution witnesses will discuss the charge that Star Wars is less than "elevated" in its attitudes toward women. Those writers focus (for example) on Princess Leia's decline from rambunctious, gun-toting senator and revolutionary bigwig to chained harem girl. Or upon the small-nay tokenpresence of females in the Jedi Order. But in fact, I do not consider these to be the most worrisome lapses in sexual subtext. After all, it is possibly legitimate for a space fantasy society to replicate the pattern that held in 99% of the real societies we know from the human past-in which most of the warriors were male. It's not politically correct-and I am proud of an America in which the skilled soldiery has largely turned away from that criterion-but Star Wars does, after all, promote nostalgia for feudalism. Therefore, it is only natural to expect some sexual distinction in roles.

No, what's far more troubling is another aspect of this issue of "attachments." In a few passing lecture-moments, we are told that Jedi are free to enjoy pleasures of the flesh, but that they must not become attached to-or committed to-other people over the long term. Um. Right. Did anyone else catch how this is, well, the bachelor seducer's perfect answer to the famous apres question: "will you call me later?" The perfect male cop-out? Getting to have your cake, eat it, but never having to pay for it?

Uh, sorry, babe. I can't commit. Or call. Master Yoda won't let me. But wasn't that fun?

Yeesh. This is "wisdom"? No wonder Young Skywalker gets married without permission!

All right. Point by individual point, this can be called nitpicking. But the pattern adds up, relentlessly, to a clear picture of Yoda that doesn't support all the superficial press he's given, as an archetype of right-living. Rather, if you look closer, he's an imperious little elfguru, secretive and domineering, judgmental and unkind. Humorless and never, ever informative. Oh, one can see how this might fit somebody's cartoon image of an austere and demanding, quasi-oriental sage. Indeed, there are plenty of real and historical figures that Yoda may be modeled after. But must we take this lying down? Even J. R. R. Tolkien, in his later works, ripped the sweet/wise veil off of his elves, exposing them as selfish creatures who brought Middleearth to the brink of ruin.

Which brings us to the point of ultimate betrayal, pictured in Attack of the Clones. One of the most horrific scenes I ever witnessed. Has anyone else noticed?

The Jedi Knights aren't an army. They are an elite corps of secret agents! The 007 James Bonds of the Old Republic. So why does Yoda order all but one of them to charge-in the worst frontal assault since the Light Brigade-straight into an obvious death trap, where they will be surrounded and slaughtered by innumerable robots, monsters and flying aliens? Only his peer and equal-Master Mace-refuses to fall for this. Instead, Mace does his job as a secret agent, sneaking in the back way and almost capturing the villain, single-handedly. Had even two or three of the other Jedi Knights accompanied him as helpers, then all would have been well.

But that wasn't Yoda's plan, you see. Instead-how convenienthe takes delivery of a new army at just the same moment that he hurls the older one to its doom. A new army trained to be much more obedient than that rabble of psychic adepts and bickering individual agents. A new army that represents everything worrisome about civilizations and institutions. Sameness, rigidity and amoral, ruthless efficiency.

Oh, it's implied that Yoda merely grabs a clone army that someone else ordered. But why assume that incredible coincidence? Take the plainest evidence of all, the actual sequence of events. Isn't the simplest answer that Yoda was the one to secretly order the clone army? (There is no evidence to contradict it and the astute clone-makers certainly thought they were doing it for Yoda's Council.) Yes, the situation is ambiguous ... but it smells of one of the worst betrayals in cinematic history.