[May 25th
will mark the 40th anniversary of the release of the first Star Wars film (it wasn’t
titled A New Hope at that
point!). So this week I’ll offer a few ways to AmericanStudy the iconic series
and its contexts and connections. Share your own different points of view for a
force-full crowd-sourced weekend post, my fellow padawan learners!]
On what the
wisest Jedi Master got very wrong, and why the opposite lesson matters so much.
As the dutiful
father to two Star Wars-obsessed sons, I’ve now watched the prequel trilogy
many more times than I would have ever chosen to on my own (once was more than
enough, to be honest). If I had to pin down the precise scene that epitomizes
the failings of those three films, I would point not to obvious choices like Jar
Jar Binks or “I don’t
like sand” (although yes and yes), but instead to this weighty conversation
between Yoda and Anakin Skywalker (Hayden Christensen) in Revenge of the Sith. For one thing, this CGI-version
of Yoda looks infinitely less real than did the original trilogy’s puppet;
I know we’re talking about a puppet green alien, but the scene is meant to be hugely
emotional, and the feel of the characters matters. But more importantly, Yoda’s
response to and advice for Anakin in this scene are uniformly terrible; this
young man is terrified of losing a loved one, and Yoda tells him that the way
of the Force and Jedi mean he should be happy if those he loves dies. Even if
that’s officially true, Yoda should be able to sense how much it’s the opposite
of what Anakin needs to hear at this moment; that he can’t makes me
second-guess his role as Jedi Master and teacher to Luke in the original trilogy
as well (and thus, yes, slightly
ruins my childhood).
But the thing
is, Yoda isn’t just wrong here about human nature or what the immensely
powerful and deeply frightened young man sitting before him desperately needs;
he’s also wrong about the Force and the Jedi. My evidence? None other than Luke
Skywalker, and the most important actions in the entire series to date: those
that result in turning Darth Vader back to the light side, destroying the
Emperor, and helping save the universe. Luke took all those actions because he still
loved his father and sensed the reciprocal love in him (despite Yoda’s
assertion that Jedi aren’t supposed to love), and because he didn’t want to
let his father (or his sister Leia, friend Han, and other loved ones) die
without trying to save him. And Darth responded in kind for the same reasons:
he did in fact still love his son, and didn’t want to let him die when the
Emperor was on the brink of killing him. All of these most heroic actions are
driven by precisely the kinds of deep and defining emotions that Yoda had
argued are antithetical to the Jedi Order—and yet who could possibly argue with
Luke when he says, amidst that final confrontation with the Emperor and shortly
before his father saves him, “I am a Jedi, like my father
before me”?
My point here
isn’t just to argue with Yoda or display the silliness of the prequels
(although if you watch them as much as I have, you’ll understand both impulses,
I assure you). No, my point is that the Force itself, as portrayed by the
original trilogy (and almost entirely misunderstood by the prequels), is quite literally
love. That might seem mushy or reductive, but I think it’s actually a great
lens through which to analyze what motivates some of the most vital and heroic
characters in epic fantasy stories: Sam’s love for Frodo; Severus Snape’s love for
Lily (Evans) Potter; Willow Ufgood’s love for Elora Danan; and the list goes
on. On the one hand, this recurring storytelling thread grounds and humanizes
these fantastic stories, linking them to one of the most shared and universal elements
of our humanity. But at the same time, the thread elevates love, making it into
a force that can change and shape and save worlds, can defeat the most powerful
evils. Seen in this light, the ubiquitous family relationships between so many
characters in the Star Wars universe aren’t just coincidence or storytelling
shorthand; they’re a symbolic reflection of the love that links us to one
another, that “surrounds us, and penetrates us, and binds the galaxy together.”
A lesson Yoda, like all of us, could stand to learn.
Last
StarWarsStudying tomorrow,
Ben
PS. What do you
think? Other Star Wars contexts you’d highlight?
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