"Where are you going?"

"Looks like I'm going nowhere."


I got this muckle big telly at Christmas, you see. It's good for playing a bit of Zelda on the Wii, but it's films that really make the outlay worth it. Actual television shows are, as you might imagine, just as crappy as before, except now the crap is in 1,080 lines of high-definition. I took the opportunity to watch the prequel trilogy (that's "the PT" for all you kids) back in January, but due to a bout of what can only be described as acute tardiness, it wasn't until last weekend that I sat down in front of Episode IV. The space battles, the lightsaber duel, Princess Leia's hair - widescreen was made for this. This and Simon Cowell's ego. Thank you. My excitement knew no bounds when I realised that I could now see that Imperial Landing Craft taking off from Tatooine. It was almost as exciting as the time I thought I had found the mythical lost doubloons of Carlos da Silva in a plastic bag down by the river, although that later turned out to be a discarded collection of pogs.

Much as I enjoy watching A New Hope regardless, probably more so than any of the other films, I had a specific motive for slapping it in the old DVD player this time. It's been a while since I saw it last, and I needed to refresh my mind about Luke. I've wanted to write about him for some time, and about a certain scene in particular. It's known as "Binary Sunset"; a chapter with extraordinary resonance amongst almost all who watch and love Star Wars. But what is it exactly about this scene that signifies so much to so many? What else can I talk about without ever getting to the point? Who the how? Where the when? And why? These are the questions I hope to answer, and obviously have since I have now published this entry. Or, alternatively, I have had my chimpanzee ghostwriter working for three weeks to produce two pages of aimless textual sprawl and have decided to publish it anyway, since it probably isn't going to get any better no matter how many bananas I feed the damn thing.

Luke Skywalker: Hero of the Rebel Alliance, last of the Jedi (quiet, you EU'ers!), saviour of our second favourite galaxy, kicker of pebbles; currently spamming around at the arse-end of nowhere. That's where we meet him. He's Frodo in Hobbiton; he's Link in Ordon Village; he's Paris Hilton in fantasy bubble land of profligacy and excess. The crucial difference with Luke is that he isn't happy in this sheltered existence. He has a burning, if ill-defined, desire to escape. In a way, the qualities of the "Binary Sunset" scene which appeal to us are completely divorced from the knowledge that he will go on to great deeds, as the other fictional characters mentioned do. Except for Paris Hilton, who, according to the latest polls, is still doggedly non-fictional (choice of adverb intentional). The important thing with Luke is not where he is going, but where he is starting out from; that he is a person unhappy with his current situation, and dreams of escape, is enough for us at that point in the film, regardless of future exploits.

Having said that, there was a very obvious clue that Luke was destined for greater things. You'd really think that he would have picked up on it. Music! A hero's theme! Did Dr Evazan have a musical theme? No, and he got a hardcore stabbing. Did Greedo have a musical theme? Hell no, and he gets shot in the chest under embarrassing circumstances. Did Jabba have a musical theme? N...Well yeah, but he ends up getting straddled and asphyxiated by Princess Leia, which some people would pay good money for. Maybe if I want to go places, I just need a theme tune like Luke's. And a poncho. Although the more I think about ponchos, the more I think that I just like the sound of the word, rather than the actual item of apparel. Poncho. Poncho, poncho, poncho.
Orchestral deficiencies aside, I do at least have a better haircut than Luke, by which I mean that I actually have a haircut. Apparently this has little or no effect on the progress of events, but I thought I would mention that for posterity; if nothing else, history will demand it.

Luke isn't alone, stuck in the aforementioned orifice of oblivion, and the two characters he is stuck with are useful for the sake of comparison. Owen Lars isn't one of life's dreamers. Admittedly, perhaps after a long day in the heat, he may have dared to think fantastical thoughts of voyaging to the more exotic locales of Tatooine and tending slightly larger, more expensive moisture vaporators, but that's it. Aunt Beru is another story. Auntie Beru, as I call her, is there to show us and Luke what happens when life conspires to keep you from your ambitions. There's a beautiful wee scene showing her in the kitchen of the homestead as she listlessly drops vegetables into her space blender (Or possibly space soup tureen. Note to self: check Wookiepedia.). Even as she busies herself about the household chores, she has that distant expression that says her mind is far, far away. It's all in the eyes. Even in deep thought, they have a definite sparkle about them; proof, I think, that the young woman we met in Attack of the Clones lives yet - however diminished by the passage of years - somewhere deep inside. I think that is who she is when she dreams her dreams.

But Luke isn't Owen, and he isn't Beru. This is the young idealist, straining against the bonds of his incarceration, imagined or otherwise. His are the vivid dreams borne of the romance and optimism of youth. The problem is that whilst his life of relative hardship provides a superficial motive for Luke, it still leaves the frustrating question of why the appeal of his struggle is so universal. Even with all the comforts and conveniences, all the possessions and trinkets, of life in civilisation, why is the pull of the Binary Sunset so strong? If we have all this and still want for more, it makes me wonder if anything will be enough. It could be that we, in fact, want less. A spiritual fulfilment, or an awakening of the soul; something not provided by the ephemeral world of material possesion. Either way, I feel that I am ill-equipped to solve this puzzle now. Right now, I am where Luke was, and I can but glimpse the possible futures open to me. In another twenty years, perhaps I will think on it again, and the answer will be as plain to me then as the question is now. I hope so. I don't know what it will mean if it isn't.

God damn that chimpanzee.