Okay, call it a Sunday afternoon dispatch. But remember, as Chuck Schultz once declared, that it's already tomorrow in Australia! As a side note, I'm almost done revising my previous blog entries. Despite my promise to cut down on the grandiloquence, I admit my style hasn't changed significantly; perhaps it hasn't even changed perceptibly to the eyes of most readers. However, there's a fine line between the eloquent and the verbose, and I think I'm back on the proper side. I'll leave the final judgment to my readers.

In any case, I felt like tackling a controversial subject. Without further ado, I shall unequivocally state that the Prequel Trilogy was as good as the Original.

*Waits for explosion of outrage and gunfire.*

Yes, I'm dead serious. I assure you, I am not a blind Lucasian fanatic -- I recognize that any director can make mistakes, and my stated enjoyment of Episodes I, II, and III is not based upon a misguided sense of loyalty to the Maker. Furthermore, I am not an easily-dazzled child who equates special effects to storyline quality. On the other hand, neither am I the most cine-literate person on Earth. But, as a writer, I'd like to think I have some idea of what constitutes a good plot.

Simply put: on a purely objective basis, the Prequels got more flack than they ever deserved. So help me, but after seeing Episode I the first times out of my customary two, I was convinced the reviews would applaud the return of Lucas to the big screen. I was expecting headlines of 'THE MAGIC IS BACK', not 'JAR JAR KILLED STAR WARS'. By Episode II, I was somewhat more pessimist about the movie reviews and prepared my earplugs to block the cacophonous torrent of critical poo-pooing (Moderators: I should like recognition as the first blogger to use the phrase 'poo-pooing' in a serious context. A simple plaque and notation in the Guinness Book should suffice. Thank you).


Does anyone realize the sort of pacing dexterity necessary to slowly metamorphose an innocent young boy into a homicidal sorcerer? Or to demonstrate the incremental decline between Republic and Empire? To meticulously catalogue the emotional and political developments of an entire galaxy in a fashion that is both convincing and fast-paced? These are the documentarian feats performed by George Lucas in the Prequel Trilogy. He never overstates a point, but easily insinuates characterization and plot development. And yet he also avoids understatement, leaving storyline prods just pointed enough to activate the viewers' imaginations. Anakin is not a wrathful caricature of a young murderer; rather, he seems entirely benign until his trials before the High Council. Then Ki-Adi-Mundi and Yoda expose the boy's deepest fears -- fears which, the studious moviegoer feels, cannot help but lead to Anakin's eventual downfall. Young Skywalker's romantic attachment to Padmé, while cleverly hinted, has not yet blossomed; but already Lucas sows the seeds of the Chosen One's obsessive attachment to his wife. Seeing this tiny, insecure Anakin Skywalker, we can understand his elder counterpart's inability to let his beloved die, even at the expense of his own soul. That, ladies and gentlemen, is pure, undiluted skill: to strategically array every character and institution in preparation for a far-off climax. Thus the eventual finale of the story is rendered more credible as existing pieces are pushed into place. And what of the quality of those pieces? Are the characters and institutions themselves any good?

More than any other accusation, George Lucas has been targeted for wooden characterization. Call me loony if you wish, but I seem to remember similar accusations being leveled at the Original Trilogy in its day. In fact, The Empire Strikes Back was specifically lambasted for having a whiny, unlikable hero who rushed stupidly into danger (sound familiar?). Of course, Empire has been subsequently declared the best of all Star Wars movies. Such is hindsight. But without the benefit of such retrospection, let us carefully examine the so-called "immature" characters of George Lucas: they have aspirations; they have fears; they have dreams; they have frailties. Americans prefer obnoxiously perfect protagonists -- you've already heard my rants about the tendency of fantasy to reach an S.W.S.S.P. (Sexy Woman Super-Saturation Point.) But George Lucas has produced more innocent, lifelike characters. As a result, we as fans get a more innocent, lifelike story, a pure fantasy.

George Lucas has always declared Star Wars to be, at its core, interstellar mythology. As such, the Saga retains certain homey, wholesome roots. Yes, those roots do include Rastafarian aliens, two-headed race announcers, and saccharine puppy love. Good science fiction (or, as the case may be, science fantasy) draws strength from emotional resonance. The Boonta Classic podrace is such a cinematically effective event because it immediately reminds one of a technologically advanced NASCAR run. Star Wars has always drawn upon such parallels: the lightsaber, essentially a laser-powered sword, is immediately recognizable as the antique weapon of a noble knight; Han Solo's hip-slung DL-44 is obviously the galactic equivalent of a quick-draw gunman's trusty six-shooter. Similarly, the characters' cosmic concerns are fundamentally human enough to generate sympathy. Anakin is incensed at his acceptance to the Council without reception of Master rank. Anyone overlooked for a promotion can commiserate. There's a scintillating brilliance to the use of such devices, simultaneously magical enough to be captivating and yet familiar enough to inspire distinct reactions. Sort of the way the stories work, too.

More than any previous Star Wars movies, Episodes I, II, and III introduce sophisticated concepts in a simple, comprehensible fashion. Sounds easy to the uninitiated -- you just have to dumb everything down, right? Decidedly wrong, young Padawan. It takes enormous brainpower to encapsulate the birth of a dictatorship into a few Senate scenes and tense dialogues while still maintaining a convincing, historically feasible chain of events.

Speaking of dialogues: Mister Lucas may be consistently assaulted for bad dialogue, but look at the characters' lines in context with the storytelling format. Star Wars is glorified Cambellian hero-myth. As such, the dialogue absolutely should have a stilted style. Star Wars dialogue has always had an almost aphoristic quality -- that's what makes Lucas movies so infinitely quotable. Some fans (myself included) cite Qui-Gon Jinn like the Book of Proverbs. "The ability to speak does not make you intelligent." No, Master Jinn, it doesn't. Nor is unrealistic dialogue automatically bad dialogue. Quite the contrary, especially in space opera.

Briefly, let me insert a historical perspective to my defense: William Shakespeare is often treated as the superior of George Lucas. How, wonder the haughty movie critics and self-proclaimed intelligentsia, would the inestimable Bard have viewed Star Wars? Well, to be frank, I think Avon Bill would've been the first author clambering to do a spin-off novel. You see, in his day, Shakespeare was viewed in the same light as George Lucas: a commercial, crowd-pleasing buffoon whose work made too much money (as though that reflected upon the quality of the content) and had no intellectual substance. Today, of course, Shakespeare is antique enough that we're willing to recognize his subtle intelligence (naturally, no-one in the present is ever inducted into the elite Classic Authors Club. It's only in retrospect that we honor geniuses). But in Ye Olde London, Shakespeare plays were considered cheap, dumb, and obviously created for money rather than art. Believe it or not, A Midsummer Night's Dream was a rather poorly reviewed play; the first record we have of its production was in the journal of a man who called it "the most insipid silly thing" he had ever seen. One can imagine the English theatre columns crowing over the "decline of Shakespeare". Shakes was also accused of wooden characterization. Boy, that pejorative should ring a bell. But today we exalt Midsummer as one of the pinnacles of English literature. We ask why George Lucas couldn't use his talent the way Shakespeare did -- but Lucas is using his talent the way Shakespeare did: to please the masses! With that analogy in mind, let us review the content of the second, much-debated Star Wars Trilogy.

Observe the resplendence of the Prequel films: a fantasy landscape of lush worlds, ancient wizards cloistered in their ivory towers, wicked sorcerers stalking the shadows, dark-cloaked assassins prowling for victims, whimsical creatures, supernatural powers, and always, always the promise of youthful hope. This is the trilogy rejected so universally by critics and fans?

In conclusion, I find the criticism of the Prequel Trilogy to be basically unfounded. I would go so far as to suggest that anyone leveling a judgmental finger at The Phantom Menace to review A New Hope. Cinematically, it bears many of the same alleged flaws as its successors (or predecessors? Grammar becomes so contorted when one is dealing with prequel material...). But children -- children who, alas, have now degenerated into caustic fuddy-duddies -- saw something special in Star Wars: they recognized, at some childish, subconscious level, that George Lucas had created an enchanted universe. It was a place both more interesting than and yet cleverly similar to our own world. It was a place of lovable characters, characters with whom any real person could immediately find common ground. It was a place in which all children wished they could live. When children make the same observations today...they are accused of "loving it for the action" or "not understanding good moviemaking". My, how far we have come. Even if you can't accept the Prequel Trilogy, some gratitude is in order for a childhood of fun. If nothing else, please acknowledge the Maker for the generous gift of imaginary real-estate he has bestowed upon us geeks. The Galaxy Far, Far Away is a timeless, beautiful place. It shall weather the fell tempest of criticism and endure, unscathed, for countless awed generations.

Long live the Empire of Binks! *Dodges rocket-propelled grenade.* And long live Great George!

Force be with one and all,
~The Admiral