How I Was Banished from Star Wars Fandom — and Why

I have the questionable distinction of being the only person I‘ve ever heard of who has been publicly banned from Star Wars fandom. It happened early in 2010. A couple of weeks earlier, a noted film director had delivered a passionate indictment on the ForceCast Podcast of so-called Star Wars fans who do nothing but criticize the films, their creator, and people who do not share their resentment. He concluded by declaring something to the effect that those who don’t approve of the whole of the Star Wars canon shouldn’t call themselves Star Wars fans. His point piqued my curiosity, because, with few exceptions, I hadn’t approved of anything coming out of the Galaxy Far, Far Away since Star Wars (now Star Wars: A New Hope). What my objections are I will take up later. Being a curious old antagonist, I contacted the podcast hosts to get some official pronouncement as to what to call somebody who only liked Star Wars. The hosts took up the challenge, asking their listeners for suggestions for (repeatable) options.

The question led to some thoughtful reactions, and some hostile retorts. The indignant director himself summarized my attitude by saying "I give Star Wars an ‘F’," because only 1/6 of the films had made the grade with me. However, the most appropriate name for someone with my opinions was "Star Wars Sympathizer:" a title I came up with myself. The ire of that director who had started the discussion was directed at "haters," and, although I didn’t like the other films, I didn’t belittle people who did. But, thanks to the director’s quip, I was considered excluded from Star Wars fandom.

I don’t mind my banishment. He is probably right, and I shouldn’t call myself a fan. And I don’t. Sometimes I wonder why I hang around fandom at all, when I don’t particularly like the topic. After much consideration, I have realized that it has been my objections to the logic of the films that has kept me involved. As irrational as it sounds -- even to me -- it has been my hope to set right the wrong things in the story that has inspired my sympathy. With the new film coming out, and the direction the Star Wars story has taken over the past ten years, I have no more hope of seeing the flaws rectified.

For that reason, I might as well explain what I objected to in the Original Trilogy. I will not speak of the prequels, because they are the product of those troubling inconsistencies. I do not deny any cinematographic excellencies in the films, and I can’t impugn the soundtracks, but, logically, the climaxes of the films were, well, wrong.

If I thought the films had anything wrong in them, you may wonder, what, then, did I want to see in The Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi? Essentially, I wanted to see what everybody else thought they saw in those films: I wanted Luke Skywalker to redeem Darth Vader and the Jedi, and Han and Leia to live happily ever after. Fans will go through astonishing logical contortions to convince themselves that the events of the films depicted these outcomes. The fact that they do it proves that those outcomes were the right ones, and are what should have been there. However, all we did see was a young man sacrifice his own future to a presumed ancestry; and clumsy desire substituted for mutual regard.

I’ll show you what I mean. Let’s start with Luke. The Luke of Star Wars was a young man lacking in life experience, idealistic, innocently reckless, essentially kind, who had found his fulfillment with the Rebellion. After all, what is one’s fulfillment but the purpose for which one is willing to die? When Luke went with the squadron on the mission, which Han Solo rightly called "Suicide," to destroy the Death Star, he proved he had found the purpose he would live and die for. The Luke of The Empire Strikes Back, on the other hand, had evidently gained life experience, but the idealism and kindness had been replaced with sullen vanity, and an unaccountable obsession with avenging his father. His insolence to Yoda in their first meeting was out of character with the Luke of Star Wars. That regression in itself was not fatal to the character, but, because his (new) character never grew past that pettiness, his climatic encounter with Darth Vader did doom him.

The event that separates childhood from adulthood is the moment when we realize that we don’t need our parents any more. I certainly don’t refer to a rejection of those who invested their lives in forming our own, of course; but we must reach a point where we recognize that our lives are not extensions of our parents’ lives, that we have our own destinies to fulfill, and that our parents are mere fallible mortals like ourselves, who may merit our respect, our pity, and, hopefully, our friendship, but have no authority over us that we have not given them. Luke had found his destiny in Star Wars. When Vader told him he was his father, Luke should have laughed: not at Vader, but at himself for having obsessed about what had become a meaningless relationship. This should have been the point when Luke did finally "grow up:" when he recognized that he didn’t need a father, either to avenge or obey. He was his own man, who had, through his own choices, found his fulfillment fighting for liberty, and any kinship the Emperor’s most notorious henchman might have claimed to him was irrelevant. But he did not.

At that point, the adult Luke might have recognized a few things about Vader: most significantly, that he’s the biggest chump in the galaxy. In Star Wars, Vader was subordinate to Grand Moff Tarkin. By The Empire Strikes Back, he had graduated to being subordinate to the Emperor, who, we discover, he would like to supplant. Vader wants to rule the galaxy, but he is slavishly obedient to those with more authority that he has. He can’t even rule himself, little less the galaxy. Vader is governed by his own passions and his own fears, and is therefore able to be manipulated. And, to digress briefly, what benefit does the Emperor himself gain from his position? He dwells in a dark cell, dressed like a mendicant monk: a medieval hermit takes more pleasure in life than he does. He evidently exercises his power by using the Force to extort servile behavior from subordinates, not in any actual governing. The Emperor’s rule is a fantasy, just as Vader’s desire for that non-existent authority is a fantasy. Luke’s life experience could have told him Vader was a slave chasing moonbeams, and, at that key juncture, he should have told Vader so. But he did not.

The Luke of Star Wars had found his fulfillment; he would have seen Vader for the lackey he was -- and he would have had the human sympathy to offer him a way of escape. In Star Wars, the Rebellion/Alliance was working to restore the Republic, and, therefore, the presumptive personal liberty that it protected. The Luke of Star Wars would have urged this pitiful old patsy to give up his humiliating allegiance to the Emperor: to join the Rebellion and be free to rule himself. The Vader of The Empire Strikes Back would have rejected that generous offer, but Luke would have pitied him for the slave he was. Again, the opportunity was lost. As it is, a frustrated, disappointed Luke fled his seducer through an apparent act of self-destruction.

I would go so far as to believe that Luke’s character in Return of the Jedi was set up to turn to the Sith. Years ago, I heard Jimmy Mac, then co-host of the Star Wars podcast The Forcecast, make two key points about the Sith: 1.) All Sith kill their masters, and 2.) The thing the Sith fear most is death. What do we see during Luke’s confrontation with Vader and the Emperor at the end of Return of the Jedi? A Sith kills his master, when Vader kills the Emperor; and a man clings to life when his mission required sacrifice. I know viewers for over thirty years have thrilled to the thought that Luke redeemed Vader, but I sure don't see it. Vader appears to have killed the Emperor in order to save Luke, yet he expresses no regret, remorse, or repentance for his past wicked conduct as he breathes his last. He has certainly had no logical reason suddenly to express any paternal affection. To say that Vader's statement that there was still good in him showed repentance overlooks the fact that the very Yin-Yang symbol, which aptly represents the innate Taoistt philosophy of the Jedi, expresses the same idea. The light portion of the symbol has a spot of the dark, and the dark side has a circle of light. Vader's comment should come as no surprise, being nothing but a recitation of shared philosophy. Clearly, in neither Vader nor the yin, the presence of good never overcame the darkness.

As for Luke, his conduct can be rationalized a number of ways, but the fact still remains that he couldn't die for what he believed in, even if it would insure the Rebellion’s success in destroying the Empire’s central power. He fought the Emperor to keep his life, and asked for help when he felt he was losing it. Fans like to overlook this point, but Luke did fear death like a Sith. (You'll also notice he preferred a basic black wardrobe, as the other Sith in that scene do.)

The Luke of Star Wars had grown to live for what he would die for. The Luke of Return of the Jedi should have been willing to die for what he lived for. The man who knows his good purpose, and lives to fulfill it, need fear neither life nor death. He is the man who is truly free; and the man who so rules himself, rules his universe. Luke should have rejected the Emperor’s offer of power with a laugh on the obvious point that the Emperor had nothing that Luke (or Leia) wanted. After all, their allegiance to the Alliance was proof of their rejection of the ways of the Empire. Luke’s further fearlessness in facing death at the Emperor’s hand, in order to distract him from the attack on Death Star II, should have impressed Vader. In Luke’s freedom was the absence of fear he had sought. Vader would then have thwarted the Emperor to save the freedom he longs for.

Does this description sound far-fetched? It shouldn’t. It is no secret that George Lucas had been inspired by the film The Hidden Fortress when writing Star Wars. What I just described is the motivation and outcome of its climactic scene when the opposing general rescues the heroes. It was the right outcome.

In expressing these objections to the films’ plot, I realize that one source of these incongruities is in the philosophy of the Force. Between Star Wars and The Empire Strikes Back, it changed. By Empire, the Force had become a form of magic. In Star Wars, it was "an energy field, created by all living things." Its light and dark side were designations of its appropriate, and inappropriate, use; just as the "dark side" of sex, or any other powerful force, is its misuse. Clearly, a transcendent morality guiding its use must be taken for granted, since the Force itself is amoral.

As I said, in Star Wars, the Force is described as present in all living things. Jedi training presumably consisted of learning the ways of the Force: which presumably (again), meant learning how to manipulate it. Evidently, any willing person could learn that manipulation, as the casual use of the benediction "May the Force be with you" suggested. By The Empire Strikes Back, and most strongly in the prequels, only certain people could use the Force, and only certain people were permitted to learn its ways. Now, the mythic quality of the Star Wars saga is undeniable. However, the myths upon which Star Wars was based were not those of the pantheons or the ballads, but of the truthful myths: the fairy tales. In the truest of those stories, the hero is the least likely of the potential champions, and he rescues the princess or the kingdom because he is, in varying degrees, kind, brave, courteous, and clever. He was as often as not an inconsequential younger son, who nobody thought would amount to anything. He often owes his success to the odd assortment of friends he makes on the way to meet his ordeal. What do we have in Star Wars but a kid off the farm, who collects a rag-tag band of associates, that help him rescue the princess and destroy the mobile castle of the evil ogres?

The main appeal of that fairy tale hero is that he could have been anybody: even the listener could be a hero in his own fairy adventure, if he was brave enough to accept the challenge. In all the other films of the Star Wars saga, victory became a matter of the right lineage and the right training. Common people were no longer offered any hope of achieving the amazing. Such a change may have been based on hoary myths, but only Star Wars was rooted in those truest myths that are fairy tales.

Speaking of fairy tales, and fairy tale romance, the relationship developing between Han and Leia promised to be far from idyllic. Its original inspiration appears to have been that of John and Carol in American Graffiti: the cocksure, if occasionally hapless, adventure-seeker, and the spunky young girl, who spend a night exchanging wisecracks, and end up respecting and enjoying each others’ company. Star Wars set a foundation for such an outcome. By The Empire Strikes Back, though, Leia had lost her self-respect so much as to let Han proposition her, and Han had lost enough respect for her (and himself) to do it. Their exchanges of juvenile insults may be intended to indicate sexual tension, but, those who have been in committed relationships know that sexual tension makes a poor foundation for long-term contentment. Needling insults are a sure way of shattering it. The audience sees no development of friendly feelings, or shared expectations. When their animosity culminates in the sober admissions "I love you./I know," the only feeling they appear to share is passion. Now, I admit that we do see some bonding between them in Return of the Jedi, but watching that respect and affection grow in Empire would have been a lot more satisfying -- and a lot funnier, as the romance’s predecessor was in American Graffiti.

Perhaps th greatest appeal of the Star Wars films is their special effects. For many of us, Star Wars was the first film in which we paid any attention to the special effects; and they have improved with time. However, the effects in the other films generally appeared to be there primarily to dazzle the audience. In Star Wars, the effects were simply an illustration of life in the Galaxy Far, Far Away. They were impressive, but not intrusive. The Spaceships and Monsters, and angst and "hokey religion" of the later films did not impress me as much as the familiar characters -- for, even though we meet them for the first time in Star Wars, we’ve known characters like them all our lives -- in a fresh setting.

Judging from its trailers, the new Star Wars film will present a lot of Spaceships and Monsters, and its very title evokes the hokey religion (The Force) and mortal angst (Awakens). Years ago, when George Lucas first announced he would not be making any Star Wars sequels, he said that he wasn't interested in the future of the stories. That was the wrong answer. The better answer would have been, "The Future belongs to you." We really don't need the Sequels, because the futures we have made up for these characters is so much more satisfying to us than anything someone else could concoct. Well, that future has been concocted, out of the hash Luke, Han and Leia were making out of their lives. Someone had posted to social media recently a comment to the effect that, if most of the literature about the Star Wars galaxy has been declared non-canon, let’s just sit back and enjoy the story that unfolds. Well, as I have tried to explain, while I loved the story’s bud, I couldn’t abide its blossom. I don’t enjoy the unfolded story, so my exile from fandom has finally become an emigration.

Have you ever read Sir Walter Scott’s Waverley novels? They’re thrilling!

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If you would like to hear my disgrace, here is the evidence:
ForceCast.net: Weekly ForceCast: February 26, 2010 : The "Star Wars Sympathizer," about 1:35:10 into the broadcast [Web Page].   http://www.forcecast.net/story/forcecast/Weekly_ForceCast_February_26_2010_129763.asp  Incidently, what is read as "four-covered" appeared as "IV-Covered’ (Ivy-covered).

At this writing, hosts Jason Swank and Jimmy Mac currently appear on the RebelForceRadio podcast : http://www.rebelforceradio.com/

Postscript:
While composing a blogpost about Star Wars and the novel /The Napoleon of Notting Hill/, I finally realized why I only liked Star Wars. Among the trappings of exotic settings, unbelievable creatures, gleaming weapons, and thrilling space ships, the characters lived heroically in that film. They were true to themselves, and to a good purpose greater than themselves. But, although the other films highlighted, and improved on, those trappings, the “spaceships and monsters,” as it were, the characters themselves ceased to be heroic. In a transitional film or two, that failing needn’t be fatal: often heroes lose their way and need to be restored to their better selves. In Star wars, they never did regain their idealism, or their heroic souls.  They had grown old, and, as G.K. Chesterton says, through his novel's hero, " Whatever makes men feel old is mean--an empire or a skin-flint shop. Whatever makes men feel young is great--a great war or a love-story."  But the audience is still able to feel young, and that will always be what was great about Star Wars.