If you've been following this blog since its inception in 2005 (or if you just enjoy backreading) then you'd know that Star Wars has been a part of this blog since the beginning. I care about the franchise deeply, as it is part of my childhood, my adolescence and now my adulthood. (Star Trek will always be #1 in my heart, but in terms of cultural properties, this is perhaps the only right time when a man can have more than two lovers.)
Before watching the latest installment of the franchise, I decided to rewatch the previous film in the series, Rian Johnson's The Last Jedi. Watching TLJ for the first time back in 2017 was a strange experience. I liked what I saw, but there was something about the film that I couldn't put my finger on. While former entries in the Star Wars mainline canon were endlessly rewatchable, I struggled to make myself rewatch this. When I looked at the film more closely, I saw the reason why: The Last Jedi is a good film, a deconstruction of the hero's journey, a democratization of the force, and self-critique of blockbuster cinema, the same kind of cinema that Martin Scorsese famously criticized as "not cinema." But as a franchise film, as popcorn cinema, as a delivery system for thrills and nostalgia, TLJ is a terrible example of that. The film is doggedly averse to providing the catharsis that audiences are used to, and that's not necessarily a bad thing, but the vitriolic backlash to the film, not seen since the prequel trilogy, is understandable to a certain extent. The film is a bummer: a well made bummer, but a bummer still. It challenges the viewer, it disturbs them, but viewers are unused to disturbance. Viewers crave comfort, in as much as MMFF films in the Philippines provide similar experiences year after year for audiences willing to shell out their hard earned cash for it. It's hard to change audience expectations; blockbuster cinema has been out there for almost a century, and you can't overturn a century's worth of culture with one film.
That said, defenders who call TLJ the best film of the series only see the thematic richness of the film, and not its storytelling lapses. The Last Jedi is a film of contradictions, where character actions belie the themes it purports to champion. The film criticizes heroic sacrifices, but at the same time its biggest climactic moments are heroic sacrifices. The film is about rebellion, but at the same time it (inadvertently?) supports an authoritarian power structure that is not transparent. I still like The Last Jedi, almost as much as I did when I first saw it, but it's not a perfect film.
With that, The Rise of Skywalker should've been doomed from the start. It's clear that there was no overarching vision for the film, with Abrams and Johnson playing an intergalactic version of Telephone. Carrie Fisher's death changed the nature of this installment even before it was set to be made, and the original director assigned to the trilogy's conclusion was unceremoniously fired. The fact that this movie was even made in the first place is something of a minor miracle.
Yet as it is, it's not a film I can hate. Abrams "wins" the game of telephone by stepping back into safeness and by mostly ignoring Johnson's film. But ultimately, there are no winners. The trilogy's ultimate sin is its lack of cohesiveness. In giving its directors carte blanche without the collaboration or coordination necessary to make these tentpole franchises work, the whole thing falls apart. While it manages to tell good or at least passable individual stories, the overall work is a convoluted mess. Say what you will about Lucas' Prequel Trilogy, but that film had a concrete beginning, middle and end because one man stood at the helm of all three films. Who knows what would have happened if Johnson or Abrams had taken the reins of this trilogy from the start; arguably we would've gotten something far better out of it all. The Rise of Skywalker would've been a perfect sequel to an Episode VIII, but not the Episode VIII we got, In effect, we got a trilogy without a second act: The Rise of Skywalker is a sequel to a film that does not exist. Johnson was ambitious to lay out his ideas in that way, but given what happened to films like Solo: A Star Wars Story, it's not hard to see how his ideas would fly in the face of a megacorporation like Disney whose bottom line is to appease as many consumers as possible.
That said, somehow the film feels good. The catharsis, shallowly constructed or not, comes in waves. And that's where I realize that there is comfort in sameness, in safety, in the realization that you know the good guys will save the day, that we know the good guys will save the day, but that's okay. It's a feeling that harkens back to the serial films that Star Wars is inspired by. It also helps that the film does not exist in a vacuum, it is supported by the experiences of a lifetime: by seeing your first Star Wars film, whether on VHS, Betamax or in the cinema, by holding your first toy or lightsaber, by meeting friends with the same fandom interest as yourself, by learning that a beloved cast member has passed away.
The release of this film continues an ongoing conversation about the ownership of cultural properties like Star Wars, as well as commercial cinema vs art. There's obviously a divide between fans who just want to watch a new Star Wars film versus people who want more from it - comfort versus discomfort, a theme park ride versus a road trip to the unknown. Do fans own these cultural products? Should they be the ones to dictate what art should be put out there, or do they not know any better because of some cultural standard or vanguard? Is limiting the artistic freedom of a creator when dealing with these megafranchises an insult to artistic integrity, or a necessary evil?
I don't have the answers to these questions, and it remains to be seen what the sequel trilogy's legacy will be. Time has a strange way of changing things around. Back then, the Prequel Trilogy was hated, but now it lives on as a cultural artifact through memes, and the films are being reassessed. As it is, the Sequel Trilogy is an entertaining trio of films, an interesting experiment to see if the franchise could survive without the creative mind that birthed it. Right now, it comes off as more of a noble failure than anything else. But if the trilogy inspires even one child to look up to the stars, to challenge authority, to save the people they love, to be more than their name and heritage, then in its own special way, it has worked.
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