The Star Wars Remakes

When I saw The Force Awakens, I was underwhelmed. But everyone else seemed to love it, so I figured my ambivalence toward the movie was just a symptom of depression. I was willing to go along with the mainstream narrative of a Star Wars renaissance. Honestly, I didn’t wanna ruin anyone’s enjoyment of the film. I didn’t wanna be the stick-in-the-mud who insists that the new ones aren’t as good as the originals. Everyone seemed to think Star Wars was back on track, and I wasn’t going to stand in their way.

My reaction to The Last Jedi was similar. Although I thought The Last Jedi was better than the previous installment, it still didn’t rekindle my childlike enthusiasm for the franchise. (For the record, I enjoyed Rogue One much more than these two.) Once again, I was willing to accept the critical and popular consensus that it was superlative entertainment.

But I’ve been emboldened by the brewing backlash among Star Wars diehards. Now I’m thinking that maybe I was right all along. I wasn’t able to articulate my criticism until I watched this video.

The main problem with the sequels is that, so far, they’re basically just a reboot of the original trilogy. We’ve got a new empire and a mostly new Rebellion/Resistance. But we already defeated the empire! Why should I care about defeating another empire? That’s boring! As the guy in the video points out, even the prequels had a different arc, covering the rise of the empire. Sure, they did a really shitty job with it, but at least it was different!

When The Force Awakens came out, people said, “Yeah, the plot is identical to A New Hope, but so what? It’s a reboot.” I suppose there’s nothing wrong with that, except for one thing: THAT’S SO FUCKING LAME! The series doesn’t need a reboot! J.J. Abrams, Rian Johnson & company just wanted to go back to what “worked” in the original trilogy. They assume it was the basic plot structure that drove their success and doomed the prequels (instead of the artistic execution).

Just as The Force Awakens was a loose remake of A New Hope, so is The Last Jedi a rehash of The Empire Strikes Back. I’ll spare you the irrelevant details and tick off the bullet points. The movie starts with the Rebellion’s – er, Resistance’s – secret base being discovered by the Empire – er, First Order. Instead of Luke being trained by Yoda, Rey is (reluctantly) trained by Luke. We get an imperial walker battle, but at the end instead of the beginning, and on a planet covered in salt instead of ice. Kylo (basically) tells Rey who her parents are: “nobodies.” (That’s one of the more refreshing changes. Heredity has become so important in this series that I was beginning to think the Force was just a recessive gene.)

The First Order’s fleet chases the Resistance fleet. The Emperor’s – excuse me, Supreme Leader’s – huge ship is revealed. Just like with the updated Death Star (the imaginatively named “Starkiller Base”), the only real innovation is that it’s way bigger than its precursor. Also, the technical aspects of the film are above reproach. The special effects, sound design, art direction and fight choreography are all top-notch.

But, when it comes to the story, the filmmakers don’t have much new to offer. Women and POC’s figure prominently in the Resistance, whereas the First Order is the last bastion of white masculinity. This has triggered some alt-right (or alt-lite) dudes on YouTube, which is kinda fun, but it doesn’t bring any new energy to the plot’s tired beats.

To me, it seems like Disney has decided to play it safe in the interest of maximizing profit. I wonder how people will react if the next film has another Starkiller Base or something similar, and the Resistance has to disable its force field in order for their fleet to finally defeat the First Order. If they team up with a bunch of cute woodland creatures, I might just lose it. I might go full Sargon of Akkad on their asses.

Seriously, though, I think the backlash could go nuclear if the next one proves to be just another remake. Those who have enjoyed the sequels so far will have enough time to digest them and see the parallels with the originals and may finally come to the conclusion that they’ve been had. Or maybe they’re right and I’m the asshole. Who knows?

I just wish they would’ve told a different kind of story. I wanted to see the New Republic try to re-establish democracy in the galaxy through a mixture of diplomacy and warfare. I think it would’ve been far more interesting watching the Rebels make the difficult transition from resistance group to government. Surely, they would’ve been riven by internal conflict and challenged by other power centers in the galaxy, some of which may have had a morally equal claim to legitimacy.

By choosing the remake route, Disney has denied us a more complex, rewarding story. Then again, that may not be the kind of tale that blockbusters are made of. But, more likely, it’s just too morally fraught for a transnational behemoth to take that big a chance on.

The Way Out

Last week, I started a month-long temp job inspecting (mostly holiday-related) photo cards. It’s in Eagan, so it’s been taking me about 35 minutes to drive there. Luckily, they switched me to a 11:30-8pm shift this week, so the traffic isn’t as bad. Unluckily, the roads have been covered in ice, nearly doubling my travel time.

It’s an easy job. We just flip through stacks of cards, looking for flaws in the printing or cutting or resolution, for instance. The challenge is the repetitiveness, since some orders have hundreds of prints, and doing this for 8 (or more) hours a day can be mind-numbing.

Strangely, I haven’t yet been tempted to stick in my ear buds. At most of my jobs this is the first thing I do. It always seemed like the best way to take my mind off the work and shift my focus to matters I consider more important or more entertaining.

But now it feels like doing so would cloud my brain and make the job more difficult, even though this is one of the most mindless jobs I’ve ever had. I think I’ve finally come around to the idea of mindfulness and given up on multi-tasking. Intellectually, I’ve long seen the benefits of concentrating on one task at a time, but now I seem emotionally ready to embrace the practice.

I think the main difference is that I no longer have to drown out my personal demons. These aren’t shrieking horrors out of the realm of nightmares, just the nattering nabobs of negativity. I used to call them “couch potato demons.” Unlike the anxieties that supposedly drive certain people to greatness, my demons kept me on the couch, snacking and watching TV.

But, given time and nourishment, they grew into terrifying giants. I’d been avoiding them until they grew too large to avoid. I had to stop hiding and meet them head-on. Once I cut back on my behavior of “avoidance” (a term my third-to-last therapist introduced me to), I started down the road to recovery.

Eschewing the ear buds is just the latest step in my path toward engagement with Reality. Instead of trying to distract myself from the job, I’m willing to accept the fact that I’m working as a temp grunt. I no longer have to be ashamed, because I’m not worried (as much) about what other people think of me in terms of social status.

I finally believe the hokum I’ve been spouting all these years about how what really matters is who you are on the inside, not what you have, that love and kindness and charity are more important than material possessions and appearances. This is because I’ve taken another big step closer to fully living by those principles.

That big step was accepting my parents’ love and reconnecting with my nurturing side. At heart, I’m just a big Stuart Smalley. (Sorry about the timing of that reference.) But it’s taken about 25 years to throw off the shame that was heaped on that side of me in my youth.

It’s especially nice to be free of that shame at this job, because we get to look at pictures of cute kids and families looking happy. I’ve really been able to indulge that long-dormant “caring nurturer” side of me. (I should say that my “caring nurturer” side hasn’t been completely dormant, but it’s been mostly expressed toward friends and cats, and even then in an oft-reserved manner.)

This is the first time since I hit puberty that I’ve been able to express that warmth fully towards kids, without being worried that someone’s gonna make fun of me. I’ve finally forgiven them (that is, “Kids,” writ large) for making fun of me when I was a kid. (The actual kids who made fun of me are not yet totally forgiven. But they aren’t kids anymore, so what am I holding on to?)

The Old Me would’ve (inwardly) sneered at the cute kids and the happy families. Eventually, he would’ve despised the person who invented photography for (indirectly) forcing him to do this work. (According to Wikipedia, there were a few Western European male-types involved in the invention of photography.)

But now I can revel in the vicarious joy and cuteness of the pictures, because I’m finally happy and grateful for my family. I’m forced to marvel at those who are happy despite growing up in broken homes. That’s a level of mental health I haven’t yet achieved.

I still wonder if all these people in the photographs are as happy as they appear. I know what it’s like to put on a show for the cameras. I resented having to do that for family pictures. Surely, some of the people in these pics fall into that category, but so it goes. This isn’t a perfect world.

I check out the couples in the pics to see who got the better of the deal. I assume the more physically attractive person got the short end of the stick, but they could be a real basket case. You can’t really make that judgment without knowing them personally. But it’s still fun.

One piece of advice for holiday pix: Don’t hire a Santa to pose with your kids. No matter how jolly that Old St. Nick is, it’s still creepy. It may be a sad commentary on our times, but there’s just something disturbing about seeing a little girl whisper into an old man’s ear, especially when he’s wearing an expression of surprise.

I look at the kids in these pictures and wonder: Which of them are going to grow up to be total fucking assholes? Statistically speaking, some of them will. It’s just science. I wonder if I can tell just by looking at them. I doubt it. That would fly in the face of years of experience. I’ve been obsessed with appearances for decades, and this is where it’s gotten me.

It turns out that most people who order fancy holiday photo cards have physically attractive families, or so this job has led me to believe. That, combined with the super-happy shots of kids frolicking and parents looking on lovingly, makes me wonder if these people are real.

There was also the card featuring the Soap Opera Family, a group of people who looked just like characters from an early-90’s soap, right down to the older gentleman with the white goatee. They made the Kardashians look subtle. I didn’t really think those people existed, except on TV.

I should thank the company employing me, and the temp agency that arranged it, for allowing me this time to write. On my first day, I came down with a cold. It wasn’t bad, but I really would’ve liked to stay home and recover and not infect all the people around me.

I didn’t think that was an option because I’d just started the job and it was my first assignment with this agency, so I kept going and spreading my germs. I cursed Capitalism for forcing me into this situation. Instead of just letting me stay home and rest, it was making me spread my contagion.

I finally called in sick on Wednesday, in the hope that one more day off (I worked Sunday.) would help me get over the cold. It wasn’t quite enough, so I called yesterday and told them I’d have to quit because it would take a while to get over this. The lady at the agency asked if I could just take the rest of the week off and come back Monday. I said, “Sure,” amazed that was acceptable to them.

So here I am, recounting the travails of a 40-year-old temp. I may not be where I wanna be, but, as someone (Robert Frost, apparently) once said, “The only way out is through.” I’ve already made it through the minefield of my own brain. Compared to that, the rest of the journey should be a cakewalk.