Spoiler Warning: this post will ruin the biggest reveals and plot points of the film, so cease reading if you plan on seeing it and prefer to be surprised.
Now, before I begin, a disclaimer so the fanboys don’t flog me in public: I liked “The Force Awakens.” Truly, I did. It was a good movie . . . I might even say it was a great movie. The character Rey, from the way she’s written to her costume design and makeup to Daisy Ridley’s performance, is quite simply the greatest single element ever to come from a Star Wars film and what truly shines here. The return of Han, Leia, and Luke fills one with nostalgic glee, and the new generation with Finn and Po is promising.
But, there’s something that bothered me . . . not enough that I didn’t like the film . . . as I said on Facebook after I saw it, if Star Wars has ever meant anything to you, you should see it. Honestly, there are few people that I wouldn’t recommend it to.
But . . . something still bothered me. At first, I thought it was the plot. The moment Po gave the map to BB-8 within the first five minutes, there was a little voice inside of me that said, “Again?” I set it aside, thinking that maybe it was a simple nod to the original film. And yet, as the film progressed, more and more it became clear to me:
J. J. Abrams has remade the original film.
Well, maybe that’s not entirely fair. I’d say it’s about 70% remake, 20% reboot, and 10% sequel. (come on, guys, how much of the story is really related to the events of the previous films?) Still, once again we have an oppressive military complex with a planet-destroying superweapon, once again we have an orphan on a deserty planet following Campbell’s Hero Journey, once again, we have the horrific death of a mentor figure at the hands of a filial figure, once again we have a scrappy and inspiring team of rebel – er, I mean resistance fighters, once again we have a cantina scene, once again we have the Millenium Falcon used primarily as an escape vehicle, once again we have a thrilling climax where the fate of our heroes comes down to a matter of moments (I could go on).
The more I thought about it though, the more I thought, you know, that doesn’t really bother me. Admittedly, I am getting a more and more severe case of what I am dubbing “fanboy fatigue” with every reboot and resurrection of every single staple of geek culture . . . having never really been a fanboy of anything, I almost feel like the kid standing at the foot of a tree while the guys up in treehouse snicker at me because I don’t know the “secret password” to join the club with every one of these efforts that feels like its greatest concern is appeasing the demanding and at times unforgiving fanboys who want everything to be exactly the way it’s always been and will crucify anyone who suggests otherwise either in word or through their own cinematic efforts (seriously, fanboys and diehards, listen to me: you’re becoming the bullies that tormented you so much growing up).
Still, I’m even okay with “The Force Awakens” being Abrams’s fanboy love letter to the ‘77 original—imitation of plot, character, and all—were it not for one little element that still hangs on from the original trilogy and continues to be what after all this time I have finally realized is the my biggest hang-up with these films, from the original trilogy to the maligned prequels and to what I fear will continue in these new efforts:
The Star Wars films have no sense of moral ambiguity, or, to paraphrase a line from the series, they only deal in absolutes of good and evil.
From Jedi to Sith, light side to dark side, Rebellion to Empire, Obi Wan to Vader, and now Resistance to First Order and Rey to Kylo Ren, the Star Wars narrative has always been extremely clear on what is right and what is wrong, who is good and who is bad, what is righteous and what is evil, who is fighting for peace and who is fighting for domination, and who is a calm, centered person and who is an angry, troubled person.
The problem is, barring a handful of exceptions, telling the “good guys” from the “bad guys” usually has very little to do with character actions and behaviors and mostly to do with the movie telling you who is who: these are the good guys because we can see their faces, they seem a jollier and more fun-loving bunch, and we have Williams’s fanfare to accompany them; these are the bad guys because they wear stark colors like black, white, red, and gray, they speak with sneers and acid, they only ever seem to give or take orders, and they walk around to Williams’s minor-chord marches.
Honestly, I’d argue that, again with only a few exceptions, nearly every “bad” action of a “villain” either imitates or resembles a “good” action of a “hero,” making our defined morality very rigid and unwavering, but also paradoxically rather arbitrary other than out-and-out dictating to the audience that what these people do is good and what these people do is bad.
And that bothers me.
I mean, I get it: these stories are akin to mythology, fairy tale, folklore, and even Westerns where such definitions usually are fairly clear, and part of the appeal of the films has always been their timeless nature, capable of captivating both kids and adults, which is difficult to do if you get too much up in the headspace of questioning what is right and what is wrong.
Which is what I think may have happened to the prequels. I find it interesting that one of the most maligned lines of dialogue from the prequels also happens to point to what the prequels could have been had Lucas not been so caught up in his self-importance and trying to wow everyone:
“From my point of view the Jedi are evil!” Anakin cries.
Yes, it’s a weak line, and it’s delivered laughably from Hayden Christensen. But! Had we actually explored this idea that “you’re going to find that many of the truths we cling to depend greatly on our own point of view,” the prequels could have been amazing, as detailed in this article.
But other than those failed attempts (or non-attempts if Lucas didn’t even realize that opportunity was right under his nose), the Star Wars films are perfectly content to dictate very rigid and unwavering notions of right and wrong, good and evil. There are no liminal characters—those who live in the space between two opposing worlds—with the possible exception of Anakin/Vader (who, again, we could have made it there had the prequels not been so bungled) and the loveable but still criminal rogue Han Solo (ever wonder why so many people love him so much?).
So why does this bother me, you ask? Well, being gay and Mormon, I’ve always considered my own life and my own experiences very liminal—caught between the two worlds of my faith and my sexuality. And the kind of binary thinking that prevails Star Wars dialogue about the light and dark side of the Force very much resembles at times the attitudes I hear both from the Mormon community about the LGBT community and from the LGBT community about the Mormon community. Many of your more conservative members of the Mormon community are quick in declaring the “homosexual lifestyle” as degenerate, immoral, and yes, evil, in much the same way that those of the light side speak of the “seductive” nature of the dark side. On the other hand, many of your more extreme members of the LGBT community are quick to declare the entirety of Mormondom as self-righteous, narrow-minded, and limited, much in the same way those of the dark side speak of the light side.
Really, it’s no surprise to me that the state of Utah is such a hot spot for Star Wars fandom: the dominant religion here declares that “there’s the right and the wrong to every question”, that “wrong is never right”, and that “a bitter fountain cannot bring forth good water; neither can a good fountain bring forth bitter water”. So of course, these clear distinctions of good and evil, right and wrong, light and dark and so forth fit right in, with some doctrines sounding identical to Jedi training lines.
Except of course, for those of us who find ourselves caught in the crossfire and who can’t help but see more than a few shades of gray in this black and white thinking.
Nowhere in “The Force Awakens” did this extremely simplistic morality nag at me more than in the backstory of Kylo Ren. Now, we don’t know much of what happened to him yet (and perhaps I’m jumping the gun), but from what I can gather, Luke began to train him as a Jedi, he was drawn to the dark side of the Force much to his parents’ dismay and went on to be a key player in the newest version of the oppressive military complex and to be the latest of the Star Wars baddies to commit some version of patricide.
Moreover, he’s presented without the least smidgen of sympathy: he joins the dark side roster of individuals prone to angsty adolescent rage, is regarded as less than the person he was before, and isn’t given a ounce of understanding or humanity, other than his parents’ hope that they might “bring him back” to the right side of things.
And why? Because Ben/Kylo at some point decided he didn’t believe in his mom’s/uncle’s religion and decided to pursue another path? Obviously, for him to do so is bad and wrong because the Jedi and what they espouse are always good and right, right? So, of course, any consternation from Han, Leia, and Luke for such a choice is completely justified because they’re without question on the right side of the issue, aren’t they? So any rebellious push back from him is simply evidence that he’s going in the wrong direction, right?
Yeah, that kind of resonates with me in a negative way. Best example? The whole dialogue between Han and Leia about him seeing their son, their worry that they’ve lost him, how it tore them apart, and how they might be able to save him sounded identical to the conversation two conservatively Christian parents might have at the sight of their “wayward” child. Because in the morality of Star Wars, those who try to follow their own path and figure out their own lives apart from the influence of their parents, other family members, and traditional beliefs are bound to end up being evil tyrants (whiny and prone to fits of immature rage, no less) who end up killing their fathers.
Again, as a gay Mormon who has seen the vast majority of my peers go through such a realignment of their beliefs and priorities, and a whole sub-community of people who have other reasons to doubt and question what they’ve been taught since their youth and perhaps forge their own paths in life, I take issue with the rigid morality of Star Wars, where the only rule seems to be “these people are good and these people are bad.”
And again, I get this is mythology where you almost have to have such distinct definitions of good and evil. My world, unfortunately, has never been one where morality and notions of right and wrong have been so cut and dry. I’ve never been able to rely wholly on an institution or faith system to perfectly dictate how I should act or what I should do. Life is much more complicated than that, and I know I’m not unique in thinking this way. Many, many people in many, many circumstances live in that kind of in-between space; perhaps this kind of story is a way for them to escape that ambiguity and experience a world where it is that simple, but it doesn’t work that way for me.
So, yes, I liked “The Force Awakens” and I’m okay that we basically remade the original film. What I struggle with is that we’ve also remade the simplistic morality that the original trilogy only barely tried to surpass in “The Empire Strikes Back” or “Return of the Jedi” and that the prequels hopelessly lost the opportunity to shatter.
And who knows? Maybe Abrams is going to finally shake up this good/evil status quo. I mean, I had hope, in the final fight between Rey and Kylo, that we were heading in that direction. There was a moment when Rey’s eyes flashed with fury and anger, and for a brief moment I thought, finally, we’re going to go there . . .
. . . I guess we’ll see what happens in Episode VIII.
– Blake L.
[Awkward Pause] 