WHAT'S A DUCK? - CELEBRATING 30 YEARS OF STAR WARS

I loved Star Wars so much when I first saw it in the theaters. I had to convince my Dad to bring me, and he only caved in and brought me and my two brothers because , Time Magazine called it the greatest movie of all time. I collected the Topps cards, read the less than stellar Marvel Comics adaptation, and listened to the soundtrack (on what we called a phonograph.)

When I read the novelization by "George Lucas" (which I figured out was written by Alan Dean Foster in a bit of literary deduction) I was thrown by Obi Wan telling Luke that "even a duck must be taught to swim." and Luke's response: "What's a duck?" The exchange, a simple example of character building through dialog, seemed to violate the sense of continuity. It made sense that Luke wouldn't know what a duck was, he lived on a desert planet, ducks wouldn't last two minutes there. It pissed me off that Obi Wan did know what a duck was. This was "a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away..." why are ducks known out there, back then?

I enjoyed The Empire Strikes Back and about half of The Return of the Jedi, but the bloom was off the rose. I started to realize just how half-cocked Star Wars was. It wasn't new, just new to me. In building his universe Lucas borrowed from vastly superior sources: samurai films, movie serials, Marvel Comics, etc. Everything became grist for his mill. "What's a duck?" became symbolic to me for everything I perceived to be wrong with Star Wars. I realized that the premise just wasn't thought out that well. The three newest movies made matters worse. When we see ducks on Naboo, I thought, "Lucas is just covering his ass. There were no ducks on Naboo before."

STAR WARS--HUH!--WHAT IS IT GOOD FOR? - CELEBRATING 30 YEARS OF STAR WARS

Star Wars--it’s incredible now to think of how meaningless those two words were when I first heard them.

In 1977 I was fifteen years old, and not much of a science fiction fan. Most sci-fi movies and TV shows were just too boring--it was all either sterile psychodramas like Space: 1999, 2001, and Silent Running, or back-lot space operas like Star Trek and Lost in Space. I was a huge reader of science-fiction novels, because they were full of action, but onscreen sci-fi was nothing but talk. I preferred monster movies, disaster epics, James Bond. Jaws was a major event, but that had been way back in ‘75, and nothing had yet taken its place as my favorite movie.

The first time I saw the words Star Wars was when my best friend showed me the paperback novelization. He had just seen the movie on opening night, and was trying to get me to understand that it would change my life.

“You have to see it,” he said. “Just look.”

I flipped through the section of color stills from the film. There was a picture of a gold robot standing next to what appeared to be a dome-topped garbage can. “That’s Artoo-Detoo,” my friend explained unhelpfully. Another picture showed a sleek spaceship being chased by what appeared to be a cement-mixer with spindly wagon wheels. “That’s a TIE fighter.” Then there were two people in medieval clothing swinging across a metal chasm, as in an old-time action serial. I didn’t get it.

“It’s gonna be your favorite movie,” he said firmly.

“Okay…”

“You’ll see. We’ll go tomorrow. Just wait and see.”

The next day, my friend’s mom drove us to Mann’s Chinese Theater. There was a line, but nothing extraordinary. Few people had seen the movie yet, so there were no sense of collective anticipation--just a bunch of folks going to a matinee. Only my friend knew what we were in for.

There were no previews. As the lights went down, the only preamble was the 20th Century Fox logo and the nonsensical phrase, “A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…”

Suddenly we were hit by that blare of trumpets and that immense star field, with the words STAR WARS receding into space. That was pretty damn cool, but the three paragraphs of text that followed were impossible to digest. It didn’t matter; it looked good. Then the music let up, and the camera panned down past two little moons to an awesome orange planet--the most realistic planet effect I had ever seen, with a thin band of blue atmosphere over a hot-looking desert. It was great, I was already wowed, but then the unthinkable happened:

A small, multi-engine spaceship burst into view, spewing red laser-bolts, and before I could even process this a second ship swooped in, trading laser fire with the first.

That second ship was the most amazing thing I had ever seen.

It loomed overhead like an inverted planet, engulfing the entire top half of the wide-screen 70mm frame and yet still coming, longer and longer, until the front end of it was unimaginably far in the distance. There was a collective gasp from the audience, then cheering and applause. For me, the awesome scale and realism of that scene permanently blew my mind, changing forever my perception of what a movie could be.

And the incredible thing was, the best was yet to come:

Scary white-armored Stormtroopers and freaky black-helmeted Darth Vader; the densely-realized world of Tattooine; all the wonderful characters, human and otherwise; the light-saber duel and the astounding final battle over the Death Star. Every frame of film was packed with things I’d never seen before…and would have to see again. And again and again.

By the end of that summer, my friend and I had seen the movie at least thirty times and memorized every line of dialogue, including the various alien and robotic languages (“Oota-toota, Solo?”). There wasn’t much in the way of merchandising at the time, but we bought everything we could find, and attended what was probably the first-ever Star Wars convention at the Los Angeles Marriott. It all seemed like innocent, harmless fun…until we got arrested.

Oh yes, there was a dark side.

We got greedy. It was the action figures that did it. We were spending so much money going to the movie that we had nothing left for toys--it wasn’t fair! So one day at the Westminster Mall, we just started stealing them. Ripping them out of their packages and pocketing them. When our pockets were full, we stuffed them down our pants and in our socks. There were two employees chatting nearby, oblivious, and we played it cool as we walked out of the store and onto the escalator. A second later, two men came running up the escalator behind us. Damn, I thought. But they weren’t looking our way, and for a second I had the sweet, silly hope that they would run right on by.

Of course they didn’t.

As the men brushed past us, we simultaneously felt their claw-like grips on our upper arms, and one of them said, “Did you boys take something you shouldn’t have?”

“Yes,” we said sheepishly, and allowed ourselves to be handcuffed and led through the crowded mall to an office in the basement, where we were shackled to metal chairs. Other than giving our names and addresses, we didn’t speak, and no one spoke to us. Nor did they call our parents. They relieved us of our stolen goods and sealed them in a plastic bag as evidence. One of the security men said to the other, “Little shits should get a beating just for tearing open the packages.”

After a while, an officer from the county sheriff’s department showed up and took custody of us, loading us into the back of his cruiser and driving us down to the sheriff’s office. Looking at us through his rearview mirror, he said, “You know, anything over fifty dollars is a felony.”

Though outwardly calm, I was terrified, numb with shock, but still able to appreciate the novelty of riding in a police car. The squawking radio, the shotgun--it was all very interesting, very real. And uncomfortable as I was sitting on my cuffed wrists, the pain only added to the vivid intensity of the experience, the sense that anything could happen. I was a criminal!

We were taken and booked in, left to stand as a deputy filled out the paperwork. There was a pair of cute girls there as well, teenage runaways in tight corduroys and Farrah Fawcett waves.

“Hey,” they said.

“Hey,” we said.

The girls were obviously interested in us, another first, so we tried to look tough, a couple of real bad boys, but the deputy said, “Know what these guys are in for? Stealing a bunch of dolls!”

Finally my friend and I were given a phone and told to call our parents. We were both sons of single mothers, and my friend’s mom was the only one with a car. Unfortunately she wasn’t home, so I called my mother.

“Hi, Mom?”

“Oh, Walter, is something wrong?”

“Uh, well, it looks like me and Greg did something really dumb. We kind of got arrested for shoplifting.”

“Oh no!”

“Yeah. We’re at the Westminster Sheriff’s Department. Can you get someone to pick us up?”

“Oh my God…I guess I could ask Johnny to drive me.” Johnny was the elderly brother of my mom’s friend Rita.

“Sorry, Mom. It was for some stupid Star Wars toys.”

“Don’t worry about that--I just thank God you’re all right. I’ll come as fast as I can.”

“Thanks, Mom. Sorry.”

We were taken to the drunk tank to wait. We had the place to ourselves. Since there was nowhere to sit except the toilet or the dirty floor, we paced around or leaned against the graffiti-scrawled yellow walls--our very own Death Star. Where was Luke Skywalker when we needed him?

I said, “Wouldn’t it be cool if--”

“Just shut up,” Greg said.

GEORGE LUCAS STOLE MY BIRTHDAY CAKE AND ATE IT, TOO - CELEBRATING 30 YEARS OF STAR WARS

My mother emailed this morning:

I just thought you might be interested in the fact that 30 years ago today Star Wars hit the movie theaters. Oh, by the way, happy birthday!

Love, Mom

Sounds harsh, but don't cry for me just yet, Argentina. There are worse fates than to share your birthday with the release of Star Wars. Raise your hand if your DOB happens to fall on April 20. December 18? July 6? Sorry, folks, my birthday is better than yours.

I can't claim (as so many do-- it's like the Gen-X Woodstock) to have seen Star Wars on its opening weekend. It had probably been out for months before I finally caught it in second run at the Cinerama. As Mr. Jackson pointed out in an earlier post, opening weekend wasn't as big a deal in 1977 as it is now. More importantly, Mom had seen Star Wars early on and decided that "the hairy monster guy that flies the spaceship" would probably scare the beejezus out of her first-grader. She was wrong, of course, but it took a lot of nagging on my part to bring her around.

It's hard to imagine in media saturated 2007 just how hard and how fast Star Wars permeated the zeitgeist. Even without the help of the Internet and with only seven or eight channels of snowy, black-and-white tv, I knew everything about Star Wars long before I saw it on the big screen. Biggs Darklighter, check. Jabba the Hutt, check. Star Wars was everywhere-- in print, on the radio, on the playground-- and every little detail got woven into a larger tapestry of experience. No matter how many sequels, spin-offs, revisions and media tie-ins have followed, the undiluted fun of 1977 is what I still love best about Star Wars.

I can't deny the influence that the film has had on me, from forming the core of my comic book fetish to fueling my love of Japanese culture. My experience isn't particularly unique in these regards. I attended Mr. Blitz's screening of the bootleg VHS copy of Star Wars lo those many years ago. It's safe to say that he and I are in agreement on most points when it come to the Long Ago, Far Away Galaxy.

The bottom line is that it's not so bad to share a birthday with Star Wars. It's practically a holiday and guaranteed to be 100% fun.

Also, Han shot first.

BANTHA FODDER - CELEBRATING 30 YEARS OF STAR WARS

It was thirty years ago today...

Or more appropriately, a long time ago, that I saw the original Star Wars with my father on opening weekend at a local movie theater.

Prior to that screening, my obsessions were super-heroes (specifically Batman), Muppets and The Six Million Dollar Man.

There was no such thing as Star Wars.

And then there was.

And everything was different.

A long time ago, I remember arguing in the schoolyard who would be Luke and who would be Han at the start of recess.

A long time ago, I remember going to the opening of the first Toys R Us in the area, being able to choose one thing (passing up the now ridiculously rare Mego Teen Titans figures) and choosing a copy of the Star Wars Treasury Edition published by Marvel Comics.

A long time ago, specifically second grade, I made my own comic adaptation of Star Wars (which was basically a poor adaptation of Marvel's) and it was mimeographed and distributed in the class.

A long time ago, I remember getting a bootleg copy of Star Wars on VHS and having a half dozen friends over after school to watch it.

A long time ago, the Star Wars universe was finite. I knew a solid 85% of all there was to know about George's plans for the three trilogies (Yes, George, you did say there was going to be nine films). I knew the names of the pilots that flew Rebel ships against the Death Star (R.I.P. Jek Porkins), about the Khyber Crystal and The Journal of the Whills and how Solo freed an enslaved Chewbacca, granting him a life debt.

A long time ago, I remember walking into a movie theater and seeing the tail end of the trailer for The Empire Strikes Back, specifically Luke flying through the glass during his battle with Vader in Bespin.

A long time ago, I was playing at my friend Vincent Ho's house when my mother came to pick me up. forty five minutes later I was sitting at the Showcase Cinema in Seekonk, Massachusetts on the opening day of Empire watching AT-AT's destroy the Rebel Base on Hoth. When we left the movies, Darth Vader stood in the parking lot waving goodbye.

A long time ago, I spent a solid hour debating with my late older brother David who Yoda was talking about when he said that, "there was another."

A long time ago, I debated how a Jedi wouldn't show revenge, so the title Revenge of the Jedi made no sense.

A long time ago, I remember reading the comic adaptation of Return of the Jedi before it came out. And I saw it opening day and twice again that weekend.

A long time ago, I bought the first Timothy Zahn Star Wars novel and put it aside forever when they revealed Lando's fondness for an exotic drink called "hot chocolate."

A long time ago, I waited in line for two hours before seeing Star Wars The Special Edition. When it was over, I was disappointed at how bored I was and how it seemed to be missing all of the scenes that my memory had amalgamated from different sources (comics, radio adaptations, magazines, etc.) as being part of the film.

A long time ago, I got tickets hours before the midnight showing of The Phantom Menace. I was less excited to have to see it a second time the next day with the tickets that I secured weeks before (I actually brought a book).

A long time ago, I was excited to hear that Star Wars would be coming to dvd. I was happier to own it than I was to watch it.

A long time ago, I was even more excited that the original non-special edition trilogy was being released. This too is a purchase that I'm happier to own than watch.

Star Wars changed my generation in a number of ways. When I was younger a single shot of several bounty hunters fueled my imagination (Zuckuss? Dengar? IG-88? Bossk? Anyone?). With the new trilogy, every character seemed like an action figure. Yet, despite my cynicism (Thanks, George), my disappointment with the newer films (Thanks again, George) and with my overall lack of interest in Star Wars these days; I can't dispute the fact that Star War fueled my imagination for many years, created a common pop culture thread for my generation and overall, touched my life for the better.

Now, when a new film or animated series or special edition comes out, I see it or buy it. Partly out of a weird obligation and partly in an attempt to recapture a bit of the magic and innocence of my childhood.

Now, on it's thirtieth anniversary there is only one caveat that holds true.

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away a great adventure took place.

IN LOVE WITH STAR WARS - CELEBRATING 30 YEARS OF STAR WARS

C-3PO: Don't call me a mindless philosopher, you overweight glob of grease! Now come out before somebody sees you.
(Star Wars: Episode IV A New Hope)

My best friend Cara just turned 30. She is beautiful, smart, funny and generous, but no man she dates seems to last more than a couple of months. And I blame Star Wars. In particular, I blame Han Solo.

Cara was barely one month old when Star Wars: Episode IV A New Hope brought the Force to our suburban theatres. She was seven when her parents first allowed the Corellian smuggler into her lounge room. And Cara has been in love ever since.

Han Solo is the template for the men Cara chases today. She wants the maverick, the bad guy with enough wit and charisma to make you forgive his overwhelming arrogance. Want to know what maturity has brought to Cara’s crush on Mr Solo? Not much, to be honest. “He is ruggedly gorgeous, a rogue, and a very naughty boy!” she told me this morning, with a grin.

Han Solo overcame his mercenary traits just in time to turn around and help the Rebels defeat Darth Vader. But unfortunately here in Sydney, Australia, the real bad boys in Cara’s life rarely look back.

There are some elements of popular culture, pop icons, if you will, that have such an extraordinary influence on our psyche that without realising it, we allow them to become guiding forces in our life choices.

And for just about anyone born between 1970 and 1985, Star Wars is one of those pop icons. In fact, it would have been pretty hard for any of us to have avoided being touched with the Star Wars stick. In a TIME magazine article of 2002, writer Richard Corliss attributed Star Wars to pretty much every movie-marketing spin-off practice we’re so familiar with today.

For kick-starting tie-in marketing campaigns, such as those with McDonalds, he thanks Star Wars. And for introducing episodic movie cloning (“there was no Gone With the Wind II,”), Corliss says we can also look to George Lucas. Computer-generated special effects were a Star Wars phenomenon, as was the introduction of THX loudspeakers, bringing stereo sound to theatres. Star Wars created a market for collectibles (“every kid has to have Star Wars action figures, lightsabers, key chains, books,”), video arcade space themes, and warp-speed theme park rides. Even one-time President of the United States, Ronald Regan, used “Regan’s Star Wars” as the alias for his Strategic Defence Initiative.

Against such an onslaught, what chance did us vulnerable kids have? George Lucas was using the Force, indeed.

My friend Dave, a graphic designer, told me today that when he was a kid, Star Wars was The One. There were plenty of other movies, TV shows, books and games that could and did capture his attention, but Star Wars was the big kahuna, the mother of all his boyhood influences.

After a quick poll, I’ve discovered that Star Wars imprinted the following (admittedly rather questionable) lessons on the impressionable minds of my friends:

1. Sword-play is much more interesting if the blade is made of fluorescent light
2. Appearances can be misleading (think Yoda flying around his swamp doing Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon-esque martial arts)
3. Villains are scarier if lung cancer has affected their voices
4. Boys like girls who wear their hair as headphones
5. We will probably be flying in space-ships by the time we grow up

In his article An American Mythology: Why Star Wars Still Matters on the Decent Films Guide, Steven D Greydanus writes:

“… Lucas’s universe has had an impact on generations of moviegoers utterly out of all proportion to its formidable qualities as spectacle or excitement. The Force, the Jedi knights, Darth Vader, Obi-Wan, Princess Leia, Yoda, lightsabers, and the Death Star hold a place in the collective imagination of countless Americans that can only be described as mythic.”

And if Aussie Cara’s story is anything to go by, the reach of Star Wars in popular culture extends well beyond America’s borders.

My own heart was not as easily touched as Cara’s, and I remained a more distant admirer of Mr Han Solo. However, I confess to wanting my own Wookie as a pet, and to trying – and failing – to wind my hair into balls over my ears.

And for about half a decade, I plotted my days under the careful guidance of Yoda. Appearing through mysterious and gloomy goop under his green feet, Yoda had the answer to any question I could put to him. So much more profound than an eight-ball, Yoda would bring his ancient wisdom to life’s many questions. To “Will mum and dad buy me a pony soon?” Yoda would sagely reply, “Probable it is.” And to “Will I be pretty when I grow up?” Yoda would advise, “Inside you the answer is.”

Which possibly explains why I have a thing for older men, and Cara is still chasing bad boys. May the Force be with both of us.