Stab me with money
The day has come. From the day I learned that fantastic movie called Star Wars was being given an addendum to its original title, I knew this day would come. There would be an end. It was far off in the future, but the day would eventually arrive. I adored my life at home. It wasn’t always an easy time growing up, but I had Star Wars. Soon, The Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi became my guardians. They raised me and loved me. But, like a young man who left the nes,t I was glad to return home for the holidays. The prequels were like seeing where I grew up from a new perspective. The things left behind were different now. Nieces and nephews played with the toys I used to enjoy. Star Wars had become theirs. More years would pass, and everything old became new again. Watching the children grow with my guardians brought me back to the comfort and nostalgia. The transition could only be seen for what it was when I could step back and see the portrait of time that these guardians provided. The day has come. I’ve just seen Star Wars Episode IX: The Rise of Skywalker. It was like getting together for a funeral. We’re glad to see each other, but we wish we got together more often under different circumstances. Despite your differences you embrace, celebrate and mourn together, and you say goodbye to your guardian. Together.
The Rise of Skywalker begins, and someone forgot to hang that one portrait everyone wanted at the viewing. We all remembered the 20th Century Fox fanfare, and it was sadly absent. We let it slide. After a cursory crawl that was a simplified shuffle through exposition, we got comfortable immediately to settle in for the action that was to come. Uncle Slow Motion and and Aunt Montage escorted us further into the the commemorative service. We are seated, and the first mourner steps up to the podium. A few young relatives who’ve known our lost beloved say a few sweet things about what they’ll miss in Star Wars, and we half sneer at how they didn’t know Star Wars like we knew Star Wars. But, it’s in their eyes. Their whole lives are still ahead, but their whole life so far had Star Wars in it. A theater packed with family of all ages sat before this memorial, and we laughed and weeped together.
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Have you ever gotten a letter from someone when you noticed they filled the entire page, front and back? And they must have only had one sheet of paper because the words got tighter toward the edges of the page as if to save space because there was so much to say. At the end of the letter, on the back of the page, the sentences got choppier. More like this. Thoughts expressed. Sorrows conveyed. Regrets proclaimed. And in those really juicy letters, maybe some family secrets got spilled. The letter may have been rushed, but the feelings came out. You relived every loving moment, and you found yourself wiping away a tear despite noticing the misspellings and grammar mistakes. The love was there in the goodbye letter, and it lifted you. The Rise of Skywalker was this letter.
Level one Star Wars fans, the ones who can name the planet that a video game character stopped on to refuel their ship— you’ve already seen the movie by the time you read this. You’re Jedi Council and Sith Lords. I could never convince you either way. You liked it, loved it, or hated it. It’s not that’s it’s divisive. In fact, The Rise of Skywalker is very much my father holding my brother and I by the backs of our necks after a scrap, making us face each other and say, “I love you.” We’re family. You may or may not have said it reluctantly at the time, but if you walked out of the theater and said you’d never look back, I promise you will. You may even take another look at The Last Jedi.
Level two fans who argued that Han shot first, but lightened up by the time that scene went Maclunkey on Disney+ should enjoy The Rise of Skywalker for its Easter eggs and fan service. Some of it felt forced, but that’s the crammed goodbye letter. Every word means something. Some of it makes us laugh. And some of it makes us cry. That’s what tells us it’s love.
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The elephant in the room is Leia. Level three fans, the casual fans and general audiences will still notice the frayed edges in the attempt to weave Carrie Fisher’s character into the story. Sometimes it feels like she’s the elderly relative at the service who doesn’t fully understand what’s going on, so you walk her through the ceremony of it all. Act around her so she feels comfortable in all the commotion. Until you realize that old lady is still as sharp as a tack, and she’s the one walking you through it. Don’t go in trying not to think of pink bunnies. You’ll only think of pink bunnies. Some of the confabulations are awkward or pointless. Pink bunnies. Get past the pink bunnies. The page is full of pink bunnies, and we pine for every one. This is a goodbye letter in so many ways. Don’t harp on the bunnies. Just read the letter.
The Rise of Skywalker is as much a goodbye letter as it is Yoda being washed with the light of Luke’s X-Wing as he leaves, promising to return to complete his training. “That boy was our last hope,” Obi-Wan says, somehow forgetting that Bail Organa literally borrowed his pen to sign Leia’s adoption papers. “No. There is another.” No, we are not left with a cliffhanger, but we very much see that the master who trained us has passed on, and converged with the essence of the Force. Because the story goes on. Every story does. There will always be another. Happily ever after is a fairytale. Heroes are flawed and defeated villains are not the entirety of evil. Evil always returns. These nine episodes of Star Wars, from a distance, are the spark that keeps us going. These nine episodes close a story, but when we put the book down we can think about how many others who were touched by theses stories. Creators who grew up on IV, V, and VI were involved in making I, II, and III happen. Fans of both those trilogies have become the people who told us VII, VIII, and IX. Someone who will walk out of the theater after seeing The Rise of Skywalker will, some day, be a part of the team that brings us a different set of stories. Meanwhile, we are already promised several series.
The Skywalker Saga was just the beginning. Star Wars is too big to go away. It’s in our culture. The Skywalker Saga is being laid to rest. The slide show reminded us of how much we loved it when it was young and full of life, but the slide show isn’t what we loved. What we loved was the life of the Skywalker Saga itself. It got uncomfortable to be around for a while. We bickered, but when it came time to say goodbye we embraced. We buried the hatchet in the sands of Tatooine along with any other principal objects and metaphors. It’s time to say goodbye. Did anyone save a copy of the slideshow. I’d like to watch it again.
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Stab me with money
