It’s been 20 years since the theatrical release of Star Wars: Episode II- Attack of the Clones. The much-anticipated sequel to The Phantom Menace continues the story of Anakin Skywalker as he trains to fulfill his destiny and bring balance to the force. So anticipated was the release that companies were predicting their productivity losses from people calling out of work the day after release (with one job tracking company estimating it could cost the U.S. economy $319 million).
At the time of its release, despite making over $300 million on opening weekend, the film is generally regarded as the weakest of the Saga. It was panned by critics, whose even brightest reviews were marred by discussions about “wooden dialogue” and “junky visual effects.” The galaxy politics are “boring,” and there were many forgettable characters.
And, to be completely honest, I do not understand why, 20 years later, people are still talking about Attack of the Clones like it’s the worst of the worst thing ever. There’s this drone army who are so stuck in their hive mind that they cannot see the forest for the trees…or maybe, to turn a phrase, the Army for the Clones. “There’s too much going on. There’s too much filler, the effects suck, and the relationships are bad. Oh, and the dialogue…the dialogue is so ‘rough and coarse and irritating,’ which gets us nowhere.”
In the two decades since Attack of the Clones was released in 2002, it’s still being watched all wrong. Episode II is closer to a classical storytelling masterclass than a derided affront to the Star Wars legacy.
In this three-part series, we’ll first discuss Anakin and Obi-Wan, the Jedi Council, and the modern Greek tragedy of Attack of the Clones. Second, discuss what I find to be the most brilliant part of the Prequels, the “boring galaxy politics,” and their impact on the Saga. Finally, we’ll discuss the dialogue and visual effects and how, despite best efforts to consider them the worst efforts of the flick, they actually elevate its majesty.
So, let’s begin.
Across the Stars – The Modern Greek Tragedy of Anakin and the Jedi Council
The tragedy of The Prequel Trilogy is that it’s not a rehash or a memberberries grab at nostalgia, which is clearly upsetting to modern audiences. Lucas and his team set up the tenants that would create a modern Greek Tragedy in the fall of Anakin Skywalker and the Jedi Council as a whole.
It’s a story of how nations fall, how power and emotion corrupt, and the role that hubris plays in it all. By design, Attack of the Clones creates dueling A-storylines that intertwine to create the setups for the grand finale in Revenge of the Sith and mold our protagonist into a Tragic Hero.
The Tragic Flaw
Aristotle outlined that tragedies are marked by the downfall of a noble hero, usually through some combination of hubris, fate, and the will of the gods. Tragic heroes fail miserably at what they attempt to do, often losing loved ones and possessions in the process. Villains take the role of wise advisors and lovers. Their tragic flaw ultimately leads to their downfall.
A running theme in Attack of the Clones is how hubris and fate undermine the greater good. Both Anakin and Obi-wan suffer their hubris, even pointed out by Yoda to be a flaw more and more common in the Jedi.
This is best exemplified in the opening sequence between the two men. They have fought side-by-side for ten years: in just a short scene in an elevator, we understand they have developed a friendship, but it is built on one-upmanship and sparring egos.
The truth is, Obi-wan never really learned to be a Master and, therefore, a teacher to Anakin. Anakin surpasses him at every turn: sensing the worm assassins in Padme’s room before Obi-wan does, having prophetic dreams that Obi-wan does not share in his Force sensitivities, and trusting his instincts during a speeder chase leading to Anakin falling directly onto their prey. Obi-wan sees Anakin surpassing him, and Obi-wan continually humbles him to keep him in check.
Where Anakin is craving approval, guidance, and understanding of his feelings, Obi-wan only offers discouragement to supposedly “check” Anakin’s arrogance. But Obi-wan, too, carries arrogance, which was humbled by Qui-gon in Episode I, but now runs rampant without Qui-gon there. In a short sequence of scenes, we fully understand how Obi-wan is failing Anakin as a teacher and a friend.
Once Padme enters the picture, Anakin refuses to accept Obi-wan’s criticism. What others say is “whiny” exemplifies a young man whose social skills are very immature, stunted by the Jedi Council. He’s so desperate for someone to listen to his feelings that when he does open up emotionally, it’s to Jar Jar Binks, a truly poignant moment because of how comical the character of Jar Jar is, but also because it exemplifies how the Masters are suppressing him instead of understanding him and helping him learn.
What Anakin has learned from Obi-wan is hubris – a tragic flaw nurtured by Chancellor Palpatine, a stand-in for the will of the gods. Palpatine praises Anakin’s skill while challenging him to embrace the more primal, emotional urges that Jedi forgo. He leans into Anakin’s mantel of “The Chosen One” to feed his hubris, bolstered by his fate to become the most powerful Jedi ever.
When Palpatine suggests Padme have Jedi bodyguards, he suggests Kenobi by design. But Obi-wan’s desire to prove himself more skilled than Anakin and thus a worthy teacher drives him to take on the more dangerous mission to find the origins of the bounty hunter sent to kill her. This leaves Anakin and Padme to cultivate their love for each other — which is exactly what Palpatine wants.
The Powerful Wish
In Greek Tragedies, the hero’s powerful wish will encounter the limits of human frailty, the gods, or nature. It includes a change from ignorance to awareness of the bond of love or hate. According to Aristotle, this plot point is the most important aspect of the Tragedy, noting that all have pathos, or suffering, to find wish fulfillment. Anakin is no different.
Anakin’s powerful wish, which leads him to the path of the Dark Side, is his desire to stop death. His unconditional love for his mother leads him back to Tatooine with the fated knowledge that she is in danger. He cannot save her life, and he commits his first act of true evil in his rage.
In attempting to fulfill a powerful wish, the tragic hero will endure suffering. The loss of his mother is emotional suffering that actualizes his powerful wish. But I would be remiss not to also include the physical suffering: as Anakin loses his arm in his battle with Count Dooku. And while Anakin losing his arm rhymes with Luke in Empire, it’s also a physical manifestation of his pathos as the protagonist of this tragedy. The suffering he must endure to bring him to his downfall is throughout Attack of the Clones, in loss of an arm, longing for Padme, and loss of his mother.
As he recounts his vengeful actions against the Tusken Raiders to Padme, she takes on the mantel of that unconditional love. She is not disgusted by his actions but forgiving of them. Thus, Anakin projects that wish to stop death onto Padme. This is a crucial moment in Anakin’s turn — and it’s a moment often derided as over the top, whiny, and unrealistic in Padme’s reaction to it.
But Padme, as a compassionate Queen and worldly politician, is another mentor in Anakin’s life, like Obi-wan. He is young and easily swayed by his emotions, and he is not receiving the fulfillment of emotional learning from his Jedi teachings. As she sees his vulnerability, that moment when he confesses his most egregious crime, she’s drawn to her role of helping “fix” him.
What people don’t want to admit is that Padme herself is immature in love. Where she knows the love of country and the collective people, individual love has not happened for her yet. She admits she’s only shared intimacy of that kind once when she was very young. She sees herself as Anakin’s compass, his North Star, and it is mistaken for true love in her naivety.
The heavily-memed scene in which Anakin explains his idea of politics as people should be “made to” listen to a wise leader is exemplary of this idea, as Padme recognizes Anakin’s ignorance of governing. Being smart and worldly in this way, Padme can help him understand. I think many women can identify that one ex who they dated primarily, in retrospect, with the idea that his flaws can be fixed, and she can teach him how. It’s not a good foundation for love, but it’s the kind we see in Attack of the Clones.
Essentially, I’m saying that the relationship was doomed regardless of Anakin’s turn to the Dark Side. If you think this is a romantic subplot, you’re dead wrong, and it’s often why it’s so widely criticized. The petulant Anakin, clearly Padme’s inferior in age and maturity, is not a match for the intelligent, strong, and tactical Senator of Naboo, so beloved her planet wanted her to stay Queen past her term. So what’s the deal here?
It’s not romantic love. It’s a toxic love that’s addictive and all-encompassing. It’s a love that’s marked by suffering, bonded by it. Padme is a coveted object, something he loves primarily because of his belief that he cannot have her. When he does, when she admits this love on Geonosis, his powerful wish is bolstered by his awareness of a bonded love and the reversal of his understanding of the situation. His powerful wish to stop death is founded and solidified in Attack of the Clones, leading to his ultimate downfall in Revenge of the Sith.
Obi-wan and The Jedi Council
While the tragic flaw of hubris is demonstrated by Anakin and Obi-wan, the entirety of the Jedi council is suffering this same flaw. Only Yoda seems aware of keeping hubris in check (which lends itself to why he is one of the few Masters on the Council who survives Order 66), but Mace and the other Council Members are so arrogant in their power that they cannot fathom the idea that a Sith Lord is rising to power and pulling the strings.
The struggle over Anakin’s fate is exemplified in the hubris of the Jedi Council and Obi-wan’s actions throughout Attack of the Clones. The very idea of him being the Chosen One who brings “balance to the force” presumes the balance is in favor of the good. But, historically, the Jedi — or “Light Side” — have dominated the galaxy for millennia. This means that balance, in its inherent definition, can only be achieved if the Dark Side rises.
And this recognition is clouded by the Dark Side, as Yoda admits time and time again. When Obi-wan seeks Yoda’s council in the Youngling class, we see Yoda taking on Qui-gon’s role to humble Obi-wan’s hubris. Obi-wan, older and wiser than Anakin, is able to accept this and begin his journey down the hero’s path.
Throughout Attack of the Clones, Obi-wan undergoes a series of reversals in understanding. As his noir mystery unfolds, his understanding develops in a single direction: finding the bounty hunter who attempted to take Senator Amadala’s life. The reversals occur as he discovers the germination of a Clone Army. He goes from tracking a bounty hunter to finding a missing planet to uncovering a clone army commissioned in secret for the Republic back to chasing his bounty hunter to his encounter with Count Dooku.
The encounter is pivotal as Dooku reveals that Palpatine is, in fact, the Sith Lord rising. While Dooku is not Sidious’s protege, he is an acolyte, and he offers Obi-wan the chance to join the rise of the Empire. While Obi-wan refuses, the wheels are already in motion for Palpatine to control the greatest army the Republic has ever known.
All of these elements, from Anakin’s suffering to Obi-wan’s understanding, are deftly executed with visual and tonal gravitas, yet also so subtle in their persuasions that I think they often get missed. Now, I don’t know if Lucas pulled out the map of Greek Tragedy structure and plopped in his plot points; most likely not. But what it does create is a testament to the understanding of the story that he structures the fall of a hero in a way that compels the narrative forward, intrigues, and delights the complexity of human frailty in the emotional and physical spheres without bloating the narrative so unreasonably that we lose the plot entirely.
Continued in Part II: “The Arena” or How I Learned to Stop Complaining and Love the Politics of Star Wars.
