Star Wars: A New Hope

People like to ask film majors what their favorite movie is. The question got more difficult as my film history became deeper and more prolific. But for most of my life, Star Wars was the easy answer. Even when the pop culture phenom met with scorn and derision in my film school environs, my answer remained the same (whether I vocalized it or not).

One would think that my allegiance to that galaxy far, far away would translate to thousands of viewings over the years. While I’m sure I burned out my fair share of VHS copies through grade school, when I reached high school I felt less and less inclined to revisit the great Empire/Rebellion slugfest. Then, after learning of the notorious home video practice of Pan and Scan, I refused to watch those videos that cut my film frame in half. That cut Star Wars completely out of my regular viewing loop. After DVD arrived (with Star Wars notoriously absent) I swore off motion pictures in any other format. No more VHS. No more TV. I even snuck out of my film classes, because of their inexplicably poor screening standards. Video projected onto a screen is still video.

But I also avoided Star Wars for another reason. Specifically, I was afraid it might not hold up. Holding Star Wars in as high esteem as I do, I was terrified that the cornerstone of my imaginative evolution as a child might be bankrupt in my mid-20’s. I used the format issues as an excuse, bolstering my distance from the films, but the fear of disappointment was truly the cornerstone of my neglect.

I just finished watching A New Hope for the first time since 1997, when the Special Edition’s were released in theaters. That’s over eight years. My senior year of high school, four years of college, and three years of freelance personal growth have passed since the last time I saw Princess Leia’s transport run down by an Imperial Star Destroyer. Eight years since I had seen the twin suns set over Tatooine. Eight years since I heard Han Solo’s “Yahoo!” seconds before the Death Star bit the stardust. Eight years of worrying if the original trilogy would hold up.

Well, as John Williams’ score climaxed and our noble heroes turned to face the applause of their Rebellion allies, I had tears in my eyes. About a year ago, in a momentous admission, I told my mother that I felt The Lord of the Rings trilogy had surpassed Star Wars in my heart as the greatest films I have ever seen. While I still believe that The Lord of the Rings films may be the greatest cinematic achievement in history, Star Wars touched a place in my heart that can only be reached in those early, innocent years of life. I haven’t watched Empire or Jedi yet, but I’m already reneging on Star Wars’ dethronement. Those films will always rule in my heart.

Each of these films has their own unique backstories. For me, A New Hope is the most interesting. When it exploded into the culture in 1977, I was a distant twinkle in my parents’s eye. Star Wars would have three years to latch onto the public consciousness before I burst onto this mortal coil, just five months before The Empire Strikes Back dropped its genealogical bombshell on the fans. I would grow up neck deep in Star Wars lore, but I didn’t realize until 1997 that I had never seem the original Star Wars on the big screen.

The opening of A New Hope is the stuff of legend. I have heard more recollections of it than any other moment of film. The one I enjoyed most was my Uncle Robert’s. At Christmas after Episode I debuted, he told me about going to see A New Hope on a first date with his wife:

“So, we’re watching, and there’s the planet below, and we’re like ‘Oh. That’s kind of cool.’ And then you see these lasers flying and this ship comes on the screen. And we’re like ‘Huh. That’s really cool.’ THEN, this huge ship flies over the screen and we’re like ‘HOLY SHIT!’”

If I have one regret in my Star Wars experience, it is that I was not yet old enough to appreciate the magnitude of this opening shot. It is a problem I have had many times in my film education. Films that broke ground years ago won’t resonate with a young kid who was born into a film industry that has already made those innovations hackneyed. It is impossible to appreciate the Holy Shit magnitude of that Star Destroyer rumbling into frame because for me that’s how films have always been.

When the Special Editions arrived in the late 90’s, I did get a watered down sense of awe when I experienced those opening moments on the big screen for the very first time. I temper my jealousy of my aunts and uncles “live” viewing by convincing myself that the quality of my first big screen presentation far outmatched theirs. A restored/enhanced print on opening night. A 1000 seat theater. THX digital surround sound. Not to mention, after growing up with Star Wars in 4:3 dimensions, the scale of that Star Destroyer was as awe-inspiring as it must have been then. All my elder relatives have over me now is the surprise of it, the sense of discovery about it.

After enjoying my night with the Star Wars Special Edition, it would be another eight years before I would experience A New Hope again. Two more Special Editions, God knows how many VHS versions, and two prequels would cross my path before I forced myself to watch the original Star Wars again… just a matter of hours ago.

I’m not a prequel apologist. I found Episode I and II deeply flawed (I’ll get into them later), and my tepid reaction to the both of them had me quivering with fear as I put my A New Hope DVD into my player for the first time. Had I grown past Star Wars? Would it no longer appeal to me as a grown man? Would I find the films that shaped my youth as inaccessible as the prequels to those films?

In a word, no. In fact, watching Star Wars this most recent time was like watching it completely new. And that had nothing to do with Lucas’ incessant updates.

It’s interesting how vague my enjoyment of these films seemed as a youth. There were images I latched on to. And scenes. But as far as understanding the major arc of these films, it never played a role in the thrills they gave me. I wanted to be in those swinging chairs with the guns on them. I wanted to shoot Storm Troopers into bottomless chasms. I wanted stuff to come to me with the lift of a hand. It was all quite superficial; such are the minds of children.

I remember dialogue as if it were musical notes, rather than actual words. That’s probably why I can still whistle R2-D2’s “lines” as accurately as the rest of the script. The words I understood, of course I remembered. The words that I didn’t know, I learned phonetically. “Delusions of grandeur.” I remember learning that one phonetically. I used to say it all the time just because I liked the sound of it. It had a flow, like music. So I went about the house saying delusions of grandeur like I had a clue. Everybody had delusions of grandeur. My dad had delusions of grandeur. My brother had delusions of grandeur. The toaster had delusions of grandeur.

Star Wars was a completely visceral experience in those years, but it was more than that when I watched it this afternoon. Part of that comes with 20-some years of life. And part of that, to Lucas’ credit, came from the knowledge I gained from the prequels.

Having not seen Episode III yet, I can’t say whether it makes Episode I and II better films, but I’m certain that the three prequels have given the original trilogy a much darker context, one we likely would have understated without those other three films.

As a writer myself, I am curious about how much of the prequel story Lucas had in his mind when production on Episode IV began. I know from the Making Of documentaries that the secret of Vader’s true identity remained a secret until Empire premiered, even from Mark Hamill himself. But after watching A New Hope again, I think one cast member was in on the secret from the very beginning.

With my expanded knowledge of film history, it boggles the mind how Lucas landed Sir Alec Guinness for Obi-Wan Kenobi. In fact, after seeing Doctor Zhivago and Bridge on the River Kwai and Kind Hearts and Coronets (he played seven different characters people and not in a Mike Myers, bad make-up kind of way) when I finally see Obi-Wan’s reveal, when he softly removes his hood to gaze over at R2-D2 (and us) I end up slapping my forehead – Oh that’s right! Alec Guinness is Obi-Wan!

And watching this film over again, finally at an age where I can appreciate the scope of the story, Guiness’ performance – and in turn the character of Obi-Wan Kenobi – has become the most fascinating element of the Star Wars mythos for me. Guinness takes what could have been a frightfully dull supporting part, one whose main service to the story is exposition, and gave us a foreboding conduit to the dark ages of the Clone Wars and the rise of the Empire.

Watch Guinness when he hears his rightful name spoken for the first time in two decades. It takes the air from his lungs. The weight of his painful history jumps right back onto his shoulders as he lowers himself onto the rock behind him. Watch Guinness when Luke asks about his father. He leans forward, the tale congealing in his mind… and then he hesitates. When Star Wars debuted in 1977, it may have looked like the line had slipped his mind. We had no knowledge of Vader’s real identity. But now that we do, the entire tale of Anakin Skywalker is wrapped in that half-second pause, that slight shift of the eyes. And then the lie.

There’s a history there that we never could have truly appreciated had it not been for the prequels. As I said, a lot of that history comes through in Guinness’ performance, but there are other indicators of the galaxy’s difficult past right up there on the screen.

Let me say this about the prequel trilogy. They are very pretty. Naboo is damn near utopian in its lush foliage and striking marble architecture. The Original Trilogy is not pretty. It is scarred and dirty and ugly. And it is all the better for it. I love seeing R2 and C-3P0 for the first time in A New Hope. Just look at them for a moment. Artoo is scratched and filthy. Threepio has a ding on his noggin and one leg doesn’t match the other. And even Vader, when he makes his first walk through the hall of dead fighters, is not looking his best.

I know the argument can be made that the prequels took place in a time before the war and the Empire, so they aren’t going to look battle-scarred and derelict. That is a valid argument, but for me it isn’t just about aesthetics. For me, the filth and grime are about presence.

Too much of the prequel trilogy looks (and is) manufactured. It is designed, constructed, and created in a computer. And despite all of Lucas’ technology, he has yet to convince me (even during the course of the movie) that I’m looking at someplace I could physically go. In the Original Films, the actors are on sets or on location, and that has a strong effect on the imagination. I still feel like Tatooine is someplace I could find if I had the means. Hoth, too. And Dagobah. But Naboo? I know that came out of a computer. No sense looking for that.

And no, I’m not a hardline traditionalist who won’t embrace the digital revolution. But while actors may talk up blue-screen work as “challenging,” their performances consistently trip over the trickery. Sets, especially in science fiction, give the actors context. They give them story. They give them presence. I hear interviews with actors after working on a film like Star Wars saying “I was just staring at a ping pong ball on a stick and was told ‘That’s where the monster is at’ and I had to make up the monster in front of me.” Well, that’s just fuckin’ stupid. Standing on concrete in front of a blank screen staring at a ping pong ball. That’s sure to inspire the actors to new heights. We’ve removed every bit of creative assistance from the prequel actors. Sure the monsters weren’t ever really there. But I’m certain if Luke didn’t have the Rancor, he had its cavernous lair. He had the sand and bones at his feet. That gives context. That gives presence, something that can be felt in every frame of A New Hope. Han Solo looks familiar with the cockpit of the Millenium Falcon because Harrison Ford could sit in the chairs and push the buttons and work the controls. That sort of familiarity is lacking from the prequel trilogy.

All right. I’m getting off track.

Watching A New Hope at 25, I appreciated the things, filmmaking things, that I couldn’t have appreciated even five years ago. I worried that I would find Star Wars lacking in my new maturity. In fact, I found it to be a much richer experience than I ever could have imagined. Alec Guinness’ performance came to life in a new way. I found myself shocked by the number of extraordinary set pieces crammed into the film; the attack on the escaping Millenium Falcon may be one of the most tightly edited action sequences in the history of film. And I never get tired of feeling the goosebumps rising on my arms when the Millenium Falcon makes its triumphant return during the Death Star battle. All the elements of the Star Wars films – story, character, dialogue, special effects, editing, score – come together in a perfect thirty seconds of film that culminates with the (new and, yes improved) explosion of the Death Star.

But to finish up this retrospective, I wanted to give special attention to George Lucas’ original screenplay for Episode IV. It may seem absurd after the stilted exchanges we’ve had to endure in the prequels, but Lucas’ screenplay was nominated for an Academy Award in 1977 (it lost to Annie Hall). What’s more, it deserved it.

As far as storyline goes, there is not an ounce of fat on A New Hope. The major arc is this – Princess Leia gives R2-D2 a message to find Obi-Wan Kenobi and give him the technical readouts of the Death Star. Every scene to follow will tie directly to this major arc. And when I consider the various scenes and events that Lucas ties so tightly to this simple thread – Mos Eisley, the garbage shoot, the TIE fighter attack, and the final Death Star run – I can’t help but admire this magnificently trim and tight story. Even scenes that might seem superfluous (Mos Eisley and the garbage shoot come to mind) serve very specific functions within the story.

I never thought in a million years (or at least in the past ten) that I would find a Star Wars screenplay such a helpful example of strong, epic storytelling. Yet as I embark on my own series of fantasy novels, I’m certain to return to A New Hope for inspiration and instruction.

I can’t wait to watch Empire.

P.S. Greedo shooting first still sucks.

Final Grade for A New Hope: A