Star Trek and the Gettysburg Address of Nerd Culture

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As Star Trek marks the 50th anniversary of its premiere just a few hours from now, it’s being lauded for more than I can recount here. So I’ve come here to talk about the thing I love most in Trek.

For me, Star Trek is the most beautiful story machine ever built.

Since springing to life in NBC’s Thursday night lineup at 8:30 on September 8, 1966 as a heady, thoughtful space adventure (as wonderfully recounted in Edward Gross’s and Mark A. Altman’s fantastic the Fifty Year Mission) , Star Trek has risen to a level in our cultural relevance very few fictions come near.

To find anything that’s lasted as long or driven as deep into our collective hearts you can find some equals, but after coming across names like Huck Finn, Dorothy Gale, Dr. Watson, Robin of Sherwood Forest, Clark Kent, Juliet of Verona and Prince Hamlet Denmark, the list is soon exhausted.

Why a show so silly and earnest at once has plucked a cord in so many of us I can’t say for sure. There are a lot of rote answers in think pieces across the net today… it’s an optimistic vision of the future in a pessimistic age… it’s a funhouse mirror for looking at current issues at the safe remove of science fiction… because every generation loves watching groups of friends go on exciting adventures… and they all hold a bit of the truth. But I think under all of that is the core truth that binds it all together.

Nowhere in western culture, from the first novels in the 1700s to Netflix’s latest, algorithm inspired 10-episode hyper-targeted mini-season, is there a better storytelling engine than Star Trek.

Everything is laid out in show’s deceptively simple 37 word mission statement, the Gettysburg Address of the nerd culture I love:

Space: the final frontier. These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise. Its ongoing mission: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no one has gone before.

And just like that, a writer can tell any story they want.

Want to tell a tense adventure story of friends battling murderous enemies? That’s the oldest type of story, after all. There’s The Original Series’ Balance of Terror , with Captain Kirk and his crew facing off against the relentless attacks of another skilled alien crew trying to kill them.

Is storytelling meant to teach and enlighten us? There’s TOS’ intense and endearingly clumsy Let That Be Your Last Battlefield. Two aliens nearly destroy the Enterprise while fighting out their racial difference, one so minor and meaningless not even Mr. Spock noticed it at first.

How about examining the painful episodes of our nation’s past. There we have the US’ Dred Scott decision refashioned with an android to find Captain Picard arguing in court for  the essential rights of his android crewman, Lt. Data. That one is The Next Generation’s Measure of a Man.

What about an intimate story of a  man at war with his own values, trying to uphold his highest ideals as they are threatened in the face of war? Deep Space Nine examines those terrible compromises with In the Pale Moonlight, where Captain Sisko works to draw the Romulans into siding with the Federation in a war against the Dominion, and compromises himself fatally… and maybe he’s ok with that.

How to tell the story of what it means for a whole culture to die? The Next Generation’s Inner Light achieves it in 45 minutes (without commercials). In it, a space probe forces Captain Picard live out the entire life of another man, an alien culture’s last act to let the universe to know they once lived.

Then there’s the love letter to that unique bond between parents and children with Deep Space Nine’s The Visitor. In that episode a problem with the Defiant’s warp drive (they tend to break down if you haven’t noticed) seems to kill Captain Sisko, taking him away from his son Jake just when the teenager boy needs him most. But as Jake lives on, he realizes his father is not dead, but lost in subspace (don’t sweat the details). The choices Jake makes for the chance to see his father again might just inspire you to call a parent, or visit a grave if you can’t.

And sometimes, you just want a head-trippy, kick ass science fiction adventure. Voyager’s Year of Hell two-parter is just that, with Captain Janeway and her crew fighting against genocidal alien captain whose ship wields a time machine like a weapon.

With Star Trek, there are these stories and about 720 others spread across the 30 seasons of Star Trek and it’s subsequent shows. There are more very good stories than can be listed here, and quite a few bad ones.

But for me, that’s the magic. With a canvas as flexible as Star Trek, any writer can conjure up something.

With most other fictions, from Star Wars to Law & Order, House of Cards to The Wizard of Oz, there are only a few kinds of stories you can tell in the straightjackets of those worlds.

In Star Trek, you could potentially tell a meaningful version of all the stories, and have room to tell hundreds more. Every genre fits comfortably in Star Trek.

What follows is an admittedly ridiculous list, but what other fiction can hold all these types of stories: Tragedy, Fantasy, Absurdist, Surreal, Political, Philosophical, Paranoid, Thriller, Slice of life, Family drama, Epic, Adventure, Detective, Romance, Time Travel, Horror, Comedy, War stories, Westerns, Crime, Speculative…

In our Star Trek episode of the Dorking Out Show, the podcast I do with my friend Sonia, we tried to think up a kind of story which could not be told in Star Trek.

Her answer was musical, and for a moment I agreed. Then a story like this sprung to mind:

Captain Picard and his crew could arrive at an uncharted planet, ready to make first contact with is inhabitants. In an awkward first exchange, Picard discovers these new aliens sing every word in their language. Desperate to procure a special medicine to combat a virus ravaging a nearby human colony, he’s got to talk to them, but they despise non-singers, and are contemplating destroying the Enterprise. It’s not too hard to imagine Data searching the crew manifest and finding an ensign in engineering who can sing soprano, but doesn’t perform because of deathly stage fright… you can see where this is going.

Then we realized the probe in Star Trek 4: The Voyage Home came to Earth looking for the song of humpback whales. It came to Earth searching for life forms who sing their language. So Star Trek already did it, without even leaving Earth.

I’d bet at this point, some of you are laughing not with me, but at me. Comparing Captain Kirk and Hamlet? How can a pop show with cheap sets and a made-up spaceship really compare to Shakespeare?

For me, this has always been a choice so false it almost seems foolish. In the hands of Francis Ford Coppola, a gangster story becomes an examination of trying to keep your soul pure in a corrupt landscape. In the hands of Christopher Nolan, a 75-year-old costumed superhero and his clownish adversary became the most nuanced and urgent examination of terrorism of the last 20 years.

A good storyteller can weave together our lowest hunger for excitement and our highest need for insight in one compelling narrative.

For me, Star Trek does that best. It splits the difference between our desire to watch gaudy spectacle and our aspiration to make ourselves better by contemplating our best potential and the weaker faults we harbor which, unchecked, could undo everything we’ve built on this little planet.

You might be right in your laughter. But I don’t care. I’m willing to stake my claim and risk the scorn. After all, risk is our business.

Storytelling and the greatest Star Trek book ever written

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A fantastic piece of Star Trek fan art by Alex26101 over at Deviant Art. It can be found here: http://alex26101.deviantart.com/art/Enterprise-NCC-1701-569775047

My Favorite Curse

All of my life I have felt alternately cursed and blessed with the drive to answer one question.

How did the stories that I love get made?

This first occurred to me walking out of the Sun Valley Mall Theater in the summer of 1981 and realizing some people, somewhere had gotten together and made my new favorite movie, Raiders of the lost Ark.

Maybe it was being 10 years old watching a fantastic summer movie, or maybe it was the thrill of watching Indiana Jones race around the globe to stop Nazi evil, but that was the first time it ever struck me that a human could spend time making stories other people might like, the way exactly the way a carpenter might grab some wood and tools and build beautiful table.

While it was the first time I realized storytelling could be a profession, Raiders was not the first story that I ever loved. Not by a long shot.

A few years prior to, I remember sulking after one of those boring, awful days kids have at school. When my dad found me he tried to buck up my spirits by telling me the family was going to see a movie that Friday. His selling point was “It’s kind of like Star Trek.”

The movie was the first Star Wars. The reason he invoked Star Trek was because that was the first set of stories he and I shared and the first I ever loved.

Since then I’ve had some measure of success getting my stories out into the world. Sometimes that’s been in journalism, sometimes in video. For the past few years, I’ve been writing the novel that I hope will be the product of all I loved and I’ve learned. More on that in the near future.

Through all those years Star Trek has been a constant presence, like the kind of friend who grows distant and close again every few years when you remember just what you liked about them. It’s both entertained and inspired anew with the pleasure and potential of imaginative stories told well.

While it may never have hit the cultural heights of a Moby Dick, a Great Gatsby or a Godfather, there’s always the chance it could.

Oral History of the Future

That’s why I was overjoyed earlier this summer to find the best book I have ever read on the creation of stories in Hollywood has been published, and it’s about Star Trek.

It’s called The Fifty Year Mission: The First 25 Years, The Complete Uncensored, Unauthorized Oral History of Star Trek, and is the first of a two volume set by authors Edward Gross and Mark A. Altman. The second volume, The Fifty-Year Mission: The Next 25 Years: From The Next Generation to J. J. Abrams, comes out Tuesday, and I’m counting the minutes.

Gross and Altman have achieved something special. Beyond being a good book about something interesting, they have done something I’ve only witnessed a few times in nonfiction storytelling. Trying to place my love for this book, I’ve come up with this:

Often in my experience, nonfiction storytelling attempts often fall into two categories. In the first an author executes their craft on a smaller subject and almost because of their more modest ambitions they are able to masterfully bring the subject alive in every aspect from beginning to end. Jonathan Krakauer’s Mount Everest book Into Thin Air is my favorite example of this type.

The second happens when a storyteller harbors larger ambitions. While they often produce something worth noticing in the vastness of their attempt, in the chaos of wrestling a sprawling subject into the coherence a book’s few hundred pages or a documentaries few hours, something essential is missed. Moments of brilliance are there, but it’s somehow less than the sum of its parts. Ken Burns’ Baseball series comes to mind.

But there are a very few nonfiction projects where their storytellers have taken on vast subjects and executed every facet of their ambitions on a masterpiece level. For me, Ken Burns’ Civil War documentary and Ezra Edelman’s OJ: Made in America are this kind of achievement. When a talented creator is able to communicate the vast and tiny, the intimate and epic all with the same level of fluid care, the experience is the most special to be found.

For me, what Gross and Altman have achieved with The Fifty-Year Mission rests comfortably alongside what Burns and Edelman have done before them.

When something like Star Trek happens, the ambitions of a few people and the flow of the larger culture meet in unexpected ways to produce something just as much owned by the creators as by the audience. Telling the story of that alchemy is something so difficult I’m still not sure how Gross and Altman were able to pull it off so well.

Of course, they tell the story of Gene Roddenberry, William Shatner, Leonard Nimor and DeForrest Kelly coming together to make the original three seasons of Star Trek in the late 1960s. But almost unique among entertainment journalists, they eschew the set gossip and dramatic-but-low-impact moments most making-of books spend their time focusing on how these hours of TV were created, from the first story ideas on up.

There are juicy anecdotes about producer and cast run-ins, backstage fighting and more, but all in the service of showing how humans working together under great pressure manage to succeed (and fail) at producing something millions have come to love.

It’s in the passages recounting Star Trek’s time in the wilderness, 1969 to the mid-1970s, Gross and Altman’s work fully sings. First, they focus on the unprecedented fan love which first saved the show from cancellation, then resurrected the franchise in the era of Star Wars. Then, in my favorite passages, they reveal how well meaning creators… Roddenberry, the cast, the producers and eventually Day The Earth Stood Still and Sound of Music director Robert Wise among them… produced something so boring, so dramatically inert, so un-Star Trek-like as 1979’s Star Trek: The Motion Picture.

It’s in those pages all the hidden dynamics of Hollywood are revealed, answering the question film-lovers have asked for a century: How did this awful movie get made?

The clarity Gross and Altman have in these pages, the fluent editing of interview after interview to reveal the whole awful picture, is among the best edited story passages I’ve seen. It’s a beauty.

Here’s where I leave you and simply advise you to pick up The Fifty Year Mission. Better yet, listen to it on Audible. Listening to a story like this being so well told is an experience everyone should have.

To finish up my little celebration of Star Trek’s 50th anniversary, I’ll be back soon with a few thoughts on why Star Trek is the greatest storytelling engine ever.

The FPJ Scale of Actor Charisma. That’s Freddie Prinze Jr. to you and me.

Sometimes an idea strikes you and you’re compelled to take it too far.

On the July 27 edition of Dorking Out, my friend and co-host Sonia Mansfield and I were trying to figure out what it was about Charlie Hunnam we just couldn’t care about. He didn’t do anything for us as an actor.

What was that about? We all have those actors, but it’s hard to talk about them because they’re just… there.

So after talking it over with our friend of the show Peter Brown, Associate Editor of Assignment X, we created the Freddie Prinze Jr. Scale for Actor Charisma.

The rest has been explained in this overly thought through scientific diagram.

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Movies are dead (no, not really), and I feel fine (actually, I do).

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Movies as an art form, for me, are second to none.

With their peerless ability to combine all other human arts, movies remain for me the best lens through which to watch the human parade.

In a good movie, there’s the storytelling sweep of the novel right beside the crackling dialogue and witnessed human emotion performed in great theater. There’s the wordless gusts and fireworks from music’s every genre together with the visual artistry of every kind of photography, painting, sculpture and now computers can create. There are the delighting illusions of even the magician’s arts to create images that don’t even really exist. There is the possibility of going anywhere, seeing anything, meeting every kind of human and witnessing all of it almost as though we were there ourselves.

Laughing, crying, hoping, fearing, excitement and triumph are all there in the best movies. All in about two hours, usually.

The very long, not very good summer

So it surprises me, as more than a few writers I respect (here, here, here, here and here)  wring their hands over the year in movies thus far and proclaim something important is dying in movies. The sentiments don’t surprise me, but the realization I agree with them and I am perfectly content.

This weekend seems to be the culmination of the fever with the arrival of SUICIDE SQUAD. For a certain kind of genre lover, this movie was seen as a bright spot on a blotted summer calendar, with the strange political storm of GHOSTBUSTERS and the limp arrivals of JASON BOURNE, INDEPENDENCE DAY: RESURGENCE and X-MEN APOCALYPSE and ten more already behind us.

But SQUAD was met by a cold bath of reviews from a critical press which in May lavished praise on Marvel Studios 13th comic book movie, CAPTAIN AMERICA CIVIL WAR and DEADPOOL in February. So much for comic book fatigue. The comic book trend is like every other one before it: good movies get love, bad movies get ignored. But I digress.

The rough ‘movies in crisis’ argument goes something like this: Over the last decade, culminating in the 2016 movie season, there’s been a terrible evolution in the way studios are giving audiences bigger and brasher movies, more sequels, more remakes, more spectacle, with less thought, less human meaning, and less adult thought.

Gone are the middle range dramas, the DEAD POETS SOCIETY type films, the RAIN MANs, the BOOGIE NIGHTS and the AMERICAN BEAUTIES. Gone are unexpected delights and surprising comedies, like SAY ANYTHING, FORREST GUMP, GOOD MORNING VIETNAM, HEATHERS and a hundred others from the 1980s, 1990s and 2000s.

I’ve heard the arguments, and I find them quiet compelling. They’re probably right. But I come here to say, so what.

Movies are dead, Long live movies.

So what because we haven’t lost great adult stories, complex dramas and quirky, small-audience comedies. We’re enjoying more of them than ever on TV, where they should live.

Almost as if to anticipate my thoughts (they must be in the zeitgeist) in my podcast feed today I hear maybe the most succinct lament on 2016 movies from Chris Ryan, co-host of THE WATCH.  What’s more, he seems to see the same silver lining I do.

Something new under the sun

Yes, yes, I remember. I came up in a time where 10 or 20 SPOTLIGHT-style movies would come out every fall.

Now they don’t. Things change, and in this way entertainment and popular storytelling has changed for the better. Modern TV can do what a lot of older ‘grown up’ movies once hand to accomplish, and better. What’s more, today’s big screen movies are better targeted for what movies do uniquely well.

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TV has always been a more personal, intimate medium. Spectacle has always been best spread across the biggest screen a building can handle. The age of theaters spooling out MY DINNER WITH ANDRE (look it up, lol) has past, and that’s GOOD.

We are living in the golden age of grown-up entertainment at the same time CAPTAIN AMERICA and DEADPOOL are setting up shop in the same theaters where RAGING BULL and GLENGARRY GLEN ROSS once played.

Now, we have the 8 to 10 episode HBO or Netflix season. This is the ideal size and length for surprising, challenging adult fare, and with that many episodes to economize a big investment, the HBOs and Netflixes of the world can spend $100 million on 10 hours where once adults had to suffice with a two hour, $10 million art-house flick. Now we get deeper dives into complex subject matters, and we get higher production values than adult feature films of 10 years ago.

Let’s run through a few though experiments.

Where once clouds of Oscar chatter swirled around courtroom dramas like THE VERDICT, JAGGED EDGE and PRIMAL FEAR, we now have FX to thank for THE PEOPLE VS. OJ SIMPSON and HBO to thank for THE NIGHT OF. We once had SERPICO as an examination of police brutality and corruption. Now we have seven seasons of THE SHIELD and every delicate shade of nuance in THE WIRE.

Let’s look at historical dramas. There was a time, when GHANDI walked the earth beside BRAVEHEART, when history based entertainments could meld prestige presentations with human storytelling glory.

But let me ask you this: Wouldn’t you rather have Steven Spielberg’s LINCOLN as a 10-hour HBO series, one you could binge watch after tearing through Paul Giamatti’s excellently prickly performance as JOHN ADAMS?

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Or let me cast light on our glorious bounty in another way, my nerd friends.

Would you prefer the 1990s route for a project like GAME OF THRONES? Back then, any ambitious producer would be doing their best to make it into a big screen movie, a two-hour sword and sorcery epic, directed by Renny Harlin or John McTiernan.

And what would have happened? Ninety-percent of the best parts would be cut out due to studio notes and the ending would be changed because sad endings don’t test well. It probably would have flamed out, and would now be sitting in some dark corner of NETFLIX beside Val Kilmer in THE SAINT and Emilio Estevez and Mick Jagger in FREEJACK.

I think, like me, you would prefer HBO’s current achievement where each book in George R. R. Martin’s epic is turned into its own season, and we can enjoy his world spread out over seven kingdoms and eight seasons?

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The Coen Brothers offer up my favorite example of how things have changed. Their crime drama, FARGO, was one of the best movies of the 1990s. But on TV, in the right hands, their delightful tone and arched eye for the absurdity of violence and ambition has grown into two seasons of FARGO, based in their unique world, that stand as some of the best drama made in the last 20 years.

Would you rather have a movie like THE USUAL SUSPECTS, or five seasons of BREAKING BAD? The MILLER’S CROSSINGs have given way to the BOARDWALK EMPIREs.

For me, on balance, that’s a much more satisfying world.

And let’s take a look at these big screen comic book movies of now compared to the ‘better’ times of years gone by. What’s better, on any level (acting, story, presentation, tone, anything)… Tim Burton’s BATMAN or CAPTAIN AMERICA: CIVIL WAR? What movie examines the nature of fighting and violence? What movie is more fun to watch?

For every also-ran like X-MEN: APOCALYPSE or blimp-wreck like THE FANTASTIC FOUR we usually get three good Marvel movies, and a few DEADPOOL like surprises in the mix.

Put succinctly, movies are doing better what they do, fill a big screen with something big, and TV is doing what does better, bringing people close together over a long stretch of time so we can know them, and see them, in ways even the best movies can match, but rarely beat.

If given the SOPHIE’S CHOICE between THE GODFATHER and BREAKING BAD… well, don’t make me choose.

And with the way things have sorted out with movies and TV developing as they have, I don’t have to.

Batman v Superman v The Pop Show

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You’ve saved the best for last. This week the maestro of sharks, the tamer of tornados, the director of Oscar Nominee Gary Busy (it happened people!) Anthony C. Ferrante makes his triumphant return to  Assignment X’s THE POP SHOW!

Just in time too, because we chewed over the biggest story in geek news so far in 2016, the polarizing comic book movie BATMAN V SUPERMAN: DAWN OF JUSTICE.

So join Anthony, me, Sonia Mansfield, Assignment X’s Associate Editor Peter Brown and editor extraordinaire Ryan Mitchelle as we chew over Warner Bros.’ big bet on a DC Connected Universe.

You can listen HERE, or get it in your favorite podcast app HERE.

Busting makes us feel good – A new Pop Show podcast!

Another week, another episode of the best podcast I sometimes guest on… Assignment X’s THE POP SHOW! Listen along as I pontificate, Sonia Mansfield carps on,  Peter Brown blabs and Ryan Mitchelle yammers about the geek news of the week

Today’s episode includes the new Ghostbusters trailer, Sony’s desperate plan to make a kind of CATWOMAN 2 by making a VENOM movie without SPIDER-MAN, and the strange attraction of a MEN IN BLACK with 21 JUMP STREET cross-over movie.

You can listen HERE, or get it in your favorite podcast app HERE.

My insufferability reaches Kanye West levels on THE POP SHOW!

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In the latest episode of Assignment X’s THE POP SHOW, listen to me bloviate on the return of STAR TREK to TV, thrill to reviews of a hard R comic book movie with the release of DEADPOOL, listen with horror at our distaste for THE WALKING DEAD (meh, I say in the strongest terms). All that and much, much… well, some… more!

All this while friends Sonia Mansfield, Peter Brown and Ryan Mitchelle!

You can listen HERE, or get it in your favorite podcast app HERE.

Star Wars – The Force Awakens – Review

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Posted on my Letterboxd account as well. Come on ever and yell at me there too.

There has probably never been a better use of movie magic than STAR WARS.

In its potent mixture of human archetypes as old as our deepest past, laser blasters and starships from as far in the future as we can gaze, in its perfect counterpoints of the familiar and strange, the exciting and deeply moving, this universe George Lucas created 40 years ago is the kind of thrill best experienced in a moving picture. In just its original three films, it contains more iconic moments than almost any other set of films.

Even the maligned prequels, at their most stumbling and frustrating, there is some undeniable spark in what Lucas made, pulling generation after generation into that galaxy far, far away. But more on that later.

Today I come to praise STAR WARS: THE FORCE AWAKENS, the newest entry in the Skywalker saga, and it feels almost as good to write this review as it felt awful to write on THE PHANTOM MENACE 16 years ago. Back then, my first words for that film were “Writing every word of this will hurt.”

But what director JJ Abrams has done, along with vaunted STAR WARS writing partner Lawrence Kasdan (THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK, RETURN OF THE JEDI) is return this saga to the glimmering joys, the raw blasts of fun Lucas first provided with A NEW HOPE in 1977.

That’s what makes THE FORCE AWAKENS wonderful to watch, and what puts a cap on its potential.

Like the STAR WARS films, the essential plotline can be summed up simply: 30 years after RETURN OF THE JEDI, a new collection of unlikely allies find themselves pulled into the echoes of the Skywalker saga. Unlike previous STAR WARS films, whose simple storylines covered complex themes and deeper human dilemmas should the viewer care to look, there does not seem to be much interesting going on beneath the surface of THE FORCE AWAKENS.

In broad strokes, the story begins with a diminutive droid (ball of fun BB8) as custodian of a secret vital to the success The Resistance (once the Rebel Alliance) all the while being hunted by The First Order (once the Empire) under the direction of mask wearing, black clad, red-saber wilding Kylo Ren (Adam Driver).

Marooned on a desert planet, BB8 soon finds a protector in a teenage girl, Rey (Daisy Ridley), and her new friend Fin (John Boyega). In the midst of the thrills and escapes, it comes to light the First Order has a new, planet destroying mega-weapon pointed at the heart of peace and freedom in the galaxy. We soon find ourselves hanging out again with Han Solo, Chewbacca, Princess Leia and C-3P0. Is the structure starting to sound familiar?

Beyond this point, I’ll forgo the plot points and let you enjoy discovering them for yourself. Suffice to say, the galaxy has a weirdly small feeling even while our heroes, new and old, visit planets we’ve never seen before.

As an enjoyable film-going experience, it delivers. What else can reasonably be asked of a movie, after all? As a STAR WARS film, falls somewhere between the original films in the prequel trilogy, and evidences unsure portents of future STAR WARS films.

Having seen it twice, I find myself with the feeling that it will have an aftertaste similar to other Abrams projects: thrilling and enjoyable at first, but less impressive and impactful as my mind pulls with and pulls at specific moments and meanings. Where are most of the film has the familiar greased lightning momentum Lucas first perfected 40 years ago, there are a few moments which seem less mysterious than written-around. There’s a ‘don’t look behind the curtain’ feeling when old story beats aren’t being retread.

When asked a reasonable question by Rey, on the mind of every STAR WARS fan, Lupita Nyong’o’s character literally says, “A good question for another time.” You can almost feel Abrams pointing behind the viewer sitting in the theater and shouting, “Hey, look over there!”

THE FORCE AWAKENS is the work of a world-class mimic. It’s amazing and nostalgic to see Abrams put his toy through its Technicolor paces, but like all mimics, Abrams cannot take us anywhere the original creator hasn’t already tread. As a STAR WARS fan, it’s there we find what might be the film’s biggest shock. Probably not one intended by Abrams and his crew.

For the last 16 years, STAR WARS creator George Lucas has been getting kicked around by fans of his creation, lambasted as tone-deaf and somehow unaware of just what made people love his era-defining creation. He gets thrashed for wrecking STAR WARS, as though he had noting to do with its creation.

But as THE FORCE AWAKENS unspools, it becomes clear Lucas perhaps knew it better than even the most die-hard fans will concede.

A kind of controlled experiment has been going on since A NEW HOPE was released, and only now can we really see its full shape. When it came to the greatness of STAR WARS, what part was Lucas, and what vital parts were provided by others?

In the 1970s and 80s, with Episodes 4-6, Lucas was a growing filmmaker with a studio to please, serving as director/executive producer/story guru as he worked with others to flesh out and vitalize his pocket universe. What he created were three delightful, moving and amazing films, STAR WARS, THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK and RETURN OF THE JEDI. They stand alone as unrivaled imaginative achievements, different and challenging each in their own way.

Each one highlights a different and unique cinematic thrill, both new and as old as Republic Pictures serials: In A NEW HOPE, the X-Wing attack on the Death Star; in EMPIRE the walker attack on the Hoth base, Han Solo frozen in carbonite and the wrenching the climactic lightsaber fight between father and son; in JEDI we have the swashbuckling fight on Jaba’s sail barge, the blinding fast speeder bike chase through the forests of Endor, and the space battle to end them all around the new Death Star.

Under the surface, Episodes 4-6 examined the way humans move through their lives, how they choose who they want to be and what those choices mean for the world around them. They were quick and brilliant amazements, almost perfect at every moment, playing at a pace every 10-year-old could enjoy and most adults could appreciate. They stood alone in the history of film.

But who did what to make them great? From the outside, it was hard to know.

By the 1990s and 2000s, with Episodes 1-3, Lucas was an industry legend, bankrolling his own films with only his creative impulses to placate. We got to see a STAR WARS without the influence of anyone but Lucas.

What he created were THE PHANTOM MENACE, ATTACK OF THE CLONES and REVENG OF THE SITH, which highlighted Lucas’ genius for binding story structure with theme, but buried all his good work under his anti-talent for dialogue and directing actors. We learned Lucas needed someone to blunt his worst impulses.

The talent for melding the familiar and imaginative were on full display; MENACE’s BEN HUR-style pod race, the threeway light saber fight in the techno-catacombs of Naboo, the capital-of-the-galaxy nightscape of Coruscant; CLONES gave us the seascape army-factory of Kamino, the gladiator arena of Geonosis; SITH revealed to us the perfect setting for Anakin’s fall to anger, the epic saber fight on the lava planet of Mustafar, the heartbreaking sequence of Order 66, and the grim way tyranny is usually begun with the votes of free people. All new vistas, and all unique and different from Episodes 4-6.

At their core, the prequels were less occupied with human level questions than how corruption and systematic collapse tear apart what has endured for 1000-generations, and in the midst we watch a young boy, Anakin Skywalker, trampled under that galaxy-wide push and pull until he is manipulated into Darth Vader’s suit of evil.

In the prequels, the awful and the wonderful were smashed together so tightly they could not be separated, becoming a frustrating mix that still drives fans to distraction 10 years after their release. The poetry of human pain and regret rests side-by-side with Jar Jar’s pratfalls. “You were my brother Anakin. I loved you. You were supposed to bring balance to the force, not leave it in darkness,” rests side-by-side with “Yipee.”

Now, beginning with Episode 7, we see STAR WARS without Lucas’ hand at all. And we learn STAR WARS without Lucas is missing an eye for the new horizon. While Abrams never visits a familiar world, Jakku may as well be Tatooine. Starkiller base may as well be Hoth. The Resistance’s military base may as well be Yavin. Abram’s new entry is it cycles back and reveals just what Lucas’ strengths as a producer and world builder were. As we found Lucas needed the influence of others to make STAR WARS, THE FORCE AWAKENS reveals STAR WARS just might need Lucas’s influence for the same reason.

Say what you will about Lucas, but he never had a fear of treading new territory, even while his audience might not want to follow. Abrams seems content to play with the pieces as given, reliving past story moments with new sheens, never really showing us the kind of strange and imagined vistas which are a key to what we love about this.

Overall, THE FORCE AWAKENS is enjoyable but somehow blunted, as though everything had been channeled through an enthusiastic focus group. There’s nothing here we haven’t seen before, which say what you will about the prequel’s, was not a fault they shared.

What does this mean for the future of STAR WARS? At this point we can’t say for sure. We’ll have to cast our eye to the horizon, watch the twin suns set, and wonder about the future like someone we all know.
Christopher Allan Smith was the news editor of the late, great EonMagazine.com and Cinescape Magazine. Since then he has become an Emmy Award winning producer and director. His first novel, JETT JERGENS AND THE INFINITY KEY, is due out in 2016.

Feel like arguing about this? Come over to my Letterboxd page and let’s fight. Or, if you only have time for 140 characters, find me on Twitter at @JettJergens

Originally published on AssignmentX.com

Attack of the moans: STAR WARS EPISODE II review

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(Originally published in Cinescape Magazine in May 2002)

STAR WARS EPISODE II: ATTACK OF THE CLONES delivers on every cinematic promise George Lucas has made… and is somehow lacking. Such is the fate of a transforming genius.

In a career spanning decades in directing and producing, Lucas has put his spin on nearly every genre in Hollywood’s pantheon. He reordered the way a generation of filmmakers created stories through the abstract THX-1138 and hot-rod flick scored by ambient rock ’n’ roll with AMERICAN GRAFFITI. He helped revive the lusterless B-movie with RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK, and in TUCKER: A MAN AND HIS DREAM (along with his pal Francis Ford Coppola), unleashed on us a surprisingly blunt creator-in-America tragedy, a dark mirror of his own success.

From his sanctuary of ambitions, Skywalker Ranch, he’s spearheaded the transformation of movie exhibition, inventing new sound systems and higher standards for image projection, as well as stoking two decades of special effects wonders until we now find ourselves in a world where we can never really believe what we see.

He’s constantly been striving for two nearly mutually exclusive things: innovative, cutting edge technology and editing techniques which serve to tell the oldest, most basic kinds of stories. He has promised our eyes, ears, heads and hearts new and dazzling experiences with the daring of a braggart jumping off a cliff without knowing if the lake below is deep enough to catch him safely. And when the culmination of his efforts, STAR WARS EPISODE I: THE PHANTOM MENACE, debuted in 1999, we were presented with one clammy question: What have all the years to struggle been for?

With its passionless acting, disjointed screenplay and mutations of things we loved about the original STAR WARS trilogy, it seemed as though Lucas had been waiting for the technology of filmmaking to catch up to his capacity to disappoint.

So with this as prologue, what do we find in the second installment of his prequel trilogy STAR WARS EPISODE II: ATTACK OF THE CLONES? What do we, his longest-time fans, fearful on his recent work, still basking in the glow of his earlier brilliance, see in the second film of his prequel trilogy?

Glimpses of wonder, fun, spectacular showmanship, and a sophistication of emotion touched on briefly in EPISODE V: THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK. We see all his bets threatening to pay off.

Like his best work, the plot outline for ATTACK OF THE CLONES is deceptively simple. Ten years after the events of EPISODE I, which saw Naboo’s Queen Padme Amidala fight back a droid invasion and witnessed young slave Anakin Skywalker liberated from bondage by Jedi Qui-Gon Jinn, Anakin is now all grown up and wielding a light saber of his own in the defense of Senator Amidala. His Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, meanwhile, is trying to track down the assassin bent on killing Amidala before she can halt the Chancellor Palpatine’s efforts to create an Army of the Republic and halt a separatist movement lead by onetime Jedi Count Dooku.

The table set by the opening titles, CLONES kicks into high gear with its first full action sequence, Obi-Wan and Anakin in a speeder chase for an assassin through the cityscape of Coruscant. Far from being a car chase transferred to a city-of-the-future setting, the sequence is the best speed-demon tendencies of Lucas melded with the kind of computerized special effects that lends amazing reality to the most fantastic images. With the action, the audience corkscrews, pinwheels, skydives and cartwheels with Anakin’s pursuit, going from miles in the sky to a skidding crash in the deepest recesses of the planet city. What Lucas’ years of effort have produced is an artificial world as believable almost as our own. The crystal clarity of the imagined world and the free movement of his camera made possible only through massive computing power, allow us to suspend disbelief more freely than ever. It is a thrilling run of something literally never seen on screen before. And after 100 years of film, how often can you say that anymore?

And yes, Lucas did something very similar at the end of EPISODE I, with the CGI Gungans fighting the CGI droids. But considered beside EPISODE II, EPISODE I seems like the tentative test run of a hotrod, a nervous trip around the block after its owner spent his savings just to get the bucket back together. EPISODE II is the first Saturday night at the drag strip, and it wins every race it runs.

Lucas has regained his joy of filmmaking, and for the first time is truly liberated by his technology. Along with an ease of effort not seen since from him since GRAFFITI, Lucas is as playful as ever, cribbing images not only to cowboy movies (in a battle in a GLADIATOR-like arena) and THE MATRIX (when Yoda finally pulls the gloves off), but even referencing an AUSTIN POWERS: THE SPY WHO SHAGGED ME joke which itself was a referenced joke to the EMPIRE STRIKES BACK (watch the leader of the Techno Unions in the meeting with Count Dooku, and you’ll see what I mean). And the final stages of this film are the most lush visual rocket ride through the STAR WARS universe we’re likely to see. We get to see Yoda act as Patton and Bruce Lee in the space of ten minutes, and we’re treated to Samuel L. Jackson’s Mace Windu being as bad an ass as we had hoped.

But the most important improvements and strengths go deeper. While Lucas vacillates in interviews between dismissing the saga as Saturday afternoon fare and building them up as mythic capsules of wisdom passed to new generations of kids who have stepped away from religion, we know they can be a perfect blend of both. Like his mentor Francis Ford Coppola’s highest achievement, THE GODFATHER series, Lucas’ best work has been produced by a belief that high ambition, high art and high entertainment are not mutually exclusive, but mutually necessary. You can find any ten arty pinheads to laud a smear of paint on a museum wall, but to connect real, normal people, that is truly succeed as an artist, a creator has to enliven the senses, the mind and the heart with the same piece of work.

This is what Lucas attempts and succeeds in with CLONES. Like all the WARS before it, the dialogue is bland in spots. Yes, the characters are simple, though there are enough sharp exchanges here to revive the vivid blend of visual and auditory thrills these films can hold. Something his harshest critics have never understood is Lucas works in broad, bold strokes. We’re not going to get minutely pitched and finely calibrated character studies, with Robert DeNiro style acrobatics required to pull them off.

Lucas has found that fine line between thrill and myth, and with every action here by Anakin, Padme and Obi-Wan, there are reverberations of fate and destiny that lace through their actions to the events of Luke and Leia which come later.

The precursors to the original trilogy come fast and thick. There are more than a few echoes of Luke’s adolescent torment of A NEW HOPE. For every note of hope and destiny for Anakin’s boy, there is a counter note in CLONES of tragedy and pain. In fact, in probably Lucas’ best moments in the film, Anakin finds his fate turning on the same dune on the Lars homestead where Luke watched the twin suns set in A NEW HOPE. Hayden Christensen as Anakin produces perhaps the most revelatory performance in any WARS film, allowing us into the wrenching transformation of Anakin from a boy with a future to a man with a grim fate. And there is more and more that can’t be fit in here.

The rough points, and they are here, fall well within the imperfections of the original trilogy. While not every moment hits on all emotional cylinders, the misfires don’t hit the sour, clanging notes of MENACE. For first generation STAR WARS fans, MENACE hit the senses like a fever-fueled nightmare: familiar, close to the heart, but strange and horribly foreign in so many important ways. CLONES hits like something close to the second coming of THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK.

The biggest blemish is technical. The digital images captured by Sony’s High Definition video cameras are not ready for the big time. While I’m sure it helps cut out technical steps in the melding of actors and special effects, I believe Lucas when he says all those levels of work with film degrade the image from the original pristine 35 mm film image, the HD image is so pixilated (especially in Amidala’s apartment, and several other dark settings) it is the worse of the two choices on balance. Perhaps things will be worked out for EPISODE III. Another sore spot, unfortunately, is Natalie Portman’s performance as Amidala. It veers from a listless flat reading to a trembling, fragile that makes he haiku speed romance with Anakin believable… but only just. We’ve seen Portman’s acting abilities are far beyond her years, but like MENACE, her best work does not make it to the screen here. And while there’s so much to love, there are a few moments of tin-ear acting which jar at the eyes like anything from MENACE. When… and if you haven’t seen the film and don’t want a big spoiler, skip over the next paragraphs… Anakin finds his mother only to watch her die in his arms moments later, her death is the worst kind of gasping, GENERAL HOSPITAL departure yet seen in the STAR WARS saga. She literally throws her head back and exhales like a child play dying on a schoolyard.

But the wonders outdistance the imperfections with ease. Yoda’s CGI incarnation is a revelation. While we’ve known his character since EMPIRE, it is only here where we can read his expressions with the subtle wit that his words always carried. Yoda’s role returns from the bland President of the Jedi from MENACE to the cipher of wisdom and cagey teacher of EMPIRE. After MENACE, one could almost forget Yoda’s persona is, by and large, that of the magical frog in fairy tales. Like the methodology of the frog in those tales, he’s not small and frail because he’s weak and vulnerable, he’s small and frail because it’s the best camouflage for his immense powers, and it draws out the true character in those around him. Here, we find out just how thorough and confounding the camouflage is.

Following his blistering fight with Dooku, he returns to his familiar cane and crouch, but he does not return to his small stature in our minds.

And here’s the biggest shock. I can’t believe these words even as I’m writing them, but here they are: I liked Jar Jar Binks. Where in EPISODE I he pounded our hopes with the worst kind of Stepin Fetchit fumbling (the voice is still in evidence here, but the damage has already been done to the series) his appearance in CLONES actually uses the basics of his character to humorous and chilling effect. Palpatine’s manipulation of the water-brained Gungan comes off like a twisted and very funny joke. In EPISODE I he was a reincarnation of a Hollywood tradition best left in the past. Here he’s the stand-in for apathy in a democracy (if you can believe it) and the consequences of his uninformed exercise of power are as instructive as they are warped.

So with that final amazement, I’ll simply say drop what you’re doing and go see this film. The series, the closest to my heart in all the film world, has regained its footing and promises to do what Lucas has threatened all along… entertain the child within us while revealing the wisdom of the world in a Saturday afternoon lark.

Score: 6/10

Feel like arguing about this? Come over to my Letterboxd page and let’s fight. Or, if you only have time for 140 characters, find me on Twitter at @JettJergens

Simply Beautiful Metal

Not much to say here, other than this is some simply beautiful metal. This is a ship on the scale and with something of the feel of those in the story we’re writing. And it’s by a fantastic artist, Andree Wallin.

There is something about unexplained rods and spires on a ship that just look damned cool.

As for us, we continue to peck away at Chapter 2. We’ve got 12 outlined, of roughly 17 or so in the first book. But all that comes when we post some specifics about how we’re trying to do what… we’re trying to do.