Star Wars: Reconsidering the sequel trilogy

 

GeekTyrant, one of my favorite websites, reminds us that this week is the tenth anniversary of the release of the trailer for Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens.  I will never forget that night.  I was reloading YouTube every ten seconds, waiting for the trailer to publish.  And when it finally dropped...

I guarantee you that I watched that thing at least a dozen times before going to bed.  Oh sure, there had been the teaser earlier that April, but this was the full-blown serious look at what the first chapter of Star Wars's "sequel trilogy" was offering.  And it was glorious!  Everything about that trailer was spot-on perfect: the glimpses, the dialogue, the music... just completely epic.

Here it is if you haven't watched it in awhile (or if you've never had the pleasure of seeing it at all until now):

It had been seven years since the previous Star Wars film, Revenge of the Sith.  That there could be a new movie for the saga was something many of us had given up on ever happening.  And then in 2012 came the news that Episode VII was coming in three years.

That day was one of the happiest that we collectively had, in quite a long time.  And that trailer for The Force Awakens reflected that.  It really did herald the imminent arrival of a new Star Wars movie.  Our dream was coming true.  The most beloved mythology of the modern era was going to expand.  It was going to keep going, on into the future.  Indeed, it was going to be altogether possible that there would be no end to Star Wars, until the end of time.  I couldn't help but think that I would not live to see every Star Wars movie, and there was some great comfort to draw from that.  The way that grown men plant trees, in whose shades their great-grandchildren will play, though they themselves will never see it.

The trailer for The Force Awakens promised that.  And more.  And we could not see anything but something remarkable coming about, beyond our wildest aspirations.  And that's what we got, right?

Right?

Let's get the obvious out of the way: the Star Wars sequel trilogy left a lot to be desired.  It's easily the weakest of the three eras of the classic saga of the Skywalker family.  For one thing it's painfully clear that there wasn't a grand design from the beginning of production.  Now, there was a plan for the sequel trilogy.  George Lucas had included it in the deal that he signed with Disney when he sold Lucasfilm and the related companies.  But what that was, we'll probably never fully know.  Kathleen Kennedy and the other Disney bigwigs abandoned Lucas's plans and instead went for something all their own.  And odds are that in large part it was inferior to The Maker's design for the saga he created in the first place.

So there was no master plan, as Disney intended to execute.  "But wait, Chris, did the original trilogy have such a master plan??"  I'll grant you, that such a concise plot diagrammed out did not exist at the time of A New Hope's release.  Lucas and Leigh Brackett and Lawrence Kasdan were writing The Empire Strikes Back by the seat of their pants.  That it is arguably the greatest Star Wars movie of all time is testament to the vision that they came up with together.  Their work on Episode V established the method by which all future Star Wars should be designed and carried out.  That method carried over into Return of the Jedi.  And when it came time years later to begin work on the prequel trilogy, Lucas already had the architecture established to go back in the saga's timeline and tell the story of young Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker.  And that worked beautifully, too.

The prequel trilogy had none of that.  Or if it did, it was a vague semblance of an over-arching plot.  Once again the writing was by "the seat of their pants".  But there was never a solid plan.

My personal biggest beef about the sequel trilogy?  It's how Supreme Leader Snoke was treated.  The Force Awakens portended that Snoke was going to be a major villain.  The new grand adversary for the next generation of the heroes of the saga.  I loved Snoke as a character.  I saw the movie three times in the theater and each time I knew Snoke was about to appear, I paid especially close attention.  Snoke captured my imagination.  Who was he?  What was he?  My theory was that he was going to be revealed to be the ultimate bad guy behind everything wrong that had happened in the saga.  Snoke could have been the one who created the Sith themselves, for all we knew.  Snoke was an example of Chekov's rule of drama: if you see the gun mounted on the wall in act one, it must be fired in act three.  And I wanted to see that gun go off.

But as The Last Jedi showed us, that was not to be.  Snoke wound up a wasted character.  And I absolutely hate what came of Snoke in The Rise of Skywalker. Snoke deserved better.  And we could have had that, if there had been a master plan in mind that was going to be honored by the filmmakers.

Just one of the many problems that I have with the sequel era.

The last time I had watched any of the sequel trilogy was probably about two years ago.  I set The Rise of Skywalker playing for background noise as I worked on some writing projects one Sunday afternoon.  I couldn't get through it.  I got about halfway through the movie before realizing that I wasn't tuning in at all even peripherally.  So I stopped the movie and instead started playing the Marx Brothers's movie Duck Soup: a good comedy for stimulating the synapses.  And at the time I wondered if I would ever watch any Star Wars movie again, ever.  Episodes seven through nine had practically ruined something that I had carried with me since the first moment I saw an Artoo-Detoo action figure, at four years old.  Star Wars seemed to be something that for all intents and purposes, was dead to me from now on.

But something funny happened recently...

It was a few weeks ago.  A couple of days before my book was published.  For nigh on two months I had plunged myself into preparing every facet of what it means to bring a book to the public.  Everything from going over the manuscript a dozen times over, to designing the cover, to porting the book to Kindle ebook format.  If I wasn't eating or sleeping or working or playing with my dog Tammy, I was focused on getting the book ready.  And in the end it was finally finished, ready for the printer or download on October 1st.

I was thoroughly exhausted.  My brain was drained.  Mentally I was a man poured out.  The book had been submitted.  It was finally out of my hands.  It was something that would soon be in the possession of readers and hopefully there would be many of them and more to the point, I hoped that they would find that it was a book well worth reading.

So with nothing else to occupy my time with, without really comprehending why I was doing it, I put in my Blu-ray Disc of The Force Awakens.  I situated myself on the sofa, not actually braced for one thing or another.  Just needing to have some distraction from my being so wiped out from the book.

And before I knew what was going on, I discovered that I was liking the movie.  An awful lot.  Maybe more than a person should.

Suddenly I was transported back to that night in December of 2015, when I met my lifelong best friend Chad and his wife at a cinema in Raleigh, as we watched the first showing of Episode VII.  And that was a wonderful night indeed, in every way.  I left that theater and hit the highway for the two-hour drive back home and my mind was on fire about the new Star Wars movie.  It had been everything and more that I had expected it to be.

Lo and behold, as I watched The Force Awakens playing in my living room, those memories came rushing back.  And I appreciated anew how precious those were and why they were precious and it did indeed involve that being a good Star Wars film after all.

I decided that I wanted to keep the vibe going.  And so I settled in to watch the next movie: The Last Jedi.

It is perhaps the most problematic Star Wars film ever produced.  Thoughts of disappointment went through my gray matter, and I braced myself for the two-plus hours to come.  I wondered to myself, "Why am I doing this to myself?"  But I had started this by watching The Force Awakens and I had to stay committed to the agenda.  I was going to watch the entire sequel trilogy, come what may.

Well.  Well indeed...

As I've said, as we all know, The Last Jedi is the most issue-ridden chapter of the entire saga.  But watching it with a mind absent discrimination, with refreshened eyes... so help me I found myself enjoying The Last Jedi more than I had before.

I was greatly surprised.  Genuinely shocked, even.  I was able to overlook its shortcomings and instead respect its strengths.  And there are many.  Was Snoke mishandled?  Yes, I will always believe that for the most part.  But his death in The Last Jedi was certainly a shock that very few people if anyone at all saw coming.

What I especially appreciate about The Last Jedi is that perhaps more than any other episode in the saga, it delves into the workings of the Force.  The scene where Luke has Rey reaching out, feeling the world around her - cold and warmth, life and death - is absolutely beautiful.  Not since The Empire Strikes Back came out in 1980 had the Force been so metaphysically examined.  I love that scene!

And then there is the fight between Luke and his nephew.  Yes, maybe it could have ended better: with Luke living and going on to play a much bigger role in the next film.  But as a duel between two Force-users, it definitely satisfies.  I kept thinking while watching that scene for the first time that Luke was being awfully self-restrained.  He was fighting by not fighting.  Luke was being a true Jedi master, as we had never seen him before.  Actually, this was the very first time that we were seeing him as a master at all.  And it did satisfy, it really did.

I finished watching The Last Jedi much more forgiving about that movie.  Definitely not perfect.  But it's also not the train wreck that I had first perceived it to be (and maybe had come to believe it as being simply because other people were saying how bad it is).  With renewed eyes, and a refreshened mind, it was to considerable length a film worthy of Star Wars.

My revisit to the sequel trilogy was two-thirds done.  And so it was that I resolved to watch The Rise of Skywalker.  Would the trend continue?  Might I come to have new feelings about the final film in the story of the Skywalker clan?  Or would the trilogy irredeemably collapse, to be forever stricken from being considered as a worthy chapter of the Star Wars saga?

Once more, I was surprised.  The Rise of Skywalker held up much better than I remembered it doing.

The ending of The Rise of Skywalker is almost what I had imagined for most of my life would be the perfect ending to the entire nine movies mythology: the Skywalker family coming back to Tatooine, accompanied by the droids, with the twin suns above the horizon.  So help me that's how I dreamed of the final scene of Episode IX all my childhood and beyond.  And what we see in The Rise of Skywalker is darn nearly that.  My biggest complaint about it is that it doesn't have Artoo-Detoo and See-Threepio in that scene: they were the first two characters we saw in A New Hope and it would have been fitting if they were two of the last characters we saw in the final movie.  But I suppose that can be let slide.

Yes, The Rise of Skywalker isn't perfect.  But some things about it aren't so bad.  When I think of "somehow Palpatine returned", I remember that Palpatine did return, pretty much by the same method (cloning, Dark Side magik etc.) in the Dark Empire series by Dark Horse Comics in 1992: the very first Star Wars comic of the Expanded Universe.  George Lucas seriously loved the idea of bringing the Emperor back, enough so that he gave trade paperbacks of Dark Empire to all the Lucasfilm employees as Christmas presents.  So that particular idea isn't very alien to Star Wars lore.  Of course, Lucas was also the one who suggested killing Chewbacca in the novel Vector Prime, so there's that too, but anyway...

When Episode IX had finished playing, I found myself thinking that the sequel trilogy wasn't too awful after all.  It did pretty well, all things considered.  The untimely death of Carrie Fisher no doubt detrimentally impacted the story.  From what I've heard, the intention was that Leia was going to figure enormously into the final film.  J.J. Abrams and his team should be given some credit: they did the best that they could do with the little they were given, and it's something to be thankful for that they had all that extra footage of Fisher left over from the filming of The Force Awakens to work with.  It's not a "perfect" fit.  It's a bit clumsy, if we are to be honest.  But that can be forgiven, under the circumstances.

And that was my day re-experiencing episodes 7, 8, and 9 of the Star Wars saga.  I went to bed that night, against all sensibilities, with my love of Star Wars re-ignited.  It hadn't been wasted at all.  I could call myself a true fan again.  The "Star Wars shrine" in my living room - that displays among other things my copy of Heir to the Empire signed by Timothy Zahn, my Yoda puppet autographed by "Weird A" Yankovic, my personal lightsaber, and my beloved Chewbacca mug that my best friend from college gave to me - is again something I can be proud of having to showcase something from my childhood that I've carried along all this time.

The Force Awakens is an amazing film.  And the next two movies, if not completely up to par with Episode VII, are more than passable on their own.  They are Star Wars movies, with all the lumps and warts that come with that.  Even A New Hope was considered by many to be more than a little ridiculous when it premiered in 1977.  It has been more than forgiven for its faults.

I do believe, absolutely, that with the passage of time episodes 7, 8, and 9 are going to be better regarded than they are today.  The weakest of the trilogy is easily The Last Jedi, but the rest of it isn't too terribly bad.  The kids seem to like it.  Especially young girls, who found a kindred spirit in Rey, and that can't be a bad thing in any way whatsoever.

I was astounded by how much more I liked these three movies than I had before.  They are not perfect, but in the end they comprise what they are: a Star Wars trilogy. I can accept it.  Just as I can accept the quirks and weaknesses of any of the other six Star Wars movies.

Give the sequels another five or ten years.  I'll bet that in time the seventh, eighth, and ninth Star Wars movies are going to be as welcome into the canon as the rest of the saga.  I have tremendous confidence that is going to happen.

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Equal Justice: The Legend of Herkenbald

Law, we are told even in fifth grade, is something that applies to all without respect to wealth or status.  And then a few years later the same notion gets drilled into our mushy skulls during civics class as high school freshmen.  It's a noble ideal, and we like to think that the world follows America's example as a model of how under the rule of law, there are none deemed greater than others.  Rich or poor, celebrity or obscure, politically affluent or peanut gallery... it doesn't matter.  Here we are all equally accounted and equally accountable.

And it is all a damnable fantasy and we all know it.  Even if we don't talk about it.

I suppose the current situation with Supreme Court nominee Brett Kavanaugh is in my mind tonight.  As of this writing some former classmate during the early Eighties is alleging that Kavanaugh did something, or other, whatever.  She's due to testify before the Senate next week.  It's already grounds enough, however dubious, to have a number of elected officials and many commentators in the media demanding that Kavanaugh withdraw himself as a nominee.

Huh.  Funny.  I remember many of these same people insisting in 1998 that President Bill Clinton's sexcapades were inconsequential.  That his "character didn't matter".  That it was all "sex lies" whatever that is supposed to be.  If it didn't affect his performance as President of the United States then it shouldn't be on the radar.

These same people went down to the mat tooth and claw to fight for Bill Clinton.  Now they demand that Brett Kavanaugh be stricken from consideration for the Supreme Court.  All on the word of an individual whose integrity has been questioned by her peers and students, and is now found to be an anti-Trump activist at least at some point recently.

Maybe it's just me, but a semen-stained dress is a lot more incriminating than high school gossip from thirty-five years ago.  That a heap of Kavanaugh's former fellow adolescents are now vouching has been made out of whole cloth circa September 2018.

Don't even get me started on the obscene double-standard in regard to the allegations of foreign interfence on Trump's behalf in the last election and the uranium sale that we know happened with the blessing of Hillary Clinton.  One is fast becoming an unsubstantiated scandal that has lost all meaning for most Americans.  The other supplied nuclear material to those who would do harm to this country.

But, none of those particulars are really germane to this post.  I'm discussing the greater tragedy across our system of justice.  Namely, that justice is not impartial.  It plays favorites.  It has become a commodity for sale to those with pull.  And it's not supposed to be this way.

Which brings us to the legend of Herkenbald.

It was something introduced to me when I was in Belgium many years ago.  And ever since I've thought that it's a tale well worth telling to students here.  It should especially be shared in law schools, and in police academies, and with anyone who takes it upon himself or herself to become involved in the judicial process at any level.  It is, in my mind, the perfect parable of incorruptible justice.

So, what is the legend?

Herkenbald is said to have lived around 1020.  That is when he was a judge serving the people of Brussels, anyway.  And he was renowned far and wide for the wisdom of his decisions.  He was also famous... or infamous... for how serious he took his duties.  Everyone, no matter their station, was beneath the same shadow of immutable law.

And then came the day when Herkenbald, after many years of faithful service to his people, was very old and taken with grave illness.  He was moved to a bed in the hospital, to wait for the end.  And yet, he insisted that he be allowed to carry out the task appointed him long before.

Toward the end, Herkenbald heard a commotion outside of his room.  With hesitance, the great magistrate was told that his own nephew had taken a maiden against her will and committed rape.  Herkenbald commanded his subordinates to bring his nephew to his bedside.

However, the subordinates disobeyed, and took measures to hide the nephew.  And for whatever dumb reason, five days later the nephew came to the hospital on his own and entered Herkenbald's room.

Herkenbald was friendly and kind to his nephew.  He was very glad to see the young man, here at the end of his own days.  He bid his nephew to come and sit beside him.

And that's when Herkenbald grabbed the youth, held him with all his remaining strength as he pulled out a concealed dagger, and slit his own nephew's throat wide open.

His nephew's body collapsed to the floor.  The act discovered even as Herkenbald's breathing grew shallow, the bishop was summoned to hear his confession and to deliver last rites.  But Herkenbald refused to confess to the murder of his nephew.  It was not murder at all, the judge told the bishop.  It was the administration of justice.  His nephew had raped a woman and thus forfeited his life.  The law was without question in the matter.  A crime had been committed and punishment must be meted out.  And that is what Herkenbald had done.

Outraged, the bishop refused the final sacraments to Herkenbald.  The legend says that just as the bishop was storming out of the room, Herkenbald called out to him.  Then Herkenbald blew the high clergyman a holy raspberry: upon his tongue was the sacramental Host.  He had been given communion by the highest of all judges.  And then, his tasks fulfilled and a proverbial "up yours!" to the Bishop of Brussels, Herkenbald died.

Now if that's not a hardcore myth to convey to apprentice practitioners of the law and to veteran judges and constables alike, then by all rights it should be.  The legend of Herkenbald is the perfect morality tale about the law.  It is an admonition to judges and to politicians and to all who would hold sacred the rule of law in a society.  It is a reminder that though man and his schemes are inescapably fallen, there is an incorruptibility that must be striven toward without favor.

That photo is a depiction of Herkenbald slaying his nephew.  The statue itself decorates one of the churches in Brussels.

Maybe there needs to be a sculpture of Herkenbald in the United States Capitol Building.  Perhaps in the Rotunda, where every member of the House and Senate might see it.  And in the United States Supreme Court Building.  And in every courthouse in America.  And in law school textbooks.

After all, Lady Justice carries a blade.  Herkenbald actually used his.

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Waste of Mythology: The peril of ignoring our modern fables

The History Channel re-broadcast Star Wars: The Legacy Revealed last night. It's a two-hour documentary about the film saga, its mythic roots, and the timeless values that it's tried to share with the modern audience.

As the program was winding down I thought, and not for the first time lately: after all of these years of being a devout Star Wars fan ... well, what is the point of it? What has been the point of any of the loyalty that we as fans have shown these movies?

Guess what I'm wondering is: in spite of the multitude of morals and lessons that this movie series has given us, what have we actually done with them, at all?

F'rinstance, George Lucas intended for the recent Star Wars prequels to be a parable about the decline of republican government: that democracies invariably become dictatorships. The final step toward tyranny usually happens when an elected leader assumes wide-ranging powers in the face of some emergency, "for the good of the people". Palpatine took over after blaming the Jedi, just as Hitler had to "protect" the Germans from the Communists following the Reichstag fire.

In the past few weeks President George W. Bush has signed a directive that would establish himself as a veritable autocrat. All he has to do is declare an emergency and seize power over everything and voila: America will have an emperor, in fact if not in name. And even if Bush does nothing on his own to seize unprecedented power in the United States, he has done far more than his share of setting the stage in this country for a predecessor to push that button ... and probably sooner than later. It's not the tendency of human nature to shy away from such a temptation.

This is one thing from the Star Wars movies that we should very much have taken to heart, especially in light of the violent history of the Twentieth Century. This is something that should earnestly bother us, and move us to make our stand. By showing the powers-that-be the line in the sand and telling them "to this point and no further".

That is how tyranny is stemmed before it has a chance to blossom. And you would think that in light of this move by Bush and others by legislators (such as the ill-named PATRIOT Act), that armed with the metaphoric wisdom of these stories we would do whatever we could to stop this slide toward an all-powerful state.

Instead, the biggest thing that Star Wars fans in general have been thrown in tumult over is the matter of whether or not Han shot first. We vent more white-hot hatred on Jar Jar Binks than we do on high taxes, or on the governor of Texas when he tries to enforce an un-thoroughly tested vaccine on children, or on the most foolish-conceived war in American history.

It's not a new phenomenon. Scripture tells us that the people of Israel flocked to hear the prophet Ezekiel cry out his warnings ... but they did not heed his words. To them, Ezekiel was nothing but mere entertainment (Ezekiel 33:30-32). I'll bet the people of Troy considered Cassandra to be quite a spectacle. Too bad they didn't believe her when she told them there were Greek soldiers rattling around in that wooden horse.

What is new is the sheer volume of fiction – and with it so much wisdom – that we are inundated with ... and how little we seem to have taken from it.

We should consider ourselves blessed to live in a time of such rich and vibrant storytelling. No other era in human history has been gifted with so many tales along with so much raw knowledge, from the entire breadth of civilization. And we should be the most enlightened culture that has ever existed in recorded time because of it: Maslow's "self-actualization" realized across the vast scope of an entire society.

Cast me melancholy, but I have to ask: what good have any of these stories been? They weren't just meant to be "great entertainment", were they?

Belgium declared its independence from the Netherlands in 1830. Do you know what pulled the trigger and moved the Belgian people to war? It was a performance one night of the opera La Muette de Portici. It stirred the people of Brussels to riot and take over the ruling regime's buildings. From there the fight spread across the country.

Consider that for a moment: one performance of an opera ignited an entire country to revolt against its masters ...

... and we have had countless movies, playing to audiences of millions, to stir our souls. And still we've yet to do anything like what those Belgians did after watching one opera.

I've been a Star Wars fan from one wild extreme of the spectrum to the other. And it's been a heckuva lot of fun, no doubt. But when it comes to taking Star Wars seriously, as an epic that has conveyed age-old wisdom that we can apply to our world, it really saddens me that we as fans (and there are plenty of us) haven't played this to the hilt. And we've had thirty years to do it, too.

If my generation, having grown up watching the Star Wars movies and the Matrix trilogy and The Lord of the Rings and everything else, has been literally assaulted with the theme of good against evil and still has done nothing with it ... then what does that say of us, compared to those who have come before?

George Lucas might as well have saved hundreds of millions of dollars and not made the Star Wars movies at all, for all the good that we have made of them.

Consider the Matrix trilogy. This is one movie series that I absolutely believe has been nowhere nearly as appreciated as it should be. I can think of no more effective metaphor from the movies than the Matrix series for the system that we seldom dare admit to having become enslaved to.

How many Americans are capable of even considering the fact that they don't have to choose only between the Democrat and Republican parties? You know the answer to that as well as I do: not that many. Their minds are not free. Their thinking is still imprisoned by a machine that defines for them the parameters of what is possible and what is not possible. If the machine expects them to believe that there really is no other choice because other candidates are "unelectable" or otherwise illegitimate, then these people believe it without question. You see it even now, with the mainstream press establishing it in the minds of most Americans that there are, at most, three "serious" presidential candidates from either of the two major parties.

I thought that The Matrix was a two-hour package of everything that we would need to know to start fighting our own matrix. Some people seriously predicted that when the V for Vendetta film came out that it would result in mobs of thousands taking to the streets in a bid to confront "them".

In a sane world, these stories would have motivated us so. Even though things should have never come to the point where we would need those to spur us to action, anyway. But that didn't happen. It was like millions of people were confronted with the very ugly truth of the world around them ... and decided to do nothing at all about it.

And then, think about the novel and movie series The Lord of the Rings. I don't know anything else to say other than Tolkien's story is the finest parable about the danger and self-destruction that comes with seeking power, that has ever been produced in modern English literature. Tolkien laid it all out, in terms that anyone could understand. And yet, our mad pursuit of power and influence over others continues unabated.

The one great modern story that I can see signs that its message is being sought and cherished by many is the Harry Potter series. What message is there in that? I believe it's the most profound of all: that death is not something to be feared. That in being fearful of death, we allow death to have a power over us that we should never yield to it. Voldemort has sought to be all-powerful because to him, death is something petty and ignoble: it's for the weak, not the strong. His "flight from death" (the literal French meaning of the word "Voldemort" by the way) has made him enthralled to power, instead of being its master. On the other hand, Harry Potter has let go his fear of death, and is not controlled by it. He is the one with the freedom and real choice. And not being bound to fear of death, Harry is spiritually free to live a full and abundant life: one that Voldemort can never know or understand. In fact, I've thought that the Harry Potter books do a far better job at teaching a lot of Christian virtues than have many modern preachers and theologians. But I digress ...

Why are the Harry Potter books working where movies such as Star Wars aren't? It's likely because Harry Potter is still a story primarily of written literature. To read a Harry Potter novel or any other book demands that the reader think about what it is he or she is. Reading a book actively engages the mind. Watching a movie or television show presents those thoughts ready-packaged for consumption. There are very few stories in the visual medium that do strive to be "thinking man's entertainment" (I would count Lost as being one of them). Otherwise, it seems that part of the mind turns off and accepts whatever the eyes see without question ... or critically thinking about. At least the Harry Potter books can exercise the mind to think about things like not having to fear mortality, and about having the strength and will to stand up and fight (something that Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix did beautifully). For that much, we can be thankful that our young people will be wiser for the time they have invested in such entertainment.

It's not a guarantee though. The Chronicles of Narnia are founded on the deeper tenets of the Bible ... but on such a basic level that even a small child can grasp them. Yet it's hard to see them put into practice by many of the "grown-up" Christians that I see every day. Indeed, the belief system that I profess to share has had its own rich collection of history and proverbs for going on two millennia now ... and I can only lament at how many of my fellows do not seem to care enough to pursue sincere appreciation and understanding of it.

And if we are to discuss how even literature has failed to enlighten our generation, then we must mention George Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four. It's twenty-three years too late, and bedecked with more color to be sure ...

... But how is America not so far removed from the superstate of Oceania? We even have much the same order of society: the "Inner Party" of an entrenched elite – you can pick any number of "political families" and "favored" individuals – who sit at the top of the heap in this country and play with Senate seats and the Oval Office like title deeds in a Monopoly game. They will never let anyone from the "Outer Party" (the traditional middle class) ascend to their level. Think about it: when was the last time that Mr. Smith really could go to Washington? It sure hasn't been anytime lately. And then there is only what with trepidation I think of as the real-life analogy to Orwell's Proles: the too many Americans well enough engaged in drinking beer and pursuit of sex than to educate themselves about the surrounding world past what the TV is telling them.

What enforces this rigid structure? A "mainstream press" that long ago lost its independence and is now just part of "the system" spouting approved propaganda. A military-industrial complex that has engaged the nation in meaningless war that saps away our youth and vitality. Government surveillance of nearly all our communications and finances and movements. Even our own "Two Minutes Hate" used to expend what passions we might turn toward overcoming our lot, instead wasting them against propped-up straw-men both here and abroad.

All of this at work on a people expected to believe whatever is told them, however contradictory, and consider it true: "doublethink", as Orwell called it. Individual deviancy from the mindset means consignment as a "fringe thinker" or "moonbat" or whatever is the current jargon. And when people like Charles Krauthammer earnestly declare that to disagree with "The Leader" is an indication of mental illness, how is that different from the "derangement" that had Winston Smith dragged to Room 101?

We have, at last, arrived on the shores of Oceania.

No sense complaining about our destination now: we've had almost sixty years to try to change the course of the ship.

Growing up, I was taught that there was such a thing as right and wrong, and that it wasn't hard to tell the difference between the two. Then I saw how real life works: and that too many of the people in this world don't act like they care about doing the good thing. Stories like Star Wars may not have necessarily been real, but the values within them were certainly ideal, and virtuous enough to put into practice. Enough so that I gained courage from them to persist in seeking out good. Years later, I still don't see any reason why we shouldn't strive to adhere to them, in spite of the callousness and corruption everywhere we look.

Maybe these stories aren't meant for us at all. Perhaps they are the inheritance of those who will come after us: the ones who will follow our own generation and the mess that we have made of things. It's not a pleasant thing to wonder about how much we are like Rome before that empire fell, and that if there is a collapse then a much more terrible dark age might ensue. But if there is any shred of hope, it is that a better and nobler people might arise from the ruins of our age.

They will be the ones to whom Star Wars and The Matrix and The Lord of the Rings and every other tale of our era will be more than something to make "fan fiction" of and dress up as characters from.

I'm sure they will also be asking about what we did with these stories. "How did they tolerate so much wasted mythology?" "Didn't they learn anything from all those movies and books?"

Look, it's really very simple: bad things are happening around us. They aren't going to simply "go away" no matter how hard we try to wish them to vanish.

Stories don't become eternal classics solely on the virtue of their entertainment value. They stand the test of time because they are founded on something imperishable and true, that no tyrant or army or even the ignorance of ages can destroy. But they only have meaning if we take what they are teaching us to heart and act upon those values.

We have every reason possible to stand. And to fight. And to dare rebel against the things that are wrong without shame or apology. We have every right to make the empire tremble.

We've been shown the way, may times over. Now we just have to start boldly walking it.

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