George Lucas’s 1977 Star Wars is a great many things.
A childish romp, a sophisticated homage
to Hollywood’s long-forgotten serials – Flash Gordon, Buck Rodgers and the like
– and a secular fantasy for the United States, one whose easily discernible vision
of good versus evil rendered it easy fodder for defense department planners and
journalists alike to utilize the film’s name as a moniker for
America’s nascent Space Defense Initiative in the 1980s.
Star Wars also cleverly cast aside the somber,
post-studio system cynicism that dominated Hollywood and film in the late 1960s
and early 1970s, and hearkened
back to the swashbuckling films of Errol Flynn, to the long, purposeful stride of larger-than-life John Wayne and to a time when the moviegoer,
regardless of age, could watch a fun, thigh-slapper of film and come away from
it with the simple enthusiasm of a child just returned from his first circus. As a result, it became one of the most successful films of all-time. Then, it became something more than a film...
When it was released, Star Wars was the independent film of independent films. It had no opening credits, but a strange scroll, for which Lucas was chastised by Hollywood's famous guilds, it had little known actors and an almost paint-by-numbers story. Then there was, as we all know, an
endless array of Star Wars
merchandise, most of which initially came about partly to help Lucas fund and re-coop the expense
of making the film itself, but then stuck around and continues to stick around. Indeed, the film franchise would eventually be sold in 2013 for more than $4 Billion to Disney, largely on account of said merchandise and the potential for more of it. (As a famous aside: Alec Guinness became quite a rich man by
foolishly – or so he thought at the time – agreeing to take a cut of the
merchandise sales in lieu of his usual fee for acting).
All of the above is a long way of
saying that we are all living in the post-Star
Wars world, and that whether we like it or not, there is no going back to what came before. Star Wars
helped finish off what little was left of the Old Hollywood, which had begun to
fall apart in the mid-1960s with the collapse of the studio system, and
subsequently helped usher in the New Hollywood of corporations, high finance
and marketing. Summer blockbusters, an explosion of science
fiction, toy tie-ins and – this more than anything else – a new reliance on advanced
special effects, which up to this point in Hollywood’s history had largely been
limited because they were not strong enough to carry a picture (actors and scripts
did that), are all part of the cinematic world Star Wars created.
That Lucas intended none of the above is
relevant only if we choose to remember how radical a film Star Wars actually was when it was released and how uncertain its
place in the American cinema would have been absent Lucas’s compelling vision
and his drive to completely fashion an independent film out of the best pieces
of myth, iconography, religion and popular culture. Put simply, Star Wars is the most important movie of
the past 35 or so years, though I doubt anyone now or then, including Lucas
himself, would say so if asked.
Part of the reason for this stems
from the fact that outside of its obvious commercial success with audiences, Star Wars has enjoyed little critical
fanfare.
Film writer Thomas Schatz
dismissed Star Wars as “remarkably
superficial”; Robin Wood called it “intellectually undemanding.” Little has
changed since these initial pronouncements. Indeed, the arrival of
the tortured and overwrought prequels has, if anything, only confirmed the view
of many outside the usual fan-base that Star
Wars is shallow eye-candy that relies on action and special effects to
overcome wooden actors, dull plots and intellectually undemanding themes. Lucas’s
aforementioned heavy borrowing to generate the grist of Star Wars material has not helped him on this account, either.
There
are, as my own eyes show me, entire shots lifted from brilliant films, such as The Searchers and Lawrence of Arabia, and from lesser efforts, such as 633 Squadron. There is also the matter
of the cantina scene ripped straight from a Western, a character named Han Solo
who is the interstellar incarnate of Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca and the film’s two climaxes, the first of which is
essentially a sword-fight, shot almost frame-for-frame like a Kurosawa scene, with
the second portraying an attack on a space station that plays out in similar
fashion to The Dam Busters.
This is not to say Lucas is not
an original, for as I have already suggested, Star Wars was indeed a radical film when it was made, a fact that
is lost in time and the film’s subsequent success. Nobody, and this includes
most of the cast and crew, understood what Lucas was after in Star Wars and when
the first cut of the film was completed, the studio heads were terrified to release
it. Talking Robots? A Princess? A villain dressed all in black armor?
Spaceships? A furry and howling sidekick? It was all quite out there back then
and all something no one knew how to classify...
The other major piece of
radicalism in Star Wars is its
inherent conservatism, which is also another of its ironies. Lucas chose to
make an epic science fiction film that was fantastically different from Stanley
Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey or
Franklin J. Schnaffner’s The Planet of
the Apes, the other two high-budget science fiction films that garnered
mainstream attention. Lucas intentionally eschewed Kubrick’s cold intellectualism
and Schnaffer’s hip political sensibility and chose instead to make a movie
that recalled myths from Ancient Troy to King Arthur. At its heart, Star Wars is a hero quest, with a protagonist
who is chosen by destiny (Luke) and guided by an old sage (Obi-Wan Kenobi) to
first confront and then overcome evil (Darth Vader and the Empire). Lucas set
his film to a soaring John Williams score that echoes Wagner and created
powerful visual contrasts – the colorless Vader and Storm Troopers and the rag-tag
Rebels in their orange jump suits – that ensured audiences saw and felt the
difference between good and evil on the screen as much as they understood it.
Add the equally simple and powerful themes of maturation, of leaving home, of finding
and sacrificing for one’s friends of committing one’s self to something outside
the self and you have a palpable mixture of emotion that should have assuaged
some of the concerns studio executives felt about the film’s content.
At the same time, it has become impossible to
separate Lucas the filmmaker from Lucas the businessman and entrepreneur, a
fact even his close friends acknowledged by the early 1980s, when
the Lucas Empire had become large enough that many began to
openly question the man’s priorities. Francis Ford Coppola, John Milieus and
Stephen Spielberg, all of whom were Lucas’s contemporaries at film school at
the University of Southern California, all speak highly of Lucas and his
talent, both then and now. Coppola, who made at least three of the greatest American films in the
latter half of the 20th century, has even called Lucas “one of the
most talented directors of that time," but like the others, there is a limit to what he will stomach from his old friend's various conversions.
For example, Coppola has said Star Wars does not show one-tenth of what Lucas is capable of as
artist. Lucas, Coppola believes, chose the “industrial marketing complex" instead of art. This is a creative collapse that Lucas himself occasionally
acknowledged back in the 1980s, when his empire was much smaller than it is
today and he was still uncertain of its ultimate direction. Star Wars, he once griped in between installments, “took over his
life,” and in doing so, he became precisely what he hated when he struck out on
his own as an independent filmmaker: A corporate CEO. “What I was trying to do
was stay independent,” he said in 2005, when it was clear he had given up on this
desire. “I’m not happy with the fact corporations have taken over the film
industry. But now I find myself the head of a corporation. So there’s a certain
irony there.”
Indeed, there is Mr. Lucas.
I would venture farther that such
a moment of self-awareness, which now have become almost unheard of as
Lucas more and more speaks like the media-savvy fight promoter, is even more ironic
when one realizes that the corporate takeover Lucas appears troubled by occurred
precisely because of the great commercial success of Star Wars. That is, in order to capitalize the increasingly expensive
special effects moviegoers demanded after becoming accustomed to adventures
like Star Wars, it became necessary
for filmmakers to secure tremendous amounts of funding. In most cases the
necessary amounts could only be had through the kind of merchandising Lucas
pioneered, which more and more was reliant upon corporate partnerships and a
new sort of Hollywood money-man who cared not a whit for the artistic value of
their financial ventures. Return on investment, and not just return, but
staggering Star Wars-like levels of return
became the new expected norm.
For all his aloofness and lack of
acknowledgement for what he hath wrought, Lucas remains something of a
sympathetic character, if for nothing else than for the sensation one has in
reading some of his comments that at one time Lucas genuinely believed he would
make other films after the Star Wars trilogy
concluded and that those films would be more in line with his earlier, more
expressive work. Instead, as we are all well aware, Lucas went on to help
invent Indiana Jones, yet another fantastically successful amalgamation of Old
Hollywood tropes, and tinkered and then re-tinkered with his original three Star Wars films. Lucas then found – or more
likely, invented – reasons to make three additional Star Wars films, none of which approached his initial effort in
terms of impact or quality, though all made their creator staggering
amounts of money.
With each new Star Wars film, with each new scene of
perfectly sculpted Computer-Generated-Imagery (CGI), which is to say with each new
piece of rubbery unreality that a director who once boasted of hating actors has been able to utilize, we are one step farther away from
the magic of Hollywood’s Golden Age and one more step within contemporary
Hollywood’s age of visually shallow wonder, for it impossible to imagine
nowadays a major film without the kind of staggering budget and without the kind
of staggering effects Star Wars requires to capture its audience. (This is especially the case with the prequels, bereft of emotion as they are. Would there be any reason to watch them at all if they were not visually stunning? Lucas has indeed rid himself of actors in those films). And while some of this might be good for the child in all of us, I cannot help but feel
like something else has been sacrificed, something that George Lucas of 1977
might have appreciated about classic film, which he borrowed from so successfully. It is a shame then, that he is both the
creator and the destroyer of worlds he loves and that we all must both thank him for all the joy his 1977 vision has given to us even as we all suffer from what that vision so crudely discarded and replaced.