by Gib van Ert
While the Wampa rug was nominally a gift for my one-year-old son, the product itself was surely aimed at my own age demographic: aging (and reproducing) Star Wars fans. The boys that Lucasfilm and Kenner were forced to give up on around 1985 are now ripe for the picking again. The truth of this was driven home to me about two years ago when, walking past the toy section of a local pharmacy, I saw something I thought I would never see again: Star Wars action figures hanging enticingly from wire display racks in the old packaging, the white-and-blue Kenner logo singing out to me from the lower right corner. It was not the sight of Star Wars action figures in themselves that struck me. Hasbro (which acquired Kenner in 1991) has been producing figures for years without ever interesting me. What captured my attention this time was the packaging: it was a near perfect imitation of the Kenner blister packs of my childhood.
There was, of course, only one reason to market a new line of Star Wars toys this way. Despite the “Ages 4 and up” tagline on the top left corner of every package—exactly where Kenner put it in 1978—the target market for these new toys was not children. It was nostalgic thirty-something suckers like me whose hearts leapt upon seeing Kenner Star Wars action figures for sale again. The historical accuracy that has gone into the marketing of these new toys is remarkable. Some of the figures I found hanging from the shelves that day even bore a sticker on the front reading “FREE BOBA FETT” and offering buyers the chance to exchange five proofs-of-purchase for the legendary Rocket Firing Boba Fett action figure—a figure Kenner promised my generation in the late 1970s by means of a similar mail-away offer but never delivered due to last-minute fears about the safety of the rocket. No one under thirty-five would recognize this new promotion for what it was: a nostalgia-laden throwback to our long-gone childhoods. These new toys were not aimed at five-year-olds. They were aimed at their fathers.
I was determined to resist this blatant appeal to my sentimentality. I was thirty-seven years old at the time—too young (I told myself) to feel nostalgic for my lost youth. Besides which, how would I explain to my wife that I had bought a Star Wars figure? Yet every subsequent trip to the pharmacy—and later to the grocery store, which also began to stock the things—was a temptation. I kept wandering into the toy section, just to have a look. Eventually I learned all about this new line of Star Wars action figures from the internet. Hasbro is behind it, of course; Kenner has been dead for years. Furthermore, in a stroke of evil genius, Hasbro is anachronistically marketing characters from all six Star Wars films in this Kenner style, a ploy that, when I first saw it in person at the grocery store, momentarily ingratiated me to the prequels. I got over that almost immediately but the fact that it happened at all is incredible.
I eventually admitted to myself that I was going to buy one of these new “Kenner” figurines. It was, as the man said, useless to resist. I decided upon Rebel Fleet Trooper, nearly the first character the audience sees in Star Wars yet a figure which for some reason the real Kenner never produced. I had seen Rebel Fleet Trooper on a web site but could never find it at the grocery store. I even made a furtive trip to a real toy shop once, but still could not find it. I learned that the figure was rare and was selling online at twice its retail price or more. I lost my patience. While picking up cold medicine for my daughter at the downtown London Drugs, I grabbed a Luke Skywalker (Jedi Knight) from the store’s small toy section and hoped the cashier would not ask me why. She didn’t. I stuffed the contraband into my laptop bag and left it there overnight so that my wife would not see. She probably would have only laughed a little, but I was embarrassed and did not want to have to explain. I did not really know what the explanation was.
When I got to work the next morning I closed the door to my office, pulled out the hidden figurine and admired it in its packaging. I briefly contemplated leaving it there, unopened, “mint-in-box”, as the collectors say. But that would only make a silly situation sillier. So I tore the plastic from the cardback and, after quite a struggle—these new figures are very securely packaged—extracted Luke and his accessories. The likeness was very good, better even than in Kenner’s best work. Furthermore, the figure had joints everywhere: shoulders, elbows, wrists, waist, knees, even ankles—a complete contrast with Kenner’s figures, which could only march straight-armed and straight-legged like toy soldiers (which is, after all, what they were).
But there was something off about this figure. What it gained in articulation and likeness it lost in playability. I could not imagine my children, or anyone’s children, playing with the thing. It was too dainty. The hundred or so real Kenner action figures packed securely in their Kenner carrying cases in my basement storage closet had been subjected to hundreds of hours of punishing play, yet most were intact and even well-preserved. Their thick hands and inflexible limbs made them durable. This new figure, however attractive, felt fragile. It was not so much an action figure as an inaction figure, suitable for display only. I should not have been surprised. To convince a 37-year-old man to buy an action figure was already an accomplishment on Hasbro’s part. To persuade him to play with it would be a perverse sort of miracle. Just as Hasbro did not intend to sell these figures to children, it did not intend that anyone actually play with them. I certainly did not buy Luke Skywalker (Jedi Knight) to play with it. I bought it out of sentimentality. For that purpose—if sentimentality is a purpose—these new Kenner/Hasbro figures, or at least those derived from the original trilogy, are very apt. But they are not really toys.
My Luke Skywalker (Jedi Knight) now lives in the top drawer of my desk at work, surrounded by business cards, paper clips and boxes of staples. He has some company. I broke down again and bought Darth Vader as a supposed first birthday gift for Zachary, but it turned out to be more intricate and fragile even than Skywalker—its tiny helmet comes in two parts and is always falling off—so I brought it to work, too. I never have found a Rebel Fleet Trooper.
Despite these lapses into nostalgia, and the immersion in Star Wars demanded by writing this book, I am, for the most part, only a distant observer of today’s Star Wars. Recently at work I was chatting with two colleagues about our young children’s pop culture interests. The mum said her three-year-old son was crazy about the movie Cars. I mentioned that Beatrice loves Go Diego Go. The other dad then told a story about how his son had demanded that his father buy him a pair of Commander Cody shoes.
“Who’s Commander Cody?”, I said innocently. The other dad, an old-time Star Wars fan who shares my distaste for the prequels, explained that Commander Cody is a character in the Clone Wars television series, and possibly also in one of the prequels. It was the first time in my entire life that someone had made a Star Wars reference I did not get. My initial reaction was mild amazement. Then I began to feel rather pleased with myself. This really is over, I thought. Star Wars used to be mine, and now it is not. I’m okay with that.
[EPILOGUE] INVENT ME A STORY
“Papa, I want you to invent me a story.” The lights are out in Beatrice’s room. She is tucked in almost to her nose. Most nights I read her stories from the dozens of books on her shelf, nestled in bed with her, the reading light over her left shoulder. But sometimes Beatrice wants me to “invent” her a story. This is easier some nights than others. Tonight it is not easy. I have had a long day at work, and the Canucks game is beckoning in the living room. I decide, just this once, to take a shortcut.
“Once upon a time there was a princess who wore a white gown…”
“Like Snow White, uh?” (“Uh?” is Beatrice’s French-Canadian way of saying “Eh?” or “Right?” or “N’est-ce pas?”. We speak mostly French at home—my wife is from New Brunswick—and Beatrice’s English carries a diminishing, but still pronounced, French accent.)
“A little. But this princess has a very important message, a secret message, that she is hiding from an evil king.”
Beatrice lets out a thrilled gasp. “And he has a sword, uh? To make people dead?”
“Yes, a
red sword. And he wears all black robes. His name is Vader. One day, Vader captures the princess’s spaceship. (This princess has a spaceship.) The princess has to act quickly. She gives her secret message to a little blue robot named Artoo and tells him to give it to a wise old man named Ben. Then Artoo and his friend Threepio, who is a tall, gold robot, escape in a tiny ship and fly away.”
“Threepio?” Beatrice interjects. “That’s a good name. But what’s the message?”
“It explains how to destroy the bad king’s fortress.”
“So he can’t make people dead anymore?”
“Right. So off go the robots to a faraway planet that is all desert…”
“With camels and cactuses and crocodiles?”
“And big lizards, too. So the robots land in the desert and Artoo tries to go find Ben…”
“Ben’s a bad king, uh?”
“No no, Ben’s a wise old man who can help the princess. He…”
“With a sword to make people dead?”
“Well, he has a sword, but it’s blue, and it’s to protect people from the bad king Vader. Shall I go on?” Beatrice nods.
“Artoo and Threepio get lost in the desert and, when the night falls, they are captured by little dwarves in brown coats.”
“Like in Snow White.”
“Sort of, but these dwarves say, ‘Achkeba chegabada utini!’” Beatrice laughs. “The dwarves collect robots and sell them to people. In the morning, they set up their market and put Artoo and Threepio up for sale. A man—more like a boy, really—comes to the market to buy some robots. His name is Skywalker.”
Beatrice gives a drawn-out, “Oh”. She now understands that this is a Skywalker story. I am afraid she will accuse me (rightly) of not really inventing a story, but she is sufficiently intrigued to let me go on.
“Skywalker buys the tall gold robot, and also a little red one. This makes Artoo sad, because he wants to stay with his friend Threepio. Just then the red robot explodes!”
“Why?” asks Beatrice.
“I don’t know. It was broken. So Skywalker takes the little blue one instead, and Threepio and Artoo are together again. Later…”
“And they’re happy to be back together, uh?” Beatrice is showing me that she is following along.
“Later, Skywalker is cleaning up Artoo when he comes across the princess’s message! It shoots out of the robot like light from a flashlight. Skywalker sees the princess saying, ‘Help me, Ben, help me! The evil king has captured me.’”
“Ben is the evil king, uh?”
“No no, Ben is the princess’s friend. Vader is the evil king. He wears all black. Skywalker thinks the princess is beautiful. He wants to know why she needs help. But Artoo won’t tell him! He says the message is a secret. That night, when everyone is asleep, Artoo runs away from Skywalker to go find Ben.”
I pause, running my hand through Beatrice’s hair. “It’s time for bed now. I’ll tell you the rest of the story tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow at breakfast, okay?”
I equivocate, then sing Beatrice My Funny Valentine, watching as her head tilts back, mouth open, eyes closed. When I am certain she has fallen asleep, I climb carefully out of her bed and tiptoe to the door. I grasp the doorknob firmly to keep it from rattling, then slowly turn it. When the latch is fully retracted, I swing the door open just wide enough to pass through, letting as little light into her room as possible as I step into the hallway. I draw back the door, placing my fingers in the frame to dampen the sound, and prepare to turn the knob gently from the outside.
There is a rustle from Beatrice’s bed. I’ve blown it.
“Papa?” says Beatrice. I re-open the door enough to peer inside.
“Yes?”
“It’s a good story, uh?”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Gib van Ert lives in Vancouver, British Columbia with his wife and two children. He is a lawyer and the author of Using International Law in Canadian Courts and other serious legal works that have nothing to do with Star Wars. He hopes to use the revenue from this book to pay off his remaining student debt before turning 40. Lately he has been blogging about Star Wars at http://thissortofthing.com.