by David Brin
That's an exact quote.
I'm not here to talk about the experience of coming to Star Wars on the big screen entirely by surprise. I'll leave that to your imagination. Suffice it to say that even the memory of putting the words "A novel by Matthew Woodring Stover, based on the screenplay by George Lucas" on the title page of Revenge of the Sith is still enough to give me a bit of the shakes.
I'm here to talk about the experience of Truth.
By the time I found myself in that Saturday matinee in 1977, I was already an experienced SF geek, though that term had yet to crest our common horizon. My brother Tom, ten years older, long gone to college and off into his career, had left behind a huge library of paperback SF that I had started reading about the time I learned to read, and so when Star Wars rolled around, I'd been through just about every then-published work by Heinlein, Asimov, Anderson, Williamson, Pohl, Niven, the various Smiths (I could fill my word count just with a list of all the authors) ... as well as the Big Old Guys like Verne and Wells. Tom-an engineer by temperament as well as by profession-had a prejudice in favor of the hard SF guys, as well as the space opera types; Leiber and Zelazny, Disch and Moorcock and PKD showed up mostly by accident, in magazines or collections he'd bought for other people's work.
This is relevant because of my experience during one particular scene in what is now known as A New Hope-the scene in Obi-Wan's cave, after he has rescued Luke from the Sand People, where he gives Luke what we all now know is Anakin Skywalker's lightsaber, and begins to tell him of the Jedi Knights....
I sat in the dark, in that theater, breathless, blinking, trying to listen harder, to hear more than was being said-
Because I knew, then, that here-not just in this moment, but in this story-was something True.
This was not a literal truth. Not factual truth. This was not a delusional moment that blurred the line between fiction and reality.
I was skimming the surface of a Truth that is not expressible in direct language. There is no way to say it other than the way it was being said: in the metaphor of a fantasy.
For make no mistake: Star Wars is, at its heart, fantasy. Knights with magic swords, talking animals, kindly wizards, evil sorcerers, mystic ships that travel in the blink of an eye beyond the ken of mortal man-
But don't take it too hard.
All science fiction is a subset of fantasy. Star Wars just happens to be honest about it.
In fact, all literature is a subset of fantasy. Fantasy is the child of myth; the foundation of fantasy is the heroic epic-which is what Star Wars is-and the heroic epic is the initial form of literature in nearly every human culture. Every succeeding literary form comes into existence by limiting itself: by carving away chunks of the possibility that fantasy represents.
By cutting off, one might argue, pieces of Truth.
I recognized that breathless unfolding of Truth inside my chest, because I had felt it before. I'd come across it once or twice in Leiber (at the bitter end of Ill Met in Lanhhmar, for one). I'd found it when reading of Aslan's sacrifice in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, and of Theoden's sally at Helm's Deep in The Two Towers; I would find it again in later years, as I read of Beowulf's weary stand against the dragon, of the Green Knight picking up his severed head and stalking away from the Round Table, of High Lord Elena speaking the Word of Command in The Illearth War....
I would find it in 1980, when a certain someone of our mutual acquaintance said (again, for me, entirely unexpectedly), "No, Luke. I am your father."
This is an experience I never got from those hard SF guys. Except for Heinlein. And that was Glory Road. If you read it, you'll understand why.
Science fiction is usually, quite properly, about what may be. What we might become. (Heinlein himself, for example, is justly legendary for prophesying in, "Solution Unsatisfactory," the development of dirty bombs.)
Fantasy, by contrast-real fantasy, not the mocked-up pseudo-me dieval horseshit Some People like to pretend encompasses its whole range-is about what already is. It's not about what we might become; it's a metaphor for who we already are.
Each of us.
Fantasy's landscape is the map of our dreams; it is peopled with our personal monsters, and the struggles of its heroes are metaphors for our own.
Which brings us back to Truth.
Now, I have to tell you something about what I mean by Truth, too. I'm not talking about engineer's truth, here: the kind of truth that is visible by microscope, measurable by laser balance or quantifiable by any contortion of mathematics. That kind of truth is commonly referred to as fact, and as such has no need for the uppercase T. There is another, dicier aspect of reality also commonly referred to as truth, and that is the kind that we turn to courts and juries to decide. These are truths that are still describable in plain language, but about which there may be legitimate disagreement, because they can't be reduced to straightforward observation, or measurement. Guilt or innocence, proportional blame-these are what we call decidable questions. Ones that have more or less final answers. That's what we're pretending we're up to here. But we're just pretending.
Because that's still lowercase truth.
When you get to Truth, in the upper case, you face questions of meaning. Maybe I should say Meaning. Uppercase Truth deals with Who We Are, and What It All Means.
That's when direct language begins to fail. Closing in on that kind of Truth, direct statement falters on asymptotic approach-the closer you get, the less useful it becomes. You need imagery to even get into the atmosphere, and metaphor for landing gear.
Which brings us back to Star Wars.
Because uppercase Truth is the real subject of Star Wars. Not who we might be, or what might happen someday, or what ought to happen or what we should worry about happening in the future. Star Wars isn't about the future.
There's a reason why the whole saga takes place "a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away....
Its not anchored in time or place. It's not about some other galaxy. It's not about the future, or about 1977, or 1980, or 1983, 1999, 2002 or 2005. It's about wherever is here, and whenever is now.
That's a function of myth, and make no mistake: Star Wars is and always has been exactly that. Not only myth, but arguably (and argue is exactly what we'll be doing here, isn't it?) the most powerful mythic cycle of the twentieth century.
The opening passage of the Tao Te Ching is commonly translated "The Name that can be named is not the Eternal Name," but-as with all works that deal with Truth-the Tao Te Ching is elliptical, and metaphoric. That particular passage might also be translated, for example, as "The Way that can be weighed is not the Eternal Way"
It's worth noting that Stephen Mitchell, in his seminal translation, noted (as George Lucas seems very likely himself to have been aware) that the passage can also be translated as "The Force that can be forced is not the Eternal Force."
Star Wars is about Big Questions.
That's why we bother.
This is why it's worth your time to bother, too:
Because when you get to Truth, you don't get (pace Regis Philbin) any final answers. You can't measure it, and you can't trust a jury of your peers to decide the question.
Only you can decide what it means, because in the end, what it means ... is what it means to you.
THE COURTROOM
DROID JUDGE: Welcome, ladies, gentlemen, clones, droids and other sentient organisms. You all know why we are here. A series of charges have been made against the multimedia empire known as Star Wars. These charges are as follows:
CHARGE #1: The Politics of Star Wars Are Anti-Democratic and Elitist.
CHARGE #2: While Claiming Mythic Significance, Star Wars Portrays No Admirable Religious or Ethical Beliefs.
CHARGE #3: Star Wars Novels Are Poor Substitutes for Real Science Fiction and Are Driving Real SF off the Shelves.
CHARGE #4: Science Fiction Filmmaking Has Been Reduced by Star Wars to Poorly Written Special Effects Extrava
ganzas.
CHARGE #5: Star Wars Has Dumbed Down the Perception of Science Fiction in the Popular Imagination.
CHARGE #6: Star Wars Pretends to Be Science Fiction, but Is Really Fantasy.
CHARGE #7: Women in Star Wars Are Portrayed as Fundamentally Weak.
CHARGE #8: The Plot Holes and Logical Gaps in Star Wars Make It Ill-Suited for an Intelligent Viewer.
(Noise in the courtroom grows as the charges are read.)
DROID JUDGE: (hammering his gavel) Quiet down, quiet down. I intend to run this courtroom in a fair and disciplined fashion, and that means no outbursts from the gallery. Yes, I'm looking at you, Wookiees. Now, to begin, counselors will make their opening statements.
T CANNOT BE SAID often enough. We are here to have fun, tossing ideas around, pretending that they matter. Nobody, on either side of the coming argument, contends that the fate of Western civilization will hang upon a literary analysis of the epical and epochal Star Wars series! A series that deserves respect at many levels, if only for the marvelous artists it has employed and the raw pleasure that it has given hundreds of millions.
In fact, though some people may find it surprising, let me make clear that I never interfere when my children request-or demand!-the next Star Wars merchandising gambit. A Lego Death Star or Darth Vader mask? Another Obi-Wan Happy Meal? I only grit my teeth a little over the merchandising cash flow going to an empire that (in my opinion) could have been a lot more meaningful, a lot more helpful in making a better world. Certainly, my protective instincts don't get all fired up, eager to shield vulnerable young minds from inimical memes!
Why not?
Because what youngsters-and millions of others-mostly see in movies like these are the simple surfaces. The top layer of lavish, goofy, earnestly preachy and even somewhat noble-minded fun. Out numbered heroes bravely taking on the odds. Going with your feelings, tossing logic aside and blasting away! It is the innocent spirit of the first movie (A New Hope) that seems to have spread and captured the hearts of millions of people, young and old.
If you ask them about the "moral messages" of Star Wars, most people tend to recall that-
• Mean people suck.
• It's good to be brave.
• Mean people get yucky-looking.
• Defend your friends.
• Watch out for mean people playing tricks and telling lies.
• Don't let nasty old mean guys goad you into losing your temper.
Hmm. Well, there may be some problems at this level. In fact, entirely on their own, my kids are starting to glance with skepticism at the details in even these simple lessons (e.g., "If something happens to my looks, will I turn into a bad person?").
Still, for the most part, children can take all this in without much harm to their values, or souls. Anyway, who am I to spoil their fun, by yattering on about deeper meaning and symbolism?
But that's the point. I have no intention of spoiling their fun at all.
Yours, on the other hand ... well, you have already paid for this book. So don't pretend that you're not interested.
After all, there are many levels other than the superficial, and George Lucas would be the first to say so. Keeping faith with the teachings of famed mythology maven Joseph Campbell, Lucas claims that storytelling is a central ritual that both describes and helps to shape the way that people picture themselves in relation to society. So, shouldn't we take him at his word?
Moreover, many of the trends that we see in the Star Wars universe have also manifested elsewhere in a society that's undergoing change. For example, take the rise of feudal and magical fantasy, once considered an offshoot of science fiction, but now pushing its hightech cousin off the bookstore shelves. Even within sci-fi, stories seem increasingly to feature "chosen ones" or demigod-like heroes, often set in structured, aristocratic cultures.
How often, anymore, do you see tales that portray society itself functioning, perhaps helping the protagonist, or suggesting solutions that arise from collaborative effort? Maybe even offering hope that hard work and goodwill might bring better days? Do cops ever come when called? Do institutions ever deliver or perform, even partially, in ways that help a little? Are the hero's neighbors ever anything other than hapless sheep? Does scientific advancement ever-ever-come to the rescue, anymore, instead of simply causing more problems and provoking lectures about how "mankind shouldn't meddle" in things we do not understand? Do big projects, or ambitious undertakings, or team efforts ever hold a candle to the boldness of the single, archetype hero, sticking it to every authority figure in sight?
Are we being taught, gradually but inexorably, to turn away from the whole modernist agenda? The concept that science, society, citizenship and faith are things that go well together, contributing to the good of everybody? Or that there was once a good idea-to replace arbitrary leader-worship with democratic institutions that we can all hope to share? What about the notion that any of us regular people-not just mutant chosen ones-can be the hero, if we're ever called upon?
Hey, stories like that can be told. Take the films of director Steven Spielberg. From Saving Private Ryan to Schindler's List to Close Encounters, these are often stirring stories about people who are only a bit above average, but who achieve great things nonetheless. Sometimes these characters are deeply flawed. They slip up, or get angry, or even do bad things. Only then, they do the unexpected. They stand up.
Taking responsibility for their mistakes, they set things right. And, sometimes, civilization even helps them a bit. All told, Spielberg's central ongoing theme seems to be unswerving gratitude toward a society that-in all honesty-has been pretty good to him.
Oh, sure, not every filmmaker has to follow Steven Spielberg's chosen storytelling mode. Anyway, it's hard to live up to that kind of role model. But must nearly all of the others who are making movies today relentlessly preach exactly the opposite message? Especially, is there some underlying reason why the opposite message wound up pervading the biggest, most lavish, most expensive and most watched series of modern times-the Star Wars epic?
Some of the writers in this volume will talk about matters like these-plumbing deeper meanings and messages that are conveyed by Star Wars and its ilk. Others will poke in different directionsat ways that plot, story and character consistency gradually fell apart (alas) as the Star Wars series declined into grumpy middle age ... and then entered what might be called crotchety senescence.
Then, attorneys for the Defense will have their say! For there are many sides to this story, and many who feel eager to defend a series they have come to love.
This should be loads of fun. So let's begin.
IT STARTS WITH THE LITTLEST THINGS...
My own disenchantment began early in my first viewing of Return of the Jedi.
Recall how Luke Skywalker shows up at the palace of Jabba the Hutt, calling himself ajedi Knight? He then offers a bag of gold in exchange for the life of his friend, Han Solo. Without any doubt, it was a thrilling moment. Filled with high hopes after The Empire Strikes Back, I leaned forward in confident expectation that great things would follow, combining vividly creative action and effects with solid plotting, plus a little decent thoughtfulness for those grown-up parts of the brain. (Isn't that what happens in the best art? You get something for the adult and something for the child. There is no need to completely eliminate one in order to serve the other.)
All right, anticipation was running high, as Luke approached Jabba's fancy desert hut. My own instant theory? Frankly, I expected Luke's offer to be backed up with a threat!
"As you can see, Jabba, from the circle of X-wing fighters surrounding your residence, I am also a high commander of the second most powerful military force in the galaxy. So if you don't accept this generous offer...."
I mean... duh? Isn't that what anybody would try first, if he were in Luke's shoes? Combining the carrot with an implied stick?
Oh, sure, that's no fun, so it can't work. But this logical plan is
an obvious opening move. It doesn't make for great adventure, thrills, spills and escapades, so let it fail. Have the Empire arrive and chase away all the Rebel ships, leaving Luke in the lurch! Jabba grabs Luke and the fun can begin! Ninety extra seconds to make the next half hour make sense.
Look, I'm not saying it had to be that way! I am only posing that scenario as an example of how easy it would be to get every part of the opening act that is already there, while still giving a passing nod to common sense. All the leaping and slashing and narrow escapes that we see in the opening act of ROTJ could have been the backup plan. Because only complete bozos would have walked into an obvious trapwith escape utterly dependent upon all of the bad guys being lousy shots-without having a better scheme, at least to start with.
Okay, I admit it. That's kind of picky. But the infuriating aspect was how little attention to detail it would have taken to continue the kind of plot consistency and plausibility we saw in the brilliant BrackettKasdan script for The Empire Strikes Back. A few words inserted here and there. Then, every subsequent vivid laser bolt and explosion might proceed as planned. Would that have been too much to ask?
A small hole, true. But through it, more nagging thoughts began to fly. Faster than a little ship can dive inside a big ship, shoot the reactor and then run away just ahead of the blast wave. (Yes, I've mentioned that before. But really. I mean... really.)
Which leads us to the first of what will be many comparisons between Star Wars and its chief competitor for the hearts of science fiction fandom-Star Trek. A comparison that illuminates two very different views of fiction, civilization and the meaning of a hero.