went to see Star Wars: Episode III—Revenge of the Sith yesterday. (And considering the film's cultural importance, the relentless media blitz, the record-breaking box office and the fact that its release marks the end of an era, how could I possibly write about anything else this month?)
I sensed a certain symmetry as Sith hit theaters, because I've had a professional interest in both the first and last installments of the franchise 28 years apart—back when Star Wars began, I was working for Marvel Comics, which was producing a comic-book adaptation of the first film, and now, as the saga ends, I am working at the SCI FI Channel, covering the film for both this Web site and the Channel's print magazine. But regardless of those connections, my interest in Star Wars has never been solely professional.
I have felt personally invested in each of the Star Wars film, because the first one struck an overwhelming chord in me. I felt that George Lucas had gotten it right, had managed to put on the screen my SF dreams. All of the previously unfilmable space-opera pulp that I had read in books and magazines had been made real. So that first film was a joyous wonder. And while The Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi didn't quite hit the heights of Episode IV, they still resonated with me, and each contained a joy of its own.
As The Phantom Menace and Attack of the Clones each were eventually released, I went to the theater hoping to find more of that joy. But while those films' special effects were groundbreaking and the alien vistas they delivered were breathtaking, whenever the action stopped, whenever it came time for characters to face each other and express true human emotion, it was as if I had been transported from my local multiplex into the audience of a bad high-school play. There was an earnestness to Episodes I and II that had replaced the earlier playful joy and a leadenness in the acting that had been absent from the first trilogy.
Preparing to watch Revenge of the Sith, I hoped for something better. And this one was was better than Menace or Clones (and no, there'll be no spoilers here today), with exhilarating action sequences, visions that had until recently been impossible, a more focused narrative arc and moving echoes of the first film as this one rushed to end where Star Wars had begun.
But still ... I felt sad for George Lucas.
Love hurts
Does it make sense to feel sad for the creator of a film that has already earned $303 million worldwide in its first four days? Some would think not. But as someone who winced whenever the lightsabers stopped glowing and the dialogue began, who felt battered by the schizophrenic nature of a film that mixed visual magic with verbal groaners, I knew that Sith could have been so much more.
Which is why I felt sad for Lucas. If I were him, I would not want to read that
Roger Ebert wrote in the Chicago Sun-Times that "To say that George Lucas cannot write a love scene is an understatement; greeting cards have expressed more passion. The dialogue throughout the movie is once again its weakest point: The characters talk in what sounds like Basic English, without color, wit or verbal delight, as if they were channeling Berlitz."
Or that A. O. Scott wrote in The New York Times that "Mr. Lucas's indifference to two fairly important aspects of moviemaking—acting and writing—is remarkable. ... Mr. Lucas, who wrote the script (reportedly with the uncredited assistance of Tom Stoppard), is not one to imply a theme if he can stuff it into a character's mouth."
Or that David Ansen wrote in Newsweek that "We also have to put up with the usual Lucas liabilities: graceless dialogue, wooden acting, overcluttered compositions and undercooked characters, and an utter inability to stage a convincing love scene."
Those zingers have got to hurt, no matter how loudly you're laughing on the way to the bank. It has come to be an accepted fact that even as Lucas' visual effects and action scenes push the envelope, his dialogue shouldn't even be in the envelope. I've heard Lucas shrugging off this critical response, and he's done it well, but I still believe that no one would want that said about him, no matter how successful his films.
Some think that the reason Lucas gets this critical reaction is because that's the best he can do at human interaction, and his best just isn't good enough. But I don't think that's so. We all know from his earlier films that George Lucas can do better. We saw American Graffiti. We saw the first Star Wars. To me, that indicates that he could have done better on Episode I through III, but for some reason, chose not to. Unfortunately, it would take one trained in the Force to divine why, and I am no Jedi Master.
Having said all this, you might think that I won't watch Revenge of the Sith a second time. But I will. Only I think I'll wait for the DVD to come out, and watch it in some language other than my own. Because the only way I'll ever be able to fool myself into believing that Anakin and Padme really love each other is if I have no idea what they're actually saying.
Scott Edelman started his trek to the editor-in-chief position at Science Fiction Weekly decades ago, when he began working as an assistant editor at Marvel Comics. Between these two positions, this four-time Hugo Award nominee in the category of Best Editor was the founding editor of the award-winning magazine Science Fiction Age, in addition to editing Sci-Fi Universe, Sci-Fi Flix and Satellite Orbit. Currently, he also edits SCI FI, the official magazine of the SCI FI Channel. His most recent short story appears in the new issue of The Journal of Pulse-Pounding Narratives.
