Ah, yes! In the words of Anij from "Star Trek: Insurrection":
"There's nothing more complicated than perception."
This thread will go on my reading list. My short fast take on the PT is that ROTJ, TPM and AOTC are like looking into the live sparking weld of Lucas' mind, without the eye protection of a welding helmet. Alternately, like looking into the Ark of the Covenant. The most universally appreciated films had a very strong set of filters and polarizing lenses to reduce the pure signal to mortal proportions. One might also characterize ROTJ, TPM and AOTC as the raw exposed nerve of a tooth. Electrifying. (This does not bear on anything but ROTJ was my favorite OT until ESB was, and TPM has remained my favorite PT.)
Welcome, Hernalt!!! You've given us a lot to talk about. Or me, anyway...
I remember another prequel fan on TFN once averring that the principal difference between the PT and the OT (he was a PT fanboy -- a big fan of TPM, to be more exact) came down to if you like your whiskey "on the rocks" (the OT) or "straight up" (the PT).
In another stylistic difference between the two trilogies, I would say that the OT is generally more rectilinear and monochrome (even the spherical Death Star is a fake grey world that resolves into hard blocks on closer examination), while the PT is more curvilinear and drenched in digital tweaking and revels in full-flowing TECHNICOLOR.
The contrast between the two -- nay: the gaping divide -- could be crudely expressed in a loaded polarity (that nonetheless discloses something about the intangibility of the prequels and the obvious gulf between the two story worlds): the difference between
masculine and
feminine. Prequel fan and fellow Naberrie Fielder
Samnz once exposited this difference very succinctly in a gem of a post:
boards.theforce.net/threads/making-my-day-pro-prequel-articles.50025454/page-10#post-52620131I had a cogent follow-on (I would say that, wouldn't I?) -- one of my personal favourite replies, in fact:
boards.theforce.net/threads/making-my-day-pro-prequel-articles.50025454/page-10#post-52620197Of course, these examinations and analogies are merely only one of a thousand different ways of trying to circumscribe the prequels, or grok what makes them "different", vis-a-vis the originals -- the incompleteness and imperfect nature of each attempt is part of the fun.
* * *
I am not myself transported to another dimension of being via the PT, except perhaps during the Duel of the Fates segment. So, I am not generally in a state of rapture pondering the divine mystery or je ne sais quoi of the PT. I'm not surprised that there *is a je ne sais quoi to the PT, for a subset of persons who were possibly struck by it, like one is struck by a train. The first generation was struck by a train, or by lightning, or by madness, and that impact is recorded in the magnetic lines of their cooled magma. The forces involved in experiencing the OT, then, at that time, at the impressionable age of formation, remain lifelong. It is an inflicted trauma, of a sort, not only an impression. Star Trek makes an *impression, for comparison. It makes sense that comparable impacts would occur from the PT upon its own generation. To be transfixed and transported, and unable to return to the womb of pure escape, and have only, upon adulthood, recollections of trailing clouds of glory. Yes, this sensation has happened to prior peoples, and will happen to later peoples. That ends my orthodox dipping into the holy water, crossing myself, and kneeling in the church of the PT.
Well, whatever your underlying feelings toward the PT (vs. the admiration you hold for what you say struck you first: the OT), you're at least courteous and wise enough to recognise that nostalgia and early exposure play a pivotal role in our preferences and are inextricably linked -- tough neural bridges to break.
And yes, a quasi-religious state of rapture can descend upon people (or uplift them) with a diverse array of phenomena, provided the circumstances are right. Everyone else can be left standing on the sidelines, perplexed at what all the fuss is about.
It's interesting that you say "
struck by a train". One of the earliest examples of people being moved by, well, the moving image, is alleged to have been a shocked and fearful reaction elicited by patrons glimpsing The Lumière Brothers' fifty-second short-film "
L'arrivée d'un train en gare de La Ciotat", at its first public showing in January 1896 (or in the UK, with hilarious Japanese-like concision, "
Train Pulling into a Station"):
It is now also the subject of extreme 4K, 60fps, in-colour algorithmic alterations:
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/L%27Arriv%C3%A9e_d%27un_train_en_gare_de_La_CiotatA separate article (invoking the film scholar and historian mentioned above) also suggests that people showing an overtly fearful response when viewing the film never actually happened -- but argues that such an urban legend compellingly describes the uncanny nature of the cinematic experience all the same:
www.atlasobscura.com/articles/did-a-silent-film-about-a-train-really-cause-audiences-to-stampedeThere's a bit of interesting social critique I've excluded. This and some other remarks in the above tie nicely into the prequels:
Which is much like the way Jar Jar -- surely the "bumpkin" of Star Wars -- reacts to the stampede of animals and the oncoming "train" of Trade Federation troop vehicles mowing down forest and heading straight in his direction in his introductory scene. And, incidentally, George Lucas himself is watching a silent film involving train shenanigans in an Episode I webisode ("All I Need Is An Idea" -- this webisode documents his first day of writing for Episode I in November 1994), leading Lucas to express with amazement at the old footage: "How? How did they do that?"
Thus, in the prequels, Lucas took inspiration far and wide, clearly harking back to the formative years of cinema, by both:
a) paying tribute to the earliest technical achievements in the cinematic medium (a kind of meta-commentary for his own reliance on technology and his envelope-pushing sensibilities on abundant display in the prequels -- one master tipping his hat to former masters), and
b) using those early examples as raw building material (pre-formed notes/nodes) to tell his own story on film (which, in many ways, is really a sort of 20th Century odyssey: a bricolage of events/sensations/experiences that constitute humanity's modern media mythopeia -- the meta "story" we have collectively fashioned about ourselves through our modern creative outlets (and in Lucas' mind, what is modern is also old)).
Lucas himself said it best (pulling from
an older post of mine in the TROS thread (Reply #357)):
There's also this quote from a 2002 interview with
The Guardian:
I think you're right to say that an intense love for something may constitute "an inflicted trauma" -- or as the Cliff Richard and The Shadows song goes: "Love is a fever/Death in disguise" (practically the whole theme of AOTC). But we just can't live (ironically) without our inflicted traumas, can we? Death cuts oddly bring some sense of life to things (they eroticise our lives). We often even
want to be afflicted. Of course, this viewpoint is hardly new. To quote another song: "Shoot that poison arrow to my heart." This is what fanboys raging against the strange light of the prequels -- especially the romance in AOTC -- just don't seem to understand. Love is a dirty, difficult word. Art often exposes us to troubling and/or confounding truths. Heck, in the words of Andrei Tarkovsky: "The role of art is to scour the soul and prepare it for death". Yet death, at least in the Christian or Buddhist sense, is really an illusion that is ultimately a cleansing or a road to rebirth. Oh, boy. I guess I can't talk about the prequels too long without getting metaphysical.
Okay, back to you:
Wow! Would you like to go into that sometime?
Believe me, I could spew plenty of vitriol about TFN, all day...
Right. By the time of the OT, to repeat myself from the start of this response, the fictive SW universe has basically become masculine and monochrome. Even in the PT, people rarely converse with one another, and "having dialogue" (so to speak -- no pun) is often simply perfunctory. Lucas mocks this early on by having our two main characters (hooded Jedi) walk into a conference room, only to appear bored and be gassed (instead of diplomacy, the situation rapidly turns into a murder event). As Obi-Wan impishly puts it once they have successfully fended off a series of robotic aggressors (coolly but within an inch of their lives): "You were right about one thing, Master: The negotiations were short." In this same opening sequence, we also have a cold exchange between Nute and Amidala over a viewscreen, not to mention the holographic (ghostly) image of Palpatine sputtering out as he utters false concern for the Jedi's safety in the middle of the queen's throne room (i.e., he isn't actually there and he speaks deceptively -- the chicanery of politics rendered bare as Amidala fumbles over the flickering image of her sagely advisor: "Senator Palpatine!"). And, of course, the cherry on the top: the film is entitled THE PHANTOM MENACE.
Speech is constantly stymied and foreclosed in the PT. Like when Anakin embarrasses himself in front of the new queen in AOTC. The moment his presence and guidance are invoked and there is an opening for him to speak, Amidala (no longer the queen -- herself having been demoted into galactic politics) shuts him down with a casual putdown: "Oh, Anakin's not a Jedi yet. He's still a padawan learner" (note how Vader uses this insult in remembrance against Luke on Cloud City). Anakin pushes back against this obvious burst of condescension, but his reaction goes over like a lead balloon. Amidala plays diplomat and defuses things quickly, and the new queen jumps in with a remark used by Mace when Anakin is once again rebuffed by a council in the next film: "Perfect. It's settled, then." Near-identical remarks are also made by Mace and Palpatine elsewhere to mark pivotal events (Mace says with gloomy irritation, "It is done, then", when Palpatine receives emergency powers; while Palpatine declares, "It is finished, then", to Anakin after his new apprentice reports slaughtering all the separatists in a repeat of his Tusken Raider massacre in AOTC).
The idea of talking things over is something of a joke the films are in on. For example, Cliegg Lars greets Anakin, a person he's never met before, yet the son of his missing wife, with a cordial and grim, "We have a lot to talk about". But then the film transitions to Cliegg basically talking
at Anakin and Anakin saying nothing back. It is a parody of a conversation. A little later, when Anakin finds his mother, she tells him that seeing him again has made her feel "complete", but then incompletely finishes a remark that begins, "I love..." and dies -- conversation over. Murder follows. In ROTS, Anakin adheres to the Jedi Code by foregoing his attachment with Palpatine (albeit temporarily), dobbing him into his superiors. He greets Mace with an urgent-sounding: "I must talk to you." Mace responds to his revelation with incredulity followed by an odd mix of apathy and stiff resolve. And dismissiveness. The conversation ends as abruptly as it begins and Anakin is banished to an empty set of Jedi Council chambers. The most significant link in this stretch of the film occurs telepathically between Anakin and Padme -- who gaze at one another without uttering a single word. This sets Anakin's fate. The PT's take on things seems to be that either words are a problem (e.g., Cliegg describing the Tuskens as "vicious, mindless monsters" -- lighting the fuse for Anakin's swift retribution against them), or people don't exchange enough of them and harm inevitably results. Perhaps Yoda should actually have said: "Fear of conversation is the path to the Dark Side."
Neat take on Luke and Anakin: the son and the father. The thing is that Anakin himself is pretty forthright when he wants to be. AOTC shows this clearly (much to the chagrin of many fanboys). He literally telegraphs his intentions toward Padme to Obi-Wan, for instance, from the start: "I'd much rather dream about Padme. Just being around her again is intoxicating." Likewise, it doesn't take much prodding for Padme to pry out of Anakin what he limply tries hiding from her out of ego/pride/vanity (in the meditation scene on Naboo and in the Lars garage on Tatooine). Yet you're correct that Anakin can't necessarily discern substance from flattery; or, at least, he has trouble admitting that Palpatine has motives of his own that aren't in the best interests of Anakin or the Republic. Part of the problem is that Anakin is "civilised" into the political/social system at a precarious time -- his grooming begins from the age of nine. His underlying vitality and innocence are gradually stripped from him, like Jar Jar, and both end up as hollow shells of who they previously were. Even Padme's naivete and impetuousness are used by Palpatine for his own gain.
And to return to the theme of communication and not enough conversation occurring: Even Yoda seems to keep his worst fears to himself. His darkest anxieties are never voiced. Even the ever-alert Yoda falls back on platitudes and sombre-sounding yet equivocal misgivings. Everyone, if you like, plays a game. By desiring to maintain the peace and keep the system intact, they paradoxically bring about everything they claim to be against (articulated more than once in ROTS by Padme and Obi-Wan, respectively -- when, in this dark hour, it is basically a case of "too little, too late"). Deep down, they know something is wrong; but none has the strength of character, or the firmness of mind, to truly admit it. Denial all around. Only Palpatine, in consciously inverting himself (the "real" Palpatine is the hooded figure barely seen), rises above this doomed circle of enslaved being -- only he understands the snares of language (e.g., "Peace!" is the last discernible word-utterance in Episode I -- and it is slyly apparent that the Janus-like Palpatine, who remains stoically tight-lipped, smiling in the background, alone understands the many doors that that key, or battering ram, can open).
True. Palpatine has everyone over a barrel -- and few people realise it (no-one knows just
how much of a barrel he has them over). Maybe he has been "every voice you have ever heard inside your head" (TROS Clone Palpatine's boast to Kylo Ren) because people have granted him that intrusive univocality for generations without knowing it, without having the courage to push back with their own thoughts, without having the clemency to truly hear the thoughts of others. Thus, Palpatine is able to speak directly, because they basically invited him in.
And yes, in all of this, the theme of communication and its tragic breakdown is maybe a core theme of the PT. I actually had a post on this last year:
naberriefields.freeforums.net/post/3837/thread (Reply #23)
Well, things decay and go wrong -- but it is not necessarily inevitable that a Palpatine-like figure will arise. The bigger problem is unchecked power and people refusing to do anything about a problematic system; or, in some cases, they're motivated, alright, but it's to do the wrong things (but this usually comes from fear and frustration, I think, and not actually compassionate imagination or from thinking things through).
To give another AOTC example here (yes: I do think AOTC is the most switched-on Star Wars movie): Padme shooting Anakin down when he says he doesn't think the system works isn't helpful. That she has such blind faith in the system is surprising given her obvious concerns and frustrations (as expressed earlier to the queen). But this is an accurate portrayal of most people, I think. Again, most people know something isn't quite right, but when someone
else says it, or makes a strong statement in the opposite direction (that flies against the "rules" of etiquette: i.e., is a rude racing car in the deathly-calm landscape of tyrannous denial), that person is bashed and shut down hard (the age-old fallacy of "shoot the messenger").
Padme makes it even worse when Anakin suggests that people should be made to agree to get things done. She says: "By whom? Who's gonna make them?" Almost speaking to him like a rube. This inappropriately reduces the issue to people making other people (do things). It is possible to incline people to do things, or dissuade them from doing other things, with certain mechanisms (checks and balances) in place -- i.e., laws, not people, or just from having a strong ruler, per se. Of course, it's something else many people do: They massively oversimplify and strawman a complex subject when someone else, in perhaps a roundabout way, suggests the world they're living in is a lie, or far from the best of all worlds. That person is basically pilloried for daring to say, "The emperor has no clothes." Of course, in these movies, the Emperor
does have clothes, and he fools everyone! But it's that blanching, incredulous tone of, "Let's not even have this conversation" that just perpetuates more falsity and more injustice. Note how many fanboys unconsciously took Padme's side and implicitly arrived at the same conclusion: "Anakin is advocating fascism." On the other hand, if it walks like a duck, talks like a duck... But let the person speak, FFS -- and then maybe you'd learn something.
That's a big, big lesson these movies are trying to teach, I think. But as Lucas has said: He discovered having kids that people don't respond well to lectures. Maybe an argument can be made that the prequels are overly didactic; but then again, most people seem to have come to hasty conclusions about what is being said. So if they feel preached down to, maybe they could take a closer look and notice some of the more subtle things going on. There are definitely warnings here and I don't think Lucas made the films
lacking a desire to warn people. But they're not just a monologue that "Fascism is bad, y'all", either. That would be, in Lucas' parlance, like creating a special effect without a story; and a special effect without a story is a pretty boring thing.
With the PT, though, the wineskin
is the content, and vice versa (cup-container). I take your point that maybe CG hadn't really caught up with GL's imagination, even in the PT -- sure. But the artist has only ever expressed great satisfaction about how he fashioned the prequels and with how the final product turned out. Contrast that with his somewhat more mixed appraisal of the OT (and subsequent digital repainting of those films). In this sense, we can only really conclude that Lucas is happy with the finished result of the prequels; and whatever he screwed up or couldn't quite pull off is barely a drop in the PT's immense digital ocean.
On the other hand, we may never know what he might have done had he been the one steering the creative direction of the sequels -- if he'd never abandoned his child to Disney in the first place. Technology certainly has matured since he began making the prequels (we are, of course, talking another two decades of innovation and/or refinement). Maybe he would have blown us away all over again with his ST. Disney didn't really mess up on the effects side; but neither have the new creatives done anything half as amazing (even on this level) as Lucas at the height of his powers.
If anything couldn't completely contain the "new wine", I think it was maybe Lucas' beloved short-form cinematic medium (short compared to television, anyway). Which sounds paradoxical because that is how Star Wars startled and awed people in the first place; and it is clear that Lucas is masterful in many areas of filmmaking, particularly in the editing room. Nevertheless, his ideas in the prequels are so sprawling and vast (despite the relatively small roster of characters focused on in any detail), he clearly had to condense himself -- seemingly the opposite problem he had on the OT (story-wise). Yet that also enabled him to gloriously compact a ton of interesting material into only a handful of hours of screentime. And another thing Lucas clearly excels at is concision. So I'm 50-50 on this one.
This is a very good point. You've articulated something I've been thinking about and perturbed by for a while. There are paradoxes all over the shop in Star Wars. You have identified a big one. The lack of scope and scale is painfully obvious in the new movies. They feel egregiously fish-bowl-like next to the prequels and make for an odd follow-up
in light of the prequels. Yet you're saying that this was always a danger once Lucas was no longer the creative lodestar. I see that, yes. He knitted everything together in a clever and satisfying way -- he was having fun (and being poetic). So what the new people did was see a great excuse for neglecting worldbuilding in favour of, ah, character-building and theme-arcing (which many people, eager to see Star Wars wrested away from Lucas, now believe are seriously lacking in the new films -- how's that as an object lesson for being careful what you wish for?). We just have to remember that all those connections and linkages Lucas created are part and parcel of the story and are critical to the themes; and they support the trilogy's main thesis that everyone and everything is interconnected (the theme of the midi-chlorians) -- and we ignore or downplay that at our peril and to our shame.
Ah, what an intelligent and beautiful movie-strip the prequels are...
