When I was eight years old, I sat in a movie theater while the closing credits for The Empire Strikes Back scrolled up on the screen, and I was pissed. Pissed that Han had been sold down the river, pissed that Luke had gotten the snot beaten out of him, and most of all, pissed that George Lucas expected me to wait three years to learn whether or not Vader was really Luke’s father. Back in 1980, that was one heck of a cliffhanger.
As Episode II ends, we’re left with no such anticipation, but more a sense of resignation, a quiet voice that says, so this is where it all goes wrong. We know the fate of the principals, and we’re just sticking it out to learn the exact details. And so, the prequel trilogy unfolds with all the suspense (and drama) of a history lesson.
Part of the problem lies in the storytelling, or lack thereof. The original trilogy showed us a small part of the big picture; it was the story of one small group of rebels holding out against a galactic empire. It had charm because it was a story about people rather than events. Of course we were concerned for the fate of the rebellion, but it was the fate of the individuals that drove the story. We all cheered for Luke when the Death Star exploded, not because the rebels had gained a strategic advantage, but because Luke had personally triumphed by learning to trust his feelings (and Han turned out to be an okay guy after all).
Not so with the prequels. When Qui Gon died in the Phantom Menace, one of my friends remarked, “We’re supposed to be sad now, right?” I suppose we were. At least the dramatic, swelling music seemed to suggest so. Problem is, we’re just not given a chance to care about any of these characters. One of the reasons the original trilogy worked so well was the fact that the actors were an ensemble, and they had a great group dynamic. Sure, the acting was terrible at times, but at least it was delivered with enthusiasm and emotion. Now, all we get is wooden, expository dialogue, and tons of it.
It’s hard to blame the actors when they’re just not given much to work with. Listen to Padme’s fireside speech to Anakin. Now try reciting that yourself (and keep a straight face). There’s just no way to make that kind of writing sound natural.
Not that Lucas seems too concerned about that this time around. The characters here are all placeholders, and the love story, which is so integral to Anakin’s fall, is rushed through as if Lucas just wanted to get it out of the way. I can’t find myself feeling one iota of emotion for any of these characters. The fact the actors are obviously addressing a blue screen half the time doesn’t help either.
So, with the prequels, Lucas seems to feel the need to eschew any sort of human story in favor of large-scale events. Problem is, that doesn’t come off too well, either. So…the fall of the Republic is remniscient of Rome’s transition from republic to empire. Not content to simply imply that the whole time, Lucas insists on cramming his little revisionist history lesson down our throats. Of course the beurocracy is stifling under its own weight and individual commercial interests are going to break away. However Lucas doesn’t trust his audience’s intellingence enough to let us see the parallels for ourselves. Nope. There’s a crisis. The senate grants the Chancellor emergency powers, which, of course, he swears to lay down when the crisis abates. Of course, just like Tiberius, we know he’s going to do no such thing, that he’s going to declare himself Emperor and use his centurions (oops, crimson guards) to crush the opposition. If I wanted a lesson on Roman history, I’d spend my hard-earned eight bucks on a book.
But even this could be excused if the story were presented in a coherent matter, which it isn’t. The story jumps back and forth in a vain attempt to simulate momentum, and the end result is a jerky, disorienting mess. No individual event is given time to register, which is strange, because almost every scene is obviously meant to be taken very seriously. In fact, like the love story, the humor is forced and perfunctory, and comes off as tedious. Apparently, there’s no time for love or levity in ye olde Republic.
The plain fact is, there’s no heart at all to the prequels, which is sad. I imagine we can expect more of the same as the saga grimly marches its way into Episode III. Though it’s certainly nice to know some of the backstory, I really wish it weren’t told so tediously.
For once in my life, I agree with John Katz about something. I, too, went to see Episode II more out of reflex than anything else. How could I not? Heck, it’s Star Wars, for God’s sake. But it just doesn’t do much for me anymore, and it’s obvious that Lucas has no clue how to write or direct. I really hope he lets someone else write the next episode (it worked for Empire), but I’m not holding my breath anymore.
In my mind, the original trilogy is still sacred. Even twenty five years after their release, those films never fail to bring out all sorts of emotion in me. As for the prequels, however, I’ve relegated them to the status of all that “expanded universe” stuff that Lucas licensed out to other writers. You know…those books where Boba Fett survives the Sarlaac, Luke gets married, and the Emperor isn’t really dead. Like those books, the prequels’ only real merit lies in the fact that they flesh out overlooked parts of the Star Wars mythos.
Don’t get me wrong; it’s a kick seeing Jedi stomp around with style, Yoda’s climactic scene is great, and the visual direction is astounding all around (go, Jango!!!). Parts of the prequels are a blast, but on the whole, I just wish George Lucas still knew how to tell a story.