Does the World Need Star Wars Episode VII?

“It was originally a 12-part saga…”
Dale Pollack. Author of Skywalking: The Life And Films Of George Lucas

“George always wanted to make nine…”
Steven Spielberg. Filmmaker and friend of George Lucas.

It seems once-revered ‘storyteller’ George Lucas has finally sorted out his retirement plans, by auctioning off his entire filmmaking empire to Disney. A concept in of itself not unreasonable, in an age which has seen the House that Walt Built give us the considerably edgy, PG-13/12A pushing Pirates of the Caribbean movies along with the harmless acquisitions of Pixar and Marvel, it’s safe to say it’ll be business as usual. Although, in the split second that the Lucasfilm-Disney deal went public and the announcement of the long, long (LONG) awaited Star Wars Episode VII hit the proverbial. You can bet every one of your recession oppressed bottom dollars that two generations of Hollywood hack fanboys just went gaga for the chance to scuttle onboard the sequel to Return of the Jedi. Alas, George Lucas may have (mercifully) been relegated to the stalls (he’ll serve as ‘Creative Consultant’) but it’s the fans who, if left unchecked, could turn out to be the true Phantom Menace in this impending instalment. The world is waiting, but are we ready for the as yet unnamed Episode VII?

Why so much discontent for those who cherish something so dearly? For those whose childhoods are abundant with memories of awe and wonder at the sight of clashing lightsabres and thundering Star Destroyers? Look no further than the past year’s Prometheus, in which Ridley Scott surrounded himself with the generation his game-changing Alien left in its wake: geeks.  Jon Spaihts and Damon Lindelof were tasked with telling a unique story in the Alien universe, naturally, enthusiasm got the better of them and the result was an unmarshalled mess, which would have been even more juvenile if not for re-writes (Spaihts’ original draft contained a chestburster erupting mid-coitus, Piranha 3DD anyone?). Compare this debacle with the efforts of Dan O’Bannon, Ron Shusett and Walter Hill (among others) in the writing process of Alien; the groundwork was set out by semi-intellectual dramatists (amongst a new wave of burgeoning commercial realism thriving in the 70’s) in the form of a monster analogous to rape and ‘ahead of the curve’ thinking to rattle the cage of the horror pantheon (it’s a man who get’s face-raped after all). Similarly, The Empire Strikes Back is the critical darling of the saga because it was placed in the hands of mature dramatists Irvin Kirshner and Lawrence Kasdan. They wove a dark fairytale with wry comedy, smouldering romance and nightmarish violence at its foundations. Give Lucas his credit too, wherein his fealty to Joseph Campbell was a considerably greater asset than his childhood love of Flash Gordon.

As much as it would be foolish to ignore the fact that the creators of bygone genre flicks worshipped the likes of Ray Harryhausen, Boris Karloff and Jack Peirce. Fanboy fanaticism was never at the heart of the inception of Star Wars, unfortunately in an age past the age wherein Luke Skywalker’s twisted parentage was an iconic moment in cinematic knee-jerks, the culture of film has enabled the likes of Joss Whedon, Simon Pegg and Damon Lindelof to exploit their fanaticism for their own endeavours. The sad fact is that storytelling ability is seldom rewarded by the gaggles of swooning nerds in Comic Con’s  Hall H, yet get on a stage wearing a t-shirt with Iron Man’s arc reactor emblazoned on your chest whilst wrenching the limbs off a Jar-Jar Binks figurine, they’ll be eating Pocky from your palms. On the flipside, J.J Abrams publicly admitted to having little love for Star Trek and yet he gave us a rare thing in modern blockbuster entertainment: edge of your seat action, to make you fear for the life of James T Kirk is triumph in of itself. To flip the same coin, Abrams lost his way with Super 8 by wading into an ill-advised love letter to Spielberg. Love is not a creative boon it seems, yet find someone outside the loop with the skills to boot, sit back and watch the magic happen.

Additionally, the problems of what exactly the new Star Wars is are many fold. Will John Williams be too old to do the score? Will they go bigger? What will it look like? What is the tone? Etc. Comparison to the deservedly notorious prequels has been the de-facto statement made by just about every potential sci-fi/fantasy franchise from Lord of the Rings to Avatar, spelling it out just how much their incoming epic is NOTHING like The Phantom Menace. As much as the prequels defined an impetus on getting better performances than the startlingly wooden line readings of Attack of the Clones, modern science fiction design is ironically still cherry picking from the sleek art nouveau jumble of the prequels. Even Abrams’ Trek venture is littered with key Star Wars elements; his Enterprise is an oversized 60’s convertible hood ornament that wouldn’t look out of place among Naboo’s chrome fighter squadron. It’s unlikely that Episode VII will stylistically stand on its own; modern sci-fi artists are too lazy and too nostalgic. Those damn nerds have gotten in everywhere! There are few technical challenges to confront now, the film will obviously be shot in 3D and will have CGI vistas and modern cinema’s typically floppy-limbed, CG monsters (in all likelihood designed by sci-fi monster hack Neville Page). Tonally and editorially, we’re too impatient to stage and sit through a fight scene akin to Luke and Vader’s duel in the depths of Cloud City. Do you honestly expect kids weaned on the ADD stylings of Transformers to have the patience to endure the agony of atmosphere, tension and peril? Chris Nolan pushed the envelope this summer by having Batman get hurt by Bane, imagine what could happen if we allowed mature filmmaking to return to the Galaxy Far Far Away. Needless to say, there would be howls of derision.

In regard to directors, anyone with bets on the likes of the aforementioned Nolan or Abrams, Joss Whedon, David Fincher or Spielberg to take the director’s chair would be wise to call off the odds. The fact that the director will be picked from the B Team is not only a mathematical certainty, it WILL happen. It’s much more likely (in some cases preferable) that the gig will go to Gary Ross, Duncan Jones or Brad Bird than it will to Zack Snyder. If Marvel’s recent model is any indication, the trend is to pick the industry’s workaday talent to the best of their abilities great effect. Kenneth Branagh does camp melodrama better than anyone, get him on Thor. Joe Johnston made The Rocketeer, sign him up for Captain America- the examples continue ad nauseum. Cutting costs, maximising impact and ruling out ego equals good business. Which is why Lucasfilm can be expected follow suit.

So, all should be plain sailing providing the geeks are kept out of the creative process, the screenwriter’s required reading includes Hero with a Thousand Faces and the director has the brains and the vision to make Irvin Kirshner proud. But, what is it all worth if it’s irrelevant in this generation? The franchise has slipped into ignominy following the legacy tainting broadside of special editions, prequels, cartoon serials, a second-rate Blu-Ray release and publicly rejected 3D reissues (Clones and Sith to follow next year). Unlike Star Trek which only had the aftertaste of Nemesis and Enterprise to rinse away, Episode VII has a nigh impossible task; it has to redeem Star Wars in its entirety. It must do this by getting back to the roots and embracing the mythology that started the ball rolling and reintroducing the core adult sentiment that made us fall in love with Luke, Han and Leia in the first place. Putting away the toys and not by roping in a cheerleading freeloader for the Hall H crowd (Damon Lindelof isn’t getting any gold stars for this lesson, for starters). Love is a dangerous asset in creativity and this can’t be the first article to compare the prequel backlash to the Kübler-Ross model of grief and its stages. By this point, we’ve accepted the truth. But now we’re being asked to go out on a catch up date with the one we fell for, who then betrayed you, slept around and then posted the intimate exploits of the both of you on Reddit. But, if the bridge can be rebuilt then, we’ll see. We’ll be waiting.

P.S. F*ck Damon Lindelof.