The Star Wars Phenomenon (and Fisher a Goddess)

I was eleven when I saw Return of the Jedi. As a kid, I was all things Star Wars, had all the action figures and used to play with them for hours with them with my cousin. We built elaborate sets for using everything from the sandbox to house plants to furniture.

It was awesome.

I was also eleven the first time when I saw Princess Leia in a metal bikini. Raised in a conservative household, and generally behind my classmates when it came to the opposite sex, nonetheless I understood what I'd just witnessed. She was the first goddess I'd ever seen, though thanks to my shyness, I never did mention it or talk about her with my friends. She was beyond talking about.

How amazing, then, to find that years later, Fisher is probably the coolest of the remaining actors from the original series. She's just a bit off (in the right way), doesn't care what anyone thinks, and has a terrific sense of humour. She's brilliant. Truly. (Also, she is nothing like Leia, the character that made her famous.)

Check out this interview with Good Morning America:

Amazing, no? (And that dog!)

Cultural Phenomenon

To call Star Wars iconic is to actually downgrade its importance in the Western zeitgeist. Despite some of the grumblings about the second set of films, particularly the first one, the original trilogy has retained its cultural power forty years later. It is mind boggling. But why? Why does it still hold such sway all these years later. There are a few reasons.

1) When the original trilogy was released, no one had seen anything like it. The equivalent would be the release of Tolkien's Lord of the Rings. (The novel, not the movie) No one had ever read such a thing, and it immediately tapped into something within the culture that was either waiting for it or needed it or both. Star Wars did the same thing, and changed movie making in the process. It (along with Jaws) gave us the era of the "Blockbuster," an era in which we are still living, and one that shows no sign of slowing. (This hasn't always been a good thing.)

2) The storytelling is both classic and simple, but it's extremely well done. There's a reason this Space Opera holds up after forty years. Let's be clear, Star Wars is not science fiction, it's fantasy in space. As such, it is far more accessible. I re-watched the original trilogy two months ago, and while there is no doubt nostalgia was attached to my viewing pleasure, the stories remain timeless and well executed.

3) The digital revolution has wrought a time where people hunger for fantasy and super heroes, For worlds that take them away from the fifteen second image speed trap we now live in. I wrote about this a few days ago, and within this type of pop culture, where comic book movies make $1 Billion at the box office, a franchise like Star Wars is bound to be popular.

4) It's a great world. My upcoming novels are set within a single world, though I tell many different stories within that setting. I love it, and feel lucky to have found it. Why? Every fantasist knows that even if your story is a bit weak, if you can create a world that people love, you'll find success. Star Wars is a world we know and love, and even if a film within that setting is bad (cough, number one, cough), we'll go back to it anyway.

5) It stands for something. The religion Lucas referenced in Star Wars is Taoism, but the movie isn't preachy, it's about doing the right thing. Caring for others. Diversity. Standing up for the weak. This is a message that all religions can celebrate. It is inclusive, enough that the strictest fundamentalist Christian and the most devout Muslim can both enjoy it. And in an increasingly divisive age, such a thing is welcomed by everyone. Now all stories "stand for something," they all have themes, but that doesn't mean they are all well executed. In particular, how many blockbusters have you seen lately where the hero wins by dropping his weapon and saying that "he won't fight." as Luke does in Return of the Jedi?

Diversity

I've heard a few criticisms regarding the "lily white" nature of the original series. They aren't wrong, but only to an extent. I always felt like the aliens provided a great deal of diversity, that it was inherent within the world. Obviously, in the new one, they do try to correct that regarding their leads, but I still feel that criticism is disingenuous at best.

One of the reasons I liked fantasy as a kid, and ended up writing it, was because it was so different from the white world I grew up in. Even now, I still feel that fantasy is more inclusive than any other genre. And that includes Star Wars.

Once A Kid...

Star Wars has ruled pop culture for nearly forty years, and in the trusted hands of JJ Abrams, it is about to remind us just how much it matters. I'm excited for the new film. Excited to see the new characters and to hang out with some old favourites. I still remember playing with my action figures, still remember how much the story filled my life as a child. I may not play with action figures any more, but the story still fills my life, and I can't wait to see what happens next.

-Steve

Pain, Christmas and… Gratitude?

    The streets are quiet. From the lofty view on the eighth floor, the world seems especially still tonight, and the only sound on the balcony is the wind flapping an unhinged piece of plastic against one of the trees below me. It is after 3am, and Christmas morning is still a few hours away. Most of the city remains locked in their holiday slumber, as I should be, but the pain has returned and sleep is not an option.

    It's been a rough two weeks. An abscessed tooth on the left side of my mouth has rejected the recent spate of antibiotics, and so after only a day or so of relief, the pain has returned on the eve of this Christmas morning to push me from my sleep. The pain is intense and comes in waves, and often feels as though someone is sawing a knife into my gums. Before the dentist was able to assign me antibiotics nearly a week ago, I'd gone through nearly ten extra strength tylenol a day, to little effect. It was only hours before I'd hoped that the pain was finally gone, but it has returned in full force, and after another night of little or no sleep, I am awake. In many ways, I feel like I've lost two weeks, because it's hard to keep track of the days when you're not sleeping and you never know when another staggering wave of pain will thrash your existence and bring you, often literally, to your knees.    And yet this morning, despite the physical agony I find myself in, I can't help feeling just a little grateful. I know it sounds like ridiculous, like one of those pat answers we hand out to people who are suffering to make ourselves feel better because we feel all right and well, we don't know what else to say. And as much as I'd like to not feel as if the dentist forgot his needle in my mouth, it does remind me of the people in this world who are in much greater pain. More than infected tissue brushing against a nerve, we are surrounded by people who suffer from recurring emotional scars that are ripped open, again and again, especially during holidays like Christmas. And while we are not meant to give up our own happiness or fulfillment to continually ponder the fates of those who are struggling, a reminder about the nature of humanity can serve, I think, to help us deal with our own pain and the struggles we all endure.

    ***

    There was a time not so long ago when Christianity was the faith of the suffering, the wounded, and the broken hearted. It was the faith that called its God the 'Man of Sorrows'. A faith that believed the Incarnation had been revealed in a poor, itinerant Rabbi during a tempestuous and violent period in the world's history. And a faith that viewed life in the light of its hardship and promised only hope.

    That faith, that version of Christianity, is no longer popular in North America or in most Western cultures. Instead, we look for the shiny red package with a bow on top, the faith that promises more goodies if only you'll choose it. Jesus, who has become a Western icon, is hard to distinguish from the morass of proto-masculine figures of the sports and entertainment world. In this world he isn't Swedish, as some would say, but more like the former gridiron star turned politician who has a good feel for people and a kind word for the women and children. He is marketable and likable and eminently successful. Massive churches and entire denominations design their advertising campaigns around him. Books promote his willingness to make you successful. Movies and music promise peace and joy if you'll just surrender to him… and donate twenty dollars to their ministry. Jesus is the Everyman, the star who fills the role that everyone can identify with, and he commands a huge market and a massive commission. With such a Saviour, we don't have much time for pain, just a quick, easy smile for the cameras before we flash forward to our next promotional visit. The underlying basis for humanity, the tragedy that enjoins us, is not important, not so long as we can get people into our building to recite our mantras and buy our stuff. The New Jesus wants to make You Better! The New Jesus doesn't want you to even think about the Negative. Focus on the Goodness! Focus on the Love! Okay, turn here, now smile… Good. Got it.

    In the world where entertainment is news and news is entertainment, the New Jesus strides across the room with a smile and a quip and presents for everyone.

    I don't like the New Jesus very much. He may earn twenty million for a movie and write best selling books that are sold in huge churches, and he might have a TV show that is shown to millions around the world and a rich following dressed in three piece suits and earnest faces, but I don't trust him. I know that I'm supposed to, know that I'm supposed to have more faith and just 'believe', but no matter how relevant or counter cultural or easy it all seems to believe in him, it just doesn't feel right. I admit that I don't know what God is supposed to feel like or look like, but when I see the New Jesus, the Jesus you see on your TV sets and the Jesus you find advertised in and by so many churches, it only makes me want to change the channel.

    ****

    Some of my friends don't like Christmas very much. In fact, there are quite a few people who don't like our current holiday creation, for a variety of reasons. For some, it is simply a matter of being too commercial, a created holiday for stores that has nothing to do with God or anything else. For others however, Christmas is a painful time because of what it recalls. Painful childhood memories of dysfunctional and abusive homes. Loved ones we've lost and lost loves. Suicide rates hit their peak during the Christmas season, and as every youth worker knows, it is often hardest on the young, who are forced to watch glamorized tales of perfect families and holiday rancor before heading home to a world filled with pain. For them, and many others, Christmas is far worse than even the worst sort of physical pain, because there is no operation and no painkiller that can take away the deep ache inside, an ache that Christmas seems only to highlight. For them, December 25^th is the yearly reminder that God doesn't love them or doesn't exist. The New Jesus does not make them want to change the channel so much as it does break the television. Of course, there's another Jesus, but we don't talk about him much these days…

    ****

    On a wind swept Judean hillside, the night is cold, and a young couple huddles together over a fire. Stars blanket the night sky like glittering diamonds, but the woman doesn't notice. Her legs and arms ache from the ride and she runs a trembling hand over her stomach. The time is soon. Her husband looks on anxiously and tries to wrap her in his blanket to keep her warm. The fire has little effect. Her hands feel numb with cold, though her forehead is covered in sweat. He tries to get her to eat, but she isn't hungry. They need a place to stay. It's soon, she tells him. He nods and puts out the fire. He has his own worries. Normally, the inns would have plenty of room, but with the Census, the roads are packed with travelers, and the young couple does not have enough money to buy someone out of their room. He is a simple man, and he worries about his young wife. He feels guilty that he cannot do better for her.

    He moves them back onto the road, which even now sees a fair share of travelers. No one speaks to them, however. No one offers them help, though the woman is clearly pregnant and struggling to stay on their donkey. Everyone is headed somewhere else. Everyone except for us, the man thinks. Alone in his thoughts, he reaches up to hold his wife's hand. Her fingers feel cold in his callused palm. They go as fast as they dare, but it is still slow going and the night is cold. He prays under his breath for Yahweh to help, but God seems absent this night. For years he was content in his work, until he met her, when suddenly things changed. He never could have anticipated this, however.

    She grasps her husband's hand and holds tight. She remembers the strange vision, and the visit from her cousin, but all she can think about is the pain. Everything hurts. She wonders why no one offers them help. But these are not people she grew up with. They are strangers, culled from the countryside at the beckons of their King, all anxious to be home. She sighs. The thought of a home, like the thought of no pain, is too much to hold onto. There is only the next minute. The next hour. The child must come, but she wonders why God has made this so difficult. Why he has chosen her? If he has chosen her. Doubts come and the pain is relentless, but she holds onto her husband's hand and tries to hide her face from the cold.

    The stable is dirty and stinks of cows and manure. Does it have to be here, she asks? Her husband nods, the misery and worry etched onto his face. She smiles at him, though her heart is filled with fear. She will not have any help. Not her mother or aunt or anyone else. She will have to do it alone. They will have to do it alone.

    He watches the way his wife accepts their fate, accepts his poverty, and smiles at him. Momentarily he hates himself for it and curses God for putting him in such a position. He sighs and asks forgiveness, grateful that his wife has a place to lie down. There is so much to be angry about, but the stable is better than the road. He thinks about his family and wishes his parents were still alive. He puts the thought out of his head. There is no one else now. Just him and his wife and the baby.

    Oh Yahweh, where are you?

    ****

    The gurgling sound seems to rise above the cacophony of the animals and he stares in wonder at the little boy. His wife is soaked in sweat but she is smiling. God be praised, he thinks, they've done it. What he doesn't understand is why they've had to do it alone. Or have they? He worries about where they will live and the rumors of war. He worries about the little boy being healthy and his wife getting sick.

    His wife holds up the boy and hands it to him. He takes it, cradling it in his arms, surprised by how light the baby is, how warm he feels. He asks his wife if its normal, but she just smiles as if he's said something in Greek. His worries vanish for the moment as he runs a finger over the boy's dark, wrinkled skin. He rocks him gently while his wife dozes. He wants to plan for the future, plan for his family, figure out a way to ensure they can survive the cold winters and blazing summers, but for the moment he is lost as he stares into his little one's eyes, and all he can do is whisper a quiet thanks.

    Merry Christmas, everyone.

 

-Steve