Beauty in The Last Jedi

Many people go to Star Wars films looking primarily for action and adventure.  That’s fair enough, but Star Wars has always offered beauty as well as heroic combat.  Think of Luke gazing at the twin suns on Tatooine, of the music as Yoda raises the X-Wing in Empire, of the haunting clash of Luke and Vader in Return of the Jedi, or of the lightsaber gleaming in Rey’s eyes as she connects with the Force at the end of The Force Awakens.

The Last Jedi is a truly beautiful film.  There are obvious elements, like the scenery provided by the sacred island on Ahch-To or the dream-like crystal foxes.  Yet consider the other intriguing ways that beauty is explored through imagery, character, and narrative.

The beauty of brokenness.  Luke is broken with guilt, but as the light shines on him in the meditation temple, his rough face is like a monument to pain – a war memorial of the soul.  Rey is broken with doubt, but in her vulnerability she can see past her hatred for Kylo Ren and reach out for the man who had been Ben Solo (even if Snoke is manipulating her, it is still a moment of purity and nobility).  Leia is broken with many losses, but just when she is ready to give up hope, Luke returns and provides her with a transcendent moment.  The “breaking” of the corrupted Canto Bight by the rampaging fathiers provides the opening for the beauty of their freedom in the wild, facilitated by the kindness of Rose.  Holdo’s sacrifice physically shatters the Supremacy and for a moment the searing light of hyperspace is a sword blow that brings hope to the beleaguered Resistance.  The damaged throne room, its flames and sparks drifting through the air, becomes the stunning backdrop for Rey’s crucial rejection of Kylo’s sinister offer.

The beauty of tension.  When Luke describes the Force to Rey he emphasizes that it is something that exists between the light and the dark, between life and death.  It may be a kind of balance, but it draws together opposing forces.  And there are other beautiful forms of tension in the story.  Learning is about tension, the film seems to suggest.  As kind and noble as Luke may have been at his best moments, he still needs one more lesson from Yoda – complete with a playful rap on the head from Yoda’s staff.  The tension between Rey and Kylo may not be beautiful in itself (for there are ethical issues at stake here), but it draws them together in two radiant moments: their finger “kiss” and their two-as-one battle against the Praetorian Guard.

The beauty of gentleness.  Despite being part of a franchise named after wars, The Last Jedi illustrates a remarkable attention to small, gentle gestures.  Look at the joy on Rey’s face as she extends her hand to catch a stream of water pouring off the Millennium Falcon.  When Rey and Kylo connect through the Force, their fingers touch in a manner that is just about as soft and subtle as is possible for human contact.  Rose’s kiss for Finn may have seemed to lack passion, but the battle was hardly a moment for that sort of thing, even if Finn had been prepared for it.  Instead, this was a gentle sign of affection, like Leia’s quick “for luck” kiss of Luke on the Death Star.

The beauty of defiance.  The beauty here comes not from selfish egotism but from collective effort on behalf of the dignity of the individual.  When Paige spends her last effort to launch the bombs at the dreadnought, it’s an act of defiance against a tyrannical movement that she cannot defeat alone – but also a meaningful contribution to a larger cause.  When Rose futilely tries to break from the grasp of stormtroopers to get at DJ, it’s not because the codebreaker betrayed her and Finn, but because he sold out the whole Resistance.  Poe even goes so far as to stage a mutiny on the Raddus, yet Holdo and Leia later declare that they still like and admire him, for his heart is in the right place even if his judgement has not yet fully developed.  Finally, when the abused stable boy looks to the stars and lifts his broom like a lightsaber, we know he’s ready to fight for freedom.

Ten Things I Love About The Last Jedi

There’s a lot out there to read about The Last Jedi, but here are some thoughts from someone who grew up watching the original films on VHS tapes and who has always had a special place in his heart for the saga.  The Last Jedi is a great movie and a very worthy edition to the Star Wars legacy.  As with The Force Awakens, it’s possible to pick out potential problems or missed opportunities, but I would encourage anyone disappointed with the movie to “unlearn what you have learned” and give it another chance.  Classic Star Wars has always been mythic, fun, and emotionally resonant.  The Last Jedi doesn’t let us down on those fronts.  There is so much to admire in this complex, challenging, and extremely rewarding film.   Here are ten things I love about The Last Jedi… in a loose countdown of awesomeness.  Beware of spoilers… but you should have seen the film at least once by now!

10.  Snoke.  I wasn’t that impressed by him in The Force Awakens, but there is something delightfully creepy about Snoke in this movie.  His scarred and twisted face creates a contrast with his golden clothes – and his brutal Force powers contrast with the limited scope of his awareness and imagination.  He creates just enough melodramatic menace to hold us over until we face the man who seems to be the real antagonist of this trilogy… Kylo Ren.

9.  The Opening Battle.  In particular, I love the Resistance bombers.  Star Wars has to offer some cool vehicles, and there is something fascinating to me about these particular vessels.  They lumber along with a tactically frustrating slowness, but they just look so incredible.  They remind me of the days when I would daydream about X-Wings and B-Wings and speeders.  Besides, Paige Tico slamming her foot with almost hopeless determination is a truly inspiring moment – and a reminder of how hard life can be for those who don’t know how to tap into the Force.

8.  The Creatures.  Perhaps the horse-like fathiers could have been something more strange and interesting, but they are charming in their own way.  The porgs and vulptexes, though, are outright wonderful.  The porgs are like a cuteness injection for the venerable Falcon, which they invade with their adorable mischievousness.  And they’re a great foil for the long-suffering Chewbacca.  The crystal foxes are truly splendid – and seem to echo the melancholy, haunting mood of the last act.

7.  Confrontation in the Throne Room.  Unlike some, I have mixed feelings about the battle with the Praetorian Guard, but I can’t deny that seeing Ben and Rey fight back to back was epic.  The death of Snoke was sublime and the breaking of the lightsaber was suitably poetic.  And that surreal red-lit Flash Gordon-y chamber is definitely growing on me.  Remember, the Emperor sat amid a spider’s web of windows.  Here we see that Snoke dwells in a blood-red haze of anger with a single techno-lens to focus his wrath on his enemies.

6.  Leia.  Luke’s first act (I believe) when reconnecting with the Force is to reach out for a link with his sister.  The tender scene between the two of them on Crait is among the sweetest moments in all the saga.  The film, furthermore, serves as a fitting sendoff to the late and much beloved Carrie Fisher.  Here we saw Leia the wise, fierce, and patient leader, as well as the powerful Force-user.

5.  Rey and the Force.  Daisy Ridley continues to shine in this film, refusing to be overshadowed by the brilliant performances of her co-stars Driver and Hamill.  Her scenes with Luke are variously funny, luminous, and ferocious.  Ridley can convey wonder, sadness, and determination with a subtle authenticity that is the mark of a truly great actor.  Her moments meditating on the cliff are beautiful and her echoing body in the crystal mirror cave is fascinating.  Are her multiple selves a physical representation of the Force - that is, a projection of power through space or an interconnection of identity across time?  Is the superabundance of "I" a manifestation of egotism and the Dark Side?  We may not get easy answers about Rey's lineage in that scene, but we get plenty of interesting clues about the nature of the Force.

4.  Old Friends.  I’ve always loved Yoda and his appearance here is wonderful.  He’s powerful, playful, and wise – and true to the essence of the Yoda from the original films.  Special mention goes, also, to Luke’s moving encounter with R2 and his awesome wink to C-3PO. 

3.  The Battle of Crait.  Okay, so maybe I was expecting a little more shooting from the Resistance here, but the whole point is that our beleaguered band is totally down and out.  Their ski skimmers aren’t going to do much of anything, and all of this serves to set up their desperate need for Master Skywalker.  Even so, the red-bodied salt flats are a spectacular setting – and the scene provides both Rose and Finn with a heroic moment.  And that elegant shot of Leia looking out over the flats as the foxes arrives is so filled with dire anticipation.

2.  Rose!  What can I say?  Rose Tico is awesome… and Kelly Marie Tran is perfect in the role.  Even her posture seems to say, “I’m not a hero.”  Yet she’s a devoted member of the Resistance – and by the end of the story she’s saving her friends and flying a speeder like a true warrior of the Rebellion.  I would go so far as to say she almost steals the movie from an exceptionally strong cast.  Rose is a spark of energy, humor, and hope during a dire time for the Resistance.  And the scene when she tears the medallion from her neck… remarkable.  Please, J.J. Abrams, give her a worthy and prominent part in the third movie!

1.  The Legend of Luke Skywalker.  I knew going into this film that Luke Skywalker would be dying sometime in this movie or the next.  I wasn’t happy about it, because Luke is one of my all-time favorite characters, but I understood that the torch would have to be passed to the next generation.  That said, it’s hard for me to think of a more perfect ending for the Jedi Master.  He gets a lovely reunion with Leia, then one of the most awesome scene entrances in all of Star Wars… walking out through a burning hole in the blast doors onto a salt desert to confront an army of enemy AT Walkers with a haunting, almost apocalyptic John Williams score in the background.  Sure, there was part of me that wanted him to pull down a walker like in the old Dark Empire comic, but remember that a true Jedi uses the Force for knowledge and defense.  Having Luke play interplanetary mind games with Kylo Ren was a much more fitting end for our beloved hero.  The echoes of Luke’s joke to Rey about facing the whole First Order with a laser sword were brilliant.  And then the reveal of Luke meditating on the island and joining with the Force… it’s just about as perfect as I can imagine.  After all the doubt and pain that Luke has been through in this movie (portrayed so achingly by Mark Hamill) – it’s cathartic and  rewarding to hear Rey speak of his “peace and purpose”… and to see a new generation of young rebels inspired by his sacrifice.

Star Trek Review - The Corbomite Maneuver

The Corbomite Maneuver (Season 1: Episode 10 – Production Episode 3)

When I reflect on Star Trek in its various incarnations, I often think of teamwork and intriguing ensembles of characters.  Yet upon rewatching The Corbomite Maneuver, I’m struck by how much the early episodes of the original series center around Captain Kirk.  Almost everything in the show seems structured to highlight the boldness, importance, and strength of this singular main character.  Spock is an effective foil but not yet the brotherly friend of later episodes.  McCoy is a kind of mentor, but Kirk is more than ready to challenge the older man and remind him of his subordinate position in the ship’s hierarchy.  The later pseudo-equality of this fascinating trio has not yet been fully established.

Kirk’s centrality is reinforced in other ways.  His physicality is highlighted by his shirtless scenes at the start of the episode, while his competence is contrasted with the immaturity of his protégé, the panicky helmsman, Bailey.  Even the starship is personified into a subordinate position: when McCoy teases him about sexual self-restraint, Kirk responds that he’s already got a female to worry about (“Her name’s the Enterprise”).  The whole plot of the episode pivots on Kirk’s tough-guy bluff about Corbomite.  All of this helps to establish Kirk as a heroic man of action, albeit in a way so exaggerated that it almost toys with the camp and the absurd.  In any case, I still prefer the multivalent character dynamics of later episodes, when Kirk, Spock, McCoy are more comfortable with one another, more playfully antagonistic as they spar and support each other.  Along the way, other characters like Scotty, Sulu, and Uhura also rise in importance.  Kirk is always the fulcrum of decision-making, the embodiment of the thoughtful but decisive leader – but it seems to me that he grows in stature, rather than diminishes, as the series progresses and the other members of the spacefaring team become more prominent.

There’s a lot of filler as the crew frets about whether the ship has enough power, or is using too much power, or is being overpowered.  In the end, though, we get that cool meeting with a weird and enigmatic alien.

And now, your moment of Trek friendship:

Spock: Has it occurred to you that there’s a certain… inefficiency in constantly questioning me on things you’ve already made up your mind about?

Kirk: It gives me emotional security.

Image: IMDB

Star Trek Review - The Naked Time

The Naked Time (Season 1: Episode 4)

This is, of course, a memorable and even iconic Star Trek episode.  What intrigues me about it is the way it manages to mix serious science fiction (the creepy insanity virus), comic relief (“Richelieu, beware!”), and deep psychological mediation (the revelations about the psyches of the crew members).  There are some wonderful examples of set design and cinematography, such as the stark and menacing blankness of the frozen observation post, or when the camera pans slowly around Spock as he breaks down and starts weeping.  There are moments of real drama, too, as when Kirk repeatedly slaps Spock in an attempt to break his condition, and Spock finally decks him in return – or when Kirk struggles to keep his rationality as he is overcome with longing, frustration, and doubt.

Much could be said about the psychological portraits of the crew as they suffer the effects of this “space madness,” but I want to point out a different element of the episode.  It reveals the extent to which the show is unabashedly theatrical and wildly melodramatic: Kirk babbling “Flesh woman...”, Sulu’s shirtless and delirious fencing, the way the camera pans out at the end of the episode – away from the crew gathered around the captain’s chair.  This episode seems determined to remind us that the Enterprise isn’t just a ship… it’s a stage.  This is Cosmic Shakespeare through a filter of pulp adventure, seasoned with a sprinkling of camp absurdity.  What can one say, except “Long live Stark Trek”?

And now, your moment of Trek friendship:

Scene: Riley sings drunkenly over the intercom, creating an atmosphere of chaos on the bridge.

Kirk [sharply, to Uhura]: At least try to cut him off!

Uhura [angrily]: Sir, if I could cut him don’t you think I'd… [pause, then more calmly] Yes, sir, I’ll keep trying.

Kirk [calmly, sincerely]: Sorry.
[Uhura smiles with tenuous relief but also a kind of delicate depth.]

Image: IMDB

Note: At the moment, I'm not going to try to cover every episode, just the ones that particularly interest or inspire me.

Star Trek Review - The Man Trap

The Man Trap (Season 1: Episode 1)

In some ways this episode is a horror story – something reminiscent, even, of H.P. Lovecraft.  The shape-changing salt vampire echoes Lovecraft’s concern with body swaps, as in “The Thing on the Doorstep,” and with the animalistic degeneration of humanity.  It’s actually quite creepy to see Kirk tempting the creature (disguised as Nancy Crater) with salt tablets – as though she were a wild animal.  It’s startling to see Spock smash a gray-haired lady repeatedly in the face to almost no effect.  The reveal of the shaggy and monstrous creature is especially spooky considering Kirk’s speech to Professor Crater just shortly before. He had reprimanded Crater, saying, “This thing becomes wife, lover, best friend, wise man, fool, idol, slave.  It isn’t a bad life to have everyone in the universe at your beck and call.”  All of this can be yours, it seems, if only you will accept a murderous, salt-sucking monster into your home and bed.

Gender and sexuality ripple through all of “The Man Trap.”  Even Sulu’s pet plant has to be given a gender role:  “It’s a he plant,” declares Yeoman Rand.  “I keep expecting one of these plants of yours to, uh, grab me,” she adds, evidently expecting aggressive and abusive behavior from men.  In a different scene, Lt. Uhura proudly declares to Spock, “I’m an illogical woman whose beginning to feel too much a part of that communications console.  Why don’t you tell me I’m an attractive young lady…” Nichelle Nichols is charming as she flirts with the Vulcan, but it’s hardly a moment of feminist empowerment.  Perhaps we shouldn’t be surprised.  In The Second Sex, Simone de Beauvoir suggests that woman is defined as “the Other” by men and their systems of patriarchy. “She is determined and differentiated in relation to man, while he is not in relation to her; she is the inessential in front of the essential.  He is the Subject; he is the Absolute.  She is the Other.”  For the utopian starship of the 1960s imagination, the Other can include a universe of aliens and cosmic mysteries – but the most immediate and intimate of those are the women of the ship’s crew.

And now, your moment of Trek friendship:

McCoy: Another error on my part.

Kirk: I’m not counting them, Bones.  Are you, uh, in the mood for an apology?

Image: IMDB

“ – Bat Label Essay –”

There is so much joy to be found in the 1960s television version of Batman (see my reviews of the first season), but in this post I’ll concentrate on the labels that appear throughout the sets.  Sometimes the labels draw our attention to things that would otherwise be marginal, insignificant, or obscure to the narrative – and thereby highlight the absurdity of the situations in which the characters find themselves.  In other instances they crystalize the tension of the moment in an awkward, destabilizing, and – of course – humorous manner.  For instance, we find the loquaciously identified “Gazebo Cricket Pavilion Paralyzing Gas Gauge – Emergency Use Only!”  Not only is this label notably wordy, but it also solidifies the panel as an object in and of itself – a mechanism worthy of a name, as it were.

Batman moves amid a world of needlessly identified objects – things that refuse to remain merely in the background and, in that capacity, challenge the hegemony of characters in the world.  These label-bound things become objects of absolute definition – no ambiguity is permitted, for viewers or characters, reinforcing the earnest reality that is the seedbed of true camp.  Characters wear labels, too – most notably the goons and henchmen that, it seems, can only really exist by wearing proclamations of their identity.

Curiously, the labels usually seem invisible to the characters.  Robin not only trips over the “Death Bee Beehive Tripwire,” but fails to notice the sign as well.  The campy laughs depend upon the characters not knowing how ridiculous they are, unable to acknowledge the absurdity of the world and its situations.  Thus the labels go unseen.  Likewise, characters tend to repeat things that the narrator has already pronounced, labeling verbally with as much vehemence as the textual counterparts demand.  The written labels are so unsubtle that they become subtle – full of mystery amidst their certainty (who put them there?), provocative in a manner that disrupts the suspension of disbelief but demands the activation of belief.  That is, by reading them we become complicit in the excessively defined non-drama of the icon/joke/ text.

The world of labels pervades the fabric of the show, beyond the parameters of props themselves.  Even the opening title reminds us that the color images we see are “In Color.”  And, of course, the “POW!” “BIFF!”, etc., intrusions in the fight scenes draw our attention to the power of our heroes while rendering their physical violence into absurd, pop art incarnations.  These cards or titles leach away the drama of the narrative into themselves, creating metaphorical black holes of meaning and non-meaning whose gravitational waves ripple through the existential fabric of the series.

The existence of a Twitter account for just the labels [@BatLabels] propels such absurdity into our digital, postmodern age.  Indeed, the catalog of labels becomes a circle of endless inter-signification constituting, one might argue, a philosophical statement of profound significance, an encyclopedia of the absurd that absorbs and disarms all other ventures of meaning.

“Holy Discourse, Batman!”

Image: http://metv.com/stories/infographic-the-a-to-z-of-batman

Anarchic Providence and Quantum Menace

Scooby-Doo Review: “Mine Your Own Business”

The magic of Scooby-Doo involves the mixture of horror and playfulness – like, of course, the holiday of Halloween.  When the gang arrives at an abandoned saloon, Scooby and Shaggy immediately indulge their impulse to fantasize and role-play amid the ruinous tavern.  This pair cannot resist the impulse to clown around.  Scooby can’t even walk past a mirror without grinning at himself and messing about!   Mystery solving and criminal investigation are combined in a tenuous alliance with mischief and mayhem.  This pattern is highlighted by Shaggy’s frequent failure to correctly identify vital objects.  He reads a map upside down, lights some “candles” only to discover that they are actually dynamite, and mistakes crude oil for chocolate syrup.  Scooby even tries to scare Shaggy at one point, suggesting that for all their campy cowardice, the pair is intrigued by the delights of danger.  Of course, their relentless playfulness can also be productive, at least when harnessed by the more thoughtful and focused members of the team – at Freddy’s suggestion, Scooby and Shaggy mimic an approaching train to chase down the villain.

There’s a kind of chant-like poetry about certain moments in the show.  Consider the rhythmic, almost ritualistic repetition of this exchange:

Hank: “It’s the miner.”

Shaggy and Freddy: “The miner?”

Scooby: “The who?”

Hank: “The miner ‘49er.”

Velma and Daphne: “‘49er?”

Every episode of the show, it seems, includes the quest of Scooby and Shaggy to eat without limitation – food is their hobby, their refuge, their playground.  Yet it is inextricably woven into the menace of the situation.  “You ask for a sarsaparilla and all you get is a glass of spider-webs,” observes Shaggy at the saloon.  Scooby steals cheese from a mousetrap, to the vehement annoyance of the rodent.  Scooby may be the only animal that really talks in the show, but he is not alone in articulating purposes and emotions – these animal intentions provide both comic relief and a glimpse into world of hidden intelligences, a gentle organic counterpart to the presence of ghostly agendas and supernatural enigmas.  Of course, food (in the form of Scooby Snacks) works its own magic, transforming Scooby from a coward miming a chicken to a hero saluting like a dutiful soldier.

In this world, clues erupt from an anarchic Providence – Scooby runs away, gets caught on a cigar store Indian, and knocks it over to discover an essential map.   Likewise, opening a door will reveal the villain standing there with inconceivable patience, apparently just waiting for someone to arrive at that particular spot.  In a mine car chase, characters inexplicably switch vehicles, creating a sense of quantum menace – of discontinuous reality held together only by dramatic or comedic effect.  A mirror will suddenly and impossibly become a window through which the villain can emerge.  Somehow this brilliant show makes the supernatural mundane (and therefore conquerable by a child’s imagination) without destroying the excitement of the unknown.  At the same time, it makes the mundane more supernatural, thus stimulating the imagination in exciting and unexpected ways.

Images: Scooby-Doo, Where Are You!

Scooby-Doo is © Hanna-Barbera and Warner Bros. Enterntainment