Star Wars on Trial by Keith R. A. DeCandido, David Brin, Tanya Huff, Kristine Kathryn Rusch, Matthew Woodring Stover Read Free Book Online Page A

sort of why I say a benevolent despot is the ideal ruler. He can actually get things done. The idea that power corrupts is very true and it's a big human who can get past that."3 He further says we are a sad culture, bereft of the confidence or inspiration that strong leaders can provide.
    And yet, aren't we the very same culture that produced George Lucas and gave him so many opportunities? The same society that raised all those brilliant experts for him to hire-boldly creative folks who pour both individual inspiration and cooperative skill into his films, working at a monolithic corporate institution that nevertheless, functions pretty well?

    A culture that defies the old homogenizing impulse by worshipping eccentricity, with unprecedented hunger for the different, new or strange? In what way can such a civilization be said to lack confidence? And just how would a king or despot help?
    In historical fact, all of history's despots, combined, never managed to "get things done" as well as this rambunctious, self-critical civilization of free and sovereign citizens, who have finally broken free of worshipping a ruling class and begun thinking for themselves. Democracy can seem frustrating and messy at times, but it delivers. So why do few filmmakers-other than Steven Spielberg-own up to that basic fact?
    Having said all that, let me again acknowledge that Star Wars harks to an old and very, very deeply human archetype. Those who listened to Homer recite The Iliad by a roaring fire knew great drama. Achilles could slay a thousand with the sweep of a hand-as Darth Vader helps Tarkin murder billions with the press of a button-but none of those casualties matters next to the personal saga of a great one. The slaughtered victims are mere minions, after all. Extras, without families or hopes to worry about shattering. Spear-carriers. Only the demigod's personal drama is important.
    Thus, few protest the apotheosis of Darth Vader-nee Anakin Skywalker-in Return of theJedi. With a single, sudden act-slaying his master at the cost of his own life-he gives in to a fatal attachment and saves his own son... and thus achieves redemption. Entry into Jedi Heaven.
    To put it in perspective, let's imagine that the allies managed to capture Adolf Hitler at the end of the Second World War, putting him on trial for war crimes. The prosecution spends months listing all the horrors done at his behest. Then it is the turn of Hitler's defense attorney, who rises and utters just one sentence:
    "But, Your Honors ... Adolf did save the life of his own son!"
    Gasp! The prosecutors blanch. "We didn't know that! Of course all charges should be dismissed at once!" The allies then throw a big parade for Hitler down the avenues of Nuremberg.

    This may sound silly, but isn't that the lesson taught by Return of the Jedi?
    Along with the bizarre notion that getting angry at an evil will suddenly cause you to switch sides and join that evil.... Say what?
    Then it only gets worse.
    How many of us have argued late at night over the philosophical conundrum- "Would you go back in time and kill Hitler as a boy, if given a chance?" It's a genuine moral puzzler, with many possible ethical answers. Still, most people, however they ultimately respond, would admit being at least tempted to say yes, if only to save millions of Hitler's victims.
    Yet in The Phantom Menace, George Lucas asks us to gush with warm feelings toward a cute blond little boy... one who will later grow up to help murder the population of Earth many times over. Hey, while we're at it, why not bring out the Hitler family album, so we may croon over pictures of adorable little Adolf and marvel over his childhood exploits! He, too, was innocent till he turned to the "dark side," so by all means let us adore him.
    To his credit, Lucas does not try to excuse this macabre joke by citing the lamest excuse of all, "It's only a movie." Rather, he sticks to his guns, holding up his saga as an agonized Greek