I Have Feelings About Movies: Star Wars Edition

J.J. Abrams' Star Wars movies feel like what he thinks Star Wars means to us more than what Star Wars means to him. He bent over backwards to deliver what he thought were crowd-pleasing moments.

George Lucas did not always deliver a Star Wars film of consistent quality. But he did have consistent vision. He had something to say.

This realization has made me retroactively like The Last Jedi more. For all the flaws of that film, I have to give credit to Rian Johnson for creating a movie that was not purely fan service.

He tried to make a Star Wars movie that was meaningful to him, one that challenged us and tried to give us something new within a familiar framework. I may not have liked the final result, but I can appreciate the effort. And I respect his vision a hell of a lot more than Abrams' soulless appeal to nostalgia.

I've spoken before about my issues with how the trilogy has developed the new characters. After three films, I still feel like I barely know these characters.

I think they took too many shortcuts. We needed more interplay between characters, less running around and reacting to chaos. We needed a better balance of "quiet" moments and "loud" moments.

There's a joke I've seen floating around regarding Abrams' storytelling technique. "When you don't know how to end a scene, have someone barge into the room with weapons." (Or perhaps a random tentacle monster on a smuggling ship will do.)

I'm very intrigued about this trope of "interrupting" a quiet or expository scene with action. I don't recall either the original trilogy or the prequels using interruptions excessively as a transition from one type of scene into another. (For a million examples of this trope, see [or don't see] Aquaman.)

Earlier I gave the film a B-/C+. And my assessment was true--from a certain point of view. But if I'm paying attention to the minutiae, the technique, the characters, and the vision--if those things matter to me (which they often do)--then I give the film a lower grade.

The film was more or less what I expected it to be. The two prior films had tempered my expectations, and that's why I gave it a higher grade at the time. But it's not the kind of film that sits well with me. It gives me intellectual indigestion the longer I sit with it. In other words, it gets the higher grade as long as I'm not actually thinking too much about it.

Oh well. Some days the Force is with you, other days you're with the Force.

To end this on a more positive note, I would like to share what I consider to be my Star Wars "headcanon":

Original Trilogy
Revenge of the Sith
Original Thrawn Trilogy
X-Wing/Rogue Squadron novels and comics
Clone Wars
Rebels
Mandalorian

I'm open to adding more. Anything by Timothy Zahn is worth reading. I'm just way behind on the literature.

Thoughts on Doomsday Clock

This book was more or less what I'd hoped it would be.

So why didn't I like it?

One of the issues, I think, was the issues. Waiting sometimes multiple months for the next issue did not enhance my reading experience.

The first few issues were genuinely exciting to read. I had bought into the hype. But by the end I found that nothing could really grab me, except for the ideas.

Some notes:

The New 52 is officially over. It exists somewhere out there as another Earth. Earth 52.

The ongoing theme of the book was finding hope. How do you take a morally gray world like Watchmen and reconcile it with the pervasive hopefulness of Superman? What happens when cynicism and despair clash with optimism and hope? What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object?

The answer is change.

But what changed exactly? Superman's world is more or less restored. The JSA is back. The Legion is back. Even Ma and Pa are back. Superman's world looks the same as ever. We have discarded the uncomfortable unfamiliarity of the New 52 and have fully embraced nostalgia.

The thing that changed was Watchmen.

Watchmen was a world without hope. But when you pit an ideology like that against Superman, Superman always wins. So naturally the story of Watchmen now ends (or newly begins) on a more hopeful note.

This alteration to the world of Watchmen is an interesting "political" statement. Perhaps the writer was watching MSNBC one day and thought to himself, "The world is running out of hope. This is like the beginning of Watchmen. What can I do to change the narrative?"

The writer understands that cynicism is not sustainable. A soul cannot survive on it. A soul needs hope. So changing Watchmen from a story of cynicism to a story of hope is a bold political statement indeed--certainly when you consider how sacrosanct the original story is.

Or was.

Perhaps part of the meta narrative was that the writer wanted to break the "hold" Watchmen had over the rest of the comics industry. Its cynicism seemed to infect all the other books in some way, and it poisoned an entire cinematic universe starting with Man of Steel (directed by the director of Watchmen). In other words, he wanted to put Watchmen in its place, contain its influence.

Well, there's no better way to defeat Watchmen than to give it hope.

So I was completely on board for the meta narrative alone. I think the weakness of the story was the, er, "narrative" narrative.

By about halfway through the series, I just stopped feeling it. The initial hype was gone. I lost interest in the mounting conflict. I only cared about how it ended, not how we got there.

And the book was repeatedly delayed.

Nothing kills momentum like a delay. It's one of the reasons why I primarily read this stuff in collected volumes. But I was so hyped, I knew I couldn't wait that long. Yet I wound up waiting a long time anyway.

There's a longer conversation to be had about the ideal way to publish and read comics. All I can say is that following a book for 2 years when it should only have lasted 1 year does affect my enjoyment of it.

Detaching myself from the actual timing of publication, reading stories on my own schedule--my own terms--is the best way for me to enjoy comics. Reading a single chapter every few months is not.

Passivity of the Jedi

In the past I've praised Luke's role in Return of the Jedi, how he essentially took both Vader and Emperor off the chess board so his friends in the Rebellion could do the real work.

What I hadn't noticed before is that this is in stark contrast to his behavior in Empire Strikes Back, when he is so worried about the fate of his friends that he is willing to abandon his Jedi training to save them.

The result is that he not only walks into a trap, but his friends--who managed to escape on their own--actually have to come back and rescue him!

Luke's more passive role in ROTJ is the result of lesson he learned from his disastrous decision. He finally begins to understand what Obi-Wan had once said--that there are alternatives to fighting.

In ROTJ, he doesn't even have to fight in order to win. He just has to occupy Vader's and Emperor's attention long enough for his friends to complete the mission.

This is probably why I think that the one thing in The Last Jedi that felt true to his character was Luke projecting himself to Kylo Ren rather than engaging him directly. Luke would not actually fight if he didn't have to. He just needed to distract Kylo Ren long enough for the Resistance to escape.

With Rise of Skywalker coming out soon, we will see if Rey herself learned any of these lessons. She has proven herself to be very naive in The Last Jedi. She was plagued by doubts about her identity and purpose. And the one thing she was certain about--that she could bring Kylo Ren back to the good side--wound up revealing how much she still had to learn. She had more faith in Kylo Ren's strength of character than she did in her own.

And it's these flaws that have me convinced that she is not a Mary Sue, no matter how "powerful" she is. A Mary Sue is not just about power levels and how easily that power is acquired. It's about lack of depth. It's about characters who don't make mistakes. Well--Rey has made a number of mistakes in TLJ. Now let's see if she learned anything from them.

To Read or To Skim

There are some comics that I know I must read. You don't breeze through a Sandman or a Hellblazer. Other comics have maybe a couple issues/chapters to grab my attention before I start skimming. Supergirl was one of these comics--a book I only picked up because of my interest in the other Superman books.

I'm finding the same thing happening with X-Men. After the initial miniseries House of X and Powers of X, my interest has all but evaporated. So I've been skimming through the books spinning out of that event more than I have actually been reading them.

I feel like I am confessing something--that I should feel guilty about something. But the truth is, I sampled some books and I wasn't enjoying them. I am old. I can't just buy a book because it ties in with a better book. I can't just buy a book because the publisher promises me it will be the MOST IMPORTANT book.

I have been reading comics for a long time. I am older now. I already know who my favorite writers and artists are. I know how to listen to the buzz in order to find other creators who seem interesting to me.

I should not feel bad for trying out a new book and finding it wanting.

Maybe next time get them from the library instead, though.

Part of the problem is that I often make the decision to read the book before I've properly sampled the book. So I buy the series, usually from ComiXology, and I start reading it, and sometimes it's just a slog.

People loved the Batgirl book pre-Rebirth. I was excited to read it. And I actually did read it. But when it was behind me, I didn't remember much about it, except perhaps some delightful art. But a comic needs to be more than that. I'm not just here to be dazzled. I want an engrossing story.

I can't waste my time like that anymore, reading 40 issues of a book that I can't even be bothered to remember. I desire to be more selective. I only want to read the books that I will get the most out of.

And for the most part, I've done that.

I was interested in Bendis's Superman, so I got a volume of Supergirl. Wasn't for me. Don't plan on getting any more.

I was interested in Hickman's X-Men, so I picked up the two miniseries and enjoyed them very much. But when I picked up the spinoff series, my interest had waned and they weren't really doing anything for me. I sampled the first issues of these series, and I was already done with them.

That's as it should be. I will focus on other things, then.

Many fans feel offended or dejected when they dislike a book. They complain about it rather than use it to inform future purchases. So-and-so "ruined" my favorite character. Whatever.

This doesn't bother me as much as it used to, because I know there is still great writing out there. Batman may be my favorite character, but Batman books will not always be great. I need to make sure my attachment to the character is not causing me displeasure.

And I need to make this clear: If I dislike a team's take on my favorite character, it is not because their interpretation is "wrong," but because my attachment to the character is getting in the way (or the story just isn't my cup of tea). It is not their fault. And there's no point in getting upset with them, as long as I have other options.

Most comic book readers are habit-based. They need their Batman or their X-Men. If they don't like the way those stories are going, then the books need to change, rather than their own reading habits. It causes problems. It makes people frustrated.

I don't want to be frustrated, nor do I want to cause trouble for others.

So, yeah, I picked up some books and didn't find them very interesting.

I skimmed them.

And now they are behind me. And now I will move on to (hopefully) better things.

So it goes.

Finally watched Star Trek: Discovery

Took me a while, but I finally made it to the end of episode 1 of Discovery.

It's not bad. But I consider this to be a different canon. It is a different Star Trek with a different tone, and perhaps different values. Time will tell.

What sets it apart from prior Star Trek like the original series and TNG is its format. Prior shows were more like procedural dramas. A problem presents itself; the crew investigates; decisions must be made; a resolution is reached.

The J.J. Abrams movies, unlike the prior shows, presented themselves more like an action movie, where the characters spend more time running around amidst chaotic events than they do trying to solve a problem. The movies were fast-paced; there wasn't much intellectualizing, pondering, or pontificating; and the villains left no room for moral dilemmas--they simply had to be stopped. (If there was a moral gray area, the heroes were never in a position to make a decision and act on it.)

After having seen only one episode, the best way I can describe Discovery is calling it a soap opera in space. This show cares less about the politics and more about personal motivations.

Perhaps this will change down the line. It's certainly different. And I can't really call it bad, although I'm sure many other Trek fans would leap at the chance.

I am intrigued, though. It's fascinating.

A Watchmen for our time

Took advantage of a free weekend of HBO to see the first episode of Watchmen.

I liked it a lot. If it stays this good, I will likely purchase it at some point.

I think it also helped me understand something about the original comic that I didn’t understand before.

I didn’t like the original comic. I recognized it was well written, well plotted, well designed. I recognized it was complex and dark and different. I recognized it was interesting. I recognized that, at one point, it was relevant.

In misunderstanding this comic, I decided that the reason I disliked it was because it was dark and joyless. I blamed the tone. But that doesn’t really make sense, because there are some dark and joyless things that I actually like.

Watchmen is a comic about ideas. It has superheroes, but it is more about the *idea* of a superhero, and what happens to that idea when it departs from the fantasy world and clashes with realism. What is a superhero in the “real” world if not something that looks ridiculous and strange? What are superpowers in the “real” world, and what happens to humanity in a world where superpowers exist? Does a person have to be insane to put on a mask? Is a costume a reflection of masculinity or femininity? Is a man who can see all of time a god or a prisoner? Are superheroes even effective? Do the good guys even win in the end?

These are all interesting ideas. But I was unable to connect with this book before, and I think I realize why: It was the time.

The book is set in a specific time period, the 1980s, where the issues of that era govern people’s motivations. Fear over nuclear war, for instance. The fears and uncertainties that plague the world of Watchmen feel very near to them, but they feel very distant from me.

In other words, despite being *interesting*, it lacked the one thing that would have probably made me love it—relevance to me and my time. I had a hard time relating to the *people* in the Watchmen comic, so I could only really relate to the interesting *ideas*. Without a human connection, I couldn’t truly get into it.

Maybe I lack empathy. But I prefer to believe I simply lacked context.

This new show on HBO is promising something to me that a 30-year-old comic was unable to deliver: relevance. It is set in a world that understands what we are afraid of *today*. It understands that the ticking clock we hear today is not the same as the one from 30 years ago. It understands what we fear will happen when it stops.

This may be the Watchmen that was made for us, and for our time.

As long as they don’t fuck it up.

Moving Right Along

After 10 years of Marvel films (and various other superhero films that couldn't quite measure up to their ambitions), I'm convinced it's time to take a break.

Endgame was the perfect place to stop. After all, it was an ending. It was a good ending, too--one that rewarded 10 years of following each installment.

And I don't necessarily want to stop watching Marvel films or other superhero films. But I do want to start watching them on my terms--not theirs. To me, this means not having to go to the theater to avoid spoilers. It also means no longer caring about spoilers.

The Marvel Cinematic Universe only gets bigger and more unwieldy from here. I want to be more selective now, more judicious with my time. And part of that means deciding when/if to subscribe the upcoming Disney+ streaming service.

My relationship to content has been changing recently. I've started to realize that I already have enough content. I don't need another Star Wars movie or show, because I already have all the Star Wars that I need. New Star Wars might be fun, but it's unlikely to leave a strong impression unless it is either extremely exceptional or extremely upsetting. So I have to wonder whether the three new Star Wars shows announced for the streaming service is really something that will enrich my life. Likewise, I have to wonder the same for something like Marvel.

I already subscribe to Netflix, Hulu, and Prime. In my opinion, everything I need or want ought to be available between the three of them. So I kind of resent every additional service that isn't something niche like Crunchyroll or WWE Network.

Frankly, I wouldn't mind unsubscribing from some of these services, resubscribing only when I have the time and desire to binge-watch something.

Having too much content feels like it ought to be a good problem to have. Despite that, it can feel overwhelming. Falling behind on anything is usually a stressful experience. Knowing that I will never catch up--never be done with content fills me with a kind of dread.

I mean, isn't there more to life than just consuming? Shouldn't we also be creating? At some point, I need bigger goals than to finish that show. I need higher ambitions than to stay ahead of spoilers.

Maybe I feel this way because I haven't found the thing that resonates with me at this point in my life. When I was a child, it was the Saturday morning cartoons. When I was a teenager, it was Star Wars. When I was in college, it was Neil Gaiman's Sandman. At various points in my life, there were a handful of things... stories... that really meant something to me. And maybe what I'm feeling right now is just that void--that empty feeling of having so much content yet being largely unaffected by it.

I want content to affect me. I want content to awaken something within me. And it seems no amount of nostalgia will carry the same weight as something truly original, like Steven Universe, like Fruits Basket, like the Adventure Zone podcast.

I need creativity, not regurgitation of the "greatest hits." I need to be challenged--not by taking things from my childhood and transforming them into something different, but by showing me something that cuts through my adult cynicism and speaks to my heart.

Something like Star Wars has already given me everything it possibly can. Whether this has more to do with my limitations or its limitations is anybody's guess.

I suppose that's the one good thing about the overwhelming amount of content. In the vast, endless pile of content, there must be one more thing that can speak to me, change me, make me grow.

But it'll take some convincing to make me believe that I'll find such a thing on the Disney+ service.

(Zootopia was a fluke!)

Does having an interest make one interesting?

So... what makes someone "interesting"? I think I've got "nice" figured out to a reasonable degree (not to be confused with the famously not nice "Nice Guys" who plague us all). But interesting? No idea.

Like... having a hobby doesn't really make someone interesting. Maybe--MAYBE--you could be interesting to someone else who has the same hobby. But in any group, there is always someone who has more charisma, whom everyone gravitates toward.

I like to think that everyone is interesting. Everyone has a story. That's what Neil Gaiman implied anyway.

But sometimes it takes more effort to find what makes us unique. Sometimes you gotta dig.

I have to believe that there is something within each of us that makes us worth knowing. Sometimes it's hard to find. Sometimes it's hard to express.

But if people are willing to put in the work, they can find it within themselves and within others. I have to believe that.