I never quite got Star Wars. Aside from seeing a few snippets when channel-flicking as a child, perhaps it was subtle snobbery: I was a child who had grown up reading the Chronicles of Narnia and Harry Potter, believing that a reversal of the book-to- film conversion was sacrilege. Perhaps it was more the aesthetic of Star Wars, which felt coldly futuristic in comparison to the nostalgia of Narnia and Harry Potter. Star Wars conjured the boredom one feels in airports. A friend summed it up when they said, “the parts I’ve seen just like shooting and explosions and no plot.” My experiences of the devoted Star Wars fandom cemented my prejudices. Star Wars was impenetrable. You either had the bug or you didn’t.
Still, with the inescapable (and, I initially thought, laughable) hype surrounding the release of the long-awaited Star Wars: The Force Awakens, I begrudgingly accepted that I couldn’t escape it forever. As I settled down to watch the original trilogy in a one-night marathon, I comforted myself in my defeat, thinking that I’d finally have a legitimate reason to ridicule Star Wars. When the garish yellow opening credits rolled up the screen, I felt smug in the knowledge that I was going to hate the films, and spend six hours inwardly ripping them apart.
Then the unthinkable happened. I. Loved. Star Wars. And not just in that self-flagellating, ironic way that one might love Sharknado, or Final Destination: Part 47. In the “I’m now going to read all the Guardian articles about the new Star Wars film and go to the cinema at midnight” way.
At risk of sounding like a basic bitch, the first thing that stood out for me was the sheer ro- mance. The sweeping deserts of Jakku. The double sunsets of Tatooine. They provide romantic backdrops for a story which is, inherently, about love transcending barriers. The love between Luke and his father eventually allows Vader to overcome the Dark Side. Han Solo, a smuggler, and Leia, a princess, transcend “class” divides when they fall in love. And R2-D2 and C-3PO overcome the limitations of being inhuman droids to become my favourite Star Wars couple.
My English-student tendency to over-analyse was satisfied by the series’ thematic richness. The theme of rebellion against an oppressive state begs to be compared with Orwell’s Big Brother from 1984. The messiah-like figure of Obi-Wan Kenobi frequently appears as an apparition to the new prophet, Luke. And, of course, the Oedipal relationships between Luke, Leia and Vader provide interesting areas to explore.
Perhaps the most surprising thing about Star Wars was how much I laughed. I was cheated out of my sombre, masked legions of Stormtroopers for the charismatic, and dishy, Han Solo. While some of his quips to Leia may have offended my feminist instincts, they certainly didn’t ruin the film. Chewbacca and R2-D2 (or, as other Star Wars virgins might previously have known them, the heroic bear and the small bin) speak in grunts and high-pitched bleeps, yet are understandable to the characters in the film, who translate for us in a comically unsubtle way: “Don’t say things like that! Of course we’ll see Master Luke again!”
Even Darth Vader managed to make me laugh. He completely surpassed my expectations. An asthmatic guy with a mask fetish? That accent peculiar to mid-century Britain, which seems more at home on a news reports or episodes of University Challenge?
The original Star Wars surprised me and the new film was worth the hype. To any Star Wars virgins reading, I urge you: come to the dark side… I mean… cast aside your prejudices, indulge your inner nerd, and you may just find your new guilty pleasure.
