The Horror, The Horror, Etc.

My apologies for the delay since the last entry. Honor demanded that I attempt to track down copies of Episode 1 and 2, for purposes of textual support. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that rental copies of both movies were rarer than hen’s teeth for the last week. I suspect that everyone who watched Episode 3 had the same reaction: “Surely that’s not all there is? I must have missed something … I’d better go back and watch the first two films over.”

Yeah, no. That’s all there is. I’ve now watched all three movies twice a piece (shudder) and not only were my earlier comments right on the money, in some cases they were a little too gentle.

The logical inconsistencies of all three movies are overwhelming. Scene after scene unfolds according to narrative flow that ranges from the feeble to bewildering.

It’s little things and big things. For instance, my previous example of certain people knowing each other and the way their conversations cue us in on the relationships and back stories. While we are constantly being *told* things—the queen is young, for instance—we never have a chance to figure anything out for ourselves. We can conclude from Luke Skywalker’s whining that he longs to get off the farm, longs for adventure and consequently, we can’t wait to see where this trip to Alderaan is going to take him.

What can we conclude from Queen Amidala’s dialogue? That she cares about her people, perhaps. (Although we never see those people suffer, and we never see her react to the suffering of her people, she just gets a lot of updates to that effect and tells people she’s against it.) Then she *leaves* her planet, giving us zero opportunity to watch her fight on their behalf and lots of chances to hear her say political things to various members of the Senate.

The biggest thing, I think, is the creepily pointless concealment of Amidala as a handmaiden, while Senator Palpatine walks around with the same last name as the emperor we love to hate, and the same profile we’ve seen poking out of a holo-hood for the last two hours.

This is particularly disturbing because it suggests that Lucas has at least a glancing familiarity with Aristotle’s “Poetics,” and specifically Aristotle’s definition of the two most satisfying types of plot development: Reversal and recognition.

“Reversal is a change by which the action veers round to its opposite, subject always to our rule of probability or necessity. Thus in the Oedipus, the messenger comes to cheer Oedipus and free him from his alarms about his mother, but by revealing who he is, he produces the opposite effect.”

“Recognition, as the name indicates, is a change from ignorance to knowledge, producing love or hate between the persons destined by the poet for good or bad fortune. The best form of recognition is coincident with a reversal, as in the Oedipus.”

Both can be found throughout the six movies, but there are certain instances that we remember with particular fondness—when Luke attempts to rescue Leia from the prison cell, but only plunges her into more danger, that’s reversal. When Darth Vader reveals he is Luke’s father, that is recognition. (And reversal, given that in that moment, Luke’s attempt to kill Vader is transformed into an attempt to escape recruitment into the Empire.) Not surprisingly, Aristotle shows a marked preference for recognition that triggers a reversal.

So if Lucas has even a shred of a clue about Aristotle’s “Poetics,” even if he’s just cribbed his knowledge of plot from a Robert McKee seminar, WHY does he continually ignore Aristotle’s first principle: FUCKING PLOT (caps and profanity Aristotle’s.)

Here’s Ari again:

“But again, tragedy is an imitation not only of a complete action, but of events inspiring fear or pity. Such an effect is best produced when the events come on us by surprise; and the effect is heightened when, at the same time, they follow as cause and effect. The tragic wonder will then be greater than if they happened of themselves or by accident; for even coincidences are most striking when they have an air of design.”

In other words, the story should be original, but later events SHOULD LOGICALLY FOLLOW FROM EARLIER EVENTS.

This principle is abundantly clear in any number of well-written movies. By chance, I happened to see “GalaxyQuest” earlier this week. Briefly, the former cast of a cult sci-fi television program (coughStarTrekcough) is given the chance to actually play their roles in real life. Why would tired, cynical actors agree to become action heroes? Because the request comes from a trusting and innocent alien species that doesn’t know that “GalaxyQuest” was just a show. And subsequently, because their lives on the line.

Simple. Perfect. Elegant. Nothing more, nothing less than is needed.

Hell, it’s even true in the first three movies. R2-D2 leaves the ship on a mission—C-3PO doesn’t have a mission and doesn’t want to leave until he’s almost shot. Upon landing, they do not successfully find Obi-Wan, or even a human who wants to help them—what would be the odds of finding a helpful human being on a giant sand ball? Much more logically, they’re scavenged by Jawas. It’s only by a coherent series of events that R2-D2 finally gives his message to Obi-wan.

By contrast, Qui-gon literally runs into JarJar Binks on the surface of Naboo. That’s it. No search for a helpful local, no wandering around lost, not even stopping to ask a question. He runs into JarJar and from that moment, JarJar is glued to his side—because the gods command it.

(And on a side note? I never hear Qui-gon introduce himself to anyone on Naboo. He’s just an ambassador as far as Queen Amidala is concerned. And I don’t know when JarJar learns his name, but it’s not anytime in the first 30 minutes of the movie.)

The last glaring defect of the Prequels is a little something Aristotle likes to call…

“Suffering: Two parts, then, of the plot - reversal and recognition - turn upon surprises. A third part is the scene of suffering. The scene of suffering is a destructive or painful action, such as death on the stage, bodily agony, wounds, and the like.”

A destructive action like … a TRADE BLOCKADE? Oh, stop screaming, I know it’s almost too terrible to contemplate. What about a painful TREATY SIGNING!

AAAAAAHHHHHH!

Yes, THAT is what the entirety of “Star Wars: A Phantom Menace” hinges on. The whole time they’re on Tatooine, having bizarre, irrelevant conversations with a strangely boastful little boy? It’s all part of an effort to end the horrible, terrible, nightmarish trade blockade. Or worse, the possibility of Amidala being forced to sign a treaty.

Oh, right, the invasion. I forgot. BECAUSE I NEVER ACTUALLY SAW ANYONE SUFFER AS A RESULT OF THE INVASION. Taking some prisoners off to “Camp 4” is not the same thing as, say, blowing up your homeworld of Alderaan right after promising mercy.

Not only do we never see anyone suffer, but a lot of the time, the only person panicking in the face of danger is JarJar Binks, who is too dumb to live. I’m not saying that out of JarJar hate. I’m saying that because seconds after he meets Obi-wan et al., he offers to take them to the one place he is forbidden to go. Only a sociopath or an imbecile’s first impulse is the exact thing he must not do.

When someone known for their assured calm starts to sweat, then I know things are bad. When Han looks panicky, it’s time to worry. When a Jedi looks overwhelmed, run. When a half-wit fishman trips over his ears in fright? It’s probably just a piece of lint.

As per usual, the backstory that explains the trade blockade is a real page-turner. Ahem.

Lord Sidious told the Trade Federation to do it.

Oh.

Well, okay then.

Who is Lord Sidious again?

Exactly.

And when the Trade Federation's plans fall apart, what punishment do they face? Mystery choking? Impalement? The destruction of their Death Star?

They are sent packing with instructions to explain themselves to the Senate. Oh, and they can “kiss [their] franchise good-bye.”

Is that a pee stain on the Viceroy’s robe, or did he just spill some punch?

Coming soon: Cleaning up the mess. Also, great season finales.