This week, the world gets to witness for the first time, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens.

I was in grade 1 when the prior entry in this galactic log, Episode VI, Return of the Jedi first visited our movie screens. At the time, I was afraid of watching movies in theatres. I don’t remember why I was scared, but I know that I must have been anxious because I recall my dad having a serious chat with me, trying to persuade me that this movie would be worth overcoming my fears for.

When he mentioned the movie, though, I was already aware of it. That very morning in “Show & Tell,” one of my classmates had told us about having seen Jedi the night before. He described a compelling story of a heroic Lifesaver guy dueling various evil forces (I can still remember the image I produced in my mind of a cylindrical lifesaver candy man wearing a rainbow of colours battling bad guys).

So, halfway through my dad’s description of Return of the Jedi, I told him that I had heard of that movie, and that, actually, I was interested to see what would happen to the colourful hero. No further persuasion was required: I would deign to take in a film that evening.

I don’t recall whether I realized, during that first viewing that the “Lifesaver man” I’d been daydreaming of was, in fact, the lightsaber-wielding Luke Skywalker, Jedi Knight. There probably wasn’t room in my brain for such contemplations: it was already occupied by a thousand thoughts and emotions, as my new heroes and friends, Luke, Han, and Leia battled the evil yet mesmerizing villains, Darth Vader and The Emperor.

There was now a force permeating my imagination that would never go away.

I tell this candy-flavoured story of my first meeting with the greatest saga of my movie-going life not because I think it is especially unique, but because I suspect all those who love George Lucas’s galaxy far far away have their own story of complacent expectation turned to wide eyed, ‘What have we here?’ discovery.

The fact that I was lucky enough to meet Star Wars for the first time in childhood probably intensified its effect on me—as did their unprecedented offering of action figures. All huge movie franchises have toys, but the Star Wars empire sold figures of every minor character who stumbled into frame long enough to wave “Hi” to their moms. And my brother, one of my sisters, and I wanted them all. Not just for the sake of completing a collection, but because each character seemed to be a true resident of that wonderful galaxy. They weren’t just cogs in in the wheels of Jabba the Hutt’s tomb, they were the keeper of the Rancor (i.e. the guy who trained the monster who was paid, in food, to eat unwelcome visitors). That shirt-less Rancor-keeper, who cried when his drooling, building-sized creature was killed by Luke Skywalker, was an important person to us. Rancors needed someone to take care of them just like our own pets did.

Each character and location in the Star Wars galaxy existed independently of what would eventually happen to them: in our minds, they were significant people and places that housed communities and hierarchies and bureaucracies. To posses an action figure who worked on the Death Star was to have, in our Star Wars carrying case, access to that terrifying place.

My parents and relatives supported my siblings’ and my Star Wars figure obsessions with birthday and Christmas gifts. My bother and sister’s unwrapping moments were consequently just as important to me as my own. (And my other sisters joined in, too, collecting Star Wars figures, which they could then use in trade to extort their Star Wars-addicted siblings to help them with their particular household tasks.)

I am sure that every generation has their childhood-earned kinship with particular adventures and characters. (The Harry Potter generation, I imagine, feels Ron and Hermione are better companions than Han and Leia, while generation Oz probably thinks the Tinman, Lion, and Scarecrow are the best friends a person could ever have.) And so my hope here is not  to persuade anyone that Star Wars is the best adventure ever put to screen.

But let’s face it: it probably is:

You see, Star Wars isn’t just about space ships, it’s about the most textured space ships you’ve ever seen. Not just because they’re big, but because they have fascinating shapes and sounds (for instance, the iconic screech of the tie-fighter was created by sound designer Ben Burtt from an elephant roar). And George Lucas realized that not all space ships are new, and so he outfitted them with wear and tear in both their look and sound.

Nor is Star Wars just about grand CGI-generated settings; in fact, the best of the Star Wars universe was built using models. (Unfortunately, Lucas tried to outdo himself with CGI in the prequels: but, to quote Yoda, while he tried, he “did not do.”) As Lucas said of his original achievement, he created those worlds by zooming in on the parts that made up the story, and so letting the backgrounds speak for themselves without the filmmaker announcing, “Look what I have created!” The results provoke the feeling that we are guests in a galaxy of stories that are happening simultaneous to our particular viewing.

And Star Wars doesn’t just have great characters, it has more iconic characters per minute of story time than a Charles Dickens novel.

Star Wars villains aren’t just dark and deep voiced. They have a whole dark spiritual side of the force to themselves, and they’re the most deep voiced of bad guys you’ll ever wanna hear (CNN even hired Darth Vader to introduce their network). Plus they’ve got personality. The Emperor doesn’t just mock his enemies, he mimics them. And he doesn’t just have a maniacal laugh, he has a maniacal chuckle when he sees Luke starting to succumb to his taunting.

And the humour! Well, let’s just acknowledge that Jar Jar Binks is the worst character in the history of cinema (partly, I suppose, by relativity, because he is living in a saga that produced many of the best-ever characters); regardless, you can feel free to fast forward through his parts. (George Lucas, himself, acknowledged in the making of Episode I: The Phantom Menace that Jar Jar was either going to make or break the film. He was half right: although Jar Jar ruined every scene he was in, the story is still worth watching if you make sure to get pop corn during Mr. Binks’s scenes.)

And the romance in Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back isn’t just sweet, it’s entertaining and genuinely-earned. (Plus the love triangle has an accidental moment of innocent incest. Beat that, Hunger Games!)

Star Wars doesn’t just have pure-veined heroes, it has champions who could turn to the dark side (like their dads did before them); it has reluctant heroes who only rescue princesses because they can imagine a hearty reward; and other heroes who betray their friends, only to try to rescue them from the chilling results.

Star Wars doesn’t just have a good side and a dark side, it has a corpus callosum in every brain that puts its owners at risk of being pulled to the other side.

And Star Wars doesn’t just possess catch phrases (“May the force be with you,” “Search your feelings,” “I’ve got a bad feeling about this”), it has echoes of language across all six films that is operatic in its placement and repetition. (This is something Lucas acknowledges was his intention.)

And Star Wars doesn’t just have the most exciting music, it has the heart-starting scores of John Williams. Try humming the theme to Star Wars without smiling. But, equally as important, consider Williams’s melancholy yet hopeful music in Episode IV: A New Hope, as he serenades Luke Skywalker’s longing to escape his Uncle’s claustrophobia-provoking farm. Whenever I hear that somber tune, the force awakens in me.

But again, my hope here is not to argue that my Star Wars figures are more worthy than your Buck Rogers figures or your Katniss Everdeen posters, but instead just to say that there is room for one more on the Millennium Falcon if you’d like to join us.

As the sequel to the Star Wars film that first triggered my imagination comes to screen this week, I would like to invite anyone who could use a boost to join us on this quest to see what happens next.

And, if you’re afraid to get caught up in an imperial world of modern cinematic warfare, don’t worry, it’s not as overbearing as all that. It’s just a little movie about a little Livesaver-candy Man standing up to some bullies.

It’s now January 31st, and I’m on the other side of having seen this movie three times now. My thoughts on it are here.



  1. I refuse to call you a cretin! You are the second intelligent person in two days who has told me they enjoyed his work. While I can’t agree with you (for just one instance, his role was so slapstick that his stumbling around actually influenced the result of a major battle), I admire your willingness to admit your blasphemous lack of dislike amidst such universal contempt. Moreover, many people and critics used Jar Jar’s, let’s say, cinematically controversial character as an excuse to dismiss The Phantom Menace entirely. So your lack of hate helps us to avoid such a dark side. 🙂

  2. Heh heh cute! Maybe Luke was originally supposed to be a “lifesaver” but a typo in the script forced a whole genre change. Poor candies!

  3. Good point, Sorrel. The makers of Lifesaver may be forever regretful of the product-placement deal they lost out on due to a slip of the finger.

  4. Hey man, very cool to read a little bit about your childhood experiences. I remember your floors being absolutely covered in Star Wars figurines when we’d come to visit. The Duncan house especially sticks with me as being hard to walk for the fallen aliens. Now all I can think is, ‘Gosh, what would they be worth today if only you hadn’t taken them out of their original packaging!’ 😉
    Me, I missed the whole childhood Star Wars experience, so don’t carry the same flaming torch for its universe as you do (I did read a lot of OZ books though, funnily enough). But regardless, I dig your writing style. Very relatable. And brings your voice to mind quite nicely. Cheers

  5. Thanks Aram! Ah, yes, those Duncan years were certainly leaders in provoking our tales of “fallen aliens.”

    Thanks your reading and for your kind thoughts! Here’s hoping you get a new Oz movie soon to provoke your own nostalgic ponderings.

  6. Aye, well. I can’t say my Oz fascination has survived adulthood as Star Wars has done you. But still, I’m forever thankful how that series of books did expand my mind and imagination during my formative years 🙂

    In any case, writing you again on here as don’t know how else to reach you, and it seems ‘Congratulations!’ are in order. Based on a recent FB post by your brother, rumour has it a married man you’ve become(ripped subscription in the trash notwithstanding!)

    Welcome to the land of husband, my friend! ‘Tis a grand place to be 🙂

  7. Thanks Aram!

    Yeah, even childhood literature doesn’t continue to fascinate us into adulthood, I say it still gets some credit for that which does.

    Thanks for the congrats! Life is indeed grand with a teammate who’s stuck with me. 😉

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