Movie Review: Star Wars, Episode Whatever, Revenge of the Sith

I really wanted to like this movie, I really did. I felt my heart leap when I was standing on line on the cold Memorial Day morning--it felt so much like lining up for Disneyland before the sun rose. I found myself talking fast and watching the teen behind the counter at the ticket booth's every move. 'Did she fill her drawer?' and 'Is she opening the window?' Zipped in and out of my head. Such attention is unbefitting someone who meditates daily. I was ready for some light sabre action!

I tell you this, fair reader, so you know that you won't post hate notes here on my blog.

But I gotta say something.

As fear racks my body, I have to say I didn't really like this movie.

Yes, I'm hesistant to give a full "I HATED THIS CRAP" for there are redeeming qualities. But I don't want to waste your time. There are those people who it wouldn't matter what the critics said, they are going to like this movie. This movie was made for them. Of course, they already knew what happened in this movie, probably been chatting it up since the invention of the blogosphere, but it doesn't matter.

But I'm hurt by what Lucas has done on the big screen. When he launched himself from college, he created movies like a true autuer. He made American Graffiti. He relished his independence. His heart for creativity was right up there on the screen--he didn't care if he made money on it or not. A true indie, as they were starting up, he made the movies he wanted to see, audiences be damned.

That was then.

But Lucas changed, like Mr. Hyde. The movies' sequels became more and more popular. He earned enough to buy a small nation. Forays didn't come easily to him. One, the Indiana Jones titles, did very well (and IMHO, were better throwbacks to old Hollywood), but he had Spielberg on his side. When he took the titles over himself--like the television series--it tanked.

Spielberg, a classmate of Lucas, grew up and matured in his filmmaking. He became more and more auteur. Sure, he too had the blockbusters, but you can see, especially after Schlinder's List, he created exceptional pieces not created for the masses. Look at Catch Me If You Can and the Terminal.

But what happened to Lucas? You can see it in this movie. Nothing. Why go back to the first three titles? To explore more fully the story line? For closure? I doubt it. It's becasue the fans were banging at his door and maybe he had some kids to put through college.

There was no heart in this movie. It's all technical.

The movie fails on several counts. The writing is not unlike politics, where there's interesting stuff going on, but nothing's actually being spoken. Each actor speaks in a monotone except for Anakin Skywalker--he's yelling in monotone. Humor is absent. The storyline was established in 1977 and hasn't changed. I learned that Tom Stoppard was called in to help with the writing. I don't think he was let in enough. I think I'd heard every single line prior in another Star Wars movie. Could become a drinking game, when the DVD comes out. Stoppard's presense can be felt having an effect on the plot. A small opening gambit is delightful and a strong opener. But as soon as the normal storyline takes effect, nothing more happens. Damn! I guess being an author myself, this hits me on a level few can relate to.

But again, it doesn't matter what I say, the fans will love it, regardless.

The writing, however has a profound impact on the title, unfortunately. It goes on and on, but never really goes any place new or exciting. For exampel, Padme (stuck the entire movie looking pretty and staring off into space...another fault of Lucas...he has yet to write stronger women other then to make them Senators or Princesses) goes to her love, Anakin, and they talk about the baby. And then she yells, "you've changed."

Huh?

My thought? No. He hasn't. He's been a prick for the last two movies. You just noticed? Was it your being preggers? The storyline didn't have him changed outside of his clothing! Oh wait, those were the same too!

And this is just a detail. The rest of the movie was like that.

I almost want to see it again, just to make sure I didn't like it. It just doesn't seem right.

There are some very good things happening too. I mentioned it earlier. LIke the visuals. My gosh. If ever there was a defintion of state-of-the-art, this is it. Frankly, maybe the reason I didn't get into the picture was because I was drawn beyond their faces to the images floating around them. I wanted to see the flying cars, the Wookie ships, not the talking heads. So maybe I missed some. Maybe if it were written better, it would have held my interest on the human level.

Another strong point is something the average critic wouldn't have noticed but is something I love. There are some cool ass martial arts going on here. Grant you, they are poorly filmed (remember the special effects? They took presidence over watching some serious fights); they zoom in and out so we can't see clearly what is going on. But what we do see, yo baby! I've seen a buttload of Hong Kong movies. It's obvious he grabbed someone from there to create these numbers. That I did like.

And I like the CG characters. Why couldn't Anakin become Grevious, instead of Darth? He was, by far, more interesting. And Yoda? He was magnetic, for he had some major decisions to come across. But I don't think this was the point of Lucas, was it? For me to admire the villians and green dude?

If I were to give this pile of ins-n-outs a grade, it would be a C. You have the good and the bad. If Lucas was a new filmmaker, it might be higher. But he should have known better. And now you do to.

Journal: Wrapping Paper

*) Important safety tip. I journal everyday in a standard, spiral bound notebook. I've been doing it for years, even when I travel. But I think this summer, I'll try something different. I think I'm going to keep a majority of it here, online. I have a little book of ideas to journal about. I'm going to use it as a warmup to writing other items, some I'll publish here (like critiques) and some I'll keep to myself. You've been warned.

I have to admit, I can't wrap gifts. I can't. I've got two degrees, enough credits for a probable third and yet...I can't wrap gifts. And it's not for lack of trying. I've been taught by the best of them. Mrs. Material, aka MotherUnitPrime, buys gifts beyond the need to. She'll give gifts to people I didn't even know I was related too. Heck, I think she once boasted that she gave out 42 gifts one holiday. Of course, I only got one out of the deal--I'm only her second born. And like Prince Harry, I would have to create a ruckus if I wanted more.

But I digress.

I can't wrap gifts. You know those freegin girlie gift bags? The world felt my pain and invented those buggers for me. If I wrap it, it's duct tape city, baby. My partner? He can wrap a gift so well, you don't want to open it. YOu want to set it aside and invite people over to stare at it. YOu take photos. You call relatives and find a use for the camera on the cell phone. You forget why you were giving gifts.

In other words, the pressure is on. So I give better gifts. It lessens the pain. And I have my partner wrap the stuff.

It's not the only thing that causes undue stress in my life, but it's a quirk that I have to mention here on SquirrelVision. I also can't pack the bags at the end of the conveyer belt at the super market.

Seriously.

I would tip the kid if I got paid more, no matter how bad his acne is. But when I arrive at the lane on Thursday nights, I breathe a sigh of relief that I have my hubbie with me. He used to do it when he was younger. But in those days of singledom? I either had to walk through the mall to have the cheerleaders at their little booth wrap, like 20 items for Christmas; and if I shopped at Cub Foods, I would invent diseases of the fingers and palms (I got it caught in the car door) to have them bag for me.

Only once did I bag with aplomb. When "Ace" the star basketball player from high school was my cashier at a Cub Foods in Denver. I had such a crush on him. He had a free ride to any college of his choice and if he took off his shirt, any guy or girl. But seeing him as a cashier helped my bruised ego. I smirked, and watched him turn back to the next schmo in line. And I started packing my paper bag, letting my mind wander that I might have risen above my torrid high school years.

So there you have it folks. My torture, my pain, right out there where all can see.

I can't wrap or pack. Go figure.