In hopes of offsetting the effects of the oft-cited "Dartmouth bubble," I took the time yesterday morning to peruse CNN's website after my first class. Sorry, that was a lie; I was on the website because I was looking for a topic for this column. In the process of combing the headlines for news of something stupid that Iran has done (recall the subject matter of 50 percent of my columns), I came across a subject far more distressing.
According to the entertainment section of cnn.com, George Lucas intends to make another attempt at a Star Wars spin-off. This time, kids, it's going to be a television show. I cringed visibly upon reading the headline. I might have even groaned aloud -- in the library to boot. Students were momentarily distracted from their studies. Immediately, I recalled the unmitigated disaster -- better yet, the series of unmitigated disasters -- otherwise known as the prequels: Movies that did everything imaginable to suck every last drop of joy and class out of something I grew up with and hold very close to the ol' ticker.
From the age of 9 to around 13, Star Wars was for me an obsession that bordered at times on a religious experience. We're not talking Ninja Turtles religious here, but religious nonetheless. Lying somewhere in a crate in my basement are the toys, books and Halloween costumes to prove it. Okay, okay, they're all still in my closet. Just kidding, but seriously; what I'm trying to get across here is that Star Wars was more than just a movie to me -- it was a piece of my youth. Seeing it "improved" upon, tampered with or molested in any way cuts me to the core.
So why does it have to be the creator who does all the molesting? Why has George Lucas, the man whose skill and creativity spawned this truly monumental achievement in American cinema, gone to such great lengths to torment me? Why must it be like pulling teeth (anesthesia not included) to find a DVD copy of the original trilogy with zero modifications performed? I suppose it is always possible that he didn't read a similar op-ed I wrote for this very same publication when I was a sophomore, lamenting the loss of classic movies to tampering by their own directors. If someone could get him a copy of either of these articles I'll owe you a case of beer, or something.
I think I know what the problem is. Simply put, George Lucas is a whore. Clearly, there is nothing that he won't do to his supposedly beloved creation for a quick buck. Did we really need the prequels? What did they add? Sure, George Lucas can make really cool special effects if he wants to; big deal. Did anyone really sit down afterwards, scratch their head and say with relief, "so that's how it all happened?" If you did, shut up. Today's not your day. Does Star Wars really need a new TV show expounding on some heretofore unrevealed portion of the story? It's not as if Lucas needs the money. After all, in a decision that 20th Century Fox has probably regretted since 1977, the merchandising rights to the series were sold to Lucas for a pittance on account of the expectations of nearly everyone involved in its production that the film would be an utter failure. George Lucas has probably made more money than you or I will ever see in our lifetimes. And still, he cannot simply let his art sit. Blue eyeliner, fishnet stockings and five-inch pumps would complement his behavior nicely.
George Lucas, I'm talking to you, even if, like most people, you don't read The Dartmouth. Leave my childhood alone. What you are doing ruins the experience of watching the Star Wars movies for millions of fans worldwide, with the exception of the truly geeky ones, who should be ignored in any case. I'm talking about the two hefty thirty-somethings who sat in front of me during "Attack of the Clones" and spent the duration of the presentation engaged in a spirited exchange on the intricacies of Dungeons and Dragons. They would probably go bananas over this new TV show of yours.
For the rest of us, try to be an adult for a brief moment and exercise a little of what is known as self control. If this seems too difficult, I offer up an anecdote that may help. One time when I was little I had a cut. That cut developed a scab, as cuts are wont to do. As a curious three-year-old I decided to pick at said scab. As a result, my mother made me wear a pair of socks on my hands to condition me not to do such things. I no longer pick at scabs. If Star Wars has become that "scab" that you cannot stop "picking," then perhaps someone should give you a pair of metaphorical sock-gloves and take out a restraining order preventing you from coming within 100 yards of Star War related material. What remains of my youth would certainly appreciate such a gesture.
