Wil Wheaton was called into a studio today for an outrageously long costume fitting...so this is a repeat column...

Last weekend, Cinemax ran a constantly-repeating marathon of the entire Star Wars series, beginning with Phantom Menace and ending with Return of the Jedi. I watched four of the six movies in their entirety (sorry, but there is no fucking way I will ever sit through Phantom Menace one more time. Fool me once, you can't get fooled again, y'all) but I did my best to watch Attack of the Clones, before giving up about 30 minutes in and letting it run in the background while I played PLO/8 at Pokerstars.

I gave Revenge of the Sith more of my attention, though, because I'd never seen it before, and my nerd friends all agreed that it wasn't as horrible as the other two. (Uh, if the best thing you can say about a movie is that it doesn't suck as much as another movie, that's sort of a problem, isn't it?) After watching the entire thing—which was about 30 minutes too long—I can agree with them. It's not as bad as the prior two, but it doesn't rise to the level of the original Star Wars, and isn't even close to Empire Strikes Back.

After about eleven hours of Star Wars movies, though, I wondered: why exactly is the Star Wars trilogy such a big deal to some of us, even though it's clearly flawed, and ends with a bunch of muppets singing around the campfire? Why do so many of us love it so much? Why did so many of us take it as a personal affront when the new movies and re-releases didn't meet our expectations? Why did most of us go back twice after Phantom Menace, like we were in a dysfunctional relationship, hoping that if we just worked a little harder, we'd find a pony?

To me, and I suspect to many other people in my generation, Star Wars was more than just another movie; it was a cultural phenomenon that carried us through elementary school and primed us for Voltron, He-Man, GI Joe, and all the other action figure-oriented entertainment of our youth. While our parents played Cowboys and Indians, we played Star Wars (and Batman and Star Trek, but mostly Star Wars) on the playground, and in the park, and on the floors of our parents' kitchens. Every flashlight or broomstick we saw was a potential lightsaber, and we dreamed of someday using the Force for real.

We love Star Wars because, when viewed from our complicated adult lives through the lens of childhood nostalgia, we see a simpler, happier time, and recall this phenomenon that was an integral part of our lives. Remember what it was like to see the Death Star blow up the first time? Remember how you just couldn't believe it that they froze Han Solo? If you were young enough at the time, will you admit that you thought the Ewoks were actually kind of funny and cool? (I will.) And how much did you run around the woods near your house, pretending to be on a speeder bike? See, it's more than a movie; it's culture.

And that is why the prequels, especially Episode I, are such a kick in the balls to us. To be fair, it's pretty impossible for George Lucas to create something with Phantom Menace that matches up to the idealized version we all created in our minds, but releasing a movie that felt like an excuse to sell ILM's new toys to studios, and sell actual toys to kids was not a good place to start.

My brother and I sat in line for 18 hours for that movie (it's not the several days that the real Star Wars nerds put in, but everything is relative, and 18 hours on the concrete in Burbank was a significant commitment for us.) To maximize our geekiness, we played Magic: The Gathering for most of the time we waited, and I am not ashamed to admit that I got goosebumps and a little misty when the lights dimmed in the theater, and that iconic music started. It was all downhill from there: "My name is Anakin, and I'm a person!" and "Yeah, the Force? Well, it's not as much a mystical energy that runs through the universe as it is a virus that's carried around by nanites in your blood. Hey, Star Wars fans? Fuck you! I got your money! Ha! Ha! Ha!" And don't even get me started on Jar-Jar Binks. By the time the film was over, I wasn't just disappointed, I was mad. No, I wasn't mad, I was furious, and I didn't bother to watch Episodes II and III until they were on cable this weekend, and even then I ignored most of Episode II, lest my fury rise again.

See, can you imagine having this sort of reaction to anything else? I thought it was lame that Molly Ringwald went with the Andrew McCarthy in Pretty in Pink but it didn't make me mad. I thought Ghostbusters 2 was pretty stupid, but I didn't want to punch a door when I walked out of the theater. Star Wars wasn't just a movie, it was personal.

But now that some time has passed, I can take a longer view and ask: Did Lucas really betray us with the new movies? Well, I don't know if it's fair to say that he did, because I don't think he ever cared about us as much as we cared about them. It's obvious now, especially after watching all of them and seeing what Lucas does when he's left entirely to his own devices, that the movies are just excuses to show off his special effects and sell toys.

But ultimately, all of that matters as much as we allow it to. Yes, the new movies suck out loud and should be dumped into the Sarlacc pit, but we'll always have the original trilogy, and its halcyon memories.

Some of us even have our action figures, so we can recreate that famous scene in Mos Eisley where Han shoots first.

Wil Wheaton picks up all his power converters at Toshi Station.

Why not, right? He's 6-and-0 at this point. Critics and fans alike have championed his recent return to form, showcasing a man clearly at the peak of his powers. So keenly in touch with the needs and wants of the modern day sci-fi audience. How he manages to keep his finger on the pulse of an entire nation at the same time is beyond me.

Why, if he wanted, I bet he could predict what I'd like for dinner. A story about hokey robots and alien politics? Oh no, George. That's not even a food.

I know the "dumping a bucket of sarcasm on something," approach can get old but I couldn't think of any other way to get started. I mean, really, who's optimistic about this? Anyone? Yes, you, waving wildly in front, when did you discover you liked shit?

Lucas is the owner of the worst comeback this side of Muhammad Ali getting bludgeoned by Larry Holmes back in 1980. And at least Ali had the sense to quit on his stool.

Yes, that's totally the part that requires warning, not the part where the last three motion pictures were completely unwatchable and George Lucas is incapable of writing dialog. It should read, be forewarned: these movies are being created by the guy who wrote Phantom Menace.

Be forewarned: this show is penned by the guy who created a "future diner" run by a fat alien, diner owner-cliche in a dirty T-shirt complete with salt and pepper on the table.

Be forewarned: dialog similar to "I don't care what galaxy you're from, that's gotta hurt!" may appear in this show.

Be forewarned: Jar Jar's dad created this show.

No, this is huge news for amnesia-sufferers and the tasteless. This is huge news for people missing from the planet between '99 and '05, and the recently deaf. "Have repeated hammer blows rendered you unable to remember anything of the last three films? Wonderful! Have I got a show for you."

Releasing three films based largely on political maneuverings, pseudo-science and flavorless characters was a "chance." And NO ONE is expecting the "familiar mythology." What's left of the once massive fanbase expects nothing but more bullshit. Luke? Anakin? The only characters that people gave a shit about were Han Solo and Darth Vader. Neither of whom were in the prequels.

Writers? Finally, a possible bright light in this dank morass. Is this the sign of a brash, young Jedi emerging to battle back the dark forces of cutesiness and on-the-nose dialog? Oh wait, aren't Jedis just guys filled with midichlorians or something? Nevermind, then.

Huh? I guess even out of touch billionaires like to play at being under-dog outsiders railing against the system.



TheCoolerKing is exhausted from drinking, shooting claybirds and visiting haunted houses.

If you thought that Jar-Jar Binks was the creative low point in the Star Wars megafranchise, than you thought wrong, Obi-Wan. That dubious title would have to belong to The Star Wars Holiday Special a painfully hacked together hybrid of the first Star Wars film (the good first one), and vaudevillian pile of mid 1970's variety show cheese.


fruit of Chewbacca's furry loins

The two hour CBS broadcast was aired only once on Friday November 17th, 1978. Primarily taking place on Chewbacca's home world of Kashyyyk during the celebration of "Life Day" where we meet Chewbacca's deformed and sweetly stupid family. All of a sudden the Ewoks won't seem that bad. Princess Leia horns in on the act and sings during the painful Life Day ceremony, and Harrison Ford looks like he'd rather be at the dentist's.


Also Starring Art Carney!

If, during the viewing of any of these clips you don't think to yourself "Hey, I think I really might be going insane"... then you clearly weren't paying enough attention. Focus. Watch. Think about it: The OG Star Wars Characters, then add Harvey Korman, Diahnn Caroll, with music by The Jefferson Starship. Christ, I mean Bea Arthur is in this Bantha Fodder...


Dihann Caroll!!

George Lucas initially favored the idea, but only had slight involvement in the project due to production of The Empire Strikes Back. He killed any attempt at re-airing it or making it available for sale on any format. Why, we can only guess.


...and The Jefferson Starship!!!

The Nerdinista are quick to note that the SWHS was the first time the character of bounty hunter (and winner of intergalactic coolest helmet award) Boba Fett had appeared. Beside that small credit, the response to the special historically has been rough. The SWHS was called "the worst two hours of television ever" by David Hofstede, author of What Were They Thinking?: The 100 Dumbest Events in Television History, which awarded the position of #1 to The Star Wars Holiday Special.


this is one of a few YouTube clips available: Boba Fett Cartoon, Princess Leia Sings, Cantina Scene.

Last weekend, Cinemax ran a constantly-repeating marathon of the entire Star Wars series, beginning with Phantom Menace and ending with Return of the Jedi. I watched four of the six movies in their entirety (sorry, but there is no fucking way I will ever sit through Phantom Menace one more time. Fool me once, you can't get fooled again, y'all) but I did my best to watch Attack of the Clones, before giving up about 30 minutes in and letting it run in the background while I played PLO/8 at Pokerstars.

I gave Revenge of the Sith more of my attention, though, because I'd never seen it before, and my nerd friends all agreed that it wasn't as horrible as the other two. (Uh, if the best thing you can say about a movie is that it doesn't suck as much as another movie, that's sort of a problem, isn't it?) After watching the entire thing—which was about 30 minutes too long—I can agree with them. It's not as bad as the prior two, but it doesn't rise to the level of the original Star Wars, and isn't even close to Empire Strikes Back.

After about eleven hours of Star Wars movies, though, I wondered: why exactly is the Star Wars trilogy such a big deal to some of us, even though it's clearly flawed, and ends with a bunch of muppets singing around the campfire? Why do so many of us love it so much? Why did so many of us take it as a personal affront when the new movies and re-releases didn't meet our expectations? Why did most of us go back twice after Phantom Menace, like we were in a dysfunctional relationship, hoping that if we just worked a little harder, we'd find a pony?

To me, and I suspect to many other people in my generation, Star Wars was more than just another movie; it was a cultural phenomenon that carried us through elementary school and primed us for Voltron, He-Man, GI Joe, and all the other action figure-oriented entertainment of our youth. While our parents played Cowboys and Indians, we played Star Wars (and Batman and Star Trek, but mostly Star Wars) on the playground, and in the park, and on the floors of our parents' kitchens. Every flashlight or broomstick we saw was a potential lightsaber, and we dreamed of someday using the Force for real.

We love Star Wars because, when viewed from our complicated adult lives through the lens of childhood nostalgia, we see a simpler, happier time, and recall this phenomenon that was an integral part of our lives. Remember what it was like to see the Death Star blow up the first time? Remember how you just couldn't believe it that they froze Han Solo? If you were young enough at the time, will you admit that you thought the Ewoks were actually kind of funny and cool? (I will.) And how much did you run around the woods near your house, pretending to be on a speeder bike? See, it's more than a movie; it's culture.

And that is why the prequels, especially Episode I, are such a kick in the balls to us. To be fair, it's pretty impossible for George Lucas to create something with Phantom Menace that matches up to the idealized version we all created in our minds, but releasing a movie that felt like an excuse to sell ILM's new toys to studios, and sell actual toys to kids was not a good place to start.

My brother and I sat in line for 18 hours for that movie (it's not the several days that the real Star Wars nerds put in, but everything is relative, and 18 hours on the concrete in Burbank was a significant commitment for us.) To maximize our geekiness, we played Magic: The Gathering for most of the time we waited, and I am not ashamed to admit that I got goosebumps and a little misty when the lights dimmed in the theater, and that iconic music started. It was all downhill from there: "My name is Anakin, and I'm a person!" and "Yeah, the Force? Well, it's not as much a mystical energy that runs through the universe as it is a virus that's carried around by nanites in your blood. Hey, Star Wars fans? Fuck you! I got your money! Ha! Ha! Ha!" And don't even get me started on Jar-Jar Binks. By the time the film was over, I wasn't just disappointed, I was mad. No, I wasn't mad, I was furious, and I didn't bother to watch Episodes II and III until they were on cable this weekend, and even then I ignored most of Episode II, lest my fury rise again.

See, can you imagine having this sort of reaction to anything else? I thought it was lame that Molly Ringwald went with the Andrew McCarthy in Pretty in Pink but it didn't make me mad. I thought Ghostbusters 2 was pretty stupid, but I didn't want to punch a door when I walked out of the theater. Star Wars wasn't just a movie, it was personal.

But now that some time has passed, I can take a longer view and ask: Did Lucas really betray us with the new movies? Well, I don't know if it's fair to say that he did, because I don't think he ever cared about us as much as we cared about them. It's obvious now, especially after watching all of them and seeing what Lucas does when he's left entirely to his own devices, that the movies are just excuses to show off his special effects and sell toys.

But ultimately, all of that matters as much as we allow it to. Yes, the new movies suck out loud and should be dumped into the Sarlacc pit, but we'll always have the original trilogy, and its halcyon memories.

Some of us even have our action figures, so we can recreate that famous scene in Mos Eisley where Han shoots first.

Wil Wheaton picks up all his power converters at Toshi Station.

According to a story in Variety, George Lucas, Executive Producer of Howard the Duck and Willow, and creator of Jar-Jar Binks and the Midichlorians, is calling it quits, and trading the film business for television.

Lucas said that the secret to success is "quantity." Surprising nobody who has seen Star Wars Episodes I-III, Lucas made no mention of "quality."

All betrayed-geek snark aside, I actually agree with Lucas' reasoning on expensive, huge studio films versus smaller, less-expensive films.

Firefly fans may understand the reasoning. How many episodes of the series could have been made and distributed via DVD or online (if no network was interested) for the cost of Serenity?

Lucas is not leaving the huge movies behind just yet, though. Indiana Jones IV is in pre-produciton, and he has a project or two that he's had in development for over a decade that he wants to put out.

He also has some changes in mind for special editions of his existing movies: The Nazis in Raiders of the Lost Ark will be replaced with Care Bears, and Willow will be turned into one 90 minute shot of a walkie talkie. The updated version of Willow is expected to be more enjoyable than its box office counterpart.

(via Slashdot, where one astute commenter observes that Lucas got out of movies three films too late.)