I've been engaged in an ongoing battle with my Star Wars fandom for the better part of a year, and before that, when Harry Plinkett helped me figure out why The Phantom Menace was so, so terrible.
(Quick side story--my friend Dave, whose wife Rachel was in The Odd Couple with me and who are two of our favorite people to hang out with because they laugh easily, explained Plinkett's review to his eight year old daughter by saying she could watch it when "she (is) older and George Lucas was dead.")
And while I recently decided that Back to the Future is the superior trilogy, I still get a little wistful for my Star Wars geekdom. I want to make an Endor terrarium or Wookie Cookies.
Not anymore.
Not with the release of the Star Wars game for Kinect. Especially not the part where Han Solo Dances. You see, the last time I checked, Han Solo wasn't on Dancing With The C-List Actors You Hate. (I don't mean David Arquette when I say this--everyone knows he's a triple Z-list actor who was a has-been by Arizona's definition of when life begins). And worse, they rewrote awful pop songs so that they had Star Wars lyrics. My sister Hilary did that when she was eight. Her rendition of "Obi Wan Kenobi" (to the tune of Merle Haggard's "Okie from Muskogee") still makes me laugh when I think about it, but you don't see me putting it up as a dance remix.
A lot of people my age are prequel defenders. They sit there and they try to tell me that George Lucas would never do anything to hurt them. They insist that he wrote them as one big mythology and that he knows what he's doing. And yet here we all are, dancing like goons in front of our TV to "Hologram Girl" (sung to Gwen Steffani's abomination "Hollaback Girl"). And because we are perpetual children fed fat on irony and quirk, believing that our helicopter parents will take care of everything while outwardly voicing that we don't trust the government or our teachers or anyone else. Lucas is just another extension of the helicopter parent, assuring us that all is well, goodnight. It would never occur to us to believe that the childhood he created for us was made solely out of greed. The mean nasty black president is out to take our guns and force us to have partial abortions performed by Muslim doctors, but George Lucas selling us out? Never.
New flash: George Lucas is a dick. If this doesn't prove that he is money-grubbing clown shoes, I don't know what will. Look, I don't take Star Wars as some sort of great generational mythology. It was a good space movie, and Han Solo was my first love . . . but I take it with the seriousness I take any story--I expect it to be told in an even tone. There is nothing in Han Solo's character than indicates he would bust a move. Lando, maybe, but not Han freakin' solo. Leave the dance routine to Oola.
So Star Wars is sort of dead to me now. I can't be that fan who thinks that this is cool and will happily eat whatever shit George Lucas shoves into my face. At least the Back to the Future game stayed within the relative realm of the story.
(Quick side story--my friend Dave, whose wife Rachel was in The Odd Couple with me and who are two of our favorite people to hang out with because they laugh easily, explained Plinkett's review to his eight year old daughter by saying she could watch it when "she (is) older and George Lucas was dead.")
And while I recently decided that Back to the Future is the superior trilogy, I still get a little wistful for my Star Wars geekdom. I want to make an Endor terrarium or Wookie Cookies.
Not anymore.
Not with the release of the Star Wars game for Kinect. Especially not the part where Han Solo Dances. You see, the last time I checked, Han Solo wasn't on Dancing With The C-List Actors You Hate. (I don't mean David Arquette when I say this--everyone knows he's a triple Z-list actor who was a has-been by Arizona's definition of when life begins). And worse, they rewrote awful pop songs so that they had Star Wars lyrics. My sister Hilary did that when she was eight. Her rendition of "Obi Wan Kenobi" (to the tune of Merle Haggard's "Okie from Muskogee") still makes me laugh when I think about it, but you don't see me putting it up as a dance remix.
A lot of people my age are prequel defenders. They sit there and they try to tell me that George Lucas would never do anything to hurt them. They insist that he wrote them as one big mythology and that he knows what he's doing. And yet here we all are, dancing like goons in front of our TV to "Hologram Girl" (sung to Gwen Steffani's abomination "Hollaback Girl"). And because we are perpetual children fed fat on irony and quirk, believing that our helicopter parents will take care of everything while outwardly voicing that we don't trust the government or our teachers or anyone else. Lucas is just another extension of the helicopter parent, assuring us that all is well, goodnight. It would never occur to us to believe that the childhood he created for us was made solely out of greed. The mean nasty black president is out to take our guns and force us to have partial abortions performed by Muslim doctors, but George Lucas selling us out? Never.
New flash: George Lucas is a dick. If this doesn't prove that he is money-grubbing clown shoes, I don't know what will. Look, I don't take Star Wars as some sort of great generational mythology. It was a good space movie, and Han Solo was my first love . . . but I take it with the seriousness I take any story--I expect it to be told in an even tone. There is nothing in Han Solo's character than indicates he would bust a move. Lando, maybe, but not Han freakin' solo. Leave the dance routine to Oola.
So Star Wars is sort of dead to me now. I can't be that fan who thinks that this is cool and will happily eat whatever shit George Lucas shoves into my face. At least the Back to the Future game stayed within the relative realm of the story.
No comments:
Post a Comment