Taking a break from the playoffs the other day, when the Bengals were clearly giving up, I happened upon Empire Strikes Back on Spike. A few minutes in, and I all but forgot about football (the game I was really interested in was up next anyway). What is it about the Star Wars trilogy, Empire in particular, that is so addicting?
The answer? It has literally everything. Action, story, legacy, tradition, snow yetties, and of course, one of the greatest love stories to ever make women take a second look at that scoundrel/best friend in their life.
I'll admit, I'm a sap for a good story, and I feel like I'm dissecting a game from a sports analyst's perspective (too much SportsCenter and the NFL playoffs are to blame). But here it goes.
Everyone loves an underdog. And let's face it, the Rebels are underdogs. The bad guys have the Death Star (and later the rebuilt, finished-and-operational-but-no-one-knows-that-yet, Death Star 2.0), a seemingly endless supply of guys in white plastic tights and helmets, and of course, Vader and the Emperor.
The Rebels have a bunch of extras in orange jumpsuits, a scrawny guy getting tutored by a green muppet, and a rogue scoundrel and his Wookie. Their edge? They have the only woman in the entire damn movie, who knows how to shoot, impersonate a bounty hunter, and can verbally spar with the best of them. And she looks fantastic in a gold bikini.
It's a solid film, clearly. But as a classic love story? Well, it depends on your perspective.
I first saw Empire Strikes Back when I was a child. I remember sitting at the long dining room table in my Aunt Cath's house, where it always smelled like cats and cigarettes, and watching with fascination as Han Solo and Princess Leia performed verbal somersaults around each other. At the time, I thought he was funny. First love, it has to make you laugh. The entire trilogy was played over the course of whatever holiday was being celebrated (I vaguely remember a turkey, so I'm thinking Thanksgiving), but we had turned on the tv at the end of Star Wars, and we left when the Ewoks were helping with the raid to take down the Death Star shield. So I really saw Empire, and that was what I was hooked on.
It was fascinating to see the sets, hear the explosions, the woon-onnng of the light sabers- the battle cries and fight scenes were to be recreated on couches and with sticks for years to come. Even at this young stage, I recognized there was a story there, with a fight for something good, and the bad guys trying to take it away. I could see the desperation to hold onto hope, even in the midst of death and destruction, and that your friends are always there for you (even when they seem to double cross you- thanks, Lando- there's usually more to the story). I thought (and still do) that siblings have a weird telepathy where they know when the other one is in trouble, and where (even if they're hanging upside down with their arm chopped off- Nicole, fortunately, we've never had to worry about this).
Over the years, I would see the film countless other times with family, babysitters, friends- always on a little television, sitting on a couch, doing other things and drifting in and out of the story. It wasn't until I was seventeen that I GOT it. When George Lucas decided to re-release the Star Wars trilogy with new special effects (the better to shoot in self defense with, my dear), and I got to see the film as it was originally intended, on the big screen, during my senior year of high school. Hormone driven, angsty, lovelorn teenage-hood added a whole new layer to the story.
Sitting in a darkened theatre on Route 4, attending with the biggest bunch of wonderful geeks a girl could ask for, the excitement in the theatre was palpable. I'd seen Star Wars the month before, and it had been good- nothing compares to the giant letters rolling across the forty foot screen for the first time.
But Empire was the one I waited forever for without even realizing it.
The film has a way of overwhelming you, from the start, and the Han/Leia love story was suddenly front and center. Where I had once just seen witty banter, I saw flirting. When she falls into his lap, and they stop for a second, him holding her, I no longer just saw her struggle to get up- I saw her STRUGGLE to get up, not because she fell, but because you could tell she wanted to stay there, in his arms. Where I once saw friendship, I saw something more. I recognized the tug of holding out hope for true love, even when it's frozen in carbonite.
I fell in love. In a finger grazing instant, as he takes her hand, I was done. The line: "You need more scoundrels in your life," and then that kiss. THAT kiss. The one where the world stops and spins, and you have to catch your breath because you don't remember what words are (and then walk out of the room because some droid walks in). Sure, she needs more scoundrels in her life. We all do, if they look like Harrison Ford, circa 1980, and give that same knowing look that makes our knees go weak.
And of course, the ultimate "I know" cliffhanger, after he tells Chewie "You have to take care of the princess." It's right up there with Casablanca, Rick saying "we'll always have Paris" and that parting look when Ilsa walks away (she's an idiot, he's a bigger idiot).
No movie since has had that kind of effect- that kind of true love, you can always go back to it, can't really escape it. There's Buttercup & Wesley, Harry & Sally, Rick & Ilsa- but Han and Leia are the first. And every time I see it, I'm 17 again, in that theatre, on a chilly night in February, with the possibility and the endless future stretched out before me. And it doesn't seem like it's that long time ago, in a galaxy too far, far away...
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