The Phantom Snoozer

In literature classes, you’ve probably heard the Latin phrase, in media res, which means, in the middle of things. Novels, stories, and dramas, we’re taught, began in the middle of things, meaning that crucial things happened before the story’s start and the reader is entering in an in-process, unresolved state. Often, these things are alluded to during the course of the story, and they can be essential in advancing story plot and developing character and creating the illusion that the reader has entered upon a fully realized world.

In writing, it’s easy to fall into the trap of starting a story before it should start. I’ve written longer stories where I’ve realized the story doesn’t truly start until page five, and the first four pages can be, painfully, cut out. Maybe your antihero’s tale needs to start when the cops are chasing him after the bank robbery, not the day before when he’s planning it. Perhaps your protagonist’s story starts at his mother’s funeral, not when she was diagnosed with cancer six months before.

Switching to pop culture, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace is, to me, a good example of something where the beginning of the story needs cutting. While Qui-Gon Jinn and Darth Maul were cool characters, I could care less about Anakin Skywalker at 9 years old. It doesn’t help that the Jedi as characters are boring. Qui-Gon is interesting because he’s a rebel Jedi and all hideous looking evil guys holding glowing swords are inherently interesting, but Yoda, Mace Windu, and Obi-Wan Kenobi (at this point) are sleep inducers.

Anyway, Anakin when he’s older is interesting because he’s the chosen one and he’s struggling with the conflict of good and evil. But since Anakin is, in essence, what all six movies are about, he needs to be interesting from the get go in Episode I. Forget all this 9 year old child’s play and fast forward him to his late teen years.

Lucas has some unconventional built-in back story going into these prequel movies—the future. We know what becomes of Anakin, Obi-Wan, and the Jedis and galaxy itself. But the linear storyline needs something more. Sure, there are plenty of things that have already happened, but are any of them critical? The first film in 1977 was so successful and mesmerizing largely because of it starting firmly in media res. The opening words show “Episode IV,” which instantly puts you there, right where you need to be.

How I Used to Ponder Stars

Every December ten of us gather to watch the Star Wars Holiday Special, drink eggnog, ridicule cult film dreck. Jack's bootleg, flea market purchased tape has vintage commercials: No Nonsense pantyhose, The Wiz in theaters, sitcom Alice Sundays on CBS. The movie has baby Wookiee Lumpy, Jefferson Starship singing “Light the Sky on Fire,” Art Carney and Bea Arthur sleepwalking along with the original film cast. It sucks—even Lucas disavows it. Watching grainy, static-lined footage from 1978 can be painful. But it's always been about camaraderie.

This year, I sit near Vince, old college buddy, thinning hair, two-marriage veteran. Cartoon Boba Fett appears on screen. Beth's pregnant, I say, life's changing fast. Congratulations, he replies in monotone, finishing his eggnog. Vince's second wife cheated on him, peddled his comic collection to buy heroin.

Beth never comes but she indulges me. Five years ago, pre-Beth, I told newcomer Rose, it's trippy, like doing acid. Her face crinkled below her pink-blond hair like I'd farted. She walked away. The following year, no Rose. By then, I was engaged to Beth.

The night ends. We exchange goodbyes, Merry Christmases, Happy New Years. Outside, crisp cold air. My head twinkles with eggnog. Car doors slam, engines fire. Quickly, there's silence. I look skyward, remember how I used to ponder stars, what worlds orbited them. Whenever I asked Beth, what if Star Wars was real somewhere, she'd reply, the Empire's dead, babe. I drive home, think about Beth and the baby, our new world.

Reflection on Star Wars: The Death of Yoda

In Return of the Jedi, Luke Skywalker returns to Dagobah to resume his Jedi training. It’s been awhile since he last saw Yoda, and now his master, already old as dirt their first meeting, is not so much the witty little sprite he was back in The Empire Strikes Back but is now obviously decrepit and dying. As Luke and Yoda are talking, Yoda confirms with Luke that yes, Darth Vader is his father, and that he must face Vader and the Emperor again before he can truly be a Jedi. During the conversation, he throws out hint after hint that he’s about to give up the ghost. He dies and his body does the become-one-with-the-Force routine just as he’s telling Luke, in a sentence that drags out forever, that there is another Skywalker.

Talk about bad timing. Good thing Luke didn’t get caught in some sort of hyperspace delay or that brouhaha with Jabba the Hutt didn’t take a touch longer than anticipated, or he’d have missed the who’s your father talk and arrived to an empty blanket. Yoda lives for 900-odd years, apparently hangs on to his diminishing life force long enough for dropout student Luke to have an ill-advised rescue attempt of his friends and a mismatched fight with the galaxy’s most powerful and evil villain who’s secretly his father and then spend what seems to be years working on a rescue attempt for his quick-frozen, debt owing friend Han Solo, only to die just as he’s about to reveal to Luke the other long-buried Skywalker family secret. Seriously, after close to a millennium of life, he couldn’t hold on for another 30 seconds?

It’s a good thing that ghostly Obi-Wan, who now apparently holds squatter’s rights in the dark swamp of Dagobah, was still around. Of course, before he could reveal the information about Leia being Luke’s twin sister, he had to listen to a well-deserved grilling from Luke about holding on to that Vader-is-your-dad tidbit and give his “from a certain point of view” cop out. It does make sense though that Obi-Wan, as Luke’s stand-in father, should be the one that at least facilitates Luke tapping into his feelings and learning about his sister if not his real father. (Apparently, later in the film, Leia herself knew anyway (“Somehow I knew. Somehow I always knew.”), which makes you wonder if she was aware of this on any of the various occasions she kissed her brother in a not so brother-sister way.)

But it sucks that Yoda lived for 900 years and still did not have enough time to say everything he needed to. That’s depressing for us humans who will live on average only about 9% of that time.