A long time ago, in a theater not so far away…
Originally published in May 2005, The Daily Sentinel, Grand Junction, Colo.
It came out in summer 1977, a long time ago, but to many of us “Star Wars” has never been far, far away.
C’mon, fellow imaginary Rebels against the Empire, admit it: Your cars are X-wings, your speedometers are targeting computers and the road is a Death Star trench. You’ve probably been tempted to shut your eyes and use the Force to parallel park, and you’ve fired the occasional blaster at middle-finger-happy Stormtrooper pilots who cut you off in their TIE fighters.
My big sister and her husband took my little sister and me – I was 12 – to see the original “Star Wars” the day it opened in Colorado Springs. For me, like millions of others that summer, the two hours in that shopping mall theater were a life-affirming experience. I laughed when Obi-Wan Kenobi mind-controlled the Stormtroopers looking for the droids at Mos Eisley, cheered the first time the Millennium Falcon jumped into hyperspace, cheered even harder when Han Solo shouted “Yee-ha!” as that same Falcon joined the climactic battle, and cheered hardest of all when the Death Star blew apart. Woo hoo!
Then, during the final ceremony scene, I was grateful for the theater’s darkness because it helped me hide the happy tear in my eye.
In the weeks, months and years that followed, “Star Wars” shaped so much of what I did. At least four posters hung in my bedroom. Drawings of the gigantic Imperial Star Destroyer chasing the rebel ship at the beginning of the movie decorated my school notebooks. There’s no telling how many broom-handle light sabers I splintered while battling the Dark Side of the clothesline posts in our back yard.
The sounds of “Star Wars” have stuck with me as much as the images. John Williams’ glorious soundtrack gets my heart racing every time I hear it. I sometimes imagine Obi-Wan’s voice encouraging me to “Use the Force” and “Let go” to summon the TV remote to my hand from across the living room when I’m chairbound while my baby girl sleeps in my lap.
No matter how much I try, I can’t get that remote to jump into my hand the way Luke Skywalker got the light saber to jump into his in “The Empire Strikes Back.”
Most of all, “Star Wars” and the next two movies stuck the threatening hiss of Darth Vader’s mechanical breathing forever in my brain. I can summon the memory of that sound at a second’s notice, just as I can the opening beat of the Who’s “Eminence Front” and the whistling theme to “The Andy Griffith Show.”
So “Star Wars” meant something to me right from the start, before Lucas made his first of many changes to the film by adding the “Episode 4 – A New Hope” to the opening scroll when the movie was re-released to theaters a few years later.
Next week, sci-fi fans of all ages will line up for “Star Wars: Episode III – Revenge of the Sith.” I probably won’t be among them, not so much because I don’t want to see it (I do, even though “Episode II” was a disappointment), but because I’m simply not curious enough to go. Maybe I’ll try to get there after the crowds have died down, maybe I’ll wait for the DVD.
Whatever happens, I know the movie can’t possibly thrill the 40-year-old me as much as the original thrilled this 12-year-old almost three decades ago. In fact, judging by the previews I’ve seen, I’m likely to find the prequel depressing, and it’s certainly not a movie I can share with my 4-year-old.
But I still hope it has the Force to fuel my imaginary small, one-man fighter a few more years, and allow me to see the blue glow of a hero’s light saber when I pick up a broom.