With the end of the Skywalker Saga just around the corner, Team Goggler take a minute to reflect on their first encounters with Star Wars. In our second instalment, Uma writes about how, for him, Star Wars was always something that went beyond just the movies.
I watched Star Wars out of order. Which didn’t bother me all that much because that was how those movies were made.
I was five, or maybe six, at the time. My parents had taken me to a dinner party, and I was placed in front of the television while the adults did their adulting in the other room. The hosts pointed me to shelf of pirated VHS tapes that I could pick from and left me to my own devices.
There were about a dozen red carboard boxes, each with a glossy 3×5 photograph affixed to the front. The one I ended up picking had this blurry image of the most bizarre set of characters I had ever seen: a woman in a gold bikini, a furry teddy bear, what looked like Indiana Jones holding a laser gun (The Temple of Doom was a holiday staple in our Indian household – more for Amrish Puri than Harrison Ford), and a guy with a laser sword. I only understood three of the four words in the title, but I was both curious and compelled to find out more. Who or what was this Jedi? Where was he returning from? Where did he go?
So, I put in the cassette and pressed play. The movie began and once the tracking lines cleared, I saw this flying barge hum across a vast sand dune. Someone had forgotten to rewind the tape. But it didn’t matter, because there they were, all of those characters on the poster, on the very brink. They were trapped. They were tied-up. They were being driven to their death and yet they remained defiant. I knew at once that these were our heroes.
Suddenly, one of them shouts out a warning. “Jabba, this is your last chance. Free us or die.” It was a ridiculous threat from someone with clearly no chance of escape. He then looks around, gives a confident nod to another character, and then springs into action. He leaps into the air and does an acrobatic backflip, the little beeping robot flings his laser sword at him, and I bear witness to one of the greatest movie escapes of all time.
I had no idea what was going on, but I knew then that I was a believer. I was convinced that this was the single greatest thing ever put to film.
My life with Star Wars is in no way unique. For almost 40 years this series of movies has touched the lives of millions. From geeks, to writers and poets, to artists and filmmakers, it’s lasting cultural impact all but immeasurable. So much so that you would be hard pressed to find anyone in any part of the civilized world who is untouched by the franchise. It didn’t matter if they’ve never seen the films, their cultural checkpoints and references run so wide and so deep that they are inescapable.
The movies are, after all, universally appealing. That classic tale of the hero’s journey rendered into pitch perfect pop, punctuated with aliens, droids, princesses, loveable rogues, space battles, and lightsabers. What’s not to love? Did I mention there were lightsabers?
Now I was a child of the 80s, born too late to ever watch Star Wars on opening weekend (or Alien, or Blade Runner), too young to catch Freddie Mercury perform at Wembley or really remember Live Aid. I was of a time when all of my first encounters with Star Wars could only come by way of dodgy bootlegs.
I was also of that era where there were no Star Wars movies on the big screen. I came of age in those 16 years between Return of the Jedi and The Phantom Menace and I had to make do with everything else that the franchise provided. Which is why my love for Star Wars runs in somewhat of a different direction.
Yes, I love the narrative arc. I too can’t get enough of those adorable droids. And those space battles really are second to none. But the thing I’ve loved most about Star Wars, the thing that has kept me interested for almost 40 years, is all the “stuff.”
Good God, I love the “stuff.”
The comic book adaptations, the novels, the trading cards, the toys, the awful made-for-television spinoffs (I’m looking at you Caravan of Courage), the pencil toppers, the pyjamas, the Death Star waffle makers, the commemorative stamps, the Chewbackpack, the Jedi bathrobes, Kellogg’s C3PO’s, the lightsaber chopsticks, I love them all.
Because when you find something that you enjoy above everything else, when you find something that inspires you in ways that nothing else has, the last thing you want is for it to end. Imagine my delight when I discovered that Star Wars was, in fact, everywhere. That it was, in fact, endless. It’s characters, it’s worlds, expanding across television and comics and books and video games. That if I wanted, that if I permitted, it could pervade every aspect of my life. Right down to the toast I consumed for breakfast.
Star Wars is endless.
By the time you read this we will be one day away from the premiere of the new – of the last – Star Wars movie in the Skywalker Saga. Yes, there will be more movies in the future, but The Rise of Skywalker nevertheless marks the end of an era. The one I first encountered on that barge hovering over the Great Pit of Carkoon.
I am excited. I can’t wait to find out what happens to all those characters I’ve known and loved for so long. I want to get lost, like I once did before, in an explosion of sound and colour, of sentiment and nostalgia, in worlds so large, so immersive, so real, that I am unable to distinguish between fact and fantasy.
I love all of that from Star Wars.
But I also really, really, love the “stuff.”
In our first instalment of My Star Wars, Bahir Yeusuff writes about his disappointing first encounter with The Phantom Menace. You can read it here.
