I was just several weeks from being 4 years old when the original Star Wars came out in 1977.
My young, impressionable mind would be forever imprinted with the sights and sounds, the classic good vs evil story... the sheer fantastic spectacle of Star Wars. I would revisit this film, and later, others, countless times throughout my life. It became, though I could never have understood or even realized it then, a guiding influence and ever-present companion to me. It was a light in dark times that I could turn to for respite from the pressures and stresses of every day life, a focal point for developing friendships and relationships... it wove its way into every aspect of my existence.
My band, The Yavin 4, is made up of myself and three other like-minded musicians, and creating songs and stories within the Star Wars universe is as close to pure joy as I’ve ever gotten as an artist.
Star Wars is literally everything...
It’s the first film, toys, book fair purchases, music, pretend adventures... the first everything I remember... ...the first ANYTHING so many of us remember as bringing joy.
I have lived my whole life following the adventures of the Skywalker family and their friends.
The whole thing. There’s never been a time I did not love Star Wars.
This Thursday, the Skywalker story will come to an end for me (and millions more), and I’m carrying some serious and unexpected mixed emotions around.
45 years of their story being a part of my life.
Our lives.
We’ve watched them become friends, save the galaxy, and become family in more ways than one. We’ve watched Han die while Harrison lives, and Leia survive while our real-life Princess, Carrie, left us to walk among the stars in our memories.
Don’t get me wrong, I love ALL Star Wars... all of it... but the Skywalker saga has always been the core of the story for me... I feel like I’m going to visit a lifelong friend one last time before they move away forever... and it stings a little.
Ok... It stings a lot.
I’d be lying if I said I haven’t shed a couple of tears.
I’ve been excited to see the film (and still am), but the finality of what it stands for has crept up on me, and I find myself sitting here reflecting on the endless good times I’ve enjoyed thanks to these stories, and what they meant to myself and entire generations.
Luke, Leia, Han, Chewie, Lando, R2, 3PO, Anakin, Yoda, Obi-Wan, and later, Rey, Finn, Poe, Rose, BB-8... thank you all for such a wonderful lifetime of adventures and fantasy that inspired countless fans to be better, braver, and embrace our inner farm boy, Princess, or scoundrel.
Vader, Palpatine, Tarkin, Jabba, Dooku, Snoke, Kylo Ren, Boba Fett and the rest of the bounty hunters, Grievous, Watto, Maul, and all the rest: We loved to hate you. LOVED IT. Thanks for being perfect foils to make our heroes shine.
To Mr. Lucas, and all of the writers and directors who helped build this world we love to escape to... thank you. Sincerely and deeply. Thank you.
Our hearts will always be stuck in that galaxy far, far away.
Goodbye, Skywalkers. For the final time.
May The Force Be With You.
Always.
Benny No-Good
I was born in August of 1978, so when I entered this world, it already had a Skywalker. There has always been one, and I thought there always would be. This weekend, however, their saga will conclude, and an era 42 years young will end.
I’ve an unpopular opinion when I say I fucking love Star Wars. Which is to say, I FUCKING LOVE STAR WARS. I love the original trilogy, I like the prequel trilogy, I’m here for the latest trilogy, and I’m digging the stories that we’re able to witness these days. I understand why some could be irked by the “fan service” of “The Mandalorian” but, as a fan, I say to those storytellers, “Service me!” I am of the generation that watched the Ewok adventures when they aired on television, drank from Burger King logoed glasses, and played with lightsabers that run the gamut from licensed without light and sound, licensed with, unlicensed without, and just wrapping paper tubes. I laid in bed at night and flew my hand around my head, turning in the middle finger at the knuckle to ever-so-slightly resemble the front facade of the Millennium Falcon. I was a scrawny blonde kid with a shitty bowl cut, so Luke Skywalker was a hero of my own likeness. I had the action figures, which have been sadly lost to cats, aluminum rooftops, fire, and time. I read the comic books, the novels, and I’ve even contributed to fan fiction with my nephew Ricky, who is 20+ years my junior.
Even now my home is littered with merchandise. I have a Force FX Lightsaber in my closet (it’s Darth Maul’s, if you’re curious). My Christmas tree, just to my left, has an R2D2, two Darth Vaders, and a Kylo Ren. I own the first six films on Blu Ray and expanded edition DVD (wherein the first disc in the original trilogy features the untouched theatrical edition). I’ve got all the new stuff on Blu Ray. I celebrate those movies that even reference Star Wars. FANBOYS, ZACK & MIRI MAKE A PORNO, the Family Guy “Blue Harvest” Trilogy, the Robot Chicken Star Wars Specials, TROOPS, and the episodes of every sitcom in the last thirty years that allude to its indelible stamp on every creator to enter the game in that time. George Lucas changed the way we talk, and not just about film; about everything.
“May the Fourth be with you.”
“Do or do not. There is no try.”
“You scruffy-looking nerfherder!”
When I was a toddler I was lured in by the sights and sounds, and as I matured I found bonds within the characters. The family dynamic at the heart of episodes I-IX are the generational footprints of my life on this earth. Discovering a father, a sibling, a mother’s love at the center of the galaxy; these were markers on my path to growing up. Star Wars is youth, and its lasting lessons are ancient wisdom. It’s found its way into every corner of popular culture by being one thing: authentic. Star Wars wasn’t the first space opera, but it has revealed itself to be the most impactful. It speaks to so many, and so loudly. It resonates particularly with those who find themselves driven by the need to tell stories. That’s why it’s floated to the top of the tepid soup of humanity’s “legacies”: because it is art that speaks to the artist.
I am genuinely excited to see Episode Nine this weekend, and I can’t tell you now how the culmination of this film journey that has spanned my lifetime will affect me, but I can say with certainty that it will. I also know that this is not the last Star Wars Story to be told, and as the kids say, “I am here for it.”
But for the little scrawny blonde kid with the shitty bowl haircut, this is it. The screen will fade to black for the last time.
“If there’s a bright center of the universe, you’re on the planet that its farthest from.”
I feel as though I now finally know what that means.
McEric
