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the-far-bright-center · 1 year

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‘Revenge of the Sith may be the greatest work of art in our lifetimes...’

(an excerpt from a long-deleted blog post, archived here)

“Revenge of the Sith is still (and probably always will be) the greatest thing that will ever come out of the Star Wars franchise. I always go further, in fact, and say that it’s the greatest thing that will ever come out of big-budget, action/fantasy cinema at all. George Lucas’s final contribution to his Star Wars legacy—2005’s final prequel offering—was not only an artistic, cinematic and operatic masterpiece, but it was the ultimate, consummate manifestation of everything Star Wars was capable of being and, for that matter, everything that big-scale cinema is capable of being.

It literally does not—and probably can’t—get better than this ever again.

Lucas, who himself pretty much set the standard and invented the genre in 1977, had now taken us to the absolute zenith of what that genre of film-making could produce.

Epic, ambitious, stunning, moving, nuanced, and everything else, it was the glorious completion of Lucas’s original Star Wars saga that I had been waiting for—and something for which I will always be immensely grateful George Lucas came back to film-making to give us. I have already made the case at length for why Revenge of the Sith was an absolute masterpiece of staggering proportions, so I’ll refrain from re-stating here all the ... reasons I eternally bow at the altar of that film and its unfairly maligned architect.

People who didn’t get it or still don’t get it probably never will get it.

I’ve given up arguing with those on the tedious backlash bandwagon, those who join in with the Lucas-bashing for the sake of YouTube channel views, or those who, like [spoilt children] throwing a tantrum, bitterly disavow George Lucas and whine about how the prequels ‘ruined Star Wars’.

Someone who did get it, however, was the noted author and social critic Camille Paglia: she of course famously declared a few years ago that George Lucas was the greatest artist of his time and specifically that Revenge of the Sith was the greatest work of art in the last thirty years.

The respected, if often controversial, academic Paglia didn’t argue that Episode III was merely the best movie of the last thirty years… but the best work of art in any genre and in any medium.

[...] Predictably a lot of people either assumed Paglia was being sarcastic or they simply pooh-poohed her conclusions. Paglia, however, was not trying to be ironic, and she has reaffirmed and defended her position over and over again and with a passion—Lucas’s final Star Wars film, she maintained, is the greatest work of art in the last three decades.

[...] I cannot think of any film in any genre that has been as absorbing or as immaculate (or as ambitious). Even just conceptually, what Lucas tried to do with the prequel trilogy was staggering and is without any parallel. And while we could argue that the execution was off-the-mark in certain places, the sheer visceral power and broad artistic value of what he did manage to create—even with its various failings—puts Lucas’s saga (and ROTS in particular) into a different stratosphere entirely.

In her own view of it, Paglia especially focuses on the final act of the third prequel—the climactic finale centering on the extended Anakin/Kenobi lightsaber duel against the dramatic lava backdrop and the extraordinarily powerful way that the birth of the Skywalker twins is juxtaposed with the ‘death’ of Anakin and ‘birth’ of Vader. That latter sequence, by the way, in which the death of the mother coincides (and even feeds into) the birth of the ‘dark father’, all of it underscored by John Williams haunting, gothic choral/hymn composition, is just one example (among many) of Lucas’s extraordinarily acute and nuanced levels of vision.

‘The long finale of Revenge of the Sith has more inherent artistic value, emotional power, and global impact than anything by the artists you name,’ she said in this interview with Vice. ‘It’s because the art world has flat-lined and become an echo chamber of received opinion and toxic over-praise. It’s like the emperor’s new clothes—people are too intimidated to admit what they secretly think or what they might think with their blinders off.’

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Speaking to FanGirlBlog, Paglia continued her celebration of Lucas’s final masterwork, saying, ‘I have been saying to interviewers and onstage, "The finale of Revenge of the Sith is the most ambitious, significant, and emotionally compelling work of art produced in the last 30 years in any genre—including literature".

Paglia’s assertions flowed from her 2012 book Glittering Images: A Journey Through Art from Egypt to Star Wars, which in part addressed the problem of modern cultural ignorance and the author’s worries that 21st century Americans are overexposed to visual stimulation by the “all-pervasive mass media” and must fight to keep their capacity for contemplation.

In the book, Paglia discusses twenty-nine examples of visual artwork, beginning with the ancient Egyptian funerary images of Queen Nefertari, and then progressing through various artistic works, including creations from Ancient Greece to Byzantine art and Donatello’s ‘Mary Magdalene’.

She explained, ‘Lucas was not part of my original plan for Glittering Images, which has 29 chapters crossing 3000 years. My goal was to write a very clear and concise handbook to the history of artistic styles from antiquity to the present. When I looked around for strong examples of contemporary art to end the book with, however, I got very frustrated. There is a lot of good art being made, but I found it overall pretty underwhelming. When I would happen on the finale of Revenge of the Sith, I just sat there stunned. It grew and grew on me, and I became obsessed with it. I was amazed at how much is in there—themes of love and hate, politics, industry, technology, and apocalyptic nature, combined with the dance theater of that duel on the lava river and then the parallel, agonizing death/births. It’s absolutely tremendous.’

Paglia also entirely recognised the sheer scale of Lucas’s creation and the value of even its various constituent parts as important or worthy works of art. ‘The fantastically complex model of the Mustafar landscape made for the production of Revenge of the Sith should be honored as an important work of contemporary installation art,’ she argued. ‘And also that Lucas’ spectacular air battles, like the one over Coruscant that opens Sith, are sophisticated works of kinetic art in the tradition of important artists like Marcel Duchamp and Alexander Calder. No one has ever written about George Lucas in this way—integrating him with the entire fine arts tradition.’

The problem is that Lucas and the prequel trilogy have become so widely misrepresented as ‘bad’ that most people don’t know how to deal with someone like Paglia sincerely proclaiming “Nothing in the last 30 years has been produced—in any of the arts—that is as significant or as emotionally compelling as Revenge of the Sith…”

[...] In fact, contrary to widespread misconceptions about how the Star Wars films are viewed, a Rotten Tomatoes poll ... found that Revenge of the Sith (and not Empire Strikes Back) scored as the best-regarded of the [Lucas] movies according to aggregation of archived reviews. So the idea that everyone dismisses the prequels seems like a misconception; but it is fair to say that a substantial body of people —including a lot of people who, rather incongruously, regard themselves as Star Wars fans—do completely dismiss this film along with its two predecessors.

As I said at the start, people who didn’t get it or still don’t get it probably never will get it.

But what has always struck me as pitiful about the whiny ‘Lucas Ruined Star Wars’ attitude is that it seems to flow from the premise that Lucas—a man whose stubborn commitment to his own singular vision gave an entire generation from the late 70s and early 80s unparalleled joy—somehow ‘owes it’ to those same people to do things precisely how *they* deem acceptable. That’s essentially what it comes down to—that he, as the artist, should make the art that the fans or the public want and not follow his own creative vision.

What people don’t realise, however, is that if he had done that from the beginning, there never would’ve BEEN an original Star Wars trilogy at all—and arguably all of these huge blockbuster SF/fantasy films that people spend their money seeing today wouldn’t exist either. What a lot of people also don’t realise is that Lucas was never setting himself up to be a populist or even mainstream filmmaker. On the contrary, he was the avant-garde film geek, the rogue, the outsider. The fact that Star Wars spiraled into a billion-dollar behemoth was an accident; and when the first Star Wars movie was released in 1977, it was an oddity that no one in the film industry understood or believed in.

But Lucas had stuck to his own creative vision—a vision that was largely incomprehensible to everyone else at the time the film was being made—and his singular vision hit the mark big-time and accomplished something unprecedented.

By the time of the endlessly-maligned The Phantom Menace in 1999 and everything that followed, Lucas was still doing exactly the same thing—following his own vision, trying to create something extraordinary and largely ignoring contemporary trends or opinion. The only difference was that the vast fan-base he had acquired from the original films were older now, far more jaded and over-saturated with blockbuster movies (most of which were influenced by Lucas’s pioneering work in the 70s) and they essentially didn’t *want* something new, creative or challenging—they just wanted the same thing they’d had when they were kids.

In effect, they weren’t interested in Lucas the artist or Lucas the pioneer—they only wanted Lucas the Popcorn Movie dispenser. But Lucas the Popcorn Movie Dispenser had never existed—he was simply an illusion created by the extraordinary commercial success of the Star Wars Trilogy.

What Lucas had in fact envisioned—and created—with the prequel trilogy, especially Revenge of the Sith, was something that transcended the whole summer blockbuster ennui, transcended genre, transcended the very medium of film itself, and could be discussed in the same breath as Shakespeare, Virgil and the Aeneid, Julius Caesar, and a number of equally fascinating and endlessly debatable works of serious and complex gravity.

But there was an audience of millions who were instead looking for something that could be discussed alongside Jurassic Park or Terminator 2. Which is fine—Star Wars of course can also be discussed just as validly in that latter context too; but it also exists in a stratosphere beyond it. And because Lucas’s process and vision was in that higher stratosphere a lot of the time, there was a frequent disconnect that occurred, whereby a lot of people were unable to meet him halfway or relate to the films on those kinds of levels.

But Lucas pushed on with his long-envisioned trilogy; and by the time the final installment of his Star Wars saga arrived in 2005, a sizeable proportion of the old fan-base had either departed or were by now just coming to the party for the thrill of seeing Darth Vader one last time. Some dismissed the film the same way as they’d dismissed its two predecessors, some were full of scathing mockery, while others were ambivalent. Some were suitably entertained, but didn’t take it much further than that.

Another group, a smaller minority—myself included—had just seen something of epic, overwhelming proportions and had the greatest cinematic experience of their lives.

But great art is like that.

Great works of art divides people, provoking endless debate [...] An argument could be made that the greatest artist will go all-out to create something special and substantive, even if it won’t appeal to everyone. Said artist would follow his own creative vision and not compromise it to the committee of consensus or demand.

Lucas, it should be borne in mind, never made ANY of the Star Wars films with film-critics in mind—even the Original Trilogy movies were not critically approved, despite becoming cultural landmarks. And interestingly, the hang-ups of many of those who were scathing about the prequel movies—ROTS included—were virtually identical to the hang-ups of the critics in the early 80s who either just didn’t get those original Star Wars films or were unwilling to praise a rogue filmmaker who was rebelling against Hollywood at the time and who was making something entirely out-of-step with contemporary trends and sensibilities.

Fittingly enough, the Lucas who was out-of-step with the sensibilities of the time during the late 70s and early 80s is the same Lucas who was equally out-of-step with sensibilities and trends at the time of the prequels too. In both eras, Lucas rebelled against the sensibilities of contemporary cinema and carved out his own piece of utter magic according to his own stubborn vision—the difference is that so many of the same people who adored what he had done in the first instance couldn’t understand what he was doing in the second instance.

Even though what he was doing was essentially the same thing.

For that matter, I always suspected that one of the main reasons so many people failed to appreciate (or in a lot of cases, to even understand) this film is precisely because it isn’t contemporary. That’s a key thing to understand about the Star Wars prequels—they were not made in a contemporary style.

Lucas doesn’t make contemporary cinema. Both of Lucas’s Star Wars trilogies are written and designed specifically to NOT be contemporary, but to have a more timeless quality, steeped in traditions from the past.

Lucas, you have to remember, has never been a contemporary or generic filmmaker, but a more avant-garde artist and experimenter who foremost specialises in tone and impressionism. The fact that he invented modern blockbuster cinema is purely an accident. As he himself once said, “None of the films I’ve done was designed for a mass audience, except for ‘Indiana Jones.’ Nobody in their right mind thought ‘American Graffiti’ or ‘Star Wars’ would work”.

[...] They were not contemporary or generic at all—consequently, a lot of people didn’t understand or relate to what they were watching: because they couldn’t find a point of comparison in popular culture.

To really understand these films, you have to go back to some of the historical epics of the fifties and sixties, particularly films like Ben-Hur, Cleopatra or Spartacus. If you watch any of those films (and all three are timeless, truly marvelous cinematic works) and then watch the three Star Wars prequels, it will suddenly make much more sense. The acting style, the dialogue style, the themes, the epic scope and settings, the vast mythologizing, the way the films are scored, even the intricate costume design—all of it.

There’s nothing surprising about that. After all, it’s easy to overlook the fact now from our current vantage-point, but the original Star Wars trilogy movies weren’t contemporary in style either—they were stylistically based on things like Kurosawa, Flash Gordon and the Saturday matinee serials of the 1930s and 40s. The original trilogy films made no stylistic sense in terms of contemporary cinema or sensibilities in the late 70s or early 80s—they were, in style, a homage to a long-gone era.

So too were the prequels—just a different homage to a different era.

[...]

When you look at everything that makes up Revenge of the Sith, the scope of vision along with the degree of artistic nuance and juxtaposition is breathtaking.

There’s lots of action, yes, as you’d expect; but the action, like so much of what Lucas was doing by this stage, is almost transcendent. Sure, the acting or delivery is off in a few places; mostly due to some of the actors having to perform in non-existent CG environments—remember Lucasfilm and ILM were breaking new ground technologically in these movies, which we take for granted now with all our CG and digital filmmaking, but which at the time were bound to cause some teething problems. But Ewan McGregor is superb in this film, while the maligned Hayden Christensen....in fact does a solid job in any number of key scenes.

And there’s everything else. The special effects aren’t just good, they’re actually often beautiful in a way that most special effects don’t aspire to be. The level of detail and artistry in the visuals mean you could turn the sound off and still be captivated. Some of the backdrops could make extraordinary paintings that could hang convincingly in art galleries. And Lucas is the absolute master of the establishing shot and the scene transition, turning it into an art every bit as nuanced as in a piece of music.

For that matter, the music is extraordinary—and actually if you look at how underwhelming or non-existent the music is in the post-Lucas ‘The Force Awakens’, it becomes clear that Lucas and Williams had a collaborative process that really influenced how these films were scored (and which is now no longer the case). Lucas himself said that the music was 50 percent of what mattered in these films and that is certainly evident.

Much of it, particularly the climatic Kenobi/Skywalker duel and that final act with the birth of the twins, death of Padme and creation of Vader, almost isn’t cinema at all—but opera. This could’ve been something Wagner was composing if he had ever existed in the cinema age.

In fact, the final few scenes of the film don’t even have any dialogue, but are purely musical and visual. Even some of the most stirring parts earlier on in the film are without dialogue; take, for example, the breathtakingly beautiful sequence of Anakin and Padme trying to silently sense for each other across the exquisite, sunset cityscape—it’s all visual, tone and subtle music, pure emotion with no dialogue. A scene like that could almost be part of a silent movie; and it’s also like an impressionist painting in motion.

Even that Kenobi/Skywalker duel itself is more than just an action sequence. With Williams’ epic, stirring, choral score, it too is opera. But it’s opera married to performance art: the level of intricacy, fluency and speed of Ewan McGregor and Hayden Christensen’s dueling is insane, having required an immense amount of prep and practise. The choreography takes it onto the level of dance; of true performance art as opposed to disposable cartoon violence or cheap blockbuster action.

Everything here—to the last detail—is choreographed like a ballet and it is spellbinding.

Yet while other filmmakers would try to sell an entire movie on such an exquisite centerpiece, for Lucas all of this—all of this poetry, opera, dance, music, visual art and everything else—is ultimately mere constituent part to a greater whole: a Shakespearan epic of a tortured fall from grace and a Greek tragedy... wrapped within an even larger epic about the fall of a Republic, the fallibility of religion and the genius of the Devil and failure of the angels.

[...] What Lucas created in fact was the ultimate expression/culmination of the art of the epic itself—fittingly enough, in order to conclude the defining epic of our modern times (what Brian Blessed once described as the Shakespeare of our age). The Shakespeare comparisons aren’t trivial. The evident Star Wars/Shakespeare resonance has even prompted things like Ian Doescher’s book William Shakespeare’s Tragedy of the Sith’s Revenge: Star Wars Part the Third—a retelling of Revenge of the Sith as if it had been written by William Shakespeare for real.

[...] Various observers, including academics, have noted the obvious fact that Lucas’s story is also a retelling of the fall of the Roman Republic and birth of the Roman Empire. Lucas himself admitted this, pointing to how Revenge of the Sith in particular is partly a story about democracies become dictatorships and citing the historical stories of Caesar and Augustus. You can quite easily watch the prequel trilogy alongside I, Claudius or something like HBO’s brilliant Rome series.

But none of those references or allusions are the important part. Even the fact that the prequel trilogy—and again, ROTS in particular—is quite clearly in part a story about false-flag wars, banking conspiracies, the corporate and military-industrial complex, the Bush administration and the Iraq War, etc—isn’t particularly relevant to the issue of why it’s such an epic work of significance.

Lucas is the author and architect of our preeminent modern mythology—as interviewer Bill Moyers asserted during his fascinating and revealing 1999 interview with Lucas (for the release of The Phantom Menace). Partly inspired by his friend Joseph Campbell’s thoughts on mythology, but moreover informed by his own careful distillation of elements from various cultures and civilisations (what he has referred to as our collective human ‘archaeological psychology’), Lucas is every bit as influential as Virgil, Homer or Shakespeare were in their respective times, and has crafted out the ultimate mythological saga.

Revenge of the Sith is the final, completing piece of that saga—the piece that gives the saga its full scope and true soul, and the piece that makes every one of the other films count for so much more.

And it does it so well—with such vivid and breathtaking quality—that, even having written an article as long as this one now is (and another before this), I still don’t feel like I’m adequately able to explain its full brilliance.

Neither could Lucas himself, I suspect. I’m not sure Lucas even realised how masterful it was; but, as Paglia and others note, the guy is so mild-mannered and self-deprecating that it simply wasn’t in his nature to boast about his own work. Instead he just took in all the abuse and mockery with mild bemusement, shrugged his shoulders and walked off into the twin sunset, knowing that with Revenge of the Sith he had finished what he’d come back to do.

In fact, what Lucas did was so extraordinary, so complex and so nuanced that it may take another decade or two for people to even appreciate it properly—assuming they ever do. As film experts like Mike Klimo have noted, some of what Lucas did in ROTS and the prequels may have been so sophisticated that he deliberately didn’t talk about it, but just left it there, not knowing that anyone would ever even notice.

This, as I said earlier, goes beyond cinema, and possibly even beyond Star Wars itself. Lucas genuinely outdid himself, and it is unlikely anyone will reach that height again—firstly because no one is going to be in the position Lucas was in again in terms of total ownership of a property, and secondly because no one is going to have that kind of ambition again, especially having seen how much of a backlash Lucas received from the legions of popcorn munchers, YouTube profiteers and ungrateful fans who were really looking for something much more in keeping with a generic, formulaic, standardized blockbuster formula.”

#the prequels #revenge of the sith #rots #george lucas #prequels appreciation #lucas' star wars as created-myth #Paglia is an expert on the Fall of Civilizations #which explains her fascination with RotS in particular #as for the blogger who wrote the post...i don't necessarily agree with every single thing he says #particularly his view on some of RotS' themes #(he seems to miss the fact that the Prequels are not about love as a negative element but are rather about the Fear of Loss )#(Anakin's tragic flaw is not Love but rather his FEAR losing his loved ones to Death)#but there's enough here i found worthy of sharing (and you can read the rest on the wayback machine link)#ultimately i feel that the inability of contemporary audiences to appreciate Lucas' work #is very much akin to the bafflement with which Tolkien's work was met in the mid-20th century #Tolkien was writing in deliberately archaic medieval tradition during the very height of the Modern era #and similarly ...#Lucas was making homages to old-fashioned cinema/Greek tragedy/and mythic Romanticism during the peak of cynical Post-Modernism #audiences seem to have truly have LOST the ability to comprehend older forms of storytelling #and that is the real tragedy

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the-far-bright-center · 6 years

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Anakin Skywalker, a tragic hero

a compilation by @the-far-bright-center

Recently, I was asked to write about ‘Anakin as a tragic hero’, and rather than attempting to tackle such a broad topic from scratch, I decided to compile a masterpost of excerpts from (and links to) my previous posts on the subject.

In my personal view, ‘Star Wars’ (as in, the Skywalker saga) is, at its heart, Anakin’s story, and as such, his tragic fall and ultimate redemption forms one of the main, underlying themes of most of my SW analysis in general. And so, the selections below include everything from in-depth character analysis, to overviews of Anakin’s role in the saga as a whole, to explorations of themes of slavery vs. freedom, death vs. immortality, personal attachments, fear of loss, and perhaps most importantly, unconditional love.

***Please note: the majority of the following excerpts are from posts written in defense of ‘the Skywalker saga’—aka, Lucas’ six films that tell the story of Anakin’s rise, fall, and redemption. And as such, any and all mentions of the so-called ‘sequels’ in the posts linked below are likely to be of a critical nature (since I wholeheartedly reject them as valid continuations of the main saga). Having said my piece on that subject, however, these days I prefer to ignore the existence of those films entirely (so, please do NOT ask me about the sequels or mention them in the notes!) and focus instead on upholding the meaning of the Prequels and Original Trilogy as one complete, mythic story. (Some of these excerpts may also include references to the Lucas-era TCW series, which functions in large part as a meta-commentary on Anakin’s story in the context of the saga as a whole.)

◇ from ‘The Chosen One, the Hero’s Journey, and Breaking the Cycle of Enslavement in Star Wars’:

(or, why the theme of slavery/enslavement in Anakin’s story is so important to our understanding of Anakin’s character and to the overall message of Lucas’ saga):

excerpt 1:

“ There is something incredibly unique about Anakin Skywalker as a character: this fascinating blend of hero, victim, and villain, and how the interplay of fate, destiny, character flaws, divided loyalties, tragic decisions, and the machinations of others leads to such great pain, loss, and evil…for himself, and for an entire galaxy. How he, as Vader, becomes both physically and mentally enslaved, suspended in an almost carbonite-like stasis and cyclical mindset for decades, until his final act of free will, spurred on by his latent, powerful love for his son, sets him—and them all—free. ”

excerpt 2:

“ There is a reason why George Lucas devoted three whole films (AND a good portion of two animated tv series) to the story of Anakin Skywalker. He obviously felt that Anakin’s motivations, his relationships, his strengths and weakness, his successes and failures, his positive traits and negative traits, his childhood, and even his later socio-political milieu and military context—basically everything about him—were important enough for an entire prequel trilogy (and supporting on-screen material) to cover in-depth.

For all the supposed faults of the Prequels, the story presented therein—the rise and fall of Anakin Skywalker, and, along with him, the apocalyptic destruction of the Republic and the entire Jedi Order—is undeniably well-thought out….and extremely compelling.

And yet, this story is compelling not simply because it is’ tragic’, but because it is tragic in a very specific way.

Here is someone who starts out his life as a slave, a young boy simply wishing to fly away….yearning for the freedom of the stars. A young boy with fear and anger already inside him due to the hardship and injustice of his circumstances (and later, his constant worry for his mother), but still largely innocent. A young boy supposedly taken away from slavery (and, at the same time, his mother)…only to end up serving a corrupt Republic in an unwinnable war, and a Jedi Order that had by this time become overly dogmatic and blinded to certain dark realities in its midst. A Jedi Order that had lost its way by becoming embroiled in the political happenings of—and subservient to—the military ‘needs’ of the Republic. A Jedi Order that was doomed the moment they allowed themselves to become soldiers instead of protectors. Supporters of perpetual war, instead of keepers of the peace. A Jedi Order that allowed itself to become slaves of the Republic, subject to the Senate’s every agenda and the Chancellor’s every whim, instead of free agents.

Anakin’s tale is so tragic because he believes he is going from (literal) slavery to freedom, to then fighting *for* the (physical and ideological) freedom of others during the Clone Wars…when in reality he is merely exchanging one set of chains for another, until he becomes fully imprisoned once more in the form of Vader.

In the Star Wars universe, it is stated that slavery is a primary tool of the Sith—for controlling one another, and also for the subjugation of the entire galaxy. And thus it stands to reason that if Anakin is truly the Chosen One (and this is confirmed by Lucas’ canon), then he is also the one who is destined to destroy the Sith….and by doing so, it is implied, break this seemingly-perpetual cycle of slavery (and mental/ideological enslavement).

This is why the climactic and emotionally cathartic ending of RotJ must herald an end to this cycle. What does destroying the Sith mean, if not that?

Without this, there is little point to Anakin’s otherwise wholly tragic story.

Without this, I would argue, there is little point to Luke’s story, either.

Because, what has always elevated Luke’s hero’s journey above, well, just another hero’s journey, is that he completes it not by defeating a villain, but by helping bring his father back to the light. By helping set his father free. I’d even go so far as to say that Anakin’s redemption forms the most crucial part *of* Luke’s hero’s journey. It is the ultimate triumph of gentleness, surrender, forgiveness, and compassion over brute strength, domination, anger, and revenge. Feminine virtues, over toxic masculinity. How important that, after so much war and violence, these values are finally embraced by two of the main male characters of the series.

And it is made all the more poignant by the fact that Luke is both the physical and symbolic embodiment of Anakin and Padme’s love—and of the Truth that Padme spoke with her very last breath, even after the attempt to silence her—now returned to face down Vader’s darkness and help him finally destroy the Emperor (as he was always meant to). It is Luke himself who inspires Vader to in turn save him….symbolically saving the embodiment of that very love that Anakin had tried so hard and so tragically to save in the first place. ”

excerpt 3:

“ By the end of [Return of the Jedi], it is made crystal clear that redeeming Vader is the *ONLY* thing that would actually work or have a lasting, positive effect. Meeting power with power would not work. Nor fear with fear. Nor anger with anger. Nor hate with more hate. That is what sent Anakin down that spiral to begin with. And when Luke duels Vader the first time, this is what causes him to lose. By the time of RotJ, Luke has come to understand the Truth, and knows what he needs to do very well, hence his actions.

In my opinion (and in my understanding of the original intended message of the story), the *only* way the Emperor could finally be defeated was by an act of sacrifice based on LOVE. Anakin/Vader’s final act is an act of finally embracing his own mortality, acknowledging his True Self, and setting himself free, it is true. But most importantly, it is an act of protection, done out of compassion, which Anakin himself once defined as “unconditional love, essential to a Jedi’s life”. This is why Anakin in this moment is the embodiment of the ‘Return of the Jedi'—he *protects*. He saves. He defends. And this is what the true role of the Jedi was always meant to be.

Luke’s decision to turn himself over to the Emperor and appeal to that ‘barest flicker of persistent light’ within his father was necessary—not just from a thematic perspective, but also from a plot and story standpoint as well. Already by the time of The Empire Strikes Back, we were shown that the ‘true’ villain (in the sense of who has the most agency and is pulling all the strings) is the Emperor, and that Vader is, in fact, his servant/slave. (And of course, the Prequels and TCW only hammer home this fact.) The Emperor *had* to be defeated, or else the Empire would never have been stopped. The galaxy (like Vader himself) would never have been freed. For as we know, the Rebel Alliance had already attempted to defeat the Empire by blowing up the first Death Star, but of course the Empire just kept going and ended up building a new one. Blowing up the second Death Star was therefore never going to be enough to win the war against the Empire. (And there was no guarantee that Sidious would not have pulled a General Grievous on us and escaped the second Death Star at the last minute before they managed to blow it up, either.)

So, the Emperor had to be directly destroyed….and I think it’s pretty obvious that, however powerful Luke had become by this point, he was never going to be able to defeat the Emperor on his own. Only Anakin/Vader had the power to stop Palpatine/Sidious. Only Anakin *EVER* had this power. This is one of the reasons why Palpatine targeted and ‘groomed’ Anakin in the first place: he knew that Anakin was foretold to be the one who would ultimately destroy the Sith…..so what better than to bring him to the side of the Sith, instead?

But the beauty of this is that, through Luke’s presence in Vader’s life, and then his intervention in RotJ, Anakin is finally able to fulfill the very destiny that Palpatine had tried so hard to avoid by enslaving him to his will. Anakin *IS* the Chosen One, and no matter how far he had fallen in the meantime….it is undeniable that, in the end, he fulfills his destiny and destroys the Sith. Both the outer-Sith that is Darth Sidious….and the inner-Sith within himself.

But after everything….after being imprisoned by Sidious for so long, he needs Luke there, as a reminder of his True Self, in order to be able to accomplish this. There is that line in RotJ where he says sadly to Luke, “it is too late for me, son.“ But Luke never gives up on his father, and finally Anakin/Vader sees this….and comes back to the Light via the act of saving Luke himself.

One act of compassion inspires another—and in doing so, achieves more than decades and decades of war and even the most noble of rebellions ever could.

This is extremely redemptive in so many ways—it even wholly vindicates Anakin and Padme’s love. For, without Luke’s actions at the end of RotJ, and Vader’s response to them, we would be left instead with the message that love = death and destruction. Instead, we see that love (even secret, forbidden love) is not entirely destructive, but is also creative, enduring, and can bring about hope and redemption, and, ultimately, freedom—on both a personal level, and to the galaxy as a whole. ”

excerpt 4:

“ …when it comes to the character of Darth Vader, the theme of the cycle of slavery/mental enslavement is imperative to understanding both why and how he has become what he is by the point of the Original Trilogy. Anakin lives much of his childhood as a slave. He is himself ‘freed’, but goes from physical enslavement straight into a scenario in which he must nevertheless still refer to his Jedi superiors as ‘master’. He later loses his beloved mother whom he’d so reluctantly left behind to a violent (imprisoned!) death that he feels he could have prevented if he had only listened to and acted upon his prophetic dreams sooner. He is in love with Padme and wants to be with her—something that is forbidden to him because of the Jedi Code. (Again, in this manner, he feels ‘un-free’.) The Clone Wars begin, and he marries her in secret, and goes off to fight for what he believes is the freedom of countless systems, becoming embroiled in constant warfare—along with increasingly divided loyalties—which takes a heavy toll on him. He wants nothing more than to end the war. To bring ‘peace’ to the galaxy. To be able to come home, and maybe, just maybe, finally make a real life for himself and Padme…and later, their unborn child(ren). He is pushed further and further to the brink of doing ‘whatever it takes’ to end said war. Until his growing mistrust of the Jedi Council, along with his prophetic dreams of Padme’s impending death—and the subsequent machinations of Palpatine—all push him fully over that precipice.

Until, finally, he becomes the Emperor’s lethal weapon and unquestioning servant of his will.

And then, perhaps most significantly, after he is horrifically maimed in his fight with Obi-Wan on Mustafar, he becomes physically imprisoned within his life-support suit. This suit, designed by Palpatine, is almost akin to a walking torture chamber, and at first causes Vader almost constant physical pain. Vader is kept ‘alive’ only by the suit and mask combination (or perhaps, rather, in a state of ‘half-life’). The important thing to remember here is that he did not choose to be put inside this suit, it was done *to* him. And once he is inside, it is like he is frozen into this (seemingly) never-changing mindset and state of perpetual torment. Sealed thus, Vader becomes resigned to his imprisonment, to his anger and hatred-fueled existence…and to being one of the Emperor’s primary tools in bringing this same twisted form of ‘peace’ (aka, subjugation) to the rest of the galaxy. ”

◇ from my responses to comments on my DW account, pt. 1 (on a post about Anakin’s role in the saga):

excerpt 1 (Anakin’s need for a father-figure and a family as one of the reasons he struggled in the Jedi Order):

“…it's pretty clear that what Anakin needed (and wanted) more than anything was a *family*. (A father figure, his mother, Padme, his own family, eventually, etc. I could go on.) And this is the main area where the (old) Jedi Order fell short—for him, especially. We are always meant to see Qui-Gon's death as this fate-changing tragedy (hence the title of the scene, 'Duel of the Fates'), because Qui-Gon is one of—if not the only—Jedi in the Order at the time who could have been the father-figure *and* mentor that Anakin needed. Others had the capacity to be great mentors and teachers, but it is clear that Qui-Gon's level of compassion and his ability to demonstrate it openly were rare qualities amongst the Jedi at that time, indeed. Also, Qui-Gon had a much less rigid interpretation of the Code than others did, and would likely have been able to assist Anakin in his eventual struggles with certain aspects of said Code. (Amongst many other things!)

I think we are meant to see that, if Qui-Gon had lived and been able to teach and mentor Anakin, that perhaps even he and Anakin might have become agents of positive change within the Jedi Order. Together, perhaps some of the rigidity of the Jedi's adherence to certain aspects of the Code might have been able to be reformed. It's of course just speculation on my part, but I think this is hinted at. (Also, Qui-Gon is someone who never would have stood for the Jedi's participation in the Clone Wars. In TPM, he was very firm about his role. Recall what he said to Padme: "I can only protect you, I cannot fight a war for you." This is what the Jedi Order's *true* role is, to be protectors and keepers of the peace, and it is no surprise, therefore, that it is the Order's participation in the Clone Wars that leads directly to its eventual destruction, just as Palpatine/Sidious had always planned.)

While Obi-Wan most definitely stepped up to the plate and then some when it came to teaching Anakin, and while the two them eventually grew close as *brothers*, Obi-Wan was never able to provide Anakin with the father-figure (and father-son dynamic) that he so desperately craved. (And this is where Palpatine so coldly and calculatedly stepped in—Palpatine is characterized much as a child-abuser in this regard, and one that, imo, the Jedi Order failed to protect Anakin from.) Also, there is the fact that, because Anakin was brought into the Order later than others, he did not grow up even with the communal group of younglings of his age group, so even *that* sort of 'adoptive sibling' dynamic was lost to him. Add to that the fact that he was not allowed to visit his mother during the intervening years between TPM and AotC, and we start to see how all of the heart-breaking tragedy surrounding this character begins to unfold.”

excerpt 2 (re: the Jedi Code and the forbidding of romantic/familial attachments):

“…I personally feel that the part of the Code that forbids all romantic attachments (and thereby familial attachments as well) is a later addition and/or interpretation of the Code. Because the Jedi are a religious Order, they obviously need to have a Code of some sort, but as Qui-Gon said, Codes should not existence solely to govern *behaviour*. They should instead merely act as a guide or roadmap to understanding the Force. In other words, what is truly important about any rule is the *spirit* of the law, rather than the 'letter' of the law.

The Jedi believe in non-attachment, or rather, in practicing *detachment* on both a spiritual and material level, but imo, eschewing these types of relationships is not actually necessary to achieve this. These things are not mutually exclusive. In some ways, never allowing the Jedi to experience these sorts of relationships merely attempts to remove any form of 'temptation' towards attachment from their paths. Whereas, it's more difficult, perhaps, to find a level of detachment in one's outlook and actions while one has actual 'attachments' in form of loved ones, but ultimately this would help Jedi achieve a truer and more lasting form of 'non-attachment' (if that makes sense), if they could likewise find balance in all aspects of their own lives. And while there are of course some risks inherent in allowing Jedi to have relationships (and families), imo, there are just as many risks in forbidding this…as we know all-too well.

This is just my interpretation, but I feel sometimes like we are meant to see the 'no romantic relationships' thing as a sort of 'forbidden fruit' scenario with the Jedi, and an element that was not always inherent in their beliefs, and which was perhaps tacked on to the Code later (and this quote from A New Dawn supports this theory) It seems like a fear-based rule, rather than something totally necessary. Sure, there is an element of practicality in preferring that warrior-monks not have their own families to worry about so that they can focus their attentions and loyalties to the Order itself, but again, this does not automatically equate to 'no romantic attachments at all'. But by the time of the Prequels there also seems to be an attitude amongst the Jedi of 'oh no, but what if'—worrying about the consequences, etc., as though it were an inevitable conclusion that *all* romantic attachment leads inherently to disaster…which is itself a 'fear of loss' based way of looking at things.

I also cannot help but think of George Lucas' very first film, THX 1183, about a sci-fi dystopian world controlled by 'robotic police' where love/desire is outlawed. The two main characters come to an awakening and stop taking their medication that suppresses such feelings/desires. While of course this is not exactly the same situation as the Jedi Order on Coruscant, it is interesting that, in the Prequels, Lucas decided to make the romantic attachments something that is so strictly forbidden by the Jedi at this time.

All I'm getting at here, is that I feel that we are indeed meant to see this as a flaw of the Jedi Order, in the sense that perhaps this part of the Code had become overly rigid by this point, and thus the Jedi's inability to see beyond the 'black and white' in this matter is intended to be viewed as a failing on their part.”

excerpt 3 (Anakin’s powerful emotions, the Jedi Order, and his susceptibility to the Dark Side/Palpatine’s machinations):

“...Anakin experiences SUCH powerful emotions, and it is heartbreaking that, from the start, he is made to feel as though these emotions are inherently bad or wrong. His 'fear of loss', especially. This is a normal human emotion, especially for a child who has only just come from a difficult life situation and has left behind the only family member he'd ever had. It's not a trait that in and of itself leads automatically to darkness. It is, as you say, only Anakin's emotional isolation, in the sense of how badly he needs (and lacks) a deeper sort of guidance about his often frighteningly intense prophetic dreams, as well as his equally intense emotions—both the positive and the 'negative' emotions that he experiences on a daily basis, that leads to so much pain later on. (In part because, the judgmental attitude that he was met with from the start seems to have only made him less likely to seek this deeper sort of assistance directly from his fellow Jedi in later times.)

And this brings me to another thing—the way these interpretations of the Code have developed by the time of the Prequels-era seems almost as though the Jedi had become…I don't know…afraid, perhaps, of 'the Dark Side'. I say this because, in my opinion, it is probably an extremely natural thing for every single Jedi (or Jedi-in-training) to have a brush with the Dark Side now and then, even perhaps frequently. But the problem arises when these experiences are treated as something that 'taints' the one who experiences it. As something to be ashamed of, rather than something that is just part of the normal journey of being/becoming a Jedi. (Or even just part and parcel of the life of *any* Force-wielder.) Not only is this an unrealistic expectation of all Force wielders (aka, to never ever give in to darker emotions), but it also leaves them more open to the suggestions of those who *would* use these darker emotions to their own evil purposes (*cough* Palpatine/Sidious *cough*).

Instead of trying to make themselves into 'robots' who never experience and/or exhibit any sort of strong 'personal' emotions, the Jedi should be trying to figure out how to balance and channel the emotions they do experience, and to be understanding and compassionate of the fact that some will fall into darkness at times, but that this doesn't mean they are totally lost or 'damaged goods', but simply that they have experienced something that will, hopefully, only make them stronger and more able to handle such intense emotions or emotionally difficult situations (such as personal loss, etc) in the long run.”

excerpt 4 (the downfall of the Republic and the Jedi Order as orchestrated by Palpatine, regardless of Anakin’s precise role):

“Regarding your point about something devastating happening to the Jedi Order regardless of whether or not Anakin had turned, oh my gosh, YES. I totally agree. This is strongly, strongly hinted at all throughout (both the Prequels and TCW). I get very frustrated when people view Anakin as somehow solely responsible for what happens. I don't deny his role in all of it, of course, but it must not be forgotten that it is Palpatine/Sidious' machinations that a) cause the Clone Wars, and b) lead the entire Republic and the Jedi Order along with it to the point that they are perfectly primed and ready to fall as of the end of Revenge of the Sith. Order 66 is something that Sidious had planned for long, long time, and something he was merely waiting around and biding his time before carrying out. He had actually tried first to start a galactic war over a decade earlier, as of The Phantom Menace, and if he had succeeded, this would have sped up his intended process. (Ironically, it is Anakin and Padme who prevent him from succeeding in that instance, but I digress…) Which brings me to another point—Sidious already had an apprentice all the way back then, and was always *going* to have an apprentice to carry out his will, no matter what. He just couldn't believe his luck when the Chosen One himself basically fell into his lap and he seized his opportunity to prey upon Anakin's fears, etc.”

excerpt 5 (The Jedi Order’s approach to ‘the Dark Side’ and to dealing with darker emotions, as related to the importance of familial bonds):

“I think you're right as well in saying that the Order wasn't necessary fearful *of* the Dark Side itself. I mean, most of the Jedi are not cowering in fear of the Sith and are courageous in standing against darksiders in general, etc. Rather, their reticence seems to be more in regard to freely *exploring* the Dark Side, in the sense of using it/tapping into it. Which is understandable, given that that Jedi Order is dedicated to the Light. But at the same time, this reticence or even fear of allowing this type of exploration seems to have lead the Jedi to the point of not even knowing much about or truly understanding the Sith and/or Dark Side. And if one doesn't even know or fully understand one's 'enemy', then the enemy will always have the advantage. Which is precisely what happens.

You are also spot-on about how there are many ways of achieving inner-peace and calm, and many ways of 'holding back the darkness'. And the fact is that, for some Jedi, this might take the shape of being allowed to have an outlet for their stronger emotions, or to even be allowed to have the emotional support of family members/loved ones. For, as you say, some people just *need* something (or someone) to fight for, alongside their more general role as 'protectors of the galaxy'. The greater good can be adequate motivation for some, but maybe not the 'be all and end all' for everyone. After all, *family* is the building block of any civilization, however advanced, and if those who are supposed to be the protectors of civilization have forgotten the importance of this essential element, it is no surprise that the whole thing can so easily come tumbling down.”

◇ from my response to a comment on my DW account, pt. 2 (re: the PT in relation to the OT, and the purpose of the concept of Force Ghosts):

excerpt 1 (how I came to appreciate Anakin and the Prequels):

“…I grew up on the Original Trilogy, and Luke was always my fave …my childhood ‘hero of all heroes’, and much of my admiration for him stemmed from the way in which he manages to save his father, instead of destroying him, as everyone had encouraged him to do. Back then, I already really loved the father-son dynamic in RotJ, and was always deeply moved by Vader’s redemption at the end of that film, but I never really thought too much about Anakin’s overall storyline. And even after the Prequels were released, I, like so many others, dismissed them on a surface level for a long time, and didn’t really take the time to understand what they were trying to convey. So, believe me, yes, I am well aware of their various supposed ‘flaws’ and whatnot, but over the years (and with the assistance of additional supplementary material like The Clone Wars animated series) I have been able to gain a deeper appreciation of the *story* that is being told in those films, and of the overall purpose of Anakin’s arc.

Many dismiss Anakin as a character simply because of his evil deeds during and after his downfall, without understanding that the Skywalker saga...is intended to be viewed, overall, as a myth. Infused as it is with elements of heroic epics and greek drama, it is a distinctively older type of tale, played out on a galactic level. There is, therefore, something beautifully Romantic about this story that many miss, especially in the current climate of tumblr-fandom that is so myopically focused on concepts of ‘social justice.’ The more I thought about it, the more I came to love this extremely misunderstood character—this deeply loving, tragically flawed, all-too human god trapped inside a machine.”

excerpt 2 (the importance of Coruscant as a location, symbolically and in relation to Anakin’s fall):

“So yes, the…Prequel story is meant to show that the Jedi Order was not entirely ‘blameless’, and was, by its blind participation in a Sith-run war (amongst many other things), at least partially responsible for its own destruction and downfall. The location of Coruscant itself is meant to symbolize the deep levels of corruption already extant in the Republic as a whole, and to show that the Republic’s veneer of ‘civilization’ in fact is built upon a decaying foundation, one that is, by this point, being steadily and secretly ‘devoured’ by the Sith from within.”

excerpt 3 (Death vs. Immortality as a thematic link between Anakin’s fall and redemption):

“…when it came to the Prequels, there had to be a way of explaining [the concept of Force ghosts], because it was kind of a complex issue. There had to be a reason why Anakin/Vader was not previously aware of the possibility of this happening (his confusion in ANH at Obi-Wan’s disappearance makes it clear that he had never really encountered anything like it before), and so it was something that could not have been widely known or understood as of the Prequels-era. This is where Qui-Gon Jinn’s character comes into it (‘Jinn’ meaning ‘spirit’). This part is a little bit… confusing, admittedly, as there wasn’t really enough time to cover it in the scope of the Prequel films, but there *are* some further little hints scattered throughout the TCW series regarding this (such as Qui-Gon appearing briefly in ghost/spirit/vision form to a surprised Obi-Wan and Yoda, at certain key points).

What I find interesting here, is how this entire concept ended up being integrated into Anakin’s storyline. Because one of the biggest overriding themes of his story is this concept of mortality, or rather, his struggle to *accept* mortality—from which stems his extreme Fear of Loss, and eventual downfall, after which point he, ironically, becomes the embodiment *of* Death to the entire galaxy. In the RotS novelization, there is this evocative and incredible powerful recurring imagery of ‘the dragon of that dead star’—an ancient voice inside his head that whispers, “all things die, Anakin Skywalker, even stars burn out.” Anakin is himself compared to a dying star throughout the course of RotS, and then later, in the OT period, as Vader, it is almost like he has *become* ‘the dragon of that dead star’ (ie, of the ‘Death Star’). In other words, he feared Death…and so Death he became.

This is a huge part of Anakin’s arc, and is one of the main components of the Jedi Code that Anakin struggled with for almost his entire life. This concept of ‘Death…yet the Force.’ Anakin’s struggle with the concept of mortality is therefore a struggle with his own faith. During the Prequel-era, he is never able to fully *believe* in or accept this reality. And this aspect of his struggle makes a lot more sense if his story is taking place in a context where actual visible ‘proof’ of life and/or existence after death via the Force is not currently known (or has perhaps been long-forgotten). So, for this reason alone, it make sense that Obi-Wan would learn how to ‘become’ a Force ghost (or whatever) during the period between RotS and ANH, and would do so via the assistance of his own ‘dead’ master, Qui-Gon Jinn.

The technicalities of how all of this is supposed to occur don’t really concern me, as I am more interested in the symbolism of it all. And what is so beautiful about it is that Anakin’s return to his True Self occurs, at least in part, because he finally accepts his own mortality, and gives up his own life to save his son. Before removing his father’s mask, Luke says to him, ‘but you’ll die’. Anakin’s reply, ‘nothing can stop that now’ becomes even more poignant when we consider that he had struggled to accept this fact his entire life (first with his mother, and then with Padme). It’s beautiful and symbolic and oh-so fitting to me that, in finally *accepting* his mortality and sacrificing himself to save his loved one, he is redeemed, and is also granted this sort of ‘immortality’ in the Force.

To me, *THAT* is what the final scene in Return of the Jedi is meant to signify—anything else is just a technicality, and one that I prefer not to concern myself with too much. My view of the PT and the OT is as forming together a ‘magnum opus’—aka, the ‘great work’ as defined in alchemy. And one of the intended results of the magnum opus is to discover and/or bring forth the ‘elixir’ or ‘philosopher’s stone’ that leads to eternal life, via a ‘Union of Opposites’. In the context of the Skywalker saga, this Union of Opposites is none other than Anakin and Padme’s forbidden love, the result of which is Luke (and Leia).

And so, what matters here is that Anakin Skywalker has finally, finally regained his faith and thus become a ‘True Jedi’ (as opposed to what the Jedi Order had defined ‘being a Jedi’ as during the Prequels-era). Because, in being saved by his son’s love, and by saving and demonstrating his love for his son above all, he has proven, once and for all, the Truth that he had long denied (because it had been so long denied *to* him)—aka, that ‘love (and thus personal attachments!) CAN save you’. And what is more, he has accepted that final aspect of his faith that had likewise eluded him for so long… Death…yet the Force.”

◇ from ‘Not just nostalgia’ (my response to this tumblr post):

(or, why a positive view of the Original Trio is of utmost importance to the message of Anakin’s story and the saga as a whole)

“ The tragedy of the Prequels seems to have perhaps lead some people to conclude, erroneously, that ALL of Star Wars (aka the Skywalker saga) is meant to be viewed in a similarly tragic light. This could not be farther from the truth—the Prequels, as the first half of the magnum opus, were given the structure of a greek tragedy in order to complement and enhance the emotional catharsis of the pre-existing Original Trilogy (the second half the Opus). The darkness of the beginning of the tale is not meant to overshadow the redemption at the end of it, but rather make it shine all the brighter. Lucas intended *his* Star Wars to be, not a tragedy, but one of the ‘divine comedies of redemption’. (If you don’t believe me, just read anything ever written by Joseph Campbell, one of Lucas’ most formative mythic influences.)

And so, the tragedy from which the second half of the story is born, is NOT, I repeat, NOT meant to insinuate that the Skywalker family is ‘doomed’ or ‘fated’ or ‘cursed’ to suffer constant, repeated ‘family tragedies’ no matter what. And it is certainly not meant to suggest that they (Luke, Leia, Han) will inevitably make the same old mistakes or meet the same fates as those who came before….. As I’ve mentioned before, Anakin’s tragedy is inextricably linked to his particular milieu and to his cosmic role and status as the Chosen One—it cannot be easily replicated, let alone repeated ad nauseum. Luke and Leia are likewise ‘of’ their own era, and are freed from the myriad restrictions and machinations that so ensnared their parents. When it comes to their role in this particular myth, they are thus meant to rise above the tragedy that came before, rather than repeat it.

And they do. In his climactic confrontation with his father and the Emperor in RotJ, Luke breaks the cycle. He throws away his lightsaber, and refuses to succumb. Unlike his father, Luke Skywalker is NOT a tragic figure, nor was he EVER intended to be. (Luke = Light. That’s what is name means, and that is what he is meant to represent, through and though. Luke is the Galahad to Anakin’s Lancelot.) And neither is Leia, for that matter. Yes, the Skywalker twins both suffer great loss, face great darkness, and have their own inner and outer struggles through the course of the OT, but overall their stories are intended to have an entirely positive (and restorative) outcome.

It is important to point out that, because Luke and Leia are the result of Anakin and Padme’s forbidden love (aka, the Union of Opposites of the magnum opus, which is meant to bring forth none other than the elixir of life itself), the hopeful, positive, and successful nature of their respective stories is absolutely crucial to the validation of it. After all, Luke and Leia’s very existence is the biggest ‘f*ck you’ ever to the Old Jedi Order. Love and family were something that was forbidden to the Jedi of old, and yet this is what brings hope and restores peace to the galaxy. This is the entire point of the story.

When viewed in the context of the PT and OT together, the Trio’s role is clear: by fully and openly embracing the LOVE and support of their family and friends, Luke and Leia are able rise above the tragedy of their parents. Their combined heroism, fueled as it is *by* their (positive) personal attachments, breaks the cycle and brings about Anakin’s redemption….restoring freedom to the galaxy, and vindicating Anakin and Padme’s love. An unequivocally positive view of the Original Trio’s relationship is therefore an essential and intrinsic element of the redemptive message of Lucas’ saga. To negate that, and to turn the Trio into tragic figures themselves, is to negate the entire purpose of the story—not just of the Original Trilogy, but of the saga as a whole. ”

And finally, one of my favourite excerpts…..

◇ from @muldertorture’s excellent post, ‘STAR WARS: The Creation of a Modern Myth: Cultural Influence, Fan Response, and the impact of Literary Archetypes on Saga Perception’:

(***please note, I DID NOT WRITE THIS ONE, I’m just including it here because I wholeheartedly agree with it)

“ Anakin…exists relative to the state of the galaxy. He is not Luke, he is not the youth of western literature on a journey; that is Luke’s role. Anakin’s role is that of the demi-god of Greek and Roman origin. When Anakin rises, the galaxy rises with him, when Anakin is in turmoil, the galaxy is in turmoil, when Anakin falls, so falls the galaxy. Anakin is intrinsic to the galaxy because Anakin, like so many other mythological demi-gods, is an avatar for the gods or, in the case of Star Wars, the Force. Regardless of any one person’s views on the Force (which are extremely disparate and widely varied, so we won’t broach that subject here), this fact is indisputable. Anakin, as the Chosen One who will “bring balance to the Force”, is its avatar. When Anakin is claimed by the Dark, the Jedi Order’s zenith is reached, the Balance is tipped, and the Order descends into darkness with Anakin, just as his return also signals theirs.

The title ‘Return of the Jedi’ doesn’t just reference Luke becoming a Jedi, but Anakin’s return to the Light, and with it, the ability for the Jedi Order to once more flourish. In this he is much like Beowulf, when the Geatish hero sacrifices himself to defeat the dragon at the end of the epic poem. Failure would spell ultimate destruction for Beowulf’s people and country, just as, had Anakin failed to destroy the Emperor, the Jedi and the galaxy would truly have been wiped out. Anakin himself has to die, however, because he is what tips the scales. Once he dies and becomes one with the Force, only then is balance restored.”

my commentary:

This right here is absolutely fundamental to understanding the entire purpose of the Skywalker saga, as Lucas so painstakingly told it. The destruction of the old Jedi Order that had ‘lost its way’ and forgotten its true role in the galaxy, and the founding of the New, heralded by Anakin’s return to the Light, and Luke’s essential role in reminding him—and us all—of what it means to be a True Jedi.

In closing, I’ll leave you with a selection of a few of my favourite fan vids that beautifully illustrate Anakin’s role as a tragic hero:

Krwling by YlvaJo

The Hand of Sorrow by Damsel In Damnation

Hurt by Matt Kowynia

Simple Math by SmokeyFizz

Eventually, I would love to write more meta-analysis on this subject (as it is near and dear to my heart), but in the meantime, I hope that this compilation will be of some use. :)

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