You and Star Wars have had a good run. You saw the original movies when you were young and grew to love them more and more with age. One of the first shining moments in your cinematic-viewing youth was watching the towering and imposing figure of Darth Vader on the screen; dark, deadly, terrifying. You’ve had endless debates over which of the original trilogy is the true superior film; obviously disregarding the prequel trilogy that the universe’s creator devoted so much time passion to, because fuck those movies, right?
You bought the shirts, shunned the assholes who thought Star Wars was for fags; and stuck with your team of fanboys and girls, discussing the future of the franchise and how excited you were for new and interesting story arcs in the Star Wars sandbox.
But in this time, you forgot one thing–you used to be a kid.
You’ve spent the better part of your adult life attempting to rationalize children’s films into a gold-standard of cinema, and convinced yourself of this pseudo-religious fantasy so deeply that you’ve forgotten what it’s like to actually enjoy the movies as they were meant to be enjoyed.
Now, when new movies come out; re-interpreting and reiterating everything that we fans actually love about the movies–the hokey dialogue, the silly creatures, the archetypes and, yes, the Wars–you can’t handle feeling just a little left out. And when you feel left out, you lash out, because now you’re the frustrated ones thinking that Star Wars is for fags…so I think it’s time you abandon ship.
…because you guys are bumming the rest of us out. And we don’t need your self-righteous pretentious fun-hating faggotry around our Star Wars anymore.
Case in point: Richard Brody, a real Rasputin-looking Film Critic fuck from The New Yorker, wrote a long-winded and delusional diatribe about the new Rogue One film not living up to his cinematic standards. His cinematic standards, by the way, are essentially restricted to François Truffaut, Jean-Luc Godard, and Samuel Fuller. His review of Rogue One (which you can read here) reads more like the self-important intellectual rambling of a eccentric loner, masturbating to his own genius; and by the time Brody is done combing the spunk out of his own grey beard, we’re left with a mess of condescending adjectives to describe a simple, fun, self-aware, emotional war movie playing with unbridled joy in the Star Wars sandbox. But I’ll get into that more in my review, later.
For now, I’ll leave you with this. While it’s perfectly reasonable to criticize the new Star Wars films, you have to keep in context what they are. We can be critical of the things we love by contrasting them with our feelings toward the original material, but we must not forget why we loved them in the first place. Star Wars surely has a special place in all of our hearts, and I readily admit to being an apologist for all of the franchise’s faults (except for the Christmas Special and Ewok movies…I just can’t rationalize those mistakes). I even love the prequels and watch them probably more than I should.
But if you watch The Force Awakens and Rogue One with a sense of anger and discomfort over some lost joy of your youth–while looking around and seeing the expressed satisfaction of those who are young and young-at-heart over the new action, characters, and story–maybe the movies aren’t the problem.
And maybe it’s time to start doing some of that self-reflection you’ve been putting off in favor of having another debate about who shot first.
Go fuck yourselves. Especially, you, Richard Brody.