Revenge of the Greek Tragedy

(Warning: This is a "Star Wars" meditation -- which means it's incredibly long, maddeningly specific and doggedly dedicated to blind faith in the mythology of the epic series).

So, 28 years and it all comes down to this.




The six-part epic is finally complete, and what have we learned?

That the original three movies were far more campy, breezy and, ultimately, more entertaining? That the prequels were less so, but dazzled with special effects and gratuituous appearances and tie-ins? That George Lucas has made a lot of money? That there are more plot holes than holes in a noodle sifter?

To each his own. "Star Wars" is one of those pop culture phenomenons that elicit passion -- whether love or hate. But lost in comparisons and expectations and endless speculation on why bad guys use red lightsabers and the good guys get two choices ... is what simply is.

The original three movies -- "Episode IV -- A New Hope," "Episode V -- Empire Strikes Back" and "Episode VI -- Return of the Jedi" -- are what they are. They tell the story of Luke Skywalker and how he comes to terms with his father, how he redeems him.

Yet blinded by the special effects and the general air of disappointment of the prequels -- "Episode I -- The Phantom Menace," "Episode II -- Attack of the Clones" and, now, "Episode III -- Revenge of the Sith" -- is a profound revelation for any who take the myth of "Star Wars" seriously and see more than cool lightsaber duels and exotic creatures.

(An aside: Those who reject the prequels out of hand are typically those grown-up children who don't realize that it's not the movies' fault that returning wholly to childhood is impossible; the young ones seem to connect with the newer ones, but their voices are not yet loud enough to be heard).

These newer movies are what they are. Can't we enjoy them separately? Why is there the need to rank them?

It seems like a collector's mentality. An oversimplification.

But the end of this newest era is the redefinition of what all "Star Wars" movies are all about: the story of Anakin Skywalker. It adds depth to Darth Vader's redemption. It shows that Luke redeems his father -- but, so too, does Anakin redeem himself by accepting the love of his son, a love he rejected from his wife in her last, desperate attempt to convince him to give up his power.

This story of Anakin changes the dynamic of how we relate to the Darth Vader we've grown up with over the course of a generation.

A little slave boy from the ghetto, disillusioned with authority because authority is indifferent, except to preserve its authority. It's not hard to see why he has no love of a system of government bickering endlessly while countless suffer in slavery. The weight of the world is thrust upon his shoulders at age 10. "You are The Chosen One; you will bring balance to The Force," blah, blah, blah." Jedi code for "you have an enormous amount of power, and we have no idea how to control it or what it will mean to us and our power."

He's ripped from his mother. He has no father, other than the senator/emperor who acts as a father figure. Obi-Wan is more of a brother (in "Sith" ... "you were like a brother to me"), a big brother trying to raise a little brother. Anakin is both looked to for hope and feared for his unpredictability.

Or, more precisely, his penchant to use his power to achieve personal goals, goals that are based in goodness but ultimately lead to a path of megalomania.

He is, in essence, bipolar in a sense that is of God-like proportions.

We see him become a young man desperate for the affection and security of a woman, so he marries young and rashly -- to another who has grown up too fast. Anakin and Padme simply want to isolate themselves, create their own world, but their lives are fated otherwise.

Anakin is deftly manipulated by what could be the most-evil villain in cinema (at least Hannibal Lector was straight up about wanting to eat your liver). The evil here is made clear: powerlust, empire.

But the recipe for Anakin's downfall is far more sophisticated.

The Jedi have become so entrenched in their "code" that they are arrogant and blind to the possibility of failure ("if our archives don't show it, it doesn't exist"). Even as Count Dooku lays out to Obi-Wan how a dark Sith lord has overtaken the senate, he refuses to believe it. In fact, most of the Jedis are overconfident enough to believe that they will figure it all out by sheer erudite contemplation. By their own power.

Yoda laments this new trend of arrogance in Jedi.

How are they any different than when Anakin puts all his faith in his personal ability to control the future? Like Anakin says before Obi-Wan slices him into a quadraplegic, steaming heap: "From my point of view, the Jedi are evil."

Qui-Gonn Jinn -- perhaps the least arrogant of all the Jedi; and the most malleable to change -- tells Anakin as a boy "your focus determines your reality." It's all a matter of point view.

No one cares to free slaves. The government, mired in bureaucracy, cares little about fixing any problems, only maintaining status quo. Anakin's told he has potential to be more powerful than any other Jedi. Why not try to bring order to the entire galaxy? How is he to believe that's not what his destiny is?

What does Anakin in is fear. Fear to lose what he loves. A lack of faith and a misguided assumption that he can singlehandedly defeat death. In fact, that is the ultimate bait the emperor uses; to save his wife from death at childbirth he must become a Sith and explore powers the Jedi would never explore.

It doesn't help in all of this confusion that the Jedi leaders, particularly Mace Windu, relegate Anakin to the ranks of outsider. Outsiders looking for comfort will find it ... somewhere. There is no sense among them that Anakin is a special case, one that deserves a fluid approach to understand the newness he brings. He is believed to be the one to bring balance to The Force, and the Jedi are myopic enough to believe it can only be accomplished from their philosophical point of view.

What does that mean, bring balance to the force? It sounds heady, and it really is never clear. It sounds reasonable, though, that amid an environment of the arrogance and indifference of those in power, Anakin is tasked with showing an entire galaxy what it means to suffer. Beyond abstract rumination. It is inevitable, really. He can't realize what he is -- he can't find faith -- without exploring both sides of the ultimate truth (yin and yang, order and chaos, dark side and light side, Coke vs. Pepsi).

In this way, as he is redeemed through his son when he realizes the pure truth of a yielding love (that his son is willing to die for him even though he's done nothing to deserve it), Anakin completes the entire journey ... and brings a sense of balance to what it means to be a Jedi. A correction not unlike a stock bubble burst. Painful but necessary.

It is a new understanding of the nature of power and where true power resides.

Yoda speaks of it. Of letting go.

Qui-Gonn speaks of it. Of living each moment with the ultimate will of what is, in eastern philosophical terms, The Way. It's Qui-Gonn who ultimately learns how to use The Force to commune with the living world (and, for all those who wonder why Jedi didn't disappear in the prequels ... well, there you have it).

Obi-Wan is far too self-centered. But he learns. Yoda tells him to learn of this so-called Living Force as he spends his middle-aged years in exhile watching over Luke on Tatooine. He ultimately allows Vader to kill him. A true change of course to the conventional wisdom of what it means to be a Jedi. Self sacrificial in the true -- not abstract -- sense.

Pushed to the verge of extinction tends to make you rethink your beliefs.

Anakin kills children. Truly disturbing and quite a striking transformation. The entire lead to his turning into Darth Vader is disturbing. It almost doesn't fit. Darth Vader was evil those years ago, yes; but was he that evil?

Perhaps it's a matter of point of view. Padme says before she dies, "There is still good in him."

Apparently, that turned out to be true, but damn after this if it isn't hard to believe.

The nuts and bolts: "Revenge of the Sith" never slows down. If you're looking for light in all the darkness, this is Obi-Wan's movie, he is the epitome of the hero everyone wants to be; R2D2 adds to his irresistible appeal; Chewbacca makes an appearance and that's always good; Yoda battling the emperor is epic; Mace Windu doesn't go out like a punk; the betrayal of the Jedi is stunning; the opening space battle doesn't quite measure up with the majestic simplicity of the Millenium Falcon manuevering past imperial star destroyers, but it's quite incredible.

Everything comes back to Anakin, and by extension because of what is most important to him, Padme.

His turn is tragic. The crowd at the midnight showing -- arguably the most-fervent of fans -- was stunned. They cheered each preview of summer action movies. They sold themselves out in the portions of the movie meant to capture the campy essence of "Star Wars," even in the face of permeating darkness.

But when the credits cut and the music signaled the end, a smattering of hands clapping cast a strange pall. The movie wasn't anti-climactic. It was almost too climactic; almost too much to bear.

Fans expected to leave and tell friends of how "awesome" the movie was. In many ways, it was "awesome." But the tragedy, the hopelessness, the inevitability of it all, left us all wanting to sit in our seats, cut the credits short and start up the whimsical movie that began it all in 1977.

It's less the case that we will forever see Darth Vader in a different light. Rather, his son will forever be cast against such despair ... and we find new appreciation for a frustratingly optimistic Luke Skywalker whining about the space adventures he's missing.