The Phantom Menace
Look, I know the last thing you want to read is another review of The Phantom Menace. You've either already seen it or are going to see it, even if I tell you it's a miserable piece of crap. Seeing The Phantom Menace simply isn't an option: it's a cultural imperative. But that's what makes the phenomenon so interesting - Star Wars is more than a movie franchise or a marketing scheme, it's an indelible part of American culture. Except for the Wizard of Oz, no other films have worked their way into the subconscious of this country the way Star Wars has.
This makes the film impossible to review. If I tell you it sucks, then I'm an elitist whiner. If I say it's fantastic, I'm a propaganda stooge. Similarly, George Lucas was never going meet expectations for a film so hyped you'd think it had the cure for AIDS, baldness, and Pat Robertson hidden in its little celluloid folds. How do you write a follow-up to The Wizard of Oz? No matter how great it is, it's invariably going to disappoint.
When the first Star Wars film was released, the critics hated it. It was accused of having acting that was shaky at best, a plot that was as simplistic as it was predictable, and character development that died in the operating room of General Hospital. I sat and watched the original trilogy again last week to prep for The Phantom Menace, and all of those allegations are true. (My first misgivings came when I watched the "cleaned-up" versions, with unnecessary extra scenes and excessive digital masturbation.)
But still, you get the sense when watching Star Wars that you're looking at a classic. Why? Lucas took a story taken from tried-and-true mythology, a clearly defined good vs. evil script, and fleshed it out with memorable characters that any 10-year-old could look up to and admire but that didn't talk down to adults.
That's the difference, and that's why The Phantom Menace isn't as enjoyable as it could have been - the 10-year-olds are the main audience this time. Listen, I really wanted to love it. I was aching to love it. When the theatre darkened and that familiar score blasted out of the speakers as the opening text scrolled off into the cosmos, I literally had a grin plastered from ear to ear. When we were introduced to the stoic Obi-Wan and the even more stoic Qui-Gon, I tried to forgive the stilted dialogue and stiff acting. I forced myself to remember the laughable exchanges between Luke and his uncle. But here comes Queen Amidala, even more uptight and ponderous than the two Jedi. Is there no one who'll crack a smile in this flick?
Enter Jar-Jar Binks. Die-hard Star Wars fanatics want this giggling quasi-amphibian strung up by his stalked eyeballs, left to gurgle that quasi-Rastafarian accent in the blood that rises in his throat. Can't say I blame them. He is endlessly irritating, and likely only amusing to the new crop of 10-year olds who will collect figures of him as fervently as I did C3PO and R2D2. But Jared, you say, isn't that the point? Won't these kids grow up to have as fond memories of Jar-Jar and The Phantom Menace as you do of Chewbacca?
To which I say - they might. But I was not embarrassed of my lingering affection for Chewie when I saw Star Wars again. He's cuddly, loyal and dependable in a fight, a noble companion. Jar-Jar is a bumbling pain in the ass, and 15 years from now, these kids will watch him wondering why they ever thought he was funny, much as America does with old Amos and Andy sketches.
Which brings me to my next point. This being Portsmouth, the Land of Happy, Moderately Wealthy European-Americans, I didn't hear hoots of derision at the overtly racist tone of Jar-Jar's unintelligible Sambo routine or the ViceRoy's low-rent Chinese Waiter mumblings. But they made me rather uncomfortable, and seemed entirely unnecessary. And Darth Maul, he of the Mexican Wrestler visage, is given so little screen time that his Menace doesn't hit home, and makes the climactic battle rather anti-.
All this said, is The Phantom Menace a bad movie? Not exactly. The special effects are quite impressive, and young Anakin Skywalker's pod race through the canyons of Tatooine is the sort of high octane thrill ride that every kid wishes he could take. Hell, I want a turn on one of those sound-barrier busters. The battle scenes on the planet Naboo, the underwater city, the planet that is one giant Manhattan, the cavernous Senate chambers, even the saber duel at the end which, for all it lacks in emotional involvement, is hella fine choreographed - all are visuals that will stay with you when the movie is over.
Watching the relationship develop between young Anakin (who we know to be the future Vader) and the frosty Queen Amidala (who warms up in the middle) bodes well for the next installment, rumored to be a love story. I also look forward to seeing just how the Republic falls to shambles, bringing us to the brink of destruction depicted in Episode 4. But see? This is what I'm talking about. I give the movie 2 ½ out of 4 stars, and yet I'm already looking forward to the sequel. While far from perfect and maybe even a stone's throw from good, there's enough digital wizardry to keep your eyes from noticing that the backstory is rather less than satisfying. As I said, it's a cultural imperative to see this film and the ones to follow. We both know you'll eventually see it. Although it's a galactic soap opera, it's still a soap opera - you don't watch for the story, you watch for the cliffhangers and relish in their absurdity. So relish already.
- Jared O'Connor
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All Content © 1997, 1998, 1999 Jared O'Connor and Michael Baker