I overcame my theater phobia last night long enough to go see "Stars Wars: Episode I, The Phantom Menace."  The 5 pm showing.  A $4.50 ticket.  No fans camped outside the doors this day.  In fact, my friend David and I had the place all to ourselves, so we had to take turns sitting right in front of each other in order to partially fulfill our expectations.  Alas, the man's utter inability to chew popcorn with his mouth open still left me feeling cheated.

     I'd taken other expectations with me as well, of course, and these also were mostly frustrated.  For example, having read many bad reviews of the movie, I fully expected to hate every second of it, but... I did not.  In fact, I rather enjoyed it.  And I would have enjoyed it even more had the actors delivered their lines in Lithuanian.
     The key to enjoying the movie, I think, is to approach it as a big screen kaleidoscope.  You know, just sit back and watch the pretty images fly by.  On this level, the movie is a marvel.  Some 95% of the frames, I'm told, have been digitally charmed, and it shows.  To add that this apparently left a mere $5.97 of the $115 million budget for the writers to split would be rude and quite beside the point.  One simply does not take a kaleidoscope into one's hands in order to read the tiny words printed on the side of the tube.

     So.  The fact that I still don't know what in the hell the phantom menace was, is, or will be in some sequel, prequel, or Taco Bell soda cup doesn't bother me.  I know that the boy called Anakin Skywalker will one day grow up to be the voice of James Earl Jones, and I really could have done without knowing even that.
     Newsweek has repeatedly ragged on the performance of Jake Lloyd as Anakin, which just goes to show you how far you can go while knowing nothing at all.  As if to underline the point, Newsweek praised Ray Park's Darth Maul character exactly as if Maul wasn't just one more cardboard Satan figure mechanically pushing our "Hiss" button the way a 70-year-old hooker might run her nails across my chest if she'd only forget that I'm one of those guys who never tips.
     This raises several other issues, only some of which I'm prepared to address at this time.
These would include:
 

• Must the villains always be ugly and instantly despicable?  Having them so may inflame our own Dark Side prejudices against those who look different from ourselves.  If nothing else, George, it certainly inflames my boredom.
• Must the enemy armies always be basically faceless, interchangeable storm troopers and droids?  Every nation at war likes to dehumanize the enemy.  You really don't need to reinforce this unfortunate impulse by in effect saying, "The enemy really isn't human in the least!  They're unthinking, unfeeling automatons - kill them without moral qualm."  Please note that Douglas R. Hofstadter among others have suggested that any robot capable of sophisticated thought and behavior probably must have feelings in order to function.  Such creatures/creations cannot be dismissed as mere racks of metal any more than people can be dismissed as mere sacks of water.
• Must the Death Star of the moment always be destroyed by a single shot that hits a critical location?  Can't a civilization advanced enough to conquer space find a single engineer somewhere in all the universe who can't fix this recurring problem?  If nothing else, can't they find a script doctor willing to amputate the foot that's causing the plot to limp along with that damn Achilles' heel cliché?
• How come kids in a galaxy long ago and faraway can always hop right into a foreign-built starship and drive it like an expert but it takes my wife days just to figure out where the wiper button is on a new car?  Are you trying to say my wife is stupid - is that what you're saying, George?  Try saying it to my face instead of hiding behind a silver screen next time, ok?! 
• How come Hollywood keeps showing masses of faceless enemies being mowed down while the Good Guys never seem to suffer so much as a flesh wound?  You know, part of the suspense of old movies like "The Dirty Dozen" and the disaster films of the '70s like "The Poseidon Adventure" derived from the fact that we knew not everyone was coming back.  Is this part of some '90s American Zeitgeist which exhibits an inability to accept war as an activity which entails casualties?  Or merely a return to the days when John Wayne could shoot down masses of "sub-human" Indians and Japanese without losing his hat?  (I know, I know - Liam ends up buying the farm.  Word is that was a mere contractual obligation mandated by his agent so as to protect his career from any association with Episode II.) 
• OK, OK, I get the point: Insect-like social organization bad, personal freedom and initiative good.  "Star Trek" makes the point in a more sophisticated way with the Borg, "Antz" makes the point more humorously with the rebellion led by Woody Allen, the demise of the Soviet Union makes the point for history buffs.  The collapse of the droid army the instant the controlling mothership is hit is utterly unnecessary.  What's worse, it might be mistaken for the point that "Independent PCs are better than networks which depend on mainframes."  Now there's a news flash!  Maybe Episode II can make clear the wisdom of hospitals having back-up generators.  Just a thought.
• George, would you sue me if I made a movie called "Star Pacifists"?  Instead of showing how a couple men of action can save the day like so many, many movies have, it would show how not all democratically elected bodies are incompetent, nor all diplomats patsies, nor a forthright resort to arms always without unintended negative consequences.  Or would this foil some long-term Hollywood conspiracy meant to prime the country for dictatorship?

     Note that I have also avoided mentioning Jar Jar Binks until now.  Alas, some say he, too, is a despicable stereotype - in effect, a lizardly Jamaican Stepin Fetchit.  I can see why they might say that.  
     I wish I knew what to say myself....
     The fact is, I'm simply too close to the situation to say much of anything at all.  For amazing as it may be, Jar Jar Binks went to high school with me.  Oh, he was James Binks back then.  And not at all the good-looking hunk he is now.  But Jim-Jim (as we called him) was always quite the guy.  Dipping his ears in my milk at lunch.  Snatching the answer key out of the teacher's desk with his tongue when she wasn't looking.  Doing a wicked impersonation of Richard Nixon pissing on the Constitution while standing at a urinal in the boy's room. 
     Who'd have thunk that HE would be the one to grow up to be the Big Star?
     The guy voted Most Likely To Be Hit By A Runaway Train While Stranded On A Desert Isle!
     As bad as his Dumb Native In Need Of White Man's Help act may have been, I simply couldn't quite bring myself to knock him back then, and I can't now.  I'm sorry.
     If he doesn't come through with that autographed picture of R2-D2 like I asked for on his secretary's voice mail, however, look out.

     Finally, there's that little matter of The Virgin Birth.
     You know the scene.  Liam Neeson as Jedi warrior Qui-Gon Jinn asks Anakin's mom who the boy's father was and mom turns and says -
     Well, I wanted her to say "Sorry, I was too drunk at the time to note the name," but she didn't.  Instead, she says something like "No one - his was a virgin birth."
     At which point I wanted wise old warrior Liam to roll his eyes and say "Jesus Christ, lady!  Why don'tcha go ahead and pull my other leg while you're at it!?" but he didn't.  No, much to my disappointment, he accepts this tale at face value.
     And why not?  Virgin births are nothing rare.  At least not in fiction (and if "The Phantom Menace" is actually a documentary, I apologize).  In fact, virgin birth myths were old hat long before Jesus was so much as a twinkle in his mother's sky.  Hohum.
     What I really wish Anakin's mom had said instead, now that I think about it, is this: "Oh, it took six men to father a boy like that!  Three on horseback, two on foot, and one with a face to die for!"
     At which point she'd pull out a glossy photo of Ben Stein.
     But admittedly that might just be me.  The preferences of actual "Star Wars" fans may vary.  Consult one close to you for details.
     I'll be here, waiting.
     With two BIG thumbs up for the BEST kaleidoscope of the year.