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The Spokesman-Review Newspaper
Spokane, Washington  Est. May 19, 1883

20th century can do worse than ‘Star Wars’

The Spokesman-Review

When the guy started booing, my first thought was, “What the … ?”

My second thought was, “This is a joke, right?”

No. The guy was booing for real. And his partner was hissing.

This might have been appropriate for, say, a Mariners game when, say, Eddie Guardado blows a save – which he seldom does. But in a movie theater?

And that’s where we were. The Egyptian Theater, no less, during an 11 a.m. screening last week of a film playing at the Seattle International Film Festival.

It wasn’t just any screening either. Over the course of the festival’s 25-day run, one of the SIFF features is the Secret Festival. A festival highlight that requires a special pass, which can be bought only in advance, the Secret Fest offers one film at 11 a.m. all four Sundays.

In the past, the films have followed the bridal theme – old, new, borrowed, blue – which can mean a revival, a world premiere, something from another festival (Cannes, for example) or something with a bit of skin (or sad).

But that’s all I can tell you because to even take possession of the tickets, I had to sign a contract swearing that I wouldn’t reveal anything about the Secret Festival screenings. It’s enough to say that, over the years, I’ve seen a lot of films that I’ve gone on to write about in other contexts, films that I might not otherwise have had a chance to see.

And not all of them have been good. The former festival director, Darryl Macdonald, once introduced a film by saying, “I’m so excited that I’m trembling” – which earned him a nickname that my friends still use – but all I remember about that particular screening was that it sucked.

Even so, I didn’t boo. I rolled my eyes, made disparaging remarks to my wife and, not for the first time, left the theater feeling cheated. But I didn’t boo. I can be crude, but I’m seldom rude.

If I’d wanted to boo a film, I probably would have begun with the very first of George Lucas’ “Star Wars” movies, the 1977 film that now is titled “Star Wars: Episode IV – A New Hope.”

When “A New Hope” debuted, I was still in graduate school. I had seen two of Lucas’ previous films, “THX-1138” and “American Graffiti,” and loved both. “THX-1138” is a post-holocaust exploration of themes that George Orwell introduced in “1984,” while “American Graffiti” is a poignant look at Vietnam-era teen angst.

And so I, along with much of America, couldn’t wait to see “Star Wars.”

But maybe it was all the pre-release hype. Maybe it was all the hyperventilating critics. Maybe it was simply because I had politics that were far more radical in those days.

Whatever, I left the theater disappointed. I thought that Lucas had cobbled together pieces of films from every genre and made something that was less than the sum of its parts. Yes, I could see “God Is My Copilot,” “Flash Gordon,” Akira Kurosawa’s “The Hidden Fortress” and even bits of “Shane” and “The Searchers.”

But I also thought: Is this what the last quarter of the 20th century is going to be known for? Elizabethan London had Shakespeare, 18th century Paris had Voltaire and Rousseau, 1920s Paris had Hemingway and Joyce – and late-20th century America had “Star Wars”?

All those thoughts were going through my mind Monday evening when I saw the final chapter in the “Star Wars” saga, “Episode III – Revenge of the Sith.”

Which was a good thing because I was finally able to put much of my disappointment to rest. I still think that Lucas is a clumsy screenwriter. Much of the first two-thirds of “Revenge of the Sith” is static. People talk, some action happens. People talk again, and then some action happens. So it goes, with little progression toward an ending that we know is coming.

But by now, these characters have become so familiar that it’s illuminating just to see them interacting. Hayden Christensen had grown from a callow boy to the beginnings of a man who, twisted by his emotions and manipulated by the evil Palpatine, betrays the Jedi Code.

And so when, now encased in Darth Vader’s trademark black suit, he screams with rage, it’s easy to understand why he is so driven to wipe out all those who stand against the Empire, even his children. Vader’s evolution, which is the event upon which the series is based, becomes almost … well, the only appropriate word is Shakespearean.

So if “Star Wars” does end up representing the latter part of the 20th century, then consider this: It could be worse. “Survivor” could be put in its place.

If that happened, there would be only one suitable reaction.

Boo.