He Went Completely the Other Way

I've decided to try a Star Wars viewing order I don't think I've ever heard anyone talk about. Now that The Rise of Skywalker is on Disney+, I'm going to make my way through all eleven films in reverse chronological order: IX, VIII, VII, VI, V, IV, Rogue 1, Solo, III, II, I. Whatever interesting insights or observations occur to me, I'll blog as I go along.

First up, The Rise of Skywalker!

Let me say, for all the fuss about Finn never saying what it was that he meant to tell Rey, I think it's become pretty obvious he was going to tell her about finding his connection to the Force. Right from the first sequence of TROS that he's in, he's getting feelings and intuitions about things that haven't happened yet or are happening elsewhere. I don't think I paid any mind to it while in the theater (six times), but when he says, "I was just thinking that," in response to Poe's suggestion that they boulder the TIE fighters, it's not just because he's in tune with Poe and they're both strategizing -- it's because he's in touch with the Force and getting impressions of his surroundings or of impending possibilities.

I'll also say that from a purely filmic perspective, Rose Tico is actually in this movie a lot for someone who isn't playing a major plot role. I think she has more screen time than Hux, who was downgraded from one of the principal villains in the first two films to a bit part in this one. And of course, Captain Phasma didn't come back at all. Now, there's probably someone out there right now ranting at the computer screen about how JJ Abrams and Chris Terrio made a horrible mistake in choosing not to give her a major plot role, but (a) I believe it when they say she originally had a much larger part, but that many of her lines were cut because they were scenes with Leia where the CGI wasn't working the way they wanted, and (b) it's actually really hard to give large numbers of characters significant plot roles in the course of a film. Yeah, yeah, you've seen it lots of times, but that doesn't make it easy. And when you're plotting a story, you inevitably make choices about where your focus will be. For TROS, the filmmakers chose to leave Captain Phasma out, cut Hux off at the knees, have Maz Kanata appear without showing any of her plucky personality, put Luke in only a single scene, and separate Rose from the big three characters so that the audience would have an important character back at the base to play against the hodgepodge of repurposed Leia footage. This isn't some kind of crime against humanity; Yoda played an enormous role in the middle installment of the OT, and then had almost nothing to do in Return of the Jedi. Count Dooku was the main villain of Episode II and gets only a single scene in Return of the Sith. Boba Fett was hyped like crazy for Empire and sparked a fan base that has spent 40 years waiting for him to have a major film role, but literally got thrown down a hole in ROTJ. All three of those disappointed me, as did Rose's small role in TROS. The tradeoff is, we got to see our three main characters interacting a ton in this film, unimpeded by any need to establish Rose's place in what would then be a quartet instead of a trio. And for people who thought Rose was merely okay in TLJ, that was probably a much bigger payoff. People need to stop treating straightforward story choices like personal affronts to their very being. You can be disappointed without screaming that the screenwriters need to rot in hell for all eternity.

Okay, getting off that particular soap box and maybe onto another one ... like the prequels, TROS is a movie that does a huge amount of storytelling through implication, putting its trust in the viewer to connect the dots. Kylo Ren is the Supreme Leader, and from the conference room scene, we know he can pretty much do whatever he wants. He's clearly chosen to elevate General Pryce over Hux, yet keeps Hux around just for the purpose of rubbing his nose in his fall from near-greatness. None of these three characters has a single line of dialogue explaining that motivation or describing Pryce being put in charge or Hux being functionally demoted. But by playing the characters off one another in the way that they do, the filmmakers tell us plainly what has happened in the year since Kylo took over.

The same thing occurs when Rey calls Leia "master." That one word makes it clear that Leia hasn't just been helping Rey train because she's the leader of the Resistance and tangentially knows stuff about the Jedi from her brother. She's taken her on as a padawan, which validates the way Leia saves herself from the bridge explosion in TLJ. That wasn't just a fluke or an instinctual use of the Force; it was the action of a powerful Force user who fully knows what she's doing -- to the extent of comfortably taking on the role of master to an apprentice. It also explains why Leia goes up to Rey and hugs her when she gets off the Falcon at the end of The Force Awakens. The two of them have never met, but Leia knows there's already an important bond there because of Han, and because of their Force connection.

When Rey watches the children laughing at puppets in the desert of Pasaana, we're being told that she recognizes and appreciates their freedom to be children, despite living in a physically harsh environment similar to the one where she grew up. Also on Pasaana: when Kylo steals Rey's necklace, the camera stays on her while she's thinking through the implications of him taking it. She doesn't tell us or her friends that she knows the necklace will let Kylo figure out where they are; we know her thought process without any dialogue at all.

The whole movie is full of that kind of stuff. This is JJ's famous "mystery box" technique, which he gets criticized for all the time because people think it's an empty trick rather than a thoughtful method of storytelling. By showing us something that provides us the opportunity to fill in the blanks ourselves, he's able to squeeze a much greater amount of story into the film and keep it moving at a much faster pace, because the characters don't need to tell each other and the audience every little thing. Not only that, but since we're filling it in ourselves, it becomes more meaningful to us and involves us more deeply than if we were led through it by the hand with dialogue.

There's lots more I could say about this movie, but I'll leave it here for now. For one thing, I think it's very likely that rewatching The Last Jedi next, even more connections within TROS will come bubbling up for me.

Overall: The Rise of Skywalker is a tremendously fun movie that ties together all three of the sequel films as well as the saga itself. We start with Palpatine and with Anakin being foretold as the one who would bring balance to the Force, and we end with Palpatine and with Anakin telling Rey that she can return things to balance too.

I Guess I Was Wrong. There Was No Danger At All.

Okay, so I’m going through the movies in a slow-mo marathon of one every couple of weeks in the runup to Episode IX, and tonight I watched Attack of the Clones.

I always go into it worrying that somehow, I’ll finally see what the naysayers see and the film will let me down. But nope, every time it’s miles above I and III, and above most of ROTJ (though of course it can’t touch “I am a Jedi, like my father before me”).

Not only are the colors and landscapes and music just gorgeous from an aesthetic point of view, and not only does the movie deliver the thematic heart of the entire prequel trilogy, but it's rip-roaring fun from beginning to end, with only a few hiccups along the way.

I have a vivid recollection of being in the theater on opening night and seeing Obi-Wan jump through that window without a second's hesitation and deciding right then and there that, unlike The Phantom Menace, this was damn well a Star Wars movie. 

So here's a list of some of the things I love about Star Wars Episode II.

The big silver flying wing approaching Coruscant from the bottom up, rolling over to re-orient itself, gliding across the clouds and then down and through their misty obscurity. Absolutely beautiful, with terrific, moody music accompanying it.

Mace Windu patronizingly telling Senator Amidala that Count Dooku couldn't possibly be behind the assassination attempt on her because Dooku used to be a Jedi, so it simply wasn't in his character. The Jedi are meant to be putzes in the prequel trilogy, which a bafflingly large number of fans manage to overlook or deliberately ignore, and Windu's mansplaining here really hammers the point home.

Virtually every line Ian McDiarmid speaks.

Small echoes of Jake Lloyd in Hayden Christensen's performance as Anakin. One might argue that they're simply both failing as actors in the same stilted way, while speaking lines that Lucas wrote in the same stilted way, but the fact is, if you listen closely, their dialogue and delivery is extremely consistent. The way Anakin interrupts Padme on Naboo when she says he's just a Padawan learner harkens right back to his "I'm a person, and my name is Anakin," line when she calls him a slave in Episode I.

Jar Jar's dramatically reduced yet much more important role. He is still annoying, but he's there for a clear purpose, which we finally see when he plays the patsy by making the motion to give Palpatine emergency powers.

Anakin's rebellious insistence that "Investigation is implied in our mandate," and the awkward discomfort his argument with Obi-Wan engenders in everyone else in the room. The fact is, he's right. But Obi-Wan is being too by-the-book and too I'm-your-teacher to see or admit it.

The speeder chase. Sure, parts of it are cheesy, but it's a sustained sequence of the Jedi being absolutely amazing, doing the things they're good at, full of great kinetics, wild sound effects, and multiple holy-crap-did-he-really-just-do-that? moments.

Obi-Wan's gentle chastisement of Anakin when he catches up to him outside the club. He truly feels like a patient mentor here.

Anakin's shift from "Who hired you? Tell us," to "Tell us NOW," and the look of hopeful respect Obi-Wan gives him in between the two lines.

Jango Fett.

The scene of Padme packing, where she very reasonably defends Obi-Wan's actions as a mentor in response to Anakin's teen surliness. A lot of people find Anakin too immature and creepy in this scene, but that's pretty much the whole point. And Padme deals with his immaturity perfectly ... up until his gaze unsettles her.

Yoda bemoaning the fact that even some of the older, more experienced Jedi have become too sure of themselves. He's going down the hall with Obi-Wan and Mace Windu, who nod knowingly at his wisdom -- and all three of them fail to realize that they're the ones he's really talking about. The irony is absolutely savage.

Dexter Jettster, the four-armed diner owner. He's so amiable and Obi-Wan is so clearly delighted by him as a friend. It's also clear that he has more than a touch of unsavoriness in his backstory, and that presages Ben's ability to negotiate the scum and villainy of the cantina in Episode IV.

"Aggresive negotiations."

Anakin's dislike of sand, which tons of people seem to think is dumb because it comes out of nowhere and is basically a dude saying, "I don't like that" in response to his crush's description of something she enjoyed. But his clumsiness at romance is totally believable given his upbringing, and the sand line is a clear call-back to his childhood and his formative identity as someone who fixed things in an environment that was constantly breaking them.

"I'd be much too frightened to tease a senator." The whole scene where Anakin and Padme debate the merits of the Republic's version of democracy just exudes the influence Palpatine's guidance has had on Anakin and foreshadows Anakin's eventual role in the dictatorship of the Empire. Yet he segues into genuine charm and humor when the object of his affection becomes concerned at the things he's saying, and deflects her worries like a true pupil of the manipulative Chancellor.

Obi-Wan inspecting the troops on Kamino. Despite a lot of weirdness and awkwardness in his dialogue with the Kaminoans, this moment is a chilling harbinger of the stormtrooper legions we know it will eventually give rise to.

The verbal duel between Obi and Jango in the Fetts' quarters. I find the feigned politeness and tension between these two endlessly entertaining, and the dialogue here is really good.

Hayden's performance during the fireplace scene on Naboo, and to a lesser extent, Natalie Portman's as well. There's a lot of truly cringe-worthy dialogue here, but Hayden delivers it like a trooper, and for the most part, Natalie does too. If the writing had been just a little bit sharper (well, maybe a lot sharper), this would have been an amazing scene.

The actual duel between Obi and Jango on the landing pad. Exciting, great music, great use of weather as both a visual backdrop and an integral part of the fight itself.

The return of Watto. Honestly, I find his scene in this film one of the best performances by a CGI character in any live-action film I know of. He's a terrible person in the way a lot of ordinary people are terrible, and yet his genuine affection for Ani and the squalor into which he has fallen bring out an unavoidable sympathy in me.

Cliegg Lars. This dude is Tatooine wrapped up in a nutshell.

The shadow-puppet imagery as Anakin prepares to go after his mother, where we see the shape of Darth Vader's helmet cast by Anakin's hair.

Anakin's "Duel of the Fates" ride through the sunset Tatooine desert. Not the greatest green-screened sequence, I'll totally admit. But it's visually stunning nonetheless, and the re-use of "Duel of the Fates" at this critical juncture in Anakin's life is a fantastic piece of musical storytelling.

Freakin' seismic charges in space. I swear, the delayed explosion sound is probably the single dumbest piece of physics in any movie ever, but it's so awesome in combination with the visuals that I love it twice as much.

The reversed Pieta image in Shmi Skywalker's death scene. It's flipped left-to-right from Michaelangelo's statue and flips mother and son as well, and it foreshadows Anakin's fall to darkness instead of a resurrection, and it's just not the kind of fine-arts allusion you expect to find in a Star Wars film.

Every word Christopher Lee says.

The garage scene where Anakin reveals his slaughter of the sandpeople. Hayden Christensen is fantastic here. You could also argue that there's a subtle critique of Padme's background as part of a colonizer culture in her willingness to tolerate her boyfriend's murder of indigenous people, right down to the children.

That incredible arena sequence and its transition to the Battle of Geonosis. These are both vast, ingeniously conceived and executed action scenes, full of eye-popping architecture, creatures, and tech designs. I could probably write a whole blog post about all the things I love from each one of them.

Obi-Wan bringing Anakin to his senses by asking what Padme would do if she were in his place. It's another bravura scene for Hayden, and here Ewan MacGregor is at a similar emotional peak.

Badass Yoda. People have weirdly mixed reactions to this, but I didn't hear anything mixed in the theater I was in on opening night. The crowd went wild. I loved it then, and I will always love it.

Dumbass Yoda. I mean, what the hell, Yoda? Don't you remember the part where, oh, an hour and a half ago, you were telling Obi and Mace what a shame it was that even the older, more experienced Jedi were getting too sure of themselves? And now you're going to just keep toying with your old Padawan Dooku and taunting him while Obi-Wan and Anakin are lying injured on the floor? This is the ultimate payoff for the earlier scene, and the cruelest commentary on the fallibility of the Jedi.

Dooku's solar sail spaceship. Another makes-no-sense torturing of the laws of physics, but it's beautiful anyway.

"Begun, the Clone War has." The first full-throated appearance of the Imperial March ringing out through the literal sunset of the Republic, with the vast machinery of conquest on full display while poor Bail Antilles is able to do nothing more than ineffectually clench his fist against a balustrade -- this is one of the most vivid and meaningful scenes of the whole saga for me.

The musical modulation from the Love Theme to the closing-credits theme. I find this a very close second place to the credit transition in The Empire Strikes Back. The juxtaposition of melancholy romance and rousing symphonic triumph nails the ending of the film for me.

So, no, not even close to a let-down, even after 17 years worth of viewings.

I Promise To Return And To Finish What I Started ...

Yikes. I just realized that I haven't posted here since before The Last Jedi came out!

Maybe I can get back in the swing of things with The Mandalorian and The Rise of Skywalker coming out ...

Burn the First Order Down!

The Last Jedi is getting close, so I decided to get started on my pre-Episode-8 marathon. Last time around, I watched everything in chronological order. This time, I decided to try the fabled "Machete" order (4, 5, 2, 3, 6), except that I'm a completist, so I'll put The Phantom Menace in there after Empire Strikes Back, and I decided I'd begin with Rogue One. Having taken the day off today, I put R1 in the Blu-ray player and got started.

Despite the weirdness of CGI Tarkin and the awful weirdness/weird awfulness of CGI Leia, I think Rogue One is the best-made Star Wars film, and this viewing did nothing to change that opinion. It's the only SW movie to pay major attention to the way external lighting conditions affect the interior illumination aboard spaceships, for instance -- one of many touches that make it such a visually beautiful and immersive film.

What I was really eager to see, though, was how it affected my viewing of A New Hope ... so eager, in fact, that since I had the day off, I put in Episode IV after little more than a lunch break.

Two things worried me, going into the experience. First, would the modern cinematic sophistication of Rogue One make the original film look really cheesy in comparison? And second, would the action-packed, drama-packed, emotion-packed war movie make Star Wars seem too slow and too popcorn-fluffy?

But I settled in and tried to put myself in the mindset of some total neophyte who had somehow watched Rogue One as its own movie and was now watching Star Wars: A New Hope as a sequel that just happened to have been made 40 years earlier.

A great deal of surprising entertainment ensued!

To start with, Imaginary-Star-Wars-Newbie Herb appreciated the 20th Century Fox fanfare reminding him that he was about to watch a really old movie. Reign in those special-effects expectations, Imaginary-Star-Wars-Newbie Herb! Then the "A long time ago..." screen popped up and made me feel like, "Oh, look! Total continuity!"

Main Title Theme, logo, and screen crawl: these piled on the expectations of a hugely different tone and approach than Rogue One. The decision to avoid a crawl in Rogue One turns the ANH crawl into a distinguishing element that completely resets the viewer's mood. Everything described in the text is familiar from the "previous" film, but couched so differently that it eases you into the film and prevents the 40-year jump in filmic technique from being too jarring. Plus, we find out the name of the creepy CGI chick from the end of R1.

And then, Bam! The Star Destroyer pursues the fleeing Rebel Alliance ship across the screen with really chintzy laser blasts and explosions, but surprisingly good ship visuals. Inside the ship, we see those two robots who showed up in the rebel base last movie for no apparent reason, and it turns out now they're going to be important.

Let me tell you, the moment Leia puts that data disk into Artoo becomes stunning in light of Rogue One. Before, the disk was just some flimsy little data-transfer device of no real significance -- all the meaning of the scene was bound up in Leia and Artoo interacting. This time, that disk was the thing everybody in the last movie died to get hold of. Suddenly, instead of being our cute robot hero being given a mission by the movie's female lead, what we see is the transfer of the most important thing in the galaxy to this little droid who doesn't even speak a human language.

What follows is a long sequence of seemingly low-key adventures (compared to the action of R1), but with the slow pace turned on its head by the knowledge that no one in the whole first half of the movie has any idea how important this information is! (Except Artoo, and he can't tell anyone.) Owen ordering Luke to take the droids into town and have their memories erased changes from a curmudgeonly uncle trying to stave off trouble into a horrifying command that would render Jyn and Cassian's deaths meaningless.

I read and heard a lot of people saying that Darth Vader's display of power at the end of R1 was inconsistent with and would undercut the drama of his actions in Episode IV. But for me, it had the opposite effect. R1 Vader does a lot of Force-lifting and throwing, but he really doesn't move any quicker than ANH Vader. And the opening of ANH shows us that Vader behaves very differently when a situation is under complete control than he did when in the middle of a pitched space battle. The 1977 Darth Vader basically served as Tarkin's henchman for most of the movie. But within the context of Rogue One, we can now see that he stands behind Tarkin not because he's a lackey, but because the two of them have very firmly established spheres of authority, and Vader is totally comfortable letting Tarkin run the bureaucratic part of the Death Star's activities.

Another cool thing about Episode IV as a direct sequel to Rogue One is the sophisticated slow build about the Jedi. In Rogue One, we hear them mentioned as figures revered by Chirrut and Baze -- and Chirrut mentions that khyber crystals power the Jedi's "lightsabers." Having this in mind when Obi-Wan reveals that he was "once a Jedi knight, like your father" creates a far greater sense of things coming together than that line does in the original film alone. This dude is one of the guys Chirrut and Baze looked up to ... and not only that, but this Luke kid who wouldn't last two seconds in a fight with Jyn or Cassian is the son of another of those guys! Seeing the lightsaber turn on for the first time becomes a fulfillment of the anticipation set up by Chirrut's reverence for the Jedi in R1.

This viewing also marked the first time I could really see Obi-Wan through Owen's eyes. Thanks to the willful isolationism of Saw Gerrera, meeting this "strange old hermit" lent a lot more credence to Owen's line, "That wizard's just a crazy old man." Saw and Obi-Wan have both sought refuge in desolate wastelands. Both of them are aging and unkempt. Obi-Wan's still in one piece, but he looks even older than Saw, and he moves like an old man as well. And the look in the Jedi's eyes when he tells Luke, "You must learn the ways of the Force, if you're to come with me to Alderaan," has a clear echo of Saw's unhinged fanaticism.

Which brings us to Luke's response that "It's all so far away." By virtue of the completely different pace, and the total naiveté of our young farmboy hero compared to the protagonists of Rogue One, this line finally feels entirely real, not just the excuse of someone who's not ready to take up the hero's mantle. What we've seen in ANH to this point really is whole worlds away from what we saw in Rogue One. Luke isn't just attempting another teenage dodge here -- he's genuinely reacting to information and events that are alien to him.

Other fun elements of Episode IV as a Rogue One sequel:

• The Easter egg of seeing those two guys who bumped into Jyn in Jeddha City again.
• The idea that ISWN Herb would have been surprised to realize that Red Leader and Gold Leader from Rogue One were actually in the 1977 film.
• The worry that "Red Five" was not necessarily an auspicious call-sign for Luke to be given.
• The extraordinary continuity of technological design, like the Imperial plug-in sockets that both Artoo and K2SO use, and the Scarif tower interfaces compared to the tractor-beam controls.
• The subtle return of that blue milk from the Erso farm.

There was more, but that's probably enough for now.

On to Episode V ... !

I'm So Sorry ...

I went to a big-screen showing of 2001: A Space Odyssey this past Monday, and for some reason, I started imagining the alternate reality where Pete the Retailer and Alex Robinson from Star Wars Minute did their podcast about Kubrick's masterpiece instead of Lucas's.

With no further ado ...

Highlights from 2001: A Space Odyssey Minute

Minute 1

(Theme music: disco version of "Also Sprach Zarathustra")

PTR: Hello, and welcome to 2001: A Space Odyssey Minute -- the daily podcast where we analyze, scrutinize, and celebrate Stanley Kubrick's masterpiece, 2001: A Space Odyssey. I'm Pete the Retailer, from petetheretailer.com.

Alex: And I'm Alex Robinson, from comicbookalex.com.

PTR: Today, we'll be talking about minute one of 2001: A Space Odyssey. Minute one begins with a completely black screen showing while a bunch of really strange music plays, and it ends one minute later with a completely black screen showing while a bunch of really strange music plays.

Alex: This is some really strange music.

PTR: That it is. You know, the movie was originally scored by composer Alex North, but Kubrick decided at the last minute to throw North's music out and replace it with classical and contemporary orchestral music.

Alex: I did not know that.

(20 minutes later)

PTR: ... then join us tomorrow for another 2001: A Space Odyssey Minute.

Alex (crosstalk): 2001: A Space Odyssey Minute.

Minute 2

(Theme music: disco version of "Also Sprach Zarathustra")

Alex: Welcome back to 2001: A Space Odyssey Minute -- the daily podcast where we analyze, scrutinize, and celebrate Stanley Kubrick's masterpiece, 2001: A Space Odyssey. I'm Alex Robinson, from comicbookalex.com.

PTR: And I'm Pete the Retailer, from petetheretailer.com.

Alex: Today, we'll be talking about minute two of 2001: A Space Odyssey. Minute two begins with a completely black screen showing while a bunch of really strange music plays, and it ends one minute later with a completely black screen showing while a bunch of really strange music plays.

(18 minutes later)

Alex: ... then join us tomorrow for another 2001: A Space Odyssey Minute.

PTR (crosstalk): 2001: A Space Odyssey Minute.

Minute 6

(Theme music: disco version of "Also Sprach Zarathustra")

Alex: Welcome back to 2001: A Space Odyssey Minute -- the daily podcast where we analyze, scrutinize, and celebrate Stanley Kubrick's masterpiece, 2001: A Space Odyssey. I'm Alex Robinson, from comicbookalex.com.

PTR: And I'm Pete the Retailer, from petetheretailer.com.

ToCo: And I'm Tony Consiglio, from mini-comics such as Double-Cross!

Alex: Thanks for joining us today, Tony. We're glad you could make it.

ToCo: My pleasure. Now, am I getting this right? Are we talking about a different minute each day?

PTR: Yes, that's right.

ToCo: Because the DVD you sent me -- it just had the same thing 5 times, and no video.

Alex: Well, we'll get to that. So, to set the stage, today, we'll be talking about minute six of 2001: A Space Odyssey. Minute six begins with a completely black screen showing while a bunch of really strange music plays, and it ends one minute later with a completely black screen showing while a bunch of really strange music plays.

ToCo: Now, let me tell you, when it comes to a movie screen, Kubrick really knows how to paint it black.

Alex: Wrong podcast.

(20 minutes later)

Alex: So, Tony, will you be able to join us again tomorrow?

ToCo: Um, couldn't you just replay today's episode? Like, four more times?

PTR: I'm afraid that's not how we do it.

ToCo: Okay, if you say so.

Alex: 2001: A Space Odyssey Minute

PTR (crosstalk): 2001: A Space Odyssey Minute

ToCo (delayed): 2001 ... A Space Odyssey ... Geez, by the end of the week, I'll be dead!

Minute 14

(Theme music: disco version of "Also Sprach Zarathustra")

Alex: Welcome back to 2001: A Space Odyssey Minute -- the daily podcast where we analyze, scrutinize, and celebrate Stanley Kubrick's masterpiece, 2001: A Space Odyssey. I'm Alex Robinson, from comicbookalex.com.

PTR: And I'm Pete the Retailer, from petetheretailer.com.

Josh: And I'm Josh Flanagan, of the upcoming Goodfellas Minute podcast.

Alex: My hat's off too you, Josh. I don't know how you guys are going to do that. I mean, sooo much happens in every minute of Goodfellas. Your episodes are going to be hours long.

Josh: Well, we're going to give it a go. You guys really inspired us.

Alex: Today, we're talking about minute 14 of 2001: A Space Odyssey. Minute 14 begins with the sun rising on the horizon, and ends one minute later, with a bunch of ape-men sitting around a water hole.

PTR: I know the first three days were tough, Josh, but a lot happens in today's minute.

Alex: Action packed.

Josh: I was getting pretty tired of sunrises, so this minute was a relief.

...

Minute 18:

PTR: Today's episode of 2001: A Space Odyssey Minute is brought to you by Hallo Fresh.

(jaunty advertising music)

Alex: Hey, Pete! What's that amazing smell?

PTR: I just finished making dinner.

Alex: Mmmm! Flat trays of orange stuff, green stuff, brown stuff, and yellow stuff! My favorite!

PTR: Careful, don't burn your fingers. Those are right out of the heating unit.

Alex: Wow, this is so much better than those old space meals that we had to drink through straws. How did you make such an amazing meal?

PTR (aside to audience): Should I tell him? Should I tell him these trays of stuff came from Hallo Fresh? No, I'd better keep it secret.

Alex: Come on, Pete, tell me how!

PTR: I'm afraid I can't do that, Alex.

(Theme music: disco version of "Also Sprach Zarathustra")

...

Alex: Today, we're talking about minute 18 of 2001: A Space Odyssey. Minute 18 begins with the  ape-men sitting around their water hole, and it ends exactly 60 seconds later with the  ape-men sitting around their water hole.

...

Minute 56

(Theme music: disco version of "Also Sprach Zarathustra")

Alex: Welcome back to 2001: A Space Odyssey Minute -- the daily podcast where we analyze, scrutinize, and celebrate Stanley Kubrick's masterpiece, 2001: A Space Odyssey. I'm Alex Robinson, from comicbookalex.com.

PTR: And I'm Pete the Retailer, from petetheretailer.com.

Jacob Siroff: And I'm Jacob Siroff, from ihatestanelykubrick.com.

Alex: Today, we're talking about minute 56 of 2001: A Space Odyssey. Minute 56 begins with the camera slowly tracking along the length of the U.S.S. Discovery One to the solemn strains of Gayane's Adagio, and ends one minute later with the camera slowly tracking along the length of the U.S.S. Discovery One to the solemn strains of Gayane's Adagio.

PTR: We're really glad you could join us, Jacob.

Alex: And what a minute to start off with! This is the controversial third straight minute of the camera tracking along the length of Discovery. Any thoughts?

Jacob Siroff: Okay, so, like every other minute of this movie, this one just proves that 2001 is one of the worst movies ever made. And by that I mean, it's a Kubrick movie. To me, there's Kubrick, and then there's all other horrible movies ever in the entirety of history.

PTR: Wow. That's an unusual stance.

Jacob Siroff: I don't care. And if anyone says any different, I'm going to prove them 100% wrong.

...


Minute 72

(Theme music: disco version of "Also Sprach Zarathustra")

Alex: Welcome back to 2001: A Space Odyssey Minute -- the daily podcast where we analyze, scrutinize, and celebrate Stanley Kubrick's masterpiece, 2001: A Space Odyssey. I'm Alex Robinson, from comicbookalex.com.

PTR: And I'm Pete the Retailer, from petetheretailer.com.

Chris R: And I'm Chris Radtke of the Wookie Dance Party podcast.

Alex: Today, we're discussing minute 72 of 2001: A Space Odyssey. Minute 72 begins with Astronauts David Bowman and Frank Pool eating different colors of goo from rectangular trays, and it ends one minute later with Hal 9000 saying that he first came online in the year 1992.

PTR: 92.

Alex: So, Chris, any opinions on just what it is that the astronauts are eating?

Chris R: I can't tell. But it kinda looks like garbage.

...

Minute 143


(Theme music: disco version of "Also Sprach Zarathustra")

PTR: Welcome back to 2001: A Space Odyssey Minute -- the daily podcast where we analyze, scrutinize, and Hal gets lobotomized --

Alex: (laughter)

PTR: Stanley Kubrick's masterpiece, 2001: A Space Odyssey.

What's in There?

Discussion on the ever-entertaining Star Wars Minute Listener's Society page on Facebook recently turned to J.J. Abrams' Ted Talk about the "Mystery Box." Consensus seemed to be that the talk exemplified a problematic side of Abrams as a filmmaker -- an emphasis on mystery over substance and a habitual technique of keeping the audience in the dark without providing payoff for the many unknowns he introduces to hook the viewer's curiosity.

I certainly have occasional nits to pick with most of Abrams' work, and his Revolution show was an abomination of television. However, I love The Force Awakens, really enjoyed Lost and Super 8, and felt he had a 50-50 record with Star Trek. And the elements I have disliked in his work had nothing to do with mysteries and everything to do with good old-fashioned dumbness. So I figured I'd better check out this Mystery Box talk and see what everyone was going on about.

(SPOILERS! Hereafter, I give away pretty much the whole Ted Talk, so you might want to view it first.)

In a nutshell, Abrams presents the Ted audience with a box from a magic shop he and his grandfather used to frequent. It's a "Mystery Box" purportedly containing over $50 of magic for only $15. He's kept it all these years as a reminder of his grandfather, and has never opened it. He likes the sense of design of the box and enjoys having it around, but if he opened it, the mystery would be gone.

The takeaway for most people on SWMLS seemed to be that Abrams was saying that what's inside a creative work isn't important. Rather, having a cool exterior and a sense of mystery is sufficient.

It seems like a really terrible analogy for storytelling, if one has any respect for the audience and for art as a means of expressing truths.

Another criticism of the talk was that it just kind of rambled along and never really went anywhere. Abrams never brought the analogy to a clear moment of focus, never explained exactly what he meant by it. He just put it out there and surrounded it with some clever anecdotes and funny jokes and talked a bit aimlessly about the creative process, storytelling, etc.

But here's the thing. J.J. Abrams' "Mystery Box" Ted Talk is itself a Mystery Box.

What do I mean by this? Well, Abrams is very direct about the fact that the actual contents of the box don't really matter. But he's also very direct about the fact that the box itself is tremendously meaningful to him. As a collection of objects, pieces put together by the magic shop owner, it's just a bunch of stuff. But in the context of his relationship with his grandfather, it becomes a quasi-religious relic for him, a symbol of great importance that he has invested with immense personal significance.

In other words, the Mystery Box is much more than the sum of its parts, because Abrams uses it to represent something deeply human and unattainable. His grandfather is dead -- there's no way to bring the man back. As a result, opening up the box and seeing the knick-knacks and tricks inside would only diminish the memories it stands for.

Creative work is the same way. Writing, filmmaking, art ... all of these consist of simple tricks and nonsense. Words. Special effects. Imagery that specifically creates a false sense of reality. The inside of the box may be a $50 value, but only from the perspective of the retail customer. Wholesale, it must have cost less than the $15 price, and since the shop owner probably couldn't move that particular merchandise otherwise, he was actually losing money by keeping it on his shelves. But dressed up in mystery, it took on greater value.

More importantly, J.J. Abrams' act of buying the box as a means of paying tribute to his grandfather gives it far more than $50 worth of value.

And sharing the humanity of that act with his Ted Talk audience spreads this deeper meaning farther still.

This is what creative people do. We take words and objects and make them into things with human meaning beyond what they previously possessed. Abrams' meaning of remembering his grandfather is far more substantial than the shopkeeper's meaning of increasing store revenues. But he wouldn't have had that meaning without the shopkeeper's earlier creative act of repackaging excess stock.

So why didn't Abrams come out and explain these aspects of his analogy?

Because his job as a creator isn't to tell us what to think. It's to give us the opportunity to find meaning in the world, beauty that we can translate into personal value.

His presentation was itself a Mystery Box. If he opened it up for us, he'd be doing the exact opposite of what he was talking about.

A Bit of an Acquired Taste

Maybe this will clarify things about prequel "apologists" or maybe it will just get me more derision, but here are a couple of stories that I think bear light on the subject.

Not long out of college, I read a couple of books by Gene Wolfe: Soldier of the Mist and Soldier of Arete. The first one amazed me -- brilliant, literate, and highly entertaining all at once. But the sequel just plain baffled my brain. I found it a total chore to get through, a maze of mythological allusions and deep dives into what I think was the history of the Peloponnesian Wars. The ending made no sense at all, and I finished the book thoroughly dissatisfied. Not long after, I got into a debate about the book on GEnie (yeah, this was pre-WWW for me) with a guy who said SoA was just as good as SotM, if not better. You just had to be willing to work at it more, he claimed. I pretty much blew him off, arguing that Wolfe had managed to make the first book not just comprehensible, but gripping, and that he should have done the same thing with the second one.

Also not long after college, I re-read The Lord of the Rings. I'd first read it in seventh grade and found it absolutely tedious. Having devoured The Hobbit multiple times and knowing that everybody and his dog loved LotR, I expected the trilogy to be wonderful, and instead it put me to sleep. I spent all of high school and most of college thinking its popularity just represented people jumping on a bandwagon without knowing what fantasy ought to be like. But a friend of mine insisted I must have been too young to appreciate Tolkien's opus, and I respected his opinion enough to give it another try. And ... I still thought it was boring and overblown, full of cardboard characters and melodrama. But in my early thirties, yet another friend I respected let me know in no uncertain terms that I was wrong, so I tried it again. And finally, I saw what everybody else saw -- a phenomenally rich fantasy world layered with brilliant allegory on what it means to be alive and human.

In retrospect, I'm positive the Soldier of Arete fan knew what he was talking about. If I'd put the effort in, I would have found that book extremely rewarding. But here's the thing: I didn't want to put that much effort into it, and I still don't want to. Gene Wolfe is a genius. I've read a bunch of his books, and the man is on a whole other plane. But I don't get most of his stuff. I just don't get it, and I don't want to put in the effort that I know it will take for me to get it.

I'm not saying George Lucas is another J.R.R. Tolkien or Gene Wolfe. But when tons of smart people are able to speak passionately about the intricate elements of a fictional world and the meaning they find in that world's characters, it probably means there's something there. I was wrong to look down my nose at all the Lord of the Rings fans in high school. I was wrong to assume that the guy on GEnie was just full of himself.

And you're wrong to scoff and sneer at prequel supporters. You're simply wrong. It's fine that you dislike the movies. It's fine that they don't click for you. It's fine that you don't want to devote any brainpower to analyzing the films in search of things that might make you like them better.

But it's not fine for you to ridicule people who find something deeper in these movies. They're right. There IS something deeper there. You're wrong to tell them that they're mistaken.

There are millions of people around the world who have no business ever trying to read The Lord of the Rings. That's not because they're dumb or ignorant, but because the reward they'll get out of it is far less than the effort it will take for them to finish it. It's just not a book for everyone.

The prequels aren't for everyone. But they are for some people. Hate them however much you want, but at least try to acknowledge that you dislike them because their flaws make them indigestible to you personally, not because they lack any inherent value or aesthetic accomplishment.