There is a scene in the original “Star Wars” (1977) that is often cited as being most representative of the themes contained therein. It is of the protagonist Luke Skywalker staring off into the binary sunset as John Williams’ epic score swells. Thanks to the fantastical sci-fi imagery on display (two suns, not just one!), and of course Williams’ wizardry, the audience is meant to take a breath (or perhaps lose it) in a moment of pure poetry. Thematically, this is where the renamed movie earns its new subtitle, “A New Hope,” for we are now all in on joining Luke on his hero’s journey from this point forward. It is deeply relatable, this hope, wonder and ambition of youth. And truly, the golden boy will end up saving us all (multiple times, in fact).
But this is never the first scene I come to when I recall the movie. Likewise, I don’t immediately go to the film’s most awe-inspiring sequence, the Star Destroyer rumbling overhead to open the movie and blowing out our eardrums while simultaneously making us question: “How big is this thing, anyway?”*
* Appropriately, this question can be applied to the size of the ship as well as the overall spectacle contained within the movie itself.
I don’t generally go straight to my earliest Star Wars memory either, that of the shoot-out on the Tantive IV or the droids’ subsequent journey through the desert (these images are burned into my subconscious forever). What about the phenomenal closing space battle winding over and around the Death Star? Or Jedi mentor Obi Wan’s heroic self-sacrifice? Or our first glimpses of the outlandish Cantina and all of the bizarre creatures inhabiting it? Nope, nope and nope.
For many reasons, the one sequence I constantly find myself returning to over and over is our heroes’ attempt to rescue Princess Leia from the detention block in the Death Star.
Huh?
Well, allow me to explain.
Right off the bat, the aesthetics of these scenes are incredible to behold, reveling in the pulpy sci-fi of yesteryear. Buck Rogers, Flash Gordon, heck even hints of Star Trek are on full display in the geometric hallways of the detention block, where Luke and in-it-for-the-money Han Solo disguise themselves as the enemy to break the princess from her captivity. Things predictably go sideways quickly, and we’re left in a madcap dash for survival/victory with only our heroes’ wits to save us.
The design and “feel” of these hallways are both familiar and new, and they lend themselves well to the sense of adventure imbued in the action. I’ve heard it described — especially by fans of my generation and younger — that Star Wars feels as though it’s always been there. Quite literally for anyone born after 1977, this is true. But it’s these images in particular, taking direct influence from other works, that give us a path to an earlier time. A nostalgia. A permanence. That they are powerful and liable to make an impression on the young only reinforces their capacity for timelessness.
Of course creator/director George Lucas ultimately had a tremendous range of influences coloring his work. Whereas writer Joseph Campbell was responsible for many of the deeper themes (such as the aforementioned hero’s journey), fellow film director Kurosawa provided some of the most important structural decisions (Hidden Fortress‘ bickering peasants become bickering droids, for example). And many of the scenes in the film pull direct inspiration from great World War II epics, classic westerns, and literally dozens of other films either previously acknowledged or not.*
* And when we’re looking at the other movies in Lucas’ space opera, particularly the prequels, the influences get even more diverse.
But it’s the often cheesy cornball influence of genuinely silly sci-fi tropes that makes the greatest of impressions.
Why?
Well firstly, it’s super accessible, particularly for children. And especially when the characters are so well defined.
By now we know Luke is a wide-eyed optimist, unsure of his own abilities, but determined to do what he thinks is right. We see Han as the ultimate cynic, self-interested and greedy … but also appealing thanks to his charm, style, and the occasional crack we see in his facade. Lucas and Harrison Ford lay the groundwork for his heroic acts later on, such that we want this from him. He is cool, and we want him to do the right thing.
This bears out in the wake of their shootout as Han tries unsuccessfully to buy them some time with a hilarious exchange over the intercom and Luke goes off to (try to) be the princess’ hero. Luke is knocked down a peg almost immediately, as Leia make a crack about his height.
That all out of the way, she immediately takes the lead, butting heads with Solo in the process (naturally), but leading them out of the detention block (which had become overrun with Stormtroopers thanks mostly to Han’s lack of grace). That this spewed them into an even worse situation, a trash compacter with closing walls and a monster attack to boot, is a classic narrative device (“Everything we do makes the situation worse.”) that doesn’t diminish her fortitude or agency. She is now cemented as our pop culture’s definition of a strong female character, and she does nothing to lose that title in the coming scenes (or films … or years).
Everything we thought we knew about these people has been reinforced. These are people we understand.
They somehow get out of this scrape, no thanks to the dithering and panicking C-3PO, but not before Luke nearly gets eaten, Han makes several more jokes (that pretty much all land perfectly), and the howling Chewie … well, howls. From here, we’re led on a pair of foot chases that thrill, excite, and in Han’s case in particular, amuse.
It all works. Why does it all work? Well partially because we identify with the characters, but more plainly, everything here just feels so darn fun.
And it completely belies the depth of theme.
You see, “Star Wars” was partially conceived as a critique on the Vietnam War, as evidenced not only by what we see on screen, but also in Lucas’ own notes: “… a large technological empire going after a small group of freedom fighters.” This is commentary on America’s brute involvement around the world, hidden in a kids movie.
The messaging doesn’t have to end at that starting point, regardless of your feelings on that particular conflict. Ultimately, people of all political leanings and from all walks of life can come to Star Wars and see the theme of a small group of rebels fighting an oppressive force and find value in it. It’s an appealing story on a very fundamental level.
We all want to be free.
And so we get swept away by X-wing fighters and lightsabers and a set of relatable heroes resisting an iconic gang of villains — Darth Vader! Storm Troopers! — who come across as almost cartoonishly evil.*
* The masks probably help with this.
It’s no wonder to this day there are those who insist Star Wars should be more about lasers, robots and adventure and not dabble in politics. Good and evil are generally very clearly defined within our favorite characters here. Of course, the subtext that we can be the enemy has been there from the beginning. But in a fun, exciting romp like we see our heroes engage in with their chase through the Death Star, it’s not very easy to see.
Some of us couldn’t see it then, and they don’t want to see it now.
Lucas would go back to this message again and again throughout his movies, sometimes going to great lengths to make us see it. In “The Empire Strikes Back,” we’re not only given a scene conveying this idea emphatically when Luke has a vision of his own face contained within his enemy’s mask, but Yoda also constantly verbalizes the message before we see a literal extension of Luke’s familial self be revealed to be evil by the end of the film.
But within this movie, it’s more about who we relate to, and what real-life comparisons we can find for them. The answer is easy at a surface level (The oppressed are the ones we should align ourselves with!) and much more complex when you start to try figuring out who the oppressed really are, and moreover what we as individuals can actually do to help them.
This is Star Wars at its most subversive, and I find it absolutely delightful if not downright awe-inspiring. Oh, that sneaky George Lucas, trying to give us themes of morality and substance wrapped in a delicious piece of chocolate cake. (That his franchise has been succeeding at this for 40 years is damn near a miracle.) The juxtaposition of political messaging embedded in a timeless morality story wrapped up with the shiny bow of laser swords and fun is in my opinion the essence of what Star Wars is. The newer films have all succeeded at this package to varying degrees, but for me, the original story remains the best mix of the lot.
I am reminded of this whenever I watch Luke escape the clutches of the Dianoga in a pile of trash, Leia grab a blaster and take care of business herself in that prison hallway, or Han sheepishly ask into that intercom, “How are you?”
I’m quite fine actually, because I’m watching Star Wars.
How are you?