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DoctorDoom @Acidic_Heart
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You know what I want to talk about today?
The legacy of films, the impact they have on generations, the way they shape our moment and the way they influence our future.
So yes.
Today, we're talking about Star Wars.
A lot of people talk about Star Wars.
Obviously, because a lot of people love Star Wars.
There are probably more people who love Star Wars than there are people who love Jesus
But unlike a lot of other movies, people who talk about Star Wars almost inevitably talk about how Star Wars was made.
The stories behind the scenes of Star Wars are almost as fascinating as the stories the films tell.
I remember watching the incredible documentary on the first DVD release of the original trilogy, Empire of Dreams. I already knew some of the random trivia in it because I was a nerd, but this documentary changed the way I thought of filmmaking when I was younger.
When I was very young, movies were these incredible miracles dropped from the heavens and placed at my local theatre. But I very quickly became interested in knowing more about how they were made.
The story of George Lucas as a young, visionary filmmaker, working with a legion of talented people across the industry to bring his wacky space opera to life against pretty much all odds is a legend to itself.
But I'm not talking about Star Wars, which here means the original film released in 1977 under the name Star Wars, later retitled Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope for the 1981 theatrical reissue.
Everyone's already talked about that.
I'm talking about what Star Wars is now.
Because Star Wars isn't some scrappy upstart like it was back in 1977.
Star Wars is now a cultural behemoth, and while it has been for some time, what it only recently has become is a legacy franchise, because its original creator has finally moved on from it.
From 1977 to 2012, George Lucas was the man who brought us everything Star Wars, whether from his own mind or from his licensing deals.
Now a new generation of storytellers have their hands on the property, and they inherited possibly the hardest job any filmmaker could be given.
How do you continue the story of Star Wars?
How do you make the next chapter of a modern mythology?
How do you create something that will satisfy multiple generations who see Star Wars not just as a movie they love, but as an intrinsic part of their identity?
Furthermore, what does Star Wars *mean* for the next generation?
Who are the new characters we are supposed to follow?
What is a new Star Wars movie even supposed to be about?
Well, the answer is kind of funny, because the new Star Wars movies are *about* Star Wars, and what it means to bring Star Wars to the next generation.
The question became the answer.
"Hold on", you say
Isn't Star Wars always about Star Wars? How can Star Wars not be about Star Wars?
To that, I say that Star Wars was never about Star Wars, but now, it is.
So now that I've had fun saying "Star Wars" a whole bunch, let's talk about the new Star Wars trilogy that just wrapped up.
Wait what
"HOLD ON!" you say
The new Star Wars trilogy isn't over yet! Episode IX is coming out next year!
Well yes, that's the Star Wars sequel trilogy, which here means Episodes VII, VIII and IX of the Skywalker Saga.
But I'm talking about a different type of trilogy.
A trilogy if not in intent then in interpretation.
I'm talking about the the thematic triptych that is The Force Awakens, Rogue One, and The Last Jedi, which together tell the story of Kathleen Kennedy and Lucasfilm figuring out how to breathe new life into Star Wars.
And yes, it did take them three movies to figure that out.
Because fully understanding how to carry the weight of a cultural cornerstone like Star Wars can take time, and each step was essential.
We also got three incredible movies out of it, so I'm not exactly complaining.
So what does each Star Wars film do? We'll discuss that in detail, but this will be divided into segments, so I'll set up a quick preview:
1) The Force Awakens: Revitalized Star Wars
2) Rogue One: Recontextualized Star Wars
3) The Last Jedi: Reaffirmed Star Wars
So let's talk Star Wars, because I love it probably just a bit more than is healthy.
It's time to discuss . . . .
We Are What They Grow Beyond: How Disney Inherited the Legacy of Star Wars, and Created a New Future for a Galaxy Far, Far Away
1) Chewie, We're Home: The Force Awakens, and the Echoes of A Past We're All Trying to Escape
The very first thing that was announced when Disney purchased Lucasfilm was that Episode VII was coming. Seeing that headline for the first time was one of those “where were you when you heard the news” type of events.
I was in the library at my university, casually checking up on movie news while working on an assignment. I leaped out of my seat when I saw it, and it took all my effort to keep myself from screaming.
People still looked at me like I was nuts.
That initial rush of excitement and nostalgia was intoxicating, but it also gave way to uncertainty.
What will Star Wars Episode VII even be?
The Empire was defeated.
Luke was a Jedi.
The story was over.
Thinking about it only raised more questions.
Who are the new characters?
How big of a time jump will there be?
How do you make Episode VII when the era after Episode VI has been thoroughly covered by the Expanded Universe?
All of these questions would be answered in time, but Disney didn't want to capitalize on uncertainty. They wanted to capitalize on the rush of knowing a new Star Wars movie was coming.
Excitement and nostalgia.
Anticipation of the future, fueled by fond memories of the past.
Knowing that, J. J. Abrams and Kathleen Kennedy came up with the brilliant solution to make the film ostensibly about the nature of legacy, and how restraining the need to live up to the past can be.
You see, The Force Awakens loves the original trilogy, almost to the point that it smothers those VHS copies you have that still technically count as theatrical cuts to an early demise.
And it knows you do too.
Creating a new Episode was always going to be a perilous endeavour, especially after the vitriolic reception to the prequels.
So The Force Awakens stokes the flames of excitement and nostalgia in equal measure.
The common criticism shortly after The Force Awakens released was that it was a just a "remake" of A New Hope, which proved two things:
1) People really need to learn the definition of remake, and
2) Retweets and YouTube likes on half-baked snark are a bit too influential
What flatly calling The Force Awakens a "remake" and running off for the sunset doesn't account for is why the movie was such a massive hit, and how it operates as a response to the original trilogy.
Because the funny thing about saying The Force Awakens just repeats plot beats of A New Hope and nothing else is that doing so misses the character-specific and thematic context weaved into the movie.
Remember, the Force is what exists *between* everything.
"Its energy surrounds us, and binds us. Luminous beings are we, not this crude matter. You must feel the Force around you; here, between you, me, the tree, the rock, everywhere, yes."
Details matter.
The Force Awakens has a droid with important information, a desert planet, a young person learning about the Force, a big “NO!” death and a battle involving a planet-killing superweapon.
But it also has something A New Hope doesn't: reflection.
I don't mean reflection in the sense of mirrors; I mean reflection in the sense of a movie that's cognisant of how it fits into a wider legacy, the kind of legacy that defines the characters and overwhelms their sense of self.
What's particularly noteworthy about the characters in The Force Awakens is that they're all within a classic Star Wars tale, but they're also all trying to escape it. Everyone knows the burden of the Star Wars legacy, and they're all consciously trying to move *away* from it.
Rey is mostly concerned with running back home to Jakku for most of the movie because she's bought into a fantasy about her parents giving her life meaning, turning her back on the grand adventure laid in front of her feet.
Finn has lived his whole life defined by the whims of the First Order, and he has little commitment to the Resistance at this point (that doesn't come until TLJ). Outside of his concern for Rey, he's not invested in the great war; he wants to *book* it.
And Kylo? He spells it all out.
"I feel it again. The call to the light. Supreme Leader senses it. Show me again, the power of the darkness."
Kylo knows Vader's story ends in redemption.
He's lying to himself each and every day.
And what of the classic characters?
Luke's hiding on an island at the edge of the universe.
Han abandoned his family when his son fell to the Dark Side.
Leia's fighting the same old fight thirty years later.
Really, The Force Awakens is kind of a depressing movie when looked at with the lens of hindsight.
It's a celebration of the Star Wars legacy, sure.
But think of what the state of the galaxy *means* for that legacy.
The Rebel Alliance restored the Republic, only for it to not solve much of anything.
The Empire fell, but their successors formed the First Order.
Luke, the great Jedi Master, isn't here to save the day.
Luke, Han, Leia and the Rebel Alliance spent three movies taking down the Empire, and now because we need new Star Wars movies, their achievements are not necessarily undone, but their enemies have returned in a new form.
But why?
Because like so many people in our world grew up as fans of Star Wars, so too did so many people in the world of Star Wars grow up as fans *of* Star Wars.
I mean, that's what the First Order is.
They're not the Empire.
They're Empire *fanboys*.
Ever wonder why everything the First Order builds is like a Deluxe Edition model custom-designed by a teenager with severe resentment issues?
Because they're coming from the depraved mindset of people who saw the Empire as kids and said "I wanna be that when I grow up!"
While the political state of the galaxy in the films is a bit nebulous (something I wished was cleared up but is likely intentionally kept vague to maintain the mythic quality the films have), the First Order clearly isn't in control of the galaxy.
You can know that from a cursory glance at the new Expanded Universe, sure, but within the film, even with all of their super weapons, they clearly needed to strike at the heart of a large Republic with Starkiller Base to establish their presence on the galactic stage.
The First Order has no coherent ideology beyond "be like the Empire, because it's cool and we'd be powerful, I guess?"
That's not a fault in the filmmaking; it's the logical step for villains so obsessed with legacy that they have no vision of their own.
Yet the heroes don't fare much better in that regard, crushed by the weight of the Star Wars myth.
Everyone watching The Force Awakens is thinking "when is Luke Skywalker gonna make his grand entrance?", and he doesn't bother to show up until the last minute of the film.
Han used to be the rogue who screwed things up in just the right way, the one removed from the grand legacy of the Skywalkers.
Until he became a part of it, and guess what? He screwed that up too, and now his son is wrecking havoc across the galaxy.
And Rey, our protagonist (and devoted Star Wars fan with all of her own memorabilia and wide-eyed enthusiasm when meeting her heroes) needs someone who's never shown up before to remind her that being obsessed with the past won't get her anywhere.
"Dear child. I see your eyes. You already know the truth. Whoever you're waiting for on Jakku? They're never coming back. But there's someone who still could."
"The belonging you seek is not behind you. It is ahead."
This moment, this bit right here, is the thesis of the whole movie.
And weirdly enough, it's the part that a lot of people willfully ignore.
(because fan theories are more important than narrative coherence, apparently)
The Force Awakens loves Star Wars, but it also knew it couldn't stay in the shadow of its legacy forever. That's why the new characters have such prevalence.
Still, people wanted Star Wars to make a grand return, and they needed to know the movies they loved would be honoured.
So The Force Awakens rejuvenates the legacy of Star Wars, but also insinuates that being obsessed with that legacy to the point of not understanding the purpose of your own existence is ultimately a path to the Dark Side.
Nostalgic, yes.
But with a subversive truth underneath.
It's a classic Star Wars story filled with characters ready to burst at the seams with the will to change what Star Wars is, because they already know their part of the story isn't about remembering the past.
It's about getting ready for the future.
But to get there, the people making these movies needed to take a more drastic step.
Nothing in The Force Awakens challenges what the original trilogy was.
That's what the next film would do.
2) There is No Death Star: Rogue One, the One that Broke All the Toys to Show You Why They Matter
When Disney purchased Lucasfilm, they made two promises about what would happen with Star Wars films: they would make a new trilogy of Episodes, as well as side story films in-between.
One was met with applause and the other met with concern.
Take a guess which was which.
The audience was trained to think of each new Star Wars film as an event.
Every movie up to that point (that mattered, so don't bring up Caravan of Courage or that Clone Wars pilot they released in theatres, you dork) was an Episode.
That was about to change.
Rogue One: A Star Wars Story wasn't just a new Star Wars movie.
It was a new type of Star Wars movie.
It didn't have an Episode number. It didn't share the same mythic legacy. It wasn't about the Skywalkers.
It was something new.
But to be something new in the world of Star Wars, you have to break some boundaries that had never previously been crossed.
And that's where Rogue One collided with the Star Wars legacy like the Death Star's beam collided with Alderaan.
What I've found amusing about the discourse since the The Last Jedi's release is that Rogue One has been positioned as the fanservice friendly installment.
When really, the way I see it...

Rogue One thinks the original trilogy is kind of bullshit.
"HOLD ON!" you say.
"But Rogue One is full of original trilogy stuff! Didn't you see Doctor Evazan and Ponda Baba's cameo? Clearly the whole movie is just baiting on nostalgia!"
Calm. Be at peace. Let me clarify what I mean.
Everyone who worked on Rogue One obviously likes the original trilogy. And yes, the film features plenty of iconography associated with the original trilogy.
But at its core, what is Rogue One doing?
Recontextualizing what the original trilogy means.
Look at the way the film uses a lot of those classic elements.
Rebels who are painted as deranged murderers.
An Imperial who is positioned as a tragic figure.
A statue of a Jedi... on its side, collapsed, covered in dust.
And that's just the obvious stuff.
What really makes Rogue One tick is that the whole movie is one giant refutation of the idealized outlook the original Star Wars trilogy has on... well, Star Wars.
Let me ask you a question: what is the original Star Wars trilogy about?
Honestly. Take a step back and consider:
What is the main narrative thread of A New Hope, Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi?
The answer: Luke's maturation from a farm boy to a Jedi.
That's it. That's the story of Star Wars.
We follow our main character on a personal journey, and it takes three films to do so.
But isn't it interesting that the movies are called "Star Wars"? Because that seems to insinuate the movies are about the *war*, which here means, the Galactic Civil War, the conflict between the Rebel Alliance and the Galactic Empire.
But that's not what the story's about.
The war is part of it, certainly, but it's a backdrop to a more character-driven story; specifically, the story of Luke Skywalker and the people most closely associated with him. Vader, Leia, Han, Obi-Wan, Yoda, you know the drill.
Within the three films, the Galactic Civil War conflict is shown exactly four times: a minor skirmish aboard the Tantive IV, the Rebel attack on the Death Star, the Imperial assault on Echo Base, and the Battle of Endor (which didn't end the war in the EU or the new canon).
In all four instances, the wider scale effects of the conflict are underplayed by focusing on major characters related to the Luke story: the droids on Tantive IV, Luke at the Death Star, Luke on Hoth, and all the major characters on Endor.
While Luke, Han, Leia and the rest are assuredly associated with the Rebel Alliance, the actual structure of the organization and its wider impact on galactic society/politics is largely left unattended to, and Luke and friends abscond to do their own thing quite a bit.
Luke and Han don't join the Rebellion until the last moment in A New Hope. After the Empire blows up Echo Base, Luke goes to Dagobah and the Millennium Falcon crew go to Cloud City, neither location having anything to do with the Rebellion.
The heroes even spend the first third of Return of the Jedi rescuing Han from Jabba the Hutt, which has *nothing* to do with the war.
At least half the runtime (if not more) of the three films is only tangentially related to the galactic conflict.
And that's okay.
The original films are classics and no one's disputing that fact.
But Rogue One asks a question that the original trilogy doesn't have an answer for: why does the story of the most important war in history shows so little of what that war meant?
Where the original trilogy is grand and mythic, Rogue One is grand but *tangible*. The consequences of a galactic war take centre stage, not just in the effect the war would have on physical locations but on people's psychologies.
Luke has little conception of the galactic war that at that point had been happening for years until stormtroopers showed up at the homestead. Hell, the guy was considering the Imperial Academy because he was bored.
Jyn Erso? She's lived with the war since she was a child.
Her response to a lifetime of seeing people suffer and die at the hand of the Empire?
Not rage, but resignation.
"It's not a problem if you don't look up."
Sure, she changes later ("Rebellions are built on hope!") but those are the words of someone who's only known the war.
The opening sequence of Rogue One is so exhilarating because it reframes the iconography of the original trilogy in tangible ways.
Stormtroopers are scary, mortal peril is standard, and an Imperial truly believes he's creating a better galaxy.
Yet the rebels are dealt the most decisive blow by the film's reframing.
Jyn was a child soldier, not for the Empire, but for the *Rebellion*. Saw Gerrera and Cassian Andor are portrayed as people willing to slaughter innocents and comrades to achieve their objectives.
In any war this would be a truth, but in the idealized storytelling of the original trilogy, it was an off-screen truth. After all, the factions and characters in a mythic story are broadly defined and archetypal by design.
Rogue One jettisons that idea out the airlock.
Notice how outside of the last-minute montage in ROTJ that included a shot of Coruscant, planets associated with the Empire just don't exist in the original trilogy?
Here, we see the Empire's subjugation first hand on Jedha.
And the consequences when it's challenged.
Even the genocide of Alderaan is an off-screen affair. The audience is only emotionally invested in it because Leia is, but we've never seen Alderaan up close or met any of the people who live there.
We're focused wholly on Leia's response, and the Death Star as visual spectacle.
Contrast with Scarif, where characters see the catharsis of their journeys in their final moments. Jyn emotionally accepting her sacrificial achievement in honour of her father, and Krennic finally seeing the emptiness of his efforts in the unfeeling weapon he's designed.
The gaze of the scene isn't the Death Star's, but instead is of the people who are present in the location, and the emotional response they have to their own destruction, not the associated response to an exterior event.
And in the world of the original trilogy, the "war" in Star Wars is an exterior event.
Billions of people across the galaxy suffering and fighting and dying for a cause that is neither started or ended within the context of the films.
Because that's not the story.
It's Luke's.
You know, the story of some kid who had nothing to do with a war that had been going on (even if mostly in guerrilla form) for like twenty years who suddenly jumped in and saved the galaxy at the last second (and frequently abandoned the war to become a space monk or whatever).
Pretty sure we already know what Cassian would think of Luke.
"We don't all have the luxury of deciding when and where we want to care about something. Suddenly the Rebellion is real for you. Some of us live it. I've been in this fight since I was six years old!"
With Rogue One, the war isn't exterior anymore.
It wasn't just "rebel spies" that delivered the Death Star plans.
We have names. We saw the battle that cost the Rebel Alliance most of their soldiers and resources to get those plans before a random on Tattooine stumbled upon them.
(I know Luke is not actually a random and is the son of Darth Vader but literally no one involved in the war knew that at that point so don't get all pedantic on me)
The rebels are no longer just a righteous force; they're filled with terrorists and traitors.
The Death Star was built by an enslaved family man and an Imperial who thought he was saving the galaxy.
And there wasn't a Jedi in sight to save the day.
And don't think it's lost on me that the achievements of Luke Skywalker and all his white friends would only be possible because of an entire army of diverse soldiers, all of whom nobody seems to even remember.
Dead heroes. No leaders.
Thematically, Rogue One takes a sledgehammer to the idealized myth of Luke Skywalker's legacy and his monolithic importance in all previous portrayals of the Galactic Civil War without ever saying his name.
With Rogue One, Lucasfilm didn't just break tradition by making a "Star Wars Story" instead of an Episode.
They showed a willingness to break Star Wars.
Even still, Rogue One was ultimately stuck in the past, and had no choice but to connect to previous continuity.
Its heroes are dead.
And it was time for Star Wars not just to break, but to evolve.
By learning to love itself again.
3) A Balance, An Energy, A Force: The Last Jedi, a Love Letter that Doesn't Let Anyone Off the Hook
Rian Johnson is the only person outside of George Lucas himself to both solely write and direct a Star Wars film. Out of all of the new movies, it's also the one I would say feels the most wholly complete.
Which is kind of amazing, really. The middle chapter of a trilogy, without a concrete beginning or a definitive ending, with its whole story existing in the liminal space of connective tissue, somehow is the most cohesive and singular Star Wars movie of the new era.
However, the weird thing about the discourse surrounding The Last Jedi is that whether a person is positive or negative on the movie, a lot of people agree on what the movie is doing: throwing classic Star Wars in a bin and saying we need to let go of the past.
That's what a fascinating majority of the interpretations and arguments about the film tend to be built around:
"The Last Jedi is good because it's finally dropping Star Wars nostalgia!"
"The Last Jedi is bad because it destroyed everything I loved about Star Wars!"
And personally, that's not what I see, or at least, I don't think it's that simple.
The Last Jedi isn't the first Disney Star Wars movie to move things beyond nostalgia (that's part of the point I was making talking about the previous films), and it also doesn't burn it all down.
If anything, I would say The Last Jedi is the movie that reaffirms Star Wars the most, but asks us to not throw out what we love about the series, but instead be honest and critical about it.
"Let the past die. Kill it, if you have to," is a dynamite line, but remember who says it.
Kylo Ren.
AKA: the villain of the movie
That's not to say that Kylo isn't one of the most layered and emotionally sympathetic villains in the whole series, because he is.
But the movie also ends with him defeated, and his worldview refuted.
But let's back up a bit here, and go straight to the point where the film does something that a lot of people took as The Last Jedi betraying The Force Awakens, and by extension, the entire franchise.
Right. This part.
Remember how at the end of The Force Awakens, this scene was played all grand and sweeping and, to use a term I've used several parts times before now: mythic?
The Last Jedi reframes this moment as tangible.
(getting a lot of mileage out of these words)
Now what do I mean by this?
Well, at the end of TFA, we had zero clue what Luke Skywalker's perspective was. He was simply an objective; an echo of the past that Rey finally reached. The end of her quest.
A legend she saw with her own eyes.
But Luke isn't just a legend; he's a human being who has changed and grown over the course of thirty years since the end of ROTJ, and there has to be an answer as to why he abandoned everyone in the galaxy.
The answer is the toss.
The myth dispelled, we only have the man.
The Jedi? The Force? Defeating the Empire?
What did it accomplish?
In his eyes?
After all, the grand myth of Luke Skywalker didn't stop the First Order from rising to power.
It didn't help his students.
It didn't save his nephew.
A lot of people were understandably disappointed in seeing their beloved hero fall so far into despair and self-loathing, but...
You're supposed to.
Because Luke isn't the protagonist.
Rey is.
Rey is our POV character in the Luke storyline, and her disappointment is intended to mirror the audience's. Being upset that this is Luke Skywalker, the legendary Jedi Master, saviour of the galaxy, is a natural part of experiencing this story.
I understand why, for some, this may be difficult to emotionally process.
Especially because it places Luke in a role he's never been in before, at least in the films.
The role of an antagonist.
Not a villain!
Villains are characters who purposefully do evil things and tend to be the main threat of a narrative. But an antagonist? Someone who opposes the protagonist (Rey) in a physical or psychological way, who impedes them from obtaining their objective?
Most certainly.
However, "villain" and "antagonist" as terms are often conflated, and when we're dealing with a character who is such a seminal and beloved figure to so many, showing Luke in this role made many people feel like the movie was saying he's the bad guy.
That feeling only grew with the flashback sequences to the Luke/Kylo confrontation, which potentially (and that's an important distinction to make, because only Kylo's version of the story does this) painted Luke as an outright villain.
And while much of Luke's interaction with Rey is antagonistic (rejecting her plea to help the Resistance, saying the Jedi Order needs to end when she insists otherwise, physically fighting her at one point), TLJ still doesn't think he's the bad guy.
But it does think he's wrong.
Not just about the Jedi.
Not just about the war.
But about the legacy that he has left behind, and the value that the story of Luke Skywalker has had to the galaxy.
To believe that the movie is saying that Luke was a complete failure who betrayed all of his previous ideals is to ignore both the context of the narrative as well as the growth he experiences in the film.
Yes, Luke ever so briefly considered killing Kylo in a rash moment of weakness.
You know, because Luke has never been a rash, emotional person who nearly gave into his darker impulses before.
Yes, Luke lost all hope and became disillusioned with the old ways of the Jedi.
Only for his own master to tell him that while the old ways may need to fade away, their greater purpose of bringing hope to the galaxy will not.
Yes, Luke turned his back on his family and friends.
Except he showed up at their hour of greatest need, and saved them all not with violence, but with the most incredible pacifist use of the Force we've ever seen.
After all, what did Yoda teach Luke on Dagobah all those years ago?
"A Jedi uses the force for knowledge and defense. Never for attack."
And to say that The Last Jedi believed in Luke's broken worldview at the beginning of the film is to deny his change in perspective by the end, with this incredible sequence where his words reaffirm everything Star Wars is.
"The rebellion is reborn today. The war is just beginning. And I will not be the last Jedi."
Kylo wants to destroy everything that Star Wars ever was, and Luke says no.
Let the past die? That was only ever a path to the Dark Side.
This moment, right here, is where Luke's legacy is reaffirmed.
Not even necessarily because he believes in what he says, but because of what this moment means for the galaxy.
And this is where we get to Canto Bight.
AKA: the heart of the movie
Canto Bight, regardless of what anyone tells you in a comment section, is incredibly important to The Last Jedi.
Luke's declaration that reaffirms the Star Wars legacy means a lot on its own.
But what it means to the wider world is in how it affects not the people Luke is connected to, but the people he's never known.
Rogue One cracked open the Star Wars world by showing us the real people living real lives outside of the grand myth, and The Last Jedi takes the next step in that world with the kids on Canto Bight.
The endless cycle of war and death that's consumed multiple generations and eras doesn't exist in a vacuum. Slavery, war profiteering, class conflict; they're all inherent to a world like this.
Yet what do we see at the end, after Luke saves the day, after Rey accepts her place, after Finn chooses a side, after Poe understands the damage his recklessness caused, after Rose declares where our priorities should be, and after Leia looks to the next generation for guidance?
We see this kid from Canto Bight.
With the power of the Force.
Playing with his Luke Skywalker action figure.
Staring at the stars.
Luke was wrong to believe his legacy, the Star Wars legacy, meant nothing.
Because the stories of his adventures, his own grand myth, it didn't just save the people he cared for.
It inspired and brought hope to countless people across the galaxy.
People like you.
Yes, The Last Jedi makes a point of calling Luke out, and holds him accountable for his missteps.
But it still thinks his story is worth telling, his actions worth remembering, his legacy worth cherishing.
And that loving Star Wars is a *good* thing.
The way forward isn't being blind to the faults of your heroes, but neither is it smashing them beneath your heel.
It's honouring the past, without allowing it to dictate your future.
A balance of the Force.
So I don't see how The Last Jedi could be telling you to forget the past, that Luke is a failure, that it's time for the Jedi to end, or that classic Star Wars should be destroyed.
Because The Last Jedi loves Star Wars as much as you do.
After all, Star Wars was never about destroying what we hate.
It was always about saving what we love.
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