A Beguiling Villain

I should be a Star Wars fan, and yet I am not. Until very recently, I managed to skip the entire franchise. I humbly single-handedly managed to avoid the cultural phenomenon for more than four decades of my life, coincidentally the exact life of the franchise itself. And yet, I never managed to escape the references that were dropped in social gatherings, other TV series and business meetings. Despite never seeing a single movie, which apparently called an episode, or watching any of its series, I assume they broke them into little films, or read any of its books- a Star Wars book- what can possibly be written there? I became familiar with the key characters despite my best efforts.  

The truth is that a big part of my missing on the franchise is coincidental and circumstantial. I belong to this generation that started analogue and switched to digital. That was the time when the radio was still relevant, at least for my parents. In our household, TV was viewed as a dessert, very enjoyable but not a part of a healthy diet, and it must be consumed in moderation. Consequently, I was never well-versed in movies. I found myself more captured by sound. Once I started watching movies, it was too late. The genre of Science Fiction never captured my imagination and why would it? Isn’t life strange enough as it is? Is it not captivating enough as it is? Is it not random enough as it is?

Deep inside, I knew I would give in at a moment. It was inevitable. I knew I couldn’t keep my purity forever. I knew I would have to catch up with the rest of my generation. I thought the franchise would wither away with my generation and face the harsh reality of its irrelevance and outrageousness; I couldn’t have been more wrong. My son, my little boy who barely completed seven years, is a fan. My wife couldn’t be happier; she often tried to lure me into her nerdy universe, and I proudly resisted. I don’t know how it all came to the attention of our boy, but it did, and there is nothing we can do about it.

We all sat down to watch the first movie, which happened to be the fourth episode. It didn’t fail to meet my worst expectations. In fact, it far exceeded them. I saw the movie as an indictment of American cinema. The plot is naive, the script is weak, the performance is average, the costumes are ridiculous, and the music is unnecessarily sensational. I looked at my wife and saw the disappointment in her eyes. She didn’t need to ask for my thoughts. My intermittent sleep during the film told her all she needed to know. “No movie touched our generation as Star Wars did?” She tried to intellectualise her position. “I suppose we now know what is to blame for the failures of our generation.” 

But then, this wasn’t about me. It was about bonding with our little boy. How is it possible that this cinematic failure captured our alpha-generation son? It might have been ahead of its time in the early eighties, but we are no longer in the eighties. He loved it, so I pretended to love it. Very few things of what I love he loves, so I choose to love what he loves instead. I do, however, think he sees right through it. My interest doesn’t come with the desired honesty he expects of me, so I sit as a spectator in the long dialogues they have about the different characters and the plot twists. The disappointment of my position as an outsider is quickly overcome with the joy of watching them nerding out together. 

It wasn’t until the boy was creating an elaborate setting as he played one afternoon. He gathered his little toys, cars and Lego bricks. He carefully set up cushions on the floor to develop a more interesting landscape. He kept running to his room before returning back with more items that would enhance the set area in the middle of the living room. No one could approach. He may have not said it, but it was pretty clear. This could be his greatest experiment thus far. Yes, he often refers to his little games as experiments.   

“What are you doing, buddy?”

“I’m setting a trap, Papa.”

“Oh, exciting! Whom you’re setting the trap for?”

“Luke Skywalker.”

“Why?”

“To help Darth Vader.”

“None of this is disturbing at all, baby.”

“Thank you, Papa. Come, let me show you the trap.”

I wasn’t surprised that, out of all the characters, he picked this one. My attempts to drag him into the benign existence of Tom and Jerry or The Smurfs failed. He found them funny but not interesting. My son has very little patience for the classical hero type. He likes them layered, twisted and nuanced. He likes them even more if they are dark, bloody and violent. He loves them if they morally struggle between good and evil. I wished I could complain about the innocence of my generation versus his, but I couldn’t. Much like my son, I had a thing for the villain in every story. The difference is that the villain of my childhood was Tom, the cat chasing the mouse, while the villain of his childhood is Darth Vader, who blew up an entire planet. 

I liked villains, too. There is absolutely nothing to worry about! I assured myself, maybe, I think, I hope, I don’t know! I needed to rationalise the whole thing and put it to rest. I needed to formulate an equation where all of that was normal, and I had absolutely nothing to worry about. In my attempts to put myself at ease, I thought of an odd meme I once saw comparing Churchill to Hitler. Only Social Media and the utter democratization of the internet could afford us these little nuggets of philosophical wisdom. Churchill was a chain smoker, alleged infidelity, substance consumption and very questionable views. Hitler, on the other hand, was a dedicated family man who neither drank nor smoked. He was also vegetarian, but I won’t, in good faith, consider this a virtue. We all know who to pick in this race.

Yes, Hitler was outwardly a good person, but in reality, he was an evil existence. Churchill, still a controversial figure, was a hero. I shall not worry about my son. He will be just fine. And yet, and for reasons beyond my comprehension, I’m not comforted by this odd comparison! I wonder why?