Warning: A few spoilers ahead.
I love that we have these amazingly passionate fans who care so much. And I know sometimes they may think we don’t listen, but we do, and I thought it was fantastic that people got that engaged. It just showed me and everybody else how much they care. And that’s important for all of us that are doing this. We really look at them as the custodians of this story as much as [we are]. We look at it as kind of a partnership.
— Kathleen Kennedy (President, Lucasfilm)
Star Wars might have began its existence as an escapist lark, but it is now officially inescapable — and that’s just the way Disney, who currently owns the property, likes it. (Just Google “Baby Yoda” and watch the 2,000-word discourses pile up in the search results.) But most of all, Star Wars cannot escape its fans, and the burden of that obligation clings like flop sweat to the latest entry, Episode IX: The Rise of Skywalker, which bills itself as the “final chapter of the Skywalker saga” (and if you believe that one, we’ve got a fully operational battle station to sell you). Kathleen Kennedy, director J.J. Abrams and company are desperate to stick the landing; as several characters declare throughout the movie, “If we fail, it was all for nothing.”
Why all the anxiety over the finale of a sequel trilogy that’s already racked up over $3 billion? Thank the previous entry in the saga, The Last Jedi. In contrast to Abrams’ by-the-numbers soft reboot (Episode VII: The Force Awakens), Rian Johnson’s take on the mythos was thematically daring and narratively sloppy. Shutting the door on most of the leading questions left open by The Force Awakens, The Last Jedi downshifted the story to neutral and put its characters through the wringer while failing to advance them, the prevailing mood acerbic and downbeat. The result: very vocal grumbles from a minority of disenchanted fans, and the franchise’s first true box-office failure (Solo: A Star Wars Story). To steer this potential Titanic out of harm’s way, Abrams responds the only way he knows how — by doubling down on the familiar. Leaving no plot twist, fan-favorite character or planet unturned, he amps up the nostalgia while hitting turbo on the usual assortment of frantic battles and special effects.
“Let the past die. Kill it, if you have to,” implored tortured villain Kylo Ren (Adam Driver) in The Last Jedi. “That’s the only way to become what you are meant to be.” Abrams’ response? Literally drag the past back into the spotlight within the first five minutes of the movie, as cackling, wheezing Emperor Palpatine (Ian McDiarmid) makes his entrance. Last seen being thrown down a reactor shaft in Return of the Jedi, he’s alive for reasons that Abrams and co-writer Chris Terrio only faintly attempt to explain. What’s more important is that he is the unlikely puppetmaster behind all the events of the previous two movies, and now has thousands of followers and hundreds of planet-killing star destroyers at his disposal. As for Kylo Ren’s First Order of Imperial wannabes who served as the baddies in the previous two entries, fuggedaboutit — it’s time for Palpatine’s Final Order!
That cartoonish bit of eye-rolling overkill pretty much sums up the movie. In its attempts to top what’s come before, Rise of Skywalker takes on the frenzied, nonsensical qualities of a long-running anime series obligated to pull ever-more ludicrous levels of peril and destruction out of its ass. The film tries compensating for The Last Jedi‘s narrative stall by cramming two movies’ worth of plot and new characters into its runtime: Our heroes ping-pong between a half-dozen planets on fetch quests for wayfinder doohickeys and treasure maps, while fresh revelations about the origins of plucky Rey (Daisy Ridley) threaten to sabotage their last hopes. Star Wars films have always had their breathless elements, but this one has the unrelenting momentum of a video game, with nary a moment for even a memorable establishing shot at each location. At one point the film threatens to hit pause, catch a breath, and actually feature scenes containing human interaction, only to quickly discard the idea and barrel into the next overblown action set piece. And forget the practical effects and tactile joys of The Force Awakens — this time around, Abrams and company spin a tsunami of CGI before our eyes (including a literal tsunami that serves as the backdrop to the inevitable light saber duel), attempting to win us over with spectacle in lieu of originality.
In tone and affect, the movie at least resembles vintage Star Wars — if nothing else, Abrams is a skilled imitator, and knows how to appropriate all the usual trappings. Jettisoning The Last Jedi‘s knotty commentary about the nature of the Jedi and The Force (not to mention many of its plot turns and characters — farewell Rose (Kelly Marie Tran), we barely knew ye), The Rise of Skywalker gets back to basics. Heroes are decidedly heroic, all Jedi and Sith have clear bloodlines, the banter is clunky and warm, and there are group hugs aplenty. (Even maestro John Williams plays along, falling back on old themes like one falls back on leftovers from the fridge.) Abrams deploys every weapon in his arsenal to to elicit tears, fist pumps, or both, trotting out old-timers such as Luke (Mark Hamill, alarmingly chipper for a Force ghost), Lando Calrissian (Billy Dee Williams, jolly and above it all) and Wedge Antilles (Denis Lawson in a blink-and-miss-him cameo). Even the late Carrie Fisher’s Leia is revived via outtakes from The Force Awakens to serve as a mentor to Rey, with unconvincing results: it’s painful to watch Ridley bravely emote whole speeches that barely match up with Fisher’s deadened (no pun intended) line readings. But it’s okay, the filmmakers assure us — as long as we get one shot of Rey hugging Leia’s body double, a single tear coursing down her cheek, all should be forgiven. The movie is all up in its feelings; too bad those feelings are communicated with the abbreviated rush of a tweet.
And therein lies the problem: in its haste to connect dots and usher everyone toward a battle to end all battles, the film gives emotional resonance short shrift. Abrams doesn’t have the time or patience to address the few intriguing notions he lays out — instead it’s on to the next plot twist and counter-twist, like an exhausting game of “gotcha.” We’re used to franchise movies hitting reset on any kind of lasting consequences; The Rise of Skywalker is nothing but a giant reset button pressed repeatedly, as characters “die” and are resuscitated with near-comic frequency. At least the actors remain appealing, if under-served. Finn (John Boyega) has little to do except nearly proclaim his love for Rey in a subplot that goes nowhere, but Boyega remains an engaging presence. Meanwhile, Oscar Isaac flusters about as hotshot pilot Poe — more of an avatar than a relatable flesh-and-blood creation, he has some fun playing off a helmeted Keri Russell, who suggests more backstory and gravitas in her walk-on role than just about anyone else in the picture. (“They win by making you think you’re alone,” she muses, sounding like she’s arrived fresh from a KGB debriefing in The Americans.) As an equestrian warrior, Naomi Ackie only receives enough screen time to look formidable, but never fear, as it’s all but announced by the film’s denouement that she’ll be getting her own series. Who says franchises ever die?
The Rise of Skywalker‘s primary pleasures — as they have been throughout the trilogy — lie in the charged interplay between Rey and Kylo Ren (aka Ben Solo). Although the story wrenches itself into knots seeking a clear throughline for their characters, they both bring a sense of play to their performances. Given more shades of dark to work with, Ridley is appealingly emotive yet calibrated, while Driver somehow makes his character’s crazy heel turns seem as natural as breathing. He even channels some of Harrison Ford’s world-weary goofiness down the stretch, and his final scenes with Ridley suggest what the trilogy could have been, if it had the guts to devote more emphasis to their off-kilter chemistry.
But who has time for personal stakes when we have a big finish to attend to? Forsaking mythos for the kitchen sink, Abrams loads his endgame with death and regeneration, muddled motives (does Palpatine want Rey dead or not? It doesn’t seem like even he knows for sure), Frankenstein-style re-animations, voice-over cameos from just about everyone, and a clash of fleets that collapses into a jumbled swirl of crashing ships and explosions. Somehow it’s as overcooked and inconsequential as a Star Wars finale gets, with an extra taste of the familiar as the cherry on top: one last teary group hug, a visit to a dusty planet where it all started, a glimpse of twin suns, and the sight of lightsabers getting buried in the sand, no doubt awaiting retrieval by the heroes of Disney’s next trilogy.
But setting aside side-stories like The Mandalorian, does Star Wars as an entity have any juice left? Truth be told, the cinematic series ran out of true inspiration as far back as The Return of the Jedi; after nine movies and countless recycled plot pivots and character beats, can anyone expect anything beyond a few exhilarating moments at this point? As Kathleen Kennedy’s quote atop this post affirms, the filmmakers and fans are locked in a death embrace, both eager to squeeze blood from a stone. Like leaning towers erected atop mud, The Rise of Skywalker and its predecessors care not for solid foundations, only pretty edifices. Compared to the micromanaged efficiency of the Marvel movies, Disney’s Star Wars comes off as confused and slapdash, and yet perversely enough, one can find unexpected entertainment value — and enlightenment — in this mess. Watching the contortions Abrams and crew put themselves through to spin gold out of something that ceased to be authentic a long time ago in a cinematic galaxy far far away, we emerge with a valuable lesson for Disney and the fans alike: strip away the mythology, cultural baggage and expectations, and sometimes you’re left with only a movie, and nothing more. ■
