Number 1: Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back (1980)

It gave us Darth Vader.

No one seems to remember this, but in the original Star Wars, Darth Vader was a glorified General Greivous. He followed Grand Moff Tarkin’s lead, seemed to be in command of little more than a Star Destroyer, and suffered an ignominious, embarrassing last act as he barely avoided destruction at the hands of a pathetic band of Rebels.

Then, in Empire, he becomes the Dark Lord of the Sith that gives women and children nightmares (he’d give men nightmares, but he killed them all). He’s smarter than the Rebels, stronger than the Rebels, and he definitely has a cooler ship than the Rebels. To top it off, he has his own theme music, which is all the more sensational for the fact that it doesn’t sound cheesy. He deserves it.

But why? Some would say that it is because he begins his choking spree early and doesn’t let up. But I say that the times in which he doesn’t kill underlings speak in stentorian voice. Anyone can kill incompetent minions—doing it from afar with the Force is a nice twist, but it’s a novelty that wouldn’t have lasted past Blade Runner, much less into the next century.

Vader kills Admiral Ozzel because Ozzel is “as clumsy as he is stupid.” He kills Captain Needa because Captain Needa somehow manages to let a ship too small for a cloaking device escape at short range. Vader never kills Admiral Piett. He points his finger at Piett and tells him not to fail again, as opposed to breaking his windpipe into twenty pieces. Then, Piett does fail again, as the Millennium Falcon makes its triumphant jump into hyperspace. Vader, again, does not kill Piett.

A mindless automaton kills everyone who doesn’t succeed. The most feared man in the galaxy lets Piett live because Vader needs smart, able men like Piett, and Vader can tell the difference between smart, able men and not-so-smart, not-so-able men. Vader is terrifying not because his evil nature overwhelms you but because his evil nature doesn’t overwhelm him. His emotional need for results does not overcome his intellect. Much as Lucipher is unencumbered by emotion yet hates us all as perfectly as a being can hate, Vader is a thinking, discerning, careful villain.

The Shot.

The other half to Vader’s ascension into villain legend was the fact that he now looked like a villain. A strange comment when Vader’s actual physical appearance changed little, if at all. But twenty degrees on a camera, a few decibels and a lighting change can vault your career one way or the other, and Irvin Kershner was the best thing to happen to Vader since James Earl Jones overcame his stuttering problem. The most recognizable difference between the original Star Wars and Empire is in the cinematography. Vader was the biggest beneficiary.

In the original Star Wars, Vader was usually seen in sterile medium shots, talking to another officer or excogitating about Obi-Wan in a well-lit corridor with a banal background. In Empire, we see him prowling the bridge of his ship, with all the officers in CIC-wells, literally below him. We see him storming through Hoth, assured of his own invincibility, a vortex of blackness and death cast against the shockingly white snow and the uniforms of his accompanying troopers.

And then we get The Shot.

A smart person once remarked of main characters: “You can’t kill them, but you can hurt them.” After spending some time literally torturing the main characters, Vader comes as close to killing Han Solo as you can—right in front of Han’s recently confessed lover. There are alternating tones of dark orange and blue, as hot and cold fight a duel to the death for the camera space. And it is dark, and the music begins, and the machines start moving and growling, and the hissing vapor clears just enough for us to catch a glimpse of Vader’s face, rising ever so slightly in a nightmarish close-up that would still be haunting my REM cycles if it weren’t so gorgeous. That shot made Vader. Vader made the movie.

“I know.”

Of course, part of what makes all of that work is the fact that the good guys are getting the living crap beat out of them, and we care quite a bit about the good guys. It seems so simple to make heroic characters likeable, but if it were, there would be more good movies. The history of cinema is littered with failed projects and broken down attempts that evince how difficult it is. The Matrix died a quick death when the novelty wore off and no one could remember why they were supposed to give a crap. One subpar performance was enough to fatally compromise the third Godfather.

But Han Solo? We care about him. Not because he asks for it, but because he doesn’t. He refuses to be somebody else, even when the movie is screaming for him to do so. He could have said anything, but he said the only thing Han Solo would say. Take this out of context and it all seems sillier and more absurd than the Batman and Robin. But you can’t take it out of context. The movie does not let you. Empire doesn’t ask for you to suspend your disbelief. It asks for you to believe.

Han Solo and Boba Fett.

Jesus once said that if you aren’t for Him, you are against Him, and vice versa. It makes sense when you consider that at its root, evil is nothingness. Hell is an absence, not a something. If you are doing nothing, you are doing more to subvert the Divine Will than anyone. You are either helping, hurting, or hurting in the worst way.

So much of our culture today is obsessed with exactly the opposite idea. We have come to believe that it is almost impossible to help or hurt. Rational Choice Theory tells us voting is pointless. Giving to a charity might help with taxes, but ending world hunger takes international organizations, not individual contributions. It makes our decisions defensible. They won’t do much anyway. So we witness a culture replete with examples of anti-heroes, guys in the grey area, character studies where good or evil seem impossible to truly attain…

Empire takes the opposite approach. In this galaxy, you are either a good guy or a bad guy. Some don’t wear an insignia or a rank badge, but they still picked their side. Han Solo is a mercenary. He worked for Jabba the Hutt. Boba Fett is a mercenary. He worked for Jabba the Hutt. But Han Solo is a hero, and Boba Fett is most certainly a villain. A very, very, very, cool villain, but a villain all the same.

It isn’t enough to say that you don’t want to get involved in the universe of Empire. You can’t stand on the sidelines. When Lando Calrissian attempted to do that—“I’ve done all I can. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more but I’ve got my own problems!”—did anyone mistake him for a Shades of Grey administrator who has his own neck and the safety of his city to worry about? Of course not. Because he was doing nothing, and that was almost worse than Fett. Some might say that these considerations only become relevant in crises, and that Empire involves the greatest crisis of all—massive warfare between good and evil. The fact of the matter is that the world is a crisis, and has been for millennia.

Han and Boba are the antithesis of each other (except in how cool they are. There, they are just very, very, very cool. Very cool). They are the coolest guys in their camp (did I mention how cool they are?), they always have tricks up their sleeve, and neither would mind staying out of the whole Empire/Rebellion thing. But neither can and they pick their side. Some would decry this as facile or puerile or indulgent. I call it true. We all know Han Solo, we all know Boba Fett. They might not be indigenous to Corellia or wear Mandalorian Armor in real life, but they still pick their sides. Each decision we make aligns us with one of them.


“Nobody wins.”

Empire is famous for being one of those rare movies where the bad guys win. I have never understood this. Do any of the Imperial officers look very happy in their last scenes? Does Vader seem particularly satisfied? The truth is that nobody wins. The Empire destroys the Rebels’ base on Hoth but fails to inflict massive losses due to clumsiness and stupidity. Luke finds Yoda but fails to complete his training due to not keeping his mind on where he was and what he was doing(!). Han, Leia, Chewie and C-3PO escape Star Destroyers and TIE Fighters to find themselves in the belly of a Space Slug. They escape that only to find more Star Destroyers. They hide effectively in the garbage only to be trailed by Boba Fett. They find succor on Cloud City only to find succor fleeting. Vader traps Luke in a trap so well sprung that he has his son in the perfect position—only his son decides to jump off a cliff.

No one wins in Empire. No one gets to rest. Because Vader never rests, neither can Luke or Leia or Han. Because evil never rests, neither can we. I swear on my two Boba Fett T-shirts, Empire Strikes Back more closely mirrors reality than most documentaries.

The Duel.

Roger Ebert (who has a great quote regarding Empire that will be relayed shortly) does not quite fully appreciate the duel that is the climax of the film. From a guy who I do not always agree with but I always understand (and really, that’s all you can ask of a critic) this is the rare moment where I do not understand what on earth he is talking about.

This duel is simply outstanding. Vader using one hand. Luke showing he isn’t a pushover. The cold blue, the menacing red, reflected in the lighting and in the lightsabers. The escalating stages. The astonishing scene where Vader simply throws everything and the kitchen sink at Luke as his theme song blares, and the power of Vader’s evil is so clearly evinced. Luke surviving by a catwalk that probably shouldn’t be there, but was. Vader simply letting loose, as his rage and fury control him until Luke’s hand comes off. And then, of course: “No, I am your father.”

Vader as Luke’s father parallels a million myths and religions—not the least of which is the notion of Original Sin—but philosophy is for later. Now, let’s just mention that James Earl Jones thought this was a misprint in the script, or that Vader was lying, or that… something. All of the sudden the universe matters. Before, it was good guys and bad guys and you wanted the good guys to win. Now it was clear that a whole lot more than that was and is going on. Luke rushed headlong into his duel with Vader much as we rush headlong into the film—expecting cops and robbers. Then he gets his arm chopped off because he had no idea what he was doing.

How many times have we all done the exact same thing, only to find out that our parents/teachers/elder siblings/Obi-Wan-figure really did know that of which they spoke? How betrayed and stupid and self-loathing do we feel when we realize the magnitude of our mistake? “Oh, so that’s why we weren’t supposed to eat the damn apple…”

Luke fought valiantly but he simply wasn’t ready, and it cost him more than just an arm. Most of us don’t suffer such physically dramatic consequences in real life, but they are no less real.


Claustrophobic Cloud City.

The special effects in Star Wars receive profuse and prolific laudation, and justly so. But there is an undercurrent of dismissal in most of the praise, as if to imply that the effects are great and that is all there is. But the effects are not mere window-dressing. One of the great injustices of the Special Edition Abominations that receives less attention than most is the “sprucing up” of Cloud City.

Part of the irony in the original Empire was that this city in the clouds seemed claustrophobic. There was little but white-washed corridors, few windows, and seemingly nowhere to go except into deeper, darker, more mechanized rooms where bad things happen.

In the “Special” Edition, Cloud City is open, vibrant, and altogether inviting. This defeats the point. Originally, Cloud City mirrored the movie—this was a fantastic city in a fantastic universe that should have been idyllic, but there were hints that beneath it all laid a rotten core where heroes went to die (or at least be frozen). Now, it’s just… another place. But the original knew what it was doing, anyway.

“Asteroids do not concern me, Admiral. I want that ship!”

George Lucas has never been known for snappy dialogue. Or any other kind of dialogue, for that matter. But whoever wrote the script for The Empire Strikes Back (it was Leigh Brackett and Lawrence Kasdan) got quite a bit of help from the underlying themes that make this film so powerful. On any other screen, with any other character, in any other situation, such a line would be a throwaway at best, an embarrassing declaration at worst. But in this situation, it speaks to underlying philosophy of Star Wars: individuals matter.

As we see later in the movie, the asteroid field completely destroys at least one Imperial-Class Star Destroyer (in another of the film’s superb moments: immediately after this shot they cut to Vader speaking with a group of ship captains by hologram. One throws up his arms and disappears. Vader doesn’t even flinch), and probably severely damages many more. Yet Vader finds this stark reality less important than finding one measly ship.

The amazing thing is that he doesn’t even want the ship. He doesn’t even want the ship’s occupants. He wants to use them to find someone else. In other words, Vader puts his entire fleet at risk to capture not his intended target but his intended target’s friends. Such is the gravity of the situation, in his view.

As will be proven in the third movie but is already obvious in Empire, Vader is not miscalculating. Luke Skywalker, Han Solo, Leia, Vader, the Emperor—these individuals are more important than whole fleets. In just about every mythology, you have specific individuals who determine the fates of empires. Somewhere along the way, we decided this was silly. Why? We turned our fates over to social forces and faceless masses. We dragged down leaders and replaced them with abstractions that inspire no one. I have some ideas as to why we did this, but I suppose this is not the forum. Regardless, it was, is and will forever be an idiotic move on our part. Vader doesn’t make the same mistake. Just thought I’d point that out.

All of the Qualities.

Empire seems to capture all of the great qualities of my favorite films. It celebrates the meaningfulness of the individual, the uncomfortable reality of right and wrong, the difficulty there is in finding that reality, visual splendor, iconic characters—it is all there.

The Empire Strikes Back has the same impact on me now that it did when I was seven years old, and back then I had never heard of a long take, 70mm film, or the auteur theory. Some might say it is merely nostalgic weakness that leads one to choose as a favorite a film which you were watching and enjoying when you were in single digits. Even outside of the fact that I was watching and enjoying 2001: A Space Odyssey at that time (thanks for that, Dad), the point is that it says something that this movie doesn’t require the jaded cynicism of old age. Men are just failed children, and I think Empire emphasizes the wonder and awe which the universe provides, while avoiding the temptation to say it is all easy. And it is a wonderful universe. And it isn’t easy.

“Watching these movies, we're in a receptive state like that of a child--our eyes and ears are open, we're paying attention, and we are amazed.”

Ebert said that, and he’s right. Do I need to watch Taxi Driver or Five Easy Pieces to be reminded how base the world can be? Umm, I don’t think so. But do I need to be reminded of why life is kind of important, and why the universe is worth living in? I think I do, and I think all of these movies do that. That’s why they’re my “favorites”, and I’ll watch them until I die.

Or become a Star Child.


~Right Thumb~