Traditions begin in odd ways. Especially in sitcoms. Take the episode of How I Met Your Mother that first aired on this night in 2012, "Trilogy Time," as an example.
In the case of Ted (Josh Radnor) and Marshall (Jason Segel), they began a tradition of watching the original "Star Wars" trilogy when they were roommates in college. Stressed out over an economics exam that was looming, they opted to watch the trilogy rather than study. They also agreed that, no matter what, they would get together and watch the trilogy every three years — and then speculate on where they expected to be and what they expected to be doing three years down the road.
Using decidedly flimsy logic, Ted and Marshall reasoned that they would ace the exam and, therefore, had no reason to study. They were wrong.
But back to their speculation.
Each time Ted imagined himself being a successful architect in three years with a woman who bore a striking resemblance to Robin (Cobie Smulders) — a clue that the mother of the show's title and Robin would be revealed to be connected in some way.
Marshall imagined himself to be a successful lawyer (with a mustache) in three years and married to Lily (Alyson Hannigan) with an ever–increasing number of children. By the end of the episode they had three children with a fourth on the way and a fifth already conceived because, as Marshall put it, "I'm just that good."
Barney (Neil Patrick Harris) kept imagining himself having one–night stands, which, given Barney's history in the series, hardly qualified as speculation — but by the end of the episode Barney surprised everyone, possibly even himself, when he told Ted and Marshall that he didn't want to be having one–night stands in three years. He wanted to be settled in with one girl.
For the most part the speculations were thoroughly unrealistic, little more than fantasies, really. And sometimes the fantasies took dark turns. Marshall's expectations of being a successful lawyer never seemed to pan out, and at one point he fantasized that Lily had taken up with a guy with a mustache and a trucker hat — and was carrying his child, who, it was revealed in a sonogram, was wearing a trucker hat in the womb.
Sure, the guys indulged in some wild flights of fancy — but they were always grounded in life as it really was.
While most people may think of Fisher's performances as Princess Leia in her billowy white dress and cinnamon bun hairdo in the "Star Wars" movies, I suppose I shall always remember the metallic bikini she wore in "Return of the Jedi" in 1983. It was the first time I had ever seen her figure — that dress really hid her feminine physique in the first two movies, which, so I have heard, is why she wanted to wear something more flattering in the third film.
Mission accomplished. Of course, I was a hot–blooded young American male at the time, and I would have thought she looked sexy in a burlap sack.
The other thing I thought about was the one and only time I saw Fisher in person. That was also in 1983.
The occasion was a Simon & Garfunkel concert. The two had reunited for their concert in New York's Central Park less than two years earlier. The public response was so overwhelmingly positive that they decided to reunite and do a concert tour in 1983. One of their stops on that tour was the Cotton Bowl here in Dallas. I went to that show with my parents, who were Simon & Garfunkel fans (especially my mother), and my brother.
We enjoyed the show, but we never expected to see Carrie Fisher. The thought never crossed my mind, and I doubt it crossed the minds of my parents or my brother.
Nevertheless, she was there, and I guess she spent most of the evening backstage, but at one point she came out on stage and played the drums on a few numbers. A lot of people probably don't realize that she could play the drums. I don't think I knew that myself until that night.
But she could, and she wasn't bad.
In hindsight, that was probably something they did on every stop on that tour. Simon and Fisher had been married less than a year, but they were still newlyweds that night, being playful with each other to the delight of the audience. Even though it was probably planned well in advance, Simon gave every impression of being a doting groom making a spontaneous invitation to coax Fisher onstage, and Fisher certainly seemed to be an obliging bride.
That night in the Cotton Bowl was memorable for another thing. A hurricane slammed into the Gulf coast earlier, sending rain and strong winds north to Dallas. On the night of the concert, it was windy and a bit rainy — and the contraption that held the overhead lights above the stage was swaying with the wind.
As I recall the concert was stopped temporarily until the wind calmed down a bit, then it resumed, but Fisher's contribution was over. She went backstage, and I never saw her again — except in the movies.
It's hard to believe she's gone. Then again, this is 2016, the year that has earned a reputation for being the last year in so many celebrities' lives.
What I will always remember most about "Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith," which made its debut 10 years ago today, is something that almost no one else will remember.
It is the only Star Wars movie I have seen at the theater with my father — and, even though Episode VII apparently will be showing on America's movie screens sometime next year, Episode III likely will be the only Star Wars movie I ever see with him. (And, unless my brother went with him to see another of the Star Wars movies, it may be what he remembers as well.)
My brother and I took Dad to see it on Father's Day 2005. He saw Episode IV, which was the first Star Wars movie, way back in 1977, but I didn't see it with him. He might not have seen it at the theater at all. He may have waited to see it on TV, whenever it was first shown.
Dad doesn't go to the theater alone; typically, he went with my mother when she was alive. When the first Star Wars movie was showing in theaters, though, I saw it with Mom, who loved movies and often watched a movie multiple times and might very well have gone to the theater with him to see it a second time. So that may have been when he saw it, but I don't know that for certain. All I know is he didn't see it with me.
And then I saw the next two installments in the Star Wars franchise with friends — on both occasions in theaters that were far from where Dad was living at the time. That wasn't really unusual for me, though. I have rarely seen a movie in a theater with my father since I was a small child. In those days, I imagine he took me to movies that I wanted to see and were appropriate for my age group. I doubt that he wanted to see them.
Dad wanted to see this one, though. He has never said why, but my guess would be that it would answer a lot of questions for him, just as it answered a lot of questions the Star Wars fans had about how Darth Vader came to be. He just didn't care to sit through the first two episodes.
Might have been a good idea if he had, though, since his mental image of Obi–Wan Kenobi was Alec Guinness, not Ewan McGregor. And Hayden Christensen surely was not his idea of Darth Vader. If, along with the rest of the audience, he had been familiar with the actors playing the younger versions of those characters, he wouldn't have had to ask me who they were.
Anyway, the movie answered all the questions about how Anakin Skywalker gravitated to the Dark Side — although, in hindsight, I suppose it wasn't too hard to guess. For all the buildup the movie received for how it would answer all the lingering questions about Darth Vader and his relationship to Luke and Leia, the Star Wars trilogies have been pretty transparent, haven't they? There clearly are biblical parallels in the battle between good and evil, the conflict between the Force for good and the Dark Side.
I guess that was what intrigued my father. He was a religion professor when I was growing up — like his father before him. I also remember that he enjoyed science fiction — the Star Trek TV series, for example, and "2001: A Space Odyssey." Maybe he liked the mix of biblical morality stories played out against a futuristic backdrop. The light saber duels — and there were many in "Revenge of the Sith" — provided an obvious example.
Looking back on it, I am inclined to wonder if "Revenge of the Sith" might have been a metaphor for something more sinister, like the rise of radical Islam.
Natalie Portman's character may have held the key to that — and perhaps it may have given us a clue of what to expect in the third Star Wars trilogy. Her strong female character seemed to be eliminated faster in "Revenge of the Sith" than it probably would be even in a radical Islamic environment.
Speaking of Portman, she wasn't exactly a newcomer when she made "Revenge of the Sith," even though she was not quite 24 when it premiered. She was a big–screen veteran, having had several minor roles and a few major ones in the previous decade. By the time I saw "Revenge of the Sith," I had already seen Portman in Episodes I and II, as well as "Cold Mountain," so I knew she had some talent.
But, even though there were times when "Revenge of the Sith" was a swashbuckling romp of which Errol Flynn would have been proud — and the dialogue could have been better — Portman never gave in to the temptation to camp it up.
And that probably wouldn't have been too hard to do with all the technological bells and whistles that George Lucas used in the sixth (but, apparently, not final) installation in the Star Wars franchise.
I can only wonder what is in store in Episode VII.
"Every Generation Has A Legend. Every Journey Has A First Step. Every Saga Has A Beginning."
Tagline
Every story must start somewhere, and I suppose that the Star Wars saga needed a first chapter. (I was OK with leaving the original "Star Wars" as the first chapter — forget this prequel stuff — but no one asked me ...)
But I really felt like "The Phantom Menace," which made its highly anticipated debut 15 years ago today, was the weakest of the six Star Wars movies that have hit the theaters — so far.
I didn't see it at the theater. I was never terribly excited about it, even though I saw the fan frenzy that the movie inspired among supposedly otherwise normal people who stood in long lines for tickets. I didn't go through that; a co–worker bought it when it was released on video tape, and I borrowed it from him.
I could understand why reactions were mixed.
Film critic Roger Ebert said it was "an astonishing achievement in imaginative filmmaking."
Mark Deming of AllMovie.com was less glowing in his assessment.
"While the computer–generated alternate universe was top notch and [George] Lucas' knack for whiz–bang special effects action reached an apex in the Ben–Hur–esque pod race," Deming wrote, "critics (professional and otherwise) objected to the wooden human characters, overly kiddie–friendly atmosphere, and goofy alien sidekick Jar Jar Binks."
That pretty much covered it for me.
When I watched it on video tape, my initial impression was that the entire project was designed to market a line of children's toys. Oh, sure, there has always been an element of that in the Star Wars movies, going back to the original. But it was always kept under control in the first trilogy (OK, things were starting to unravel in "Return of the Jedi").
It was rampant in "The Phantom Menace." For a long time, I was convinced the movie had been written to support the toys that were flooding the market. (There's a part of me that is still not convinced the movie wasn't motivated entirely by commercial interests.)
And "goofy" is only one of the words I would use to describe Jar Jar. Others would be "annoying," "stupid," "distracting."
"Grating," possibly. Definitely "irritating."
But certainly not "endearing."
I know some people who liked Jar Jar. I didn't. That won't change. Let's move on, shall we?
I had to agree with Deming when he praised the special effects in the movie, and the pod race did bear a striking resemblance to "Ben–Hur." I suppose it was a glimpse into what that chariot race scene might have been if the makers of "Ben–Hur" had the technological advances that were available to the makers of "The Phantom Menace."
Ebert was enamored with the whole eye candy thing.
"Unlike many movies, these are made to be looked at more than listened to," Ebert wrote, "and George Lucas and his collaborators have filled 'The Phantom Menace' with wonderful visuals."
If the visual was more important than the audio, then perhaps anyone could have played the parts, but I didn't really think that was true. Some people complained that the actors were wooden, but I felt they did as much as their parts would let them. Liam Neeson made a strong contribution to the story as the Jedi knight who trained Ewan McGregor as his apprentice, a young Obi–Wan Kenobi. It gave the audience some new insights into the old Obi–Wan Kenobi.
Please don't misunderstand. I thought the visuals were impressive. But, for the most part, I thought that was most of what "The Phantom Menace" really had to offer.
And I expect more from a Star Wars movie. Or I did — until 15 years ago.
In "The Phantom Menace," Anakin was portrayed by 10–year–old Jake Lloyd. His character was played by an older actor in Episodes II and III.
Actually, I am inclined to think that maybe Ebert was on to something when he spoke of the appeal of the visuals, possibly at the expense of the story.
"We are standing at the threshold of a new age of epic cinema, I think, in which digital techniques mean that budgets will no longer limit the scope of scenes," he wrote. "Filmmakers will be able to show us just about anything they can imagine."
From the perspective of a mere 15 years down the road, it seems positively prophetic, doesn't it?
It is really difficult to make a truly strong movie trilogy.
Sustaining the momentum is the problem, and that third installment really seems to be a stumbling block. I can understand that. Most of the time, it seems to me it is best to let a great movie stand unencumbered by a mediocre followup ... or two. I can think of only a few really good sequels, let alone a third edition.
But that doesn't keep people from trying to recapture lightning in a bottle anyway.
To an extent, that is what I thought when "Return of the Jedi," the third Star Wars movie, was released 30 years ago today.
As I have written here before, the original "Star Wars," which was in theaters in 1977, caught most people by surprise. It was based on a sci–fi novel that few outside the sci–fi followers demographic group knew anything about with a cast of largely unknown actors.
If memory serves me correctly, "Star Wars" started off slowly, then gathered momentum in the summer months of 1977. By the time I saw it, talk of a sequel had gained momentum, too. I don't remember exactly when it was announced that a sequel — 1980's "The Empire Strikes Back" — was being made or when it was announced that a trilogy of films eventually would be completed.
My guess would be that the trilogy plans were announced first — mainly because my memory is there was a lot of talk of a trilogy well before "Empire" made its theatrical debut. Certainly, there was talk of a third movie when I was making plans to see the second.
And, to be fair, I thought the sequel to "Star Wars" (which was subsequently renamed "A New Hope" with all of the movies in the series considered episodes of George Lucas' Star Wars franchise) was pretty good.
I suppose my attitude at the time could best be summed up in a comment I heard one moviegoer make as we left the theater — "What a wonderful movie! I can't wait to see how it ends!" Everyone who saw "The Empire Strikes Back" was prepared to be left hanging for another three years.
I didn't grow up in the age of movie serials — my parents did so I suppose they could tell you if the Star Wars trilogy of the late 1970s and early 1980s did a good job of re–creating the experience.
I can only speak of how I felt about "Return of the Jedi" in the context of the movies that preceded it.
I am no sci–fi fan. I do like some books and movies in the genre, but that is usually because the book and/or movie offers more than splashy space battles or strange intergalactic creatures.
And, at its core, the Star Wars story was always about the struggle between good and evil — within cultures, within galaxies, within individuals — more than it was about space. Space was merely the backdrop.
"Return of the Jedi" did a pretty good job of tying the loose ends from the first two movies together. In those first two flicks, for example, Princess Leia (Carrie Fisher) always faced a hard choice between two suitors (Harrison Ford and Mark Hamill). When Luke (Hamill) and the audience learned that Luke and Leia were siblings, that opened a face–saving way for Luke to bow out and Leia and Han Solo (Ford) to be a couple.
I guess movie audiences always had the feeling that Leia and Han would wind up together. Han was the roguish swashbuckler type, the bad boy who always seems to get the girl — in real life as well as the movies. Luke, meanwhile, was the honorable, dependable country boy who fought his father and then redeemed him.
(Incidentally, Fisher has confirmed that a personal trainer is helping her prepare for the seventh Star Wars film, and Ford apparently has all but acknowledged that he will participate in the movie, too, which should be interesting. I'll bet no one imagined a geriatric Leia and Han 30 years ago.)
"Return of the Jedi" was a reminder that a Lucas project, like a Steven Spielberg project, could be counted upon to give moviegoers more than a taste of the latest bells and whistles in moviemaking. It certainly delivered in that regard.
I have always thought the special effects in "Return of the Jedi" — while modest by 2013 standards — represented the state of the art at the time. In fact, I felt the special effects were the real stars of "Return of the Jedi." The scene I always think of is the heart–stopping, high–tech (and high–speed) bike chase through the trees. The actors were merely along for the ride.
But I could live with that. Lucas and Spielberg have always been like wide–eyed kids whenever technology gave them a new toy to play with. They can hardly wait to have a film project in which to try it.
The part about "Return of the Jedi" that I found objectionable was the way new creatures were introduced into the story — flimsy, transparent excuses for commercial mass–marketing of Star Wars toys. The introduction of the gremlinesque Yoda in "The Empire Strikes Back" was only the first step in an evolving strategy that included the creation of the teddy bear–like Ewoks who fought alongside the rebels in "Return of the Jedi."
As I say, the first "Star Wars" caught everyone by surprise, and marketers had to scramble to catch up. By the end of 1977, there were Star Wars action figures and lunchboxes and that sort of thing, but I've known enough sales people in my life to know that most of them must have viewed the summer months of 1977 as a lost opportunity — one they were determined not to let slip through their fingers again.
When "The Empire Strikes Back" was still in the planning stages, I'm sure those sessions included marketers who could tell the people who would be writing the script and designing the costumes what the surveys of the day indicated would be most popular with various demographic groups.
And high on that list, I believed then (and still believe today), was what surveys indicated would appeal to children. That was an approach that was refined in "Return of the Jedi" — and greatly expanded upon 16 years later when the first episode in the prequel trilogy hit the theaters.
And yet ...
In many ways, I felt that "Return of the Jedi" may have been the most adult–oriented of all the Star Wars movies, not just the ones from 1977 to 1983. For example, it took a long, hard look at Luke Skywalker and the hatred that burned within him. Given Luke's passion for fighting the Empire and being the ultimate Jedi warrior, I guess audiences had long suspected there was a seething rage within him, and "Return of the Jedi" confirmed it.
There were some fearsome visions in that movie when Luke confronted the truth.
I'm sure they inspired some nightmares for younger viewers. "Return of the Jedi" may have inspired a successful line of toys, but it wasn't quite a kiddie movie.
There is a lingering perception that "Return of the Jedi" was the weakest of the series' original three movies, but I think that is truly a relative matter.
There was a segment of the population that could be counted on to come to the theaters no matter what anyone else said about it. By 1983, Star Wars devotees knew what to expect from a new movie in the series, and they simply would not allow themselves to miss an opportunity to watch Hamill and Ford wave light sabers or spaceships wage laser battles.
To bring non–Star Wars viewers to the theaters — which it did, earning more than $400 million at the box office — it had to have more. It needed a plausible story.
It was weak in parts, but it was entertaining enough to be a worthy finale for a successful movie trilogy.
Most people probably don't remember what movies were like before the "Star Wars" franchise was born on this date in 1977.
I do, but, in all honesty, I don't remember the "Star Wars" premiere. There was no fuss about it that I can recall.
It was definitely a "summer blockbuster" — it was made for $11 million and wound up earning nearly half a billion dollars — but the concept of the summer blockbuster was still new. Hollywood has turned it into a marketing art form, but it was still a bit primitive in 1977, and, to be candid, "Star Wars" caught nearly everyone by surprise.
Today, it isn't uncommon for movies to spend a month or so at theaters — if that — before being yanked and prepared for cable and home video markets, but, in 1977, cable represented an extremely small share of the market, and home video was still in its infancy.
Thirty–five years ago, movies often spent months showing at theaters, many of which were still single–screen facilities, and then went on to drive–ins, where the objective was to squeeze a few more dollars in revenue, after which they were relegated to commercial television.
In 1977, successful movies spent months at theaters. It was the flops that were gone in a matter of weeks, seldom to be heard from again.
And there were some movies that got quite a bit of fanfare upon their release — but "Star Wars" wasn't one of them, and such fanfare could accompany just about any movie at just about any time of year.
It probably seems remarkable today, but movie promoters seemed to be oblivious, at least until 35 years ago, to the fact that there were huge potential audiences out there — teenagers — who had time on their hands and money in their pockets.
But nothing about "Star Wars" seemed designed to appeal to a mass audience.
With the exception of Alec Guinness, I suppose nearly everyone in the movie was an unknown to the moviegoing audience, and the book upon which "Star Wars" was based was familiar to sci–fi fans — but few others. James Earl Jones, of course, was familiar in both face and voice, but only his voice was used in the role of Darth Vader.
I was working on a maintenance crew that summer, and one of my co–workers — Brad — told me under the least glamorous conditions imaginable — while we we stood knee–deep in fresh manure and shoveled it into flower beds — about the movie he had just seen.
Now, Brad was a sci–fi fan, and he had read the book. He raved about the movie, and I promised him I would go to see it — probably figuring that I never would.
But I did, about three months later. It was a group excursion from my hometown of Conway, Ark., to the nearby state capital of Little Rock to see the movie.
"Star Wars" had been causing quite a stir by then. Promoters of that time hadn't done the things that promoters would do in years to come, and they had to play catch–up as first the movie and then the double album soundtrack made buckets of money.
I was dating my first serious girlfriend — Karen — at the time, and she wanted to see the movie. So did her parents and her younger brother and sister — and the foreign exchange student who was living with them. And so did my mother.
So all eight of us piled into her parents' Volvo station wagon — four of us in the rear area — and drove to Little Rock one hot August night.
Karen and her family had only moved to Conway a year earlier. They had lived in northern California and Indiana before they moved to Arkansas, and the car they drove did not have air conditioning. I remember how grateful I was when we arrived at the theater, and I felt that wonderful cold air on my sweaty skin when we walked inside.
I was even more grateful when I got a cold drink and felt that icy liquid go down my parched throat.
But I felt no real sense of excited anticipation before the movie began.
For that matter, I had no real sense that I had seen the first installment in a series of movies that would define the art of filmmaking for the next three decades. I enjoyed it, but, if someone had asked me, I would have said I thought it was a one–shot deal, an entertaining movie but with very limited long–term appeal.
In fact, I remember vividly being somewhat surprised when I heard Karen and her siblings speculating about what the sequel would reveal. Until that moment, I had not even thought about the possibility of a sequel.
With whom would Princess Leia end up — the rakish smuggler Han Solo or the still naive Luke Skywalker who was training to be a warrior? That was at the heart of their discussion.
As I say, I enjoyed the movie, but I thought little of the notion of a sequel. I didn't think there would be one.
History has shown that I seriously underestimated the market's appetite for the story.
The summer of 1980 is remembered — without much fondness — for a brutal heat wave that subjected just about everyone to unseasonably severe temperatures.
No place — or person — was spared. I remember being here in Dallas, where it is ordinarily hot seven or eight months every year, and being aware of how many consecutive 100–plus–degree days the city endured (something like seven or eight weeks, as I recall) — and Dallas wasn't barely passing the century mark, either. It got well over 100 much of the time — which wasn't too surprising since it really didn't cool off at night.
The most unsettling memory from that summer that has remained with me is of riding in a car on the streets of Dallas — and actually hearing the asphalt squish beneath the tires.
But I don't think the heat wave was under way on May 21 of that year. Things were heating up, all right, but more in a metaphorical than physical sense — although the physical did play a role. Mount St. Helens had just erupted. President Carter and Ted Kennedy were battling for the Democratic nomination. CNN was about to launch the era of the all–news, all–the–time TV networks.
While all this was going on, the sequel to the surprise hit of 1977, "Star Wars," made its debut at the theaters 30 years ago today. It received a tremendous buildup at a time when such heavy–duty promotion was not unheard of but still relatively rare.
And, in all honesty, I wondered how any movie could live up to such hype. I'm sure there were others who wondered the same thing.
But I have often thought that "The Empire Strikes Back" was an effective rebuttal to those who insist that movie sequels are always disappointments. I knew that wasn't true — because I had seen the first two "Godfather" movies, and I always felt that the sequel was better than the original. (I can't say, though, that I thought much of the third movies that served as the finales for either the "Godfather" or "Star Wars" trilogies.)
And, in the years since, I have seen the "Spider–Man" movies, the "Lord of the Rings" trilogy and other movies that have proven they weren't simply cheap attempts to cash in on the originals.
"The Empire Strikes Back" may have set the bar unbelievably high for me when it comes to standards for sequels. It really lived up to the publicity — perhaps because everyone understood that this wasn't the end of the story. A third movie was already in the works.
Viewers didn't seem to mind the many loose strings that were left dangling at the end of a movie that never pretended to contain the resolution to all the story lines and managed to ratchet up interest in a third film that was still three years away.
When Darth Vader told Luke he was really his father, the audience understood it was true — and that the conflict would be resolved in the third movie. The audience never seemed to notice that, only minutes before earnestly appealing to Luke to join him, Darth Vader seemed pretty intent upon killing him and even succeeded in slicing off Luke's right hand — not very fatherly things to do and not exactly the kind of tactic most people use to win other people's allegiance.
The audience forgave that sort of thing and accepted the cliffhanger of an ending — it even accepted the dark and at times depressing story — presumably because the public loved the swashbuckling, futuristic characters in a conflict between good and evil that was as big as, well, the universe.
It was the highest–grossing film of 1980. In fact, it has earned more than $530 million, which, when adjusted for inflation, makes it #12 all time.
Not bad for a film that was made with an $18 million budget.
I got my bachelor's degree in journalism from the University of Arkansas, and I got my master's degree in journalism from the University of North Texas. Most of my adult life has been dedicated to writing and editing in one form or another. Most recently I have taught writing (news and developmental) as an adjunct journalism professor at Richland College, where I advise the student newspaper staff. Go, Thunderducks!
