Oh, how I’ve prayed for this day. George Lucas’ increasingly unappealing franchise has spluttered its avaricious last and not before time. May the force be gone. True, Revenge Of The Sith, the final instalment of this tweenie space opera is infinitely preferable to the previous two films (in much the same way as an enema is nicer than a bullet in the head) but the same old problems are annoyingly in evidence.
For one thing, the optimistic rumour that Tom Stoppard performed an uncredited dialogue polish would appear to be little more than a filthy internet lie. As ever, R2D2 has all the best lines, while perfectly decent actors such as Ewan McGregor visibly wrestle with words that Lord Olivier couldn’t have lent gravitas to. Hayden Christensen may have matured – or at least worked those abs – into something resembling a movie-star since his callow turn in Attack Of The Clones, but there’s nothing to be done with the appallingly puerile romantic scenes. As he and Natalie Portman (sporting a series of Nazi porn hairdos) exchange sweet nothings which redefine stilted, they blaze up the screen with all the heat and furious passion of a 40 watt lightbulb trapped in one of Philip Larkin’s dingier poems.
These moments, however like a slow day at the Oireachtas, are a giddy thrill compared to the meetings between the Jedi Council. Surely the most slavering nerd would balk at the prospect of partying with the dreary fucking Jedis. Even the usually effortlessly entertaining Samuel L. comes across like a Neighbourhood Watch prig as part of this grim gang.
The rest of the film is pretty much as you were – John Williams re-regurgitated blazing trumpets, nonsensical character monikers, gay robots (“Ooh, I could do with the tune-up”, lisps C3PO at his most Julian Clary-ish), at least three chapters worth of Joseph Campbell’s plot points (this time out it’s slaughter of the innocents, journey to the underworld and the quest for eternal life) and hard-edged matinee wipes.
Still, fans will find reasons to be cheerful beyond the cosy familiarity of Lucas’ world. Revenge Of The Sith thankfully minimises the speeches in the senate and appearances by stupid rubber muppets (Jar Jar mercifully shows up only the once and doesn’t get to open his racially-stereotyped mouth) in favour of visual grandiloquence and back to back set pieces. No pixel stays idle or digitally unsullied by the busy hands at ILM and no opportunity for light-sabres to swoosh and hum is ignored. (Swoosh. Hum. Swoosh. Hum. It’s like receiving ECT in a vibrator factory.)
Pauline Kael once described Star Wars as ‘an epic without a dream’, and scratching beneath the flashy spectacle, little has changed. As Revenge builds towards its inevitable climax – Anakin becoming Darth Vader, Luke and Leia’s birth, Padme’s death, the embryonic Death Star – a warm and fuzzy recognition kicks in. Aw! This is where we came in. But there’s nothing grand or Shakespearean about it. It’s just a superficial reconnection with past franchise glories; the same regression therapy trip that sees TV schedules clogged with I Love The Eighties. It’s the one emotional button that George can still press – Hey, remember seeing Star Wars; A New Beginning when you were a kid?
Truth is, the Star Wars universe has long since been eclipsed by the more consistently entertaining alternative movie worlds of JK Rowling and JRR Tolkien. Once you’ve seen Peter Jackson improbably make the bloody Ents work on screen, there’s no going back to the futuristic American Graffiti that is Star Wars (Just as Clones gave us a scene in a diner, Revenge offers Jimmy Smits’ flying Chevrolet).
Diehards may well hail Revenge Of The Sith as something like a return to form despite its unworthiness of a place beside A New Beginning or The Empire Strikes Back in the canon. Good luck to them. I’m just glad it’s all over.
Running Time 148mins. Cert 12pg. Opens May 19th