I want more Star Wars.
Which some might say is foolish to wish for, considering the exponential growth and release of Star Wars content since the early 2010s.
If that’s what you’re thinking, my answer is this: our definitions of Star Wars are very, very different.
I want more of the blue light on Luke’s face as his father’s ghost appears before him, of the shifting of the sky as The Chosen One brings the Force to its knees. Of the small smiles of masters and padawans exchanging bows, of soldiers and commanders exchanging salutes. Of Obi-Wan speaking of the parents he hardly met and the brother whose face he’ll never know, avoiding the crack forming in his voice. Of the orphaned farmhand who became the galaxy’s greatest hero by deciding he would rather die than make his father’s mistakes.
Of Jyn and Cassian holding onto each other in their final moments. Of Vader’s birth and Padmé’s death occurring simultaneously. Of clones firing at a Jedi whose pattern is painted on their helmets. Of Rex retiring his shovel, and Ahsoka letting her lightsaber fall from her fingers and clatter on the ground. Of Vader pocketing it years later. Of a farmer and a princess meeting in the woods, speaking of the mother they never knew, buried with their father’s gift laced between her fingers.
To me and so many other people, Star Wars isn’t about people picking up their weapons, but throwing them to the ground. It’s not about the destruction of the Death Star, but the festivities that followed. It’s not about the wage of war, but the pursuit of peace.
“I’ve got to save you.”
“You already have, Luke.”
Star Wars isn’t guns and spaceships. Star Wars is a story, a place, a feeling. It’s something people can’t describe, can’t put a finger on, can’t label or put into a box. I don’t want an action movie. I don’t want a blockbuster. I want Star Wars.
