swPrequelFrames

... and why I’ll always prefer it over The Force Awakens.

The Phantom Menace did a much better job with both its characters and the overall story. It found a balance between setting the whole thing up (basically not just the Prequel Trilogy, but the whole Saga) while still telling its own rather small story. Episode I had an esemble cast and gave me the time to get to know and appreciate each character. Qui-Gon was a guide thoughout the whole movie, we saw Jar Jar moving from a disruptive factor to the story's crucial factor, we were allowed to see Obi-Wan becoming a Jedi Knight through an emotional test following his master's death, we witnessed Padmé's world being invaded and her desire to get their home back. When considering Padmé's struggle over two-third of the movie to "overcome" the cultural background of her home world (relying on a peaceful situation at all costs, even to naiveté) in contrast to Finn's non-struggle to leave the Stormtroopers although he had been conditioned from a very young age, it's hard to see him as anything more than a cliché, stereotype or parody - at best an artificial creation.

And The Phantom Menace had Anakin... Anakin leaving his mother is heartbreaking everytime I watch the movie. There is such a strong and clear sense of pure momentousness that I not once felt in The Force Awakens. You get to feel that this moment, this decision is going to follow Anakin through the rest of his life. There was something asked of the character, an emotional obstacle palpable. When Rey left Jakku, it was put into the context of one of the all too many action scenes and severely misused to create nostalgia with the Mullenium Falcon instead of highlighting Rey's (and to and extent Finn's situation) in itself. 

That felt symptomatic for Episode VII, imo. I'm still wondering what's been the point of blowing up the Republic's capital apart from feeding nostalgia? There is none, I didn't find it at least. Contrary to that, The Phantom Menace masterfully intergrated Palpatine's rise to power and the fate of the whole galaxy into the story of a Queen and a young boy both seeking freedom for themselves and their common society. Overall, I got to know the galaxy in the George Lucas movie. I knew the Trade Federations's goals, I saw how the Republic functions, I got see the Jedi Order working. In TFA, I'm still wondering what's the exact difference between the New Republic and the Resistance; and why the First Order is not just still called Empire.

In conclusion, Star Wars: Episode I - The Phantom Menace felt like a rich, daring and complete movie while Star Wars: The Force Awakens felt like a collection of the Original Trilogy's greatest hits and popular concepts that were all more or less succesfully put together for very obvious intentions. Episode I had an idea and central theme (symbiosis, duality) that was visible from the first scenes of two Jedi working in perfect harmony to the last scene of two societies celebrating their commonly achieved victory. I don't see a signature theme in Episode VII apart from nostalgia at all.

Well, let me first say: I'm not religious.  Strangely, I've always had a completely different interpretation of the "Will of the Force" than many other people. In might be in part because of me being not religious, but also because I don't see the Force as an equivalent to God at all.

The way I see it, the relationship between God and Humans is one of inequality. God is the father, the all-powerful being that "created" humans. Humans, on earth, are striving to "reach" heaven, to become worthy of being in heaven along with God. That idea is loosely followed with the idea of "Force Ghosts"  which I never really liked, but not further. In contrary, it's quite the opposite with the Force and Humans. The Force and Humans are much more in a symbiotic relationship of equals. If you take it literally, it's even the opposite to God/Humans: "....energy field created by all living things". Essentially, humans (this includes aliens, of course) created the Force - while God created humans in religious mythology in our world.

The fact that humans create the Force rather than the Force creates humans, makes it very hard for me to believe that the Force is an "all-powerful, all-knowing entity" as it is described by many fans who complain about Midichlorians “ruining the Force”. I see it more like this: The Force is an energy field, created by all living things. Humans allow the Force "to exist" and, in return, the Force allows some them to perform, in some cases even, super-powers. That's emphasized by the Midichlorians, who allow both parties (the Force and individuals) to "communicate" (share their existence), and receive an own life in return.

So, in essence, the "Will of the Force" is nothing more or less than the cummulative "Will" of all the living things who create the Force, with the Midichlorians acting as a medium that enables their subconscious exchanges. This means that declarations like "The Force grows dark", "the dark side gets stronger" etc. are merely a mirror of what's happening with the human society as a whole and its individuals. In the Prequel era, the Force grows darker because people got more cynical, less solidary and all that resulted in a brooding war. Later, when the rebels had first victories, it gave the whole galaxy hope again and the dark side within each individual was gradually pushed back.

It's strange, because all of that seems so obvious - to me. I didn't even think about it, it was just there since I first saw the movies. Yet there are lot's of people who have a completely different view and consider that view to be just as "obvious" or "natural".

Ahmed Best

This is one of the shots that define the George Lucas films because in many ways, in spite of the sheer spectacle that’s on the forefront, there is a human core and grandiose simplicity that’s rarely found in modern cinema. 

The digital imagery in the background, the make-up on Portman’s face, the elaborate hairstyle and accessories and still, nonetheless, there is a concrete sense of feeling alone transported through the frame that’s relatable. There is an individual in the midst of a vast galaxy, some of the represented through the lights in the background, who all go through their lives unaware of the most basic pain of the ones next to them. They all wrestle with their own demons but it doesn’t have to be that way.

There is always a reliable friend, a loving mother, a caring neighbor or a bumbling Gungan  who has the ability to change everything, to take a situation that’s seems hopeless and bring back what’s needed: hope and the belief in a world that can be changed for the better.

George Lucas, The Making of Episode I - The Phantom Menace

This is one of those shots that are easily missed but make up part of the beauty that flows throughout the Prequel Trilogy. It shows Anakin on his way to Palpatine, who is fighting Mace Windu simultaneously, and therefore illustrates Anakin upcoming transformation and his current state of “neutrality”. 

Anakin is still a Jedi, officially, but that has been pushed back to being not much more than a “name” by Anakin’s desire to save Padmé. Anakin is certainly more than ready to do many things to save Padmé, even if those actions don’t meet agreement within the Jeid Order. His whole life with Padmé has been separating him from the Order, after all.

He has already passed the particular point where Jedi and Sith are considered polar opposites with nothing in-between. Anakin is already in-between, and that’s beautifully realized by flashing lights on his face and many shadows that fill the gaps. 

Combined with the parallel battle between Palpatine and Windu, it’s made clear that the galaxy’s fate and its global struggle between dark and light is irreversibly linked to Anakin and the personal choices he makes.

George Lucas, The Making Of Star Wars: Revenge Of The Sith

This is beautiful and a true a testament to George Lucas’ ability to come up with well-arranged shots that excel at clarity, sensuousness and appreciation for traditional photography.

The title in itself allowed us to know in what kind of direction George Lucas' last Star Wars movie was about to take us. After eleven years of work (Lucas started writing Episode I in 1994), Lucas finally released the movie which would show how Anakin Skywalker turned into Darth Vader.

One thing I really appreciate about Lucas' depiction of Anakin's fall is the brutal honesty in itself. Anakin falls for being overly egoistic, putting his own need of Padmé over everything and everyone else – including Padmé's own begging to stop. Anakin falls as a result of his greed, his desire to achieve the ultimate power of immortality. And there are no excuses made, which unfortunately happens all to often with beloved characters. Lucas was carefully trying to prevent the notion that Anakin's fall would be somehow an "accident" or a situation where Anakin was "trying to do the right thing until it was too late". No, Anakin was determined to save Padmé and keep the things he loves and learn the needed power at all costs. He tried to do the right thing and keep nobody harmed as long as it was possible for him, but at some point he had to make a choice and he did decide to save Padmé – at the expense of other lives, if necessary.

Naturally, there were parts of the audience which felt they had no chance to feel or root for Anakin. I can understand them, but Lucas certainly didn't try to achieve that anybody with a functional moral system would sympathize with Anakin in the second half of this film or consider his horrible action understandable. What we should feel is the loss of potential that Anakin is, the fact that someone so gifted and so "pure" from birth was losing his way and going down a path of incredicle darkness. We should feel the general idea of wanting to keep the ones we love, but also understand that there are limits for us to interfere with the natural course of events. Those are the ideas and questions that Episode III risis and we should think about and sympathize with. Were are not supposed to sympathize with Anakin's actions to the end, though.

The characters we are instead supposed to sympathize with til the end in Revenge Of The Sith are Obi-Wan and Padmé, with both of them having to cope with the fact that there husband and friend has turned to the dark side and into a monster. The sense of betrayal, of lost innocence and the believe in someone next to you that's being disappointed. Taking all this into account, Anakin's turn and the pain and suffering that it brought over the galaxy - but in particular also to the people that cared for him - made Padmé's last words, her faith in the good in Anakin, all the more effective and powerful.

Those very last scenes of Padmé dying were also characteristic for the film's strong focus on editing techniques. Even more than with most of the other films, Episode III really came into its final shape in the editing process. The juxtaposition of Padmé's death, Anakin's rebirth as Darth Vader and the birth of the twins is a groundbreaking achievement just as the very powerful contrasting juxtaposition of the very personal fight between Anakin and Obi-Wan and the much more galactic showdown between Master Yoda and Darth Sidious. There is also the breathtakingly fascinating Ruminations Scene, which cuts back and forth between Anakin in the Jedi Council's chamber brooding about his dilemma and Padmé's probable death and Padmé feeling Anakin's unrest and the significance of the moment until Anakin turns his back on the sun only to head into a very dark future. The Order 66 is another brilliantly editied scene showing the death of Jedi Knights across the galaxy. The cuts to a more and more devestated Yoda during Anakin's turn scene are just as effective and the transition from Obi-Wan and Padmé starting to come to terms with Anakin's change and the sparkling fontain to Anakin's remorseful tears on a hellish planet with boiling lava. Episode III is an exercise of creating a movie – and emotion - in post-production.

Revenge Of The Sith also marked the end to a trilogy that started six years earlier with The Phantom Menace. Gone the light and innocent tone of the trilogy's opener, moved from the broody and melancholic mood of a Attack Of The Clones to the sheer darkness and sadness of Episode III's last hour. It's an incredible shift of tone, and what's lost becomes obvious. Lost is variety, art, beauty and innocence in the galaxy. Jar Jar has been pushed aside, there is no room for a as different and pure at heart as him. Individualism, truly expressed by the Naboo's culture and design in Episode I, has been slowly eradicated throughout Episode II and up to the end of Episode III. We moved from Naboo's sunlit green grass at the end of Episode I to Episode II's smoggy orange Geonosian sand and finally Mustafar's black ashes where Obi-Wan picks up Anakin's lightsaber. We moved from a movie spending most of it's time in daylight to a movie filled with darkness and from a Senate filled in daylight to a nightime Senate and finally a Senate in twilight.

Generally, it's remarkable how well Episode III completed the trilogy's story – especially Anakin's. Anakin, who was shown in Episode I as a young boy with the strength to leave his mother on a desert planet and then in Episode II as a young man losing his mother again, is another time faced with the challenge of a threatening loss. Speaking from the point of view of immoral logic, Anakin's behaviour was perfectly reasonable. After all, he did show the strength to let go of his mother – only to reunite with her witnessing her death and a broken promise ("I will come back and save you, Mom.") hurting his conscience. He left his mother, following the Jedi's teachings. He didn't try to save her when he was dreaming about her, following the Jedi's order. It led to death, pain and suffering – for him. He came too late to save her, so what's more reasonable than trying to save Padmé before things happen to her in the first place when the very same dreams occur? It's immoral logic and – following centuries of storytelling – Lucas certainly used that lost morality in Anakin in order to put him into the context of a selffulfilling prophecy in which the protagonist actually creates the very situation he was so desperately trying to avoid. Anakin causes Padmé death, and is consequentally punished, having to live in his own very distinct prison. This, however, was all really only possible because the first two episodes provided a lot of background and build-up.

The same can be said about Palpatine's rise to power. Episode I told the part of Palpatine's story about him climbing to Chancellorship, exploiting a crisis of his own creation. In Episode II, Palpatine used a conflict which he controlled on both sides to initiate and fuel a war which would eliminate a lot of Jedi and attack the foundation of the Republic. In Episode III, we finally got the very exciting part of the story where everything comes together and Palpatine announces the Empire. Completely in line with the movies' strength in the editing department, that political culimation was beautifully intercut with Anakin's growing absorption of the dark side. Episode III shows Palpatine's last step to dictatorship and the scene of him declaring the Empire perfectly intercut with his student, Anakin, wiping out his now redundant former allies, the Separatists. Making the whole thing even more exciting, the sequence is also connected to the Jedi (Obi-Wan and Yoda) learning the truth in the Jedi Temple, which leads them to their own perceived Chosen One. The transition from Obi-Wan's shock at the murders and his paralyzed question about "who could have done this" to Anakin's current slaughtering in the windshadow of Palpatine's senate speech is particularly resonating. Padmé's wearily realization of what's happening proides the scene with a thoughtful finish: "So this is how liberty dies, with thunderous applause.".There is just an incredible sense of momentum when Anakin's path towards darkness and Palpatine's rise to power became one in the moment when Anakin physically destoys the Separatists while Palpatine much more non-violently destroys the Senate and democracy.

Attack Of The Clones was globally released on May, 16th 2002. While the movie was originally met with warmer reception than Episode I, which wasn't received too bad in itself, it seems Attack Of The Clones has since become even more of a punching bag for those with an abundance of virtual aggression. This isn't surprising. Three years after The Phantom Menace changed the way people saw Star Wars, Episode II in George Lucas' Saga wasn't about to go back. Instead, it took audiences further in their quest to unlearn what they had learnt, shedding new light on some of the Saga's mysteries and ambiguities and questioning people's view on the series.

Episode II – Attack Of The Clones was actually the first movie that made me of aware of how truly visual movies are (still) capable of being. While the aesthetic precision and picturesque beauty of The Phantom Menace and its clever compositions certainly impressed me, Attack Of The Clones first made me aware of the completeness of visual storytelling. 2002's Star Wars entry wasn't only the first movie to take place on more than three planets, it was also the movie that perfected the idea of planets supporting the movie's themes and characters:

Coruscant: as introduced as a cloudy and foggy home of greedy politicians and elitist monks, detached from the realities of ordinary people and unaware of or unable to see the approaching storm in clarity

Naboo: a paradise for retreat, a home of fertility and innocence, where a young and fateful love blossoms, much reminiscent of Adam and Eve with Anakin being seduced into sins (remember the apple)

Kamino: a water-world shed in mystery; water as the source of life on earth as the origin of the manufactured clones soldiers, a stormy world being home to a secret plan or plot to change the galaxy; all hell breaks loose on this world

Tatooine: still home to Anakin's mother, a lawless world on the edge of the galaxy and a stark contrast to Padmé's fertile home world, making their different background all the more obvious, setting of Anakin's first really raw step into darkness

Geonosis: genesis of the Clone Wars; a war breaking out far away from those who vote for war in comfort zone (Coruscant), a first climax of violence that will soon compromise the entire galaxy

There is an idea behind each world, which is incredibly detailed and nuanced, filled with life and a sense of reality and familiarity that's admirable. Those worlds are being inhabited by countless creatures, both human and alien, with Anakin Skywalker in middle of them. Anakin is a fascinating and intriguing character in this film and it's puzzling to me how people are so willing to arrogantly and ignorantly dismiss him as "whiny". It's in fact a multi-dimensional character that has multiple influences and emotions going on, because for everything that he deals with in Episode II, there is not just one way to go for him. He is young man looking for love on the one side, but it is all the more complicated because it's actually forbidden to be in a relationship for a Jedi - so there is a certain conflict and there are contrary dimensions and emotions. There is the sense of euphoric love, which is always balanced and attacked by a feeling of inevitable doom and a feeling that something is wrong. Secondly, there is his friendship with Obi-Wan, which is clearly visible multiple times throughout the movie. For instance in a small moment, Anakin seems genuinely hurt after Obi-Wan lectured him quite harshly in front of the Nightclub. There is their friendly banter, Anakin heading for Geonosis to help Obi-Wan despite "strict orders" to stay and obviously saving him at the end from Dooku. Nonetheless, it's not an "everything's perfect" kind of friendship, it is not without its strains. They are arguing and disagreeing and slightly annoyed by each other, but it's rarely disrespectful. Mostly, it's just two friends having "spent too much time with each other" (McGregor) and sometimes even entertaining, for example when I'm thinking about the Coruscant Chase. Additionally, there is the very severe loss (Shmi) that he experiences, which is quite intensely portrayed and multi-layered. He kind of loses himself in response and commits terrible crimes, but he's is still self-aware. He feels the guilt, he feels his own failure, so it's not just him being in pain because of his mother's death and regular mourning, but it's also him struggling with himself, his own imperfections, his weaknesses and overall emotions. His inability to meet the Jedi's requirements become apparent, which is yet another nice contrast to Anakin being obviously immensely talented and continuously referred to as the Chosen One. It's a very vivid character, certainly a bit overconfident in the first half of the film which is just as much simple innocence and youthful insecurity being covered by strong words, which makes the change to protectiveness and disillusion in his character towards the end of the movie all the more striking.

However, people certainly didn't expect Anakin to be like that after glorifying Obi-Wan's quite open-for-interpretation words for decades.  Anakin was, of course, in line with the movie putting many assumptions that people had about characters and events on their head. Yoda is another striking example. For whatever reason, many people assumed Yoda had always been equally “wise” without having to make experiences. Instead, we got a Yoda that witnessed what might have been a “mistake” for him in retrospect (allowing Dooku to escape in order to save Anakin and Obi-Wan), only to expect and wish Luke to act differently when he was faced with the same question (heading to save Han and Leia vs. finishing his training). All of that is a lot more meaningful now rather than taken from the first chapter of “Eastern Philosophy for Beginners”, as it first appeared in 1980. We got to see Yoda making his own experience of a war not making anyone – neither the Jedi nor the Republic nor the Separatists - “great”. That's the Clone Wars, to be precise.

Talking about wars: What's interesting and thought-worthy about the wars in Star Wars is the fact that they are very different in nature. The Civil War in the Original Trilogy is a kind of war that says “it's a necessary bad to make things right” whereas the Clone War in Prequel Trilogy is entirely different. In the Prequels and particularly Episode II, war is a tool for sinister conspirators to turn the world into something worse. It's a phantom event, orchestrated by those who gain for more personal power. That's a big part of Palpatine's plan, which is why it only made sense to skip most of the fighting and battles in-between Episode II and III. What's interesting and important about the Clone Wars is how they came into being. What led the galaxy to go into war, what led the Senators into voting for war and violence, what the situation was all about. It was fear. Palpatine controlled both sides and made sure both followed his leads. The Clone Wars, and Episode II, is a complex story about an evolving war.  The Clone Wars weren't great, the were a diabolic conspiracy to change everything.

Change. In Attack Of The Clones, the galaxy is changing, unabatingly heading for a long and dark night. To translate that into the visual language of the film, the colors were carefully constructed to transform from predominantly blue tones into mainly orange ones. The film ends with a strong persistence of orange and imagery of sunset and descent. This captures a touching sense of melancholy. When Palpatine watches “his” army heading for more battle, being accompanied by a striking version of the Imperial March while we are left to contemplate about Yoda's words of a fallen “shroud of the dark side” - destroying the illusion of victory - there is an unavoidable feeling of doom. This, naturally, transforms into the next and final scene of our fateful lovers exchanging vows in front of the beautiful sunset on Naboo. It's our last real glimpse at paradise in the Prequels, with a setting sun preparing us for a long night. We would only return once to see Padmé's funeral at night.

All in all, it's safe so say that George Lucas was still willing to reach new ground in the fifth chapter of his ongoing Saga. This didn't just become visible in story or character decisions, but also in small details. Attack Of The Clones is the first Star Wars film with a fading cut (Anakin's nightmare), it's the first film with fast zooms in battle scenes (Geonosis), the first film with the camera panning up at the beginning, the first film to feature a lightsaber duel that's defined by close-ups, edits, sounds and lights instead of choreography or dialogue. This list could go it but it already made its point. The quality that was carried on from earlier movies was Lucas's fine eye for wonderful shots supporting the feelings of the characters of foreshadowing their future in a truly visual way. From two lovers being brought into the spotlight of the Arena when their true feelings reach sunlight to the small boy holding his own future in his hands to the young Jedi standing in front of a Yin-/Yang symbol describing his inner turmoil to successors and predecessors fighting each other in a sea of blue and red lights and two Jedi being contrasted by their clothing. There is something to notice in every single shot.

Attack Of The Clones might have become another controversial chapter in the Star Wars series, but a lot of that controversy stems from the courage of George Lucas to surprise and reach new places in his Saga, develop themes further and challenge what people saw in Star Wars . It was personal, it was brave, it was innovating and original and it was STAR WARS. It still is. 

The release of hardly any other movie was met with the same kind of anticipation and hype than the first chapter in the Star Wars Saga after sixteen years of absence: Episode I - The Phantom Menace. Much has been said about that movie. In a lot of cases, I'd definitely say too much. While the initial response was at least not negative, as proven by the well-known Gallup survey conducted immediately after release, it soon became an internet sport to bash and trash the film to no end. That has become some kind of internet rite, much like shaking hands in the real world: people do it without really thinking about it, let alone questioning it or thinking about alternatives. It's become a given, the same old complaints being repeated and repeated without a single deeper thought.

What's the real drama about this is that it's completely unwarranted. One thing most people at least agree with is the fact that the Prequel's story, including Episode I's, is quite a bit more complex than the story of the original films. While many claims say it turned out unsuccessfully complex, I can't agree. For its insane focus on so-called „wooden dialogue“, it's perplexingly sad how the achievements of Episode I's screenplay are publicly missed, forgotten or lightly dismissed. It's as overlooked as it is to be appreciated how George Lucas managed to write a script that introduced a lot of overarching themes and developments while still telling a very basic and immediate story of people fighting for freedom. After all, there are five corresponding story lines depicted in The Phantom Menace:

the underlying story about Palpatine's beginning his rise to power

the episode-specific story about a Queen trying to free her people

the intervowen story about two Jedi being sent to help by the Republic, allowing us to see the functionality of both the Jedi Council and the Republic

the interwoven story about a young boy being found on a desert planet, saying the day in the end

the overall story of the Sith returning and what that means for the Jedi

It's hardly appreciated how these storylines become one story and how they were worked out to flow into each other, giving room to multiple interesting characters and themes. Those characters are certainly treated in an unconventional way, which feels stange at first, but allows all of them to play a crucial role at some point in the film. You kind of wonder why this or that character is there until at some point of the film it becomes obvious.

The films main story is certainly driven by the character of Qui-Gon Jinn, who leads us through the events and gives audiences an anchor for orientation. Despite some contrary claims, this did not go on the expense of Obi-Wan Kenobi. Obi-Wan, after all, was allowed to grow in the wind shadow of his master. It's the spectacular end fight between Kenobi, Jinn and Darth Maul that didn't just provide us with a phenomenal choreography and music but also with a face-off between Jedi and Sith philosophies. Obi-Wan is neither as aggressive as Maul nor as calm and Qui-Gon Jinn and when his master is killed, he almost fails by giving in to his anger and thoughts of revenge. Ultimately though, he remembered his master's teaching which allows him to defeat and kill Darth Maul with Jinn's weapon and become a Jedi Knight.

While Qui-Gon is obviously the main driving force of the story, the story itself revolves around a young Queen who is challenged with the struggle of being peaceful and passive or going into a fight to help themselves. In her journey to find the right answer, she meets Anakin Skywalker.  Looking at The Phantom Menace with the knowledge of the following two movies, it's remarkable how fluent the groundwork for Anakin's character played out. Anakin's birth into slavery and the following strong need to be free of orders, independent of authority were obvious in both Episode II and III for one. The boy's relationship with both his mother, Shmi (finally introducing the mother-side-of-things), and his surrogate father, Qui-Gon Jinn, is the other side and the emotional heart of the movie. The sense of family that they convey gives a maturity to the series that has been absent before. As part of that, we get to see how Anakin is deeply skilled and gifted while at the same time being confronted with the roots of his fall. Contrary to other Jedi, Anakin has been grown up with his mother and he has become attached to her. Leaving her was a big challenge and the ultimate fate of Shmi (her death with him being unable to stop it) would greatly affect Anakin's action when again confronted with the need to let go (of Padmé) to a great extent.

Ironically, despite the consistency in characterization and how it made definitely sense to see the roots of Anakin's characters and his popularity after release in 1999 (see Gallup), little Anakin has become almost as hated on the internet as Jar Jar Binks. Jar Jar Binks has also been well-received by the audiences in 1999 according the Gallup but has soon become the scapegoat for Prequel bashers: A character or person you can insult / disparage / hate / despise without having to justify yourself. That's sad, not least because Jar Jar is a characters that's supposed to teach us to respect every being because every being has its worth – even if it's sometimes annoying to reach that potential and worth. Jar Jar unconsciously made the first step to bond the Naboo and the Gungans and those who believed in him, particularly Queen Amidala and Qui-Gon Jinn, were rewarded for their faith and humanity. So after being somehow irritating for more than half of the film, Jar Jar becomes important and that’s characteristic for the movie. You get to see its full potential and the value that it brings to the Star Wars legend once you allow yourself to let the movie unfold in its own way.

All of these characters do have their function in various parts of the story, filling the film's epic imagery with humanity and relevance. The Phantom Menace provides us with an astonishing range of visual expression, showcasing Lucas's talents and sensibilities. The many wide shots showing characters in the context of their environment and the situation the go through just as much call for attention as precise and haunting close-ups of characters like Amidala. In the middle of all this, there are numerous shot that mirror each other or can be seen as inversions of each other or variations of ideas and occurences. 

All old, we end up with a movie that's thoroughly entertaining – filled with spectacular action and warm moments of mother and son – while still saying good things. The movie gives us an idea of how a evil man corrupts a political system and thereby harms society. It gives us an impression of the challenges that leaders are confronted with, being faced with the task to question their whole world-view. It makes it obvious how we all depend on each other (Naboo/Gungans, Jar Jar and the others, midichlorians and the people they live “inside”). It tells a story that highlights the value of all beings, from the skilled Jedi to the strong-willed Queen and a gifted young boy to a clumsy but good-hearted stranger. They all play their own specific part to make a better world.

Much has been said about The Fireplace Scene in Attack Of The Clones. Most people thereby had an unhealthy focus on the scene’s dialogue, which was - intentionally by Lucas and his co-writer Jonathan Hales - even more melodramatic and reminiscent of movies from the 1930s than the other films and scenes. 

There is nonetheless a lot to enjoy about that scene. Even the scene’s very beginning is worthy of mention, as it nicely illustrates Anakin and Padmé’s dilemma: they’re in love, but they have to hide their feelings and their emotions for each other behind a curtain. Nevertheless, as the camera’s stready movement suggests, we are now allowed to take a peek behind the curtain at their real feelings. 

The scene’s lighting is also very fitting for the character’s conflictive emotions as they are torn between love and duty. The fire’s orange can be seen as both passion and pain. In order to bring that point of dual emotions even more directly across, there is one very disctinct moment in which Padmé uneasily moves on her place, splitting her face into orange and black, making us - the viewers - feel uneasy too.

Anakin speaks honestly about the deep feelings he’s holding for Padmé, despite knowing that both of their duties make a romantic relationship almost impossible. Padmé knows that too and she is much less willing to put that aside as Anakin comes closer. As some point it gets too intense and conflictive for her and she stands up. It’s an escape and as she stands in front of the light fire, Anakin is left behind in darkness. This is symbolic for their intentions: Padmé wants to face reality in open light, Anakin thinks about having a secret relationship in the dark.

Finally, as many have already noted, there is a lot of foreshadowing to Mustafar in Padmé’s clothes and the fire in the background. As we all know, the prospect of death on Geonosis makes Padmé change her mind and engage in a relationship with Anakin that will lead them both to personal hell on the devilsh world of Mustafar.

Another stylistic device that was used extensively by Lucas in the previous Star Wars films were wipes. Those enable filmmakers to lead the viewers’ eyes more precisely to certain parts of the frame. In the scene above, Lucas’ wipe cut is going up, leading our eyes to the vastness of the sky, which nicely underlines Cliegg Lars’ “I know wherever you are ....” - heaven? Also consider that Lars finishes with “....it’s become a better place [than here].” just at the moment when the mourners become visible.

Aesthetic precision is the word to say.  

George Lucas’ approach to cinema is rather documentary, which became all the more obvious through the recent trailer for Episode VII, that leads to a pretty observational and spacious but calm way of moving the camera. His shots are precisely constructed compositions, with clear aesthetics and basic motion.