Return of the Jedi has perhaps my favorite ending of any story, ever: Luke’s impossible faith in his father gives Vader the chance to change, and Vader takes that chance. I strongly feel this is a beautiful and moving tale about the power of forgiveness and love. The powerful relationship between father and son made a huge impression on me as a child, and continues to influence the stories I like to tell and the way I feel about life. The set, costumes, and music are so effective in their desperate darkness that they can always sweep me away from the silliness on Endor. Mark Hamill as the noble Jedi and Ian McDiarmid as the wicked Emperor are both so invested in their characters and the drama of the situation that they deliver the best chemistry in the whole franchise. Luke’s decision to throw his lightsaber away is so brave and inspiring, such a bold moment of moral intelligence, that it can sometimes even make me believe that Star Wars deserves all its hype.
But this ending is still flawed in many ways. Behind the scenes, the crew rudely slighted Vader’s actor David Prowse; they apparently promised he would get to film the helmetless scenes, but they replaced him instead, even misleading him about studio filming schedules. Also, while I love the tragedy of Luke’s failure to save his father’s life, Vader’s death still falls into the offensive “bury your disabled characters” trope. Personally I wouldn’t want to change RotJ, but as long as Star Wars keeps rhyming with itself, other Star Wars stories should show equally complex, equally disabled characters who find love and heroism and life. It is completely unfair that, after all this time, this franchise has never been as bold with its hope as it is with its tragedy.
Another problem with RotJ’s ending is that, as I explained in my short analysis yesterday, it’s not fair to push the responsibility of one’s own actions to someone else’s attitude. Just because someone believes you are bad, doesn’t mean you are; and just because someone believes you’re good -- especially if you’ve never given them any reason to -- doesn’t make you good.
Star Wars does address this problem, of course, with Revenge of the Sith. In the devastating ending of RotS, Padme’s actions parallel Luke’s. She still loves Anakin, in spite of what she knows he has done, and she gives up everything to give him the chance of a new life. Padme’s faith isn’t even as impossible as Luke’s, as she has also seen Anakin’s love. But this time, her feelings toward Anakin do not change him, and his violence toward his own wife goes much further than kids’ movies generally do. The Last Jedi also treads this ground: in spite of Luke’s warning, Rey puts her faith in Kylo, and he likewise proves himself unworthy of it.
Both these characters’ stories show the folly of reckless love, rather than its power. I like these spinoff movie endings as well; they are just as iconic as -- and smarter than -- RotJ’s ending. The main thing that takes me out of those scenes is that women just can’t catch a break in Star Wars, which can be frankly exhausting.
Another way Star Wars could address some of the flaws in the ending of RotJ, besides subverting it in referential spinoffs, would be to flesh out the now haunted relationship between the lonely knight and his ghostly dad. If these two ever manage to ditch Obi-Wan and talk mano a mano, it could be very emotional and interesting. I can’t imagine this happening in live action -- I won’t hope for more Sad Old Luke, because it’s not going to happen no matter how much I want it -- but this kind of confrontation could make a very, very cool comic.
Image credit: “Star Wars: The Original Trilogy: A Graphic Novel.” Disney-Lucasfilm Press. Originally published: March 1, 2016. Republished as mini-comic for Galaxy of Adventures Luke action figure: Fall, 2018. Writer: Alessandro Ferrari. Illustrator: Alessandro Pastrovicchio.
