star wars reflections

while on my recent plane trip, I happened to rewatch Star Wars (episode IV, or, the original) on a whim. I hadn't seen it since my childhood, what I expected was a warm and nostalgic adventure to help get me through the flight. it turned out to be a lot more than that, as it gave me a breakthrough in the kinds of stories I want to tell.

star wars is a story about fascism. but it's not a story that's concerned with the political details of fascism, it's instead concerned with the emotional essence underneath it, what fascism is as an interior experience. this is how the story's plot mechanisms arise, of the force, the sith and the empire. according to star wars, the black heart of fascism is fear. fear makes one desire to control the world around them and become intolerant to others. more than just the more nebulous concept of fascism, the empire represents fear, order and obedience. it represents giving up faith in oneself in favor of the safety of rules and dogma. this is why the empire's leaders and henchmen have little interiority, except for the moments we see their fear and how they justify it. whenever we see their "gaze", it's a fragile, uncertain one that eagerly retreats on itself.

the protagonists, all in their own way, have a "gaze" that is certain. they have profound moments of interiority as they gaze into the infinite twilight or the depths of space, not because they're given more screen time for it but because we can truly peer into the wishes behind these characters' eyes, of the things they hope for and all emotions they're feeling as they embrace the unknown. in these moments, we feel their vitality with them, their life force that is synonymous with the force--trusting oneself, trusting the universe, no matter how uncertain it may seem to be. it's so easy to doubt ourselves and seek external reassurance in this chaotic world we live in, but the message behind star wars is that trusting oneself is the only way to do what is right. and that when you do, miraculous and improbable things are possible.

han solo is a "salt of the earth" working man who isn't bound by ideals. in fact, he represents "rugged individualism" in its fullest sense, which makes the nods to wild west stories perfectly thematic. han is a character who prioritizes freedom above all else, but what freedom actually means is put into question for him during the story. by the end, we see that his previous way of "living by his own rules", born of cynical realism, was actually a refusal to question society and believe in his heart. in this way, han is a character who is caught between "the empire" and "the rebellion" within himself, and he represents the audience in that way too. every day we make these choices for ourselves, to settle in the comfort of a negative safety or embrace a brighter unknown.

I'm someone who strongly desires justice, peace and harmony. it's very easy to come to understand the means of achieving utopia through order, of challenging or directly removing everything that contradicts it. but will these means actually lead to the world we desire? often when writing stories, I struggle with what kind of story I want to tell about these contradictions between humans and society, or between ideals and their realization. what does it mean to wish for a world without violence, and tell a story that shares that wish? what does it mean to write a character or a world who represents an ideal? does it involve excising everything that disagrees with it?

according to star wars, there is no need to remove anything from this world. or at least, not to attempt to erase it from reality as the empire does. the truth of the force is that it contains a dual nature--a light and a dark side. the world always contains the potential for a bright or a dark future, depending on the choices we collectively make. the heroes instead save the world through trust in one another and of their own hearts, trusting that believing in themselves and each other will itself lead to a brighter world. this world is old, with so many layers of history and a vastness of diversity one cannot possibly hope to define or contain it. and that's exactly what the empire tries to do in its inevitable futility. the protagonists couldn't hope to envision a future with total clarity, but they can choose to leap for that future.

princess leia represents this the most fully, and is suggested to be the most in tune with the force herself. her seeming superpower of integrity and fearlessness actually represents her complete trust in herself, her allies, and that trust is the path toward a brighter future.

it's easy for me to become burdened with seeking the answers to how we 'fix' our world. but watching star wars on that flight gave me a different one: we don't need to. we need to be there with ourselves and with each other, and to live a life not governed by fear. the details are important, but we can't pretend to know what will be right ahead of time. if we trust, if we have hope and faith, we can approach those problems together as they arise, and the strength of our bonds will carry us to a brighter future--whatever that happens to look like. we don't have to have all the answers, we only need trust and the will to act.

it feels clear to me now that there's no way to look to control the "chaos" of this world without becoming "the empire" oneself, of living a life ruled by fear. but on the other side of all that, a life lived without a need for control brings genuine freedom and companionship. that's what surrendering oneself to the force is: dancing in step with the tune of life itself, including your own. or maybe, we could say, it's rejecting nothing!

the message of star wars is beautiful to me, that as humans we have the power to create both a beautiful or terrible world for one another. that the urge to preserve oneself leads to destroying everything else, and that everything about the chaos, messiness and transience of life is exactly what makes it precious and exciting. the beating heart of life is its spontaneity and its unpredictability.

as a storyteller who yearns for a kinder world... one of my greatest questions to myself is, what is the right story to tell? how can I create stories that give insight or inspiration into the world ahead of us? is it nonconstructive to portray worlds that are non-ideal?

in reality... I think it may just be that people don't really need that. I could try to give this or that answer or provide this or that insight with what wisdom I have, but in the end, maybe that's not the thing storytelling is best at. people don't need to be told what to do or what the world ought to be like. what I think storytelling is good at is putting us in touch with the essence of being human, of being alive in a wild world and trying to figure it all out. storytelling is expansive, not instructive--by knowing how han solo chose to let go of his fear to follow his heart, save luke and join the alliance, I can be inspired and incorporate that into my life whenever and however I need it. or I can look to leia's unwavering courage and try to embody it myself. as authors, we can't control what people take away from what we create, but we can infuse our work with as much of this "essence of life" as we can in order to help them take away whatever they need.

final note: it's often joked about that "stormtroopers can't hit anything", but actually there's numerous references to their excellent marksmanship in the movie. you could read it as just plot armor, but it seems clear to me it's a representation of the force guiding them, a very literal expression of how the improbable can become possible through believing in the future. I found it very beautiful and clever in its subtlety!