Just what the internet needs: another blog post on Star Wars

Here we are again, then. Star Wars. Episode I: The Worst One. The Empire, Leicester Square. Several hundred film journalists, a smattering of their children, Anthony 'Yes, I'm Available' Daniels and a bunch of Stormtroopers (including one really fat one, who's stood out of formation and slumped on his blaster rifle). We're all gathered for the first showing of the 3D re-release of The Phantom Menace. As I'm reluctant to roll out that hoary old 'abused housewife' metaphor in relation to Star Wars' baffling and continuous allure, I'm at a loss as to why one of the most disappointing films ever made still has such magnetism. It's the ultimate Jedi mind trick: it's so not the film we're looking for.

This might be the fifth or sixth time I've seen The Phantom Menace. Twice at the cinema, once on video, once on DVD and probably at least one whole viewing on ITV4 if you gaffer-taped all the bits together. In comparison, there are films I love dearly which I haven't watched half as many times. I don't out and out hate Episode I – there are moments in it that rival anything in the original trilogy for pure visual and aural punch – but every time I've seen it since that fateful day on 16th July, 1999, it's gotten worse. You know that old saying, "Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me"? There's a reason it doesn't extend to "Fool me six times…" It's because there's no helping anyone that stupid.

So here we are again.

The 3D is not the reason I'm here, and I'll wager it's not why most others are here either. In any case, the third dimension is barely there – only a handful of scenes have the depth necessary to really justify the medium; the rest of the time you can easily watch with your glasses off and suffer just a few mildly blurry backgrounds as penance. This is where I tell the joke that goes: "3D? But I thought it was only one-dimensional!" or something like that. You may notice that a few scenes have been – brace yourself – altered slightly to make the most of the new dimension, with creatures walking past the camera to give the illusion of depth. The most shocking thing about this latest retcon is that no one seems bothered any more. The question of whether you can polish a turd has been answered with a resounding 'who cares?'

One theory suggests that people keep revisiting the Star Wars prequels and buying the DVDs and Blu-rays and holo-podcasts (due 2015) because they are fuel to burn: something to talk about, something to write about, something to bitch about. I'm part of a generation that wasn't lucky enough to grow up with Star Wars first-hand, and instead had to make do with the prequels. You get burned like that maybe once in a lifetime. The scars may have more or less healed by now, but they still itch like crazy and need to be scratched from time to time. If nothing else, EVERYONE has an opinion on The Phantom Menace. It's the great cinematic leveller.

So why not refuel? Answer: because for the most part, it's AWFUL.

You're not supposed to scratch those scars, because they bleed. The only explanation I can think of is that the human mind is only capable of memorising objects and events of interest. You remember Darth Maul, and the lightsaber fights, and the pod race. Conversely, you remember Jar Jar. But the human brain filters out everything in between – all the flat, grey, lifeless, static, endless scenes of leaden dialogue about trade embargos and shipping routes and galactic councils; the scenes that are like watching debates on C-SPAN between people in Halloween costumes. Your stupid brain thinks it's doing you a favour by forgetting how bad The Phantom Menace really is.



You know Jar Jar. You are aware of him. He is a figure of fun. We're all launching at Jar Jar. But you forget. Oh, do you forget. He's the punchline of Episode I, yes, but you're only supposed to hear a punchline once. Jar Jar Binks is the equivalent of someone telling you the same joke for 136 minutes – and it isn't even funny. His scenes are PHYSICALLY painful to sit through. I could hear everyone in the Empire cringing (both the cinema I was in and the theoretical populace of Star Wars). Every second he is on screen draws large, terse breaths en masse. This is when your brain starts to remember. "Why am I here again?" it asks itself. "It's all well and good thinking that now," it replies.

And it goes on. And on. And on a bit more. Then you see some shots of ships taking off and then landing. Then it goes on a bit more. Then you see some more ships landing. Sometimes you see the grass billow when a ship lands: I like that. I'm not disputing these sections of the film. They really are impeccable. They're probably the best shots of ships taking off and landing ever committed to film. I'm just suggesting maybe they didn't have to take up half the running time. I'll take it as read that if a ship takes off in a Star Wars movie, unless it's still up there in space, it probably landed at some point. I'm just about capable of making that leap in logic.

All the mechanical stuff is lovely. It's like seeing a robot flex his muscles. For 1999, the CG – Jar Jar aside – is pretty polished. Artistically, The Phantom Menace is peerless. The production design, the art design, the costume design, the sound design. It's grade A all the way through. John Williams gets all the plaudits (yeah, you go ahead and wish him a happy 80th birthday, sheeple) but for me, Ben Burtt is the unsung hero of Star Wars. You can close your eyes during Episode I's Pod Race (not that you'd want to) and be brought to orgasm by Burtt's symphony of whirrs, clanks and whistles. It's utterly transportative. If that isn't a word, it should be.

These are the elements the brain rightly remembers. If I was a man fond of making rash statements he couldn't back up, I'd say it's worth seeing The Phantom Menace again just to hear the score and the sound editing. But it isn't. This is because every time a human character has to say or do anything, the whole thing falls apart like its bones have turned to jelly.

There isn't a single recognisable human emotion to be found in The Phantom Menace. Amidala/Padme glides around like a particularly aloof porcelain doll. Young Anakin has about much emotional depth as a Fred Bassett character. The Jedis are condescending dicks, especially Qui-Gon Jinn, the master of the Force who not only fucks up EVERYTHING by failing to sense the Dark Side in Anakin, but he can't even tell the difference between Natalie Portman and Keira Knightley. He bypasses zen and comes off like a medicated stoner. "I don't sense anything," he says, clearly oblivious to an impending ambush, zonked off his tits on Midichlorians.


(Incidentally, My favourite human character in The Phantom Menace is Samuel L Jackson's perpetually furious Jedi, Mace Windu, who I don't think actually gets out of his chair for the whole film. But it's okay, because he wears his 'Bitch, please' face throughout the whole thing like he's about to drop some great vengeance and furious anger on the nearest motherfucker. I hope it's that conehead guy.)


We certainly weren't in attendance for the sparkling dialogue. Don't get me started on the dialogue. (You didn't, but I'm going to get started anyway). The Phantom Menace gets off to a cracking start with the opening crawl that has the gall to list "endless debates" as a point of interest. The lines that don't reference the ins and outs of politics, trade or pseudo-science are shameful attempts at one-liners which thud out of the actors' mouths, laying there as incongruous as turds on an ice rink.

My favourite example of George Lucas' sense of humour is when Captain Panaka (the Holby City guy) cuffs Nute Gunray at the end and smirks, "I guess you can kiss your trade franchise goodbye!" AWWW SHIT! NO YOU DI'INT! Do you need some GAUZE for that SICK BURN? (*nails imaginary three-pointer, high fives whooping posse*)


The Phantom Menace is much the same as it was in '99: it still sucks, but now it sucks in 3D. If you're a Star Wars fan, you have most probably already come to this conclusion without needing to see a single second of it wearing stupid glasses. But how many of you will see it anyway? Compelled by an invisible force ghost with a fast-track into your wallet? I understand your pain: I hear those voices too. "See it. See it. It might be good. It's probably really great and you've just been confused this whole time. Jar Jar is actually all right once you get to know him. Buy tickets from lucasfilm.com today. Transmission over." Even a bad Star Wars film is more enjoyable than a good Channing Tatum film. I get it. I just can't condone it.

Of course, the fact that I've just written over 1,500 words on the subject of Star Wars without even breaking a flop-sweat makes me part of the problem, not part of the solution. But it feels like my civic duty: like someone who lost their innocence at their dodgy uncle's house, I feel like it's my job to make sure I warn others of this insidious evil that's roaming around cinemas, putting its hand down young childrens' trousers.

Yes, this is what this is. Community service. A warning from history. A t-shirt that reads 'I Saw Star Wars: Episode I – The Phantom Menace six times so you didn't have to'.

Needless to say, I won't be seeing it for a seventh time. Not until I buy the Blu-ray boxset, anyway.