When John and I saw the first Star Wars movie, we were totally blown away, and we envisioned ourselves in years to come, settling in for an all-day, in-theater, super binge of all the projected episodes. I loved cocky Han Solo and that giant Yorkie-like Chewbacca. Obi Wan Kenobi was terrific. I even liked Princess Leia and the buns on her ears. Luke, not so much; he seemed pretty wimpy. But the music and the sweep of the story were great, and the visuals were unlike anything we'd ever seen--even better than Space Odyssey 2001, our previous standard of wow.
The Empire Strikes Back continued the story in fitting fashion. We bought a DVD of it and Justin--in second grade and out of school for a prolonged time with rheumatic fever--proceeded to watch it every day. It was still good-- the ice planet and the wonderful Walker machines and wise little Yoda and master of evil, Darth Vader--still a great story with fantastic visuals.
But then came the eagerly awaited The Return of the Jedi. And there were Ewoks--cutesy little furry critters that just screamed Won't the kiddies love these?
That pretty much ended my fascination with the Star Wars franchise. The plot holes and incongruities that I'd happily overlooked in the first two episodes, suddenly seemed more glaring. I don't think I ever saw any more of the episodes--the thrill was gone, the luster tarnished.
But the intense pleasure of that first viewing of Star Wars, surrendering to the myth and the music as the introduction scrolled up the screen and goosebumps rose on my arms--I'll never forget that.
(It's possible that I was a little stoned for the event. That could have contributed.
Don't judge.)
