I Love … Midi-Chlorians
Doesn’t it seem like that defining moment five years ago when the news broke of Disney’s blob-like absorption of Lucasfilm was just yesterday? My seventeen-year-old self festered with impotent rage at the announcement: rage because Disney would surely rewrite Princess Leia as a cone-hatted, fairy god-mothered lover of a certain rogue pauper and impotent because I knew I’d be first in line to buy all the products and see the damn movie — three times — regardless. Plus, hadn’t old Georgie done enough damage in 1999–2005, a timespan that will live in infamy as the era of hating sand?
Well, objectively, yes, but personally, no.
I was hooked on Star Wars fifteen years ago during one of my mom’s frustrated channel-flipping sessions as she struggled to find a family friendly show at, say, 8pm. (My preferred primetime show and foreshadower of obsessive love of science-fiction and space fantasies, The Coneheads, had some scandalous moments.) Spike TV — the manly channel — briefly had our backs. Episode V was playing, and as if it were by destiny, Luke’s X-Wing illuminated Yoda’s face with red light as he said to Luke, “You will be. You will be,” in response to Luke’s assertion of fearlessness at the prospect of fighting Darth Vader; however, it was way more likely in response to my — what I thought was rhetorical — question, “Am I going to be obsessed with this”?
Then, my mom changed the channel because she doesn’t care about Star Wars. My dad, who liked the Original Trilogy but isn’t what I’d call a die-hard fan, unknowingly fanned the flames of my budding obsession by giving me a quick rundown of the saga thus far. It was 2002, before Attack of the Clones was released, so there were only four movies. But for me, that was quite enough.
I like to think of my life as BSW and ASW (before and after Star Wars), and my relationship with the prequels is like my relationship with my sister: hardcore fans can talk shit about them, but Star Wars laypeople cannot. First of all, I’m not sure what kind of sadistic individual would introduce another person to Star Wars through the prequels, but said Star Wars newbie does not get to judge the whole saga — EU (still a little salty about the new canon), Legends, and all — based on the prequels.
With The Clone Wars television series doing some serious, retroactive recon on the moral ambiguity of the Jedi’s philosophy, The Phantom Menace has to be — despite its interesting but poorly-dialogued politics — the most reviled of the three. Unfortunately, being young enough to be unaware of the prequels’ low esteem and subsequently sexually imprinting on Hayden Christensen — why god, why? — didn’t create an atmosphere that bred contempt.
For all my deep enthrallment with the Expanded Universe, the prequels were — rather, are — my superficial outlet when the galaxy gets just a little too convoluted. (You know, now that there are multiple storylines to keep up with! — never thought I’d think of a slightly cheesy space odyssey as “convoluted.” (I genuinely cannot conjecture the reason for creating confusing, new planets. There were plenty unused ones to choose from that weren’t carbon copies of Tatooine — looking at you, Jakku!)) Like, “Yay, I can sate my appetite for low quality, dumb love story shit and be in the Star Wars Universe at the same time!”
Anyway, since I’m the person who turns wide-eyed and open-mouth-smiley at even the quiet mention of Star Wars from hundreds of feet away (“Did someone just say Star Wars?!?”), I just need to get off my chest what might incur the scorn of a fandom scourged by a creator who tinkered with his creation to the point of making it a caricature of itself (as powerful beings are wont to do)…
…I love midi-chlorians.
There I said it.
Or at least, I did love them when I first saw Qui-Gon — Liam Neeson in case you were previously uninterested in the subject matter — describing them onscreen.
Basically, the Force is a mystical energy field, and midi-chlorians were, in my seven-year-old mind, a rational explanation for how some beings are able to communicate more effectively with the Force than others. Anakin would have been just another lovesick vessel of angst were it not for his previously unheard of midi-chlorian count, which made him an immaculately-conceived, super force-sensitive, lovesick vessel of angst.
(“If you give an immaculately-conceived, super force-sensitive, lovesick vessel of angst a high midi-chlorian count, he’s going to want to protect his love interest. If you let him protect his love interest, he’s going to want to accompany her to her conveniently romantic home planet and marry her on the DL. If you let him accompany her to her conveniently romantic home planet and marry her on the DL, he’s going to want to turn to the dark side. If you let him turn to the dark side, he’s going to need to kill younglings. If you let him kill younglings, he’s going to want to fight you to the death. If you let him fight you to the death, he’s not going to want to lose his limbs and burn to near-death on Mustafar. But he will anyway.” You = Obi-Wan)
As a more mature Star Wars fan with the solemn resignation to no longer being a member of Lucasfilm’s target audience, I can easily see why fans who lived pre-prequels hate midi-chlorians. “‘Science’ in a space fantasy? Sounds like a way to make ‘immaculate conception’ a believable cover-up for some forbidden hanky-panky between Shmi and Qui-Gon.” But I don’t want to be blamed for conveniently being born in a year — ‘94 — that ensured I was at the age — 5–11 — of peak susceptibility to blind belief of dubious explanations for the unexplained when the prequels were released.
I keep my love of the prequels under thick wraps because it might undermine my hard-earned status of Serious Star Wars Fan. I will do the nerd equivalent of DROPPING YOU in a match of Star Wars Trivial Pursuit. Try me.
(I read so many visual encyclopedias and poorly written Expanded Universe novels — fan fiction — for this honor. I own too many costumes, Legos, action figures, books, board games, and other stupid relics of a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away — ALTAIAGFFA for short — to have my title revoked for the minor indiscretions that are occasionally choosing to watch the prequels on my own free will and possibly knowing every single line. I was ridiculed too harshly — nickname: “Star Wars” spoken in a mocking, unaffectionate tone (not joking) — to keep to myself the opinion that the love of midi-chlorians and belief in the mysticism of the Force are not mutually exclusive.)
Are midi-chlorians a stupid, poorly thought out, plot device meant to explain that which was never positioned as a central question to be answered by the prequels? Yes.
Are the prequels heavy on unnecessary exposition and short on necessary exposition, full of failed attempts to recapture cheesy OT humor because the humor doesn’t forward the plots or explain characters, and lacking in logical reasons for Anakin’s swift transition from Jedi, the Sith Lord Killer, to Sith Lord, the Jedi Youngling Killer (The Clone Wars helps a little bit though)? Yes.
Do I still enjoy them? Every. Single. Time.
Midi-chlorians (as a proxy for everything wrong with the prequels) are so far from OT sensibilities that I think I’m somehow able to detach from the uncomfortable truth that the OT and the prequels are inextricably linked. The compartmentalization is crucial to my tolerance — no, enjoyment — of the prequels.
So why resurrect this age-old debate now?
I worry that Disney, even though I am now convinced Lucasfilm is held in good hands, is so utterly terrified of stepping into prequel territory that it is unwilling to experiment. Even the Legends books are predictable despite the much anticipated incorporation of Grand Admiral Thrawn (“Mitth’raw’nuruodo” #sayhisname. I’m sorry.) from the Expanded Universe.
Disney has proven itself capable of upholding the OT aesthetic, but working within the same formulaic framework for even the non-movie aspects of the franchise is going to get old very quickly if it hasn’t already. Part of what makes Star Wars appealing is the ginormous galaxy and the seemingly limitless possibilities it fosters.
Why limit that out of fear of failure? Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering. Duh.
I mean, maybe midi-chlorians would’ve worked if a different screenwriter took them under his/her wing. But then again, probably not.
I can’t keep watching the same story told with new generations of Skywalkers who are basically the same Skywalkers as the old generation of Skywalkers. Well, I will watch it, but, like, I literally will not be able to even. (Capiche? Capiche.)
Sorry if all this was all gobbledygook to non or casual Star Wars fans. I have a soft spot for the unfortunate trilogy that my age-group grew up on. Plus, I just watched Ep. III, and I have a lot of feelings.
And don’t tell me Jar Jar can’t be funny in the right hands.
