So, the Star Wars Prequels sure were a thing, weren’t they? During their releases they were hammered by fans of the Original Trilogy for—among other reasons—wooden acting, pandering to children, over-reliance on CGI, and bad writing. However, they’ve undergone a critical re-evaluation in the past few years, for two reasons: (1) the generation who grew up with these as their Star Wars movies is now coming of age and asserting its own takes on the franchise, especially through the Internet, and (2) the Sequel Trilogy became a new target for ire.
Today, I want to talk about how the Prequels fit in with an ancient storytelling tradition, and how this became a key part of their redemption.
My “Star Wars” Experience
I am a Prequel baby myself. I saw the movies out of order, with my first being Attack of the Clones, in about 2004 (it was less than a year before Revenge of the Sith released; that I know). While I couldn’t follow the plot very well, I’ll never forget the excitement I felt at the lightsaber fight between Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Dooku. I’d seen lightsabers earlier in the film, but never used in a duel before. Then, as Yoda came in and just did his thing, he instantly became my favorite character, and Star Wars my new favorite series.
I didn’t know Anakin would turn bad, and I think watching him fall to the Dark Side was genuinely the first time I’d watched a movie with a tragic ending in my entire life; it’s still a formative experience for me, and partly why I consider Revenge of the Sith to be my favorite Star Wars film. (It helps that it was the only one I saw in theaters until The Force Awakens.)
As a fan, I didn’t care about any of the complaints I listed above, because the lightsaber battles mixed with the awesome John Williams scores were all I really wanted. On that front, the CGI-favored Prequels looked sleeker and more interesting to me than anything in the Original Trilogy.
Looking back, I understand the complaints, but I still love elements of the Prequels a lot. Ewan McGregor is incredibly fun as Obi-Wan, and Ian McDiarmid’s Palpatine chews every scene he’s in. Also, Hayden Christensen’s performance partially unmasked in Kenobi made me see for the first time what Lucas saw when he casted the role, and makes me frustrated at how utterly he was failed by the problems in the Prequels’ production.
But there is one complaint about the Prequels, and about prequels in general, that I’ve never agreed with: they’re bad because you know what’s going to happen, so there’s no tension, so what’s the point?
This is what I want to focus on, so I can show you why this is bogus.
A Lesson from Oedipus
Ever heard the story of a guy who ended up ruling the Greek city of Thebes because he correctly solved a riddle, then was tasked with finding the source of a plague, only to learn that he unknowingly murdered his father and married his mother? If you have, you can thank Sophocles, the Ancient Greek playwright who gave us Oedipus the King.
Actually, you can thank the person he adapted the story from. Who was that? We have no idea. The story may survive because of Sophocles’ play, but the story existed long before he adapted it. The audience members would’ve been very familiar with the story before they came to watch the play.
See, theater wasn’t about twists in a new story, but about viewing old stories adapted by skilled writers — who were also in charge of putting the whole show together. (Theater was also a ritual, and attendance was the civic duty of every male citizen of Athens.) That’s not to say that Sophocles had an easy job of just taking old material and reusing it. He had to make it his own, and figure out how to engage the audience somehow.
One of his most noteworthy decisions was to keep reminding the audience of sight. The prophet Tiresias is blind, which is in keeping with the mythology, but the repeated emphasis is purposeful. Characters frequently talk about seeing, in the many forms of that term. Why? Well, because at the climax of the play, after the truth is revealed, Oedipus blinds himself off-stage so that he won’t have to see his parents in the underworld.
Sophocles wants you to be thinking about sight and blindness because it builds dread. You as an audience member know what’s coming, but the characters don’t. This effect, called “dramatic irony,” is what keeps you invested. You aren’t wondering what’s going to happen, you’re wondering how it’s going to happen, knowing that these events are fated and you are powerless to stop them.
This is what is supposed to happen with the Prequel Trilogy. Fans knew going into The Phantom Menace that Anakin would eventually turn to the Dark Side, and they especially knew that going into Revenge of the Sith. What did they want to see? Well, they wanted to see Anakin’s fall; in short, they wanted to witness a tragedy, in the Ancient Greek sense of the word.
The Prequels’ Failure
The problems with the films, especially around the writing and acting, took the audience out of that experience. They didn’t care about Anakin Skywalker, so they didn’t care about his fall. (It also upset them that the menacing Darth Vader was once a whiny brat, and is so for 2/3 of his Prequel appearances.) The failure of connection between movie and audience meant that the attempt to depict a grand tragedy fell relatively flat. Oh, and the romantic dialogue didn’t help, either.
The biggest issue, though: The Phantom Menace is mostly irrelevant. Star Wars is the story of the Skywalker family, at least on the movie screen. Why, then, is half the movie devoted to trade negotiations, blockades, and a detour to a desert planet?
Well, actually, there are reasons for all of those. Lucas wanted to depict the corruption of the Republic, to explain why the Clone Wars would begin and why the people eventually hand their government over to a tyrant; he also wanted to introduce Anakin’s backstory. But since Lucas was seemingly limited to three movies, the plots in the first film counteract each other’s efficacy; because Anakin’s fall is not yet intertwined with the fall of the Republic, every scene developing one is a scene not developing the other.
(Side note, but I would have had the Clone Wars begin at the end of Episode I, carry through to all of Episode II, and end with Episode III (Revenge can stay intact). I would work Anakin’s backstory in through flashbacks, exposition, and character moments throughout the trilogy.)
The issue is, Lucas’s vision needed breathing room that 8 hours just couldn’t cover.
The Prequels’ Strength
On paper, I maintain that the Prequels are leaps and bounds better than the Original Trilogy, and that isn’t nostalgia talking. Why do I believe this? Well, the Originals tell a pretty simple hero’s journey, as Luke goes from farm boy to master of his discipline. It’s simple and effective, but pretty standard, structurally.
On the other hand, the Prequels depict the fall of a democracy, the events playing out on a grand scale with tons of moving pieces, each interacting in a complex way. To me, this makes the premise of the Prequels far more intriguing.
But execution is another story. The Originals executed their characters and simple structure a lot better than the Prequels handled theirs.
The Prequels’ Redemption
I was mixed on Kenobi, but the best thing it did for me was motivate me to get a Disney+ subscription. Out of curiosity, I watched The Clone Wars, the 3D series I refused to watch as a kid because I liked the 2D series better.
Boy had I deprived myself of a gem. The first few seasons are iffy, and it frustrates me to no end that their episodes aren’t in chronological order, but they’re engaging enough to keep you hanging on. As you get into later seasons, it picks up and becomes great.
Ahsoka? Annoying as hell in her first few appearances on the show. But that’s the point! Not only is she meant to reflect a younger Anakin, but she’s also set up that way so she can grow as a character. Grow she did; she’s now a fan favorite.
The Clone Wars gave Lucas, paired with the excellent Dave Filoni, the chance to really tell the epic war narrative (or, I should say, narratives) that he wanted to tell. And at the heart is Anakin, who we know will fall. But when he’s given a good story and performance, we ache at this knowledge. We see him and Ahsoka, we watch their journey, all knowing it will come to a tragic end.
And what an end it was! Those final four episodes of The Clone Wars season 7 are hands down my favorite Star Wars anything, ever. In one fell swoop they keep you engaged at every second—your heart pounds watching Maul, Ahsoka, and Rex deal with the fallout of the war’s end, Order 66, and the rise of the Empire—deliver an excellent character drama, and single-handedly redeem the Prequels by fulfilling the promise that George Lucas always knew his story had.
Yes, there is suspense, because most people don’t know the exact details of how Ahsoka, Maul, and Rex deal with all of this. But we know they get out, if we’ve seen Rebels. Yet we also know, as Anakin and Ahsoka have their last moments together aboard that ship, that they will never see each other again on friendly terms. We know what’s coming, and we dread every second of it.
So, no, knowing what’s going to happen at story’s end is not a problem with prequels. It’s all in the execution, and in how the creators can use your foreknowledge to engage you more, not less.
Anakin’s fall may have been a surprise to me back in 2005, but it wasn’t a surprise in 2022. Despite that fact, I was fully enthralled by those final episodes.
So, don’t dismiss prequels out of hand just because they’re prequels. Like sequels, they’re often unnecessary and poorly executed, but sometimes, you get something truly special when the execution is done well.
I for one am glad that George Lucas’s vision finally got to see the light of day. I’m just sorry, for his sake as much as ours, that it took so long for us to see the brilliance it was capable of producing.
