‘The Last Jedi’ may not be the ‘Star Wars’ you’re looking for
Rian Johnson, the eager writer/director of Star Wars: The Last Jedi, seems like a genuinely lovely person. His Twitter header is a still from Vincent Minnelli’s Bells Are Ringing — I like the man a lot. But nobody ever made a great movie by being a nice guy. And Johnson, with only 3 features and some great Breaking Bad episodes under his belt, seems to have succumbed to both the worst creative pandering under Kathleen Kennedy and the LucasFilm suits — establishing a new undesirable pacing that will see Star Wars continue for centuries — and some questionable fanboy indulgence. The result? A Star Wars adventure that, while no means objectively bad, will enrage more of us than it needed to, and often falls victim to its own unearned risk-taking.
There’s a hole in The Last Jedi — a gaping absence of some kind of deliberate silliness — and I wasn’t sure whether I desired Han Solo or Jar-Jar Binks to fill it. The natural comedic elements in Star Wars are always rooted in peripheral cynicism, crazy creatures or C-3PO being a busybody. The Last Jedi sees the very worrying incorporation of Marvel-style ‘witty banter’ — watch me recoil in horror at one sarcastic exchange in the first five minutes. The industrialisation of Disney’s comic-book properties has been a sad situation; I hoped they would not allow Star Wars to go the same direction. Whether this was Johnson’s attempt at pleasing his bosses, or he genuinely wants that humour in his Star Wars movies, it’s a big mistake. In general, The Last Jedi is tonally caught between J.J. Abrams’s The Force Awakens (a more predictable, and pleasant, watch) and the prequels of 1999 through 2005 (at least two of which I genuinely think I prefer to The Last Jedi). There are numerous odd callbacks to the ’77 original, immediately proceeded by appearances from the now-infamous Porgs.
Oh, the Porgs. A species of wide-eyed bear/penguin things that screech loudly. To my surprise, I didn’t hate them. But their appearance here comes from a place of corporate cynicism that it’s hard to see past. Johnson’s film veers from quite obnoxious self-seriousness, Luke Skywalker (Mark Hamill) demanding that young Jedi Rey (Daisy Ridley) leave him alone, to a strange Tinder hookup narrative involving Rey and dark lord Kylo Ren (Adam Driver) that’s so peculiar they almost pull it off. Almost. When Luke breaks through a wall to catch the two young rascals holding hands, it’s hard not to feel like you’re watching the biggest-budget middle school rom-com ever.
Hamill is hardly renowned as a great actor, but he brings his best to this performance. He’s certainly more game than limp-backed Harrison Ford looked two years ago when he was dragged back onto the Millennium Falcon. In fact, it’s Ridley who struggles a little in their extended two-hand thread, delivering some of Johnson’s clunky expository monologues as if the script is being held in front of her face.
But Rey remains an admirable experiment in Hollywood heroism: a young woman taking her responsibilities seriously, never sexualised, who will likely have a greater impact on franchise culture than even Gal Gadot’s Wonder Woman. In more ways than one, The Last Jedi is positively progressive on the gender front: Laura Dern and Carrie Fisher are a sensational pair of military generals, never questioned by their male subservients. There’s another significant new female character: a maintenance worker called Rose, played by Kelly Marie Tran. There’s initially potential for an interesting dynamic with Rose, but she’s relegated to the centre of the film’s most pointless, uninteresting subplot alongside John Boyega’s Finn (who Johnson doesn’t know what to do with) that sees them visit an alien Casino — encountering Justin Theroux’s in the film’s second-best cameo — and team with Benicio Del Toro.
Del Toro is appalling here; his character has no place in this world as he limps around doing a hybrid Tom Waits/Jack Sparrow impression with a needless stammer. It’s incredibly tiresome, and the fact it wasn’t cut entirely alludes to Johnson’s unfortunate over-reverence for his collaborators. A more confident filmmaker would have recognised the error of including Del Toro in the final cut. Johnson seems delighted to work with the actor at all.
There are a number of areas where Star Wars is distinct in the modern cinema landscape: most obviously the visual language created by George Lucas in 1977, which remains intact from the opening crawl to the wipe transitions and beyond. Sometimes this is endearing; often distracting; always a reminder of the franchise’s unsophisticated roots. The Last Jedi, it could be said, is shameless about being a children’s film — not necessarily a bad thing. The problem: a good children’s film is not more than two-and-a-half-hours long, and does not feature exceptional bloodshed (the final battle’s red-and-white colour scheme lends to the most arresting sequence since Revenge of the Sith’s conclusive duel) and… umm… that weird sexting thing I referenced. There are delights in this film, great big delights for the passionate Star Wars fan — musical cue here, surprise cameo there — but they won’t compute for the kids watching. So we’re caught between two generations, and once the hysteria of STAR! WARS! has worn off, will anyone really be satisfied?
