An Inquiry into a Lego™ Star Wars Dinosaur
What small details make an ordinary toy extraordinary?
Ok, so it’s not a dinosaur per se. Technically, it’s a “dewback” as depicted in this screenshot of the updated Star Wars Special Edition, being ridden dutifully by a Sandtrooper in all his uncanny CGI glory.
But this is not a reflection on George Lucas and his errant digital tendencies. There is already an exhaustive discourse on that topic just as it seems there is an abundancy of airy, elevated generalities on Medium as of late.
So rather than contribute to either of those bodies of work, I wanted to try something a little different.
I want to reflect periodically, on a granular level, on things that catch my eye, things that resonate with me. I want to explore what exactly it is about that thing that rings true to me. What about this craft speaks to me? What is the essence of its quality?
This is the subject of a new series that I will refer to as the “Quality Works Resonance Series” and which I will try to revisit periodically with new reflections. There’s no way to predict when this might occur just as there is no way to foresee what form the thing in question will take. It could be a physical object, a song, a writing, an edifice. Indeed, some of the things that do snap me to attention are completely unexpected.
I will, however, introduce one constraint and that is that I am specifically interested in the realm of the man-made. Nature, of course, has plenty of opportunity to resonate with us, but I am more concerned with the state of craftsmanship in our world today in things both big and small, grand and minute. I want to pay due respect to the true craftsmen and women out there who may feel like their work goes otherwise unnoticed.
Like, for instance, the designer of this toy in my son’s Lego collection. Set number 75052 to be exact. The *new* Mos Eisley Cantina collection (circa 2014) as depicted here.
Not to be confused, dear sir or madam, with the *old* Mos Eisley Cantina collection, i.e. set 4501, (circa 2004) as depicted here.
Although the reference material for both of these sets has not changed in the ten years since the first iteration (much to Lucas’s chagrin, ok no more Lucas digs I promise), it’s easy to notice a much more favorable likeness of the new dewback vs the former dewback to its digital counterpart.
It’s easy to see that the creator of the new collection paid the necessary attention to detail so as to create something immediately recognizable as a dewback to any true Star Wars fans; the lumpy, hunched shape of its head and neck, its lurching gait captured mid-stride, its (currently disassembled thanks to my son) open array of lego studs on its back, patiently awaiting a creative seating arrangement and worthy rider. Yes, this is a much better version of the dewback even at a cursory glance.
However, let’s not stop there.
What caught my attention was not necessarily this dewback’s likeness, although certainly cool, so much as the craftsmanship that went into it.
The Head
The first thing that caught my eye was the head.
Even before I discovered that there was an older lego dewback, the likeness of this dewback’s head, along with the minimalist but surprisingly evocative depiction of its lizard eyes, had already caught my attention.
Compare this to the soulless, gaping socket that passes for an eye in the former dewback.
Furthermore, see the details of the head in the new dewback vs the former. The asymmetrical lumps and curves that make the shape of the latter so unmistakeably “dewback-y” are eschewed in the former for a straight geometrical (and likely cheaper to produce) shape.
Furthermore, while it seems that the former dewback gained some benefits of motion with some of these tradeoffs in the form of an articulating neck and limbs, it definitely lost something more valuable in return.
The Jaw
The new dewback, in contrast, does not have articulating limbs or appendages. What it lacks in motion, it has in character. Take, for instance, the one component of an otherwise monolithic construction that does exhibit motion, the jaw.
As any dinosaur-loving child will know, the best part of any giant lizard is its jaw. How else can any well-to-do giant man-eating lizard do what it does best, i.e. eat unsuspecting Lego men? And so, it is with this particular detail that I tip my hat to the designer of the new dewback. He or she took the practicalities of industrial design and threw all but the most essential elements of motion out the window. He or she empathized with her core customer, that of a curious and imaginative child.
But, there is something else very interesting about the jaw. What particularly fascinated me about the jaw struck me when I first started constructing the dewback. Meticulously following the famous illustrated Lego directions, I snapped the lower jaw into place. And, it was then, that I almost gasped.
This is very difficult to transmit through the internet, but hopefully the vine below will give a sense as to what made me take notice.
The utter simplicity and yet ingenious nature of this design took my breath away. There is nothing mechanical here, no hinges, no levers to speak of; just simply the application of physics and tension between two expertly crafted pieces of plastic and the little stubs and nooks that connected them.
The result is a jaw that literally springs to life, with a lifelike elasticity and satisfying snap to either an open or closed position. Pull the jaw back further and the bottom protrusion reveals itself to be a cleverly disguised tongue, oh but “the better to taste you with, my child!” Pull back too far and the jaw safely dislodges itself, ready to be reassembled for more Lego-chomping fun.
Here, the designer has managed to combine both form and function to expert degree. The tactile pleasure of this design just invites users to open and shut the jaw over and over. Indeed, my son has already used the jaw to wreak havoc amongst untold legions of Lego citizens.
It was this clever bit of mechanical engineering that drew attention to other elements of the toy’s design. The head as discussed prior, but also the legs and, in particular, the feet.
The Legs and Feet
It’s easy to miss the feet. Partly because of the lack of movable joints, the legs and feet almost seem too sedentary.
However, here again, the designer has made an ingenious trade-off. Whereas the prior dewback had a semblance of physical motion in its movable limbs, it, again, sacrificed character for superficiality.
Compare again the old and new dewback.
Whereas the old dewback’s limbs are lifeless trunks, the new dewback benefits from an attention to musculature. The protruding thighs and shoulders of the animal give a sense of weight and motion that no amount of gimmickry could recreate.
Furthermore, upon closer inspection, the uncanniness of the former dewback can also be found in its rigidity. To support its articulation, the former dewback’s limbs extend outright, as if suffering from rigor mortis. The new dewback not only has more realistic curvatures that imply a skeletal structure just beneath the skin, but look even closer.
Whereas the symmetry of the old dewback is boring, take a look at the placement of the new dewback’s feet. When I first noticed its feet, I did a double take. I thought, “no way do these line up to rows of studs.”
In another stroke of genius, the designer threw out symmetry for a purposeful asymmetry in the animal’s feet. He or she used asymmetry to imply motion rather than literally offer it, to the point that I had to wonder whether this Lego toy could even live up to its namesake and be inserted properly onto a baseplate.
Look at the forward-facing toes! How could a stud even fit between those phalanges? Look at the rear-facing toe, could that truly squeeze between two neighboring studs?
Almost bordering on optical illusion, I found myself struggling to line up the forefoot of one foot to the heel of its opposing limb.
Only one way to find out of course.
Yes. Silly of me to doubt this designer who has already proved him or herself a patron of quality work.
The dewback, with its asymmetric gait, fits perfectly onto any baseplate. It captures a sense of motion, realism and character while still upholding its fundamental Lego-ness. Which leads me to the final observation.
The Body
It may be a little difficult to tell but the other observation I made regarding this toy is with regards to its seamlessness. Literally. Look at any of the above pictures and you would struggle to find any crevices that are, in stark contrast, plentiful on the old dewback design.
Upon closer inspection, one will notice that this entire creature is designed out of three parts. Three parts only. Two halves of the body and one lower jaw. That’s it.
Now this may not seem like much, but to me, this speaks to Lego’s mastery of industrial design and quality assurance.
The key to any Lego piece is consistent interlocking. If any single Lego piece in the history of production ever failed to interlock with another piece, this would be seen as an existential failure on the part of Lego and its founding family.
True to form, the founding Christiansen family has obsessed over quality since it began manufacturing Legos in 1949. They realized that the process of injection-molding in and of itself offered no long-term advantage versus its competitors or inherent benefit to its customers.
Instead, the family’s singular focus was illustrated by their motto det bedste er ikke for godt, “the best is never too good”. To create a truly high quality toy, they needed to focus on the tactile pleasure of playing with it, i.e. the quality of locking and unlocking each piece.
As such, since 1949, the goal of the Christiansen family remains the same but the methodology has become that much more advanced. Now, there is a pre-determined range of tolerance for each and every one of the billions of Legos produced that is measured by micrometers, newtons of force and several thousand assembly cycles of durability.
While the family could have mailed it in long ago, living off of the perpetuity of their Lego empire, they have continued to stay true to their founding goal of quality above all (although they did lose their way for a period in the early 2000’s, nearly going bankrupt as a result).
And so this brings us back to the dewback. Imagine the permissible tolerance for one small 2x6 brick and all the permutations of Murphy’s Law that could lead it astray in terms of quality. There is a reason that each and every Lego piece is secretly marked with the identification number of the exact mould that created it. On the rare occasion of a defect, the perpetrating mould in question can be identified, located and dealt with in almost sinister fashion.
Now imagine maintaining the exactitude of these parameters for a piece as irregular and cumbersome as this dewback.
The studs on its back are subject to the same obsessive standards as any other piece, lest it give a customer a bad tactile experience. However, given its size, any chance for irregularity and therefore cost is multiplied.
When I see these three pieces with my business hat on, I see cost and risk.
And for that, I give my final salute to both the designer and Lego. They knew the risks entailed with pursuing this ingeniously simple design and they went for it.
Why? Because they wanted to do better. They wanted to delight their customers. They wanted nothing to deter from the simple pleasure of playing with this toy.
In order to do so, they harnessed all their experience, their creativity, their exactitude. Indeed, they bestowed their mastery of craft upon this precious toy.
And, because of that, this humble Lego dewback, in all its majestic lumpiness, spoke to me.
Previous Story (Last Article in Quality Works Core Collection): The Selective Dissonance of Hateful Gods
Next Story (Part Two of Quality Works Resonance Series): A Reflection on Steve Martin’s Memoir, Born Standing Up
