Guest Op-Ed: The Mystery Looks Back?

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The Mystery Looks Back?
By Matt Mistele

With this past weekend's long-awaited reveal of the first Star Wars: The Force Awakens trailer, fandom finally has the beginnings of its first real, tangible sense about what to expect from the finished film.

We're transitioning out of a period defined by rampant, diverse, and unlimited speculation: the time when J.J. Abrams' infamous "mystery box" had been almost totally unopened. Prior to the release of any official footage (and perhaps even after it, given the trailer's genius "show-you-exactly-what-you-want-while-masterfully-revealing-no-actual-story-or-character-details" approach), any speculative theories proposed about the film shared a common relevance and possibility of being true. That's the most gloriously fun and entertaining benefit of being in the mystery phase.

We're not just talking about plot and character specifics. We're talking about the mystery that surrounds the galaxy’s larger context—the state of its politics, borders, collective awareness, and shared philosophies. Will the Star Wars universe return as a defined and (tenuously) stable place, as it was in the prequel trilogy? Or will it be laced with mystery, upheaval, and hints of war-weariness, as it was in the original trilogy—a dangerous environment that perfectly and literally suited the name Star Wars?

For the storytellers charged with shaping the sequel trilogy, there are huge implications attached to these questions. A writer’s goal, for example, begins relatively simply: to create the most interesting story possible within the most interesting context possible. The ideas about context-building in the Star Wars sequel trilogy that we’re toying with here open up an even more interesting question: is it possible the seeds of that new context have always been present without us even realizing it?

I mean, sure. "Writers watch original trilogy to inform context they're creating for the sequel trilogy" isn't an Endor-shattering proposition. It's an obvious approach. What could be bold, though, is an approach that's less than obvious. Something like: "Writers, informed by original trilogy, create a sequel trilogy that re-contextualizes the original trilogy."

I'm not talking about ret-conning. What if, instead of simply coming up with a new story that captures audiences' imaginations in grand cinematic fashion and propels the Star Wars saga forward, our storytellers were able to do something that fundamentally re-shapes how all of us watch the original trilogy—based on maybe-intentionally or maybe-not-intentionally placed details already present in those stories?

I know, I'm going all Darth Vagueius putting it that way. Stay with me.

For all the pieces of galactic context-building we could be talking about, the common (and franchise-unique) element around which all of those parts must be arranged is the central, guiding concept on which the entire saga is built: the Force.

There's one thing we do know: "The Force Awakens." That title isn't shy on subtlety—it might as well be synonymous with "The Magic Returns." With that reveal, we saw our first hint of the larger galactic context and, obviously, an indication of the central idea that will define this new film.

One of the consistently-noted detractions of the prequel trilogy was the "de-mystification" of the Force itself. Rather than being a vaguely-defined power only a few privileged characters could begin to understand and control, an explanation of its existence was (sort-of-)quantitatively tied to cellular biology. The de-mystifying effect this injection of physical science had was compounded by the prequel trilogy's own larger context in which the Jedi were prominent, populous, super-powered arbiters of justice—desensitizing the audience to the their presence and the scope of their abilities.

Don't get me wrong, basic intergalactic math confirms: lightsabers everywhere = fun. But the common acceptance of the Jedi and their boundless, effortless use of various Force powers—though crucial to the premise and setting of the prequel trilogy—created a larger context that inherently contrasted the very narrative fibers that made the original films so interesting and compelling.

That's not necessarily a criticism—it's just one technical difference in how those two distinct narrative environments were constructed. Mystery and calculated vagueness are assets to a storyteller—the very absence of an idea places an impulse in the audience's mind for a compelling solution to fill that gap. Mystery/vagueness/"the unknown" help create an environment that's good for drama. In the unknown, there is tension—the unknown wants, by both the characters and the audience, to be known. It's a fundamental concept that's used to powerful effect in the original trilogy.

Kid I've flown from one side of this galaxy to the other, I've seen a lot of strange stuff. But I've never seen anything to make me believe there's one all-powerful force controlling everything. There's no mystical energy field that controls my destiny."

-Han Solo

Han's reaction to the idea in the original films is our own. We're introduced to the Force the same way he is—as a long-forgotten magic treated somewhat dismissively and an unknown that we can’t see. And Han's not he only one. On the Imperials' side—at a top-of-the-Galactic-political-food-chain conference room table inside their prized superweapon, actually—a highly-ranked Imperial officer lays into Darth Vader on the subject:

"Don't try to frighten us with your sorcerer's ways, Lord Vader. Your sad devotion to that ancient Jedi religion has not helped you conjure up the stolen data tapes, or given you enough clairvoyance to find the rebels’ hidden fortresschokegurglechoke—"

–Admiral Motti

Motti not-believes it so definitively that he can’t even muster up enough respect to insult Darth freaking Vader's beliefs with anything more than casual condescension. We're barely through the saga's first film's first act by the time multiple characters—ones with, presumably, extensive knowledge about the larger galaxy due to their own personal experiences—have refused to acknowledge the Force's existence, let alone its power.

Were I in the shoes of an Arndt, an Abrams, or a Kasdan—a writer thinking about creating a new, high-level context for future Star Wars stories—I start by identifying that contrast between the prequel and original trilogies' respective approaches to this core idea. But I don't just see the detraction against the prequels. I see an opportunity.

Proposition 1. Returning a sense of wonder, mystery, and scope to the Force is a basic and primary narrative need that new Star Wars films need to address. The Force "began" in 1977 as long-lost, skeptically-referenced, utterly-crazy magic. That's what made it interesting. And that's what made the concept of a Jedi or a Sith so special. They were the only ones who knew anything about it.

Proposition 2. Our protagonist-focused perspective as an audience—combined with years' worth of expanded universe material that is set amongst the highest echelons of power and situations of narrative importance in the galaxy—have created an impression in our minds that Luke Skywalker is something of a "celebrity" in the larger, ongoing galactic context. Due to the position of our own perspective—and the title of the last, most recent film in the canon—we've been led to believe that it's common knowledge amongst the characters in the Star Wars universe that the Jedi returned, in the form of Luke, to save them all from the threat of the Sith.

But what if it's not common knowledge?

Hypothesis. What if no one else in the original trilogy, outside of a few close family and friends, actually knew who Luke Skywalker truly was and what he did?

I laughed the idea off almost instantly when I thought of it. Mostly because it also-almost-instantly forced another crazy theory to jump into my head: with several past indications that George Lucas had—at the very least—planned and provided broad story suggestions for the sequel trilogy, could the seeds of this idea have been intentionally planted during original trilogy's creation?

I laughed that off to. I'm just being conveniently revisionist, I thought. And then I realized—looking forward, that could be the whole point.

Embracing this idea would serve (what I believe to be) the sequel trilogy's writers' most pressing goal—returning that sense of mystery to the Force. Using a context in which the larger galaxy is generally unaware of Luke Skywalker's Jedi powers and achievements would be the most obvious way of creating a narrative environment that facilitates that mystery.

Any hypothesis needs to be tested.

What happens when we start to break down Luke’s use of the Force in the original trilogy? Could this possible outcome have been intentionally woven into the original trilogy's storyline? Have the signs supporting this interpretation always been there? How many characters within the story itself—outside of Luke's immediate circle— publicly display knowledge of the fact that he's the son of Anakin Skywalker and a Jedi Knight or actually witness him demonstrate his abilities?

In A New Hope, Luke's initial, primitive use of the Force during his lightsaber vs. drone training is witnessed only by his closest companions aboard the Millennium Falcon. Later, during the Battle of Yavin, his allies express stunned surprise when he switches off the X-wing's targeting computer at the critical moment of his attack run—but this could be interpreted as merely his lack of faith in the computer's ability to make the shot after Red Leader's failed computer-controlled attempt minutes earlier. To the battle's survivors and the Rebel flight controllers, Luke could simply have been seen as the crack pilot who made the best shot—or at least, the luckiest one—in the history of their struggle.

At the end of the film, Luke receives the same commendation for saving Princess Leia and the Alliance that Han and Chewie do—not a unique one, with any apparent distinction, for secretly using magic to do it. You'd think the Alliance leadership would welcome, with obvious celebration, a Force user strong enough to potentially become a Jedi Knight and ultimately lead their cause against the Sith.

In The Empire Strikes Back, Luke's alone in a cave when he uses the Force to retrieve his lightsaber and relieve his wampa captor of an arm during the subsequent escape. The vision of Obi-Wan's Force ghost that appears shortly after is visible only to Luke—its appearance and disappearance suspect, actually, in that it purposefully vanishes an instant before Luke's friend and rescuer appears. Luke's incoherent rambling of key plot points isn't even acknowledged by a survival-focused Han.

Luke's later use of his lightsaber during the Battle of Hoth isn't seen by anyone firsthand. The remaining Rebel pilots aren't attacking the AT-AT Luke takes down and the Imperials on board make no apparent attempt to stop him, likely not even aware of his presence. After the battle, Luke spends the bulk of the film on Dagobah with Yoda—training to be a Jedi, otherwise alone.

On Cloud City, he's drawn into the Imperial trap but enters with his blaster drawn. It's entirely possible Vader's troops know nothing about the subject of the kidnapping scheme beyond the fact that he’s a high-value target as a Rebel Commander. "He's after somebody called...Skywalker!" exclaims an exasperated Lando Calrissian, offering more evidence of Luke's relative anonymity.

Luke doesn't activate his lightsaber until he confronts Darth Vader—alone, in the carbon freezing chamber—before they engage in the only Force-infused fight of the film. A fight that (apparently) no one else witnesses at any point.

In Return of the Jedi, our theory really gets tested.

Luke makes his introduction to Jabba the Hutt via recorded hologram and verbally identifies himself as a Jedi Knight. A room full of people hear that. We'll come back to this slight problem in a minute.

Recently defrosted, Han—upon hearing the “news" from Chewie of Luke's recently acquired Jedi Knight Status, expresses some disbelief. He offhandedly and indirectly brands the idea a "delusion of grandeur." Luke's progress aside, the sentiment displayed by the principal characters even at this point is still very much one of hesitation and doubt, as far as Jedi and the Force are concerned.

Luke arrives at Jabba's palace and immediately Force chokes two Gamorrean guards—in a dark hallway, alone, where no one else sees. He then tries, and fails, to use a Jedi mind trick on the Hutt. Jabba proclaims his defiance for the technique loudly and clearly—and again, that same entire room of people hear that. Allow an assumption here, to address that issue.

Let's say, straining the credibility of this theory as far as it can go, that all those people are either indifferent to what's happening, under a severe chemical influence, or don't necessarily speak Huttese. Jabba himself recognizing the Jedi mind trick is believable enough—the prequels confirm he was very much alive at a time when the Jedi were more prominent in the galaxy. Key is in the language he uses to describe it: "an old Jedi mind trick." He's outright dismissive in its potential to work—it's dated, ineffective, and even if it's real, not likely to succeed.

Luke escapes subsequent rancorous death without using the Force. All it takes is a great shot-putting arm.

The sequence on Jabba's sail barge is where things—you'd think—might get really tricky for our shiny new theory. There's no way around it: Luke, for the first time in the entire trilogy, goes full berserker Jedi at the sarlacc pit. He eliminates a lot of bad guys. Force jumps, blaster bolt deflections, a full-on button mash of lightsaber combo moves. There's no hiding his Jedi-ness at this point. He literally has an audience watching.

And minutes later, they're all dead.

Stay with me. We haven't snapped the credibility yet. Let's assume that the majority of people's hanging out in Jabba's throne room were on the barge (not unreasonable—who spends all day in the grungy palace and doesn't want to go for barge-party?) and that anyone else in the palace didn't know the Jedi-is stuff was transpiring. So, all the characters who potentially know about Luke's Jedi-ness are on the sail barge. As far as canon (the film) is concerned, no one appears to jump off the barge during the battle except R2-D2 and C-3PO. Luke took most of the armed resistance down, and I'm quite certain the rest were on that thing when it blew.

That was the tough part. Now, Return of the Jedi's case for supporting our theory starts to get stronger.

Luke is part of Han Solo's command crew on the mission to Endor. That hierarchy is clear. The Alliance, you'd think, would give the most powerful Jedi Knight available in the galaxy command of the mission, but nope—it goes to their scoundrel-is General. Luke's along for the ride. Then, on Endor, Luke's only evident use of his lightsaber and the Force is in an isolated one-on-one confrontation with a speeder bike-riding stormtrooper. A speeder bike-riding stormtrooper who ends up thoroughly explo-dead by the end of that confrontation.

Soon after that, the most telling moment in the film as far as our theories concerned: Luke's introduced to Vader by an Imperial officer as "a Rebel who surrendered to us." There's zero notoriety there—not for one of the most prominent members of the Rebel Alliance (as we’re led to believe), let alone the only remaining Jedi in the universe and Darth Vader's own son! If Luke isn't at least somewhat widely known by this point in the trilogy's story, he's not going to be.

Luke's final confrontation with the Emperor and Vader is also isolated. As the larger battle unfolds, Han Solo brings down the Death Star's protective energy shield and Wedge Antilles and Lando Calrissian fire the respective kill shots that bring down the superstructure. It's entirely possible that no one—accept Leia, and possibly (a visibly unsure and out-of-the-loop) Han—even knew the situation involving Luke, the Emperor, and Vader ever happened. None of the panicked Imperial troops fleeing for their own lives in the Death Star hangar take much notice of the galaxy's (you'd think) most-wanted-Rebel-Jedi-protagonist dragging their dying Sith master to the last remaining Lambda-class shuttle reserved for VIPs, either).

If we take a step back from dissecting the individual films and consider the saga as a whole, there are limited examples of characters outside Luke's immediate circle acknowledging the Jedi or the Force. Twice, an Alliance leader references the Force in a moment of pre-battle rallying (General Dodonna's "May the Force be with you" in A New Hope and Admiral Ackbar's "May the Force be with us" in Return of the Jedi). There's no evidence, however, that they're expressing this sentimental literally or with conviction. It could simply be a carryover of convention that's survived as a colloquial expression used throughout the galaxy, particularly in the case of characters who (like Jabba) would be old enough to remember when it was a more common (and relevant) saying. Leia's pre-battle briefing in The Empire Strikes Back, by comparison, concludes with a mere "Good luck." This could, of course, be a pragmatic reflection on her part that they're kind of screwed—of the three major battles in the trilogy, Hoth is the only one the Rebels don't instigate.

The Force Awakens will have a profound impact on the franchise and will inevitability change the way we view Star Wars. A landmark film like this can't help but affect our perception of the franchise that came before it—the theory I'm examining here is just one way that affect could end up being literal.

Let me be clear. Much as this reads like an evidence trail, I'm not trying to make a case that it's necessarily true. I just see an interesting possibility, built on details and pieces that line up conveniently if we want them to.

The storytellers tasked with creating the larger narrative context for the Star Wars saga's newest installments will make use of every resource available to them. If the injection of mystery is both the goal and the best way to create new and compelling dramatic opportunities, is finding a way to hit the narrative reset button on the prominence of core concepts—Luke Skywalker, and the Force—a viable way of achieving that?

is it possible that even though the Jedi returned to save the galaxy, the galaxy doesn’t actually know that when The Force Awakens begins?

Return of the Jedi's ending might make that seem like a tall order—but maybe it's not. Given some of the foundational details presented here that the approach could hypothetically be built on, it might not be too radical to think that looking back could provide more clues than we realize about the best way to look forward. Our theory was simply built by using a new perspective to consider old details.

It could very easily be true—from a certain point of view.


The author of this piece can be contacted at mattmistele@gmail.com or on Twitter at @TOTruculent.

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