The Last Jedi? That’s A Relief

In which Mrs G Unexpectedly Goes Off Star Wars.

Mrs G likes a trip to the talkies, and I am a sucker for celluloid aliens. So we have a regular date. Every time a Star Wars film comes out, I book a couple of tickets. Hang the expense!  Bugger the waistline! I say, and round off the treat with some Maltesers and Twiglets, plus, if we’re feeling saucy, a bucket of Fanta, with two straws. I know how to show a girl a good time.

(Actually, I don’t get the cinema. Why pay a fortune to sit surrounded by a roomful of numpties with loud mobile phones, even more loud mobile children, sweets (rustle rustle), coughs, large hats, short attention spans, and flatulence?  I generally wait for ye olde DVD, and watch at home. Need a wee? Simply hit “pause”. Better than enduring the walk of shame from row G, and missing the best bit, right? At about a fifth of the price.)

But Mrs G likes an outing, and nightclubs are soooo 2016¹. So: the flicks for us. The show begins at 4:15. We take our seats at 4:15. Suckers! A full half hour of insipid advertising, and my God it’s dull. Whatever happened to good ads? You know, Happiness is a Cigar Called Hamlet? Flake? Lynx? No such luck. By the time they’re done, Mrs G’s head is drooping, and the Twiglets are gone, apart from the one I dropped².

At last the film starts. Blue writing fills the screen: “A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away...” and then DIDDLY-DAH! DA DUM DEE DUM DAD DUM DEE DAAAAH, and yellow writing scrolling up, and ooh, the adrenaline kicks in, and all the Tenalady and Hyundai adverts are fading into the past. This is going to be good.

I have a strategy for watching Star Wars. Suspend your disbelief, and your critical faculties; ignore the plot, characters, denouement, struggle between good and evil, etc etc, as they are basically the same for every episode. Just sit back, and soak up the Dolby whizzbangs, gargantuan spaceships, swordfights and wacky aliens; pass a couple of dopey hours in a Malteser-fuelled haze. All too soon it’s over. Out we go. I’m happy. I haven’t noticed it wasn’t very good.

“What did you think?” I ask innocently. Big mistake.

“Well,” she says. “Well. Not too keen, actually.”

“Why?” Second big mistake.

(I should point out there are big SPOILERS from here on in, but why bother? The entire planet has already seen it twice, and besides, how can you spoil something this predictable?)

She launches in. “When did Luke Skywalker become such a wimp? Why did they spend hours on that stupid island? What was with the interminable space pursuit? They couldn’t catch up? Seriously? Why is the goodies’ ship commanded by a load of old ladies? What were those stupid ice dogs? Where did Snoke come from anyway? Didn’t they kill off the Evil Emperor? Why is Kylo Ren such a big-nosed poutylips? And why do the guns just get bigger and bigger?”

And so on. “You hated it all, then?” I ask.

“No. I quite liked the naughty pilot.”

“Come on,” I insist. “Skywalker turns up at the end and saves the rebels with a Force projection across light-years? Subterfuge, tension, drama, and a tender reunion? Eh? Eh?”

“Ah,” she says. “I was asleep for that bit.”

Uh-huh. Next time, we’re buying the DVD.

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1 - 1983, actually, if we’re quibbling.
2 - I did try and find it, but there are a lot of Twiglets on the floor, and I’m not sure which one is mine. Quite tempted by the popcorn though.