Flak Magazine: Review of Star Wars: The Phantom Menace, 5-20-99

George Lucas has made a film that practically self-generates a laundry list of its own shortcomings, the most glaring of which are limited performances by talented actors made to inhabit underdeveloped characters, deeply lame dialogue and FX wizardry that alternates between provoking awe and disinterest.

Actually, he's made two such films: 1977's Star Wars and this year's The Phantom Menace. This year's model is a little better, a little less awesome and a little less satisfying, but the territory remains very familiar.

Lucas first indicated what we could expect of the prequels with 1997's special editions, giving him a chance to worsen the original trilogy by altering content (Han vs. Greedo), destroying cadence (observe how all those effect-filled cutaways throw off the music cues in The Empire Strikes Back after Luke's amputation) and overstuffing every viable scene with dewbacks, rontos and other digital CGIsores. How much was the man willing to sacrifice for the sake of some digitally created goodies?

Judging from Menace, too much. It's disconcerting just how playful/facile the film is. When critic Pauline Kael remarked how near Return of the Jedi's rhythms were to that of a video game, she successfully prophesied the blueprint movie studios have adopted for each of the 16 summers since.

It defines The Phantom Menace as well: the podracer scene is just a contrivance to insert a (very long) chase into the middle of the movie, and the journey from the Gungan city is reminiscent of nothing so much as the Star Tours ride at Disneyland. They're fun scenes, and the gee-whizzery is very much in the spirit of the other Star Wars films, but I can't think of any scene in those installments as irrelevant to the motivating action as these.

Somehow, though, the movie overcomes all of this. The Phantom Menace is a thoroughly and sincerely enjoyable blockbuster. It's well-cast, actually pulls off some limited and necessary levity and is, particularly in its last half-hour, truly masterfully edited. Lucas succeeds in engaging the audience's inner 12-year-olds, even while he trips over fart jokes, his own awful script ("I think you can kiss your trade alliance goodbye" and "Exsqueeze me?") and the inclusion of, of all things, a virgin birth.

In fact, some aspects of the film are flat-out inspired. The petulance, insecurity, arrogance and ruthless genius that he highlights in young Anakin (Jake Lloyd) capitalize on the prequels' greatest attraction: showing us what about Anakin Skywalker might cause him to grow up to become Darth Vader. And the foreshadowing regarding Senator Palpatine (Ian McDiarmid) is fine indeed, particular since many Menace viewers won't be such devotees that they realize what other honorific he'll acquire by the time Star Wars rolls around.

Still, it's unfortunate that Lucas has decided to direct the next two prequels himself. The hype alone won't sustain them; to be successful, they're going to have to be as good or better than this. Like Star Wars, however, Menace has set up a sequel for itself that suggests a darker, more nuanced director would be valued.

In the case of the earlier film, Lucas hired Irvin Kershner, who imbued Empire with far more poetry and emotion than Lucas could have. Mythologies evolve because each fresh storyteller has the chance to push them in new and better directions. If there's nothing to temper his boundless creativity, Lucas risks devolving the myth into monoculture.

Oh, and Jar Jar is rotten.

— Sean Weitner (sean@flakmag.com)