No critic can overstate the impact of George Lucas’ Star Wars trilogy. Appearing at a time when sci-fi films were largely low-budget, post-apocalyptic downers (THX 1138, Logan’s Run, A Boy and his Dog), they injected a new hope into the genre’s blood. The effects which Industrial Light and Magic pioneered set the stage for modern CGI; indeed, the battle scenes in the original trilogy stand up to the test of time. And the sense of wonder that the setting evoked inspired a generation of storytellers.
With this to live up to, there were as many people holding their breath for the prequel trilogy as were chomping at the bit. Thankfully, 1999’s Star Wars: Episode I: The Seven Warriors shattered everyone’s expectations.
After the habitual title crawl, The Seven Warriors begins with a long, low horizon shot of the desert town of Anchorhead on Tattooine. A massive vehicle on armored treads rolls in from behind the camera, filling the screen in a manner reminiscent of the Star Destroyer in A New Hope. J. Hoberman also pointed out the evocation of the icy wastes of Hoth in The Empire Strikes Back – a clever merger of two Lucas classics that doesn’t seem derivative (see “Definitely The Droids We’re Looking For”, Village Voice, May 18 1999).
The villagers of Anchorhead are menaced by a squad of Gammorrean slavers. One of them has his rifle raised to gun down a fleeing boy when another taps him on the shoulder. A robed figure approaches the village from the whistling sands of the desert: hooded, hands behind its back, featureless. Where did it come from?
“You!”, the Gammorrean cries. “What do you want?”
Still it approaches, soundless. Only when the figure gets within a few paces does the Gammorrean raise its blaster to threaten it. Then it raises a hand and gestures, and the Gammorrean lowers its weapon, confused. “The entire build-up here is a testament to Lucas’s growth as a director,” noted Bruce Westbrook. “We didn’t see Lucas really stretch out tension like this until Return of the Jedi, and then never so well.” (see “The Lone and Level Sands”, Houston Chronicle, May 16 1999)
The other Gammorreans surround the figure. Only now, outnumbered, does it raise its head slightly and speak.
OBI-WAN KENOBI: I’ve come to discuss surrender.
(The Gammorreans laugh, squealing and snorting)
GAMMORREAN: That’s the idea. Let’s hear it.
OBI-WAN KENOBI: Drop your weapons, mount your vehicle, and place yourself at the disposal of these villagers. Otherwise you may get hurt.
(The Gammorreans stop laughing abruptly, either confused or angry)
GAMMORREAN: We give the threats here, human! The Tekkari Syndicate surrenders to no one! We come and go as we please!
OBI-WAN KENOBI: No, I’m afraid it’s too late for that.
As one, the Gammorreans raise their rifles. The hiss-crack of a lightsaber emerges from the robes. And the moment we’ve been waiting twenty-seven years for begins.
One thing worth noting before the analysis continues. Though most critics picked up the parallels between The Seven Warriors and The Seven Samurai without much prompting, only a few saw the connection to the rest of Kurosawa’s work. Janet Maslin called the opening fight scene, where a young Kenobi fights off a dozen Gammorreans and Padme Amidala leads the villagers in a charge against the armored vehicles, “reminiscent of Yojimbo in its austere violence.” (See “In The Beginning Was The Future”, New York Times, May 19 1999). Though not as hectic as many of Lucas’s earlier action scenes, it still provides a healthy dose of thrills to start the story.
This also speaks to the tremendous misdirection which LucasFilms used to mislead savvy Internet fans. Early reports on AintItCoolNews suggested that the first ten minutes of Episode I contained a stilted ambush against two Jedi by a pair of incompetent mercantilists. The fact that these obviously fake “leaks” gave Episode I a much goofier name should have been a giveaway, but Harry Knowles was never known for cool consideration. The loss of credibility that AICN suffered when the real film debuted shattered the burgeoning site’s reputation; Knowles’s later arrest for child pornography went largely unmourned).
With that first battle out of the way, we the viewers are quickly introduced to the rest of Anchorhead. We meet the spunky Padme Amidala, who reacts to Kenobi’s placid lecture on leaving fighting to the warriors with groaning disbelief. We also meet Padme’s father Saress and Jar-Jar Binks, manager of their moisture farm. The exuberant Tendo Cail suggests a celebration, only for Kenobi to dampen his spirits. “We’ve won the battle, but not the war,” the Jedi warns them. “Those Gammorreans will be back, and in greater numbers.”
The story then jumps from Tattooine to bustling Coruscant, capital of the Republic and home of the Jedi Temple. Ken Turan questions this abrupt change, as well as several other elements of the film. “Going from the real danger on Tattooine to the internecine squabbling of the Jedi shakes us out of our engagement,” he writes. “The action’s there! Why waste our time?” (See “Seven Warriors Out”, L.A. Times, May 17 1999). While there’s ultimately something to be said for his criticism – the Coruscant scenes feel like they belong in a different movie – this still fits within Lucas’s M.O. He could never limit himself to a story confined to one dusty planet. This is our first glimpse of Coruscant, and it’s an interesting change of pace.
On Coruscant, Yoda appears before the Jedi Council to account for Kenobi’s actions. Apparently the Jedi had decided to ignore a request for aid from Tattooine. “Your pupil’s insubordination cannot stand,” intones Jedi Master Mace Windu. “With the Separatist Movement growing stronger every day, the Jedi need to be counselors, not warriors.”
Yoda, ever the patient one, rebuts that Obi-Wan is no longer his pupil. Besides, a report of slaver activity on Tattooine cannot be ignored. “Great dangers grow from small injustices, yes? Spare one young Jedi, we can.” Jedi Master Sen Dooku suggests there’s no harm done and the meeting disperses uneasily.
Back on Tattooine, Obi-Wan surveys the efforts the villagers have taken to fortify Anchorhead with a wary eye. Though he is never sarcastic or dismissive, his constant criticism dampens the villagers’ spirits and enrages Padme. Sensing that his presence may not be helping matters, he takes his speeder to Mos Eisley to recruit some aid. The effort seems hopeless, until he chances upon a swoop bike race. The winner, a cocky teenager named Anakin Skywalker, catches the Jedi’s attention. After some initial banter and a vague hint that Skywalker would find the work “very rewarding,” the street racer and his battle-ready diplomat droid, D4KC, join Kenobi’s quest.
(IGN noted the similarities between D4KC and Knights of the Old Republic‘s HK-47 in its review four years later)
And not a moment too soon, since the Gammorreans have returned to Anchorhead in force. The villagers’ defenses hold the slavers off just long enough for Obi-Wan, Anakin and D4KC to flank them as they return from Mos Eisley. The pitched firefight gives us daring rescues, tense stand-offs and a bit of comic relief (Jar-Jar Binks accidentally blowing up three armored carriers in a chain reaction). Plus, we get our first scenes of Padme and Anakin fighting side-by-side: an attraction born in the heat of battle.
At this point, a scene-by-scene recap of The Seven Warriors is no longer necessary. We have our titular Seven Warriors: Obi-Wan, Anakin, Padme, Padme’s father Saress, Jar-Jar Binks, D4KC and Tendo Cail. We have the Separatists Crisis on Coruscant, playing out as a slow but necessary backstory. We have swoop bike chases on Tattooine, lightsaber duels on sky barges and starfighter dogfights around the Republic Capital. We have hope, fear and the first stirrings of adolescent love. Everything a classic adventure needs.
Where the (largely postiive) reviews of The Seven Warriors diverged was on one point: whether Lucas had created something genuinely new with his futuristic reimagining of Kurosawa’s The Seven Samurai, or whether this was merely a retread. Fanfiction with a bigger budget, if you will.
Keith Phipps, in his dismissive take, compared it to Roger Corman’s 1980 knockoff Battle Beyond the Stars (see The A/V Club, May 15 1999):
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FYbeRKEJ3Gk
Snarky as it is, the points he makes have to be addressed. Battle Beyond the Stars is a sci-fi retelling of The Seven Samurai. It was created to cash in on the immense popularity of Star Wars. And, from a certain point of view, you could say the same thing of Episode I. What makes one a joke and the other a critical darling?
First off, revisiting classic cinema and glossing it with sci-fi elements has always been part of Lucas’s bag. Hundreds of critics have devoted pages to finding the inspirations for the original trilogy:
- Kurosawa’s The Hidden Fortress
- Pulp action movies like Flash Gordon Conquers the Universe
- War movies like Twelve O’Clock High and The Dambusters
- Cinematographic classics like Metropolis and Triumph of the Will
So revisiting The Seven Samurai, The Searchers and Lawrence of Arabia can’t be written off as entirely mercenary. It’s Lucas’s stock in trade.
In fact, you could say that’s what the audience wants of Lucas. We don’t revere George Lucas as a great director because he tells gripping dramas about the wars within the human soul. We revere him because he tells thrilling action tales that keep our breath short. We want action – and the most efficient means of delivering action is to borrow from the greats. Imagine if the focus on Episode I had been on the Trade Federation and the Separatists Crisis – the embargo of Naboo, the feuding in the Senate, the passivity of the Jedi. It would have been lethally boring.
Second, the debate about originality always steers us in the wrong direction. Very little art is truly original. Everything borrows from the inspirational art that we received from our parents’ generation. Star Wars was meant to evoke The Hidden Fortress. The Hidden Fortress was meant to evoke the folk tales of the Tokugawa Shogunate. The mythology of the Tokugawa Shogunate was meant to hearken back to a (supposed) civil age, prior to the divisive Sengoku Period. And so on. Everything draws from a long time ago, and a place far far away.
And it’s no small feat to update a classic story to a different setting. Lucas did more than just turn samurai into “Space Samurai”, katana into “laser swords” and the Tao into “science-Tao.” He created a panoply of worlds, from the forests of Endor to the sands of Tattooine to the hyperurbanism of Coruscant. He created compelling characters: Princess Leia, one of the strongest female characters ever put on film; Han Solo, the rake with a heart of gold; and Luke, the idealistic farmboy whose yearning for great adventure we can all identify with. On top of all that, he made it fun.
Calling the original Star Wars trilogy a “success” beggars the very idea of understatement. “Success” is too small a word for it, unless you’re comfortable calling the Beatles, Ernest Hemingway and Bill Gates “successful.” After George Lucas wrote a new chapter in the history of cinema with the original Star Wars trilogy, he could have rested on his laurels. There was nothing else he needed to do. And, if he wanted to return to the mythology he made famous, he could have very easily ignored his fans, his critics and his closest friends. He could have created a pale imitation of his earlier work, substituting whiny children for likeable protagonists, passive murmurers for wise old counselors, and tottering intrigue for compelling action.
That would have been terrible. But it’s very easy to imagine.
Instead, Lucas forced himself to the drawing board, telling a story that retained the elements that made the original trilogy great. Rather than treating backstory as a crutch, shoehorning in elements from the first three movies that wouldn’t have worked, he approached each of the characters fresh. He didn’t tell a story that explained why Obi-Wan Kenobi agreed to train Anakin Skywalker. He told a story of Kenobi and Skywalker’s first adventure together, and let the explanation arise from that. He put character in the service of action, and he borrowed – openly and properly – from the films of his youth to do it.
Some critics might say that reimagining old films in the way you’d want them told isn’t “real” art. We hope that’s not the case, or else Star Wars: Episode I: The Seven Warriors will not stand the test of time.