Nine years ago next month, I was standing in line with hundreds of other members of the press before an early screening of “Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens.”
Andy Cohen was there on 68th Street to watch what happens taped, and I spotted at least one panelist from “The View” — TV types who go into hair and makeup lumped in with we critics who cower in cubicles.
The energy was nuclear. It had been a decade since “Revenge of the Sith” capped off Hayden Christensen’s sand-hating stint, and nerds were strapped in and ready to go.
“A long time ago…”
The room explodes. Every throwback and original-trio cameo gets thunderous applause. The crowd walks out buzzing, and their readers and viewers catch the bug, too. The film grosses $2 billion worldwide.
Imagine that. Well, it’s nearly 10 years later, and I have not had to line up for a “Star Wars” movie ever since. No evening Andy or Joy sightings anymore. (That bit’s fine.)
The truth is, we’ve been force-fed so much Force that nobody cares now. Frankly, I’m sick and tired of that galaxy far, far away.
The four films that followed “Awakens” — “Last Jedi,” “Rise of Skywalker,” “Rogue One” and “Solo” — ranged from intriguing (“Last Jedi”) to war crime (“Solo”). They generated less anticipation than a new Wegmans.
And yet, over five years since the last flick, it has been reported that another “Star Wars” trilogy is already in development.
Please, freeze me in Carbonite until this vacuous exercise in Hollywood greed is over.
Think of Disney, which snatched up Lucasfilm in 2012, as the Empire. They have taken one of the greatest brands in all of American cinema and plundered it into a nuisance. They’re a corporate Death Star, vaporizing good ideas into dust like poor old Alderaan.
Fear the IP-gobbling wrath of Darth Iger. He and Lucasfilm CEO Kathleen Kennedy have overseen overkill. I could write an entirely separate column on how they trotted out 80-year-old Harrison Ford for the cinematic waterboarding that was “Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny.”
The landfill of “Star Wars” TV shows, movies, games and theme parks is practically texts from Kamala. And texting “STOP” to quit will not do the trick — so hungry for our dollars and utterly devoid of creativity, these evil number-crunchers are.
I’ll grant that the Disney+ series “Andor” was smart, as were the first two seasons of “The Mandalorian.” Sweet little Baby Yoda was a meme in the good way.
But there have been seven live-action series so far — at least five too many — and many more animated ones. Most are canceled after one season, like “The Acolyte,” so I estimate about six people are watching them.
Away from the screen, Disney opened a $2,500-per-night “Star Wars” hotel that embarrassingly closed because it was so ill-considered. An enraged YouTuber made a four-hour video ripping the establishment to shreds.
Twenty-five years ago, who would’ve predicted the public would grow fed up with “Star Wars”?
George Lucas’ brainchild used to be special. It’s hard to overemphasize the enormity of the 1999 release of “Episode I: The Phantom Menace,” such as it was 16 years after “Return of the Jedi.” We had waited an eternity for George Lucas to, well, introduce Jar Jar.
Regardless of silly Gungans, there is major satisfaction derived from the moment a film finally arrives after a long wait.
Now, it takes barely 16 weeks for more streaming content with bearded men in robes blandly whispering in the desert to be dumped in our queue.
How sad is that?
Really, one of the only franchises left that is confident enough to put fans on hold is James Bond.
Other than a small reality TV show and various non-Ian Fleming novels, 007 is pistol-focused on films. And, while there are hits and misses, EON Productions doesn’t pump them out recklessly.
For instance, Daniel Craig’s final foray in the tux, the very good “No Time To Die,” hit theaters back in 2021. No new super-spy actor has been officially announced yet, so the very earliest we’ll have a shaken-not-stirred martini with a British accent is 2026.
Fantastic. That’s half the fun.
As the clock ticks down, rumors start to fly. People place bets on who the next MI6 agent will be. Plot details leak from script drafts. Paparazzi photos of wild stunts emerge from exotic locales. The preamble is sizzling foreplay.
“Star Wars,” on the other hand, prefers instant gratification. More, more, more. Now, now, now.
Increasingly though — I say in my best Yoda impression — gratifying not, it is.
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