Warning: Minor spoilers for Rogue One ahead if you haven’t yet seen it. But if you’re reading this blog, you probably already have—twice, like me.
It’s odd that the death of a woman that I (or most of you) have never met would resonate so profoundly. I didn’t cry yesterday, as many of you understandably might have. I knew that she lived a full but troubled life and that at the age of 60, had achieved more than most as an actor, author, and social commentator. But I remain deeply saddened by Carrie Fisher’s passing nonetheless. I saw Rogue One for the second time last night, and her brief appearance on-screen[1] at the end of the film definitely tugged at the heart strings. She, and the broader cultural phenomenon that is Star Wars, occupies a large chunk of real estate in the collective popular imagination. Maybe this is the reason that it kind of feels a part of my childhood died with her.
I think Carrie Fisher meant so much to so many of us because she was the first woman we had a crush on. Or the first woman we wanted to be. She managed to pull off funny, sexy, smart, sassy, sweet, and commanding, all at the same time. She was an action star before the likes of Sarah Michelle Geller, Jessica Alba, or Uma Thurman made it mainstream for women to kick ass. Carrie Fisher was also, as many people have pointed out, much more than Princess Leia. I saw her one-woman show—“Wishful Drinking”—in 2009, and she was just as witty and charming and self-deprecating as she had always been. It can’t have been easy to play one of the most iconic roles in cinematic history at nineteen, knowing (like her co-star Mark Hamill) that in all likelihood, she would never eclipse that singular cultural achievement. And she addressed that very theme in poignant but humorous fashion in her show, donning a wig with the unmistakable Princess Leia buns and poking fun at her younger self. Despite these daunting obstacles, she still added an enormous amount to the world of literature, film, and comedy more generally. She delivers genuinely fantastic performances in two of my other all-time favorite movies: the incomparable musical-comedy The Blues Brothers and the genre-defining rom-com When Harry Met Sally. But despite these obvious accomplishments, to me, and to most everyone else, she’ll always be Princess Leia.
The enduring power of Star Wars is an impressive feat. Its continuing appeal speaks to the fact that it serves as a collective mythology for a fractured world. Regardless of your race, creed, belief, or even language,[2] you can still find something of truth or meaning in Star Wars. Which is exactly how George Lucas intended it. It was no accident that the mythology behind Star Wars has its roots in the archetypes and universal elements of most major religions. Lucas was not shy, as he’s said in numerous interviews, about borrowing liberally from Joseph Campbell and the hero cycle that he laid out, captured in the diagram below.
Source: http://www.sfcenter.ku.edu/Workshop-stuff/Joseph-Campbell-Hero-Journey.htm
Lucas knew that by tapping into the essential script for universal heroes, he was creating a powerful, resonant narrative. Not only does the plot tap into pan-mythological themes, but the characters themselves represent archetypes, symbols that carry similar meaning across countries and cultures. You have the dreamer, who wishes to be more than he is and desperately wants to be “transported off this rock”. You have the quick-witted, strong-willed woman, ready to defend her interests on the battlefield or in the command bunker—after all, “somebody has to be in charge here”. And you have the fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants scoundrel with a heart of gold, the guy who can get away with anything and never lacks for confidence in his own abilities: “she’s fast enough for you old man”. Because of the universality of these archetypes, we can pick the one that best fits our desired personality or narrative and can insert ourselves into the adventure. Myself, I was always a Luke Skywalker kind of guy, but I certainly get the appeal of Han for rogues and Leia for strong-willed type As.
Star Wars, as any kid under the age of ten will readily testify, retains a strong inter-generational appeal. The original trilogy has the same impact on me now that it did when I was a kid. The same emotional resonance. I still love a good trilogy viewing party (or drinking game, for that matter). Its lasting power is also attributable in no small part to of the excellence and ubiquity of its marketing and merchandising campaign. Star Wars is everywhere. I am grown man and still have a Star Wars lunchbox, an R2D2 iPhone cover, t-shirts, socks, posters, and Pez dispensers. A foot-tall R2D2 replica has sat on every work desk I’ve ever occupied. And I’m forty-fucking-two. I was playing with my friend’s son last night—who’s never seen any of the movies mind you—and he was sporting a Star Wars t-shirt and watch, making sounds and dueling light sabers with me. And should I have children, I’m sure that Star Wars will be a common cultural touchstone for us, much like sports has always been for me and my dad.
The commercial and cultural success of Star Wars also presaged another broader development: the rise of the nerds. Before being smart was cool and was recognized as a viable way of getting rich through technology and the internet in the 1990s and the 2000s, Star Wars gave nerds a refuge and a place to feel safe in a galaxy far, far away. You might get bullied on the playground, but you could always jump in your X-Wing and go destroy the Death Star or just bulls-eye some womp rats. The franchise brought science fiction and fantasy into the mainstream as never before and bestowed a certain cache on what had always been the purview of the freaks and the fringe. Granted, showing up to premieres in full costume still earned the scorn of naysayers like Triumph the Insult Comic Dog, but it was still mostly socially acceptable to go around dressed in a black cape or a large burlap sack, given that it was in conjunction with our most beloved franchise. Star Wars was a safe space for those who didn’t always have one on which they could reliably depend.
Over the years, Star Wars has meant so much to so many and it doesn’t show any signs of slowing down. The Force Awakens was huge, as is Rogue One, Episode VIII promises to be even better with Rian Johnson at the helm, and we’re getting a young Han Solo pic with the uber-talented Donald Glover as the young Lando.[3] The younger generation, as if it were ever in doubt, is all in on the new movies so we can count on the franchise being a part of our life for a long, long time.
But none of this success happens without the appeal of the original cast. Without Mark Hamill’s wistful (though some would say whiny) Luke. Without Harrison Ford’s roguish and smarmy Han. And most certainly without Carrie Fisher’s accessible, acerbic, and endearing Leia. She will be missed for her wide range of talents, to be sure. From her memoirs and novels to her screenplays and random comedic cameos on shows like 30 Rock and Catastrophe. But mostly she’ll be missed as the princess to a generation. A woman who helped fire our imaginations and launch the dreams of a generation. She offers us her only line of dialogue from Rogue One: “hope”. And for that hope and the sense of wonder which she bestowed, I will be grateful, always.
[1] Even if it was only in CGI
[2] I saw Episode II: Attack of the Clones for the first time in French (without subtitles) in Switzerland, and while I didn’t get all of the dialogue, it was still enormously powerful.
[3] I really hope he does some fake Colt 45 ads a la Atlanta: “Colt 45, still works every time.”
Too Many Thoughts, So Little Time 