Film, Reviews, Screen Star Wars: The Last Jedi film review: originality strictly forbidden in directed-by-committee blockbuster By Luke Buckmaster | December 15, 2017 | ★★★★★ ★★★★★ Star Wars: The Last Jedi – technically written and directed by Rian Johnson, but really, micromanaged every step of the way by committee at Disney – pretends to contemplate the end of an empire. That much is evident in the title, as in scenes where a grizzled and hermetic Luke Skywalker (Mark Hamill) is so bothered by the arrival of potential protégé Rey (Daisy Ridley) to his tiny island home that he considers throwing in the towel on this whole Force thing. That isn’t the whole story, of course, and nor is it even necessarily accurate. I’m being deliberately coy with details, such are these hysterical spoiler-paranoid times. The great irony, when it comes to spoiler paranoia and The Last Jedi, is that (like The Force Awakens and Rogue One: A Star Wars Story) the film doesn’t have an original bone in its body. If you’ve seen any previous Star Wars movies, most of the (recycled) story details have already been ruined. There was great opportunity to explore in The Last Jedi – a bombastic blockbuster best appreciated as a coat hanger for impressive space duels and special effects – interesting questions about the potential end of religion. But The Big Mouse, which owns Lucasfilm, would never allow it. The studio has made it abundantly clear that, when it comes to new iterations of the universe first filled out by George Lucas in the ‘70s, bold ideas are forbidden – enforced by a strict ‘dance the way we tell you to or don’t dance at all’ policy. The impersonal nature of the new Star Wars movies is starting to give me the creeps. If this wasn’t clear by the risk averse nature with which the current crop of Star Wars films have obviously been constructed, Lucasfilm has so far fired four directors from three separate galaxy-far-far-way projects, in addition to ordering reshoots and a new edit of Rogue One. Johnson never had a chance of putting his directorial stamp on the material. The price you pay for the cheque from Disney, and an audience this size, is relinquishing even the slimmest notions of auteurism. I read, with my mouth agape, reviews of the recent – and enjoyable – Thor: Ragnarok, which informed me that the New Zealand director Taika Waititi had ‘overhauled’ the franchise, moulding it in his image (or worse: that he ‘rejuvenated the franchise’ – an accolade more befitting of a CEO than an artist). What nonsense. Waititi helmed a more party-like movie than Ragnarok’s predecessors, certainly, and made peripheral changes including inserting himself as the voice of a comedic supporting character. But to say he fundamentally changed Thor, or came remotely close to doing so, is flat-out fallacy. The same can be said of Johnson, whose authorship of The Last Jedi is even less tangible. The impersonal nature of the new Star Wars movies is starting to give me the creeps. Just as the characters tend to be really good or really bad, the Star Wars films are either really stupid (prequels) or so safe and sensible they feel directed by computer (current crop). At no point is the shareholder-approved, asset-managed nature of this new instalment more apparent than during the introduction of tiny, adorably cute creatures called porgs. These are chubby, big-eyed, sea bird-like things who pop up in a few scenes and have absolutely nothing to do with anything. You can practically see the head of Big Mouse merch in the background, Kodak grin on their face, thumb in the air. Ewoks were Happy Meal critters too, of course – though they at least played a part in Return of the Jedi’s storyline. Despite being overlong and drenched in déjà vu (replete with conversations about one’s parents, whether or not one will ‘turn’, whether one is the last hope or the new hope, etcetera etcetera) I appreciated a lot of The Last Jedi, in the same way I appreciate re-reading a decent book – respecting the structure and craft of it, and feeling no sense of surprise. Dramatic story moments either involve the alignment of a cosmic equilibrium (i.e. a strange event justified by the hokum-pokum of the Star Wars religion) or interpersonal soap opera dynamics. This is the genre to which Star Wars ultimately belongs, though I cannot recall any other soap opera this addicted to cloning characters – and believing that audiences won’t notice their favourite personalities have been photocopied. Rey is the new Luke; Luke is the new Yoda (or Obi-Wan Kenobi); Poe Dameron (Oscar Isaac) is the new Han Solo; Kylo (Adam Driver) is the new Anakin; BB-8 is the new R2-D2; and on we go. The first of the current series, The Force Awakens, got away with a lot because it so cleverly manipulated our sense of nostalgia. The more the series continues, the more the writing feels self-plagiarised. That terrible, wretched, galling Jar Jar Binks character created by Lucas for his prequels may have deserved to die a thousand tortuous deaths, though nobody can say he/she/it was an obvious rehash of a pre-existing character: for better or worse, a bold creation. So too were the poorly received prequels themselves, which have never looked more courageous than now. Turn of the century Star Wars is nothing if not a story of extremes. Just as the characters tend to be really good or really bad, the films are either really stupid (prequels) or so safe and sensible they feel directed by computer (current crop). Because the franchise has been around for so long, it’s easy to forget the original movie was a terrifically bold, innovative, industry-realigning blockbuster. Lucas dreamed big and took massive risks. In that sense, The Last Jedi could not be more different to the Star Wars created four decades ago. This review was paid for with the support of Daily Review readers. Find out how to support independent arts journalism here Facebook Twitter Pinterest LinkedIn Email About the Author: Luke Buckmaster Luke Buckmaster is film critic and writer for Daily Review, and contributes commentary to a range of Australian publications.