Star Wars IX: The Rise of Skywalker (2019)
By The Gorilla
This review contains spoilers
J.J. Abrams’ name came on screen and I knew I was in for a treat: Disney’s main concubine never fails to do everything he can for a fistful of dollars. And so it was.
From the beginning of the movie, when Kylo Ren (Adam Driver) meets Palpatine (Ian McDiarmid), and soon after when Rey (Daisy Ridley) was shown training à la Luke Skywalker in Return of the Jedi (1983) it became obvious that this movie was going to backflip his way to the end trying to please the fans who had remained angered by the previous The Last Jedi (2017)—the first Star Wars movie to dare to be slightly original.
For the Rise of Skywalker (2019) they went back to basics, making the plot as predictable in its twists as a fan-fiction story. They recycled the story from Return of the Jedi, which they had already recycled for The Force Awakens (2015), and made sure everyone got what they wanted: side-lining Rose Tico (Kelly Marie Tran).
By this time I had finished my basket of bananas and my jaw was cringing so hard I broke a tooth. To distract myself from the pain I focused even more on the film…
Every main character had only two emotions:
Rey: Sad, angry (jaw muscles need to remain tight at all times)
Finn: Worried, relieved
Poe Dameron: Daredevil, hopeless
Kylo Ren: Serious (evil), serious (good)
They were not on screen as fully fleshed out human beings with their wants and flaws, but as socially aware mannequins: making sure nobody got offended while pushing the idea that women can be strong, independent, and commanding. And what’s the problem with that? None, if the writing and filmmaking weren’t so lazy, the characters so empty and bi-dimensional, and the purpose so shamelessly commercial.
I hadn’t spent so much time not caring about politically correct agendas walking and talking on screen since I watched The Last Jedi.
The side characters are just carton-boards in the background.
Also, calling them characters is a bit misleading, because the word “character” suggests a certain tri-dimensionality—Aristotle used to call it “habitual behavior”—and what we have in this movie is everything but. Every caricature, let’s call them that, is only on screen to remind us what is going on and how they feel at all times. Which made me feel angry—to quote the Devil. I wanted to throw poop at the screen, but I’m a good gorilla and I just proceeded to comb through the hair of the lady before me.
At no point during the whole movie did I have even the slightest impression that any of the caricatures were actually in danger, since they were cracking jokes at every turn—even while being shot at (hilarious!). Every time (Every! Time!) they’d be lost or, really, just sad, some Deus Ex Machina would come out of nowhere to save the day. That made it impossible for me to be concerned about anything that was going on.
The special effects were impressive, and ironically, I would point at these as the only reason to go watch the movie. The cinematography served its purpose, telling the story through shots as clean as possible—even Abrams’ usual lens flares did not appear much. But the movie didn’t feel like a conclusion to the Star Wars story at all. And that last encounter with Palpatine, with that kill-but-not-kill-but-kill-again moment, and Rey coming back Super Sayan style, just sealed the fate of the movie for me.
I beat my chest and left the room as soon as the end credits started to roll.
But who is to blame for this disaster? Escort Abrams? Yes, but no. The cancerous fans? Maybe. Us paying customers who keep on financing the next movie by going to the cinema? Close. But really it’s the round-eared jackal, Mickey Mouse. Disney has been prostituting the Seventh Art since they had their economic rebound in 2006, and finally learned the formula to never go this close to bankruptcy again. They pander to whatever lazy opinion is mainstream at the moment and call themselves forerunners in the industry. Frankly, if Disney says they are here to lead, then why is it that all their movies kiss the behinds of kvetching customers?
I walked out feeling combustible and smashed my head through a window glass, which I repaid immediately because I’m no Hun. Afterwards, I reminded myself that this is just a movie, bought a bunch of bananas, and went back home to have a very gorilla nap.
The Gorilla watches movies, The Gorilla thinks, The Gorilla does reviews. He is very opinionated, which sometimes drives his girlfriend, The Panda, crazy. He also likes alcoholic bananas, back scratches, and long naps in the sun.
