Star Wars and the Unfolding of Narrative Art

A certain Star Wars fan made the following social media remark regarding another Star Wars essay:

"his claim that Episodes I-III are supposed to be seen after Episodes IV-VI…is of course a total nonsense (those films wouldn´t be called Episodes I, II, III, IV, V and VI if that was true)"

I have written the following short essay in order to show that such claim, while it may be false, is by no means "of course a total nonsense".

 

I tried an experiment once: I had a friend who hadn't ever seen Star Wars and didn't even know the story (she was truly shocked when she learned that Darth Vader was Luke's father!). I told her, "I've never done this, but I want to try it: I want to introduce you to these films in their numerical order, but I'll skip the end of Star Wars III for a reason that will become apparent later, and we'll return to that after Star Wars VI.” She agreed.

 

Well, I had never closely watched these films ‘for the first time’ since I had actually watched them for the first time, and my dad showed me the Original Trilogy (IV, V, & VI) first, then the Prequel Trilogy (I, II, & III) second. I began to notice many subtle things that are 'assumed' in the Prequel Trilogy that are already covered in the Original Trilogy.

 

For example: In Star Wars II, the understanding of Obi-Wan's Jedi mind trick is assumed—and it isn't really explained in Star Wars I, but in Star Wars IV. The best two examples of all, examples which I think are beyond dispute, are the culturally ubiquitous "I am your father" of Star Wars V and the climactic Luke/Leia sibling reveal of Star Wars VI. In Star Wars III, these two dramatic twists are wrapped into one scene, the Padmé birth scene, but clearly these were never intended to be revealed in such an anticlimactic manner; these familiar facts are assumed knowledge during Star Wars III, allowing the birth scene to serve other purposes in the unfolding of the story.

 

One of the more subtle examples, but nevertheless very relevant, would be the music of Star Wars—all the themes composed by John Williams, and to a lesser extent, by Kevin Kiner. The “Force theme” appears in Star Wars IV and is subsequently developed in interesting ways throughout all six episodes (and The Clone Wars TV series). Countless themes make important variations throughout the entire saga, enriching the scenes with subtle meanings that are only fully appreciated when all previous appearances of such themes and variations have been encountered. John Williams, like George Lucas, cannot help but develop his compositions only in the manner in which he actually—outside of the “galaxy far, far away”—composed his works. The magnificent subtlety of the music of Star Wars, one of the strongest elements of the saga by Lucas’ own design, can only be fully interpreted and appreciated in the order in which the themes were actually developed, i.e. the order in which the movies were actually released.

 

For the record, I like the Prequel Trilogy far more than the Original Trilogy, so my opinions should not be taken as adding a movement to the dissonant symphony of Prequel hate. My opinion regarding the proper order in which to watch the Star Wars movies does not spring from a belief that the Original Trilogy should be viewed first because it is better. It is not. I even used to agree with the position that the movies are best watched in their numerical ordering, which I now do not. I was never rigid on this matter, and I hope that other fans will give honest consideration to my argument before rejection or acceptance.

 

But I do think that it is best to watch the six episodes (and probably future spinoff ones—including The Force Awakens) in the order in which they came out from 1977-2005, not in their numerical ordering. Although the internal chronology is distorted by this, the fact remains that this is the order in which such films made their appearances in our real world, and a storyteller cannot help but reveal the unfolding story only in the order in which he actually makes it known publicly. I think this interpretive theory necessarily applies to all movie and book series, but it certainly applies to the six original Star Wars movies (and the subsequent Clone Wars series), the coherent corpus of Lucas' work, The Epic of Anakin as I like to call it.

 

Originally published as a social media comment on 9/21/2015. Edited for clarity on 11/7/2015.

A Sketch of Love’s Treatment in The Brothers Karamozov

Written as a 2-hour paper for Humanities 402 on 14 April 2015. I have corrected typos in the original. The first three paragraphs make simple observations on the role of love, especially eros, in the novel, the fourth paragraph restates Zosima's ethical teaching regarding human love, and the final paragraph makes a genuinely philosophical contribution in the relationship between reason and emotion.

Different kinds of love recur frequently throughout The Brothers Karamazov. A very common love is romantic love, a love that seems to affect the plot itself, or to at least add intrigue and layering to character interaction.

Dimitri and his father Fyodor both fall in love with Grushenka. Both men seem not so much to want to love her and give their lives to her service so much as to defeat the other in competition and possess her as the object of their eros.

Later, after his father is murdered, Dimitri tries to gain the hand of his beloved. He finds out that she is involved with a Polish officer and is heartily disheartened. In the course of the evening, however, the Polish chap proves himself to be far more possessive than Dimitri ever was; it can be doubted whether the Polish man ever loved Grushenka, since he does not seem to care for her subtle feelings and openly insults Russia. At this point Dimitri proves that he does love her, truly, and that he wants what is best for her. It should be noted that he definitely thinks that what is best for her is to marry him, it still seems primarily motivated by true eros and not a perversion of erotic love.

Zosima exhorts his brethren to love everything, the trees, leaves, children, animals—everything. He teaches that everyone can love occasionally, even evil people. This statement seems surprising at first, but Jesus confirms this by saying ‘if you who are evil know how to do good to your children, how much more will you Heavenly Father take care of you?’. God loves all things all the time, since God is Love. Human persons, however, have trouble loving all the time. Zosima, therefore, urges his followers—and us—to strive to love all things at all times, since if all our energy is being spent on love than none can be spent on hatred.

The narrator provides a curious reference to love in the context of people jeering at Zosima and Alyosha’s reaction. Alyosha even questions why God has not vindicated his humble servant and made the holiness of Zosima apparent to all. The narrator recounts that he is glad that love gains the upper hand over reason in this instance, since a reasonable man will always come back to reason, but there are times when love must overrule reason. The narrator seems to create a divide between love and reason, at least certain types of love and reason. For Christians this is impossible in the strict sense, since God is Love and God is Logos. However, in a more general way, could this be possible? What does this divide mean? I think the narrator—and maybe the ‘author’—is trying to show us the limits of the “narrow Euclidian mind” that he wrote about. There are times when a certain kind of reasoning, formed by the strict application of logic to actions and events without any consultation, advice, or influence of emotions, is inappropriate. There are certain times when feelings trump reasonings. This is what Dostoevsky is showing us, that mere reason, reductionistic reason, Enlightenment reason is not the absolute indicator of propriety vis-à-vis reality. The emotions—strictly speaking ‘non-rational’ in themselves—must be consulted in making rational judgments and in taking action. Dostoevsky does not place a strict dichotomy between reason and love. He shows that love, not merely an emotion but certainly with emotional power, can sometimes overrule the “narrow Euclidian mind”. Sometimes it should. Sometimes it must.