Star Wars: The Force Awakens

Filthy: Some of my readers say I don’t spend enough time with my nephew Jimmy, the self-proclaimed sci-fi expert here at FilthyCritic.com. That’s because those readers don’t have to spend any time with him.

Jimmy: Join me, Uncle Filthy, in a quest for immortality.

Filthy: Does this have anything to do with the junior chemistry set you got for Christmas?

Jimmy: It has to do with a quest for power.

Filthy: Maybe next year, Jimmy. Anyway, because everything I do is for the readers, I am at my sister’s house, sitting in the basement with my nephew. I see you haven’t cleaned anything. You have a few new plastic figurines of men in tights and armor on your shelves.

Jimmy: Those are genuine pewter. You can tell by tasting it.

Filthy: Your room smells like socks since it’s also the laundry room. But also death. Death and urine.

Jimmy: Not my urine. My bearded dragons got loose and they pee a lot. And I think one of them died.

Filthy: And your computer screen and keyboard are sticky with--this isn’t semen is it?

Jimmy: If you’re implying that I watch porn, I don’t. I have no need for such trivial things.

Filthy: So this isn’t semen, because I’m very familiar with the texture and--

Jimmy: -- No, it’s semen. But it’s the product of a love that cannot be spoken, a passion with no boundaries, a desire that soars over snowcapped peaks and splashes down into endless seas. I speak of my forbidden bond with a Blood Elf, Narua, who has massive knockers.

Filthy: Maybe we should just get down to business and talk about the new Star Wars.

Jimmy: You prattle on about inconsequential things. I shall speak of worlds torn apart, of a time that is nigh whence sworn enemies, orcs and humans, must band together or perish. A mythical, wondrous place whose creatures are so magical their visages can only be crafted from dense pot metals, and sometimes on t-shirts available at Walmart. I speak of the World of Warcraft, and of my deep and abiding commitment to it.

Filthy: You mean that awful trailer they showed before the movie.

Jimmy: SILENCE! Warcraft, the movie, shall be a triumph! It shall serve as a tribute to the brave men, orcs, warlocks, shamans, death knights and priests of its higher plane. I give this movie five billion Great Royal Swords of Stormwind. My highest rating. 

Filthy: It doesn’t even come out for six more months.

Jimmy: I do not need to see to believe. I do not need to touch to feel. I do not need to fight to win.

Filthy: Jimmy, Warcraft looks like a low-rent Hobbit for morbidly obese mouth-breathers who live in their mom’s laundry rooms, complain on 4Chan about girls not liking them and argue with their friends about which death metal band has the coolest logo.

Jimmy: That’s stupid; Decapitated does. World of Warcraft: Live it.

Filthy: So, back to Star Wars.

Jimmy: Warcraft. See it. Tell them Necron the Level Six Warrior sent you. They will give you free popcorn.

Filthy: Level Six is good?

Jimmy: There are only 94 levels higher so, duh, it’s a pretty big deal.

Filthy: And it gets you free popcorn?

Jimmy: If you bring your sword. Warcraft.

Filthy: Can we talk about Star Wars: The Force Awakens now? Your mom (my sister) bought us all tickets to see it on Christmas day and we went as a family. I think I was the only one out of eight of us who didn’t like it. Then again, everyone else was pretty drunk.

Jimmy: You were drunk, too.

Filthy: But I’m always drunk when I go to the movies. So I treat all movies equally. Bottom line, I didn’t much care for Star Wars.

Jimmy: Warcraft. 

Filthy: Star Wars is a grilled cheese sandwich. 

Jimmy: Mortals like grilled cheese sandwiches.

Filthy: Yes, they do. They also like Beatles cover bands and classic rock, because they’re familiar and comforting. I like grilled cheese too, sometimes, at home, when I feel lazy and remember where Mrs. Filthy keeps the cheese. 

But if I go out to eat, to a restaurant with a huge kitchen that has the ability to serve anything, I want more. I expect surprises. Not like a loogie in my spaghetti, which happens way more often than it should. But I want the chef to use his talents to make me something new and fresh. To expose me to what I didn’t expect. I want the chef to take a chance, and to succeed in creating something great. 

I don’t want the same old fucking meal, but with a new name and an olive on a toothpick to dress it up. This movie is a Denny’s grilled cheese sandwich, not from a chef’s recipe, but from food scientists who make sure everything is precise down to the hundredth of an ounce of bland cheddar. Variety or surprise is too risky and cannot be tolerated.

Jimmy: I didn’t see it.

Filthy: Yes you did, you were sitting four seats away from me.

Jimmy: I was watching the Warcraft trailer on my phone.

Filthy: The whole time?

Jimmy: Yes. And the next day when I went back for two more showings.

Filthy: Then why am I sitting in your dungeon breathing lizard piss and touching your spooge-spattered keyboard?

Jimmy: You have been drawn into the World of Warcraft.

Filthy: I believe you. This room really smells like orcs.

Back to the movie. The Force Awakens is so intent on delivering its formula in carefully measured amounts that it does very little new. Think of it as seeing a Beatles cover band that decides to write new music, but is so afraid of alienating Beatles fans that its new songs are titled “I Wanna Hold Your Fingers” and “Larry in the Sky with Cubic Zirconia."

Force Awakens slavishly reuses beloved elements of the original Star Wars. There is a scrappy orphan named Rey (Daisy Ridley) on a desert planet who doesn’t know her own history, and who comes into possession of a cute robot that holds top-secret information. She has to deliver it to the rebel alliance. Oh, also she is strong with the Force and a crack pilot. To deliver it, she comes across a ratty old spaceship and crotchety smuggler Han Solo (Harrison Ford) and his dog creature Chewbacca, who reluctantly help her. Rey’s last name and history are withheld solely for the purpose of “surprising us” in a future episode. Presumably, she will be revealed to be Luke Skywalker’s offspring.

Jimmy: WARCRAFT! I’m watching it on my phone right now. It’s great.

Filthy: The bad guy is named Kylo Ren (Adam Driver). He dresses in black, wears a mask, makes sweeping gestures and has a love-hate, father-son relationship with one of the good guys. He is driven by a quest for power, but it’s already clear that in one of the inevitable sequels he will question his own choices, just like Darth Vader did, and see the errors of his way. The one thing that is different from Vader is that Ren takes off his mask, revealing not that he is scary, but that he is actually auditioning for the role of a young Severus Snape in some future Harry Potter prequel. He snivels, smirks and pouts, like a teenager writing down his revenge fantasies after being told by his parents that he can’t go to the Sisters of Mercy concert because he didn’t clean his room.

The goal of the rebels is to destroy the Empire’s giant planet that shoots laser beam, which is even bigger and more powerful than the Death Star. Of course it is. That’s the Hollywood way: to think bigger and louder is an suitable replacement for originality. The rebels must sneak under the Empire’s defense shields and then fire off a perfect shot at a key vulnerable spot. The Empire is full of fucking morons if they learned nothing about defending themselves from all the previous times they built a killer space station and then let the rebels sneak in and destroy it. 

The rebels also need to find and receive guidance from the last remaining Jedi, Luke Skywalker (Mark Hamill). Just like Yoda and Obi Wan Kenobi before him, Luke ran away and hid when shit hit the fan. Jedis are, apparently, a bunch of pussies.

Also, this movie takes place in a time when the Empire (now called First Order – presumable meant to sound like Third Reich), have been defeated an the rebels are in power. Yet, the rebels are incompetent boobs who are always reeling and  underdogs. I wonder if the rest of Galaxy even likes them.

Jimmy: I’m thinking about doing crossfit.

Filthy: But you don’t own a Subaru.

Jimmy: I want to get ripped muscles like the orcs in Warcraft. Then you’ll all be sorry.

Filthy: Fascinating. Star Wars is made of good bread and good cheese. The action is exciting. The worlds, while redundant of those in New Hope and Empire Strikes Back, are fun to look at. There are cute robots and Chewbacca. There are big light saber battles and more than enough spaceships for kids to build out of Legos.

Also, someone made a conscious effort to use puppets and real people instead of a shitload of computer effects, and that looks better. I think, though, this decision was  a business one, made to tie Force Awakens to the original movies and distance it from the later ones.

Yet, the movie was filling and soulless, a Denny’s grilled cheese. There are a shitload of times where characters are just swept along by a predetermined plot and their decisions make no sense on the personal level. This movie is more about preserving a legacy than storytelling. 

Every morsel of entertainment doled out by the Force Awakens feels scrutinized to death by a room full of bean counters. Every tidbit of entertainment--cameos, reprised character, secret yet to be revealed--has been carefully measured and doled out to the audience with profit and the durability of the franchise in mind. The most popular Star Wars heroes and robots return, even if the actors are old as fuck now. Those that died are replaced by new characters with the same traits. There is a cantina scene, right on cue, full of oddball aliens, simply because people remember the original. Han Solo says “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” So do I.

I get the feeling that the Empire won, and the Empire is the grassfuckers.

Jimmy: I’m still watching Warcraft. 

Filthy: Two Fingers for Star Wars: The Force Awakens.

Jimmy: Five Billion Great Royal Swords of Stormwind for Warcraft.