Star Wars IX: The Rise of Forced Walking

I planned to see Star Wars IX: The Rise of Forced Walking with my nephew Jimmy, a man who has made his own Storm Trooper costume out of cardboard, his own lightsaber out of a flashlight, a blue highlighter and all of his mom’s Saran Wrap without telling her, and who demanded for an entire year that we acknowledge he is a real vampire, not just someone dressed up like one. He’s the one who actually gives a shit about space robots, and he would have either loved it and called it the best movie ever and anyone who disagreed was an idiot. Or he’d hate it and say anyone who disagreed was a dumb asshole, or bad space robot, or whatever people in subreddits about turning yourself into a wolf call their enemies. Seeing it with Jimmy would have given me perspective, the point of view of someone who gave a shit. Because, honestly, I’m just fucking tired of all these stars and their wars. They aren’t fun anymore. They’re like the series of films Candy Bottoms’ made in the 80s called Ass 100. The first few times she gets fucked up her butt it’s all good fun, but then you keep watching, 97 more times, not for fun but you watch the rectal prolapse and the repetition just so you can say you completed something.

Sadly, Jimmy is no longer with us. He didn’t die, he just won’t return my calls. And he threw a Funko Captain Marvel at me the one time I visited him at the GameStop where he works. He said everyone hates Captain Marvel as he chucked it. He blocked me after I told his mother he’d been jerking off into the bags of dog food she keeps in his bedroom in the basement because he wants to spawn a dog child.

So, I had to review this movie by myself. Like I said, these movies aren’t any fun anymore.
One thing’s for sure about the new one, Star Wars IX: The Rise of Forced Walking. It’s a metric fuckton of movie. Sort of like getting your Slim Jim knockoffs at Walmart. Sure, you get a lot of them for the price, but take one bite and you’re no longer sure that’s a good thing.

The last three movies in this nine-movie trilogy (which hasn’t actually been any good for 39 years) are just greatest hits shit, too fucking afraid to upset some mythical fanboy as to do anything new. The movies start with stories taking place in a galaxy, but it’s a tiny fucking galaxy with a very finite number of story possibilities, almost all revolving about the bad guys building a bigger weapon than they did the last time. By the ninth iteration, the storytelling is baby food, all the ingredients boiled until bland and then mushed it up so it can be spoonfed to the dumbest of moviegoers.

The Rise of Forced Walking is the story of Rey (Daisy Ridley), a young woman with the force who wants to be a Jedi and fight the Empire/First Order/Last Order, some baddies who want to rule the galaxy through destruction, mostly. Their spiritual leader is Kylo Ren (Adam Driver), a man so intent on being perceived as evil that he likes wearing spooky masks and glowering like the 16-year-old assigned to play Satan in a Christian anti-abortion Hell House. Because this movie is intent on repeating the same fucking Star Wars stories, their relationship is the same as the old Luke/Darth one, where he secretly wishes he could be good and she must fight the dark side lurking within her. The movie makes no mystery of how this will end. It’s too fucking afraid to diverge from the expected.

The bad guys have one idea: to build a laser so big it can destroy planets. First it was the Death Star, then the Mega Death Star. Later, the Super Mega Death Star. This time, their Supreme Leader, and Kylo’s boss, the leathery and bruised Emperor Palpatine (Ian McDiarmid), is secretly building a fleet of thousands of deadly lasers. Essentially, instead of something new, Star Wars just keeps making the same one bigger. It’s like a company whose idea to keep you buying their asbestos underwear just keeps offering you ten percent more.

Ultimately, Rey and Kylo overcome their differences to stop Palpatine and save everyone. In the process, bad guy Kylo redeems himself, just like his grandpa Darth did, and Rey becomes the new torchbearer for the goodies. She starts calling herself a Skywalker, not because she is one by birth, but because Luke comes back as a ghost and isn’t the whiny-ass bitch he was in the last movie.

There are a shitload of other characters and subplots, almost none of which means a God damn thing to the story. Longtime fan favorites like the robots and the giant furry muppet and ghosts of dead characters are present either as valedictory laps, or they are meant to wrap up the loose ends of all the dull shit the franchise has thrown at us over the last five years. I mean Poe (Oscar Isaac) and Finn (John Boyega) and the others who were never given a chance to be anything more than excuses to keep this shit going and bring back old people.

It feels like every fucking character gets a side quest with a near-death that gets reversed. Oh, Chewbacca died in that giant explosion. Wait, he didn’t? Oh, surely this is the end of C-3PO. What, it isn’t? These quests were tedious through sheer quantity of them. They seriously take up most of the movie. Also, due to there never being any doubt the beloved characters will survive. The movie is too needy to surprise us or give us any real dramatic heft. It feels as needy as a 13-year-old on Instagram who will immediately take back anything she says that someone disagrees with.

The other problem is, it’s hard to understand the point of the side quests. Since they are largely unnecessary and we already know how they will end, they’re just filler. Sad, unclever sawdust in the sausage.

The movie looks expensive. I mean, though, everything looks fucking fantastic after you just sat through Cats. It probably sounds great too. I know it’s loud. And I imagine there was enough new toys and dolls in the movie to please Lego and Hasbro and WalMart and everyone else itching to sell branded crap. But all that technical prowess in the service of lame-ass dialog, corny jokes and the schmaltzy resurrection of characters for nostalgic value.

The Rise of Forced Walking just feels so empty. After 42 years in this galaxy, there should be more emotional attachment, more at stake, and more growth. Instead we got lasers, swords, pap and the same plot again. It ends the Star Wars saga with a dull thud, a sad and easy wrap-up, as though the whole thing had been a sitcom on the CW starring Tony Danza, and this was its last season. I’m glad it’s finally over and people can get the divorce from it they’ve needed for over three decades. Two Fingers.