Having said all that, let me again acknowledge that “Star Wars” harks to an old and very, very deeply human archetype. Those who listened to Homer recite the “Iliad” by a campfire knew great drama. Achilles could slay a thousand with the sweep of a hand – as Darth Vader murders billions with the press of a button – but none of those casualties matters next to the personal saga of a great one. The slaughtered victims are mere minions. Extras, without families or hopes to worry about shattering. Spear-carriers. Only the demigod’s personal drama is important.
Thus few protest the apotheosis of Darth Vader – nee Anakin Skywalker – in “Return of the Jedi.”
To put it in perspective, let’s imagine that the United States and its allies managed to capture Adolf Hitler at the end of the Second World War, putting him on trial for war crimes. The prosecution spends months listing all the horrors done at his behest. Then it is the turn of Hitler’s defense attorney, who rises and utters just one sentence:
“But, your honors … Adolf did save the life of his own son!”
Gasp! The prosecutors blanch in chagrin. “We didn’t know that! Of course all charges should be dismissed at once!”
The allies then throw a big parade for Hitler, down the avenues of Nuremberg.
It may sound silly, but that’s exactly the lesson taught by “Return of the Jedi,” wherein Darth Vader is forgiven all his sins, because he saved the life of his own son.
How many of us have argued late at night over the philosophical conundrum – “Would you go back in time and kill Hitler as a boy, if given a chance?” It’s a genuine moral puzzler, with many possible ethical answers. Still, most people, however they ultimately respond, would admit being tempted to say yes, if only to save millions of Hitler’s victims.
And yet, in “The Phantom Menace,” Lucas wants us to gush with warm feelings toward a cute blond little boy who will later grow up to murder the population of Earth many times over? While we’re at it, why not bring out the Hitler family album, so we may croon over pictures of adorable little Adolf and marvel over his childhood exploits! He, too, was innocent till he turned to the “dark side,” so by all means let us adore him.
To his credit, Lucas does not try to excuse this macabre joke by saying, “It’s only a movie.” Rather, he holds up his saga like an agonized Greek tragedy worthy of “Oedipus” – an epic tale of a fallen hero, trapped by hubris and fate. But if that were true, wouldn’t “Star Wars” by now have given us a better-than-caricature view of the Dark Side? Heroes and villains would not be distinguished by mere prettiness; the moral quandaries would not come from a comic book.
Don’t swallow it. The apotheosis of a mass murderer is exactly what it seems. We should find it chilling.
Remember the final scene in “Return of the Jedi,” when Luke gazes into a fire to see Obi-Wan, Yoda and Vader, smiling in the flames? I found myself hoping it was Jedi Hell, for the amount of pain those three unleashed on their galaxy, and for all the damned lies they told. But that’s me. I’m a rebel against Homer and Achilles and that whole tradition. At heart, some of you are, too.
This isn’t just a one-time distinction. It marks the main boundary between real, literate, humanistic science fiction – or speculative fiction – and most of the movie “sci-fi” you see nowadays.