

Star Wars: Episode 1 - The Phantom Menace (1999)
* * 1/2
A movie review by Serdar Yegulalp
Copyright 1999 by Serdar Yegulalp

Let me start by stating the obvious.  "Star Wars, Episode 1: The
Phantom Menace" is wonderful to look at.  Every scene is littered with
activity: ships flitting across the horizon, people and creatures
scurrying from hither to thither.  One of the major characters, the
splendidly-goofy-bordering-on-annoying Jar Jar Binks, is entirely a
creation of computer graphics, and we're never less than convinced that
he's there in front of us at all times.  This is one of the hallmarks
of the "Star Wars" universe: things that would be the centerpiece of
another movie will simply insert themselves casually into the frame.
The movie is exploding with sights and sounds.

And that's the problem. Here is a film that was created with the most
magnificent of panoramas, and one of the most flimsy of screenplays.
It's full, but not fulfilling.  It does everything... except tell a
story that engages us emotionally.  Friends of mine have said that the
movie improves on repeat viewings -- but shouldn't a movie like this
just work the first time around, period?

Twenty years, it seems, have made all the difference, in both us and
George Lucas.  "Star Wars" exploded out of nowhere and changed the
level of expectations for moviegoers everywhere, permanently. "The
Phantom Menace" is evolutionary, not revolutionary, and for that reason
is not as remarkable a movie. But it's also hampered by a muddled, one-
dimensional drama and a gallery of characters who engage everything
except our sympathies.  "Star Wars" was about adventure; this movie is
about people talking at each other and occasionally fighting. No one is
REALLY put to the test. The movie is worse than soulless -- it is
gutless.

In the abstract, there's plenty of story to work with: a brutal
blockade of a planet that could turn into a full-out war; light-saber
duels; closed-chamber politicking; a forbidden attraction between a
queen and a young slave; a father-and-son apprenticeship; a deadly and
mysterious assassin with vicious weapons. But somehow, Lucas and his
team of compatriots haven't spun these elements together in a
compelling fashion.  The film drags.  There are far too many scenes of
people explaining everything to each other, again and again; there are
endless moments where we HEAR about what's going on instead of SEEING
it, or its consequences.  For a "kid's movie", as Lucas has billed it,
it's distressingly complex, static and talky.  There is no one person
we are carried through the whole of the story with -- and no suspense.
Nothing ever really seems to be at stake; it all just seems to be a
rather large inconvenience.

Some examples. Part of the movie's major lack of empathy is found with
Natalie Portman's character, Queen Padme. Her planet is being blockaded
by the Trade Federation, and she has to go undercover (in a sense) to
save her planet. Lucas goes to great effort to present her to us as a
queen, but all of her sympathy for her people is verbal, not tangible.
We admire her, but we don't care about her. (PLOT SPOILER!) There's
some tedious bait-and-switchery with one of her handmaidens that's less
fun than it should be -- probably because we're not privy to it until
it's too late to delight in the subversion.

Then there are our two Jedi, who feel obligatory without feeling
neccesary. Ewan McGregor is excellent as the young Obi-Wan Kenobi; he
inhabits the part with great grace and unforced style. He is fun to
watch. Liam Neeson, as Qui-Gon Jinn, however, seems vaguely bored and
dissatisfied with the whole thing; his expression always seems to be
saying, "As soon as I can get out of here and have me a Guinness..."

I also mentioned Jar-Jar Binks, who is so convincing as a digital
creation that it only makes him all the more insufferable. He is a
comic relief whose lifespan was extended far beyond any reasonable
amount. And then there is Jake Lloyd, as the young Anakin Skywalker. He
is possibly one of the few totally unproblematic things in the movie --
he is simply nine years old, nothing more than that, and we accept that
on face value.  The problem is the movie often exploits that for
developments that aren't even internally consistent -- such as when he
strikes a blow for the heroes by accident... again and again.

Another problem is that watching all these characters deal with each
other is a chore. Lucas has written his own script, and the dialogue is
cheesy without ever being enjoyably so. It doesn't have the fun and
frolic of a high-camp adventure. Instead, it's just pained and forced.
There's none of that kidding by-play we all loved. When Leia
said, "Will someone get this big walking carpet out of my way?" we all
laughed. Nothing is that spontaneous and unforced here.

The high points, of course, are when the movie's set-pieces kick in.
Here is the only time "The Phantom Menace" actually feels like a "Star
Wars" movie.  The action centerpiece of the movie is a high-tech race
sequence that borrows freely from "Ben Hur", "Bullitt", and even the
speeder chase from "Return of the Jedi"; apparently Lucas's creative
exhaustion has extended to the point of autocannibalization.  Yes, the
chase is exhilarating and excellently done -- but because it's not
hooked into anything we really care about, it's disposable.  It's just
another random something to look at.

My criticism of "The Phantom Menace" is not with its surfaces, but with
its core. The original "Star Wars" movies possessed a kind of cultural
telepathy, a power to tap directly into a silent sense of wonder and
possibilities.  Yes, it WAS possible for a farm boy from Tatooine to
become a Jedi knight (and have Darth Vader for a father), and for a
band of rebels to strike a blow for freedom against the all-powerful
Empire.  Goofy and hokey as it was, we bought it.

The new trilogy, judging from its opening chapter, is full of images,
but somehow none of the wonder and the narrative gravity.  In place of
wonder, we have comings and goings, explanations and justifications,
and never a quiet moment when we are allowed to have it all sink in. In
place of narrative, we have picaresqueness without impact. We go a lot
of places, but we never really get out of the bus.

Roger Ebert reported in his own review of the movie: "We are standing
at the threshold of a new age of epic cinema, I think, in which digital
techniques mean that budgets will no longer limit the scope of scenes;
filmmakers will be able to show us just about anything they can
imagine."  True.  But digital filmmaking technology is like the movie
camera itself.  Point it at something and all of its attributes are
magnified, good and bad.  "The Phantom Menace"'s visual splendor
explodes tenfold when given a CGI treatment, but so does the thinness
of its underlying story.

Epic movies like "Lawrence of Arabia" were full of intriguing people
and conflicts; "The Phantom Menace" is little more than a glossy tour
booklet, all setup and no payoff.  Presumably, that's by design, but
the original "Star Wars" movies also worked magnificently as
standalones. I re-watched them before seeing "The Phantom Menace" and
felt like I was revisiting old friends at a party. "The Phantom Menace"
plays more like a noisy Shriner's convention where nobody really wants
to talk to anyone else.

One more thing. There is a single moment in the original "Star Wars"
where Luke Skywalker stands outside his house and watches a dual
sunset.  The suns bathe Luke's face in red; the music swells; we feel
his need to escape.  It's an elementally simple moment, unadorned and
moving, and it works.  "The Phantom Menace", too perpetually busy to be
really interesting, never lets itself have a moment like that.

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