Sweet as Carbonite

My earliest memory is of seeing the original Star Wars at the drive-in. Specifically, I have an image of Carrie Fisher as Princess Leia, with the cinnamon rolls on each side of her head, looking anxious and worried, perhaps during the TIE fighter assault on the Millennium Falcon. It’s distant, but it’s certainly the earliest picture in my mind. Some memories are murky and muddled, made of images like old photos reposed beneath layers of dust on a closet shelf. Others are crystal clear and ready to surface with arresting authenticity at the slightest trigger, perhaps precipitated by another memory or idea that scurries across the desktop of the mind. Still other memories stretch out like streams of garland gently wound about the interplay of one’s thoughts and experience, transcending any specific instance or set of images. This is such a memory, and such a feeling. It encompasses an enormous family of occasions, images, and sounds that fill a place of the imagination and a space of life. It begins on Wednesday, May 21, 1980. I can’t rightly recall if we were there opening day, but we could not have made it past that first weekend. I do remember entering the old Melody theatre—which used to be located in a shopping center at the intersection of Moorpark Road and Janss in Thousand Oaks—with my dad and my older brother Anthony, and my tiny self was aquiver with anticipation; I had not only been exposed to a variety of puzzling photos in the pages of the double-LP original soundtrack recording my parents had bought me, but had been fed a variety of disturbing rumors by Anthony and his friend Billy, who had supposedly already seen the movie, things like Luke dies, Han gets his arm cut off, or C-3PO gets blown up, all of which worried my five-year-old mind considerably. And among the pictures in the aforementioned soundtrack was the above screen shot, on which I remember fixating, wondering who Lando Calrissian was and what provocative conversation was being had between Darth Vader and this Boba Fett. I had briefly debated which main character—Han or Luke—was indeed the subject of those dark and terrifying photos of having been frozen in something called carbonite. And Han certainly appeared to be the one dipping the princess in some curious, romantic gesture, an image transfigured among other story elements and brought to life by Roger Kastel’s artistry comprising the original “A Style” (or Gone with the Wind manner) one sheet for the film. I remember standing outside the Melody, while Dad bought the tickets, staring at it quizzically in the poster case near the entrance, wondering, with some irrepressible combination of distress and excitement, what would happen, what strange and mysterious fates awaited the heroes we had met in the previous film and whose countenances were borne upon the many action figures we had been playing with for at least the two previous years, which, as you know, is a considerable epoch to a little kid. I believe I felt I had grown to know and love the characters in the Star Wars universe, and the anxiety bred by the dark dooms that awaited them in this second installment was alarming, for sure, but at the same time, electrifying, perhaps the most rhapsodical curiosity this miniscule Moya had ever known.

The film holds such a place of honor in my heart that it’s difficult to separate the various aspects of its technical and aesthetic excellence from my own nostalgic attachment. I remember being hospitalized when I was five for some kind of stomach ailment, and one of the things my parents did to cheer me up while I was there was to bring me two of the new action figures that had been released: a Han Solo in Hoth outfit and Luke in Bespin fatigues. I was delighted, of course, and slept that night in the hospital with both figures reposed happily on the pillow next to me. I remember, after my hospital stay, browsing the toy section of our Simi Mervyns with Anthony and happening upon what appeared to be the last Yoda action figure in stock. I had never seen it before and stood marveling momentarily. But before I had actually reached for it, another little boy went to take it off the hook on which it so happily rested. I can’t remember anything about this boy. But I do remember my brother asking him to let me have it, because I had already picked it out and had my heart set on getting it. By any standard, the playground charter of kid-dom or otherwise, I had positively no right to this action figure, but my brother was adamant, and the little boy let me take it.

The year or so that followed the film’s release was filled with even greater heights of play than had been waged in the era of my childhood that followed the original Star Wars and preceded Empire. I spent several years attempting to construct the Millennium Falcon and various other spaceships and scenes using only the immense cache of block-style and space series Legos from the early 1980s that lived in a giant storage box under my bed and got dragged out and spread across my bedroom floor sometimes several times a week, especially in the summer and over Christmas break. Quite simply, the story of Empire, more than either of the other two episodes in the original trilogy, became a focal point of my young imagination. By the release of Return of the Jedi three years later, I was still into it and continued to play with toys, Star Wars toys especially, for several years. And of course, I’ve never grown tired of watching the films. But there’s something special about Empire which has stuck with me.

I found myself rather recently on an Empire kick, and what a marvelous coincidence that 2010 is the 30th anniversary of its release. It’s always been my very favorite in the series, though I would like to go so far as to crown it the best beyond any sentimental preference of my own. In fact, I would rather call it one of the finest films ever made. This perhaps comes as no surprise, and I might start to seem quite the stereotype, given the enormous popularity of the classic trilogy—and of Empire in particular—among thirty-somethings. Some would roll their eyes, I imagine, particularly those who tend to reject a franchise simply out of the reactionary impulse to oppose what is widely appreciated. Incidentally, while I intend no offense here, resistance or objection to something due solely to its popularity has always seemed to me a characteristic of youth, perhaps a sign of either latent rebellion or residual immaturity. Such contrary feelings that lack sensible justification reflect the impulse to reject established norms and credible ideas in an effort to claim a unique identity. Too many people roll their eyes at Star Wars, Harry Potter, or Twilight fans for this reason alone, when in truth, all three franchises explore time-honored ideas in a unique, exacting, and authentic way. Even if they’re not your cup of tea, few can deny that the ideas are good and build on universal human themes in a legitimate and compelling way. For certain, part of Empire’s unique claim on my interior landscape is pure nostalgia. But as many would agree, it is a superior cinematic achievement for a number of reasons. It is certainly the darkest and most compelling installment in the original trilogy, and, one could argue, in the entire series, not merely by virtue of a powerful and emotionally resonant story, but also due to excellence of craft and aesthetic. Director Irvin Kershner, in particular, can be credited with broadening the performances of the actors and helping to create the grave and eerie ambience that permeates the story.

The film even opens with the ominous dispersion of Imperial probes and the descent to the icy bleakness of Hoth, followed rather quickly by the mauling and abduction of Luke by the wampa. And in the subsequent two hours of story, we find our heroes subjected to the most harrowing series of misfortunes and pummelings—delivered blow after blow by the dastardly Empire—that their plight becomes more real than in any of the other episodes, and the operatic nature of the entire saga seems almost defined by this one film. From the defeat of the Rebellion on Hoth to the relentless failing of the Falcon’s hyperdrive; the blasting apart of C-3PO; Lando Calrissian’s betrayal and being nearly strangled by Chewbacca; Luke’s monumentally unwise and impetuous departure from Dagobah, the severing of his hand, the crushing discovery of Vader’s paternity, his pathetic pleas to Ben while dangling helplessly above a fatal plunge from an antenna beneath Cloud City; and of course the torture and subsequent freezing of Han Solo in carbonite, as entertainment editor Dalton Ross says, “It’s tough to be a hero in Empire” (Ross, 39). And though it might not exceed Revenge of the Sith in its tragic proportions or its effects, it does far exceed it by virtue of script, direction, performances, and the moody atmosphere pervading its brilliant art direction. We find in Empire a very different kind of sequel. Or perhaps we find the very notion of a sequel reimagined; this movie was perhaps the first in a series of prominent sequels over the past 30 years to significantly outdo its predecessor, and given the seminal achievement and success of the original Star Wars, that’s saying something.

There are three major segments to the film: the Hoth segment, Dagobah and pursuit of the Millennium Falcon, and the Bespin segment. In these three chapters, Empire happens to contain just about all of my favorite scenes of any Star Wars film, the first of which is the Battle of Hoth and the escape of the Millennium Falcon following the Imperial penetration of the Rebel base. Countless afternoons as a child, I played out some variation of this scenario, as my play persona, whomever it may have been that particular day, raced frantically aboard a spaceship, pursued by nefarious forces, just as Han, Leia, Chewie, and Threepio rushed aboard the Falcon, narrowly avoiding the clutches of Darth Vader and his coterie of snow troopers. The Battle of Hoth is lauded to be one of the most riveting battle sequences ever set to film. Each of the three original Star Wars films contains a single large-scale battle between the Rebellion and the Empire. Another aspect that sets Empire apart is that this battle occurs not at the end of the film, like the Battles of Yavin and Endor in Star Wars and Return of the Jedi respectively, but rather at the beginning. It is also the only one of these three battles in which the Rebellion is engaged—and essentially defeated—by the Empire and not the other way around. The entire sequence is a marvel of entertainment, a classic treasure of movie-making drama from beginning to end. I remember how frightened I was for the Alliance and for the main characters when the Rebel soldiers signaled their retreat.

Another aspect of Empire that merits my devotion is that it is, by far, the most Falcon-intensive film in the original trilogy. I admit I was no different from any one of the thousands of other kids in the world who thought the Millennium Falcon to be the coolest spaceship ever to grace the stars of any space fantasy. And not only is Empire the most Falcon-intensive film, in which we are treated to the most elaborate and comprehensive exposure to the spacecraft’s interior (cool as it is), it is also the first time we get to see it darting, spinning, and dodging in all its acrobatic glory, unlike the action shots in the original theatrical version of Star Wars, which, majestic as they are, really deliver no more than somewhat static impressions of the Falcon charging either toward or away from something. The Empire sequence in which the Falcon braves the asteroid field to elude Imperial fighters is arguably one of the neatest, coolest space melees in movie history. That’s right. It’s just neat.

The central section of the film, in which the Falcon is pursued by the Empire, also details Luke’s fulfillment of Ben Kenobi’s instructions to seek out Jedi Master Yoda. As Lucas has mentioned, much of the film’s success rested on this puppeted performance, which, if not entirely believable, could have been an epic disaster under which the entire project would have collapsed. This is because Yoda is truly the emotional centerpiece of the film, and in this segment, we find something unique to all six episodes. Luke’s stay on Dagobah, during which he meets and trains with Yoda for a time, occurs in a series of rather slow-paced interludes, during which their conversations take on a languid, reflective, almost poetic quality. These scenes act very much like an emotional fulcrum by which Luke’s maturation is propelled and a variety of revelations about the Force and its duality are revealed. Yoda himself gives perhaps the most rousing and impressive speeches of all the films while describing the crudeness of the physical world and the nature of good and evil—topics of sufficient weight to have made his performance so crucial. It is in this thought-provoking middle section that we find my very favorite scene of all the Star Wars films. Luke’s failed attempt to retrieve the sunken x-wing from a dense morass on Dagobah leads to one of Yoda’s most stirring speeches and one of the most pivotal moments in Luke’s education. Luke simply cannot believe that what Yoda says about the Force is actually true. Rather he thinks the little green master is demanding something out of sheer autocratic stubbornness. In the subsequent moments, Yoda delivers more than just words and wisdom. He proceeds to retrieve the giant ship himself through the use of the Force, setting it securely on dry land. When an incredulous Luke utters, “I don’t believe it,” Yoda’s response is simple, affecting, and didactic: “That is why you fail.” It is a critical moment for Luke and one of the most moving scenes in the film. There is no easy, well-packaged success for Luke in these scenes, and we begin to empathize with how dearly he struggles to learn the ways of the Force. It is not an easy task, and these are not easy scenes. But all the better, for they lend greater weight and a true sense of realism to the difficulty inherent in the training of a Jedi knight, particularly in a swampy forgotten backwater of a war-torn galaxy in which the age-old Jedi tradition is but a faint and feeble memory.

This reflective centerpiece is, of course, interrupted by Luke’s vision of Cloud City and his premonition of the suffering of Han and Leia, at which point he foolishly cuts short his training on Dagobah in the hope of coming to their aid. What a stroke of narrative ingenuity. Luke leaves. He does exactly what he shouldn’t, and you feel a deepening sense of some terrible doom that awaits him. The moment of initial confrontation between Luke and Vader in the carbon freezing chamber is indeed one of the most epic and riveting moments in the entire saga. How can this go well? It doesn’t. And in fact, we’re left almost with a sense of gratitude at the good fortune that Luke even escapes this encounter with his life, since it quite easily could have gone the other way.

The entire Bespin sequence draws us further still into the circle of calamity that engulfs our heroes. Lando’s betrayal and the torture of Han Solo were intensely disturbing to me as a child, though I was practically glued to the screen throughout the ordeal. And following the last kiss between Han and Leia, in those fateful moments as he’s lowered into the carbon freezing pit, and Leia follows his eyes in tender desperation, Lando stares in agonizing conflict, Vader and Boba Fett “glare” ominously through the smoke, Chewie howls passionately, and the music soars above it all in a canticle of anguished majesty, at the tender age of five, my heart hung faithfully on every note, every moment. And Empire has you in its grip till the very end, as Darth Vader orders a boarding party for the Millennium Falcon, soon to be in range of their tractor beam, and it appears the ship and its passengers may well be captured. Only through the efforts of the conscientious and stout-hearted R2-D2 does the Falcon, carrying what survives of our exhausted heroes, narrowly escape.

I must at some point discuss the impact and significance of what is, in my opinion, one of the film’s most outstanding ingredients: the music, which is among John Williams’ finest and most poignant scores, sweeping in its dramatic scope, exhilarating in its punctuation of the action, and both touching and monumental in its emotional depth. This is the score that gave us, for the first time, the “Imperial March,” which is among the most recognizable movie themes ever written. It came to define the character of Darth Vader and is, to a great extent, a sonic banner for the entire saga. This is also the score that delivered what is, to me, among the most hauntingly beautiful pieces of music ever written and one that conveys both a passionate brilliance and a tender gravity which enable the viewer to transcend the story’s wealth of conflicts. It is “Yoda’s Theme.” Lest my reader believe me only too conspicuously attached to anything tied to one of my favorite characters in all of cinematic literature, while I admit to a miniscule degree of personal bias, one need only listen to “Yoda’s Theme” to feel the transcendent beauty and emotional grandeur John Williams gave this film through its music. It is the same score which also gave us a theme called “Han Solo and the Princess.” At once lofty and tender, this sweepingly romantic theme becomes a central motif, repeated at various points and in a variety forms, a theme so beautiful and, at the same time, so versatile that it might be credited with the majority of the story’s resonance, impact, and appeal. It is, in fact, the theme played in the very final moments of the film, in a powerful and grandiose incarnation, as the Millennium Falcon departs and the Rebel fleet sails into the cosmic horizon in the hope of some future triumph, and the viewer’s heart is left to swell at the scope of what has happened.

For me, Empire is the apotheosis of Star Wars and a sterling example of the sheer delight in being truly enraptured by drama and danger, the dance of mind and plot, both beautiful and terrible, wherein characters dear as old friends are brought to a simmering richness of peril and the bitterness of their conflicts alchemized in the carriage of a sweet and fragrant story. This place of the imagination, this space of life is the complete package of artistic fulfillment: the music, the images, the themes, countless hours of playing with toys, a sense of being part of the story and going with the characters through the fray of jeopardy and their arc of feats. And particularly as a child, you partake of their heroism in a way that is very different from any other time of life. Just as childhood goes with you, as subtext to what you experience and understand as an adult, so the story of Empire has gone with me, and more than any other chapter in the Star Wars saga, it shaped much of my childhood and continues to impact my understanding and appreciation of great storytelling, fine movie-making, and epic drama. Whereas the prequel trilogy can rightly be considered a different species, though I personally find Revenge of the Sith to be a genuinely good film, whether we consider the classic trilogy, in all its unaltered glory, in isolation or with its admittedly inferior prequels, the zenith of the Star Wars franchise, the jewel in this crown is The Empire Strikes Back. Even as the classic trilogy goes, all three are great, but the Force is strong with this one.

Work Cited

• Ross, Dalton. “The Empire Is Back!” Entertainment Weekly, 16 April, 2010: 39.