Movie Review: "Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith" (George Lucas, 2005)

FALLEN HEROES by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

Above: Hayden Christensen goes dark in “Sith.”  Photo ©Lucasfilm Ltd., 20^TH Century Fox, and Walt Disney Pictures

With a rage and a flourish, “Revenge of the Sith” concludes George Lucas’ “Star Wars” prequel trilogy.  It is many things—a gleeful action blowout; a glass-shattering tragedy; and above all, a purveyor of conflicted feelings.  When I first saw the movie as an eighth grader, I was angry that it had trashed “Star Wars” with blood, torture, and genocide.  Submerged in “Star”-love, I tried mightily to enjoy it.  I never quite succeeded.

            Like Mr. Lucas’ “The Phantom Menace” and “Attack of the Clones,” “Revenge of the Sith” swivels its digitally-enhanced gaze toward Anakin Skywalker (Hayden Christensen).  No longer a lowly apprentice, he has, in “Sith,” become a full-fledged Jedi Knight—a super-powered guardian of the distant “Star Wars” galaxy.  This means he has license to slaughter armies of bumbling robots, but also that he must conceal his marriage to Padme Amidala (Natalie Portman).  As a 2002 “Star Wars” poster succinctly put it, “A Jedi shall not know anger, nor hatred, nor love.”

            Would you accept this edict?  Anakin doesn’t.  After the thrillingly bloated battle that opens the movie, his visits his beloved and learns that he’s going to be a father.  (“This is the happiest moment of my life,” he tells Padme).  Yet Anakin is also beset by premonitions of Padme dying in childbirth—shrieking, vapory dreams that make him desperate enough turn to the leader of the Galactic Republic, the slippery Chancellor Palpatine (a splendid, serenely sinister Ian McDiarmid) for help.

            You probably know what happens next (it is pop public record, after all).  But for those who do not, suffice it to say that the pact between Anakin and Palpatine results in a galaxy-spanning torrent of digital violence.  Across planets, men and women are murdered, shot to death by armored soldiers under Palpatine’s rule.  And his new regime, enforced by Anakin, is a clean dictatorship.  “The Republic will be organized into the first ever galactic empire!” Palpatine crows to a crowd of senators.  They cheer.

            When “Revenge of the Sith” premiered at the 2005 Cannes Film Festival, that scene stirred allegory-hungry critics (as did a politically-charged declaration from Anakin: “If you’re not with me, you’re my enemy!”).  Still, the weight of “Star Wars” has always been personal, not political.  “Together we can rule the galaxy, make things the way we want them to be!” Anakin gleefully tells Padme.  He betrays himself there.  He doesn’t just want power; he wants someone to share it with.

            A compelling idea.  But “Revenge of the Sith” is not about ideas; it is about excessive special effects (a tsunami of fake-looking virtual lava pours over the screen during the film’s climax) and doomful violence (Mr. Lucas goes too far by featuring a scene that shows the bodies of young boys strewn across a marble floor like dead trees). Which brings me to the true tragedy of “Revenge of the Sith”—that it is “Star Wars” darker but not “Star Wars” better.  Oh sure, the movie’s vortex of reds, oranges, and deep-space blacks give you a kick, but even as you sigh at the film’s final shot of a beauteous sunset, you may also find yourself beset by one inescapable thought: thank god it’s all over.