Film Review: "Oz the Great and Powerful"

Over the last ten-ish years, one thing has become clear about special effects—they can enliven a movie’s backdrop, but they can also be a distraction from the characters, the raison d’être behind any great film.  In “Oz the Great and Powerful,” the latest pop extravaganza from the brilliant director Sam Raimi, those effects include flashes of green lightening, computer-generated baboon monsters, and other flurries that have a diluting effect, threatening to eclipse the film’s story.  Yet what they don’t blot out is quite compelling.  Packed with vibrant colors and beautiful actors, the movie has a compelling sincerity that reasserts itself at many very right moments.

            Oddly, the film’s wizard hero, Oscar (James Franco), is rather deficient in terms of sincerity.  He’s a smalltime magician with a few tricks up his sleeve, but not the heart to commit to his true love (Michelle Williams).  So it is with a few prayers that he enters into a tornado, one that sweeps him into the magical land of Oz.  If you’ve seen the original wizard of Oz film, than you’ve been here before.  But this new Oz has been rendered to stunning effect.  As Oscar lands in this brave new world, we swerves down a rushing river in a hot air balloon, before touching down in a piercing green forest where the “good witch” Theodora (Mila Kunis) is waiting to greet him.

            Thanks to a couple of reviews that spoiled the surprise, I came into “Oz” prepared to see Theodora transform into a distorted, green-faced wicked witch.  What I wasn’t expecting was for her to start off as such a charmingly naïve character.  Theodora’s wardrobe (a red hat with a swooped brim and some rather tight black pants) is smooth perfection but as a person, she’s charmingly vulnerable.  She believes Oscar when he promises to marry her, not even considering that he might just be an uncaring seducer.  Ms. Kunis plays the role of the unsuspecting girl with finesse, and that makes it all the more heartbreaking when she devolves into a rage-fueled monster.

            All in all, I was disappointed that Theodora’s role in the narrative was downplayed in favor of Oscar’s more noble sidekicks (a very cute monkey and ceramic girl).  As Glinda, the good witch who opposes Theodora, Michelle Williams is fine, but rootless virtue can’t compete with tortured vulnerability.  It can’t compete with munchkins either—those diminutive rascals make up Glinda’s army and don’t function properly as comic relief.  The banter between Oscar and the lead munchkin Nook is tiresome.

            In the end, it all builds up to a showdown between Oscar and Glinda versus Theodora’s army of wickedness.  It is here that Oscar finally redeems himself, putting the good of Oz before his own desire for wealth and power.  I wish though, that this transformation had more power.  In his masterful “Spider-Man” trilogy (one of the greatest adventure sagas of the new millennium), Mr. Raimi created a blockbuster narrative that zeroed in on the internal anguish of its heroes.  “Oz,” by contrast, has a hero whose flawed selfishness never receives quite as much attention as the film’s creatures and vistas (even though the tenderness of Danny Elfman’s music box score helps preserve much of the emotion).

            And yet for all that, I would hardly dissuade you from undertaking the film’s journey.  In the film’s best characters—Finley the monkey, the young ceramic girl, and the bitter Theodora—there is a wounded sweetness, a capacity to be hurt that is unforgettable.  And in their finest moments, the film’s special effects help bandage those wounds, like in the scene where Glinda soars above Oz is a rippling bubble, like an angel ascending into some kind of color-rich heaven. 

Singer Falls: The Story Behind a Great Director's Bad Movie--And How We Should React

As a prospective filmmaker, the people who bear the weight of my worship the most are directors.  Over the years, I’ve come to regard some of these heroes as people who have produced stuff that resonates with me, but not necessarily as infallible artists.  For instance, while I’ve loved movies made by Sam Raimi and Chris Weitz, I’ve never fallen in love with their entire oeuvre.

            The same cannot be said of Sofia Coppola and Bryan Singer.  Every since I saw Ms. Coppola’s reflective romance “Lost in Translation” and Mr. Singer’s apocalyptic epic “X2,” I’ve come to regard them as cinematic deities, people whose entire style I connect with completely.  I trust that they will always have another compelling and beautiful trick up their sleeves and that trust remains, even though Mr. Singer has, for perhaps the first time, just made a truly bad movie.

            The film in question is “Jack the Giant Slayer.”  A loud, soulless family adventure, “Jack” is a fairy tale film so half-hearted that all of its clichés feel weak and limp.  It should have been exhilarating to hear the titular protagonist speak of his desire for adventure at the beginning, but instead his words feel forced and awkward.  Factor in the dull violence, tone-deaf flatulent humor, and ugly visuals that recall “Shrek” (which at least adopted the sunny, flat look with a sense of irony) and it is unbelievable that Mr. Singer was involved with the movie at all.  It begs the question—how do we react when a great auteur produces a work of unrecognizable trash?

            One approach is to look into the film’s production history to see if the problems were at the root of its inception.  In the case of “Jack,” that seems possible.  After completing his masterful war drama “Valkyrie,” Mr. Singer began developing a number of potential projects—the comic book adaptation “Freedom Formula: Ghosts of the Wasteland,” a remake of the television show “Battlestar Galactica,” and finally, the now-infamous “Jack.”  Of these projects, “Jack” was the only one he was willing to make a contractual commitment to.

            Then, in the midst of this choosing drama, something odd happened.  In an interview, Mr. Singer abruptly expressed a wish to return to the “X-Men” franchise, the Marvel Comics saga he’d overseen in the early 2000s.  A few weeks later, he announced at the premier of “Avatar” that he had indeed agreed to direct a new installment called “X-Men: First Class.”

            It’s impossible to know what Mr. Singer was thinking at this time—in video footage from the “Avatar” premier, he appeared awkward, dressed in a warm up jacket and clearly uncomfortable with the photographers calling out his name.  Whatever the cause, he had reason to feel awkward—he had just signed up for a job that would violate his contract to direct “Jack.”  But when push came to shove, he agreed to pass “First Class” onto director Matthew Vaughn and fulfill his original agreement.

            Based on these facts, one has to wonder—did Mr. Singer truly want to direct “First Class”?  And did he do such a bad job on “Jack” because his heart was somewhere else?  It’s hard not to wonder.  And there is also the fact that Mr. Singer hasn’t made a well-reviewed film since he left the “X-Men” franchise.  “Valkyrie” and the 2006 production “Superman Returns” were some of his best work and for some reason, he did not receive the accolades he deserved.  So perhaps, when he couldn’t direct “First Class,” did he dumb down “Jack” with simple storytelling, bright visuals, and potty humor in the hope of appeasing mass audiences?  Did he want to restore his good name, to make a hit so he could keep making massive blockbusters?

            I’m not sure if I buy that theory.  But clearly, Mr. Singer wants to stay in the big movie business.  He has said he loves working with the art department on science fiction and fantasy films, and it shows in his work—the visuals are always graceful and attractive.  They don’t overwhelm the characters, but rather seem to amplify their emotions (like the sweeping cityscape that seems to express all the romance and loneliness of “Superman”).  By that knowledge, “Jack the Giant Slayer” should have been a good project for Mr. Singer, and it is strange that he missed the opportunity for beautiful images that the fanciful medieval setting so clearly invites.  At the end of the day, his failure is ultimately baffling.

            Which is why, after all that, the announcement of Mr. Singer’s next project is a massive relief—he is currently preparing to begin shooting the next “X-Men” film (which is called “Days of Future Past”) in Montreal on April Fifteenth.  It will be his ninth theatrical film, a project that will return him to the franchise in which he has done some of his best work and reunite him with some of his greatest collaborators—costumer Louise Mingenbach, editor John Ottman, and cinematographer Newton Thomas Sigel.  Conceptually, it sound like a slam dunk.

            Initially, that is why I had some reservations about Mr. Singer taking on the project.  He is a deeply versatile artist, one can alternate between utopia and dystopia within the same film.  But after the failure of “Jack,” a counterintuitive choice for him (a fairy tale seems an odd addition to Mr. Singer’s ouvre, which thrives on complexity and adult cruelty) a return to familiar territory might be just what he needs.  For me, “X2” and “Superman Returns” are Mr. Singer’s magnum opuses—they both express powerful emotions and leave you with a wistful, sad sting of loss that is incredibly cathartic.  If Mr. Singer can produce that effect once again, “X-Men: Days of Future Past” has the potential to be a powerful film that can lay the groundwork for another great decade of Singer movies.  And by the way, “Days” is scheduled for July 18, 2014, by which time I imagine I will have gone through Mr. Singer’s filmmography at least once, maybe more. 

Film Review: "The Place Beyond the Pines"

Heavy falls the shadow of “Drive.”  Ever since its release in September 2011, I’ve found Nicholas Winding Refn’s poetic, romantic crime film impossible to extinguish from my memory, and the memories of many of my film school colleagues as well.  Apparently, it has seeped into the consciousness of director Derek Cianfrance as well.  In the opening shot of his new film, “The Place Beyond the Pines,” we see Ryan Gosling (who starred in “Drive”) strutting through a carnival in a tight red jacket.  This vivid, shadowy image is so atmospheric that it almost feels ripped from “Drive”—in fact, Mr. Gosling’s jacket looks like a dyed-red version of the one he wore in the earlier film.  In fact, Erin Benach designed the costumes for both films.  Yet in the main, those are where the similarities end.  “Pines” may feature Gosling as a similarly violent and morose figure wracked with lust and longing, but it soon departs from that world into deadening and depressing territory.  The film may feature some powerfully emotional moments, but it often just comes off as moody and hopeless.

            Mr. Gosling’s character, cyclist Luke Glanton, is not the only one feeling the mood.  Early in the film, he runs into Romina (Eva Mendes), a woman who in his absence has given birth to his child.  Romina has moved on with her life and married another man, but a part of her still seems to long for Luke.  She lets him spend some time with his son, Jason, and even sleeps with him, even though she refuses to involve him too deeply in her life.  Keeping them apart proves to be a smart decision on the part of Mr. Cianfrance and the film’s other writers, Ben Coccio and Darius Marder—it keeps the film from devolving into yet another faux-romantic saga of a smart character who finds the charms of an obnoxious loser more irresistible than gold-pressed latinum. 

            Alas, Romina’s decisions are not the only factors separating her from Luke.  Determined to provide for her and Jason, Luke takes up bank robbing, only to find his successful streak ended when a bullet from police officer Avery Cross (Bradley Cooper) splatters his blood across the pavement and ends his life.  With Luke’s murder (signified by the ghastly image of his face streaked with mustaches of blood), the film is Avery’s cross (pun intended!) to bear, as he deals with his guilt and corruption in the police department.  It appears that in the film, no one avoids the world of cruelty and lawbreaking.

            It soon becomes clear that this is a world where Mr. Cooper thrives.  I love Mr. Gosling as an actor—a closeup of him crying in church in the film shows how beautifully he can emote with no more than a motionless eyeball, especially with the help of vivid and colorful cinematography (Sean Bobbit, who did masterful work on “Shame,” shot this movie).  But “The Place Beyond the Pines” belongs to Mr. Cooper and the character of Avery.  What makes him such a striking figure is the fact he appears both compassionate and opportunistic.  At the climax when Avery thinks his own son might have been killed, Mr. Cooper shouts with such enraged abruptness that his rage and seem to pierce your heart, an effect only amplified when we weeps, head bent to the ground.  Yet Mr. Cooper has a knack for playing suave and cruel characters (like in “The Hangover”) and sure enough, Avery proves to be a dangerous quantity.  When he discovers corruption among his cop colleagues, he exposes them not only for the sake of justice (which he does truly believe in), but to boost his own star as he makes a bid for the assistant district attorney’s office.

            It is a mark of the film’s time period (fifteen years) that we get such a clear view of Avery’s conquest.  We see him rise from cop to assistant DA to potential attorney general and the last time we see him he stands before a triumphant crowd.  Yet “The Place Beyond the Pines” is hardly a hopeful film—after the fifteen year jump, the film checks in with Luke’s son Jason and what we find is a mussed up, drug addled kid spoiling for revenge.  Never for a minute do you think he deserves it.  In portraying Avery as neither a villain nor a hero, the film suggests that in life’s war that even evil acts can be complex because the pain of Luke’s death is shared not only by his loved ones, but by Avery as well.

            There’s a great deal of pleasure in seeing how such actions resonate through generations in the film—there’s something compelling about seeing someone like Luke as both a fully-present human being and someone who lingers as a vague legend, particularly when Jason begins to learn about him.  Nevertheless, I found “The Place Beyond the Pines” extremely depressing.  In this world, compassion is so minimal that it leaves you with a feeling of, “Why bother?”  If all sons are doomed to follow in the corrupt footsteps of their fathers (as the film clearly suggests) than what’s the point of watching the story at all?  Oh fine, I’ll say it—it’s always worthwhile to watch a thought-provoking and unusual film.  But with the exception of Avery, none of the characters are complex enough to inspire much sympathy, leaving you with a film that often keeps you at a distance, even as it reaches more passionately to capture your heart and mind. 

Film Review: "Jack the Giant Slayer"

As a regular moviegoer since 2004, I have come to love and revere the work of a couple particular filmmakers.  They are directors who may not make a perfect film each time they step behind the camera, but they can be counted on to produce something that even if it doesn’t quite work, contains some memorable thoughts and images.  “Jack the Giant Slayer,” the eighth feature from the bona fide blockbuster maker Bryan Singer, has both those things.  They are some tender romantic scenes and a delightfully splashy climb up a giant bean stalk.  But at the end of the day, those small delights aren’t enough to save what is easily one of Mr. Singer’s weakest offerings.

            Sadly, the films problems surface immediately.  We get a parade of film studio logos, accompanied by John Ottman’s grand score, but as the film fades in on the young farm boy Jack, the soundtrack goes quiet and the tension evaporates.  It only gets worse.  As Jack’s father reads him a bedtime story about a time when giants walked the Earth, we see the tale rendered in fake-looking CGI that it strikingly texture-less and ugly.  It’s a relief when the sequence ends and the film jumps forward to an eighteen-year-old Jack, heading off to a medieval market to sell a horse.

            As played by Nicholas Hoult, Jack is an entertainingly bumbling nerd.  We can’t even win a fight with a drunkard, which is what makes him charming—he’s a stuttering, unheroic lad who gets in way over his head (Mr. Hoult played the same sort of character in “X-Men: First Class,” which Mr. Singer produced).  When Jack gets a midnight visit from the Princess Isabelle (Eleanor Tomlinson), he finds himself wrapped up in adventure that brings him into war with the giants of legend.  And, as in the classic fairy tale “Jack and the Beanstalk,” his adventure begins when he climbs up a great vine that has risen into the sky.

            The climb up the beanstalk is easily the finest sequence in the film.  Tall and tangled, the stalk is vertical yet filled with all sorts of nooks and crannies (Jack even manages to sleep on the climb up).  And once our hero reaches the top, we’re treated to a stunning image—Jack standing alone, looking down at the clouds.  It’s the first time in the film that our hero grasps the majesty of the world he lives in, and it reminded me fleetingly of the glorious flying sequences in Mr. Singer’s 2006 film “Superman Returns.”  Better than most, this gifted director understands that fantasy can be a profound expression of poetic beauty and wonder.

            It is for this reason that I think that giants had to be a part of the story at all.  As envisioned in the film, they’re lumbering, dumb brutes who make for bland antagonists.  But more to the point, they are a garishly ugly presence, mainly played for failed comedic value (there is a particularly lame joke about giant snot).  By the time they descended to Earth and started hurling trees at our heroes, I felt utterly irked.  What is the point of lavishing some much attention on a villainous force that is neither entertaining, nor truly menacing?

            Ever since the first trailers for “Jack the Giant Slayer” hit the Internet, the film has been plagued with a degree of smirking anticipation—for many, it was a bad idea that only looked worse when actual footage was revealed.  But frankly, I expected better.  “Jack and the Beanstalk” might not be the finest cinematic source material, but the appeal of Mr. Singer’s work has been not just the stories he tells but the way he tells them.  I never cared for Superman movies, but Mr. Singer’s peppering of “Returns” with visual beauty and humor sold me on the story.  It is frankly a bit shocking that he was not able to bring more poetry and beauty to Jack’s story.

            Truth be told, Jack is part of the film’s ugliness.  In the climactic giant battle, a two-headed asks Jack’s name.  The kid’s soulless reply?  “It’s Jack, you freak!”  For some, this might seem like a poorly-written verbal barb.  But there is significance in this moment.  It is Mr. Singer who, as the director of the comic book films “X-Men” and “X2,” used to tell stories about freaks who, while terrifying on the outside, were just as human as their opponents.  Knowing that, the viewer’s only recourse is to grit their teeth through the moment and hope that Mr. Singer rediscovers some of that empathy as he embarks on his next film.   

Film Review: "Safe Haven"

And so it begins again.  Whenever a new year starts, I always have one question—what will the next twelve months of movies be like?  Happier or sadder?  Better or worse?  The same is always?  It’s always exciting when these questions are a complete mystery, just as it’s thrilling to go to the movies for the first time in the new year to see the answers beginning to unfold.

So far, I for one am satisfied.  “Safe Haven,” the first 2013 film I’ve seen, is a workable romantic melodrama, one that seems catch itself every time it slips off the rails.  That has a great deal to do with Julianne Hough, the movie’s attractive star, but also with the intelligent craftsmanship of director Lasse Hallström and editor Andrew Mondshein.  Together, they have made a formulaic melodrama that almost feels like a passion project.

From the first scene, tension seems to shred the screen.  Katie (Ms. Hough) is on the run from her abusive husband Tierney (a menacing David Lyons).  We see her racing through the rain to catch a bus, a hood pulled over her head in a frightened attempt at a disguise.  She escapes, but her fear never fully evaporates.  Sudden noises (whether from cars or coffee makers) make her jump like a hunted creature; and she’s haunted by dark memories of Tierney’s violence.

In this narrative equation, there is of course a utopian alternative to the dystopian vision of Tierney and his world of suburban crime (he happens to be a cop, unfortunately).  Katie finds a new home in a small, portside southern town, where she’s gradually won over by a widower named Alex (Josh Duhamel).  She resists his advances, gamely, but this is an adaptation of a Nicholas Sparks novel (he wrote “The Notebook,” “The Last Song,” and “The Lucky One”) so making love really is the only option.

This kind of formula is not bothersome—why watch any movie if not to experience romance?  What is slightly problematic is that the characters are vague archetypes at best.  It makes sense that Katie never reveals much about her past life, but what of her interests, hopes, dreams, and aspirations?  Surely there’s more to her than just wanting to escape one man and find another.  Similarly, it would make the movie more enjoyable if Alex was defined by something more than his grief, his courtship skills, and his attempts to father his kids.

These are gaping holes and with a stronger script (the movie was written by Leslise Bohern and Dana Stevens), I think Ms. Hough and Mr. Duhamel could have filled in the pieces.  But Mr. Hallström and Mr. Mondshein work hard at that job.  What sustains your interest in “Safe Haven” is the way the alternate scenes of Katie’s beatific seaside existence with moments Tierney’s fevered search for his wife.  Snapping at subordinates and interrogating neighbors, he’s a credibly frightening villain, especially in the moments where he manages to keep his emotions in check (watch his convincing performance at a bus ticket window).  This element of danger keeps the movie from devolving into a romantic scenic tour, just as the romance alleviates the nervous, abusive tension when necessary.

This kind of narrative balance makes “Safe Haven” an enjoyable comeback for Mr. Hallström.  Last year, he released “Salmon Fishing in the Yemen,” a painfully syrupy comedy packed with pretentiousness.  Most obnoxiously, it pretended to have some sort of political conscience.  “Safe Haven,” by contrast, sticks to the characters and allows some secrets to stay buried Ms. Hough’s serious, controlled persona.  You’re never more with her then when she’s alone and vulnerable at the beginning, but the movie the movie never loses you, even when it seems to be fading. 

Essay: The Shared Values of "Star Trek" and "Star Wars"

NOT SO DIFFERENT ARE THEY by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

When it was announced that “Star Trek” director J.J. Abrams would be directing the next “Star Wars” movie last Thursday, my first reaction was anger.  I was not furious because these two space-bound adventures have competed throughout history, but because I had grown particularly attached to Mr. Abrams’ interpretation of the “Trek” characters (especially the venerable duo Kirk and Spock), almost as much as I had to Luke Skywalker and Han Solo when I first saw “Star Wars.”

            Yet as any reader of fan fiction and internet musings knows, many people have opinions about which saga is superior.  But I argue that not only are “Star Trek” and “Star Wars” equal, but that they are appealing for many of the same reasons.  I recognize that this claim flies in the face of anyone who holds the traditional view that “Trek” is purely cerebral while “Wars” is unstoppably explosive, but I believe it nonetheless.

            Why?  Partly because both series offer visions of different cultures uniting.  What made “Star Trek” inspiring to many people when it premiered on TV in the 1960s was that it depicted a multicultural crew of space explorers.  Uhura was black, Sulu was Asian, Chekov was Russian, Scotty was (of course) Scottish, and Spock wasn’t even from Earth (he was from the distant planet Vulcan).  These days, the fact that the crew was led by Kirk, a white male, may undermine the beauty of this vision, but we should remember what leap forward the original “Star Trek” crew represented at the time.  It was a bold move to feature a black character who wasn’t a maid or servant and creator Gene Roddenberry deserves credit for putting a Russian on the crew during the Cold War. 

            But while this union of separate cultures is prominent in “Star Trek,” it is an important part of “Star Wars” as well.  The first film in the series introduced us to its colorful cast of aliens in a jazzy, dimly lit Cantina and more memorably, the companionship of Han Solo and Chewbacca, two smugglers who helped the film’s heroes fight the rulers of the evil Empire.  Han was a human scoundrel, but Chewbacca was completely alien, a creature covered in brown fur who communicated only in a grunts and growls (which were recorded from a real bear by sound designer Ben Burtt).  Yet though he and Han couldn’t speak each other’s language, they understand one another and were best friends.  Humans were the main focus in the saga, but Chewbacca continued to be a prominent character and in the final film, “Return of the Jedi,” we saw him and Han fight alongside an amazing panoply of species, including the diminutive Ewoks and the fish-like Mon Calamari.  As in “Star Trek,” this brand of multiculturalism was all the more notable because the characters never remarked upon it.  Working together had become a fact of life. 

            In this way, both franchises promoted the idea that we can coexist with the proverbial “other.”  But the idealism of Mr. Roddenberry and “Star Wars” creator George Lucas goes beyond that.  Not only did they challenge us to reach across the barriers of culture, but they also implored us to step over the lines drawn in battle as well.  What these films share is the belief that reconciliation is impossible in some cases, but not all.

            The Klingons of “Star Trek” are an important example.  Buff, bearded, and bumpy-headed, they were ferocious opponents for Kirk and company.  But even before the “Trek” crew officially made peace with these longtime mortal enemies in the 1991 film “The Undiscovered Country,” the series showed us that it was possible for friends and foes to come together for drinks, even in wartime.

            If the reconciliation with the Klingons was a cultural event, then the great truce of “Star Wars,” with the evil Darth Vader, was a personal one.  Concealed by a gleaming black cape and mask, Vader was a ruthless commander who left a trail of carnage in his quest to secure the Empire’s power.  No one was safe—he was known for choking subordinates to death when they failed him.  But one sentence changed all that forever: “Luke, I am your father.”  When the heroic Luke Skywalker learned he was Vader’s son, he was forced to accept being the offspring of a monstrous tyrant.  Yet acknowledging Vader as family meant accepting that this villain was a human being and despite the objections of his friends and mentors, Luke chose to believe that his father could be redeemed.  In the end, just like the idealists of “Star Trek” who believed peace with the Klingons was possible, Luke was proven right. 

            And yet both “Star Trek” and “Star Wars” explore the idea of family in a way that goes beyond bloodlines.  Both sagas are in some way about the building of intergalactic unity and the unshakeable friendships that exist within that collective.  In the beginning of the newer “Star Trek” television series (like “The Next Generation” and “Deep Space Nine”), the major characters often regarded each other with irritation or bafflement.  Yet braving danger and simply spending so much time together united them in a powerful way.  The final shot of “The Next Generation” was an image of the cast playing cards together and the heroes of “Deep Space Nine” felt such deep affection for one another that they seemed to perpetually beam at one another.

            You can feel that kind of tenderness at the end of “Return of the Jedi” too.  After the defeat of the Empire, we see a montage of celebrations on various planets, before the final shot of Luke, Han, and Chewbacca facing the camera, almost as if they're posing for a family photo.  That image sums up the power of their longstanding friendship because it somehow eclipses all the horror and violence we’ve just witnessed.  They’re happy together and you’re happy for them. 

            For these reasons, I believe multiculturalism, reconciliation, and friendship are the common themes that make “Star Trek” and “Star Wars” such close cinematic cousins.  Yet in a way, even these ideas revolve around the same thing—togetherness.  That is something both sagas embrace, a shared value of that ideal.  This is not to say that they are not different—“Star Trek” does tend to be calmly talkative, while “Star Wars” hurls you into the primal heat of the moment.  But that is why we need both series so they can teach us the same lessons in different ways.  And because they have both succeeded in that mission, it’s always a good time to look back and remember everything each story has given us, as they are.