Of Blank Slates and Second Bananas

I saw the movie Watership Down for the first time a few months ago (right before Easter, which made all those cards with bunnies on them suddenly look very morbid). For anyone not familiar with the story, it's about a group of rabbits led by the brothers Hazel and Fiver who leave their old warren to start a new one and encounter several predators and enemies along the way. It's one of the darkest and most highly acclaimed children's movies ever made, and while I did love it, there's one nitpick about it that bugs me every time I watch it.

The rabbit Hazel is treated as the main protagonist in the story. Everyone hails his leadership skills throughout the film, he orchestrates the plan to defeat the villains during the climax, and he gets the big heroic sendoff in the final scene. What bugs me is that I don't quite understand why he's the main protagonist. He's not a particularly interesting character, and while he does have the main conflict to deal with, he doesn't really have a personal story arc. His brother Fiver, on the other hand, is a runt who gets pushed around by the rabbits in the old warren and whose connections to the spirit world help him to see the future and point the group of deserters towards their new home. Fiver is the underdog with a unique ability who incites and drives the story. He's a much more compelling and pivotal character, so why is it Hazel who gets the ultimate spotlight?

This isn't the only case of a sidekick being more interesting than the designated protagonist in a story. Eli Wallach's character Tuco Ramirez in The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly is much more colorful and engaging than Clint Eastwood's character Blondie, yet it's Blondie who always gets the last laugh as the hero with a plan up his sleeve. There's also Dennis Dun's Wang Chi in Big Trouble in Little China, who follows the lead of Kurt Russell's Jack Burton despite having more at stake. Heck, even James Bond is pretty one-dimensional compared to most of the assistants, contacts, and love interests that he's had over the years. It's odd from a writer's viewpoint to see so many dynamic figures forced to be second bananas to stiffer and blander ones, so why do so many authors and screenwriters do it?

The most likely reason is because characters like Hazel, Blondie, Jack Burton, and James Bond are more serviceable to audiences than their sidekicks are. They have less distinct personalities, so it's easier for us to project ourselves onto them and pretend that we're the ones living their lives. This type of character is often referred to as a Blank Slate, and while they're still commonly used in storytelling for the above mentioned reason, we do see a shift in their role as the protagonist every now and then.

Just look at the Pirates of the Caribbean movies. At first they seem to present another case of a Blank Slate protagonist who's going to have a dynamic sidekick, but Will Turner quickly gets demoted to a helper after he meets Captain Jack Sparrow. The two spend the rest of the original Pirates trilogy pretty much competing with each other to be the main protagonist, then Will drops out of the series altogether in the fourth film and Jack has the stage to himself. It's almost like the screenwriters were afraid to make Jack the hero at first and gave him a more standard counterpart to be safe, then when they saw how popular he was with audiences, they took off his Will Turner training wheels and edged him into the leading role. Sources say that Will is supposed to return in the fifth Pirates film, though it's unclear whether or not Jack will have the same relationship with him as before.

Another supporting character who famously became the protagonist in his film series is Peter Sellers's Inspector Clouseau, who first appeared in the 1963 crime comedy The Pink Panther. In that film, the protagonist is a jewel thief named Sir Charles Lytton who attempts to steal a famous diamond while Clouseau is simply a detective who investigates its disappearance. Clouseau was technically an antagonist in that movie, but his bumbling persona was so memorable that he took over as the hero in the next five installments of the series, though not always played by the same actor. That's not even counting the two reboot films from 2006 and 2009 that featured Clouseau in the lead with no mention of Lytton. Once again though, this more engaging character had to be broken in with training wheels before he was allowed to be the protagonist.

Judging from these examples, audiences seem to like having more memorable main characters. The recent criticism of Twilight's Bella Swan and poor performance of Hardcore Henry, an action film shot entirely in the first-person point-of-view, also seem to suggest that a lot of readers and filmgoers want more than a Blank Slate to project themselves onto. So again, why are so many three-dimensional characters relegated to sidekicks and supports for one-dimensional ones?

I was wracking my brain over this when a crazy idea finally came to me: maybe a lot of writers do this not because they want audiences to imagine being the protagonist, but because they want audiences to imagine being with the sidekick. Maybe characters like Blondie and Will Turner exist so we can experience what it's like to spend time with people like Tuco Ramirez and Jack Sparrow. Maybe Hazel the rabbit really just exists so we can observe and try to understand a character as mysterious as Fiver.

Whatever the case, it's still nice to see a second banana grow ripe and get picked every once in a while -- or a second carrot, if Watership Down ever gets any sequels.

The Point of the Spiders

Perhaps the most important rule in storytelling is that every person, place, thing, or event in the story needs to serve a purpose. If an element doesn't have some unique effect on the characters or the plot, then it should probably be removed. This rule is a lot more strict in film than in literature, but even books can only get away with spinning their narrative wheels for so long. Considering this, let's examine one of the more famous scenes from The Hobbit where Bilbo saves his dwarf companions from the spiders in the forest of Mirkwood.

Here's how the journey through Mirkwood unfolds in both the book and its film adaptations:

1.  Bilbo and the dwarves get lost.

2.  Bilbo gets separated from the dwarves.

3.  The dwarves get captured by spiders.

4.  Bilbo saves the dwarves from the spiders.

5.  The dwarves get captured by elves.

6.  Bilbo saves the dwarves from the elves.


Looking at this list, the chain of events seems a little redundant. Why not just have the elves capture the dwarves right after Bilbo gets separated from them and leave out the spiders altogether? The elves are more important in the long run, and since rescuing the dwarves from them is the bigger challenge of the two anyway, it seems like more efficient storytelling to only have one rescue in Mirkwood. So what's the point of including the spiders in the plot?

Well, the first argument is an easy one: J.R.R. Tolkien wrote The Hobbit as an adventure tale for children, so it's okay for it to have a lot of action scenes with a loose narrative structure. That may be true, but there's a bit more to the spiders than just being one more obstacle. There's a lot of fear surrounding Mirkwood in the story, enough to earn several warnings, and having the characters actually get captured by monsters inside that forest justifies that fear. Without the spiders, Mirkwood would just seem like a really dark place with deer, butterflies, grouchy elves, and rivers that you need to stay out of -- hazardous, but not menacing. Including the spiders also helps to drive home the story's lesson of listening to your elders; having the dwarves almost get eaten by monsters because they ignored Gandalf and wandered off the path leaves a much stronger impression than just having them get arrested by elves.

It can also be argued that the spiders serve to offset the elves. The Mirkwood elves are the beings that Bilbo's company gets the biggest warning about. They're the main obstacle in the forest, not the spiders. Prior to this though, the story presents elves more or less as allies, so they don't feel like much of a threat to the readers, the viewers, or the heroes. All of the trouble before Mirkwood comes from monsters, and having Bilbo fight off one more round of monsters in the forest only to have the elves capture his friends shows a transition in the story. Instead of vicious, evil creatures, Bilbo now has good but uncooperative people standing in his way. That means that instead of cutting and stabbing his way out of trouble, he has to harness his wits that he discovered during the Riddle Game with Gollum and be strategic from this point on.

Another thing to consider is that the fight with the spiders is the peak of Bilbo learning to embrace his adventurous side. He comes to the dwarves' rescue single-handedly for the first time, he names his sword and uses it for combat, and in the book, he makes up songs to taunt the spiders with as he fends them off. He's finally mastering the abilities that the quest has forced him to learn so far, and he's having fun doing it. The fact that he's going up against a nest of evil monsters with very little moral dilemmas about hurting them makes the scene fun for the readers and viewers as well. This creates an especially nice contrast with his refusal to fight in the Battle of the Five Armies after he grows wiser from his experiences.


And that's the most important purpose of the spiders in The Hobbit. They show that the main character is capable of growing and changing. Bilbo's greatest internal conflict is that he wants to lead the quiet, predictable lifestyle of a hobbit despite being from a family that prefers the unexpected. He resists change in the first part of the story, and while it's helpful that he's good at fighting giant spiders in Mirkwood, it's more important that he decides to fight them at all. Thematically, the spiders are a test of whether or not Bilbo is adaptable and confident enough for the second half of his journey, and as soon as he passes that test, the Mirkwood elves step in to take things to the next level things for him.

"The Jungle Book" Review

Rudyard Kipling's The Jungle Book is a curious case when it comes to movie adaptations. Several different versions of it have been put to film over the years, but they never seem to want to follow the plot of the source material. They'll often pick one portion of the story to tell (usually the first part where the tiger Shere Kahn is the main villain) or simply borrow elements from Kipling's work while telling a different story altogether. I don't know why Hollywood steers away from faithfully adapting this tale, but nowadays The Jungle Book seems to be more iconic for its characters and their motivations than for what those characters do.

The newest film, produced by Disney and directed by Jon Favreau, also takes liberties with its story. It's a remake of the 1967 animated film first and foremost, so it focuses on the boy Mowgli traveling to the man village to escape from Shere Kahn and only gives a few glimpses of the other humans throughout. Unlike the animated film though, this one actually has quite a few nods to the source material. Not only do the wolves who raised Mowgli play a much bigger role in this version, but we also see some of the book's darker aspects like Shere Kahn trying to corrupt the younger wolves and Mowgli realizing that man is too destructive to be compatible with nature. There's also a scene involving Mowgli, Shere Kahn, and a valley full of water buffalo that feels like an ironic wink at the tiger's comeuppance in the book.

Most notable are this movie's frequent mentions of the Law of the Jungle, the strict rules of nature that the animals teach Mowgli to live by. This concept is what really gave Kipling's tale its identity, and this new movie is one of the few versions I've seen that centers around it so strongly. The story might not be very close, but in terms of tone and feel, Jon Favreau's film is one of the better adaptations of the book.

That's not to say that the tone always redeems its story, however. The beginning is probably its weakest part, and that hurts this film a lot. We don't learn how Mowgli came to live in the jungle until about the story's halfway point, which makes it difficult to form an emotional connection to him and most of the other characters. It's like the film decides to skim over its setup because it assumes that audiences already know its characters and conflict, and that doesn't work. There's also a major plot point that more than one character somehow learns about offscreen, which makes for a lot of confusion when they break the news of it to Mowgli. The film's final scene might also make a few people scratch their heads, especially if they are familiar with The Jungle Book's story, but it's harmless.

Another element that can make or break a film's story is how well the actors perform it. I wouldn't say that the cast of Favreau's film is as strong as the 1967 lineup, but it helps that some of the characters in this version have very different personalities than their cartoon counterparts. Bill Murray as Baloo the bear, for instance, is a much better casting choice than you might think after you see what kind of character he is in this movie. Instead of the big-hearted and fun-loving Baloo from 1967, we get a disinterested con artist who frowns on following the rules and develops a conscience by the end of the story. Murray plays that quite well, and since the believability of the character relationships is an issue with this movie, making Baloo's relationship with Mowgli insincere at first helps a lot.

Most of the other actors do a fine job, particularly Neel Sethi as Mowgli. The only performance that falls flat for me is Scarlett Johansson as Kaa the snake. Kaa has an odd history with adaptations to begin with, since he was a hero in the book but is almost always a villain in the movies. I don't mind that they made the character female in this version, but this incarnation of Kaa is supposed to be a crafty temptress, and Johansson's voice doesn't quite reach the necessary level of that. Someone like Angelina Jolie or maybe Michelle Pfeiffer would've been a better choice, in my opinion.

And then there's Christopher Walken as King Louie the orangutan.

I think a lot of people had the same gut feeling when they learned that Christopher Walken would be playing a giant, singing ape in this movie: that his performance was either going to be incredibly awesome, a complete train wreck, or both. And it was both, which of course is the best kind of Christopher Walken performance. I suspect that the filmmakers are also aware of the actor's bizarre, comedic appeal, because in this version, Louie makes his first appearance when Mowgli rings a cowbell.

Having said that, I can't really say if Walken's performance makes this movie entertaining for the right reasons. King Louie is a hard character to pin down in film because he was never actually in the book; he was created for the animated film as a means to include another song and was named after the swing musician who voiced him. He was tailor-made for that specific movie, and because he has no place in the source material, none of the Jungle Book movies that he's appeared in since then has quite known what to do with him. Having him sing in this newest film is especially strange because this version isn't even really a musical. I give Favreau's team credit for trying to make Louie more important to the story in this film, as he reveals that big plot point to Mowgli, but the scene leading up to that is just so odd that it overshadows any emotional impact of the reveal.

Overall though, the newest version of The Jungle Book is an enjoyable film. It's obviously meant for children, but it's heavy enough for adults to appreciate it too, and while it can be underwhelming and awkward at times, it has just as many strong and solid moments. If it looks like something you think you'll like, then you probably will like it. It's worth at least one viewing on the big screen.

And for anyone who wishes that it followed the book more closely, don't give up hope. There's already another Jungle Book movie in the works that's aiming to come out two years from now.  

"The Last Creator - Part 2" Now Available

Check it out! Part 2 of my new young adult sic-fi/fantasy novel "The Last Creator" is now available on Kindle for $2.99:

"The Last Creator - Part 2" by Katelyn Rushe

Following an assault on her investigation team's ship, the autistic Amber Brenin wakes to discover that she possesses even more heightened mental abilities. These abilities quickly prove useful as she begins to figure out her father Robert's whereabouts while also continuing her voyage to Optic, the continent where the source of the deadly Blackouts lies. According to her ship's captain Carqova, the girl will need a few skills if she hopes to defeat that source.

It's not long after their arrival on Optic that another disaster befalls Amber's team. Separated by a stampede and running out of time, the company must face everything from wild animals to vengeful natives, as well as four monstrous beings that seek an entity known as the Creator in order to conquer Rökshena. Before Amber can overcome these forces and save her new world, she has to find her own inner peace and learn to control her mind, but the pain of her past may run too deep.

When is a Character Really a Character?

I recently watched the first three films in the Sigourney Weaver Alien series back-to-back. I know that many people would recommend only watching the first two films, but I've always liked Alien 3 just as much as its predecessors, and it's become a hobby of mine to analyze why the film is so hated. The day will come when I write a blog entry about that, but I wanted to start off today's essay by mentioning one of Alien 3's biggest controversies: the death of the character Newt in its opening scene.

Seeing a child die in any movie is obviously not a cheerful experience, and after everything Newt goes through in Aliens, it's understandable that people would want to see her get a happier ending. However, watching that movie back-to-back with Alien 3 for the first time and observing her role in the overall series changed my perspective on the issue. Newt's death isn't as depressing in the grand scheme of things because, in my mind, she isn't really a character.

Okay, she's a character in the sense that she's a living entity who participates in the story, but she doesn't have much personality to speak of and she really doesn't grow or change by the end of Aliens. Although she helps the adults occasionally with her knowledge of the xenomorphs and the layout of the colony's ductwork, her main purpose in the story is to be looked after and protected by Ripley so that the audience can see how compassionate their heroine is. Newt is kind of just a more sympathetic version of Jones the cat from the first Alien movie.

So what then is the definition of a character? Is it just a general term that applies to any person in a story, or is it more particular than that?

Webster's Dictionary defines the word "character" as "a person represented in a drama, story, etc.", but that's only the fifth definition that it offers. The first definition that it offers is "the aggregate of features and traits that form the individual nature of a person or thing."

Judging from this, it seems that the presence of characteristics, or personality, is what determines whether or not someone in a narrative is truly a character. Characters are supposed to represent people, according to Webster, and people in the real world have personalities. They have opinions and dispositions that are constantly subject to change, and those changes are brought on by the things that they experience in their lives. If someone in a story is just there to have a certain effect on the plot or on one of the protagonists, then that someone is really more of a plot device.

Take for instance the fellow named Holbrooke in the 2010 comedy film Date Night. Holbrooke, played by a perpetually shirtless Mark Wahlberg, is a secret agent and former real estate client of Tina Fey's character. After Fey gets into trouble with some mobsters over a case of mistaken identity, she and her bumbling husband played by Steve Carell seek help from Holbrooke, and the muscle-bound sleuth uses his tech skills to locate a few places and people for them. He's only in a couple of scenes, he gets no funny or memorable lines, and his very last scene ends with Carell begging him to put on a shirt.

It's pretty clear what Holbrooke's purpose in the film is. He exists to make Steve Carell's character feel insecure and to give the couple their next lead so that the story can progress. He's not a character; he's a plot device that talks. This is perfectly fine, since the encounter with him does play a major part in the development of both Fey and Carell's characters, but Holbrook probably couldn't get away with being so one-dimensional if his role was bigger.

Another example is Mercer from the second and third Pirates of the Caribbean movies. As the henchman of the villain Lord Beckett, Mercer's role in both movies is to spy on the heroes, report information about them to Beckett, and occasionally be a detriment to someone else's plans. We don't know how he's able to track down the heroes in places like Tortuga and Singapore or how he's able to report back to Beckett so quickly, but he always is able, and every time we see him, he's stonefaced and deadpan.

Mercer does have a much bigger role than Holbrooke, but he's still more of a plot device than he is a character. He's a means of keeping the villain aware of what the protagonists are doing, which would otherwise be difficult to do in a movie set in a time period before satellites and tracking devices, and he leaves a relatively small impression for all that he does in the story. It's only fitting that once the climactic battle between the pirates and Beckett is under way and there's no more need to spy on anyone, Mercer gets killed off.

Again though, I'm not saying that there's anything wrong with this kind of storytelling. If any element in any narrative has enough of an effect on the plot or the protagonist, then its use is justified. What I am saying is that it's important to note the difference between true characters and people in stories who just do things. Knowing that difference can help a writer to create more engaging characters, and in the case of someone like Newt, it can tip the scale enough to make plot device figures engaging enough for audiences to get attached to them as well.

It's certainly not a good idea to write characters who bore audiences to sleep. If the Alien films have taught me anything, it's that nothing good ever happens to anyone while they're sleeping...

What Comes First? The Hobbit or the Rings?

Prequels pose a rather unique challenge to writers and filmmakers. Not only do they have to tell their own coherent stories, but they also have to adequately set up the events of the installments that came before them. Since they take place earlier in the series, they often can't include a lot of familiar elements from their predecessors, yet they still have to be similar enough to those predecessors to keep from alienating fans. What's more, most books, films, and so on are created without any prequels in mind, and this lack of accommodation can really plague a prequel's storyline and form plotholes and inconsistencies in the overall series.

Peter Jackson's Hobbit films add a layer of confusion to this. Not only are they prequels to a film trilogy that had been made without any prequels in mind, but they're based on a book that was written without any sequels in mind -- sequels which were eventually written and adapted into the Hobbit films' predecessors. It's the book-to-movie equivalent of the "chicken or the egg" question, and this leads many to wonder if the Hobbit and Lord of the Rings film trilogies can really function as one six-film series. Can future audiences view the films in chronological order without confusion, or are they better off viewing the films in the order that they were made?

There are a few inconsistencies between the two trilogies, but not many, so let's get those out of the way first.

Only two notable characters had to be recast throughout all six films: Gloin the dwarf and Bilbo Baggins the hobbit. Gloin's recasting in The Hobbit creates no conflict whatsoever, seeing how he's never identified or given any lines throughout his one scene in the Lord of the Rings films, but Bilbo's recasting is a different matter.

Even though Ian Holm was available to reprise his role for The Hobbit, playing a younger and more able-bodied Bilbo would have been too difficult for him, so Martin Freeman was brought in. Holm still plays the older Bilbo at the beginning and end of the Hobbit trilogy, and while this fits with the way he looks in the Lord of the Rings trilogy, it does create a bit of a plothole.

See, one of the powers that the One Ring possesses is immortality, which prevents its bearer from aging for as long as they carry it. This is said to be the case with Bilbo in The Fellowship of the Ring, but in the Hobbit films, he clearly doesn't look the same age sixty years after finding the Ring. In fact, if you listen closely to the dialogue from Fellowship that's replayed at the end of The Battle of the Five Armies, Gandalf's line about how Bilbo hasn't "aged a day" is omitted from it.

The argument could be made that the Ring in the movies doesn't stop the aging process so much as it slows it down; after all, Gollum's appearance doesn't stay the same throughout his time with the Ring. However, it's still apparent that having Bilbo played by two different actors was not in the equation at the time that The Lord of the Rings was filmed. This is evidenced by the fact that Ian Holm does play the younger Bilbo in a flashback at the beginning of Fellowship, where we see him finding the Ring.

This leads to some other minor issues. Not only does that version of the younger Bilbo look and dress differently from the one in the Hobbit films, but the entire riddle game with Gollum is removed in that flashback. The scene jumps right from Bilbo picking up the Ring to Gollum screaming that his "Precious" is lost, something that Gollum doesn't realize until after the riddle game concludes in An Unexpected Journey. Future audiences will probably be able to tell that both scenes are depicting the same plot point, but the inconsistencies between them are bound to be a little jarring.

Gollum is another character who differs between the trilogies. Since Peter Jackson's team was still perfecting CGI motion capture in the early 2000's, Gollum was mostly kept out of sight in Fellowship. By 2011 though, his scenes were pretty easy to shoot and render. As a result, people who watch the six films in chronological order will get a Hobbit film where Gollum is shown as clear as day, a Lord of the Rings film where he's suddenly shrouded in mystery, and then two more Lord of the Rings films where he's plainly visible again.

This doesn't really detract from watching the films in that order, though. It just slightly lessens the impact of Gollum's reveal in The Two Towers and makes it easier for viewers to tell which order the two trilogies were made in. Gollum's buildup in The Lord of the Rings might even still work, since viewers are given two whole films to forget what he looks like in between his appearances in An Unexpected Journey and The Fellowship of the Ring.

There are other things that can play out strangely to viewers, especially when watching the Extended Editions. It's odd to hear Bilbo calling for Frodo in Bag End at the beginning of Fellowship's Extended Edition when he clearly saw Frodo leave Bag End at the beginning of Journey, and it's ironic that viewers don't get a clear explanation of what a hobbit is until after the Hobbit trilogy is over. A lot of major characters like Radagast, Thranduil, and Tauriel disappear with no explanation halfway through the series, and no mention of Balin's conquest of Moria is given prior to the Fellowship's decision to go there in The Lord of the Rings. People who forget what Moria is from all the way back in Journey might get confused about this plot thread. Once again though, these are minor issues.

With that said, let's discuss how the two trilogies do flow into each other.

As I've said before, the Hobbit films do a very good job of making the book's story and setting more consistent with The Lord of the Rings. Showing things like the One Ring's effect on Bilbo and Gandalf's relationship with other authorities in Middle-earth go a long way in connecting the trilogies, as does the more fleshed-out Necromancer subplot that foreshadows Sauron's return. It's important to illustrate that such dark powers exist in a prequel that is meant to set up a story about those powers. The lack of resolution with Bilbo's "magic ring" by the end of The Battle of the Five Armies also makes a strong case for watching Fellowship soon after.

The Hobbit's mentions of characters from The Lord of the Rings further help to bridge the gap between the film trilogies. Some feel that those mentions can be forced at times, but they do help to establish those characters' relevance in the long run. In case we forget who the minor character Gloin is by the time Gimli is introduced as "Gimli, son of Gloin" in Fellowship, we might remember Gimli's name from its prominent mention in The Desolation of Smaug; in case it seems odd for Legolas to be such good friends with a non-elf like Strider in Fellowship after watching the Hobbit trilogy, we'll remember his father telling him to seek out Strider at the end of The Battle of the Five Armies. Screenplays have to be a lot more tight-knit than books, so it's usually good practice for films to elude to story elements that way.

Lastly, it helps that the Hobbit films get darker and more serious to match the tone of The Lord of the Rings as they go on. This was partly by design and partly by necessity, since the Battle of the Five Armies and all of the major character deaths that result from it really couldn't have happened offscreen in the films like it did in the book. Because of this, the Hobbit films give us a comfortable transition from their light-hearted source material to the more grisly Lord of the Rings films.

And that brings us to our final verdict. At the end of the day, it's pretty obvious that the Hobbit film trilogy, while having its own identity, was meant to be viewed in order with the Lord of the Rings and not as a stand-alone series. The inconsistencies between the trilogies are all fairly minor, and they cease to be a problem roughly halfway through The Fellowship of the Ring. 

It's doubtful that Peter Jackson will ever go back and make changes to Fellowship to better match it with The Hobbit, and most fans of the series likely wouldn't want him to anyway. And really, he shouldn't. As far as prequels go, the Hobbit trilogy is a strong followup that ties in very well with its predecessors, and its shortcomings in that regard should be left intact just to highlight how few of them there really are. If the perfect prequel is unachievable, then the Hobbit films are three of the closer attempts at reaching that.

Is "Star Wars: The Force Awakens" Really That Good?

Well, it's been one full month since Star Wars made its return to the big screen with Episode VII: The Force Awakens, and man, what a return this has been. The movie has already surpassed Avatar to become the highest grossing film of all time (ironic, since George Lucas once complained that The Phantom Menace was never going to beat Titanic, another James Cameron picture), and not only is it tough to find someone who hasn't seen it, but it's tough to find someone who hasn't seen it more than once and who doesn't still have plans to see it again. There hasn't been nearly this much hype and praise for one movie since maybe The Avengers three and a half years ago, and even after a whole month, The Force Awakens is still going strong.

But is the film really that good?

It's certainly not a terrible film, but given the history of the franchise, you have to wonder if people love The Force Awakens so much because of its own merits or just because of how disappointing the last three installments in the series were. Would people have been so approving if this had been the first Star Wars film to come out after the original trilogy?

One major thing that The Force Awakens always seemed to have going for it was that it wasn't helmed by George Lucas in any way. It was helmed by people with an outside perspective who probably knew from personal experience what the fans wanted to see in a new Star Wars movie, which was a lot of throwbacks to the original 1977 film. The only problem, as many critics have already pointed out, is that one of those throwbacks ended up being the plot of the original 1977 film.

It'd be one thing if The Force Awakens just offered another take on the Hero's Journey archetype story, but this is about as definite a ripoff of the original Star Wars plot as you can get, right down to the McGuffin being a droid with top secret data smuggled in its system. People debate whether this was just a story formula that Disney forced on the filmmakers or if the filmmakers themselves opted for it to play things safe in light of the prequels. Either way, it raises a few minor creative concerns.

It should also be noted that a few elements in the story don't carry quite as much emotional weight as they could. The protagonist Rey's fierce determination to protect and return the above mentioned droid to its owner is kind of sporadic and almost unwarranted, and her relationship with the character Finn is built more on circumstance than on actual chemistry. We don't know any of the fighter pilots who are trying to destroy the Starkiller Base well enough to really invest in them, and the Starkiller Base itself never quite reaches the same level of menace as the original Death Star despite being larger and more powerful.

A lot of that last issue probably comes from how little information the film gives about the history and setup of the galaxy's new political system. Almost nothing is known about the New Republic or any of the planets that make it up, so when the Starkiller Base destroys several of those planets at once, the horror and tragedy of that event are overshadowed by confusion about what systems we're looking at and who any of the people cowering on them are. Compare that then to the destruction of Alderaan in the original Star Wars, which worked emotionally because Alderaan was the homeworld of a character that we had grown to care about. We don't need any lengthy senate meetings discussing the politics of every system in the galaxy; we just need to have clearer identities for certain places and things.

One could give the prequel trilogy credit for at least trying to explain the political dealings of the Galactic Republic and make audiences care, but as the saying goes, there is no try.

With all of that said though, The Force Awakens does bring enough new and interesting elements to the table to keep the overall story fresh and engaging. A Stormtrooper defecting to the heroes' side is something that Star Wars fans probably never expected to see, and the presence of three intelligent, prominent female characters is actually rather groundbreaking for the series. It's also interesting after decades of reading the Expanded Universe books to see another version of how things have unfolded in the galaxy since the events of Return of the Jedi, even if some fans might object to such a huge retcon. How that retcon rewrites the lives of the franchise's original main characters and gives them all new material to work with is especially enticing.

And that's really where the heart of The Force Awakens lies. Daisy Ridley and John Boyega as the leads both do impressive jobs for newcomers, but Mark Hamill, Carrie Fisher, and Harrison Ford are what bring the real emotional impact to this movie. Their appearances invoke a lot of personal memories within the audience, and unlike with most of the iconic throwbacks in this movie, that sense of nostalgia for the original heroes serves an actual diegetic function within the story. Because of that, the viewer's emotional response to it is earned.

It's also important to note how compelling all three of their performances are. Fisher and Hamill deliver quite a lot with very little dialogue or screentime, and you can really see the effect that reuniting with Star Wars has had on Harrison Ford. As much as he claims that returning as Han Solo was just another paycheck to him, it's obvious from his performance in the movie that a genuine sense of passion was tapped into during production. This is by far the most enthusiasm that Ford has conveyed on film in at least the past ten years, proving not only that the screen legend still has it in him, but that he really is the perfect Han. It takes a true spark of magic from the material to accomplish something like that.

What's more, the new character Kylo Ren is probably the most clever post-Darth Vader villain that Star Wars has ever created. That's not to say that the character himself is very smart (he's actually kind of the opposite, if you think about it), but the idea behind him is ingenious.

It's a proven fact that no matter what kind of villain this franchise gives us, fans will always compare him or her to Darth Vader, and he or she will always pale by comparison. The filmmakers behind The Force Awakens knew that, and since their film takes place after the events of the original trilogy, they rolled with that idea and made it the whole point of Kylo Ren's character. You're right; he's not as cool as Darth Vader, but he's trying his darnedest to be, and if you ever remind him that he's not as cool as Darth Vader, he'll stab one of your favorite good guys with a lightsaber. All criticism of this villain's inferiority is pointless because the filmmakers are in on the joke this time around. You really have to applaud them for that.

So once again, is Star Wars: The Force Awakens really as good as audiences have made it out to be? The answer: no, but it doesn't fall too short of those accolades. It's not the greatest Star Wars movie ever made, but neither was the original 1977 film, if we can be honest with ourselves. The 1977 film was an introduction to the original trilogy's story, an appetizer that came before the entrée that its sequels were. The Force Awakens does its job of introducing its characters and conflict in a fun way, and now that it's shown the studio that Star Wars is still extremely profitable, riskier and more complex films are probably on the horizon.

In short, The Force Awakens is, to put it simply, a new hope.