As the concluding episode of what Disney terms a 'saga', The Rise of Skywalker carries with it the weight of ten previous entries as well as having to resolve the tension between pleasing the sort of fans who complain vociferously online if new films don't reach their internal visions and the need to innovate and break out of the well-worn formulas so comforting to the denizens of Reddit. The extremely vocal reaction to perceived insults to the fan community in Rian Johnson's The Last Jedi must have weighed heavily on the decision makers at Disney as, after much-publicised ruction behind the scenes, they decided to re-hire JJ Abrams, whose The Force Awakens was little more than a shiny retread of the original Star Wars. Perhaps the thinking was that he could mollify those who had been upset at the previous entry, bring them back into the fold and simultaneously end the 'saga' on a satisfying, emotionally resonant conclusion. While the audience score on Rotten Tomatoes indicate that the staid, familiar comfort food presented has been just the ticket for those upset, this comes at the cost of not only what made the original trilogy occupy such a hallowed place in 20th century pop culture but anything resembling a coherent film.
Abrams promised repeatedly that he wouldn't seek to row back or retcon any of the plot innovations introduced by Johnson; this seemed unlikely at the time and so it has proved. From the beginning of the opening crawl, Abrams seeks to claw back the vision he obviously initially had when directing The Force Awakens while introducing new and baffling elements seemingly only as fan service. Everything feels rushed: we barely have time to gather in a scene before the characters have moved on to the next stage in their MacGuffin quest, the screen filling with ever-increasing detritus. When you look at the structure of the best film in the series, The Empire Strikes Back, it has a clear three-part structure: Hoth, Luke on Dagobah/hiding on the meteor/Bespin. It's neat, it builds towards the conclusion in a clear way and it paces its action set-pieces well. This, on the other hand, is so jam-packed that it never stops to let the audience breathe.
The producers found themselves in an impossible position after the death of Carrie Fisher; Abrams promised that she would be brought back using outtake footage shot for the previous two instalments. This is, seemingly, only partly true: CGI has clearly been used to manipulate existing footage, giving it an unnatural, uncanny valley-like sheen, and all of Leia's scenes feel awkward. They're clearly built around the dialogue left over and it shows as the characters interact with her digital avatar and each other. She's quickly removed from the action and then dispensed with entirely, and while the nature of her inclusion is obviously a delicate matter, I can't help but wonder if it may have been better to leave the character off-screen entirely. One bright spot was Richard E Grant's Allegiant General Pryde who has exactly the sort of stiff, pompous air that Peter Cushing had as Grand Moff Tarkin. Every scene he's in is brightened, which is nearly—nearly—enough to redeem the endless exposition.
The stakes get higher and higher as we rush towards the over-stuffed conclusion and the particulars of the plot get more and more ridiculous. The idea that each instalment needs to be bigger and flashier than before leads us to a truly mind-boggling last half an hour in which characters overcome obstacles that would have previously been significant as if they were minor inconveniences. Redemption is achieved without much weight or thought and the film swings for an emotional coda that doesn't land or make much sense. It all feels like a wasted opportunity, a Disney-mandated theme park ride designed to sell toys and keep the internet happy. The wonder of the original trilogy is long a memory now, replaced by an apparently never-ending stream of Marvel-style 'event movies'. It's a pity.
Review by DeletedBlockedParent2020-01-08T11:01:47Z
As the concluding episode of what Disney terms a 'saga', The Rise of Skywalker carries with it the weight of ten previous entries as well as having to resolve the tension between pleasing the sort of fans who complain vociferously online if new films don't reach their internal visions and the need to innovate and break out of the well-worn formulas so comforting to the denizens of Reddit. The extremely vocal reaction to perceived insults to the fan community in Rian Johnson's The Last Jedi must have weighed heavily on the decision makers at Disney as, after much-publicised ruction behind the scenes, they decided to re-hire JJ Abrams, whose The Force Awakens was little more than a shiny retread of the original Star Wars. Perhaps the thinking was that he could mollify those who had been upset at the previous entry, bring them back into the fold and simultaneously end the 'saga' on a satisfying, emotionally resonant conclusion. While the audience score on Rotten Tomatoes indicate that the staid, familiar comfort food presented has been just the ticket for those upset, this comes at the cost of not only what made the original trilogy occupy such a hallowed place in 20th century pop culture but anything resembling a coherent film.
Abrams promised repeatedly that he wouldn't seek to row back or retcon any of the plot innovations introduced by Johnson; this seemed unlikely at the time and so it has proved. From the beginning of the opening crawl, Abrams seeks to claw back the vision he obviously initially had when directing The Force Awakens while introducing new and baffling elements seemingly only as fan service. Everything feels rushed: we barely have time to gather in a scene before the characters have moved on to the next stage in their MacGuffin quest, the screen filling with ever-increasing detritus. When you look at the structure of the best film in the series, The Empire Strikes Back, it has a clear three-part structure: Hoth, Luke on Dagobah/hiding on the meteor/Bespin. It's neat, it builds towards the conclusion in a clear way and it paces its action set-pieces well. This, on the other hand, is so jam-packed that it never stops to let the audience breathe.
The producers found themselves in an impossible position after the death of Carrie Fisher; Abrams promised that she would be brought back using outtake footage shot for the previous two instalments. This is, seemingly, only partly true: CGI has clearly been used to manipulate existing footage, giving it an unnatural, uncanny valley-like sheen, and all of Leia's scenes feel awkward. They're clearly built around the dialogue left over and it shows as the characters interact with her digital avatar and each other. She's quickly removed from the action and then dispensed with entirely, and while the nature of her inclusion is obviously a delicate matter, I can't help but wonder if it may have been better to leave the character off-screen entirely. One bright spot was Richard E Grant's Allegiant General Pryde who has exactly the sort of stiff, pompous air that Peter Cushing had as Grand Moff Tarkin. Every scene he's in is brightened, which is nearly—nearly—enough to redeem the endless exposition.
The stakes get higher and higher as we rush towards the over-stuffed conclusion and the particulars of the plot get more and more ridiculous. The idea that each instalment needs to be bigger and flashier than before leads us to a truly mind-boggling last half an hour in which characters overcome obstacles that would have previously been significant as if they were minor inconveniences. Redemption is achieved without much weight or thought and the film swings for an emotional coda that doesn't land or make much sense. It all feels like a wasted opportunity, a Disney-mandated theme park ride designed to sell toys and keep the internet happy. The wonder of the original trilogy is long a memory now, replaced by an apparently never-ending stream of Marvel-style 'event movies'. It's a pity.