
There is controversy about this movie. Fanboys were disappointed that they were so far wrong about what is really important in this movie. Fan theories were all way off base. And that was a good thing. The movie was the best Star Wars movie they have ever made.


I took my family to see this movie at a Thursday matinee a week ago on a regular screen so I could actually afford it, and we watched good battle evil once again. And all the usual things were set up to be a replay of Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi. But this smashed all expectations. The evil side very nearly won. And the good side lost almost everything. So, in many ways, this whole movie reflected reality in America. Except, of course, for the fact that Emperor Snoke is actually quite smart and crafty.

But the thing that makes this such a flaw-filled perfect Star Wars movie is how the story builds on everything that came before to make a coherent and very wise theme. Threads of ideas that exist in all of the previous movies (except the Christmas specials) are drawn together and woven into a whole thematic cloth. The Jedi tried to bring balance to the Force, and they failed because they thought balance was the same as the Light Side winning out over Dark. Anakin Skywalker brought balance to the force by bringing back the Dark Side, and then Luke came along to bring the Light Side into balance. Of course, the rise and fall of Light and Dark will occur over and over again.
This movie isn’t just another hero’s journey where Rey finds a master and learns what it will take to defeat evil. Master Skywalker does not actually take her on as a student. He is dealing with his own demons and refuses. So the hero must learn the lessons on her own. But she falls into the pattern naturally that Luke recognizes. And Luke’s hero journey has not yet concluded either. Luke recognizes his own past in Rey. Master Yoda reappears and still teaches him something he needed to know. “Failure is the greatest teacher.”
Rey shows signs in this movie of becoming the hero that win it all in the end. But this is Luke Skywalker’s moment. He learns from his personal failure with Ben Solo. He steps into his old role as the light that guides the rebellion. He creates a final duel with Kylo that calls upon him to use greater powers of the Force than we have ever before seen from a Jedi of the Light Side. And he doesn’t win the battle. He only delays Kylo and the First Order long enough to save Rey and the Resistance. It will be up to others to fight on in the next movie. But Luke has finally proved that the Jedi don’t always fail when the next power surge rolls through the Dark Side. Metaphorical victories count too. Surviving is a victory in itself. No movie has ever been so relevant to my own life and struggles. I have to fail so I can learn too how to win.

So, yes. I am a completely uncritical critic. I only report on the things I love about movies. I never quibble over how it should have been done differently, or how it disappointed me. I actually loved the prequels, and Jar Jar Binks was one of my favorite characters. But I loved this Star Wars movie more than any of the ones I have seen so far. And the next one may surpass it. Miracles do happen. But this movie was the perfect thing at the perfect time in my life to accomplish everything I want a movie to do for me. I loved it. I wouldn’t change a thing, even if I had the power in the Force to do it.


And, of course, I have hoarding disorder so bad that I can’t resist starting new collections of dolls when toy-makers are putting out the new stuff at Christmas, even though the Princess has thoroughly outgrown dolls. And I am not alone in having hoarding disorder. While we were cleaning bedrooms, my daughter found a fluffy rug that would be perfect for the bathroom. But no. My wife is saving it. It has to stay folded and put away where it won’t get dirty. We have closets stuffed full of clothing and other stuff that is rarely or never used. And I do not dare throw any of it out or move it to anyplace else. I can move my stuff, not hers.
‘There are dolls everywhere in my room, so any attempt to clean starts with picking them up off the floor and putting them somewhere safer. These four are now living behind the TV. I just wish they would stay put for a while and quit leaping off shelves when they come alive after midnight every night.






It seems I am rather good at it, too. Who knew that a life spent as a teacher would make you into the sort of Jeopardy genius that could earn a million dollars on a show that you will never ever have a chance to get on, and if, by some miracle, you did, you would get a first round question about the atomic weight of molybdenum and you’d say, “What is 42?” because that is the element’s atomic number (and the answer to life, the universe, and everything) instead of 95.94, the correct answer, which you knew, but you got nervous and went for the jokier answer.


Of course, there is the opposite problem too. Some writers are not hard to understand at all. They only use simple sentences. They only use ideas that lots of other people have used before. You don’t have to think about what they write. You only need to react. They are the reasons that words like “trite”, “hackneyed”, “boring”, and “cliche” exist in English. But simple, boring writing isn’t written by stupid people. Hemingway is like that. Pared down to the basics. No frills. Yet able to yield complex thoughts, insights, and relationships.


















Homely People
I prefer to write about, think about, and draw pictures of homely people. But don’t mistake me. I am not talking about ugly people. Our President, the giant blood sausage with a bird’s nest on top that we have put in charge of making us all feel sick to our stomachs every day, demonstrates what ugly means. Ugly is not just weird and interesting to look at, it is also repellent behavior that makes physical flaws take a back seat… no, a rumble seat in the trailer behind by comparison.
I am talking about the ordinary people back home. The ones that may be sitting by your own fireplace on a cold day trying to warm their hands after throwing snowballs outside. And, of course, that snowball that hit Maggie Doozman in the side of the face and knocked her glasses off, made you laugh for an instant, until you realized she was crying, and Kirk Longhatter didn’t even apologize for throwing so hard, so you went over and picked her glasses up for her and handed them to her, and she smiled at you through the tears. That is the kind of homely I mean.
There is a lot that is beautiful in homely people. Sure, maybe not a classically beautiful Elizabeth Taylor face or a Gregory Peck lantern jaw. Maybe not even a shapely behind or a graceful step when walking across the street. But ordinary beauty. Kindness. Humility. Determination in the face of long odds. Good-natured jokery. A touch of childish silliness. A moon face that actually shines when a smile lights it up. That is beauty that can be found in homely people.
You’ve probably figured out by now that this post is just an excuse to show off some goofy old off-kilter portraits I did. But that doesn’t change the fact. I do love homely people.
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