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A moment of geekdom.
I was five years old when Star Wars first came out. I know I have earlier memories – isolated snapshots of school, of holidays, of little moments in time. But it’s odd to realise that some of my earliest coherent memories are of a cultural event which ushered in a new era of marketing to children just like I was then.
I remember standing in the a queue which stretched around the building and down the street, people standing in Star Wars t-shirts, advertising a film which they could not possibly have seen yet - and I remember wanting one myself. I remember my mother distracting a group of fractious, excited children by getting us to go and count how many people were in the queue. I remember my plastic container of bright orange, tartrazine-laden Kia-ora. I remember my heart in my mouth as the Star Destroyer rumbled across the top of the screen. I remember, at the moment when Darth Vader first made his entrance, knowing exactly what I wanted to be when I grew up.
And I remember believing.
I didn’t see blue lines around spaceships, stormtroopers hitting their heads, and Alec Guinness waving round a stick. I saw aliens and faraway worlds and robots and adventure amongst the stars. I saw just exactly what George Lucas wanted me to see. I saw bravery and honesty and excitement. I cheered with everyone else when the Millennium Falcon returned at just the right moment.
I remember owning an inordinate amount of Star Wars tat. My prized Darth Vader and R2-D2 action figures were the envy of my five-year-old classmates. I remember how my classmates and I would boast about how many times we’d seen the film. I remember Star Wars lollies on a hot summer day in Park Road playground.
I was reminded of all of this by watching the DVD on the big screen in Virgin on Saturday. For all that time and cynicism have overtaken me, for all that I now find suspension of disbelief impossible and I expect a knowing, post-modern wink to the audience from my media, there was something oddly comforting about watching a film I probably haven’t seen in a decade or more. There’s a part of my childhood there – a big part, from a time when I didn’t have to worry about going bankrupt next week. It’s an escape to a time when I could just sit and believe, wide-eyed, because everything was going to be all right.
I know that when I’m eighty and my cloned cyber-grandkids think I’m a drooling old imbecile fit only to be rendered into cat food and glue, something of this will remain. Because I remember. Because the force will be with me, always.
And I remember Han Solo shooting first. So there.
I think I have to buy the DVD release.
I remember standing in the a queue which stretched around the building and down the street, people standing in Star Wars t-shirts, advertising a film which they could not possibly have seen yet - and I remember wanting one myself. I remember my mother distracting a group of fractious, excited children by getting us to go and count how many people were in the queue. I remember my plastic container of bright orange, tartrazine-laden Kia-ora. I remember my heart in my mouth as the Star Destroyer rumbled across the top of the screen. I remember, at the moment when Darth Vader first made his entrance, knowing exactly what I wanted to be when I grew up.
And I remember believing.
I didn’t see blue lines around spaceships, stormtroopers hitting their heads, and Alec Guinness waving round a stick. I saw aliens and faraway worlds and robots and adventure amongst the stars. I saw just exactly what George Lucas wanted me to see. I saw bravery and honesty and excitement. I cheered with everyone else when the Millennium Falcon returned at just the right moment.
I remember owning an inordinate amount of Star Wars tat. My prized Darth Vader and R2-D2 action figures were the envy of my five-year-old classmates. I remember how my classmates and I would boast about how many times we’d seen the film. I remember Star Wars lollies on a hot summer day in Park Road playground.
I was reminded of all of this by watching the DVD on the big screen in Virgin on Saturday. For all that time and cynicism have overtaken me, for all that I now find suspension of disbelief impossible and I expect a knowing, post-modern wink to the audience from my media, there was something oddly comforting about watching a film I probably haven’t seen in a decade or more. There’s a part of my childhood there – a big part, from a time when I didn’t have to worry about going bankrupt next week. It’s an escape to a time when I could just sit and believe, wide-eyed, because everything was going to be all right.
I know that when I’m eighty and my cloned cyber-grandkids think I’m a drooling old imbecile fit only to be rendered into cat food and glue, something of this will remain. Because I remember. Because the force will be with me, always.
And I remember Han Solo shooting first. So there.
I think I have to buy the DVD release.
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Sigh.
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The special edition added it the slapstick silliness of "Close the blast doors, close the blast doors" before the open the blast doors line.
-Bendu, Star Wars Archivist