Review by Zach Dennis
The Rise of Skywalker is a crisis of myth.
It’s easy to dismiss it as a by-product of a long-running series, or even more minimally as just a movie but that feels like a disservice to the social impact of the Star Wars series whether you’re a fan or not. Despite our level of interest, the series is an important cultural touchstone, and more importantly a modern myth.
This makes the latest entry such a spit in the face because it shows how our myths are not being utilized like myths should. Instead of interrogating the zeitgeist, we are hiding inside an echo chamber of conformity.
Looking back, it seems clear that there wasn’t any other path other than the one we received. It was lamenting by the majority of critics (this one included) that The Force Awakens — the first in the re-energized, Lucas-less (but also adjacent) trilogy from Disney and J.J. Abrams — was never re-inventing the wheel, but reminding us of the magic that drove people to the series in the first place.
That was mostly aided by familiar faces as Luke, Leia and Han Solo all made their returns to the series after being sidelined for the prequels, as well as narrative plot that followed similarly to the original Star Wars from 1977 — an unknown character is swept up into the resistance to the greater evil, and learns along the way of their untapped potential and power.
This alignment to previous entries shifted a bit (but nothing radically) when The Last Jedi came out. The movie has generated a large degree of resentment, and those looking for evidence can visit just about any reply thread after a tweet from Rian Johnson. Within the construct of Star Wars, the movie is a near masterpiece.
The Last Jedi takes the set-up of The Force Awakens, and makes the wise decision to turn its re-purposed mythology on its head. Rey (Daisy Ridley) is not some connected character of the established mythos, but is just a random speck inside the entire galaxy that has been thrust in the opportunity to make a difference; the driving force of the most recent iteration of the titular war has nothing to do with space Nazis, and has everything to do with a system of individuals profiteering on the exploits of this governing force; and action is successful from the acts of many rather than the initiatives of one person. The collective will save us, not the single hero.
All of this is a welcome addition to a mythology rebelling against each of these points. While this may seem frightening, it is not altogether something new. If anything, it is a continuation of where mass culture has been headed for the majority of the 20th, and into the 21st, century.
If we are to attribute our modern mythology to anything, it cannot be to folklore of mythology but to atomisation, and our co-dependency for what we consume.
For those who want to avoid falling into the depths of depression while reading about it, atomisation is a term used in mass culture theory that describes people similarly to atoms, in which we connect and create relationships with others by associating through the culture we consume. Much like atoms, which come together with bonds of similar structures, our relationships with others are dependent on the movies, music, books, television, etc., around us and less about actual, tangible human qualities.
This might seem drastic, but only a quick look at how we interact with culture seems to validate this theory. Even Star Wars, the provider of Baby Yoda, cannot deny its debt to the theory.
Rise of Skywalker takes this concept to another level by re-aligning all of the interior investigation that The Last Jedi presented for the series, and turning it on its head to please upset with the breaking of the mold. Because at this point in our history, we are less interested in hearing a story but instead want to be re-told what we’re familiar with over and over again.
This might be the greatest takeaway from a movie that is so excessively lazy and uninspired to thrill you with visuals, and is more infatuated with affirming rabid fans’ greatest desires.
It’s a bit difficult to avoid hyperbole when looking back at whatever Rise of Skywalker was because we’ve been informed about this from each reanimation of a beloved franchise, but is also infects our current stream of culture in our loss of time.
A symptom of Rise of Skywalker as well as any of the most recent Marvel entries, the narratives place us into plots that are designed to weigh deeply but ultimately come up short. Alan Moore said it best in 1986 when introducing Frank Miller’s The Dark Knight Returns when he said:
“All of our best and oldest legends recognize that time passes and that people grow old and die. The legend of Robin Hood would not be complete without the final blind arrow shot to determine the site of his grave. The Norse Legends would lose much of their power were it not for the knowledge of an eventual Ragnarok, as would the story of Davy Crockett without the existence of an Alamo. In comic books, however, given the commercial fact that a given character will still have to sell to a given audience in ten years’ time, these elements are missing. The characters remain in the perpetual limbo of their mid-to-late twenties, and the presence of death in their world is at best a temporary and reversible phenomenon.”
Moore sums up well why our myths are dying. Our stories are not interrogating life but reflecting what we want to see from it. Death and time means nothing, and are replaced by conformity and devotion.
Rise of the Skywalker, on its service, is a lazy and easily forgettable movie. But since it has such an affinity to lineage, we can place it in that context, and say that it affirms the precedent that we have no place for myths anymore.