A Phantom Menace Looks at 25
Because, in the year two thousand and twenty four, you can't so much as casually glance at any social media app without aggressively being made aware of your own mortality, I came to learn that the first of the much maligned "Star Wars" prequels, "The Phantom Menace," would be celebrating it's twenty fifth anniversary. A quarter fucking century.
As a recovering Star Wars fan, with the tattoos to prove it, I was not prepared to face that reality so seemingly soon. Two and a half decades ago the world was a far different place. Y2K mania had just started to take hold of the nation. The carefree attitude of the late nineteen hundred and nineties had yet to be trounced upon by the Columbine High School mass shootings. George W. Bush, the drunken lout son of former President George H. Bush had yet to steal his first presidential term. The "information super highway" was still finding it's legs, and in that quite moment of Spring nineteen hundred and ninety nine, I waited, consumed by anticipation for the soon to be released new Star Wars movie, the first since nineteen hundred and eighty three's "The Return of the Jedi."
In the nineteen hundred and nineties Star Wars was far less ubiquitous. Sure, it was still a massive cultural touchstone, but the franchise had lain dormant since the last movie installment, in the realm of the nerd: comic books, novels, and video games. In nineteen hundred and ninety seven, series creator, and flannel-clad, expert beard haver, George Lucas saw fit to re-release the original trilogy (orig trig, if you're nasty) in movie theaters, the visuals cleaned up from the original film reals, featuring new, and additional footage. Known as "The Special Editions," they reignited the Star Wars fervor and set the stage for the upcoming prequels. Between the years of ninety hundred ninety seven, and nineteen hundred ninety nine there were few things the teenage version of myself cared more about than Star Wars and Punk Rock.
Here’s the proof: me, circa late nineteen hundred and nineties.
Shortly after the Special Editions wrapped their theatrical run, the news leaked. There was to be a new Star Wars movie, set for release in nineteen hundred and ninety nine. The internet not being the goto source for the day's news yet, the information came to my eyes via a printed, and published, Time Magazine article. I was immediately enthralled.
"A New Star War Movie? What could it be about? Who would be in it? Will Jabba the Hutt rise from the dead?" I pondered, as if the answers to these questions even mattered knowing full well I'd spend the entirety of my time between then and the movies' release obsessing over it. There was a new Star Wars movie on the horizon, and we knew virtually nothing about it.
News trickled out slowly. My surest bet for legit Star Wars related news was to subscribe to the official Star Wars Magazine, the "Star Wars Insider." Every month I waited on bated breath for the next issue to land in my families' mailbox, anxiously hoping there would any news on the new movie. Wait, movie trilogy? Three new movies! They were calling them "prequels." What the fuck was a prequel? I'd never heard that term before. Prequel, I'd learn, as my brain exploded, meant these movies would take place BEFORE the original trilogy. Not a "SE-quel," but a "PRE-quel." I could barely contain myself.
To quell my own, and equally excited friend's ravenous Star Wars thirst, we'd spend much time awaiting the promised prequel playing longwinded games of Star Wars themed Monopoly, none of which were ever seen to completion, given way to fits of rage, as is the standard way of playing Monopoly. Other time consumers took the form of memorizing all the factoids from the Star Wars version of the trivia based game Trivial Pursuit, or desperately trying to convince ourselves the Playstation, three dimensional, Star Wars fighting game "Masters of Teräs Käs," was good, all while the recently released VHS versions of the Special Editions (in widescreen, I'm not a monster) played on a constant loop.
Star Wars consumed everything. The impending prequel had us all whipped up into a frenzy of Star Wars madness, which damn near boiled over when it was announced in the pages of the Star Wars Insider that the first, official, "Star Wars Celebration" would be held just down the street from where I resided in Aurora, Colorado, at the decommissioned Lowery Air Force Base's "Wings over the Rockies" museum. The "Celebration" was to be in honor of all things Star Wars, including the new movie, and would take place over a weekend just one month prior to its release. There was to be Star Wars related shenanigans, appearances by Star Wars actors, both old and new, Star Wars merchandise galore, and, most importantly, first looks and previews from the first prequel, now officially being called "Star Wars: Episode I – The Phantom Menace." No fucking way in hell would I miss something as culturally important as a weekend at the first ever official Star Wars celebration, surrounded by fellow Star Wars nerds all hopped up on prequel juice.
My parents agreed they'd allow me to attend under the caveat that I could only go Saturday and Sunday, the celebration actually starting on that Friday, a school day. However, I was concocting my own plans.
All of my friends had also purchased weekend passes under the same stipulation from their fun-hating parents, except my friend Ray, whose parents would allow him to attend the opening day on Friday. If I could get out of school we would be able to attend together.
Being seventeen years of age, and a big, hairy, deep-throated teenager, I was often mistaken for my father when acquaintances of his would ring our house phone. At the time, my father had a Harry Potter like room to himself under our basement stairs. He claimed it was for "work," complete with his own personal computer, desk, chair, filing cabinet, and phone with its own separate phone line. My plan was as follows:
I would call the automated phone messaging service my high school provided for absentees from my father's office line leaving a message excusing my "son" from school that Friday. Then, I would leave in the morning at my regularly scheduled time for school, drive over to pick up the eagerly waiting Ray, and head straight for the Star Wars related frivolity. Afterwards, I would return home at my regularly designated time for dinner, my folks being none the wiser. It was fool proof.
Friday morning arrived. I made the call, putting on my most adult sounding voice, left through the garage, got in my car, and drove to find the anxiously awaiting Ray, ready to go.
It seldom rains in Denver for more than five minutes at a time, but that day the fates decided it would rain, nay, downpour, all damn day. By the time we arrived at the Celebration, the massive tents erected to house the festivities were positioned on a field of mud, a line of eager attendees reaching all the way to the parking, which we excitedly joined. Thankfully, somebody at the Celebration had the good sense to allow the waiting throngs into the main tent early in order to escape the torrent of rain.
I’m in there, somewhere. Photo credit: not me.
Upon entering we were met with a decision: wait here, in the main tent, or proceed to another line to await the exclusive early release of the Phantom Menace action figures. Getting our mitts on a sweet, new prequel toy would have made us the envy of our friends, but we had already cemented plans to storm our local Target on the official merchandise release day. So, we sat in the rain-battered tent, in front of an empty stage and projection screen, awaiting the opening ceremonies.
After an eternity of waiting, the doors to the tent were flung open, and in exploded a joyous nerd, a newly purchased Episode I action figure clasped in his hands. He thrust it into the air and pronounced "the first transport is away!" which, blurting out in a tent full of fellow Star Wars fans who all knew the reference, was met with a deafening roar, perhaps the most enthusiasm Jar Jar Binks has ever garnered, the character portrayed in hardened plastic the excited nerd clung to. Nobody had seen the new movie yet. How could we have known?
With that the projection screen roared to life and we were greeted, in prerecorded message form, by Star Wars producer, Rick McCallum. He thanked us for attending by sharing the first look at the official music video for the song "Duel of the Fates" composed by legendary conductor John Williams for the new movie, complete with unseen prequel footage. We were giddy beyond belief. As the epic score crescendoed, who should appear but Mister Star Wars himself, George Lucas, also by way of a prerecorded message. The following eruption of applause and cheering was later said to be heard from the International Space Station. He, as well, thanked us for attending, and hoped we'd like his new movie when it was released, then officially christened the first annual Star Wars Celebration as commencing.
We were then set loose to peruse the Celebration as we saw fit. First stop was the Main Hall (tent) to see some promised prequel props, represented by a full size "Battle Droid," the stormtroopers of the new movie, and one of the engines from something being called a "pod racer." We were spellbound.
Next it was off to load up on Star Wars merchandise over in the Dealer's Hall (tent), where I procured a semi-rare, Darth Vader action figure featuring a removable helmet as to get a glimpse of his nasty-ass, true face, sculpted in plastic that given it's tiny stature looked more like a shriveled grape then that of a Sith Lord. Next, I purchased a life-sized, cardboard cutout standee of everybody's favorite bounty hunter, Boba Fett, not taking into consideration having to lug it around in the rain, cardboards natural enemy. Luckily the dealer provided me with a plastic covering, and alerted me to the fact that it folded in half, making it slightly less cumbersome. A score, to be sure.
Wandering the Celebration with our gains, we stumbled upon a photo booth that claimed to superimpose your visage over a scene from Episode I. I frantically crammed my money into the machine and chose a scene my seventeen year old punk rocking self would appear in with Darth Maul, the new mysterious, devil-looking villain. It remains one of the best photos ever taken.
What did I tell you?
Near the photo booth was located the Celebration's "facilities:" a row of portable, outhouse toilets, which signaled nature's call in me. After finishing up my business and exiting the stifling port-a-potty, I was struck by inspiration. As I approached the waiting Ray I cocksurely said "I thought they smelled bad on the outside." Uproarious laughter issued throughout the grounds. Perhaps my finest moment, and surely, a joke nobody else would think to make all weekend.
Then, to my surprise, we saw something unexpected: a pair of Klingons, casually strutting about the Celebration in their absolutely not Star Wars-ness, defiantly Star Trekking. In the nineteen hundred and nineties we had far less to be concerned with, not being constantly bludgeoned day in and day out by the constant horrors of today's world, so a little cross-nerd subculture hostility was practiced, and accepted.
Trekkies. Bah! The worst, what with their devotion to a peaceful and meaningful existence with all life forms. Oh, how we loathed them. Soon they were flanked by stormtroopers, and, assumingely, ushered into the nearest garbage compacter, and not just to meet up with like-minded individuals who realized it was all just one big ball of nerdery anyway so why bother fighting. Yes.. I'm sure that's what happened.
We spent the rest of the day wandering, gawking, purchasing, and soaking in the collected gathering of all things Star Wars under one roof (series of tents). Unfortunately, it was time to leave in order to return home under the pretense I'd fully attended school.
As I walked through the door, having left my haul hidden in my trunk, I was greeted by both of my parents. I knew immediately the jig was up. Turns out some nosey administrator at the high school thought the telephone message I left impersonating my father was suspicious, and, instead of letting me live my fucking life, called my family's regular house phone number, the one they had on file, to rat me out.
Surprisingly, they weren't all that angry. I suspect they thought it over and concluded that my fraud was perpetrated in order to spend all day at a science fiction movie celebration instead of a Satanic drug cult orgy. Things could be worse than having an overly excited nerd of a son. However, I was grounded all weekend and unable to attend the rest of the Celebration with my friends. I spent my time productively, completing "The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time" on Nintendo 64, another type of achievement in its own right.
At school on Monday, my designated authority figure, Dean Manning, was not as understanding about my fraud and suspended me from school for one day. My punishment for skipping school for a day was to miss school for another day, a sentence he thought carried more weight than it did, by informing me none of my assignments would be excused. The threat was lost on this D average student. Another day away from school was sheer bliss. I would learn no lesson here, Dean Manning, as I had no regrets. It was a victimless crime. I spent a whole day with my friend, inundated with my favorite thing instead of suffering one Friday at your conformity factory.
My parents stayed true to their words, and a month later, allowed me to skip school on the release day of Star Wars - Episode I: The Phantom Menace for the first showing available, which was at some early morning hour. Midnight movie premieres for summer blockbusters were not a a thing yet, being relegated to art house theaters for late night viewings of cult favorites like "The Rocky Horror Picture Show," or weirdo cinema like "Eraserhead."
Sat in the theater with my early morning popcorn, and gargantuan soda in hand, surrounded by friends, and fellow Star Wars enthusiasts, the time, at sweet last, had finally come...
The theater in Aurora, Colorado, where I saw Episode I.
Look, we all know how it turned out. In hindsight I think time has shown the prequels to not be as bad as all that. At the time the idea that there could be a bad Star Wars movie was inconceivable, and it took a while before we could see it in that light.
I'd return to the theater multiple times, each viewing with diminishing returns, but still desperately clinging to the idea that it was good because it was all the Star Wars we'd received in sixteen years, and all we would have until Episode II's release in three years time. Considering today every time you turn around you trip over some clunky, new, Star Wars TV show, hastily vomited out by it's Disney overlords to keep you constantly hooked on their cesspool of a TV app, growing fat and putrid off the bloated carcasses of recognizable, intellectual, pop culture properties which they've greedily hoarded to crush all competition, we had to make due with what we got.
Yet, it's suckiness didn't rob us of our time together, nor the fun we'd had.
That's the lasting impression Star Wars has left me with. I may have moved on, no longer able to be moved by the Disney-fication of my beloved film series, but that's okay. I still have the memories spent with friends, in the time where sure, privilege and ignorance played a part in our unaffected lives, but things didn't seem so bleak. When it still felt like there was peace and justice. Before the dark times.