Review: Star Wars: The Force Awakens
(Stars not pictured because there aren’t any)
As a right-wing reactionary, I tend to wretch when the cock of political correctness is inserted in my throat. As a right-wing reactionary, I also tend to assume that this is what’s happening even if it probably isn’t. Needless to say, I made a point of not being able to relate to the female and black leads in this movie. They may as well have been played by a troupe of transgender Syrian refugee midgets, but they weren’t available as they were busy filming the next BBC special report on the glass ceiling in women’s problems and why it’s all global warming’s fault. The female lead was too skinny and ugly to make me hard, and I don’t care if she was a good actress because that’s not what I’m looking for from women in films. As for the black guy, he was as expendable as his stormtrooper alter-ego. I didn’t care about their plight, but that was okay because I’d already seen their plight in Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope, so I knew it turned out okay.
After 45 minutes of adverts — 90 per cent of which were Star Wars–themed adverts for mobile phone companies, because we all know how much those two subjects are connected — the film finally began. “Star Wars” blasted onto the screen amid brass fanfare, disappearing into space using that new digital film technology which makes everything look like it’s going too fast and isn’t quite right. The childlike storyline began to pour upwards, reminiscent of a disabled six-year-old’s suicide note. Spelling mistakes would not have surprised me. The gist was: “Luke’s run away lol.”
We were then whisked away to Tatooine *ahem* Jakku where we were subjected to a near-copy of events from A New Hope — a trend which would continue for the entirety of the film. After watching 10 minutes of communist apologizer J.J. Abrams work through his checklist of Star Wars nostalgia — cutesy droid carrying secret plans, Nazi-modelled “First Order” with English accents trying to track him down, and brash American “the Resistance” trying to foil their plans (both indistinguishable from the Empire and Rebel Alliance, respectively) — I knew what I had paid to see, and knew there were no refunds, so cracked open my can of Dragon Soop in a flustered act of resignation.
Dragon Soop is an alcoholic energy drink containing the same amount of caffeine as five cups of coffee, taurine, guarana, schnapps, numerous E-numbers and artificial psychostimulants, and boasts an impressive 8% alcohol by volume. I gave up proper drugs a few months ago but like to think of this as a drug in its own right — as did the activist group in the UK who tried to get it banned.
15 minutes later I dashed off to the toilet, my heart pounding and beads of sweat forming on my brow. This night just picked up. Returning to my seat, I mentally filled in the few minutes I’d missed by recalling the script from A New Hope, which gelled perfectly as an ancient Han Solo now hobbled aboard the Millennium Falcon, looking like an AIDS-ridden Parkinson’s victim. I didn’t even care when [spoiler removed] happened to him. Shortly we would also be treated to a wincing appearance from Carrie Fisher, heavily-botoxed and with the emotional range of a heroin addict, looking eerily like Helena Bonham Carter dressed as a monkey in Planet of the Apes.
In fact, the only member of the superfluous original cast who still looked like a badass was a bearded Mark Hamill, who was reminiscent of a post-Yewtree Ian Watkins. There seems to be only two paths celebrities take after being outed as a paedophile: They either become mysteriously haggard overnight and emerge from courtrooms walking with the aid of a stick, before being whisked off to prison (Rolf Harris, Max Clifford, Dave Lee Travis) or they turn into the very image of fist-pumping rock ‘n’ roll defiance (Jimmy Page, David Bowie, Pete Townshend, Sir Ian Watkins).
One thing you can count on in a Star Wars film, no matter how shitty it is, is the elegance and beauty of its orchestral score. John Williams has brought a ray of sunshine to many awful movies in such fashion, including the massively over-hyped Jurassic Park whose soundtrack is its only saving grace. Not so with The Force Awakens. Its score seems largely to consist of reused segments from the original trilogy, padded with rushed back-of-a-cigarette-packet fills — much like the plot of the film itself.
All in all, J.J. Abrams has successfully taken the torch from George Lucas in continuing to piss all over my childhood. This movie was long, boring, and devoid of originality. Four and a half hours later, as the end credits rolled, people applauded, reminding me that idiots will whoop and holler at anything. I then spent the next two hours explaining to people why what they just watched wasn’t actually “awesome” at all, and why Olly Murs isn’t a very good singer, either. That got them.