The Memoirs of George Lucas- Chapter 3, Space: The Final Opera

III

I fancy myself a high-society music enthusiast. Even though I did grow up blue-collar, I can sure as heck appreciate a hearty glass of Bach & Tonic when necessary. In all truthfulness, I can readily say that I identify most with the composer, being something like that myself. Not in the musical sense, of course (my only experience here dates to Kim Basinger's 40th birthday when, much to the surprise and amusement of the whole party, I mounted a mechanical bull and plucked out "Let It Be" on soprano ukulele; good times!), but in the artistic composition sense. I am an artist; ergo I create art.

A film is all about telling an artistic story, about bringing bits and pieces into harmony with one another to make a coherent whole. It is about finding the Golden Mean within the intricacies of the mundane from which a hint of the Universal Divine is glimpsed. In this respect I actually consider my work much more influential and socially edifying than that of the musician. I mean, if you want to change society, you make a movie, for St. Peter's sake. Not that I'm critiquing music's ability to have profound influence; just last month I attended the much-anticipated premiere of Jim Barbulle's epic oratorio Jedidiah: Scenes from an Amish Hell. Let's just say that the music definitely "moved" certain areas of me (read bowels) in very real and physical ways. Basically what I'm getting at is that in a film, the "movie" part is the most important. The music is just filler noise, a sort of fake security to keep reminding you that you are actually watching a movie and not real life. I know its complicated, but I think John Williams would agree with me here.

Moving on. The reason I bring all this musicology up is for a metaphorical reason: namely, the STARWARS saga is an opera. But not just any old Marriage of Figaro: STARWARS is a SPACE opera. Just to clarify- space here is a locative term, rather than another type of emotional signifier (e.g. "soap," "blue," etc.). We all know that space is the final frontier. So what? This is what: what better place to stage society's most snobbish form of art than the very fringes of cosmic understanding? What better forum for the interplay of galactic soundscapes and sonic waves of terror? Where else could Luke Skywalker have kissed his blood relative? I don't think those last sentences made any sense. Actually, I don't even know where I'm going with all this, to tell you the truth, so we'll move on again.

1983 was a tough year for me. That year saw the temporary end of the STARWARS saga for me; Return of the Jedi was met with critical and popular success, but Big George--who by this time had been slowly "ushered out the back door" of the series by being stripped of his role as director and denied the sole rights to the story's intelletual property--fell away into the black non-existence that only Hollywood can offer after completed projects. The turnaround was literally overnight. On Thursday, November 1, 1983, I was Big George Lucas, screenwriter of Jedi and creator the STARWARS universe; on Friday, November 2, 1983, I was Big George Lucas, big fat nobody. I remember eating lunch in from a garbage can that morning, not that I had to, but just to see what it was like. To make matters worse, Carrie Fisher, whom I had been dating throughout the filming of episodes V and VI, left me on Return of the Jedi's opening night for none other than Kenny Baker, the midget man we had running the R2-D2 suit and Jabba the Hutt's tail. I was under the impression that "princesses" had more class. But then, we never actually found out if she was royalty, did we?

Anyway, I was in bad shape, and by February of 1984 I was living in the tiny community of Matehuala, Mexico, on 3 pesos and a Jack Daniel's a day. Everyday I asked myself, "What did I do to deserve this?" And everyday, the same inevitable answer came back, "You didn't do anything, George-y, you came here on your own accord!" Sunlight streamed into my sorry excuse for a life. It was then that I realized I had not, in fact, lost any of my material livelihood and that what I seen as a loss of capital was really only the wound of pride. From that moment, I felt as if I were the Prodigal's Son. In reality, I had had billions all along; I was one of the richest bastards in the world! What the hell was I doing in Mexico living on 3 pesos a day?

I got out of there in a hurry and quickly set out for complete and utter world domination. I realized that with my fortunes I could purchase my happiness. I had the films remastered with my name substituted for the title of director. I signed a multi-billion dollar contract with Mattel to start creating STARWARS action figures and life-size George Lucas poseable dolls. Waving my benjamins in front of me like a loony toon, I wooed Carrie away from that joke of a droid's innards. Carrie and I were married before the year was out. I bought and ran a Carl's Jr. that was located in a very juicy spot for business. I started driving an Oldsmobile. In short, I finally felt like I was living a life worthy of a life worth living. Then, four weeks later, disaster, one of the worst of my life so far. Carrie gets pregnant.

A Commencement Day Dirge

And so another academic year befalls us. If you are a student, Constant Reader, do not despair. The long, hard road awaits us, but at the end of its dark and thorny road awaits Paradise. The natural tide of seasons looms before us; Death and Winter must come before glorious Spring. After months of becoming pasty white with study, someday we will again see the sun. Do not fear the darkness of your soul. Do not fear the abyss. But don't stare at it too long, because according to Nietzche, it will stare back, and then you're in trouble. May we find balance in the cycle of natural life, in the changing times and winds. Let us see its poetry. Here's a little bit you can repeat to yourself every morning before class as a kind of "warm up" for the day (made all the more exciting in the almighty lingua Latina):

O cernite virum stantem aequoribus Fati.

Solus vir inter ruentos manet.

Fumi atri ad caelum ex ignibus magnis undant.

Arvum belli grave est cum gravitate mortuorum.

Video solem factum est nigerum tamquam saccum cilicinum,

Et lunam totam factam est sicut sanguinem.

Pulchrumque mori succurrit in armis.

Itaque apocalypsis incipit.

Libera nos, Pie Domine.

(Daniel Saunders, 2009)

O, observe the man, standing upon the waves of Fate.

One man only remains among the fallen.

Black smoke from great fires swells to the heavens.

The battlefield is heavy with the weight of the dead.

I see the sun made black like a sackcloth of goat hair

And the entire moon changed red as blood.

And it occurs to me that it is beautiful to die in battle.

Thus begins the Apocalypse.

Save us, O Merciful Lord.

The Memoirs of George Lucas- Chapter 2, The Phantom Failure

II

My mother is a saint, bless her heart. I owe my existence to her, literally. I don't remember the day I triumphantly emerged from the birthing pit, kicking and screaming bloody murder, but I do know that she and I were there together. She held my writhing, slimy midget body in her angelic arms and told me that one day I would rule the universe.

Well, that day came, and here I am. I still remember my mother, that dear lady whose Maternal Instinct guided me in my first great quest-- childhood. She's been gone for some time now, having run off with the town barber when I was 11. But everyone makes mistakes, right? I've learned to forgive old Sally. Or is it Ellen? It's been while. And today, even though most of my conscious thought is bent on matters of increasingly greater importance, such as tasting exotic coffees, I still find time occasionally to remember fondly the woman I loved first.

"Mother, mother, you're divine!

The way you hug me is just fine!

If only, only dad were gone,

I'd marry you at light of dawn!"

Just a little ditty I wrote at age 8. Poetry was not my only gift at that young age, either. I was a regular Renaissance Kid, dabbling here and there in the fine arts; at age 10 I had written my first opera, Señor Psychopath, which premiered to marginal successes at the Derby Opera House of Modesto; at age 13 my study in Impressionism had culminated in a 5-painting mega-exhibit at the San Luciano House of Art. But I digress. All that was a preliminary to the main point of this chapter, and that is this: Episode I: The Phantom Menace, is simply a story of maternal love.

STARWARS fans will no doubt remember my tendency to delve headlong into complex family relations. And so it probably came as no surprise that the young Anakin in Menace fell head over heels in love with a woman old enough to be his mother. This strange phenomenon is called the Oedipus Complex, named after some crazy idiot who actually fell in love with his mother, instead of just pretending to, like all the rest of us do. I thought this theme was interesting enough to pursue in a STARWARS film, and after 30 years of silence, when indescribable forces compelled me to retake the directing helm, I was granted an opportunity to tell my story.

The first step in realizing this dream was to create an absolutely useless and remarkably persistent alien character to mask the dark truths of the main story. The idea for Jar Jar Binks actually came to me while visiting my mother-in-law, Helen, a few weeks after she had started Jenny Craig. And despite all my efforts against it, Jar Jar just became this incredible life-force and visionary for the project. The Gungan we found to play him, Gerry Albright, was this really bright kid, straight out of school, and had such a heart for the film and for the people in it. It was a common sight to see Gerry with some of the seamstresses after a shoot, sharing some tea and conversation.

The other two essential elements were the lovebirds: Anakin and Padme. Natalie Portman signed up and blah blah nobody cares about her. Ladies and gentlemen, let me just tell you now, I had been waiting my entire life to meet Jake Lloyd. This kid rocks the house. Talent just seeps from his pores. He sweats it. He eats, sleeps and breathes it. He is the definition of talent. I was driving back from a meeting with the President and stopped at this no-name ghost town in Indiana. There, amid the white trash ghettos, I found Jake, looking for his lunch in a dumpster outside Denny's. I've been a father figure ever since.

Jake came out to Hollywood right away, forsaking his elementary studies for the thespian life. At 11 years of age, he was the perfect kid to play 20 year old Padme's love interest. Sure, I was a little hard on the boy, but I expected a lot out of him. I pushed him, but he had the power of the Force. After all, he did have the highest midichlorion count in the history of the universe. I'm going to say it: Jake Lloyd made STARWARS. We had a special bond. He's the jedi son I never had; and he was unsurpassed in his child actor adorableness. Everything was set to go perfectly.

And everything did go perfectly. That is, until Jake Lloyd ruined everything. I mean, he ruined everything. Look, it wasn't me! Just because Jar Jar stole the show and everyone hated little ole Jakey's performance, it's not my fault! My hands are clean! My conscience is intact! My reputation is viable! I gave him the dialogue most conducive to success. And he failed. He failed his co-workers, he failed his audience, he failed STARWARS, but most importantly, he failed me. I trusted him. And he betrayed my trust. His role is just not believable. Unfortunately we were all just so caught up with his cuteness that we didn't realize it until the film got shipped out. Jake and I parted ways.

I have heard recently that Jake has shown some bitterness about me. I remember reading about a video interview he recently did with a technology conference. In response to the question, "If you could use the Force on any person, who would it be?" His answer was something to the effect of "I couldn't do anything to make that a-hole's life worse than it already is," and I'm here to say, Jake, I don't know who your sources are, but I'm doing great. If you're going to call me out on the internet and play these little games with me behind my back, I will find you, and I will give you a talking to. If you have something to say, say it to my face, or your sorry butt is grass. That said, I want to make up with you. I'm willing to but the past behind me, Jake, and I want to be friends again. Like old times. Remember our summers in Naboo! Remember the podrace! I made you! I gave you fame, fortune, glory, I gave it all to you, and you scorned me! You would have starred in episodes 2 and 3! You would have tasted the fruits of luxury! You could have sat at the top of the universe next to your me, your real Father! Think of it, a Father-Son empire! It's so original! Wait, where have I heard that before?

But generally speaking, I think Menace is my favorite STARWARS film. It's got a lot of heart, and it's got Darth Maul. Why he died I have no idea. If I would have had complete control I probably would have had Qui Gon (his fate is in his name, HA!) and Obi Wan both shafted. Obi Wan's victory was sheer luck. Darth Maul had some serious skills, baby, skills.

Star-Spangled Wizardry

The other day an esteemed colleague and I were discussing the whims and wonders of J.K. Rowling's magical universe and that little nerdy 4-eyes kid who rules it. In our discourse we hit upon an interesting piece of mystery that Rowling has left us with after the completion of the Harry Potter series. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in England, along with Beauxbatons Academy in France and Durmstrang Institute in Bulgaria, are a few of the leading magic schools in Europe--they're the ones we hear about in the books, at any rate. However, who hasn't wondered about the rest of the global magic community? What is happening to the rest of the wizarding community as Harry plays the awkard adolescent around Ginny? Aren't there noteworthy things happening elsewhere? Surely, the cosmic battle of good and evil, the ultimate conflict between Chosen One and Supreme Evil, the most cataclysmic and monumental event of all history, cannot be limited to England alone. Indeed, the books give us glimpses of global crisis due to Voldemort's hellraising return. What occurs in England is felt everywhere in the magical community. But where is everywhere?

What I mean to ask is this: is there an American wizarding academy? If so, where is it located? My instincts tell me no, or at least not anything like a Hogwarts if there is. The reason is simple. It is probably widespread knowledge that magical practice originated in Europe. The Native Americans would not have practiced 'Western magic'; they had their nature spirituality and what not. Hogwarts was probably founded at around the time Stonehenge was built, maybe it was even Hogwarts students that built it. But the thing that matters is that Hogwarts, England, and Europe have magical history and tradition; America does not. The earliest an American academy could have been built would have been in the Colonial Era, and why would the colonial magic community want to break from Hogwarts anyway? Our nation was formed by a political revolution; if the English muggles could have cared less about the split, then the magic community probably didn't even know it happened. America is the melting pot; it contains every tradition and consequently it contains no tradition. Magic America would just as soon send their progeny to their home country to study. The 21st century American magic community does not exist.

Except that's not the way it happened; quite contrary, in fact. You see, there is an American wizarding academy. And there is a vibrant magic community in America. But they are the dissident. It's like this: the National Institute for the Coordination and Cooperation of Magick and Sciences (NICCMS), the American wizarding school, was formed in the late 1800s by a certain Phineas Tillbottle, a Scottish wizard who had studied in Germany. Tillbottle, who had magical abilities as a child, found that they had slowly dwindled into nonexistence by his 6th year of study. The newly formed squib was torn by an intolerable and horrific despair. No more magic ability! His studies, his career, his life, ruined! With his mind in delusions he turned to the unthinkable--muggle science. Working alongside the many muggle contacts he made in Germany (the most significant of which was Klaus Vondervan), Tillbottle was able to perfect the art of what he dubbed 'scientific alchemy', an ingenious blend of ancient magick and progressive science. The Germans were convinced this tool would lead them to the White Lady, that hoped for and strived for elusive ideal, the subject of wars and machines, of peace, of prosperity, the very name of human history--Progress.

Tillbottle quickly moved his operations to the forefront of turn-of-the-century progress--America--and set up the NICCMS in downtown Boston. Beneath the towering skyscrapers and the filth of the streets, NICCMS exists to unite the forces of magic and science, to create and engage sanitary alchemy, and to dissolve the hopes and dreams of the world one discovery at a time. They advance in the name of Progress, which is to say they ride a train of breakneck speeds straight to Hell. NICCMS, since its institution, has attracted more than 7,000 magical traitors. The efforts of the NICCMS go against everything the wizarding community believes in for this reason: it seeks to kill the life of magic, the imagination, the spirit, the unknown, the darkness. It seeks, in the name of humanity, to end violence and suffering by inflicting violence and suffering on the soul.

What would Harry do with such a crowd? We'll never know for sure. Or will we?

The Memoirs of George Lucas- Chapter 1, The Final Chapter

A FOREWARD FROM THE MASTER

Hello everyone, and welcome back to the Skywalker Ranch where fairies fly and blasters blast, and all feel like younglings on the eve of a midsummer's night. It has been about four years now since the final chapter of the STARWARS saga has been completed and the missing links filled in with Episode III, Revenge of the Sith. It has been one heck of a ride, all the way from the first appearance of Uncle Owy and Aunt Beru back in '77 to the climactic laser-sword duel between Ben Kenobi and Anakin in Sith. It's been great seeing the fruits of all my hard labor these past few years, and now a popular STARWARS fan website has asked me to compile a collection of my greatest and most memorable memories and achievements in my long and great career. I agreed, and here I am writing the introduction to a marvelous gem of a tale. It's actually more like a mausoleum (fun word) wherein are stored my deceased accomplishments of old. No, actually, there's a bad example, but nevertheless it's good once in a while to resurrect those memories, those dreams that you once had, when you were aspiring to become someone or something great, riding the hard-knock wave of ghetto life and working in the neighborhood video shop; it's not a stereotypical thing either, the memoirs I mean, because these are the memories of someone great, a legendary character, a true hero of our times, a vir magnus fit for days of old; Homer would have sung him next to Achilles, Virgil next to Aeneas; one great man dared to yank the world by the reigns and ride the darn thing right on into the new millenium. That man is none other than little old me, the founder and creator of the STAR WARS, a simple, humble, and honest man who had a story inside him and who brought that story to life; these are my memoirs, my recollections, my histories, my life; this is my story.

-George Lucas

I

Any great film has a great ending. Ask anyone: Spielberg, Hitchcock, Columbus, Raimi; they'll all tell you that the ending makes or breaks the entire movie. A lot of the time it's the ending that gets written first, and all the greats will tell you that a good ending is the best way to wrap up a story. Now, contrary to what you might have thought, all the STARWARS films have one absolute ending, which is Episode VI, Revenge of the Jedi.

...

Did I get you there?? I have just written Revenge of the Jedi, and you just kept on reading like nothing was the matter. In fact (like the fanboy you are), you should have jumped at the "misprint" there. The correct subtitle of Episode VI is actually ReTURN of the Jedi, although in the scriptwriting process it went by the name of the former (confusing, isn't it? I tricked you big time!). A little Big George trivia there for you. You'll be getting a lot of that (and some more hidden surprises) as we continue on our magical journey to the nether galaxies. But all jesting aside, let's focus in on the Final Chapter of the STARWARS saga- Episode VI, Return of the Jedi. Episode VI is the ultimate ending of STARWARS; the endings of the other movies are just little 13 month (or 25 year) "intermissions," if you will. The entire STARWARS experience is intended to be viewed as one, fifteen-plus hour film.

I came up with the idea for STARWARS ages ago, back even before the beard. When I finally decided what I wanted to do with my life--have one idea that makes me billions and guarantees my fame forever so I never have to do anything again (which I actually failed at, being a major creative part of Indiana Jones, but director-wise anyway)--I was a young college kid fresh out of USC film school and wanted in on the biz. I traded some homeless guy a Cracker Jack box (empty, of course) for a shiny metal pin that said "THE WARS OF THE STARS HAVE BEGUN." To this day I don't know what that meant, but I've kept that pin close to my heart, namely on my left shirt pocket, ever since. From there it was a matter of coming up with some random characters and plot and writing some iffy dialogue, thrown in and spiced up with mind-numbing special effects, and we were set. I started concentrating all my efforts on the ending to the greatest saga ever told. I've noticed recently on the "Web" there have been all these rumors circulating about the origins of STARWARS; they are complete lies. People make stuff up. For instance, I heard one rumor that I wrote myself in the original script for the part of "Luke Starkiller"; why would I ever want to play that pansy, for Pete's sake? I was originally slated to debut my acting career as the rogue Hanz Solo, a brave kind of "Gestapo-gunslinger of the future."

Ever since I was a kid, I was really into Westerns and all the great Western actors: Wayne, Cooper, Rogers, Eastwood--the legends. I can remember the humid Georgian summers, sitting out on Gramma Betty's porch drinking sweet tea and blastin' Jim Kregger's pigeons with my dime store six shooter, gunslinger style. I was the best of the West back then. Sweet tea and gunsmoke. I can still smell that smoke, burning through my olfactories like chiggers. I can remember walking the dusty, sleepy streets of suburban Modesto as an eight year old, all alone, scanning the sun-baked paths for Frank Miller and his gang of killers. Justice! I was a lone wolf, a cool, slick styler who had a heart for law and order and who knew how to bring it. Those days were the start of it, the beginning of my long, hard-fought journey to Hollywood. My path has not been unlike that of Gary Cooper in High Noon; more than once in my life I've faced tough decisions as a lone gunman, bereft of loved ones, friends deserted. I've been there--to Hell and back again, just like Bilbo. I was the real Arizona Kid. But I've pressed on, and the world's a better place for it.

But like I was saying, essentially STARWARS is a Western film. Not in the traditional sense, of course, with all the "long long ago but somehow in the future" business. And ever since I conceived of STARWARS (and yes, I did conceive of the entire story at once, contrary to what some people call "making it up as you go"), I wanted it to have all the necessary elements Westerns have. So really, Han Solo is the main character. There, I said it. STARWARS is not about whiny Anakin or whiny Padme or whiny Luke or whiny C-3PO, its about the rough, tough, good-gracious bodacious man of a man, Han Solo. Han Solo knows how to fight. None of this "ancient technology and hokey Jedi religion" for him. He can fend for himself, thank you very much. With a blaster at his side and the Falcon waiting in the bay, he's ready to kick some rear-end and take some names. Of course, as soon as I made this known to the producers and the folks at the studio, pandemonium ensued. They wanted to take the story in this direction, blah blah, Luke this, Leia that, and Han got kicked to the side like a dirty rag. Someday I will refilm the series as they were intended. Of course people say the dialogue in the new trilogy is bad! That's because it's supposed to be a young Han Solo in love, not "the Chosen One," some wimpy adolescent Jedi! People just up and forget about him! What a thanks for the man who pretty much single-handedly destroyed the freaking second Death Star, which was like 10 times bigger and more powerful than the one Luke destroyed! And Ben Kenobi pretty much destroyed that one anyway!

There was another nasty rumor that claimed I said "Han and Leia probably did get married... They settled down, she became a senator, and they got a nice little house with a white picket fence. Han Solo is out there cooking burgers on the grill." Oh, for the love! Gag me with a spoon! Why in God's green earth would Han Solo ever live in a house with a white picket fence! The STARWARS universe doesn't even have white picket fences! What, so now that you've killed two bad guys, the universe is saved and everybody's just hunky-dory? What about the billions of stormtroopers and Imperial commanders? They just give up the second their Emperor dies? Please! Have some dignity! Han Solo is not a settle-down guy. He most likely went on hundreds of thousands of other galactic adventures, no matter if "Princess" Leia went with him or not. And why is she a Princess? Doesn't she come from a democratic planet? Who came up with these characters anyway?

And I don't have a turkey chin!!

Santa Poll Results

Based on 3 votes, the overwhelming public opinion is that Santa is a Communist. I believe it, what with the red suit, the exploitation of labor, the policy of equal distribution, the similarity in appearance to Karl Marx, etc. Just LEAVE CAPITALISM ALONE, SANTA!!

Google Literature

As of today, I have a mere 173 pages to go in the 1463-page unabridged version of Les Misérables. Although reading it was quite a monumental task this summer, I recommend the full version to anyone who thinks they could suffer through 2-3 months of a single novel. I'm not going to tell you what I though about it, etc., because one, I'm not done with it, and two, a masterpiece of genius like this doesn't even deserve the opinion of some nerdy 21st century youth. But I'll just say it's probably the best (well, that's a bit strong...how about top 5?) novel I've ever read, and this is coming from someone who does not make such claims lightly. Qualitative criticism aside, what I'll write about here is the sense of place in this great novel.

When reading historical fiction in the manner of a Hugo or Dumas, it is imperative for one to submerse oneself in the historical context. For Les Misérables, I tried to get familiar with the majority of the events surrounding the French Revolution and the 50-60 year period of turmoil following 1793. So much of the story is intertwined within this political-historical context that such a priori knowledge is really almost required to glean the most abundant profit from the novel. Even so, Hugo manages to reference about a million people and places of French history that only a history major or knowledgable native would be able to catch. (If God is in the details, then Les Misérables is divine.) Well, any fan of the novel, or musical (or film, I daresay), will know of the events centered around the barricade of the Rue de la Chanvrerie, as the story reaches its dramatic climax. If you haven't read the book or seen the musical, knowing any of this won't ruin anything for you (but if you need an excuse to stop reading, this is it). The Paris insurrection of 1832 is historical fact, waged by the citizens of democratic humanity against the waning grip of divine right, and of the many barricades that republican insurgents erected on June 5th, the one opposite the then Corinth bistro on the Rue de la Chanvrerie was most insignificant when compared with the rest of the city. It is undoubtedly for this reason that Hugo chose it as the site for his story. Hugo, throughout the entire novel, gives immaculate and incredibly accurate geographical descriptions of Paris--of its roads, its neighborhoods, its buildings, even its sewers. While reading, its easy to become lost in the labyrinth of names and places. Names can mean nothing. But all it takes is a map to make a hazy picture a little bit more defined. So, naturally, I went to Google maps.

The Rue de la Chanvrerie does not exist today; in fact, Hugo remarks in the novel that it didn't exist in his day. He describes its location in comparison with his modern (ca. 1860) Paris:

Parisians who, today, on entering the Rue Rambuteau from the side of Les Halles, notice on their right, opposite the Rue Mondétour, a basket maker's shop...Here were the Rue de la Chanvreire, which the old signs spelled Chanverrerie, and the celebrated bistro Corinth...Those who would like to accurately picture the confused blocks of houses standing at that time near the Pointe Saint-Eustache, at the northeast corner of the markets of Paris, Les Halles, where the Rue Rambuteau now begins, only have to imagine touching the Rue Saint-Denis at its summit, and the markets at its base, an N, of which the two vertical strokes would be the Rue de la Grande Truanderie and the Rue de la Chanvrerie, and the Rue de la Petite Truanderie would make the transverse stroke. The old Rue Mondétour cut the three strokes at the most awkward angles. With the result that the labyrinthine web of these four streets, within a space of four hundred square yards, between the markets and the Rue Saint-Denis, in one direction, and between the Rue du Cygne and the Rue des Prêcheurs in the other direction, made seven little islands of houses, oddly intersecting, of various sizes....

Here is where I enlisted the help of our crazy friend Google maps. I didn't really know anything about Parisian geography, but I eventually pinpointed the general area of the barricade, relative to Paris as a whole (in the south central portion of the map is the Jardin du Luxembourg, where Marius frequented in his day-dream walks; the purple tag is Les Halles, the area of the barricade; *NOTE*--click on the picture to make it huge):

Then it was a question of making sense of this ridiculously accurate description. Luckily, I came across a section of a map of old Paris showing the above streets as they are described. This site had a lot more things that connected Paris with the novel, but alas, it is in French. For all who are literate:

http://www.terresdecrivains.com/Le-Paris-des-Miserables?var_recherche=paris%20miserables

But here is the map (red star represents location of Corinth/barricade):

Then it was a question of realizing 21st century Paris relative to the one of 1832 (with the Rue de la Chanvrerie where it would be today):

And finally, here is what Google street view says is at the site of the barricade now:

Also, here is the modern view of the Rue Plumet, the street on which M. Fauchelevent and Cosette had their mysterious house with the lovely garden, the house Marius came to cherish:

Some of the other places are quite difficult to discover, since Paris has changed so much. But Google maps? Amazing, but actually incredibly disturbing. Here's a great idea--let's make satellite footage of our freaking homes and neighborhoods availabe to internet stalkers and technology-savvy criminals! But seriously, come on.

The Cycle of Progress & the Bourgeois Ego, Abridged Version

The fun (and perhaps nonsense) had by Media Studies majors. In Twitter tweet rhyme and accompanying art timeline. Be moved by its massive claim to truth, its imperative significance! Or be flabbergasted at such willy-nilly drivel! Either way, the mystery will nonetheless escape you! (We live in a postmodern world. Just make up your own explanation.)

Achilles' Rage

Renaissance of Oral Age

A-Zbet fragmentation

bourgeois ego germination

vicious cycle

print Bible

GOD=idol

poet tell

life is hell

media ruse

Wurd=TRUTH

Live Long and Prosper, and May the Force Be With You

WARNING: Spoiler Alert

J.J. Abrams' latest installment in the Star Trek film series is the epitome of 21st century science ficiton movies--a hurricane of breathtaking cinematography, sonic sound design, fresh young actors, futuristic technology, adrenaline-laced action, and a balls-to-the-wall hyper-storyline mixed together in a multi-million dollar production vat and served with just the right amount of originality and retro-Trekkie homage to offer a crowd-pleasing summer film that leaves just enough room for a sequel in three years. I saw this film in all its IMAX splendour; seeing Eric Bana's beard stubble forest on a 50 ft high screen is enough of a technical achievement to see this film in IMAX. The resurrection of the franchise, like many others, was an "origins" play; but in an Abrams style twist, the film introduces an "alternate reality" timeline, allowing free room for an original story and character development while appealing to both newbies and Trekkies alike. My Star Trek knowledge going in to this film was about a 2 on a scale of 10, but I must confess that Abrams and the fellows at Spyglass Entertainment did a good job at introducing me to the universe on a slow curve. I enjoyed the film. But I couldn't help notice that this incarnation of Star Trek bears semblance to another sci-fi flick from 32 years ago.

Star Wars is my baby. Along with the Lord of the Rings saga, the original Star Wars trilogy was the universe I grew up in. Apart from ardent Trekkies, the Star Wars universe is the one most people prefer--it is a grittier, dirtier, and consequently more human universe containing a motley assortment of species. It is a universe we can see ourselves inhabiting, as opposed to the sterile, cold, and calculating space that the U.S.S. Enterprise sails. As a pre-pubescent junior high fanboy, I was there for the arrival of the new trilogy in The Phantom Menace. I wept at Qui-Gon's death. I rejoiced at the marriage of Anakin and Padme. I cringed when I realized at Episode III that George Lucas wrote dialogue crappier than daytime soap operas. I became a Jedi Master. But despite how awesome(ly bad) the new trilogy was, the original trilogy has always held a special place in my heart. Who can forget the boyish grin of Mark Hamill as Luke Skywalker? The audacious manhood of Han Solo? The lovable cuddliness of Chewbacca? The fact that Kashyyyk is spelled with three "y"s?

Star Wars: A New Hope is the tale of Luke Skywalker--the hero and his destiny. The story, like almost every other fantasy pic, is a retelling of what mythologist Joseph Campbell calls the "monomyth," or in layman's terms, the hero's journey. This concept, introduced by Campbell in his book Hero With a Thousand Faces, outlines the pattern of what essentially every hero, from Odysseus to Frodo Baggins, goes through throughout the course of his adventures. It is, as C.S. Lewis said, a shadow and hint of the greatest story ever told, one that resonates deeply within us and excites us with a passion for more. George Lucas, citing Campbell as prime inspiration for A New Hope, has always steeped his saga in hero mythology. Lucas' greatest achievement with Star Wars is that he rekindled the myth--nothing more than a fantasy or make-believe story that hides a profound human truth--at the big screen. And J.J. Abrams copied him. In other words, they both are incarnations of the monomyth.

Star Trek is remarkably similar to Star Wars. Not the universes or the characters, but the two films; one from 2009, one from 1977. Besides the superficial similarities--groundbreaking visual tour de forces about the last frontier of space by up-and-coming film directors--they both rely heavily on the monomyth and the hero's journey in their storytelling. Campbell's exegesis on the monomyth led him to recapitulate it into seventeen parts; for our sake (and befitting to the films), we will look at the major twelve of these seventeen and compare the similarities of Star Wars and Star Trek found in each (the following occur in varying orders during the course of the narratives):

1. The Call to Adventure

Luke Skywalker and James Kirk are both no-name, rural farmboys--one from Tatooine, the other, Iowa. They both have deceased fathers of galactic renown, destoryed by an evil force, and each can only hope to one day live up to their father's name. The presitigous Academy seems to be the only way out of rural nowhere. After events stir up their ordinary lives, destiny beckons in the forms of the Rebel Alliance and a recruiting Star Fleet captain.

2. Refusal of the Call

Our heroes refuse their call to the join the universe, one from fear, one from pride. However, destiny works within each, and eventually they are thrust in to the world of escalating events and become surrounding by a bevy of talented peers.

3. Supernatural Aid

A sage elder comes to the aid of the hero, at varying points in the quest. For Luke, Ben Kenobi and (later in the series) Yoda guide the fledgling jedi in his physical and spiritual growth. Kirk, after being stranded by his rival on a deserted ice planet (a locale Luke will visit), encounters an aged and alternate reality Spock, who assures him of his purpose and urges him to embrace his destined leadership role.

4. Crossing the First Threshold

This is our hero's first encounter with destiny--a tumultuous encounter with danger in which he must prove his green skills. Luke and Han Solo attempt an undercover rescue of the mysterious Princess Leia by infiltrating the Imperial Death Star, a floating planet destroyer. Kirk, with the help of McCoy, boards the USS Enterprise on a rescue mission to Vulcan and tries to warn the captain of a group of hostile Romulans from the future bent on destroying planets.

5. Belly of the Whale

The decisive moment of inner turmoil--the hero must reject the past he has known and embrace the full transformation of self that makes him a leader.

6. The Road of Trials

The hero's tribulations that advance his continual transformation of self.

7. Meeting with the Goddess

In Campbell's writings, the point when the hero experiences a monumental and soul-filling love for a woman, whom he reveres with as much unconditional and caring respect as he did his lost mother, who died in childbirth. However, in both Star Wars and Star Trek, this does not seem to occur with the main hero, but the sidekick/rival--Han Solo and Spock. Luke's affectionate feelings for Leia turn out later to be a subliminal fraternal love, and Kirk's attraction to Uhura is thwarted by her affections toward Spock.

8. Atonement with Father

This is a complex point in the narrative that is manifested in many different ways. Campbell describes it as the hero's confrontation with the figure that holds ultimate power, usually the father or the supernatural father-like figure. It is also the point when the hero embraces the same path his father took and must choose his path accordingly--Luke with the responsibilites of the Force and the Alliance, and Kirk with the responsibilites as captain of his own ship.

9. Apotheosis

The death of an important figure, which affects the hero in a great way and usually occurs before the ultimate climax. Obi Wan's death at the hands of Darth Vader, and the death of Spock's mother, for Spock (like Han Solo) is almost a second main hero.

10. The Ultimate Boon

The climax of the journey and the achievement of the task. Luke uses Obi Wan's guidance and the Force to destroy the Death Star and gain a victory for the Alliance. Kirk uses his leadership, confidence, and freshly established flight team to take on the Romulan threat and saves Earth from destruction.

11. The Return Threshold

The hero must take the knowledge and experience gleaned from this quest and combine it with the his roots in the full creation of the destined self.

12. Master of Two Worlds

The hero has completed his journey--physical, mental, and spiritual--and has truly become the self that destiny had placed before him. Although he has much yet to do and must grow in experience, he is a master of two worlds, the physical and spiritual, and is characterized by a harmonization and tranquility of the inner and outer selves.

These are just a few of the many similarities found in these two films. I urge to go watch both and come up with more; there are definitely ones I overlooked. Until then, live long and prosper, and may the Force be with you.

The Journey Begins...

Hello, digital society. Here I am, entering the great unknown and infinitely mysterious realm of 21st century technology through a humble little creature called Blog. He is a familiar face, Blog, but this time his business is deadly serious. Blog is about to embark, with you and I as companions, for the center of the Universe; his aim is no less than the pursuit of that wonderful and terrible thing, that bringer of ecstasy and despair, the conqueror and the conquered, existence exalted and existence humiliated, the single most remarkable event to have shockwaved the insignificant reality of homo sapiens-

THE WORD.

You and I, if we should accept our challenge, then together we will chart undiscovered lands, riding the foaming waves of seas shrouded in unfathomable mystery; we shall hack blindly through the dark forests of contemplation and swim the murky depths of the Infinite Conscious; what we find there will haunt us, inspire us, move us, bore us; but we, the brave, the audacious--we shall attempt what no humans have ever attempted before. Yes, our calling is immense; but you and I--we are worthy. We are worthy to soar among the heavens in glorious splendour, skimming the astronomical heights and depths of human knowledge and madness in our quest for Truth. Bow down to this Blog; he is our master. Up from your couches and Doritos and out the door with you!! We have a journey to start, by gum, and He is waiting for you. Come on in, have a seat, and we'll chat. Anything, from baseball to chewing gum to SundayMondayTuesdayWednesdayThursdayFridaySaturday to German philosophy to the Old Timey Gospel Hour. The fire is warm, and we've saved a spot for you. Let us live, or die trying.