Introduction
When it first came out five years ago, Star Wars: The Last Jedi (2017) polarized audiences – and continues to polarize audiences to this day. Many critics considered it dumb and soulless. On the other hand, many fans considered it daring and mature. The beauty of any art form is that it’s always open for interpretation.
Our understanding and deconstruction of storytelling are filtered through our tastes, beliefs, and motivations. That’s why criticism can vary drastically. However, one precept that holds true is that narrative choice should mean something. If you can remove a narrative choice (or the scene that contains it) and it in no way impacts the story, then it’s meaningless. This is the problem with Star Wars: The Last Jedi.
Many of the film’s narrative choices surprise audiences. However, because audiences are surprised, many consider those choices audacious. It’s not what we thought would happen. It’s so subversive in its decision-making that it must be genius. Yet the reality is that after that moment of surprise, these choices have no bearing on the story other than to perpetuate a facade.
As far as Star Wars: The Last Jedi goes, there are ten conceits – five relating to character, and five relating to plotting – that don’t stand up under genuine examination. For the purpose of this piece, let’s explore the five relating to characterizations.
Poe Needs to Learn Temperance
Star Wars: The Force Awakens (2015) establishes Poe Dameron as a hotshot and irreverent pilot. He must also be reliable and trustworthy enough to be entrusted with securing the map to Luke Skywalker’s location from Lor San Tekka.
Poe doesn’t have a lot of room for growth. Some might counter that it’s not exactly like Han Solo grows in the Original Trilogy. However, Han forsakes money for a cause in Star Wars: A New Hope (1977). He falls in love in Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back (1980), and becomes a Rebel leader in Star Wars: Return of the Jedi (1983). New facets of his character are explored.
Additionally, we don’t learn anything about Poe in Star Wars: The Force Awakens outside of how he’s handed to us. That’s it. His journey is complete. One would think that he’d feel some remorse for surrendering information to Kylo Ren, even if it was under duress. One would also think that a character arc could be fashioned from that.
Director Rian Johnson is then forced to find an arc for Poe and decides his lesson in The Last Jedi is to learn the value of temperance and responsibility. Poe endangers the Resistance by spearheading an impromptu attack that results in casualties. The First Order then embarks on a long slow chase of the Resistance. All throughout this, Poe repeatedly implores Admiral Holdo to disclose what her plan for escape is. He begs of her on the ship’s bridge:
“Tell us that we have a plan!”
Here, Poe is clearly speaking on behalf of all of the bridge crew. He’s also being a responsible leader. He understands that everybody is afraid. They’re being chased, seemingly to their doom, and there’s apparently no strategy in place. As a senior member of the Resistance, Poe is acting as the crew’s spokesperson. You can actually see that some of the crew are genuinely invested in his representation.
Some people may criticize Poe for his disobedience, but he’s not being petulant. In fact, Poe is doing exactly what he’s meant to be learning – looking at the bigger picture and trying to take care of his fellow Resistance members.
If Johnson wanted to paint Poe as toxic, this could’ve been easily accomplished. Once Leia is incapacitated, Poe could have vied with Holdo for command. He could have disliked that she trumped him. Further, he could have been depicted as self-serving, trying to show he was the better commanding officer. Or, more simply, he could have usurped her, led them to disaster, and Holdo could’ve rescued them. Upon which time Poe could admit he was wrong.
With the information that we are given, Holdo’s reticence really doesn’t make much sense, outside of the fallback that she owes nobody anything. This also doesn’t seem to be the best leadership choice in a rag-tag group like the Resistance. The First Order has always been about mindless servitude. The Resistance, on the other hand, is meant to be about trust and comradeship.
Also, Poe’s just been lambasted for bad decision-making and Leia’s just been incapacitated. Surely the Resistance would be distraught and worried their fight is coming to an inglorious end? Wouldn’t it make sense for any commanding officer to reveal their strategy as a means of assuring everybody that there’s somebody competent in charge and they have a sound plan?
There’s no narrative justification for Holdo’s silence. It’s used purely as a framing device to create tension with Poe and to substantiate his arc. Johnson easily could’ve fixed this by inserting a First Order spy onto the ship. This would mean that Holdo would have to be careful what she said. A spy would also be a better way of explaining how the First Order could track the Resistance, rather than falling back on a magical hyperspace tracking device to propel this part of the story.
Finn Wasted as a Deserter Stormtrooper
Star Wars, as a franchise, will hit the same archetypes regardless of the incarnations. We get young heroes finding their way, Jedi apprentices, Jedi Masters, Sith, leaders battling odds, hotshots, mindless soldiers, politicians, aliens, and droids. The shapes they take may differ. However, more often than not, the journeys are similar. That’s fine as long as they’re treated uniquely. As long as they have a journey that’s both compelling and relatable.
However, with Finn, they stumbled upon one genuine stroke of originality: a deserter Stormtrooper who joins the Resistance. Ironically, Finn’s character might’ve worked better if the Stormtroopers had remained clones in the Sequel Trilogy, i.e. this one clone who dares to think differently. That’s a trope that’s been explored in other properties, but not in Star Wars.
As it is, the Sequel Trilogy spuriously establishes that the First Order abducted kids and trained and brainwashed them to become Stormtroopers. Think about the unlikelihood of the Republic not responding to the First Order abducting kids by the tens of thousands. Also, think about how logistically improbable it is to house, feed, train, and brainwash these kids over a prolonged period.
Nevertheless, by accepting the Stormtroopers for what they are in Star Wars: The Force Awakens, it’s still novel that one of them, sickened by bloodshed, flees. Once he does, however, his journey becomes pedestrian. Both JJ Abrams and Rian Johnson employ Finn as a First Order Wikipedia page. He’s used to delivering exposition and moving the story forward whenever required.
The real crime is how the character of Finn has been wasted throughout Star Wars: The Last Jedi. He’s another character that is consigned to learn a lesson we didn’t actually know he needed to learn. In the Resistance’s charge upon the First Order forces on Crait, Finn prepares to sacrifice himself by ramming the laser cannon that’s about to blow the base’s gate. Rose rams him, derailing his course and saving him.
A distraught Finn approaches a woozy Rose in the cockpit of her derelict fighter, while First Order forces inexplicably ignore them so they can share this interlude. Rose tells him:
“That’s how we’re gonna win…Not fighting what we hate, (but) saving what we love”
Um, what? War is about fighting what you hate to save what you love. That’s what Holdo did when she rammed the First Order just moments earlier. It’s what Luke did when he destroyed the Death Star. It’s what Darth Vader did when he tossed the Emperor down a reactor shaft. While this line sounds elevated, and while it’s meant to communicate some ultimately greater wisdom for Finn, it’s utterly nonsensical.
The greater journey for Finn surely would have been divorcing him from his Rey dependency. Everything that Finn does is still motivated by trying to save a character (Rey) who has clearly and repeatedly shown that she doesn’t need saving. Finn’s arc would have been better served by potentially exploring his desertion from the Stormtroopers and the First Order.
Distrusted Resistance leader due to his background? Sounds good. First Order dissenter with a high price on his head? Sure. Inspiration to other Stormtroopers uncertain about their roles in the First Order? Definitely.
When Finn returns from that ridiculous mission to find a hacker and ends up on the First Order ship, wouldn’t it have been more satisfying to see Finn inspire and rally other Stormtroopers to turn on Phasma? To see him become a charismatic general who inspires other Stormtroopers to desert their duties, and leads them to Crait to save the crumbling Resistance? Instead, he’s reduced to Jar Jar Binks-level of comedy relief. What a horrific and disappointing waste.
Kylo Ren’s Lack of Growth
There’s no real indication of what Kylo Ren’s arc is meant to be over the trilogy. However, it’s safe to assume that whatever JJ Abrams intended, Rian Johnson disrupted. That’s not necessarily a bad thing if Johnson could’ve infused it with greater value. He doesn’t and Kylo Ren is poorly characterized over three movies.
In Star Wars: A New Hope, Luke Skywalker begins his incredible journey as an impulsive, naïve farmer. Skywalker eventually becomes an impetuous Jedi apprentice, then grows into a mature Jedi Knight who brooks Yoda and Obi-Wan Kenobi telling him that Darth Vader is irredeemable, and chooses his own path.
Even Anakin Skywalker has an arc, despite how maligned the Prequels are. He begins as an angelic little boy, growing into a headstrong and reckless Padawan. He then becomes a powerful and grim Jedi whose fears inflame him. Surely Episode VII would’ve worked better by giving us Ben Solo and ending that installment by having him betray Luke. There’s an arc there. There’s drama. Also, there’s confrontation.
Star Wars: The Force Awakens attempts to manufacture this by tasking Kylo Ren with killing Han Solo. Given that Leia has Jedi abilities, you would have thought that Kylo would be pointed at her, rather than hapless Han, who seems tired, old, and broken. Still, let’s accept that murdering Han Solo is meant to be some Arthurian rite of passage for Kylo.
Do we meet a different Kylo Ren in Star Wars: The Last Jedi? Nope. In fact, the film’s entire growth for Kylo Ren basically amounts to him smashing his helmet. That’s it. He still throws tantrums. He’s still power-hungry. He still screams a lot.
One wonders whether this is the commentary that the Sequels were trying to provide: that Kylo Ren is a man-child whose power exceeds his capacity to handle it. That could’ve been interesting, although hardly threatening given how strategically callow he is. However, if this is the case, it’s not an avenue properly explored. The reality is that Kylo is simply temperamental and volatile.
Surely facing and killing Han Solo should’ve marked an evolutionary phase – just as facing Darth Vader is for Luke. Consider how much Luke changes after his first encounter with Darth Vader. Luke charges headlong into Cloud City without a plan. He walks calmly into Jabba’s palace with a plan, albeit an overly complicated plan, but a plan nonetheless.
Even if Kylo regretted what he had done, we still should have seen some haunting lament, i.e. a man who has consigned himself to an irreversible fate. At the very least, the act could have empowered Kylo so that he then sets about implementing his vision for restoring his version of order in the galaxy.
Look at the way Michael Corleone grows from an idealistic young man into a ruthless, sociopathic leader who’ll stop at nothing to protect his family in The Godfather Trilogy. His actions change the course of the underworld hierarchy. The cost is the sundering of his family. Tragically, he is brilliant at the thing he most desperately wanted to escape, and his choices trap and damn him. Kylo doesn’t change. The First Order doesn’t change.
The biggest problem here is that by eliminating Snoke, Supreme Leader of the First Order, Rian Johnson creates a vacuum. Star Wars has always had big, formidable enemies. Who is it meant to be here? A Sith apprentice who throws tantrums when he doesn’t get his way, and who has now lost twice to the protagonist? There’s also the question of why Rey doesn’t kill Kylo when he’s unconscious and put an end to all this.
Imagine Star Wars: The Last Jedi portrayed Kylo as a cold, manipulative Sith who’s embraced the Dark Side, grown incredibly powerful, kills Snoke, and then beats Rey so badly she has to flee, the way Luke fled from Darth Vader in Cloud City. Wouldn’t that have been much more interesting? Wouldn’t that have set up a far more interesting dynamic going forward?
Luke Skywalker Became an Embittered Hermit
Mark Hamill had expressed reservations numerous times about this incarnation of Luke Skywalker the moment he read the script. Jokingly divorcing the character from Luke, Hamill christened him, “Jake Skywalker,” Luke’s cousin.
Defenders of Star Wars: The Last Jedi generally are dismissive of Hamill, which is simply flabbergasting. Here’s the actor who played Luke in the Original Trilogy, who sat with the character for over thirty years, and no doubt ruminated about him. He must have had discussions with George Lucas about what happened to Luke, and his opinions were disregarded.
The character of Luke Skywalker is fundamentally good, decent, and optimistic. In the Original Trilogy, Yoda and Obi-Wan Kenobi hide him with the intent of eventually training him to topple the Empire. Both Yoda and Obi-Wan repeatedly warn him that Vader is irredeemable. Yet Luke pursues that course anyway, at great risk to his own life. That is who Luke is at his core.
However, the moment Luke senses the darkness in his nephew, Ben Solo, Luke doesn’t attempt to redeem him. Yet he does so with a man infinitely more entrenched in the Dark Side, treachery, and murder, in Darth Vader. Luke doesn’t decide to investigate where this dark influence is coming from. He simply decides to ignite his lightsaber and murder Ben, his nephew, in his sleep. That’s not exactly consistent with what we know.
One also struggles to accept that anybody can reconcile this decision. This event has also led to Luke turning his back on the Republic and exiling himself. He believes the Jedi way of life leads to death and disaster. He does this even though by taking this course Luke consigns the Republic and his friends to death and disaster, and the galaxy to tyranny. It would be interesting to know what JJ Abrams planned as opposed to what Rian Johnson executed.
Unfortunately, as happens throughout Star Wars: The Last Jedi, we’re given a narrative decision we didn’t expect – a bitter and resigned Luke. We all wanted the heroic Luke, the optimistic Luke. We wanted the Luke Skywalker we’d come to know. Instead, we got the opposite. None of us saw that coming, so it must be genius. Not really. Unfortunately, this portrayal is common to revisiting legacy characters – not just in Star Wars, but throughout pop culture.
Jean-Luc Picard is another prime example of this. In Star Trek: The Next Generation, he is the consummate diplomat who is always seeking a peaceful, if not enlightened solution to a problem. However, in the pilot for Star Trek: Picard, Jean-Luc Picard is now surly, resigned, and has turned his back on everything he knew.
All the justification for this – as is the justification with Luke – occurs off the page. We’re introduced to this stranger, and given the reasons, that have happened off-the-page, usually before the installment. They are this way, and then the viewer is left to reconcile this new reality. However, to accept this reality, we need to believe it could happen.
As another example, let’s consider Sarah Connor. In The Terminator (1984), young Connor is an oblivious waitress who’s leading a simple life. Throughout the story, the Terminator hunts her down relentlessly, killing her friends and family. She lives in a constant state of fear and paranoia and learns she must go to extremes to survive.
When we’re reintroduced to Sarah Connor in James Cameron’s sequel Terminator 2: Judgement Day (1991), Sarah is a hardened, wary woman. She’s also learned combat and how to handle weapons. Given the events of The Terminator, the viewer can now fully accept this is who she’s become. It’s a logical extrapolation.
Characters can be progressed in interesting ways. James Mangold’s Logan (2017) does it with Wolverine. Cobra Kai does it both with Johnny Lawrence and Daniel LaRusso. Cameron’s Aliens (1986) also did a brilliant job – if not one of the best jobs – with the character of Ellen Ripley, returning from Ridley Scott’s original Alien (1979)
However, with people like Luke, and Jean-Luc (and there are others), their polarization has become purely shock value. As a result, their whole journey now becomes about rediscovering who they were. Here are our heroes. They’re back. Yay! It all seems on the surface level like such a meaningful journey.
The truth is they’re just reset to who we knew them to be. There hasn’t been any intellectual, emotional, or spiritual growth. The only advancement they’ve had is entirely circumstantial. Compare that to the likes of Wolverine, Johnny Lawrence, and Daniel LaRusso, all of whom grew, and continue to grow.
That Rey Is Nobody
Following Star Wars: The Force Awakens, speculation was rife about Rey’s identity. Given her Force sensitivity, her ready abilities, and Luke Skywalker’s lightsaber calling to her, the likeliest extrapolation was that she had some connection to Star Wars nobility, i.e. a Skywalker, a Kenobi, a Palpatine, or she was a Jedi Padawan whose memory had been wiped.
Rian Johnson obliterated that by making her nobody in the Star Wars universe. Many lauded this. Here is a Star Wars movie finally democratizing the Force. It was no longer just about the Skywalkers. This ignores that the Prequels feature Qui-Gon Jinn, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Mace Windu, Maul, Dooku, a whole Jedi Council, and a plethora of younglings, not one of whom is a Skywalker.
Also, complaining about the Star Wars (episodic) franchise being Skywalker-centric is like complaining The Crown keeps featuring the Windsors, and The Godfather franchise keeps going back to those Corleones.
The biggest problem, though, is that Rey being revealed as nobody is yet another narrative choice that shocks in its execution. Yet it manages to have little to no bearing on the story. How does it change Rey? It doesn’t. How does it impact the story? It doesn’t. If we cut this scene from the story, would we miss it? No.
Compare this to Luke discovering he is Darth Vader’s son. This changes Luke, it changes his outlook, and it changes the entire landscape of the story. Everything we’d known is recontextualized. If we cut the revelation scene, we’d definitely know something was missing. Rey being nobody could’ve worked if it had been set up differently.
If Rey had emerged as this Force-capable Jedi prospect, the Resistance could have been able to politicize her in order to give hope to their cause. Additionally, they might have sold her as a Skywalker or Kenobi, or even said she’d been Luke’s top student. However, she buys in until she grows overconfident, and that affects her decision-making. Inevitably, she fails spectacularly, exposing the lie.
When Kylo reveals that she is, in fact, nobody, she realizes that she can’t be who everybody else wants her to be. She can’t build her identity on somebody else’s marquee. She has to be herself and make her own name. Subsequently, she takes ownership of her identity, and to hell with everybody else’s expectations.
This gives the decision to make her nobody significant. It also plays into the rest of the story because she’d have to win over those people she let down, while the First Order would be celebrating the exposure of the initial deception. She would also have to prove her mettle, while the First Order wouldn’t fear her due to her obscurity. As a result, there would be a moral for the audience about the importance of being yourself, rather than playing to an affectation.
As it is in Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Kylo reveals Rey’s lack of heritage and she is momentarily taken aback. Initially, the audience is surprised, but this has no further bearing on the character or the story. It’s yet another wasted opportunity.
Conclusion
The phrase “subverting expectations” is commonly thrown around in defending and justifying the narrative choices of Star Wars: The Last Jedi. However, subversion means nothing if it has no bearing on events. These revelations are the narrative equivalent of jump scares – shocking when they occur, but with no lasting substance. Once robbed of their surprise factor, what do they mean? Further, if they mean so little, then what does that say for the story?
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