Raging Dad

[Note: If you don’t give a crap about Star Wars, then be advised: this is about Star Wars, and not much else.]

Looking out for his fans(' money).

George Lucas pisses me off. Yeah, yeah, me and every other fanboy on Earth. You are thinking, this rant is SO ten years ago, and you are right. But I didn’t have a blog back then, and I didn’t have kids, so now I am taking my turn.

I have always considered myself a devoted Star Wars Fan. I could dazzle people with my encyclopedic knowledge of minor characters who had almost no screen time (Snaggletooth, anyone?). I was even a card-carrying member of the fan club back in the mid-80s, and still have issues of Bantha Tracks somewhere in my old bedroom. I never dressed up for any premieres (though I did go to all opening nights), and I’ve never been to a convention. Yet. Hard core, I am not. But I kick ass on Star Wars Trivia, and I have major badass points for still having all of my guys and ships for my kids to play with.

Lucas castrated Solo by making him shoot second.

When I saw the special editions of the first movies in theaters, I was baffled by some of the changes, and enjoyed others. Giant ring of debris from exploding Death Star? Cool. Digital Storm Troopers on lizard backs walking around Tatooine? Nice touch. Greedo shooting at Han first? Ridiculous, but ultimately insignificant. Singing muppet dance number in Jabba’s palace? Are you fucking kidding me? This is Star Wars, not a fucking variety show. I nearly passed a raging stone when I saw the Sarlacc had been changed from the nightmarish vagina dentata that haunted my youth, to a goddamn houseplant. “Feeeeed me, Seymour!” it called to me. I used to imagine how horrible it would be to digest over inside of that wet, fleshy mouth for a thousand years in the middle of the desert. Now, I just see Steve Martin getting gobbled.

The sarlacc, toothy and vaginal-like. As it should be.

When this hot mess came out in the 90s, I remember thinking, “Whatever. It’s Lucas’ movie, he can do whatever to it. It still is awesome.” Now, watching it with my kids, I was more irritated than I thought I would be. I used to forgive Jar Jar Binks as something for the kiddies to enjoy, amongst the violence and incomprehensible exposition about trade blockades. (That really was shit, wasn’t it?) But my kids didn’t really like Jar Jar more than any other character. To borrow a quote from this excellent review of crappy Star Wars: The Clone Wars over at DadCentric, “Failed, you have,” George Lucas. *

Don’t even get me started on the yub yub song. Mutha f*cker took my yub yub song.

See that tiny picture in there?

I tried show my kids the “classic” edition of Return of the Jedi yesterday, included as a bonus feature on the new DVD, only to find that it is not enhanced for widescreen televisions and has been windowboxed. So, the picture has sidecurtains to make it like one of those ancient 4:3 televisions that you sometimes hear about from old timers, AND it has letterbox bars to provide the proper aspect ratio. The resulting picture is a tiny sliver in the middle of the big, beautiful screen. If you want it to fill the full width of your HDTV, then you need to zoom your screen, which hoses your resolution. And that just sucks, so we ended up watching the special edition.

Pan and scan crap.

George, I have purchased these movies no less than five times. First, my parents bought the ancient VHS tapes when I was a wee lad. Then, I bought my own, repackaged VHS when I was a stupid kid, and didn’t know anything about aspect ratios and the importance of the letterbox version. Then, I bought the special edition VHS set—in letterbox. I rushed to get the first DVD set, which was basically the same as the previous lame VHS. Then, you got me again with the double disc sets that promised the original versions, crippled as they were. Now, you say there will be no blu-ray version. But I am on to you.

You have kicked me in the balls again, sir. And I seem to only ask for more.

* Note: I have not seen The Clone Wars yet, but I hear it sucks. You just keep on kicking at us, eh, George?