 SPOLIERS AHEAD. BEWARE.
So, everyone has their theories about the new Star Wars trilogy, and I suppose fan theories are just the modern world’s way of saying, “hey, that was fun, let’s obsess over this until we bust a blood vessel!” Ah, what a strange and wonderful world we live in. Anyway, like any self-respecting dork I have my own theories, and I figured I’d share one I thought of this morning. As of yet, I haven’t heard it anywhere else. It concerns what we will learn about Rey’s past. As of now there is a lot of speculation over Rey’s parents, mostly due to the fact that the movie seems to point the audience to the conclusion that her father may be Luke Skywalker. Most people seem to be shrugging that away as the “way-too-easy” conclusion, figuring it doesn’t make for a very impressive reveal in either Episode VIII or IX. All sorts of theories are abound that Rey might be a Kenobi, or she may just be another Solo (making her Kylo Ren’s sister, and making that storyline very Star Wars indeed). However, I don’t really agree with those ideas, or with the idea that making her a Skywalker is just too easy. I think Rey is the daughter of Luke Skywalker, and I think people are missing what the big reveal of the next movie is going to be. It’s not going to be about Rey’s parents. It’s going to be about Rey’s past. What we know now is that the little girl, Rey, was left on Jakku with some fugly alien junker, and her “family”– whomever might be included in that equation– left her and never returned. We know that she is strong with the force, and I mean stroooong with it. Rey is I just learned I had the force about half an hour ago and whipped some dude that is twice my size in a light saber battle strong. We also know that after touching that blue light saber (seemingly Obi Wan’s) she had some wicked flashbacks. One of which was being surrounded by the Knights of Ren after a presumed massacre. Those things are pretty much all we know. Now let me bring up something we might know about Kylo Ren and Luke Skywalker. We were told Luke Skywalker quit training kids to be Jedis and disappeared after one of them “went bad.” As if it was all just too much to take, he had seen too much, and he had to get out forever. Once we see Kylo Ren giving a soliloquy to his dead grandfather, and then see the burnt helmet of Darth Vader, it’s easy enough to connect the dots and assume that Kylo, the grandson of Vader, was the one who went bad. As we later learn that Kylo is actually Ben Solo, son of Han and Leia, it all makes perfect sense. Ben Solo was the one who went bad and made Luke Skywalker give up his teaching position forever. But… wait a minute… WHY did Ben Solo go bad? Anakin went bad because of a lethal cocktail of ego, paranoia, and Sand People made my mom a slave after I left her, and I returned just in time to see her die. So Ben Solo had to have some messed up stuff go on, right? But Mom and Dad were alive, well, and sort of getting along. Don’t tell me he went to the dark side over a divorce… And Luke left the world behind because his nephew, a teen with some angst problems, was getting his goth on? I mean… he didn’t try to save him, or bring him back, or… anything. Doesn’t that all make Luke seem just a little soft? Wouldn’t Han and Leia be uber-pissed at him for failing the kid and then leaving? So here’s my big theory. Maybe Ben Solo wasn’t the one who went bad. Maybe it was little Rey. Maybe little five-year-old Rey was like an atom bomb of death that no one could control. Maybe that massacre we saw at the feet of the Knights of Ren was the handiwork of Rey? I think Luke saw his little daughter do some stuff that would have made grandpa Vader barf in his helmet. Then Daddy Luke promptly lost his mind, jedi-erased the girl’s memory of her bad deeds, and left her on the most desolate planet he could find. Then, not being able to live with what he had brought upon the world, or what he had done to his daughter, he vanished. Then, Ben Solo got all dark side because he saw what happened to little Rey… and then he saw Luke abandon her. Now, watching your uncle abandon your niece on a desert planet because she is the devil incarnate, and then peace-out on life… that makes you go dark side. So that’s my theory. What do you think?
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 You can put me firmly in the group of people who once called themselves Star Wars fans. (You noticed the qualifier in that sentence, right? Once.) Like so many, my childhood was filled with lightsaber battles, and imaginary playtime with Wookies and Ewoks. Even into my teens I watched the films with a warm, everything-is-right-in-the-world feeling. My friends and I quoted Yoda. We were damn proud Star Wars nerds.
When George Lucas decided to release a new trilogy, Episode I through III, we counted down the days, and consumed any news and merchandise we could. There was a fever pitch with all Star Wars fans at that time. You had to be excited. It was like someone had shown up with a time machine and told you they were about to take you back to one of the happiest, most carefree, and innocent times of your life. All you had to do was stand in line at the movie theatre and let it all happen. So we did. We metaphorically gave Mr. Lucas our hands, and let him lead us to the Promised Land. But then he did the worst thing he could have. He turned a wonderful part of our childhood into a mockery. I don’t have to rehash the epic disappointment of Episode I through III. The three movies remain unwatchable for an array of reasons. I’ll just say, on a personal level, George Lucas killed meesa soul. Like a Jedi being hunted by the Empire, I had to leave the Star Wars universe. They had taken an important part of my childhood, and completely bastardized it to make more money. It made it even more tragic to me that it worked. The Star Wars franchise blew up. Over the years that followed Episode I through III you couldn’t escape the Star Wars marketing machine. A new generation of kids had been seduced with lightsabers, and pod races. Anakin Skywalker was a household name, R2-D2 became the cutest little robot in the club, and Yoda replaced Bob Marley for the next generation of stoners searching for meaning amid a clouded high. Even Boba Fett somehow managed to eke out his own little piece of land on planet I’m-Such-A-Rebel. I was the old codger complaining that back in my day you had to be a real fan to even know who Boba Fett was. Oh God… I had become one of those sad people complaining that their favorite band had gone mainstream. It was time for me to leave the party. So, when Disney bought the franchise and announced the coming of Episode VII… I sadly didn’t give a crap. My little Star Wars soul was dead. Yet, in the coming months, things began to change. It was a slow change, met with resistance, but it was a change. I heard they were bringing back the old characters for the new movie. (Hmm, that’s somewhat interesting). There seems to be a rumble that the producers understand what was so wrong about Episode I through III, and promise not to repeat past mistakes. (Okay, admitting you have a problem is the first step). They are promising less goofy CGI characters, a much better cast with fewer established stars, and a promise to stay true to the original movies. (Well, I’ll see what the reviews say). The reviews are… good. (Maybe I’ll check it out when it comes to Netflix). Then a good friend of mine, someone whose opinion matters greatly to me in this particular matter, posted on facebook that the movie redeems the failure of Episode I through III. (No… Is it possible? I suppose… I’ll have to go see it). And then… The movie exceeded any expectation I had for it. It was amazing. No more horrible actors, the new cast was quality, and had chemistry. No terrible CGI goofiness, the effects were apt and not overdone. The comedy was subtle and actually funny, not the corny and forced slapstick of the “Jar Jar” disaster. And then, the thing I just never would have expected. The story was absolutely great. It was heartfelt and deep. The action was suspenseful, and riveting. I found myself caring for the characters, new and old. There was mystery that kept you intrigued. There were moments that brought actual sadness. This movie had me; it awakened something in me. And before I knew what had happened. I was back. Like Han Solo returning in A New Hope to help Luke defeat the Death Star, I was back. I walked out of the theatre, and for the first time in fifteen years, the force was with me. If Episode VIII had been in the theatre next door, I would have immediately walked in to watch it. Knowing I have to wait over a year for it is killing me, and that’s probably the best review I can give. Without giving anything away, the final scene of the movie is the most perfect metaphor for the “old guard” of Star Wars fans there could possibly be. If you never thought you could return, you were wrong, the force is strong with you, and it is there waiting for your return. All you have to do is reach out and grab it.  Just about a year ago, I set out with a goal, a new year’s resolution. Today, I completed that goal with a six-mile run and finished running my 500th mile of the year. This blog post isn’t intended to pat myself on the back, or to boast. I’m well aware that for many people 500 miles in one year is not a big deal. However, it was a big deal to me, because it was something I had never done before, something just two years ago I never would have imagined I could do, and also because of who kept me going every step of the way. My Heart is a Machine. If you’ve read my book, The Dean Machine, then you know exactly what it means. The inspiration for the sci-fi/fantasy adventure was Dean, a rescue dog that my wife and I adopted, who tragically passed away far sooner than he deserved. He was an old dog, who had spent years suffering in a puppy mill, and spent his last days struggling to fight the cancer and congestive heart failure that were crippling him. Yet, up until his last few weeks, Dean was a dog on fire, with all the energy and spunk of a dog half his age. He loved life, relishing every second of it. It is why he was nicknamed The Dean Machine long before thoughts of a book ever came into play. Dean was with me every stride I took when I ran, and every breath of air forced in and out of my lungs. I told myself he was waiting for me up around every bend. I ran in pain because of Dean, I ran through sickness, I ran through rain, and I ran in the heat of a Florida summer. I ran when I didn’t want to, I ran when it was hard to fit it into my schedule, I ran because I never forgot what Dean went through, and because my complaints didn’t mean a damn thing. Dean’s heart was a machine, and now mine is too. There are still dogs out there that suffer as Dean did, and make no mistake the fault lies with us. My Heart is a Machine is now my mantra, it’s the slogan for the book, and it’s Dean’s legacy. It’s why I will always donate royalties from sales of The Dean Machine to animal rescue organizations. It’s why I’ll be sending a $100 check to True & Faithful Pet Rescue Mission, Inc. at the end of this month. That total is partially due to those of you who purchased The Dean Machine, and I thank you. I hope in the future to be able to donate to animal rescue organizations in amounts far greater than what I am sending this month, but for that to happen I need help. I need your heart to be a machine. So please buy the book, and spread the word. Thank you and happy holidays.  |
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