I'm marking today date as the official start date of my indifference to George Lucas' projects. A new "Star Wars" film hit theaters today, and I don't even care. This is huge.
My son is over the moon about the animated "Clone Wars" flick, but he also wanted to see "Space Chimps." I'm so done with Lucas that I've asked my husband to take the kids without me. Through his crappy prequels and endless DVD re-releases of the originals, Lucas has all but killed my ardor for the franchise. It's his, so he can do what he wants. But I don't have to pretend to enjoy it.
In 1999, I sat through "The Phantom Menace" twice, trying to convince myself that it was good. When I looked over at my co-worker and fellow "SW" fanatic, G., I could tell he was doing the same: Trying to like it. Trying hard. I didn't expect the same cracked-out rush I had when I saw "Star Wars" for the first time at age 7, but I wasn't even entertained.
Lucas got me again with "Attack of the Clones" ("I don't like sand..."). "Revenge of the Sith" was all right, but when I look back, the only thing I really dug about episodes 1-3 was Ewan McGregor. The final light saber battle with Anakin was on point, but that's, what, 10 minutes? When the final credits rolled, I sat in the theater thinking, "I'm supposed to believe (or care) that Anakin's bad dreams about Padme led him to ruin? That's it?!"
I hate that it's come to this, but I have to get out with my dignity intact. At least I have the Cartoon Network DVDs (which were fantastic) to comfort me.