The Psychological Turmoil of Liking the Star Wars Prequels

“Millennial” is a decent name for a generation; not great, but ok as far as words that were probably made up in a thinkpiece go. If I were to suggest another option I might go with “The Allowed to Like the Star Wars Prequels Generation.” I was seven years old when The Phantom Menace was released. If you can’t understand why a seven year old would be fascinated by people with lightsabers, regardless of plot, then you might not like Star Wars at all.

Of course, it wasn’t just the lightsabers. I was humbled by Qui-Gon Jinn’s aura of wisdom. I was amazed by the Gungan’s underwater city. I was thrilled by the podrace. I laughed at the jokes. I laughed at Jar Jar. Most importantly, I related to Anakin like a beast. I saw myself in Anakin and dreamed of participating in his adventures just like I was supposed to. I felt the same way about Anakin that teenagers were supposed to feel about his son 22 years earlier. I was seven and he was nine. He didn’t have a father or freedom and I didn’t have magic superpowers. Total twinsies. I even looked like him. I had the same basic bowl cut and blonde hair.

But that’s part of the problem, isn’t it? Fans of the original trilogy don’t want to see Darth Vader, the face of evil, as a cherubic messiah child. If they have to see him as a child, they’d at least prefer he be a creepy Omen child. At least, that’s what Patton Oswalt says.

Patton sounds pretty ticked off there. The prequels must have been pretty traumatic for him. Maybe as traumatic as watching a character he strongly identified with as a seven year old grow up to slaughter children, because that’s what I did. Over the course of six years I watched a character that was specifically designed to appeal to my age group, and me especially, go from bright eyed and spunky to angry eyed and homicidal. Imagine if Calvin (best known for his work with partner Hobbes) suddenly started blowing up planets full of people. Not as Spaceman Spiff, but as Calvin. Suppose he were to force choke a pregnant Susie Derkins.

As far as I can tell, the only thing that saved me from becoming part of a generation of mass murderers was the heartsick emo Anakin of The Clone Wars acting as a buffer between the “aw shucks” Phantom Menace Anakin and the “murder murder murder” Revenge of the Sith Anakin. As a ten year old, the only connections I had with Clone Wars Anakin were an appreciation for his sick rat tail and a shared dislike of sand. (You ever get that stuff in your swim trunks? It’s very uncomfortable.) If Hayden Christensen had been a more likable actor, who knows what kind of psychological issues I could’ve had?

The weird thing is, I’m aware of all of this, and yet I still can’t hate the prequels. Obviously, I can see how the original trilogy is superior. The triumph of a crew of misfits is much more fun than the fiery fall of a civilization. When I watch A New Hope I can imagine the kind of awe it must have inspired in theaters, but I have my own awe. I can feel my eyes widening now, just thinking about those doors opening, revealing Darth Maul’s dual bladed lightsaber. I remember my shock when Padme revealed herself as the true queen and my sadness at the death of Qui-Gon Jinn. My awe is just tainted by a bit of rage and mass murder. Also, some pretty remarkable plot and dialogue problems, but mostly rage and mass murder.

Asked and Answered

I am not a very talkative person.  Throughout my life many people have asked me why I’m so quiet.  Not nearly as many as those who have ironically told me to shut up, but still a pretty respectable number.  Usually when someone asked me why I speak so little I repeated “I don’t know” as many times as necessary until the topic was dropped, but the truth is I have given it some thought.  So now I will attempt to answer that question to the best of my ability.  As for the question of how so many people can be so unaware of their own lack of creativity to think that I haven’t heard their bad joke hundreds of times before, I’m afraid I really just don’t know.  All I can do is hope that Comedy Saint Peter will hold those comedy sinners and heathens accountable for their crimes against comedy humanity.

            

The simple answer is that speaking has caused me nothing but pain, but if I say that in casual conversation I’ll get pity eyes.  It all started in second grade, when my school got a new playground.  I watched it being built for months, all color and plastic; far better than the old playground made of wood and a rare space metal that conducted heat at a rate unheard of before or since on Earth.  When the day finally came that my class got to play on the new playground I was forced to stay inside and write sentences, just because I was having a discussion on the finer points of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban with a classmate while our teacher was trying to shove meaningless facts down our throats.

That brush with fascism was just the beginning.  The world continued to punish me for speaking but not with such straightforward penances; instead it destroyed my self-esteem one blow at a time.  I was told that I was academically gifted, but somehow that failed to translate to me being right about everything, so instead I felt like I was wrong about everything.  Also, I had weight issues, which wasn't very helpful.  We don’t need to get into that now, but long story short, no, I don’t know what you mean when you say that in high school you could eat whatever you wanted without gaining a pound.

Maybe I’m over psycho-analyzing myself.  Maybe it’s as simple as hearing someone say something favorable about the strong silent type, and my impressionable young self took it way too far.  Or maybe it was the old adage that it’s better to let people think you’re a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt.  However, I don’t think it’s as simple as a cliché or even a traumatic childhood memory.  I think it’s more likely that being quiet is a part of who I am, and there is no simple answer to the question of why I am who I am.  Speaking of old sayings, I guess what I'm trying to say is that I am what I am and that’s all that I am.

Like Me

I think I’m generally as affected by celebrity deaths as anyone else.  I feel a pang of grief, I listen to an album if it’s a musician or the equivalent of that for actors, directors, etc. out of respect, then I move on because life is for the living, but mostly because I don’t like feeling sad.  After Robin Williams died earlier this week the pang was just a little stronger and even after I watched an episode of Mork and Mindy I continued to think about Williams.

I thought some about Mrs. Doubtfire, Hook, Dead Poets Society, and Good Will Hunting, sure, but what I kept coming back to was an image of Williams lying on a trampoline with Carlos Mencia.  I don’t remember the context; I have no memory of why they were on that trampoline.  All I remember is that one of the two mentioned Williams’ incredible amount of body hair, which I had never noticed before.

Since Williams’ passing there’s been a lot of talk about depression.  I don’t know much about depression, but I know a bit about feeling alone.  Throughout my life a lot of things have made me feel alone, and one of them was the rapid growth of hair on my body when I was younger.  To give you an idea of how much hair and how young I was; I’m 22 and I have more memory of that Mind of Mencia sketch than my back skin does of the feel of cloth.  Robin Williams lying on that trampoline was the first time I became aware of someone successful and admired who was hairy.

Before this week I already had death on my mind, partially because I recently watched Dead Like Me for the first time since high school.  Dead Like Me is about a group of undead “reapers” who take people’s souls before they die then lead them into the next stage, whatever that is.  One of the many great things about the show is that in its world no one dies alone.  The main character is George Lass, a young loner who dies then finally finds a place where she belongs among her fellow reapers, Mandy Patinkin and Whitley from A Different World.  It’s two seasons of a big middle finger to the idea that everyone dies alone.

Unfortunately, Dead Like Me is nothing more than a very good TV show.  As far as I know Mandy Patinkin has never taken someone’s soul in his life.  My heart yes, but never souls.  I want Dead Like Me to be real, though.  I want it to be true enough that I won’t say Robin Williams died alone.  I don’t know if he did or didn’t.  I don’t know what the next stage is or if Robin Williams is alone there, either, but I don’t think so.  I know one thing, though, that there was once a strange and hairy boy sitting in front of a TV who wasn’t alone, and he wouldn’t have noticed if he was because he was too busy laughing.

The Seed (K-12 and Beyond)

The biggest musical influence of my childhood was my best friend’s friend’s older sister, Britney.  I don't think Britney and I have ever been in the same room more than a few times, but it was through her, by proxy of her younger brother Logan, that I first learned about popular music, namely N*SYNC and The Backstreet Boys.  At the time I thought Logan knew about these artists and I didn’t just because he was allowed to watch MTV and I wasn't, but I've recently come to think that Britney must have been the unknowing mastermind that led three Kindergarten students to become boy band devotees.

For the next five years my CD collection was made up entirely of pop music from the late 90’s and early 00’s, and at the center was the Jimmy Neutron: Boy Genius soundtrack.  It was recommended to me by a fellow student, who I remember nothing about except that he specifically mentioned a song called “Parents Just Don't Understand,” originally performed by DJ Jazzy Jeff and The Fresh Prince, but remade for the film by Lil’ Romeo, Nick Cannon, and 3LW.  I think he may have been black.  Not because he recommended a hip hop song; I just vaguely remember him being black.  My mildly racist long-term memory aside, the point is that his endorsement was well received.  Not only did the Jimmy Neutron soundtrack include contributions by such esteemed artists as N*SYNC, The Backstreet Boys, Britney Spears, and Aaron Carter, but “Parents Just Don’t Understand” quickly became my favorite song.  Never before had I so intimately identified with a song’s lyrics.  Parents really don’t understand.

About two years later N*SYNC broke up when Justin Timberlake went solo.  I took it as a sign that the boy band fad was over and tuned my back on them for good, also beginning a nearly decade long grudge against JT.  I had a brief affair with hip hop, but it didn’t last very long because my mom wouldn’t let me buy the CDs.

Sometime around middle school I became convinced that I was a redneck.  I watched Blue Collar TV, wore camouflage baseball hats, and listened to a lot of country music.  I even bought Larry the Cable Guy’s book.  And read it.  It’s pretty easy for an impressionable young person to fall down the country wormhole, especially in rural North Carolina, because so much of country is about pride and confidence, and everything is black and white.  Country music is good, America is good, God is good, Toby Keith is great, beer is better, and anyone who disagrees is a liberal yankee wuss.   

Did you think this was a game?  This. Is. My. Life.

In high school I started to flesh out my musical tastes in a big way with help from sources like VH1, Guitar Hero, Rolling Stone, and anything else I could get my hands on.  I listened to hair metal and grunge and hip hop.  I dove into the works of Guns N’ Roses, David Bowie, Jimi Hendrix, Marvin Gaye, Nirvana, A Tribe Called Quest, etc. 

I’m ashamed to admit that around this time I had a brush with music piracy.  I was sure that something so easy to do couldn’t possibly be that bad.  I first started to regret my actions when I was listening to “Here Comes the Sun” on a CD I had made from LimeWire downloads.  Something felt wrong about enjoying something so beautiful without the people who created it getting their due, but I waved it off.  Eventually an anti-piracy episode of iCarly was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Once I returned to legitimate music purchases every spare cent I made went to digital download establishments.  Every day I checked Amazon for a 4 dollar album and every week I checked iTunes for free songs.  One of those songs was “Ain’t No Rest For the Wicked” by Cage the Elephant.  Sometime later their debut Cage the Elephant became one of the 4 dollar albums.  CtE quickly became my favorite band and they still are to this day.  I’ve listened to their sophomore album Thank You, Happy Birthday countless times, much more than anything else in my frankly impressive collection.  It’s an amazing tribute to the alternative and grunge of the late 80’s and early 90’s, which is my favorite period for music.

My sophomore year of college Spotify became available in the U.S.  I read years before that it was a highly acclaimed streaming service in other parts of the world and anxiously awaited its arrival in America.  It was well worth the wait and within months I signed up for a premium account.  I now have access to far more music than ever before and it’s much easier to discover new music, all much cheaper than buying albums individually and much less morally despicable than not paying for them at all.  I delved even deeper into the catalogues of the artists I already loved like The Who and Bob Dylan and found new levels of appreciation for them.  I developed affection for certain genre’s I was previously only passingly familiar with like 90’s hip hop, folk, and punk.

I’m currently going through another country phase, but with more awareness of the genre’s faults than before.  I favor alternative artists like Lydia Loveless and Drive-By Truckers, along with older icons, especially Steve Earle, but I still have a soft spot for more mainstream country musicians like Eric Church, Keith Urban, Kacey Musgraves, and the Zac Brown Band.

Over the past few years I have become nearly obsessed with Link Wray, a little known but highly influential guitarist who was born in Dunn, North Carolina, which borders my hometown of Erwin.  I’m quite sure I’ve listened to every song of Wray’s that is available on Spotify.  I have a lot of love for his biggest hit “Rumble” obviously, but I may prefer his gentler performances like “Black River Swamp,” the best portrayal of rural American life that I know of, as well as a transcendent cover of “And I Love Her.”

Lest you think that I only listen to old music here is my Spotify year in review from 2013.  

I have a bit of a pet peeve about the idea that music has declined since whatever era you prefer.  For as long as there has been good music there has been bad music that was just as popular, if not more so, and that has never changed.  As for me, I mentioned before that my favorite band is Cage the Elephant.  You can see below that my 2^nd most listened to song of last year was by Gary Clark Jr. who I believe to be the greatest living guitarist.  Also, my top playlist, labeled “2013” because I’m very creative and that’s why I’m a writer, consists of my favorite songs of that year, one song per album.  I’ve made one of those playlists for the past four years in a row, including 2010 on iTunes, and each one is bigger than the last.  Of course, that may be in part because of my ever growing love for music itself that began all those years ago.  So, if you're reading this Britney, I thank you, even if I kind of wish you were more into Teenage Fanclub or something.

Great Workout Songs from Surprising Places

Let me tell you something you already know.  Working out can be hard.  If it weren't everyone would do it and Michelle Obama would need to find a new cause to champion.  Next thing you know Game of Thrones has all the nudity and violence of Angry Birds Epic.  One of the best ways to get through a tough workout is a good playlist for the task.  Something to get the blood pumping and motivate you to go that extra mile.  Some choices for a great workout playlist are obvious, like 80’s training montage tracks and pop songs about breakups that reference the Nietzsche quote about not being killed and becoming stronger as a result, because that’s definitely what old Freddie had in mind.  However, there are also great workout songs to be found all around us; in the sounds of nature and the rhythm of the city.  Or even better, not that.

·       “I’ll Make a Man out of You” from Mulan
      What makes this song a surprising choice for getting amped isn't so much that it’s from a Disney movie, but more that it was performed by Donny Osmond, who is best known being a giant square and having a discomforting relationship with his sister.  In his defense, though, he probably wouldn't use the word “amped.”  Despite Osmond’s blandness, “I’ll Make a Man out of You” makes for a great workout song.  It’s essentially one of the aforementioned training montage tunes but in an animated movie from the 90's.  It also has lines like “let’s get down to business/ to defeat the Huns” and others comparing us to rivers and typhoons.  Before long we believe that the fate of all of China rests on our squats so when the time comes we can deliver a royal beat down to Attila himself.

·         “Tear Me Down” from Hedwig and the Angry Inch
      Not many stage musicals have the edge needed to produce a great workout song, but not many musicals are about a transgender German punk singer either.  Although Hedwig has gotten some mainstream attention now that it has moved to Broadway with Neil Patrick Harris in the titular role, that doesn't change the play’s punk roots.  Most of the music performed by Hedwig and her incredibly-cool-but-also-emotionally-significant named band The Angry Inch was written and tested in dive bars and drag clubs in the early 90’s.  Maybe the hardest rocking song in the musical is “Tear Me Down.”  While some workout songs are effective because they encourage us to become better, “Tear Me Down” instead reminds us of our own inherent fortitude as Hedwig calls herself the new Berlin Wall while daring any challengers to try to tear her down.

·       Pokémon theme
      The original Pokémon theme as a workout song is kind of a “staring you in the face the whole time” deal.  Perhaps no other song in history has so elegantly captured blind ambition.  The very first line is a declaration of intent to “be the very best, like no one ever was.”  Seconds later there is a line about untapped potential, or “the power that’s inside.”  Then there’s some stuff about friendship or something.  Long story short, it’s your destiny to claim your rightful place on that elliptical you've been waiting for.  You know, the good one, that that one guy is always hogging.  Well, not this time pal, because Ash Ketchum is my gym buddy.

·         “How Bad Do You Want It” by Tim McGraw
           Country songs tend to fall into one of two categories: incredibly depressing ballads or easy going depictions of care free small town life by the creek with a beer in hand.  Neither end of that spectrum lend themselves to motivation, but in 2004 Tim McGraw released the album Live Like You Were Dying, opening with the track “How Bad Do You Want It.”  The song is about doing whatever it takes to reach your goals, in this case becoming a country singer but it’s not much of a reach to project your dreams of having a rockin’ bod onto it.  McGraw goes so far as to suggest you should be willing to sell your soul by kicking off the song with a retelling of the legend of blues icon Robert Johnson.  If you don’t know the legend of Robert Johnson, the idea is that he sold his soul to become a blues icon.  It was a remarkably punk notion considering that same year McGraw teamed up with Nelly to create this soft-core gentle back rub of a catastrophe.