Easy, Chewie

It was sad hearing of actor Peter Mayhew's death yesterday. The Star Wars saga formed an integral part of the core of my early science fiction and fantasy fandom, and the mighty Chewbacca was at the heart of that.

When he was dressed as the 200-year-old Wookiee, you couldn't see Mayhew's face, just that fanged, sasquatch visage. Nor did you hear his voice; only the mishmash of bear, dog, camel, or whatever collection of critter noises was dubbed in as the language of Kashyyyk. And yet Mayhew was still there. Under all that fur, he managed to project a tangible personality for his character. The stance showed it, and the speed at which Chewie would whip around to snarl when angry, and the frustrated waving of the arms, and the eyes.

Most of all, the eyes. Behind the mask, Mayhew wasn't just tuning out and striding through the scenes towards a paycheque, he was watching everything — Chewbacca was watching everything. Without a recognizable word or twitch of facial muscles, Mayhew's eyes told us everything about what was important to Chewie, and how the Wookiee felt. When the Stormtroopers get too close on the Death Star and the binders come off, we see Chewie's anger in those eyes. When Han is lowered into the carbon freezing chamber on Cloud City, we see the Wookie's sorrow and helplessness. And when Solo careens blindly into the cell beneath Jabba's palace, we can see how overjoyed his furry companion is. Under what Rian Johnson described as "a ton of yak hair", Mayhew showed he was a genuine actor.

Star Wars and all its sequels just wouldn't have been Star Wars without him.

May the Force be with you, Peter.

Belated Happy New Year!

A belated Happy New Year, everyone! I hope all of you had an enjoyable holiday season, and, if you don't celebrate anything, that you were able to relax and enjoy yourself in the manner of your choice for a few days.

One of the things I did over the holiday season was to (finally!) go the Capilano Suspension Bridge park in North Vancouver on New Year's Eve to see their holiday light display. I haven't been up to the bridge in more than 30 years, and when I heard they were stringing the whole place with lights — including their treetop walk on the far side of the gorge — a few years ago, I wanted to go. Couldn't do it previously since my ex is afraid of heights, and most especially of suspension bridges. But since I'm a bachelor once again, I figured I'd pay a long-overdue visit.

And it was definitely worth it! The whole park is a galaxy of colours glowing in the dark, from the road-side entrance, to the swaying suspension bridge across the gorge, to the trails on the far side, the cliff-face walkway, and the network of smaller suspension bridges and platforms of the treetop walk 50 feet up or more among some of the bigger trees.

In fact, it was the treetop walk that I enjoyed the most, especially as a nerd. The infamous Star Wars Holiday Special may have predated the addition of the Ewoks to the saga, but if they had been around  to celebrate Life Day, they might have decorated their village like the catwalks above the Capilano park. Or maybe the elves of Lothlorien in The Lord of the Rings, if they'd wanted to make their treetop kingdom a little more colourful. Here are some pictures I snapped on my phone:

And just to round things out, here are a few other shots from around the park:

A carpet of blue lights below a grove of white.

The lights along the cliff-face.

A little stream running beneath the trees of blue.

An arch along one of the boardwalks.

Waterfall in blue.

The lights dancing on the pond.

The Empire Strikes Meh - Disney's Overzealous Mining of Star Wars for Gold Comes up with Lead in Solo

Some may find what I'm about to say shocking and disturbing given that I'm a life-long Star Wars fan. But, as much as I hate to say it, Solo: A Star Wars Story was lame.

Not terrible. I'm not saying this instalment was The Star Wars Holiday Special bad. But, like the Millennium Falcon's hyperdrive grinding to a halt outside the asteroid field when Han, Leia and the gang were trying to escape from Hoth in Episode V, 'Solo certainly failed to live up to its potential.

Admittedly, I wasn't that psyched about the film to begin with. I didn't pay much attention to the hype in the months leading up to its release, was indifferent to the teasers and trailers, and didn't put it at the top of my must-watch-for-the-summer-popcorn-movie-season list. In fact, I went to it on opening night more because I knew the little mom-and-pop theatre down the road wouldn't be crowded than out of service to a lifetime of devotion to the saga. That's because (and again, there may be some members of the fan police out there that might want to tear up my nerd community membership) I think I've hit Star Wars overload. Yes, insert gasp of horror.

Remember when the release of a new Star Wars movie was an event? Remember standing for an hour or more in a line that stretched around the block — even when it wasn't opening night? Remember how Star Wars movies used to only come around every couple of years? Sure, in the late 70s and early 80s, the franchise saturated pop culture with a toy line so extensive that the action figures alone outnumbered the stars in the sky. And yeah, there was the aforementioned 70s variety show-style nightmare of the 'Holiday Special, and the sickeningly cute The Ewoks: Caravan of Courage and The Ewoks: The Battle for Endor, and The Ewoks and Droids Saturday morning cartoons (though Droids had some good moments). Not to mention Marvel's Star Wars comic series, and a handful of media tie-in novels (including Splinter in the Mind's Eye and the Lando Calrissian books). But the movies themselves somehow stood apart. Despite their faults, they were special, and everyone seemed to know it, and they were something to look forward to. They had the feel of being hand-crafted — that there was care that went into the making of them.

That feeling even managed to persist in the late 90s when the original trilogy was rereleased, accompanied by a rapidly growing and increasingly complex Expanded Universe of tie-in novels and (courtesy of Dark Horse Comics) comic series (all of which were promptly rebranded as the "Legends" and erased from the series timeline and relevance when Disney took over), video games and toys. Even the much-debated (and by some — not me — reviled) prequel trilogy instalments were events that were anticipated and had the feeling that genuine care was put into their creation.

But not anymore. Now, Disney — in its quest to cash-in on the franchise as much and as often as possible — is cranking Star Wars movies out so frequently, and with an increasing lack of care for quality, that they feel like they've been churned-out by a fully automated factory. Never mind the current lines of toys and comics (some of which, like Marvel's Darth Vader series, are exceptionally good) and video games, there's the Clone Wars animated TV series that's been running for a decade, and the new raft of movies that have been stampeding into theatres with mechanical regularity for the past few years. The Force Awakens was followed a year later by Rogue One, with The Last Jedi a year after that, and, now, 'Solo less than six months later! And, aside from Episode IX, there are other expanded universe movies in development. Whether you're a dedicated speculative fiction fan or just a normal consumer of pop culture, you can't turn around without stumbling over yet another Disney attempt to separate you from your money under the banner of Star Wars (or its other cash cow, the Marvel movie franchise). Didn't like the last one? Don't worry! They'll serve up another instalment with a different flavour in six months to a year. Loved it? Great! They'll have your next fix ready to mainline in a flash! You can't even catch your breath these days for all the Star Wars coming at you — if not actual movies in the theatres, then TV series or a non-stop barrage of teasers and hype on the 'net. The old cliche is that familiarity breeds contempt. I wouldn't go quite that far with the venerable space saga, but in this case, I think it means that Disney has oversaturated us with Star Wars to the point where the inevitable loss of quality can lead to burnout and indifference.

As for the specifics of Solo: A Star Wars Story falling flat, well, as usual:

WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD.

Overall, Solo: A Star Wars Story is choppy and predictable.

Just as bad, it suffers from a lead actor who neither physically resembles Harrison Ford, nor is able to adequately portray the personality of Han. Instead, Alden Ehrenreich looks more like Stephen Billington playing the prince's friend/lover/advisor Phillip in Braveheart (I kept waiting for Patrick McGoohan to appear and chuck him out a window), and comes off as vaguely like a young Christian Slater — if Slater was overly self-aware and trying too hard to play the Solo part as cute rather than his usual edgy delivery or as the worldly, cynical, sarcastic smuggler that we know from the rest of the series. And yes, I know, this is supposed to be a young Han Solo, but given the character's life experiences to date, I'd expect to see more of the Solo we know from the other movies in this performance, rather than what Ehrenreich and director Ron Howard and the Kasdans offer us, which is a personality who feels like he's been lifted from a teen-oriented vampire drama — a weakly-delivered wannabe who the audience just can't take seriously.

And really, if it's more Han Solo that we, as fans, want, then there's no need for this movie at all: we've already been given Malcolm Reynolds in the 2002 TV series Firefly and its cinematic sequel, Serenity. Between Joss Whedon's writing and Nathan Fillion's performance, the portrayal of Mal was close enough to Han (if not exactly the same) to create the same presence and do the job for this type of story damn near perfectly. Even Firefly's train robbery episode was better than 'Solo.

The film also falls all over itself trying to reference as much as possible of the titular character's canon-referenced backstory, like winning the 'Falcon from Lando in a Sabaac game, or making the Kessel Run in less than 12 parsecs, or freeing Chewie from slavery. It also jams in allusions to all other corners of both the active franchise and its old, cast-off properties, from the name of the swamp planet (which came from Splinter in the Mind's Eye), to Darth Maul being alive and well — if prosthetically enhanced (a resurrection courtesy of The Clone Wars TV series), to the roster of galactic ne'er-do-well names casually mentioned (which, and correct me if I'm wrong, I'm pretty sure included the Tonnika sisters from the cantina in A New Hope). The fan servicing was so over the top that if felt like hand-waving on the part of the director and writers to distract the audience from the shortcomings of the story.

On the positive side, the visuals are stunning (which we'd expect from a Star Wars film), and most of the secondary characters and their actors' performances are pretty interesting (with the exclusion of Rio Durant — John Favreau does a capable job with the four-armed, hairless chimp, but ultimately this character's just a slightly less acidic version of Rocket Raccoon). In fact, I think the film could have been a lot better if more screen time had been devoted to further developing the stories of Chewie, Lando, L3-37, or the others. Donald Glover especially is to be commended for doing a wonderful job of stepping into the role of Lando Calrissian. That said, at times he pushes the character hard against the border of campiness — something that isn't helped by the closet scene aboard the 'Falcon, which makes him come off less like Billy Dee Williams' Lando, and more like Cat from Red Dwarf (seriously, watch that scene again and try not to think of Glover in canine fang caps singing "I'm gonna get you, little fishy!"). Val and Beckett were also great characters — I could have watched a whole movie about them, rather than what was created for Solo.

I just wish that instead of the constant avalanche of Star Wars and Marvel movies, Disney would use its considerable money and talent to offer us a little more variety in its live-action fare. I'd love if The Mouse could give us the third part in the Tron series, or the reboot of The Black Hole (both of which were planned but then shelved when Marvel and Star Wars were acquired), or another John Carter flick, or something totally new. Right now, Disney's going for the safe bet of its biggest properties, and maybe because they're trying to generate so much so quickly, they've finally started to spiral into the singularity of mediocrity. It all smacks of Yogurt's line in Spaceballs: "God willing, we'll all meet again in Spaceballs 2: The Search for More Money".

May the Schwartz be with you.

Invaders From Planet 3 - Ep 16 - Kelly Robson

In this episode, we're joined by author Kelly Robson. We talk about her first love in the genre, Star Wars — how it was big, exciting and sexy, but also an escape from family drama at home; and what it's like to look back on the movie now as an adult and a professional speculative fiction writer. We talk about other early sf pleasures, like the original Battlestar Galactica; books by Piers Anthony, Anne McCaffrey, Elizabeth Ann Scarborough, and others; and the genre magazines of the 70s and 80s. Along the way, we also discuss the early superhero Zorro (and specifically the George Hamilton movie Zorro — The Gay Blade), and why you may have to read Heinlein before a certain age in order to enjoy his stories.

Turning to her own career, Kelly tells us how the Connie Willis story "Blued Moon" reprogrammed her brain and made her want to become a writer. She talks about the positive aspects of starting her career in middle age, and how, despite writing being a selfish line of work, she's still able to be happy as an author married to another author. We also talk about how growing up on a farm in a small town in rural Alberta has influenced her work.

As well, we discuss Kelly's unique suggestion to resolve the Sad/Rabid Puppies controversy that wracked the Hugo Awards in 2015 and 2016.

And Kelly tells us about some of her recent stories, including "A Human Stain" on Tor.com, and her contribution to the Kickstarter project NASTY — Fetish Erotica for a Good Cause.

Our interview took place in December 2016 via a Skype connection between Kelly's home in Toronto, and my studio in the Lair of bloginhood, located in the rafters of an abandoned whisky distillery in the Highlands of Scotland.

Find out more about Kelly Robson on her website:
kellyrobson.com

To listen to Invaders From Planet 3, or subscribe, visit Libsyn, iTunes, Stitcher, Overcast and Spotify. Be sure to rate and review the show while you're there!


Let the invasion begin!

Star Wars Rogue One - a Cautionary Tale about the Dangers of Bad Upper Management

When we watch Star Wars films, we expect action and adventure, plucky heroes who defy the odds, and stories that reassure us that good eventually triumphs over evil. The newest instalment in the franchise, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story, delivers all of that, though in a darker, grittier fashion than its predecessors. But what's most interesting is something else that it does: Rogue One offers a cautionary tale about the dangers of bad upper management.

This movie doesn't just contain flat depictions of tyrants who are evil simply because they want to rule the universe. It's an in-depth study of the different types of real, toxic personalities who get into positions of power and weaken organizations; their failings; and the consequences of these problems. What's particularly impressive is that it's not just the Empire that's held up to the microscope; the flaws of the good guys — the leaders of the Rebel Alliance — are exposed too.

Yes, yes. Of course. Spoilers ahead and all that.

Rogue One is told through the eyes of two people trying to find their way in the world. The first is orphan Jyn Erso, a young woman trying to escape from Imperial custody, find her lost father (who was kidnapped by the Empire to help with the Death Star project), and — eventually — bring freedom to the galaxy. The other is Orson Krennic, an Imperial officer who's enthusiastic about his work (as the project leader for the Death Star's construction), and wants some recognition for a job well done — and maybe a promotion.

Both run tragically afoul of bad upper managers in their respective workplaces. Unless you're very fortunate, at some point you've probably worked for, or with, one or more of these types of executives, and you understand the havoc they can wreak on employees and organizations.

Krennic would seem to be the most obvious example of someone who's been victimized by bad managers. Ranking somewhere in the fluid wilderness of middle management on the Imperial org chart (sure, the Death Star is the Empire's biggest project at the moment — that we know about — but Krennic's pay grade isn't as high as a regional governor/Grand Moff, probably not as high as an admiral, certainly not on the level of one of the Emperor's ministers, and definitely not anywhere near a Sith Lord), Krennic is dedicated to doing anything and everything to make his assignment a success. Is he evil? Absolutely. It's hard to feel much pity for someone who's cavalier about mass murder as a measure of his project's success, and who includes kidnapping and murder as part of acceptable human resources practices (even if these activities are accepted part of the Empire's corporate culture). And yet there's no denying that Krennic gets a raw deal. Never mind the expected challenges of having to recruit the right talent (I mean, come on, flying all the way out to the middle of nowhere for a head-hunting meeting to land Galen Erso must have been a real scheduling hassle), obtain the necessary resources, deal with the actual designing of the battlestation (after all, we don't know how much effort the Seperatist forces actually put into the Death Star's blueprints during the Clone Wars — Darth Tyranus might have left Geonosis with nothing more than an exterior appearance concept sketch saved to a jpg file waiting to be printed on a big foamcore sheet for a public information/zoning hearing), planning the construction logistics, and actually getting the thing built, the guy's gotta deal with some of the worst senior management in the galaxy. Starting with Grand Moff/Governor Tarkin.

Because Tarkin is a bully.

Without getting involved in any of the hard work himself, Tarkin constantly tells Krennic that his work isn't good enough, pressures him to get to the job done faster, and threatens him with punishment if the Death Star project fails or has operational shortcomings. It goes without saying that  threatening an employee and putting him or her down all the time doesn't foster top-notch work or loyalty. And demanding faster work on a complex project leads to corner-cutting, stress- and fatigue-induced mistakes, and the potential for disaster.

Moreover, Tarkin's refusal to take any responsibility for delay or failure (also the hallmark of a bullying manager) is done without a hint of irony on his part, even though the governor always reminds Krennic that he is in charge. Tarkin complains about security breaches even though he's heaped security oversight duties onto Krennic, who's specialty is R&D engineering and wearing crisp white tunics and capes, and who's already overworked as the construction foreman. The fault lies with Tarkin for not doing the smart thing and hand-picking oh, I don't know, maybe an actual veteran security expert from the ranks of the Imperial Starfleet or the Emperor's red-robed praetorian guard to handle security for the Empire's biggest and most expensive weapon right from the start. Rather than admitting his mistake or responsibility, Tarkin heaps more pressure and blame on Krennic. You just know that if there was a mis-fire of the Death Star's planetkiller laser, and if the Emperor then called a project post-mortem meeting to discuss what went wrong, Tarkin would bring Krennic along to make a PowerPoint presentation prior to the next item on the agenda: screaming, writhing death by Force lightning.

And, while doing none of the actual work, Tarkin is also the kind of senior manager who relishes in taking all of the credit for successful projects. When Krennic announces that the Death Star is complete and it's main gun is ready for its first firing, Tarkin denies him the opportunity to blow up an entire planet (as the weapon was designed to do), limiting the test to the destruction of a mere city. Tarkin's excuse: "We need a statement, not a manifesto." But that's a lie. If you build a planetkiller, it needs to be tested on a planet, or at least a good-sized moon. But Tarkin doesn't want that to happen while Krennic is around, because Tarkin refuses to allow for the possibility of anyone other than himself getting credit for the success of Project Death Star. He allows Krennic to be present for the destruction of the temple city on Jedha just to make sure that the gun works — a statement, if you will, of its functionality for his own progress reports — but Tarkin clearly wants the public destruction of an entire planet — the issuing of the Empire's manifesto of its supreme power — to be ordered, overseen by, and credited to himself alone. There's a real emphasis on Tarkin being associated with the weapon's first major test, and with that being necessarily highly publicly visible. We see this later (in the overall timeline of the franchise) in the governor's statement to Princess Leia in A New Hope about the need to destroy Alderaan because Dantooine was too remote. It's pretty clear that Tarkin had two criteria to determine the completeness of the project: the successful test fire of the main gun (because, hey, if you can take out a city and the surrounding countryside, the planetkiller setting will probably work too), and the elimination of any possible security leaks around the battlestation's plans. Once the city on  Jedha was destroyed, Tarkin's only use for Krennic was to do the mop-up dirty work of killing anyone who might have leaked the details of the station's schematics. After that, Tarkin could get rid of Krennic so he could take all the credit for the Death Star's success for himself.

And there's no doubt that getting rid of Krennic was always part of Tarkin's plan. As stated before, the governor was all too willing to throw Krennic under the bus in the event of failure, but the outcome of the raid on Scarif also makes it pretty clear that Tarkin was going to eliminate him one way or another even if the project was a success. Tarkin blows up the Imperial archive base on Scarif knowing full well that Krennic is down there (on Tarkin's orders). Could Krennic have been killed in the fighting? Sure. But he could also still be alive. Tarkin doesn't even bother to call and check. Given his success on the Death Star, Krennic is obviously one of, if not the most effective project managers currently in the Empire — an important staff resource for any organization. And yet Tarkin's all to willing to vaporize him with a giant laser or see him crushed by a tsunami just to ensure that the governor gets all the credit for himself. Under these circumstances, it's not unreasonable to speculate that even if Krennic and the archive base's general had succeeded in crushing the Rebel raid and prevented the Death Star plans from being transmitted off-site, Tarkin would still have found a way to remove him. Best case scenario: Tarkin would have banished Krennic to some unimportant outpost in the middle of nowhere where no-one of rank would ever hear from him again. No further work on major projects like "Black Sabre" or "Scruffy Nerf-herder" or whatever other labels get put on the Emperor's X-files, just assignments like designing a new sewage system for an abandoned industrial park on Coruscant, or testing the cold resistance of Wookiee hair versus Wampa fur, or evaluating the nutritional value of blue milk versus Gorax armpit sweat. Worst case scenario: Tarkin would have had Krennic executed as soon as he was back aboard the Death Star, if not blown out of the sky when his shuttle was on final approach. You could argue that if Krennic had survived, he would have been a risk to the Empire if Tarkin ignored or marginalized him, because, for revenge, he could have defected to the Rebellion or at least sold the battlestation's blueprints to them. But it's a lot simpler than that. Tarkin is type of manager who's insecure about staff who do good work and have ambition about advancing through the company ranks. Tarkin wanted all of the credit, Krennic demanded to be recognized for his efforts, and so Krennic was going to die.

Grand Moff Tarkin: the type of senior manager who bullies staff by threatening them and telling them that they're of no consequence, who makes unreasonable demands on project completion, who refuses to share any responsibility for failure, and who buries staff who do good work so he can take all the credit.

But he's not the only example of a toxic senior management style. There's also Darth Vader: the wagon circler.

When things get bad working under Tarkin, Krennic goes to the next executive on the ladder (or, even if Vader isn't Tarkin's superior, he's at least another vice-president-level boss who has some interest in the project) and asks for some intervention, or at least clarification of roles and responsibilities. As is proper. After all, most organizations would say that ideally, if a staffer has a problem with his or her boss, the staffer should try to work things out with the boss, and, failing that, go up the ladder or to HR. Krennic does that. And is told by the Dark Lord of the Sith to fall in line, quit whining and get the job done, and forget about any aspirations for a promotion. There's obviously a problem with Tarkin's behaviour, but instead of doing anything about it, Vader's the type of senior manager who circles the wagons with other executives when something goes wrong. Whether it's because Vader and Tarkin are golf buddies at the Emperor's annual Texas scramble tournament, or because the Sith Lord thinks he's already got enough on his plate without having to deal with an HR issue in someone else's department, or because he wants to avoid getting into a pissing match with another VP, or because the Emperor's apprentice thinks that dealing with a problem involving another senior manager would expose a weakness in the organization's overall management staffing and strategy that would make all the executives look bad, or because Ani just doesn't give a shit about the little people, he does nothing. It's a management style that's bad for any organization because it hurts morale, increases the likelihood of losing good workers, and can ultimately cause operations to go off the rails because the people in charge are making poor decisions. Need proof? Vader does nothing about Tarkin's behaviour during the Death Star's construction, initial testing, and the raid on Scarif, resulting in not only the loss of a talented engineer and project manager, but an entire archiving base (and who knows how many important documents contained therein that didn't have copies in other locations), two Star Destroyers, several fighters, and countless personnel. One might even argue that Tarkin's behaviour in Rogue One planted the seeds for the Death Star's destruction in A New Hope. And Vader could have intervened and prevented the whole affair. Instead he chose to back, or at least tolerate, Tarkin and his bad management practices.

But don't think that having toxic executives is a failing exclusive to the Empire. It would be too easy to dismiss it as simply being a case of an evil begetting evil and necessarily attracting people to senior management who are flawed to the point of weakening their organization. After all, look at Hank Scorpio (The Simpsons), Aunty Entity (Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome), or Thulsa Doom (1982's Conan the Barbarian). These are badguys who have built fairly solid organizations, expanding the reach and success of their operations, building infrastructure, hiring effective and unified senior managers (mostly), recognizing risks and trying to deal with them, and generally treating their staff well. Bad upper management is a risk any organization (large or small, public or private sector, corporate or non-profit, good or evil) runs if it doesn't honestly look at and monitor its senior management as scrupulously as it does its front-line staff. Rogue One makes it abundantly clear that the Rebel Alliance has this problem too. And it's a problem that ultimately gets Jyn Erso killed.

Let's start with General Draven: the close-minded manager.

Draven is apparently the chief of the Rebellion's covert operations/dirty tricks/black ops/assassination division. Initially, he appears to be ruthlessly effective at the job, coordinating Cassian Andor's activities, identifying Jyn as a potential asset and ordering her extraction from Imperial custody (you can't really say that she was "freed" because the Rebels don't give her her liberty once she's out of the prison wagon — K-2SO knocks her flat), and coordinating an air strike on the Imperial kyber refinery on Eadu. In fact, his goal of engineering the murder of Galen is so single-minded and unremitting that he seems as bloodthirsty as Saw Gererra is rumoured to be. And yet, it's that single-mindedness that makes Draven a poor senior manager in the Rebellion hierarchy. When his operatives bring Jyn to him, his only thought is to use her to flush out her father so the Death Star engineer can be killed. There's no indication that Draven is willing to consider using Jyn to capture Galen to pump him for information, or maybe convert him to the Rebel cause and put him to work helping to actively identify weaknesses in the battlestation and coordinate attacks, or maybe even design some cool weapons or defensive systems for the Alliance that might help even the odds against the superior Imperial fleet. Instead, he's fixated on assassination and wastes a potential resource. In fact, his well-organized airstrike on Eadu proves that he jumps the gun rather than thinking out the possibilities — were it not for the X-wing attack on the refinery, Galen might have been alive for the Rebels to kidnap and exploit.

Draven is also a victim of limited thinking in the wake of the Eadu attack when he refuses to consider the possibility that Jyn (and by extension, Galen) may be telling the truth about the Death Star having a critical weakness in its design. He then goes further and argues against any attempt to try to steal the battlestation's plans. A lack of faith in front-line employees is a sure way to demoralize them and cause the organization to lose talented staff. If Draven had been better at his job and more open to possibilities, the raid on the Imperial archive on Scarif could have been better planned, equipped, and staffed. Rather than merely being a success because Jyn's commandos and Admiral Raddus' fleet were able to get the plans out (and only being a success because of that hand-off, since nearly everybody died in the attempt), a better organized raid might have resulted in the capture of other important information from the archive (like, say, the names of Imperial agents sent to infiltrate the Rebellion, or structural plans that would facilitate a break-in at the Imperial palace on Coruscant, or the list of Emperor Palpatine's favourite hamburger toppings that could be poisoned — or worse, waylaid to create Imperial frustration with an inadequately dresesed burger) and maybe more of the Rebel staff making it out of that raid alive. And Draven has to take some of the blame for those losses. Caution is one thing, but a good manager knows to look at all the possibilities, and is sometimes willing to take a chance on a plan that could have a big pay-off. In many respects, Draven's the kind of person who should never have made it to the executive level. Rather, he'd be more effective at a much lower management level where he could focus on one particular set of tasks, and where he couldn't limit the Rebellion's ability to at least investigate, if not completely exploit, new opportunities.

Speaking of hardasses, Saw Gererra is another senior manager you wouldn't want to have in your organization. He's the brilliant tactician who's doesn't understand long-term planning.

Now, let's get the obligatory detail-obsessed nerdy nitpicking out of the way: technically, no, Gererra is not an official member of the Rebel Alliance. He's the independent leader of a separate terrorist group who's seen as a little too extreme by the Rebel leadership (The Rebels shoot nervous contacts in alleys; Gererra's people start firefights with Imperial transport columns in the middle of busy urban streets where tiny children are present, so it's a matter of degrees between Rebel freedom fighters and Gererra terrorists. I guess.). But that's splitting hairs. Clearly Gererra and the Rebel leaders know each other and it's likely they've worked together in the past, and while they've technically gone their separate ways, Draven's attempt to contact Gererra for info on Galen is clearly and indication that there's a desire to work together again in the future. So he's separate, but not that separate. Like a former partner in a business who's become an independent contractor that might be brought back in at some point, or the head of a stakeholder agency that's in the same field who might be convinced to partner-up on certain sectoral initiatives, or the head of a separate division in a large conglomerate.

So, under the overall umbrella of groups rebelling against the Empire, as executive team members go, Gererra is highly effective at leading his team when he's focussed on challenges in front of him, like organizing an ambush, or roughing-up a defecting Imperial pilot to determine his reliability. But in the final analysis, he's a poor leader because he hasn't planned ahead, addressed major threats to the organization (like the possibility of something big coming along and blowing everybody up), or come up with strategies to prevent, minimize, or evade those threats. Granted, to be fair, something as ridiculously huge as the Death Star and its ability to destroy Jedha's temple city and Gererra's base  and several hundred square kilometres of surrounding territory might be unforeseeable. Except for the fact that the Death Tomato-er-Star (Muppet Babies flashback) was sitting there in orbit for all to see, getting shipments of kyber crystals everyday, which should have tipped him off that something seriously bad could happen. But even beyond that, Gererra doesn't escape criticism because he could have planned for other, entirely reasonable threats to his base, like having its security compromised and its location leaked, and waking up one day to have a Star Destroyer parked overhead about to begin an overwhelming aerial/spatial bombardment — which would have had the same practical effect as the blast wave from the nearby strike from the Death Star's main gun. Gererra should have installed planetary-defence-strength shields like the Rebels later did on Hoth in 'Empire, or, if that strong an energy signature would have advertised his position, then at least a means to evacuate all of his troops quickly and efficiently (like a transport, or set of escape pods, or super high-speed underground rail line). Anything to get his people out safely and allow them to regroup and launch a counter-attack. But he didn't. The very real possibility of having his base wiped off the map in some form of attack didn't occur to him. And it got all of his people — including Gererra himself — killed.

Back within the ranks of the Rebel Alliance proper, if we're looking for more examples of bad management at the executive level, pretty much every faction leader around the board room table is guilty of weakening their organization. With the exception of Admiral Raddus, Senator Bail Organa, and Senator Mon Motha (although her managerial failings will be examined shortly), none of them recognize the opportunity presented by Jyn's Death Star information (either disbelieving her or not bothering to take the time to consider it) to take the initiative in the next phase of the war against the Empire. They're also unable to agree on a single course of action for the common good. There isn't even any talk of compromise: different faction leaders just start threatening to walk away from the table. This leaves the Rebellion in the position of doing nothing in the face of a new threat, and creates the very real possibility that its factions could break apart, rendering each less effective in mounting a resistance (whether armed or merely politically) and making it easier for the Empire to pick them off one by one. This lack of solidarity among the members of the senior management team and their inability to act on opportunity makes them, as much as General Draven, responsible for the raid on Scarif being as ill-planned as it was, and for the deaths of everyone involved and the loss of valuable equipment.

Which takes us right to the top: Senator Mon Motha, the weak leader.

Admittedly, there are differences between being the leader of a coalition engaged in an armed political uprising and the CEO of a corporation or executive director of a non-profit or chief bureaucrat or elected official in a government. More diplomacy is needed; firing people can be difficult when they're volunteers who are armed and don't want to leave; and if one of your faction leaders doesn't like how things are going, they can pack up an entire division of the organization and go their own way — or knock the boss off and take over. Although, a disloyal exec can quit, entice talent away from the company, and set up his/her own shop,  and those with an eye on power can sweet-talk a company or charity's board of directors into changing the leadership. So it is fair to criticize Mon Motha in the context of allowing bad senior managers to hold her organization back.

As the leader of the Rebel Alliance (and it's pretty clear that she is the CEO, or president, or chair of the board, or executive director, based on her interactions with Draven, how she's trying to run the meeting of the heads of the various Rebel factions, and, later in Return of the Jedi, how she's on-site prior to the attack on Death Star II to give the big pep talk), Mon Motha suffers from a pair of related problems: she can't keep control of her senior executives, and she's unable ensure their unity.

From the scenes in the Rebel command centre on the moon of Yavin, we get the impression that Draven reports to Mon Motha. He may plan and coordinate military operations, but it's pretty clear that he has to keep her apprised of the situation, and that she has the final say in what's going to happen. This is emphasized when Jyn and Cassian are about to leave for Eadu, and Draven quietly takes the spy aside and instructs him to kill Galen regardless of how things go. The fact that the general does this so surreptitiously gave me the impression that he wasn't just trying to prevent Jyn from overhearing; he didn't want Mon Motha catching wind of the scheme either because she'd disapprove and possibly override him. The fact that this is happening at all illustrates that the senator doesn't have control over her senior staff. How many other operations are going on without her knowledge or consent that might impact the Rebellion's survival — or it's public image (something a career politician would be especially sensitive to)? If she had control over her executives, this wouldn't have happened.

This lack of control over her senior management team becomes a full-blown crisis at the end of the film when she's unable to keep the various faction leaders unified as they react to the news of the Death Star's destruction of the temple city on Jedha. Some, like Admiral Raddus, want to keep fighting, others insist on hiding, others think the war's over and they should disband, while some call for open negotiations with the Empire, which is tantamount to surrender. It ends with some groups walking away from the table and threatening to leave the Alliance if other factions insist on fighting and possibly incurring the Empire's planet-killing wrath. It also ends with Jyn and Casssian leading a band of other front-line staff in an impromptu raid on Scarif without the knowledge of Mon Motha and the other executives, and thus without the opportunity for better planning. And Mon Motha is helpless through the whole thing.  She clearly doesn't have enough control over the others — whether through respect or leverage — to make a final decision, issue an order, and have them follow it. She's unable to bring them around to her position through reason or diplomacy. And she fails to inspire them to remain united and redouble their efforts to bring down the Empire. There's no rousing "Will you stand together?" speech like Captain Sheridan's when he returned from Z'ha'dum on Babylon 5, or the not-quite-as-strong-but-still-adequate "Victory or death!" speech from Ambassador Enduran in The Last Starfighter. Rather, she's ringing her hands helplessly, probably dreaming of the future when in Return of the Jedi when she can make a sad little statement about the deaths of many Bothans (thereby alienating everyone else in the Alliance who's worked to expose the secret construction of Death Star II). It's a failure to give them the inspiration for success that they need when they need it the most. The result is a Rebel Alliance so fractious that anyone can do pretty much anything he/she wants.

That's not to say Mon Motha needs to be like her opposite number, Emperor Palapatine. There's no need for Force lightning or choking, Order 66, or Death Stars. But a good CEO needs to have earned the respect of her senior managers so that when she makes an informed decision and issues orders, they'll carry them out. Because Mon Motha fails in this respect, it's amazing the Alliance managed to survive, never mind eventually win control over a sizeable chunk of the galaxy.

The New Republic seems to have been founded in spite of its leadership, not because of it. For that matter, the Empire seems to have rolled along as long as it did on inertia, rather because of any quality in its executive team (at least those presented in the films). Ultimately, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story isn't standing on a soapbox and shouting a full manifesto on how to build the perfect organization, nor is it a class warrior anarchist screed against all people in positions of power. But it does make a statement about the dangers of having bad upper management. And when we hear regular stories in the news about organizations plagued by workplace bullying and harassment, disaffected and burnt-out employees, companies or whole industries weakened by short-sightedness or dissension among the ranks, or greedy leaders focussed only on their own personal gain, it seems Rogue One is perhaps the most grimly relevant instalment of the Star Wars franchise for our times.

Drowned in Moonlight

Leia shot first.

In the opening act of Star Wars - Episode IV: A New Hope — or just Star Wars as we called it in the late 70s and early 80s —when the Rebel blockade runner is boarded by Imperial troops, after getting the Death Star plans away in Artoo Deetoo, Princess Leia is confronted by a squad of stormtroopers. Does she scream? Beg for mercy? Vainly make a weak, half-hearted slap against the soldiers' chest plates as they drag her way? Collapse in a faint? No. She calmly pulls out her space Magnum, takes careful aim, and blows one of the badguys away before trying to retreat to an escape pod of more defensible position. They have to shoot her with a stun bolt in order to take her. In all the flap a few years ago about George Lucas' retooling of ANH and whether Han should have been left to shoot first in his face off with Greedo, and what this meant to his status as a hero, there was never any question about Leia shooting first at the beginning of the movie. As much as Han shooting first was a fundamental part of his character, Leia shooting first was an inseparable part of hers.

With the passing of actress Carrie Fisher yesterday, that's what sticks out most clearly in my mind: Leia shot first.

I was just three when ANH was released, and my parents, being decidedly not science fiction fans (and, in all fairness, probably concerned that the aliens and badguys might be too scary for a toddler) didn't take me to see it. But there were Star Wars-related toys and other merchandise everywhere back in those days, so I knew what it was, more-or-less what it was about, and who the characters were, and the princess was part of that. And she wasn't like the usual damsels-in-distress that I'd seen on TV and the movies: Leia kicked ass and didn't take shit from anybody. You didn't need to have seen the movie to know that. Her action figure (front and centre in the huge Star Wars display shelf in the upstairs toy section of the Highway Market in Kitchener) came with a gun. When The Empire Strikes Back came out in 1980, my parents did take me to see it in the theatre, and Carrie Fisher made a huge impression on me. Here was a female character who was one of the senior leaders of the Rebellion (at least, at Echo Base on Hoth — it was never clear in the original trilogy where she ranked among the gaggle of Rebel generals, senators, and admirals, but it was up there at any rate), she was calling the shots in the command centre (refusing to leave her post when the Imperials attacked until the place was falling down around her ears and the base had been compromised), giving the tactical briefing for the fighter/transport evacuation, helping to keep the 'Falcon on her feet, refusing to be taken-in by Lando Calrissian's game, and more than willing to tear Cloud City apart to try to save Han and Luke. But while I saw ESB first, the impression of Leia that sticks out the most in my mind was her shooting first aboard Tantive IV in ANH. When I finally saw ANH on my birthday in '81 on a primitive laserdisc machine, my impressions of Leia were confirmed: here was a tough, smart woman who wasn't afraid of facing-down the scariest people in the galaxy, but she could still be tender when her friends were hurting, or frightened when her homeworld was about to get blasted into oblivion. Tough but human.

This was important to my development as a young boy, and as a speculative fiction fan: to see women in this kind of positive, front-and-centre hero's role. To see them as equals of the male characters. It affected how I became a man, and helped ensure I had a broad appreciation of characters and perspectives in speculative fiction — and life in general.

And I give Carrie Fisher a huge amount of credit for that in her portrayal of Leia.

Over the years, I've enjoyed her work in other roles: as Jake's vengeful, jilted fiance in The Blues Brothers; or Paula the crazy adulteress in The Man with One Red Shoe (I'd follow her into a tree any day); or the wagon-wheel-coffee-table-hating friend in When Harry Met Sally; or her hilarious cameos as the nun in Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back and the doctor in Fanboys. Whether she was on screen for just a minute or throughout the whole movie, she brought a real genuineness to her characters (no matter how wacky they were) that made them all the more enjoyable. I'll also give her credit for her script-doctor work on movies like The Wedding Singer and Lethal Weapon 3. As important as the actors are to bringing characters and story to life, none of it would happen without good writers.

But, as good as she was in those roles, to quote Max von Sydow's character in The Force Awakens, she'll always be royalty to me. As much as I respect Carrie Fisher's wish that her obituaries remember her as having "drowned in moonlight, strangled by my own bra" (and think that's one hell of a funny line), I'll always remember her as Leia, who shot first.

Is It Okay to Talk about Star Wars - The Force Awakens Now?

With most of the nerdiverse focussed on the release of Deadpool this weekend, I figured it might finally be safe to weigh-in on Star Wars - The Force Awakens. Maybe. After all, it was less than two months ago when the latest edition of the 'Wars first came out that torch-wielding mobs from all across the internet would descend with howling vengeance upon any poor soul careless enough to deliberately or accidentally come anywhere within 10 parsecs of possibly dropping even a hint of potential spoilage. But everybody's seen the flick by now, right? Right? Geez, I hope so.

But if not, just in case: WARNING: HERE THERE BE STAR WARS - THE FORCE AWAKENS SPOILERS, SO IF YOU'VE BEEN TRAPPED IN THE BELLY OF THE ALMIGHTY SARLACC FOR THE PAST COUPLE OF MONTHS AND HAVE ONLY JUST ESCAPED AND YOUR FIRST PRIORITY IS TO WAVE THE FACT THAT YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THE MOVIE YET UNDER EVERYONE ELSE' NOSES, THEN YOU'D BETTER CLEAR OUT RATHER THAN BLAME ME FOR WHAT FOLLOWS.

Good enough? Or do I need to put that in flashing yellow neon with a dramatic voiceover playing in the background ('cause I know a couple of people who can do the voiceover bit if necessary)? Cool. Let's proceed.

So. Rise of the Jedi Wannabes.

On the whole (insert obligatory Austin Powers Preparation H joke - go on, I'll wait while you do it), The Force Awakens is good, but not great.

The Force Awakens certainly is successful in recreating the exhilarating drag-you-along-on-a-rollercoaster-ride feeling of the original trilogy, along with its casual clumping together of the human and the alien, the futuristic and the primitive, comfortably into settings that are familiar (forests, deserts, small towns, and bars) while being deeply strange. The fighter dogfights were cool, and the lightsaber duels were entertaining (yes, I'm okay with Kylo's laser quills). And Han and Chewie are back, baby!

I loved the desperate Millennium Falcon and TIE fighter chase through the old wrecks on Jakku, which was a wonderful homage to 'Empire's careening through the asteroid field (although I think this scene was done better in Battlestar Galactica - Blood & Chrome with the running battle between Adama's Raptor and the Cylon Raiders through the guts of the dead battlestar), except with the scene ending with the 'Falcon rising triumphant in its return. The field of downed Star Destroyers alone did a magnificent job of setting the tone for the movie, giving us an immediate, visceral sense of the magnitude of the battles of the past as the Empire fell, and how it's all just come to dust-covered, half-forgotten, and — for the Jakku residents — mostly irrelevant history of galactic conflict.

Since the movie came out, I've heard some people complain that Jakku was just another Tatooine, but I'm okay with that. The whole point of having a desert planet in the beginning was to give Rey a harsh place of origin (much like Luke, but, lacking caring relatives to raise her; or more like the Fremen or Sardaukar of Dune) to provide a quick, implied explanation of her toughness and capability and the likelihood that this has contributed to her natural development of talents with the Force (like Anakin — or Maz Kanata, for that matter — she is, in effect, like one of the Wildlings in Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time series), and it works. Sure, they could have planted her on a rocky world, or a lava world, or a snow world, or in a decaying urban skid-row world, or a hell-world where chocolate was never invented, but the galaxy's gotta be full of desert planets, and one wasteland is as good as another. Hell, if 2015's other desert movie, Mad Max - Fury Road, is any indication, sandy wastelands are in vogue right now. If anything, I think the problem with Jakku is the missed opportunity to make a comment on the cost of warfare... Wookieepedia indicates that the planet has always been a desert, but wouldn't it have been so much more meaningful if it hadn't? What if one of the characters threw in a quick line about how it used to be a nice, comfortable world (no need to go as far as to say "paradise")? Seeing all of those twisted metal leviathans piled around would have left the immediate implication that an orbital battle during the galactic civil war, and the multiple ensuing crashes (and probably power plant explosions), had devastated the planet's ecology (as huge masses of metal barrelling out of the sky at high speed certainly would have). I seem to recall a disaster of this sort being mentioned in Timothy Zahn's Thrawn Trilogy (in the old, now discarded expanded universe) in connection with the species that served as the Grand Admiral's personal assassins. At any rate, that was the assumption I made when watching the movie for the first time, and I think if that would have been the case, it would have made Jakku — and the film itself — just a little more meaningful.

Now let's talk rathtars. As Star Wars monsters go, these are some of the best. They accelerated what would have already been a fast-paced fight-and-escape scene to light speed with their blinding, tentacled, toothy havoc. And how can you not love something that's so reminiscent of a Dungeons & Dragons beholder dropped into the middle of the Star Wars franchise? (Yes, I know, some D&D fanatic out there is going to quibble with that comparison on the basis of real beholders being intelligent and having a big central eye and multiple secondary eyes on stalks/tentacles/antennae, rather than multiple eyes dotting its body surface, and beholders possessing the ability to shoot various types of magical beams out of their eyes. Fuck magical beams. The only magic beholders have is to make you laugh at how silly they look. These rathtars were so blindingly fast and lethal, there was no time for anything other than being swept up in Rey, Finn, Han and Chewie's "holy shit, we've gotta get out of here now" moment.)

I also enjoyed some of the little nods to the original trilogy scattered here and there throughout the film, one of the best taking place during Finn, Han and Chewie's "rescue" of Rey and infiltration of the Death Tomato (no, that was from Muppet Babies), or Death Planet, or Planet Killer Planet, or Enormous Pokemon Ball-Looking Thing, or Super Overcompensating Weapon, or whatever it was called (Starkiller, yeah, that's it; that's the ticket), when a group of stormtroopers clattered down a hall saying "We think they may be splitting up..."

Then there are the characters...

Rey is fantastic. As mentioned above, she's tough, capable, smart, and naturally developing some degree of proficiency with the Force on her own. She's kind when others are in need of help, but she doesn't take shit from anyone and will figure (or fight) her own way out of a scrape, thank you very much. In many ways, she's off to a better start than Luke was, as we're inevitably forced to draw parallels between the two. But for all that, she isn't a flat character or perfect. She suffers from anxiety over missing the possible return of a family who apparently abandoned her (a less annoying fault than Luke's propensity for whining, but one that causes her to nearly miss positive opportunities like Han's offer of work, or the initial chance to take Anakin's old lightsaber and embark upon the path to become a Jedi), demonstrating that despite her independence, she still desperately needs family. And, for all of her survival, tech, and piloting knowledge, she doesn't know much about the way the world works — she has to learn from Han (and even Finn). On a side note, isn't Daisy Ridley reminiscent of a young (albeit shorter) Sigourney Weaver?

And there's Finn, the likeable stormtrooper. Having lived solely within the narrow focus of the role of soldier for the First Order (occasionally on sanitation duty), Finn is really experiencing life for the first time when he jailbreaks Poe and goes AWOL. Everything out there in the wide galaxy is new to him, and, because of this, he's the perfect protagonist for the audience to go riding along with. Even for those of us who are familiar with the saga from all the way back to the days of the original run in theatres, the Star Wars universe has changed, and we are in a learn-as-you-go fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants situation similar to Finn's — except we're not being snagged by rathtars or sliced by some emo Sith wannabe. And John Boyega plays him perfectly, giving him believable fear, bravery, and exasperation all in the right places.

I also like Maz Kanata. With her mix of attitude, wisdom and humour, she was like an upgraded, bespectacled, alien version of Ackmena, without the singing (although Bea Arthur's number is a good one), but with an impressive degree of talent in the Force for a non-Jedi.

Most of all, I loved the return of Han and Leia, and their scenes together.

That Han has gone back to his old smuggler ways made perfect sense to me. Even without the sense of guilt and failure that would have come with Ben/Kylo's betrayal of the Jedi, and the relationship problems that followed, it would seem natural that Solo would have found the formalized life of a general in the New Republic's military structure, or of being close to (or involved in) the drama of the politics of a newly-formed coalition government (and the New Republic's government would most certainly have been an unstable coalition of various factions frequently at odds with each other) to have been annoying at best, and more likely completely intolerable, driving him into the solace of old, familiar, and ultimately disreputable ways. All of which would have driven a wedge between him and his wife — even, as mentioned before, without the damn kid messing things up. And so, when he and Chewie reappear in the second act of The Force Awakens, Han is completely in his element, even as he takes on the role of the wizened guiding hand for the next generation. The only thing that wasn't believable was that he would have lost the 'Falcon for so long. Sure, I can accept that the old girl might have been stolen, or that Han might have lost her in a game of sabacc (like Lando did). But I can't accept that he would just give her up. Solo's the guy who shot Greedo first. If someone took the 'Falcon, you can bet he would have torn the galaxy apart to get her back. Especially after all the trouble with Ben/Kylo. If Han was hurting bad enough that he decided to de-invent himself and go back to his old ways, one of the integral parts of that would have been getting the 'Falcon back, at any cost. And if he could find her drifting in space in some obscure sector near Jakku, why couldn't he detect her sitting there, abandoned, in the middle of the desert?

For Leia, it also makes sense to see her resume a leadership role in the Rebellion — er, Resistance. Post Return of the Jedi, she would certainly have been a mover and shaker in the New Republic, but after Ben/Kylo's seduction by the Dark Side and defection to the First Order, you can bet that she'd want to hit back against the bad guys. Hard. And Carrie Fisher does a great job of portraying the older, wiser, burdened-by-hurt Leia who's fought this war before and is determined to win again.

When Han and Leia finally come together, this is when the movie really shines. Better than the wonderful background wreckage scenery on Jakku, better than the ravening monsters or atmospheric fighter dogfights or lightsaber duels, the subtle, adult moments between the reunited princess and smuggler, where far more is unsaid than said, are where the real moments of worth are centred. We get all of the nuances of regret, guilt, weariness, wariness, relief, comfort and love between these two coming through as clearly as any giant laser blast from a planet killer (or killer planet), but with so very little dialogue. It's a degree of subtlety in filmmaking that I didn't think JJ Abrams had, and I would be inclined to give the credit to Fisher, Ford and probably Lawrence Kasdan.

For all the good in The Force Awakens, there are also some elements that strike me as odd.

BB8 is one example. Abrams & co. didn't do enough to develop the robot into a human character. Yes, I know that sounds weird. Allow me to explain. The little metallic medicine ball is the obvious heir to R2D2's place in a Star Wars movie's character roster as the faithful robotic slave who carries secret information and runs along (or rolls along) with the human protagonists, helping them out of scrapes — or sometimes getting into trouble itself — and occasionally providing comic relief. But there's a crucial difference: R2's character always came off as human because you could understand what he was saying. Sure, you couldn't understand explicitly what the words were, but in spite of being limited to mechanical chatter, it was pretty easy to infer meaning based on his tone and the reactions of other characters — especially C3P0's responses. You don't get that with BB8. Sure, it tweets away sympathetically at its human masters and gives a flaming thumbs-up, but without a Threepio counterpart to carry on specific rolling conversations, there's no sense that the little round droid is actually speaking rather than simply emoting. Rather than coming off as human, like Artoo did, BB8 seemed to me to be more like a dog or friendly cat, responding with its own basic emotional vocalizations with simple meanings, but not really conveying any sense of sophisticated language. So BB8 is like a mechanical Benji. He's C.H.O.M.P.S. for the 21st Century in the Star Wars universe. Additionally, despite his R2 unit head design, BB8's compact round body reminded me more of V.I.N.CENT from Disney's The Black Hole, without the guns.

Supreme Leader Snoke is another example. No, I don't care about his name — the franchise has a history of silly names, so we can let this one pass without significant comment. When he makes his first appearance, Snoke appears as a giant enthroned in a cavernous space, rumbling directives at his subordinates in the field. It's not until he disappears at the end of the conversation that the audience realizes he's not there in person, merely telepresent via holographic projection, and that the Star Wars universe's holo technology has advanced to overcome the flicker and transparency we're all familiar with. But until he hangs up on that first holo call, especially with his title being Supreme Leader, all I could think of when I saw that big, bald sucker was "Hey, it's Supreme Commander Dolza from Robotech!" I half expected him to start raving about recovering the stolen Protoculture and Zor's battlefortress. With all of Disney's considerable special effects and casting resources at their disposal, did they really have to go with the kind of tired cliche of the big bald guy as the source of menace? He may as well have been trying to shake down Humphrey Bogart for the Maltese Falcon, or kicking Daredevil's ass. This didn't ruin the movie for me by any means, but it did stick out. And it made me want to start chewing Protoculture leaves.

From the odd, we move onto the downright bad. And, as much as I enjoyed The Force Awakens, there were places where Abrams and his staff really dropped the ball.

One of the most obvious was the Starkiller. Turning an entire planet into a big ass gun is not something I have a problem with. After all, that's basically what the Death Star was: a moon-sized gun with some point defence weapons and ship-servicing capabilities. Scaling-up to something as big as an Earth-type world is unnecessary when the Death Star design is sufficiently powerful to blow up planets, but if you're the Supreme Leader of the First Order and you're trying to swing pork to intimidate the New Republic and any other potential rival empires out there, showing them your military and industrial capabilities, then sure. Why not? But designing said planet weapon to be powered by its parent star — and not just passively sucking normally-emitted radiation, but actively draining the star of its energy until it disappears (which I guess justifies its name, since it doesn't actually kill stars with its gun) — is just stupid. That means you've spent all that time and effort converting a planet into a one-shot gun. Okay, you've sucked your sun dry and just blasted a couple of enemy planets to smithereens. Now what? You've got no sun left, so you don't get another chance to finish the job. You're just stuck with a rogue planet drifting aimlessly in what's now interstellar space with nothing to power your weapon, relegating it to strategic irrelevance. At no point do I recall any dialogue from the movie mentioning anything about this thing possessing its own means of propulsion (beyond its natural orbit) and plans to move on to another star system/energy source. Obviously the old Empire had the ability to build gigantic self-contained reactors that could power Death Stars — with sufficient capability (by Return of the Jedi, anyway) for multiple shots within a short period of time — so why would the First Order go in a completely different direction and choose solar vampirism (which apparently takes hours or days to draw a charge) over an existing technology that had proven completely effective? Was Snoke bribed by an alternate vendor? You wanna turn a planet into a weapon? Fine. But install a larger Death Star-type reactor that'll power the gun with a little left over to move the planet to its next target. And Starkiller has one hell of a gun too — it fires a beam across interstellar space in the span of a minute or so, and one that splits into several independently targeting secondary beams to take out multiple planets at once. Star Wars, as science fantasy, has always asked audiences to suspend disbelief, but there's a limit, and this was it.

What was also unbelievable was the fate of the New Republic in relation to the Starkiller attack. From what we see in reactions from the Resistance headquarters staff, it looks like the entire Republic is knocked down after losing just 3 or 4 planets. How could that be? Even with the galaxy split between the Republic and the First Order (and probably some non-aligned areas), the Republic would still be composed of hundreds, perhaps thousands of worlds, and (even 30 years after the downsizing of the Empire) likely a sizeable fleet of military ships. Losing a couple of worlds in a single attack would be a significant blow, but by no means would it knock the Republic out of the fight. Whatever the pre-existing political situation was (and, with nothing explained in the movie, my assumption was that the Republic and First Order were sitting in some kind of formal cease-fire position, with the Republic operating the Resistance under the the table within First Order and non-aligned territory as a means of fighting unofficial proxy wars against the FO to destabilize it) you'd figure an attack like this would result in a massive retaliation of formal Republic forces against the First Order, specifically targeting the Starkiller. With starships that can cross the galaxy in a matter of hours, and a recharge time of hours or days for the Starkiller, it would be pretty much a given that Admiral Ackbar or his successors would be able to draw off their forces from whatever engagements they were currently in, or dispatch their reserves, and send a fleet of cruisers to overwhelm the Starkiller's shields and reduce the planet to an asteroid field before General Hux had time to schedule another pissing match with Kylo Ren. Instead, we're treated to Resistance handwringing like the Republic has been effectively annihilated or at least as though it has no military forces to exact revenge.

And speaking of Kylo and Hux, while I enjoyed the tension between the two, the story should have done a lot more to put some weight behind their differences and tell the audience why we should care about the stakes. The plot and dialogue needed to say more about how this was a fundamental contest of factions to decide whether the First Order would be run as a kind of Force-driven theocracy dominated by a few differently-abled elites, or whether the future of the new empire would belong to regular people harnessing the power of technology. Instead, we're treated to what amounts to a high school feud between the captain of the basketball team and the football quarterback over which sport is cooler and brings the most honour to the school. Well, okay, with these two it's more like a feud between the captain of the chess team and the president of the goth film appreciation club, but you get my point. There's a little bit of jostling via "I'm going to use the Dark Side to catch the good guys" and "No, my Stormtroopers will get the job done", but we don't get any sense of why their rivalry matters — at least, nothing beyond "When I succeed and you fail, Snoke will love me more."

While we're talking about weak treatment of characters, let's talk about Poe. The fact that he opens the movie, first getting the map data from Max von Sydow's throwaway character, then teams up with Finn to break out of the Star Destroyer, would lead you to believe that he's a major character in this film, and most likely in the upcoming trilogy. After all, the original trilogy was built upon a trinity of protagonists: Luke, Leia, and Han, right? Poe's basically like Han this time around, right? The cool, slightly older guy who knows his way around the galaxy and is there for the kids every step of the way? Wrong. After the crash on Jakku, Poe disappears for a long, long time. He pops up briefly during the rescue from the wreckage of Maz Kanata's bar, more-or-less bows out again, then comes back for the fighter attack on the Starkiller at the end, and really, that's it. A supporting role. He's this generation's Wedge Antilles. Not as trivial as Biggs, but certainly nothing more than Wedge. Nowhere near Lando country, never mind Han. Let's hope Poe becomes relevant in Episode VIII.

And speaking of characters who fail to meet expectations, why is Leia not a Jedi? The original trilogy makes it quite clear that Leia has the Force and will someday become a Jedi, and yet here she is, 30 years later, with the Republic needing all the Jedis it can get its hands on, and she's failed to launch. What. The. Hell. The most we get out of her in this respect is a psychic punch-to-the-gut cutaway reaction scene when Han is killed by Kylo, and that just doesn't cut it. The excuse is probably that she's been busy since the Battle of Endor with the formation of the New Republic and its government, and the continued war against the collapsing remnants of the Empire; and with forming the Resistance and managing its guerrilla efforts to undermine the First Order within its territory; and with having a child and — sharing equal blame with Han — making whatever parenting mistakes were made that contributed to said child growing into a tantrum-prone, Force-wielding, emo murderer and traitor. And yet, you'd think after the Battle of Endor, with the Empire's forces in disarray, somebody in a senior position (maybe Mon Motha, maybe Ackbar, or Madine or Rykien, or one of those old dudes with the big bushy beards and moustaches from the Yavin base command centre) would have taken a look at the situation and said:

"Ya know, Princess, Luke's the only Jedi left, and we nearly lost him to Palpatine, so we really need to hedge our bets on this whole Force thing. Build some more capacity in the hocus-pocus department. Sounds like you might have a natural affinity for this kinda thing. Why don't you take a little time off, you know, a study break, to get certified in the Force or whatever it is that you do? I think we've got a little money in the budget to cover your tuition. Call it a sabbatical. We'll keep your job open for you for when you get back."

You'd think that Luke might have taken her aside at one point, maybe between plates of chicken, ribs, and barbecued Stormtrooper at the Ewok victory celebration and said:

"Hey, Sis, I'm a little embarrassed to admit this, but I nearly got my ass handed to me up there by the Emperor today. If it wasn't for old Dad, well... Anyway, I think we need to get you into Jedi training right away. I'm really going to have my work cut out for me getting a new Jedi academy up and running, and if you're already trained when we get the first batch of padawans in, well, that'll help. Besides, Artoo told me all about what you did to Jabba on the sail barge, and, you know, Dad always had a knack for strangulation, so you're already a chip off the old block, and I think you'll fit into the family business perfectly. See? Look, Dad's right over there, beside Yoda and Ben, and he agrees!"

Or something to that effect. At any rate, Leia's always been portrayed as a smart character who's able to grasp the big picture, and I just can't believe that she'd pass up an opportunity to develop her own abilities in a way that could make the New Republic (and later the Resistance) stronger. Let's also not forget that Leia will jump right in and kick ass if the situation calls for it. Han's not the only goodguy in Episode IV who shot first. Remember the battle aboard Tantive IV? I simply can't imagine any scenario where Ben/Kylo would be seduced to the Dark Side, and Leia wouldn't be out for a mother's revenge ("Revenge isn't a Jedi concept" be damned), grabbing a lightsaber and slicing and Force-choking her way through Snoke, the Knights of Ren, and any other baddie she deemed responsible. And yet here we are, at a time when having another Jedi (and, at this point, she should be a Jedi master) around would be helpful, and there's no sign of a lightsaber hanging from her belt, and, worst of all, no explanation in the plot for this absence. It's one thing for the new movie to forget to include or address smaller elements from the original trilogy, but this is a story oversight that's so big you could fly a Star Destroyer through it.

On the subject of the film's weakness in its hints about Luke's failed new Jedi order, let's talk about that failure. In the original trilogy, Luke learns that the Jedi were betrayed and hunted down by one of their own members — his father — and with his ability to hold regular conference calls with Obi-Wan (and, later, presumably Yoda and Anakin), he would have been able to get specific details about the massacre of Order 66 and the ensuing hunt. Moreover, he has personally felt the tempting pull of the Dark Side during his battle with Darth Vader aboard Death Star II. So you'd think he'd be fully aware of the risks involved in training young people (with teenagers in any galaxy being notoriously unstable at the best of times) to use the Force, and would have created plans to deal with more lethal than normal high school drama. That's not even factoring in the precognitive powers of the Force — which Luke has used before — which should have given him a warning that something was up, and that he might want to nip it in the bud before it got ugly, or, at the very least, that he should put contingency plans into place and separate the students and faculty of his Jedi academy into different locations so that they couldn't be wiped-out in a single temper tantrum. Never mind the fact that Ben/Kylo was Luke's nephew, and he should have known the kid well enough to know that something was up and that he should intervene. Really, if he could sense the conflict within Vader/Anakin between the Dark Side and the Light, he should have been able to see what was happening with his nephie and talk (or smack) some sense into him — or find the source of the problem (Snoke) and put it down. Even if we assume that Luke couldn't bring himself to do anything about Ben/Kylo's slide into evil, he should have been able to make preparations to protect his academy and other pupils accordingly. I'm hoping that abandoning Rey with a bunch of thugs on Jakku (there's nothing in the movie to indicate that Rey is Luke's kid, but there's plenty of speculation to that effect out there), or stashing Anakin's sword in Maz Kanata's bar is not Abrams' idea of Luke making preparations, because that's pretty lame (and horrific when we consider how Rey had to grow up neglected and at risk) and simply doesn't fit the profile of Luke as the former Rebel officer who could coordinate fighter defences and prioritize equipment evacuation during a retreat from an Imperial assault. Unless Abrams is going to make some revelation in Episode VIII about how Luke has stashed away and trained a bunch of other Jedi (while sitting on his hands and letting Snoke, Kylo, the other Knights of Ren, and the First Order legions ride roughshod over the galaxy), then this is a pretty significant problem with the story.

And speaking of Luke, couldn't they have given him just a little more presence in the film? I mean, hanging out at an Irish monastery to get his head together is fine, and moping with Artoo by a campfire is okay (although didn't Yoda say that depression was part of the Dark Side?), but some dialogue would have been appropriate. It was something of a waste to cart Mark Hamill out on a location shoot just to have him say... nothing. Minimizing his role in order to prevent Luke's character from overshadowing the next generation would be one thing, but this was too much of a sidelining. The writers could have given him a little more to do — at least something like a holo message projected by Artoo after the goodguys had finally completed the map, saying something like "Ye intruders beware: crushing death and grief soaked with blood of the trespassing thief." or "You've found the map to me Lucky Charms!" or, well, pretty much anything. Because you know what's better than nothing? Anything!

And on the subject of nothing, why is there nothing between Chewie and Leia when the assault team returns from destroying the Starkiller? The walking carpet just leaves the 'Falcon and moseys right by her and joins the victory party without even a look — after coming back from an attack where his best friend and her husband was killed, and where he seriously wounded her son. Never mind the question about why Chewie, in his rage, didn't pump a couple of more rounds into the little brat to make sure he was finished off, you really have to wonder why the big guy didn't rush right over to the princess and give her a big hug so they could mutually mourn Han. Or, if we make the assumption that Chewie felt in some way guilty about shooting Ben/Kylo and leaving him to die (at least in his mind) on the Starkiller, and therefore that he didn't feel comfortable about going over to Leia to comfort her on the loss of both her husband and son, then Abrams could have at least taken just a second or two to have them exchange some kind of knowing look. That would have been real, adult drama on the level of the earlier moments between Han and Leia. But it's a missed opportunity, and we, as the audience are left sitting there thinking "These two friends have just lost one of the most important people in their lives, and not only do they fail to acknowledge each other, they don't even make a point of deliberately not acknowledging each other. They're just deployed by the director like they're not even in the same scene." It's unforgivably clumsy writing and directing at play here.

Han's impending death was also painfully obvious right from the point where he takes Rey and Finn under his wing. It's a fundamental law written into the fabric of the Star Wars universe that teachers/fathers/stand-in father figures must die. Qui-Gon Jinn, Owen Lars, Bail Organa, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Yoda, Anakin — even Palpatine (and we might even include Dooku, since he was Qui-Gon's master) — all kicked the bucket. Now add Han to the list. If you're a teacher or father figure, you've got a target painted on your back. Look out, Luke & Snoke: your numbers will be up soon too. But because the death of fathers is so standard by this point, and because we all know Ben/Kylo is a traitorous little emo snake who wants to emulate his grandfather's Darth Vader incarnation rather than his true nature as Anakin, Han's demise lacks the emotional punch that it really should have. Kylo runs Han through, and we're left sitting in the audience going "Yup, cross that one off the list of things that had to happen to fit the chosen plot formula." If they had to stick to the dead daddies rule, couldn't Abrams and his writers have come up with something surprising with some real emotional punch? I guess not.

But this seems to be the case for the whole movie: the plot manages to move us from point A to point B, but overall, the writing's on thin ice in too many places. The Force Awakens is clearly a retelling of A New Hope, but too often the writers have focussed on building nostalgia and in-universe authenticity at the expense of creating a solid story that is able to stand on its own as a self-contained movie. Where A New Hope had a story arc that included loss, it also had triumph and a sense of closure. Sure the war with the Empire was still ongoing after the Death Star was destroyed, but the Rebels had won a victory, saved other planets from being completely annihilated, and came out of that battle stronger and with the possibility of a positive future ahead of them. Luke had completed his hero's journey too. The Force Awakens takes us on a similar rollercoaster of heroes coming together from diverse backgrounds, rediscovering an ancient, mystical power that can help the forces of good, taking-on the badguys, losing a teacher in the process, then pulling off a big military win, but there's no real sense of victory at the end. Yeah, the Starkiller is gone, but this story gives the impression that most of the New Republic is too, and that the Resistance, despite its win, has been reduced to a rag-tag guerrilla band out on its own against a First Order that still has most of its power base intact. Kylo's been hurt, but you know he's going to be coming back even tougher — and with his gang of Ren thugs behind him to boot.

And there's a difference between the death of Obi-Wan and the loss of Han: Kenobi was really, really old and had been living in seclusion as a consequence of being more-or-less completely beaten a long time ago. Sure he'd hurt Vader badly, but Kenobi's whole world had essentially been destroyed by the slaughter of the Jedi and the rise of the Empire, which he was unable to prevent. Old Ben was a failure until he found the kid in the gulley. His role was to bring Luke into the fight against evil, and start him down the path of the Force. And he succeeded in that. So when Obi-Wan dies, it's a little sad, but it's appropriate. His job is done. His time is up. He has succeeded and redeemed himself. With Han, it's a different story. You get the feeling that there's a lot more Han could do. He's old, but you don't get the sense that he's on his last legs like Kenobi was. Han's a guy coming off of a legacy of big wins: he's played a key role in several key military victories that have reduced the Empire's power ("defeated" would be the wrong word — the Empire clearly has held on to enough territory and infrastructure to evolve into the First Order), and if his world has been destroyed, it's been in a more deeply personal way — estrangement from his wife and son, and the disappearance of a good friend. Because of that, there's the sense that Han has fallen farther than Kenobi, but also that there's more he can do to rise again before reaching his end. But Han is denied fulfillment; he's murdered by his own son before he can get a chance to really make things right again. He dies a failure. And so Han's death is infinitely more tragic than Obi-Wan's, and it robs The Force Awakens of any real sense of victory. The Starkiller is gone, but our heroes' reward is a pervasive sense of loss.

Even the rediscovery of Luke lends the heroes (and audience) no comfort. He's far away, isolated, and literally has nothing to say. He has no words of hope for us, no reassurance that it was all worth while, no "The Force will be with you. Always." like Obi-Wan left him with, because he has no words at all!

But because we're left with the impression that Luke is about to say something, the movie can't work as tragedy because a successful tragedy would have a sense of ending. There's no sense of finality here at all — what we "end" with is a scene cut off abruptly in the middle. A New Hope had an ending, even though it was clear there was more going on and more that could be told about the wider universe, because its story, the story about a young hero rising to gain new knowledge and save the day, ended. Luke did it. He learned about the Force and saved the galaxy from the Death Star. The end. Where's the end to The Force Awakens? Rey has developed some talent for using the Force and has driven-off an evil enemy, but she's clearly not finished because she still has to find Luke to learn more about the Force — she's still in a kind of educational wasteland, and actually has to go flying off into the galactic wasteland to try and get a better handle on things. If the story is about defeating the big galactic enemy, it doesn't really succeed there either: the destruction of the Starkiller is entirely undercut by the Starkiller's apparent destruction of the New Republic (only 3 or 4 planets in one shot, but remember the reaction at the Resistance headquarters? As though the entire free galaxy was suddenly gone?) and the First Order still has a lot of strength out there. Kylo's clearly coming back, and even if he wasn't, Snoke and the other Knights of Ren are still skulking around somewhere, so if the story was about the quest to redeem or destroy Kylo and the Sith-lite club, it hasn't come to an end either. It's one thing for a movie to be made as part of a larger trilogy, but for the movie to be successful in and of itself, it has to be self-contained to a certain extent.

For all of its weaknesses, I still enjoyed The Force Awakens. I just hope the audience is given something a little better with the return of the Jedi wannabes in Episode VIII.