Tag Archives: Princess Leia

She Still Believes in the Force

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By EarthToShawna

Do you believe in the Force?

I was 2 years old when “Star Wars” was released in 1977. I was 5 when I saw “The Empire Strikes Back.” I remember the intense revelation that Darth Vader was Luke’s father, Yoda levitating Luke’s X-Wing, and that I wanted a pet tauntaun.

Seeing “Return of the Jedi” in the theater was a bit more memorable, as I was 8. The first thing I remember about “Return of the Jedi” was that everyone was calling it “Revenge of the Jedi,” but then they changed the title.

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“I used to live here, you know.” “You’re going to die here, you know.”

“Return of the Jedi” was nothing short of thrilling. The rescue of Han Solo from Jabba’s palace was like nothing else I had seen before. And I know everyone likes to hate on the Ewoks, but 8-year-old me was excited when my mom bought Wicket and Logray figures along with the Jabba the Hutt action figure, complete with dungeon and Salacious Crumb. Such cool toys. I think we got them at Sears.

My mom bought a bunch of the figures that year, which was unusual. My mom loved the movie, and even though she let us play with the toys, they were hers.

I wanted to be Princess Leia. My thin blond hair didn’t lend itself to Leia’s fabulous intergalactic hairstyles, but that didn’t stop me from insisting that my mom put my hair in Princess Leia buns anyway.

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Celebrating my seventh birthday in a Leia-inspired ‘do.

I know I’m not the only one who can say the Star Wars movies were the first sci-fi films I saw, and the first I loved. They kicked off a lifetime love of fantasy, science fiction, and adventure.

The early ’80s had so many movies I loved — “The Neverending Story,” “E.T.,” “The Dark Crystal,” “Splash.” I wanted to be a mermaid, to make friends with a botanist from outer space, to ride a luck dragon.

Like so many of us who grew up on the original trilogy, I groaned when Jar Jar Binks appeared on screen. But Jar Jar, like those nasty little teddy bears, was there for the kids. And while the franchise may not be FOR kids, the films spark the imaginations of kids, and bring out the kid in all of us.

My son is a Star Wars fan, but I don’t think the movies are as epic for him as they were for those of us who watched them in the theater, because they came at a time before the world was saturated with 24/7 entertainment in the form of computers, cable TV, DVDs, etc. We didn’t go see “The Empire Strikes Back” and then get back to our Minecraft game. We absorbed Star Wars, we thought about it, we dressed up like the characters and acted out scenes from the movie. Star Wars got under our skin and into our consciousness.

I didn’t love the prequels as much as I loved the original trilogy. They aren’t as good; that’s part of it. But also, the original stories are the ones I saw when I was little, when I believed in the Force, and in magic.

People who don’t care about Star Wars or sci fi probably think we are all crazy, those of us who are as giddy as little kids, waiting for the new movie to come out. But there is just something so … visceral? universal? What is it about these movies that speaks to us? Is it the triumph of good over evil? The combination of adventure, suspense, romance, and a dash of humor? Is it the story? The special effects?

I think one of the things I love most about Star Wars is that the universe George Lucas created seems so REAL. It’s so believable, and it’s so COOL.

I’m no longer the little girl who believed in fairies and unicorns and 900-year-old Jedi masters, but I still watch the old movies because those familiar characters are like old friends, and for a few hours, I believe in magic again.

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My grandparents saved this picture I made of Princess Leia, when I was 6.

Read more of Shawna’s sci-fi musings at earthtoshawna.com.

Photos courtesy of EarthtoShawna. 

When the Force Awakens Grief Instead of Joy …

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By BRENNA HUMANN

I, my husband and my family hold back tears of unbearable grief with each new announcement heralding the long-awaited release of “The Force Awakens.”

We can think only of the one who is not here to watch it with us. The one who we know would love the experience the most. The one who was, in my world, the “other Skywalker.” My brother.

Paul was an epic fanboy of the caliber that is often joked about in nerd culture, but is actually reached by very few. The kind who could just as easily quote Star Wars, Star Trek or Tolkien to students in his classes as an English professor, as he could top-rank in “Magic: The Gathering” tournaments in the gaming Mecca of San Jose. The kind who could just as easily joke with friends about the most obscure story arcs of the most obscure comic book characters, as he could compose and deliver professional academic whitepapers on their literary cultural significance. Everyone he knew loved him.

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Paul Humann

He was 33 when he died last June of an extremely rare form of mucosal melanoma, eight months after his diagnosis and the unimaginable pain and agony that followed. It simply does not seem possible that his battle is over. I still cannot understand it.

When we were young, in a youthful Skywalker-like naiveté, and a very similar alien isolation in the Mojave Desert, I never realized how much my brother, his life, his experiences, his hopes and dreams, were vital to the very predication of my own, until he was gone.

As Gen Y-ers well know, the shared experiences we grew up with –- largely shaped by film, TV, and other pop culture watched in our parents’ family rooms –- has become not only our shared self-referential language, but a means by which we continue to understand and interpret the rest of the world. Art speaks truth, now more than ever.

And a cinematic touchstone like Star Wars is of a defining magnitude in Western life experience. It’s a critical piece of cultural literacy -– one that infinitely informs pop culture, archetypal artistic references, and in-jokes that define relationships. I’ve always thought the story is in fact SO BIG because of the deep tribute it pays to a global awareness of the mythological concepts it imitates.

So when a piece of your life is so formative, your memories of it are colored by who experienced it with you. For me, that was always Paul. I don’t have any memories of a life before he came along.

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Brenna Humann and her brother, Paul.

And for geeks like us, those companions who’ve always been with you, in the back of your mind, also includes icons like those of Star Wars. Have you ever noticed how deeply neo-Platonic dualism runs in George Lucas’ plot lines? The character dyads abound. Obi-Wan and Vader. Han and Chewie. R2-D2 and C-3PO. Luke and Leia. There are always two.

Lucas’ brand of mythic dualism was never more vividly real for me than when I felt the loss of my own other half –- no one shares more of your life experiences than a sibling does. And Star Wars will forever be defined for me by my brother. By the Mos Eisley Cantina poster in his room. By his extensive Boba Fett collection. By the endless speculative conversations we shared as rumors of the prequels and sequels first began when we were teenagers.

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I remember having so many arguments with my brother and my husband, both devoted fanboys, that the Star Wars prequels were, in fact, dreadfully terrible films. A realization they were of course reticent to make, in their faithful enthusiasm for the revival. But one they nonetheless regretfully conceded, as they floundered in the wake of total narrative disaster left by Jar Jar Binks, Midi-chlorians, and other epic flaws. And I did gloat.

Another point of discussion was one of the sharpest criticisms against Lucas’ writing — his unapologetic outright thievery from world myth and religion in his storytelling, making in some cases very little attempt to recloak whole storylines in a fabric more appropriate to the Star Wars tapestry. I remember the look of shock on my brother’s face when I explained that one of the biggest reasons I couldn’t stand this linguistic laziness in the prequels was the naming of the Skywalker mother as “Padmé.”

Taking college classes at the time on world religions, I had to break it to him that the word “padme” means “lotus” or “yoni” in Sanskrit — read: Vagina.

“Really George Lucas, your name for a classic mother figure is… Vagina?” went the conversation. Talk about female objectification. Natalie Portman did what she could to bring substance to the good Senator from Naboo, but the Mary Sue named “Vagina” dying of a broken heart in childbirth? Honestly. Classic female fridging, with an even frostier layer of gender objectification, in my opinion.

Then there was the time Paul told us that, in his graduate work in creative writing, another (female) student had been assigned to peer review a poem he wrote. She returned it with a graphic picture drawn over his text, as her commentary –- one of those “only in college” moments. He then returned her work with a picture of the Sarlacc Pit monster drawn on top, complete with hovercraft, gangplank and scrambling stormtroopers. A priceless play on vagina dentata myth.

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My brother and I liked to joke that, in our –- often called “useless” -– humanities majors, we were “classically trained” in world myth and iconography. He took his fascination into a creative writing degree, attempting to find as he said, a “major in comic books.”

He succeeded, basing his curriculum as an English professor on selections from “The Watchmen,” “The Sandman” and “The Dark Knight Returns.” I took mine into a philosophy degree, which I have not used since, other than to marvel at the exceptional lack of logical rhetoric in American society.

But he always called me to ask my thoughts on his course content, the logic of certain rhetorical usages, or the history behind classic cultural representations. And I always called him to ask what the hell to do with my life.

He had a remarkable, Jedi-like way of seeing through to the core motivations of a person, and being able to communicate with virtually anyone, that I have never possessed. And one which I fear I will never hear the wisdom of again in this life.

Each jaw-dropping Star Wars trailer image I see, or soul-stirring refrain I hear from that epic score we all know so well, is a stabbing, breath-stealing pang of sorrow.

“Paul would love to see this, but …”

The prospect of what secrets and adventure lay ahead on the screen looms hollow. Like a gaping desert Sarlacc Pit, but with the heart-stopping battle on the gangplank already lost.

I hope, as said by Boba Fett in the ignominious Star Wars Holiday Special, that “We’ll meet again.” I miss him.

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The Star Wars Holiday Special

Brenna Humann was born and raised in the Antelope Valley, an alumna of California public education from preschool to university. She has worked as a journalist, nonprofit manager, and grantwriter, and remains an avid student of world religion and culture. Though her late brother Paul was strong in the force, with a power she did not understand and could never have, he has now become more powerful than anyone could possibly imagine. For her part, she prefers not to believe in no-win scenarios.

Photos courtesy of Brenna Humann. 

Leia, the Disney Princess with a Blaster

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BY FAWN KEMBLE

Before Merida and Mulan, back when I was a girl, there was only one badass princess in my life.

While Disney princesses of the time lay passively awaiting their prince, or whined to their fathers, or cleaned house, we strong little girls could dream of being more than just the romantic interest of the main character. We too could be Jedi princesses, powerful forces in the Rebel Alliance.

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Fawn Kemble

When we meet Leia, she is on a mission to save her entire planet, not prancing around in a ball gown or sweeping up. She risks her life for the greater good. She is an active member of the team in the Star Wars trilogy (What? There were only 3, right?).

Yes, she is rescued by Luke and Han, but Han ends up frozen for a bit and Luke needs help all the time. She, just like them, has the opportunity to grow as a character and to have greater concerns than who she’ll end up with. In fact, she ends up in an intellectually stimulating relationship, on equal footing with Han.

I know she is not the perfect feminist icon (don’t even get me started on the gold slave Leia bikini), and most of her Jedi powers aren’t developed until later, in the book series.

Still, as a little girl, I never felt like I couldn’t run around with a blaster or lightsaber with the boys, they never said girls couldn’t be Jedis, and she has some of the sassiest lines to quote and requote.

Now, I call my lovely, feisty, intelligent little niece my Jedi Princess and I hope that when she’s a bit older, she’ll want to go to Disneyland with Leia buns and a blaster as her Disney Princess outfit.

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Fawn Kemble, dueling with nephew Graden.

Fawn Kemble lives in L.A. and gets to be a professional feminist, helping pregnant women. She got sucked into that Star Wars life at a young age by her oldest brother and her sister, Lavender Vroman. She didn’t choose the Lucas life, it chose her.

Photos: en.wikipedia.org; courtesy of Fawn Kemble. 

Four Life Lessons from the Skywalker Twins (for My Children)

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By DAVID RIVAS

“Walmart TV ads inspire and motivate,” said no one ever. When they feature fan-boy/girl parents and a fanboy grandpa mentoring their young listeners with Star Wars-related advice, however — as the retail behemoth does in a recent ad campaign promoting their new Star Wars merchandise in anticipation of the much-hyped “Episode VII” — we can make an exception. The commercials really capture the essence of my experience with the epic space opera.

My older brother and I, thirteen years and no other siblings between us, had very few common interests; sci fi was one of them. I vividly and fondly remember my brother, a responsible grown-up NASA engineer, and I, a typically apathetic teenager, bonding while making a three-movie theater sprint to catch the 1997 theatrical rerelease of the original trilogy in one day.

I also fondly remember introducing my then skeptical girlfriend to the saga as we watched the new trilogy in the early 2000s. Despite its flaws, Episodes I-III served as a gateway drug into the beloved galaxy far, far away, and as an inspiration for one of my favorite Halloween costumes. She has since become my wife of eleven years and a bigger nerd than I.

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Halloween circa 2003.

More recently, George Lucas worked his magic as I watched all six films consecutively with my children (an eight-year-old son and a five-year-old daughter) — Episodes IV, V, VI, I, II, and III, in that order, as God intended.

By the time Anakin turns to the darkside, a single tear rolled down my son’s cheek, and I knew he got it. Now, my family and I, along with the human race, eagerly anticipate the robe-clad, lightsaber-wielding bonding that will take place on December 18, 2015, when “Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens” opens.

Those Walmart commercials rightly suggest that this story has a propensity to bring people together, despite generational gaps. Anthropologists or sociologists can explain how it’s ingrained in our collective psyche and shape what we value as a human race much more eloquently, and more convincingly than I’ll attempt here.

I’ll simply share four life lessons that I hope my kids can learn from the Skywalker twins.

Solving Problems with Non-Violence

I know. Lightsaber duels, spacecraft dog fights, Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen’s charred remains: these hardly seem nonviolent. An entire planet gets blown up in the first film. Although it’s hard to imagine playing Star Wars without mouthing the obligatory electrified sound effects of lightsabers as they crackle together in an inherently violent, epic battle, ultimately, Luke saves the day through an incredible act of nonviolence in “Return of the Jedi.”

Luke surrenders himself to the Emperor and Darth Vader, hoping to buy his friends time to destroy the deflector shield generator protecting the second Death Star so the entire rebel armada can sneak up on the Empire and win! Or so he thinks. Really, this turn out to be an elaborate ruse to destroy the rebellion and capture Luke.

This act of sacrifice seems to be in vain. After Forcing his dad off the stairs in battle, Luke says, with a confidence fueled by a blind, Force-driven faith that Vader can still be redeemed, “I will not fight you, father.” Eventually, Luke’s pacifist stance results in finding himself at the business end of the Emperor’s Force-lightning. Unable to bear the sight, Vader suffers a fatal wound, saving Luke from the Emperor.

Luke’s sacrificial decision to abstain from violence inspires the remnant of Anakin Skywalker that was deep down inside of Darth Vader to commit one final act of self-sacrifice, and the universe is saved. Star Wars teaches us that nonviolent conflict resolution encourages others to do good.

Kids, in real life, if we were all merely decent to one another, conflicts can be avoided.

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My kids posing as Finn and Rey on Halloween featuring the Antelope Valley’s desert landscape as a background.

Subverting Unfair Societal Expectations

May I harken the Walmart commercial one last time, specifically the scene where a mother asks her daugher, “Why doesn’t Leia just let the boys rescue her?” The adorable little girl mumbles a character analysis that I hope my daughter will always come back to when she reflects as an adult why she thought Princess Leia was so cool: “Because she’s a modern, empowered woman unfettered by the antiquated gender roles of a bygone era.”

In a turn of fate that my daughter loves, Leia takes the blaster from one of her rescuers, and blasts a hole in the wall to rescue herself, Luke, Han, and Chewie. She’s an accomplished leader, who despite taking a beating, keeps going.

So much so, she impresses Darth Vader with her resilience to withstand interrogation in Episode IV. She plays an active role in leading the rebellion, particularly as she gives orders to the squadron circling around her like a team gathers around their coach in locker room listening to the battle plan before the Battle of Hoth in Episode V.

In Episode VI, Leia rescues Han Solo (again) from his carbonite captivity, and steps into to the frontlines in the climactic Battle of Endor, while nurturing and befriending the Ewoks. She finds that perfect balance between warrior and nurturer found in the greatest of leaders.

A well-rounded character and role model, Leia even speaks some of the most memorable lines in the series. Just to quote a few:

“Governor Tarkin, I should have expected to find you holding Vader’s leash. I recognized your foul stench when I was brought on board.”

“Aren’t you a little short for a stormtrooper?”

“Why, you stuck up, half-witted, scruffy-looking Nerf herder.”

“I know.”

Don’t let society’s gender roles limit who you are. Son, embrace artistic and emotional expression. Daughter, play with whatever toys from whatever color Target aisle you like. Defy expectations, especially to do what you know is right. Never resist a witty quip.

Seeking Instruction from Wise Teachers

The theme of looking for help from those more seasoned than yourself comes across prominently throughout the six films. Luke has to look to Yoda and Old Ben, even post-mortem Ben, for guidance in the Force. Even Leia, the embodiment of self-reliance (as discussed above) in the series, opens the story with a call for help to the venerable Obi Wan Kenobi, the galaxy’s “only hope,” exemplifying what a healthy balance of independence and dependence looks like.

I suspect that since Luke, Leia, Han, Chewie, Artoo, and Threepio, who have been around the galaxy a time or two, are in the forthcoming installment, this theme will continue. Now seasoned and thirty years wiser, the original cast will mentor Rey, Finn, Poe, and BB-8.

Just like age can erode chasms between generations, mentorship acts as a bridge, simultaneously connecting us to the past while influencing the future. Maybe it’s just because I’m a school teacher by trade that I’m placing such high esteem to the mentor relationship: I feel like I bring my positive learning experiences to my teaching practice, and I hope that in turn, I’m positively influencing the future, both with my students and my own children.

So, kids, learn what you can from the teachers (in and out of the classroom) in your life. Then go and do likewise; be the Obi Wan in someone’s life.

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That time I ran into Mark Hamill, Luke Skywalker himself, at a USC football game. We spoke about film, life, and beating UCLA. USC lost that day.

Success Can be Achieved Amid Setbacks and Failures

Luke, with the help of his diverse band of friends, redeems his father, and restores order and hope to the galaxy. But the voyage, like a sloppily navigated hyperspace jump through an asteroid field, was bumpy … and it didn’t just take 12 parsecs either.

Luke loses his aunt and uncle, his home, and his right hand, finds out his dad’s been trying to kill him, and he kisses his sister. In fact, the first twenty minutes into “Return of the Jedi,” Luke has gotten himself and all of his friends captured by Jabba the Hutt. Just as all seems lost, Luke pulls a reverse diving board stunt, catching his brand new upgraded, green lightsaber in the battle over the Sarlacc pit.

What losses did Leia suffer? Oh yeah, she just lost her entire home world!

Each entry in the six-film series features a peripeteia, a reversal of fortune at a moment when all seems lost: When the proton torpedo shot needed to destroy the Death Star is an impossible shot; when in front of you Darth Vader stands pointing a lightsaber and behind you is the endless Bespin sky; when you’re locked out of the shield generator control room while surrounded by stormtroopers on the forest moon of Endor.

Whatever your metaphor of choice, you learn from setbacks and try again.

Kids, when life gives you the blues, make blue milk.

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David Rivas lives in Lancaster, California, with his wife and two kids. He teaches English and the ways of the Force at Highland High School.

Photos courtesy of David Rivas.

The Night Han Solo’s Blaster Came to Visit, or My Life With the Force

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When I was 13, my dad came home with a surprise.

He was working at a hobby shop on Avenue I, where regular customers would bring unusual collectibles for show and tell.

One day, a film industry guy stopped by with a movie prop he thought my dad would be interested in.

My father convinced the man to let him take Han Solo’s blaster home for the night so he could impress his kids.

I don’t actually know if the fictional gun came from the set of George Lucas’ famous trilogy or whether Harrison Ford ever touched it or if it was just a convincing replica.

It didn’t matter. It was like Christmas at our house when my dad came strolling through the door with one of the coolest looking pieces of hardware in cinema history.

My siblings and I spent the rest of the evening posing for photos with the coveted weapon in the backyard, make-believing we were slumming it at Mos Eisley Cantina or caught in the thick of battle on Endor.

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My dad, Gordon Kemble, with the purported Han Solo blaster. 

My dad was always very sweet about bringing me whatever Star Wars items he came across at the shop — books, role playing games, whatever odds and ends he could find.

It was six years after the release of “Return of the Jedi” and merchandise from the trilogy was scarce. Lucasfilm had yet to fully capitalize on the franchise’s marketing potential and souvenirs were difficult to find.

I became a disciple of Star Wars in a vacuum of sorts. I was 12 when I saw “A New Hope,” not in a theater, or on Blu-ray, or on a 60-inch flat-screen, but on the old television set in my great-aunt’s den.

Despite the humble presentation, I was awestruck by Lucas’ space opera. I remember the sight of C-3PO and R2-D2 shuffling down the shiny corridors of the Death Star, the thrill of Han Solo and Luke Skywalker’s rescue of Princess Leia, who was no damsel in distress, the hilarious suspense of the trash compactor scene, the mysticism of Obi-Wan Kenobi, the allure of the monk-robed Jedi, and of course, the brilliance and majesty of the lightsaber.

I really did think that someday the lightsaber would exist.

I saw the trilogy out of order. My sixth-grade teacher showed “Return of the Jedi” as a reward. Surrounded by classmates who had all seen the movie long ago, I marveled at Luke’s transformation from restless farm boy to noble Jedi warrior. By the end of the film, I was doing the “Yub Nub” dance right along with the Ewoks.

I then convinced my parents to rent “The Empire Strikes Back.” We took it to my grandparents’ house because they had a VCR. Finally, I was privy to the full mythology and the darkest and perhaps richest chapter of the trilogy, which was a little over my head at the time.

I wouldn’t see Star Wars on the big screen until the great re-release of 1997, a joyous occasion despite Lucas’ infamous tampering with his original imagery.

And I wouldn’t experience the heady, comforting rush of communing and commiserating with other Star Wars fans until 1999 when a certain prequel fanned the flames of frenzy over the franchise once again, for better or for worse.

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Camping out for tickets for “The Phantom Menace.”

Since then, I’ve enjoyed living in a Golden Age of Star Wars fandom, largely thanks to the efforts of Disney.

Merchandise is readily available, discussion is lively, and new developments are constantly on the horizon. It’s more than I ever dreamed of as a little girl, pretending to fly through the trenches of the Death Star in my very own X-wing starfighter.

This Golden Age will hit an unprecedented high on Dec. 18 with director J.J. Abrams’ new chapter in the franchise, “Episode VII — The Force Awakens.”

Whether this new entry in the series is spectacular or an epic failure, Star Wars will remain an integral part of my life. It’s sacred to me in a way that will not fade or change.

In a way, I owe my career to Star Wars.

My fascination with the franchise led to an abiding curiosity about cinema. I wanted to know how George Lucas brought the Rancor to life or created the awesome jump to lightspeed.

I subscribed to Lucasfilm Magazine so I could find out. I checked out books from the library on editing and cinematography and sound.

One of my first articles at the newspaper where I spent nearly 15 years writing about film was a well-meaning but misguided defense of “The Phantom Menace,” which was taking quite a critical drubbing.

I’m not going to claim that Star Wars taught me about love, but however weird it may sound, it is a significant part of my marriage.

My husband Nick and I were seeing other people when we camped out in the parking lot of a mall to be the first to snag tickets for “The Phantom Menace.”

By “Attack of the Clones,” we were dating. By “Revenge of the Sith,” we had tied the knot.

Star Wars isn’t the glue that holds our relationship together, but it certainly doesn’t hurt.

Not a day goes by that we don’t find ourselves talking about “The Force Awakens.” Some girls dream of diamonds from their beloved. My fondest gift from my husband is a red Force FX replica lightsaber. I’ll treasure it always.

More importantly, those first, indelible images of Mark Hamill, Carrie Fisher and Harrison Ford  in Star Wars taught me that I didn’t have to conform to what society might expect of me.

Sure, I wanted to dress up as Princess Leia for Halloween. She was, refreshingly, a princess who did much more than waltz about in a ballgown and tiara.

But early on I discovered that I didn’t really want to be Leia. She didn’t get to wield the lightsaber. We never saw her embrace her powers or her path to the Force. What I wanted to be was Luke Skywalker or Han Solo.

Star Wars helped me realize that as a girl I could be a Jedi, I could pilot a starfighter, I could shoot a blaster, I could save the galaxy from the evil Galactic Empire. So why should I limit myself in real life?

As I grow older, Lucas’ universe keeps me connected to my childhood self, the one who stood with Luke, gazing at the setting twin suns of Tatooine, dreaming of what the future might hold.

I hope it will always hold more Star Wars.

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