I Am One With My Past, And My Past Is With Me.

Movies-- and all media, really-- reflect what we bring to them. They follow their own plots, their own stories, their own rules. But experiencing media is a solitary thing that hinges on what we bring with us along the way. Søren Kierkegaard says: “Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.” I think that plenty of time gets dedicated to discussing the manner in which this is true of poetry, of art, but less so of movies and other modern media. The things that are so prevalent that it gets forgotten they’re art as well. We expect them to be universal and all encompassing, to tell one story that we can all get behind and understand in exactly the same way. I have some opinions on that, but maybe they're better served for a different day.

Anyway, what’s the point?

I saw Rogue One: A Star Wars Story and I think-- Scratch that. I know that my opinion of the film is a direct response to my sense of my past.

First things first: I really liked Rogue One. As anyone familiar with this blog will remember, I love Star Wars. Love it like I cannot even begin to describe or explain. Love it in a manner that makes me defend the prequels, obsessively study Expanded Universe texts, and tattoo my body with its images. I think Rogue One succeeds in retrieving the aesthetic of the original trilogy, something that’s very important for this universe. It shows the audience a side of the Rebellion that isn’t often focused on. The two trilogies are so focused on prophecies and Jedi and the Skywalker family that it becomes easy to imagine the Galactic Civil War as somehow… small scale. Now we have Rebels, and Rebels like we’ve not really gotten a chance to see them before. Rebels who aren’t always walking the high road.

There is a realistic sense of determination and grit to the characters of Rogue One. Cassian’s sense of selling himself piece by piece for a cause that’s taken control of his very soul. Baze’s lost faith in the Force and reliance on violence to make sense of universe that has no answers for the peaceful. Galen’s skill and intelligence being twisted and his knowledge that if he does not create this technological terror that someone else will because the Empire is unceasing.

And Jyn Erso’s discovery that loss and pain are a part of life, that a person can’t live in hiding just because they’re afraid of getting hurt, that sometimes it’s better to feel than to wither beneath an armor made of apathy.

What made this movie so evocative for me was not merely the Star Wars storyline which, don’t get me wrong, is entertaining and well-crafted. There isn’t anything here that someone who likes the other movies wouldn’t want to see. It probably works as an entry point in the series as well, though obviously I’m not really the person to ask about that. I’ve been watching Star Wars pretty much my entire life. Which brings me to my point…

For me, Star Wars could be the very definition of nostalgia of my childhood. You could set a time lapse video to show me growing up and it wouldn’t be inaccurate to have me sitting in front of a television watching Star Wars. I took those years and years of watching these movies in with me when I sat down to watch Rogue One. I took every conversation I’ve ever had about it, every book I’ve ever read about it, every video game I’ve ever played about it, and every friend I’ve ever made through it. That last one is important because generally the most emotional part of the Star Wars movies for me has always been the friendships formed. But this time… this time it was a little bit different.

Rogue One: A Star Wars Story has a narrative that builds off of a father and daughter relationship. Galen Erso is the scientist building the Death Star. Jyn Erso is his estranged daughter, strong-armed into helping the Rebellion locate him.

Full disclosure? My father died almost six years ago. He died suddenly and he died while we were not on speaking terms. I’m able to look back on him now with love and kindness and forgiveness, but at the time of his death I was a mess of confusion and anger and bitterness. We had not had a good relationship for a long time. We had not spoken in nearly a year leading up to his death. At the time I could only see his flaws-- of which there are many-- and the damage he had done to who I felt I was as a person. Before he died I thought he had ruined me and after, for a while, I was very certain of it because I was swallowed by a grief and regret I didn’t understand. How do you grieve a person you hate? A person who made your life so difficult? A person who you couldn’t even be certain loved you? I didn’t know then. Sometimes, I don’t know now. For the most part though (due to the help of people who I am sure love me) I’ve moved beyond my pain and found a tentative middle ground where love and critique manage to coexist.

So, for me, this story of a lost girl forced to find her father resonated. There is a moment when she is asked where her father is that she replies: “I don’t know. It’s easier just to pretend he’s dead.” (paraphrased) and I felt for her. I felt for her and I wasn’t ever able to stop. Because Star Wars has always been “my thing” and suddenly there was a character here that spoke to me more fully than any of my previous favorites ever had. I’ll never be a cool, smooth-talking smuggler or a Jedi Knight or a hot-shot pilot with an endless stream of witty comments. I have been an angry, defensive young woman trying to bury her heart beneath anger because it’s easier than muddling through anything worthwhile however.

Do you know who showed me Star Wars? Who is integrated beyond all recognition in all my memories of these movies? Who took me out of school to see Episode 1? Who went with me at midnight in costume to see Episode 3? I’m sure you guessed it, but I’ll say it anyway.

My father.

I said that Star Wars is “my thing”, but maybe I should say it was “our thing”.

I won’t go into any of the memories that jump to mind because I don’t trust myself not to cry while typing them out. But, yeah, so Rogue One got me hook, line, and sinker when it put a plot point on a broken father-daughter relationship. Broken in a vastly different way than my own since my dad didn’t build a planet destroying spaceship and I think most of his bad, hurtful decisions weren’t done with the threat of his own life. And, sure, maybe it makes me an easy mark. Maybe it means I bought into something cheap and that I looked passed flaws that other people less emotionally wrought over these characters were able to see. I can see that being possible. Nonetheless, it spoke to me in a way that I understand it didn’t speak to everyone because not everyone’s past in my past.

It is mine, though, and it's what I brought with me into the theater and it's what the screen reflected back at me. There's nothing I can do about that except embrace it.

But, hey. If I can cash in on a shitty point in my life so that Cassian looking at Jyn and saying “Your father would have been proud.” makes my chest swell and tears form in my eyes then sign me up.