I’ve never been, strictly speaking, a Star Wars fanatic, mostly because our people do not hear much of it in these parts of the galaxy. My father, while being perfectly willing to show me the films when I was a child, has made it quite clear to me that he doesn’t think much of it. For him, Star Wars is a little more than a thinly disguised rip-off of the western repurposed for the sci-fi genre. To some degree, he has a point: the scavenger Han Solo, his dim-witted sidekick Chewbacca, and the humble farmer boy Luke are all tropes borrowed from the western genre. But it doesn’t make sense to me that Star Wars could have such a lasting cultural impact if it was merely a futuristic re-hashing of the western genre. There are deeper, more profound influences in Star Wars. The Force, for instance, is clearly derived from Eastern mysticism, and no trace of it can be found in typical western shoot-ups. And if we delve even deeper into the fabric of the plot we find it following in the footsteps of Arthurian legends, such as Knighthood, old wizards, a quest to rescue the Princess, and, most importantly, a coronation scene. If you remember correctly, those are the main elements that compose the very first Star Wars film, Episode IV: A New Hope.

But it goes even deeper than that. George Lucas structures the whole story in the tradition of the Epic: it begins in medias res (episode IV) it is told in three parts and expands into a narrative about good and evil. Lucas was not simply “souping up” marginal traditions from American Hollywood, but borrowing ideas and narratives that have played an integral part in shaping human civilization. But I don’t want to dwell so much on why Star Wars has been so culturally successful (that would not be a pleasant discussion—I mean, just look at the prequels.) I would rather talk about how Star Wars has affected me on a more personal level. At its’ worst, Star Wars is a cheap, oversaturated, haphazard multicultural mishmash. At its’ best, Star Wars is a profound and transporting mythology that is capable of resonating with some of our deepest human emotions. These profound moments come rare and unexpectedly, but they are nonetheless responsible for elevating Star Wars to something more than just a cultural fad.

I have mentioned to my friends that one of the things so disappointing about The Force Awakens is that it had so little romance in it. I don’t mean romantic love, although I think it could use a little of that too. I mean a different kind of romance. In A New Hope, C-3PO tells Luke: “I’m mainly an interpreter, and not much good at telling stories.” The comment turns out to be somewhat ironic, because, in Return of the Jedi, C-3PO is the best storyteller in the whole gang. Nestled high in the forest canopies of Endor, C-3PO gathers the Ewoks around him and weaves the magnificent tale of heroic Luke Skywalker and the evil Darth Vader, the captain Han Solo and beautiful Princess Leia. Like any good storyteller, he can do a perfect imitation of all the classic Star Wars sounds we are all familiar with: the brandishing of a light-saber, the breathing of Darth Vader, and the lasers of TIE fighters. For me, this is one of the most important scenes in the whole series. It is at this moment that the Star Wars saga becomes less like a meaningless sequence of space battles and more like something out of a fairy-tale. Up till then, I had regarded Star Wars as simply an entertaining and exciting story. It never occurred to me that it was also capable of being beautiful, like a story mothers tell their children by the bedside.

This is how Star Wars, besides being a combination of Arthurianism, Eastern philosophy, and cowboy westerns, is fundamentally a romance. Romance, in the old sense, does not just mean a passionate love affair, but a passionate love for the strangeness and grandeur of the universe. The sense of Wonder, which I discussed in an earlier post, is one of the many elements that fall under the broader category of the Romance. Noble deaths, tales of bygone days, fantastic beasts and castles in the sky, are all images found in the Romances, and Star Wars is full of them.

Star Wars not only alludes to romanticist imagery but also romanticist music. John Williams’ ornate and decorative melodies capture the spirit of Star Wars even better than the movie itself. One of the most famous themes is “The Force Theme” and perhaps also my personal favorite. “The Force Theme” is also known as “Binary Sunset” because it is first played in Episode IV when Luke walks outside to watch the twin suns set over the deserts of Tatooine.

This simple theme is barely even thirty seconds long, and yet it tells the entire tale of Star Wars from beginning to end. The story is told in two phrases. The first phrase begins in a minor chord, which perfectly harmonizes with the surreal and unsettling beauty of the scene. To Luke, it is just another sunset on his boring old farm. To us, they are foreign stars that once lighted a foreign planet a very long time ago. The minor melody, accompanied with this image, arouses mystery and the faint echo of danger, which coincide with the romanticist fascination and fear of the external world.

But the second phrase draws us toward the world within. As the camera cuts to our protagonist, Luke Skywalker, the melody blooms into a full-blown orchestra in magnificent major chords, inviting the viewers to experience the deepest longings of his heart. Is it no surprise that this theme is also called Binary Sunset? The theme itself is binary. It reaches out into the external world and finds...what? Fear. Mystery. It then reaches into the human soul and finds...what? Joy and Longing. This act of reaching out—stretching out our hands to the stars with the desire to wed the mystery of the universe with the divine discontent of our soul—this is the spirit of romanticism. The interplay between the external and internal is also, in some ways, the "spirit" of the Force, which "permeates all things and binds the universe together."

The Force Awakens, in my opinion, had very few truly romantic moments, and the moments that could have been romantic were sadly underplayed. There was some hint of the romantic in the teaser trailers and (obviously) John Williams’ score, but the movie itself was too saturated in thrills and fan-service to celebrate the quiet moments that are necessary to invoke the romantic element. “Star Killer Base,” for instance, is not near as terrifying as the Death Star, despite being thirty times bigger. Besides sounding infinitely more stupid, it was barely dramatized. Not only does “The Death Star” sound more haunting, the concept of being able to destroy an entire planet (when dramatized correctly) is much more chilling than the ability to destroy several (when dramatized poorly).

There was considerably much more potential for both drama and romance in Rogue One. (Warning: spoilers ahead) In this sense, Rogue One is the real reboot to Star Wars. Galen Erso nicknames his daughter Stardust, which reawakens the romantic external love for the cosmos. Not only that, but Galen uses her nickname for the name of the file in the Empire’s archives that maps the Death Star’s only weakness. Does it not summon the poetic mind when we consider that the Death Star's fatal flaw is a little piece of stardust? The Death Star symbolizes an empire of power, logic, and absolute rationalism. How ironic that the whole thing is blown to bits by a boy using his gut instincts and a girl named Stardust.

The most moving scene of all is watching the explosion from the Death Star’s fatal blast crawl over the oceans of planet Scarif, while Cassian Andor and Gyn Erso sit on the shore, wrapped in each other’s arms, bracing themselves for their inevitable death. No rescue ships sweep down, and no opportunity for cheap sentimentality arises when the two of them are at last engulfed in fire. Is this not what Star Wars is all about? Those are moments we really remember.

Part of why Rogue One had so much more of the original romance in it was because it was simply expounding on the material from Lucas' own narrative. The Force Awakens,however, has the feel of someone trying to imitate the Star Wars narrative and failing, because he does not fully understand (or appreciate) the narrative structures and cultural influences that created it. I have no doubt the franchise will continue to be a huge financial success, but I have few high hopes that the films will continue to resonate with me personally in the same way the original series did. It's not the same story without George Lucas, and we can tell.

My dad (if he reads this) will probably disagree with me. “Alright,” he will say, “even if there is any true romanticism in Star Wars of the kind you are talking about (which I doubt) then doubtless it was completely accidental. It is nowhere near to the genius of Lewis or Tolkien.” Well, I don’t see the point in comparing George Lucas to Lewis or Tolkien. But even if it was an accident, then it is an even greater testament to Lucas' genius. Anyone who has worked on anything creative knows that genius rarely comes when you are trying. You must do or do not: there is no try.