From Bob Galloway, Software Engineer:
Okay, so I admit it. I'm a geek. And, as with so many other geeks, the evil bastard responsible for my condition is George Lucas. I know this for a fact because I first saw "Star Wars" at the tender, impressionable age of four, and I wasn't a geek until after then. That night at the drive-in, after the 'droids somehow got sidetracked into a big, boring desert with no more laser battles, and I crawled into the back seat of my family's Volvo (muttering, so they claim,
"Wake me up for the lightsaber fight") to fall dead asleep, "Star Wars" beamed universal geeky byte-code into my noggin. The next dozen viewings didn't exactly deprogram me, either.
There are a number of telling assumptions that form the foundation of the "Star Wars" universe. I'm going to ignore most of them. Those movies turned me into a geek because of the way the characters viewed spaceships as glorified automobiles: of course they were complicated machines that could break down in a thousand different ways, but you
could mostly just hop in your big stellar minivan (the Millennium Falcon) and basically get somewhere. Even the Falcon's failed-startup and failed-hyperdrive noises from "Empire" are
disturbingly close to the grinding I hear when I'm trying in vain to get my Volvo started on a butt-cold Williamstown winter morning. And boy, do Solo and his Wookiee love to fuss with their car! "I've made a few special modifications myself," says Solo, attempting to command
a little respect for his big metal toy.
Who wouldn't jump at the chance to own transportation that two guys can understand and keep running? Forget about the hundreds of specialists who never get to go anywhere near orbit in the Space Shuttle; Solo and his fur ball do everything. And forget about zero-to-sixty they can make the jump into hyperspace and shoot cool-looking special effects at the Imperial dork that just cut them off. The Millennium Falcon is the ultimate Geek-Mobile, in a hangar full of geek-mobiles.
Of course, we're also shown a lot of faceless Rebel tech guys with welding equipment and whatnot, fixing up the X-Wings. But the details of technology aren't important to "Star Wars." Only the spectacle of watching the technology get used is important. So most of the true
geeks of the movie are briefly seen in the Rebel hangars, doing something useless like putting gas in an X-Wing, or dropping off a Main Character on a scooter so that the scene can happen. The tech guys are not fun geeks like Solo, and therefore they get no screen time.
So that is the geeky byte-code that got streamed into many impressionable cranium in 1977, and again in 1980 and 83. (And again, and again...) It helped push many people like me over the edge: first the play sets, then the models, and then the car, which, like the Falcon, can barely make the jump to 55, and is held together at the moment by a couple of pieces of rope. "Star Wars" did its work. So why did I bother to go see the "Special Edition" along with everybody else in creation, if "Star Wars" had already been etched into my brain?
Well, for one thing, "Star Wars" is fun. It can be analyzed to death (and I've hardly scratched the surface here), but it really doesn't gain from that analysis. It was designed, I believe, to be watched with your brain off (it's easier for them to connect with the byte-code). And for another, it was a director's cut, which is usually a good thing. Even if Lucas occasionally went mad and ruined a scene (and I'm talkin' Greedo here), because of his creative control,
the movies had a focus that was obvious and clean. Confusion and grit don't do much for movies with archetypal characters.
And, you guessed it, I saw the "Special Edition" for the special effects. Raise your hand if you know which movie is responsible for my obsession with movie effects. And if anybody asks you why you're sitting at your computer with your hand in the air, tell 'em that you're a geek.
Pass me the hydro-spanner,
Bob Galloway, Software Engineer (3/7/97)
P.S. They didn't wake me up for the lightsaber fight. I'm not bitter.
Read more "Letters from Tripod" in the archive.