The Last Jedi and the Deconstruction of Meaning

With The Rise of Skywalker hitting theaters, I have been thinking a lot about Star Wars, and in particular about The Last Jedi and just how polarizing it was. I think the reason is that (to Rian Johnson’s credit) The Last Jedi is a movie that knows the Star Wars mythology well. Many consider it the best, many the worst, and a variety in between, but every Star Wars fan I have talked to at least has an opinion. I believe that is because The Last Jedi is a straight-up anti-Star-Wars Star Wars movie. It is a deconstruction of the mythology built in the original trilogy. The Last Jedi is uniquely controversial in that it is particularly forthright in its rejection of meaning, wonder, and purposiveness in the previously established Star Wars mythology.

What I mean when I say that is The Last Jedi goes out of its way to contradict previously established truths that helped make Star Wars more than a fun movie with laser swords. Some of those would be: The wondrously inexplicable (almost sacred) nature of the force, the importance of the Skywalker family line, the fundamental conflict between a great malevolent force and a rising force for good, the necessity of the rogue hero who defies an unjust rule, the underlying presence of beauty, and the list goes on. To show this, I’ll give some examples of these ideas in the original trilogy and the ways in which The Last Jedi directly contradicts them.

As I child, when I watched Luke train with Yoda in the swamps of Dagobah, or turn off his computer in the final approach to the Death Star I knew instinctively that the force was neither a concentration of chemicals in the blood or a purposeless force that randomly falls on people. (Midiclorians are a materialistic way of eliminating the force’s “beyond-ness” by means of science). As portrayed in the original trilogy, the force was a manifestation of the determination of spirit, either in harmony with all that is good, or as an expression of the power of will over existence. That was the conflict of Star Wars. Luke had to choose between a steadfast, meditative connection to reality or domination over it. This conflict is fundamental for humanity. On a daily basis we are also posed with the question of whether to embrace the circumstances of our life, or try to conquer them. It is seeing Luke’s struggle with, and eventual mastery of himself (as well as the other mentioned themes) that makes the original trilogy so powerful.

In The Last Jedi, this near religious practice of the force is dismissed as naive and unnecessary by the very same Yoda who taught Luke the exact opposite in The Empire Strikes Back. In episode 5, we saw Yoda teaching Luke the practice of the force, and in episode 8 we see Yoda tell Luke that the sacred texts, and the practice as a whole is utterly unimportant, that Rey will just figure it out because she has all she needs. That is a diametrically opposed to the Yoda who continually defied Luke’s impulsive desire to fight Darth Vader and figure it out as he goes. The Yoda of the original trilogy knew that in order to beat Vader, Luke has to win the real battle with himself, conquering his own fear, anger, and potential hatred. It is only in the mastery of himself that Luke is able to put down his lightsaber and let himself be tortured by the Emperor, saving his father’s soul by testament to the practice of the force that he had trained in for so long.

In the Last Jedi, Rey gets a half-hearted training session from an embittered Luke who has taken a complete 180 from who he was at the end of Return on the Jedi. It is understandable that Luke’s character and beliefs might become less idealistic with age, but he did not so much change gradually as outright contradict who he had become in the original trilogy. A man who has mastered himself to the point of willingness to die for the way of the force, and goodness itself, does not utterly lose himself just because his nephew starts to struggle with the same darkness he once did. The only reason for Luke to be this way is because Rian Johnson wanted to reject the previously established nature of the force (again disregard midichlorians here).

Tied into this idea of the sacredness and importance of the force is also the power of lineage, particularly the Skywalker name. In A New Hope, Luke is portrayed as being out of place as a simple farmer on Tatooine. His lineage as a Skywalker bestows him with a purpose, a destiny, one might even say he is chosen (wink, wink). He, by his very nature, knows that he is meant to be something more. At the same moment that he learns his name, Skywalker, carries with it a great weight. His father was one of the most powerful Jedi who ever lived, and with that knowledge he realizes his own power, and lights up his father’s sword. This moment is transcendent, Luke is realizing that his lifelong desire to go out into the galazy is not just the dream of a child, but a fundamental reality that has been bestowed upon him.

When Luke later learns that Darth Vader is his father, we understand his reaction of fear, anger, even disbelief. He has to reckon with the fact that his great gift of purpose is also inclined to darkness by nature. He is not predestined to be good, he must choose to reconcile the vying natures of good and evil within him, like his father. Yet unlike his father, Luke comes out the victor, and as he confronts his father once more in Return of the Jedi, Luke is resolute in his will, which allows him to be who he was destined to become: the chosen one, the one who would bring balance to the force.

In The Force Awakens, this sense of purpose, and chosen-ness was directed toward Rey. She has a particular connection with the Skywalker lightsaber, she pursues Luke, and she has an internal conflict that in part centers on her heritage. She too was not raised by her real parents. She too always knew that she was meant to be more. And yet, in The Last Jedi, when it is revealed who Rey is, it turns out she is absolutely nobody. She has no history, no family, no reason whatsoever for her ties to the lightsaber or Luke. Her sense of purpose from birth is chalked up to random chance. She just happened to be that way, there is no reason or meaning behind it. This is, once again, a bold-faced rejection of the themes of the original trilogy. It serves to subvert the audiences expectations and be surprising, but once the surprise wears off, the revelation is empty, hollow. Rey shifts from the rising hero to a nobody with no purpose narratively and no reason to be involved other than the fact that she is. This almost nihilistic approach to Star Wars is utterly unprecedented. Even in the prequels, there was at least a reason for the force, albeit disappointing. In The Last Jedi, there is an outright rejection of meaning whatsoever.

This moves us on to the fundamental, if common, theme of good vs evil. In the original trilogy, this is represented externally by the Jedi vs the Sith, but more importantly it is internally shown in Luke’s conflict with himself (e.g. his vision of himself under Vader’s hood). In The Last Jedi, we only get hints at this conflict, before they are torn away, and muddled into indiscernible grey. Snoke, who is established as the Sith Lord in The Force Awakens is killed quickly with no consequence, Rey and Kylo Ren are both visibly conflicted, but neither is presented with any real good or evil to choose between. Rey gets bitter old man Luke and Kylo Ren gets a completely undeveloped Snoke with almost no dialogue. The result is a lot of conflict and frustration between Rey and Ren without any seeming purpose. Kylo Ren wants to get rid of an antiquated system of Jedi and Sith (and so does Yoda apparently) while Rey wants to know who she is. Both discover that there is little meaning either way. Kylo Ren kills Snoke, which literally has no consequences or implications whatsoever, while Rey discovers she is nobody and has no reason to care either way. By the way, their fight culminates in the destruction of the Skywalker lightsaber, quite literally destroying one of the most symbolic and important items in all of Star Wars.

For someone who didn’t come into the movie knowing that the Jedi were previously associated with the good, you might be inclined to side with Kylo Ren. Except that as soon as Kylo Ren kills Snoke he just takes his place and things move on as normal. There is no destruction of the system, he kind of just forgets about that as soon as he has power. This leaves the viewer genuinely wondering who to root for, or whether it even matters. Without the context of the previous Star Wars movies, there would be no moral clarity here. It is, intentionally, a muddied ambiguous mess without resolution.

I would also like to address the major theme of the B-plot in The Last Jedi. While all the Rey and Kylo Ren “conflict” is happening, Poe Dameron and Finn go on an adventure to save the Resistance fleet from seemingly inevitable doom. This plot line is poorly written at best (in spite of its flaws, the Rey and Kylo plot line is certainly well written and engaging) so I will spare the narrative details. Suffice it to say, Poe and Finn are told to obey the fleet commander and do nothing to try and save the fleet. She has a plan that should work completely, but seemingly for no reason whatsoever, she does not tell it to Poe or Finn. This prompts them to go on their own attempt to save the fleet that ends up doing far more damage than good. This is, once again, in contradiction to what had been established thematically in the original trilogy. Luke and the Rebels would never have come close to succeeding in overthrowing the Empire without the repeated help of rogues and outlaws such as Han Solo, Chewbacca, and Lando Calrissean. In The Empire Strikes Back, Lando seemingly betrays Han and the gang, but actually has a clever long con planned to outwit Vader and win the day. Without someone willing to bend the rules, side with Vader, and make a more clever move that would never have been approved by the Rebel commanders, the Rebels would never have won.

This is, once again, directly contradicted in The Last Jedi. The rogue heroes of the Resistance are stymied at every turn, fail miserably, and become responsible for killing almost the entirety of the Resistance fleet. This is no accident. Rian Johnson is forcing a message that directly contradicts previously established meaning in Star Wars. The most frustrating part of this particular narrative is that it does not even make sense within the logic of this movie alone. Even dismissing how contradictory it is thematically with previous Star Wars movies, there is simply no reason for the commander (and Leia) to demand blind unquestioning obedience from the heroes of the Resistance. They could have easily explained their plan and the entire problem goes away. Instead they are written as condescending and arrogant leaders who act with absolute authority (in contradiction to anything seen in the original trilogy) and this results in the Resistance fleet being destroyed. In this instance, the choice to reject previous movies is so forced that it leaves the plot in disarray, with characters acting in inexplicable ways so that the critique of heroism can be more poignant. I’ll spare any extended comments on Rose and Finn’s relationship, but suffice it to say that “That’s how we’re gonna win, not fighting what we hate, saving what we love.” is a far cry from the iconic “I love you… I know.”

Finally, and perhaps most subtly and fundamentally, The Last Jedi has a twisted sense of beauty. In the original trilogy, yes there are Ewoks, Jawas, and other lighthearted and campy elements, but there are also incredibly poignant moments where the interior of a character is revealed through awe-inspiring beauty in both image and musical form. A particular favorite scene of mine is in A New Hope. Luke leaves the dinner table after arguing with his uncle about his desires to become a pilot and travel the universe instead of farm the land. He runs outside, and then slows down, and finally stands, leaning with desire, and watching the twin suns of Tatooine set. He first looks out in frustration, seeing what he feels he can never reach, then looks down in disappointment, then John Williams’ music soars, and he looks up again, with the intent resolution, the hope, that he will someday transcend the life he is living. This moment is far more powerful than anything in The Last Jedi, and perfectly introduces this core theme of purpose and desire that is inherent in a Skywalker.

Another such moment comes at the end of the trilogy when Luke burns the armor of Darth Vader. Once again Luke is by himself, lighting the funeral pyre for his father, who has just sacrificed himself to save Luke’s life. This is the culmination of Luke’s training to be a Jedi and to be a man. The same theme plays as Luke gazes into the fire. This time having suffered much, and conquered the dark side in himself. He is no longer a child with dreams of flying a spaceship, he is a Jedi, a force for good, peace, and balance. He watches his father’s corpse burn away intently, symbolizing the death-to-self that he has undergone, and accepting his father as both failure and victor in the end. It encapsulates many of the essential themes in the trilogy in a moment without words that speaks to our souls.

In The Last Jedi, there are certainly moments of striking beauty. For example, the opening scene with Luke and Rey where she stands on a distant island, reaching out with the lightsaber, asking for answers to her own burning desires, much like Luke looking at the binary sunset of Tatooine. However Rey is met with a disillusioned Luke who dispassionately tosses the saber as if it means nothing to him or her. The moment of beauty is undercut with and intentional void where there was once meaning. My first reaction was surprise and humor, but after a few moments, like with the later discovery of Rey’s parentage, it just felt empty. There is nothing there to resonate with the human spirit, with our own desires for something that transcends our everyday life and can imbue our existence with meaning and wonder.

Towards the end of the movie, there is another striking scene, when the Resistance commander sacrifices herself to save what is left of the Resistance fleet. The still image of the First Order’s ship seen cut in half is certainly jaw-dropping, but you swiftly remember that this moment is utterly unnecessary and entirely result of that same commander’s choice to not share her plans with Poe and Finn. Thus what might have been a striking and heroic sacrifice, like Vader saving Luke, is nothing but a reminder of how poorly written half of the characters in the movie are, and how strongly Rian Johnson wants viewers to never be like Han Solo. It is beauty in service of destruction at worst and poor writing at best.

Rian Johnson is a filmmaker I have a great deal of respect for. For the most part, The Last Jedi is well acted, edited, and directed. However, Rian Johnson was not the right person to direct a Star Wars movie. Through The Last Jedi, he shows that he knows Star Wars incredibly well, but rejects everything it has meant. It is certainly a bold and new direction for Star Wars to go in, but it is ultimately hollow, lacking the meaning, beauty, and transcendent themes of the original trilogy. It is a Star Wars movie on the surface only, a movie “full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” The fans who came to love the series not just for being entertaining sci-fi, but for its humanity and meaning are left feeling empty, the foundation of their love of Star Wars destroyed. While deconstruction can be necessary at times, when it comes to Star Wars, I’ll stand with Luke, watching the binary sunset on Tatooine.