In which our reluctant hero pops his dressing gown on and makes all sorts of funny “whooshing” noises while swinging a torch around. Or something.
A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…
Exciting and enticing an opening that must be, these musings happened not that long ago in a place not all that far, far away. About an hour or so ago, in Wolverhamptonshire. A place not all that far from anywhere, being pretty much in the middle of England’s green and pleasant land. Specifically in the grey bit. It depends where you live, I suppose. I digress.
Anyway. Today being May 4th, it is “Star Wars Day.” A day created to service the enthusiastic oversharing of a lame number based play-on-words. Spoiler alert for those without the Twitter – think the number four and “The Force Awakens.” Probably.
I loved Star Wars as a little person. I was only four when “Episode IV: A New Hope” was released. Fortunately, my local cinema, Theatre Clwyd, was reliably late to the party and I managed to watch the original release on the big screen. OK, I was ten and it was after “Return of the Jedi” started screening everywhere else. Or maybe it hadn’t… Your eyes can deceive you. Don’t trust them.
I was a slightly bigger person when the prequels were announced and, rightly, I had a bad feeling about this.
But if you strike them down (as practically everyone quite rightly did) they shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine. Disney have a lot to answer for, but having locked George Lucas in a cellar and turned the special effects button down from eleven, they have at least finally restored order to the galaxy. Phew.
Like all responsible parents, I have attempted to influence the interests of my offspring through subliminal messaging. As you do.
Sadly, sneaking a Darth Vader costume into the dressing up box, R2-D2 into the bath toys and even buying the boy toothpaste with lightsabers on the front is yet to pay dividends. They’ll eventually be running around shouting “Luke, yam your father” like the other local children though.
We tried watching the opening of “The Force Awakens” on Netflix, but it was all a bit too scary for the boy. After getting over the initial shock, he seemed to embrace the general mood and spent the next fortnight murdering his teddies to death with a water pistol. I spent this time trying to convince him that the laser guns were simply to knock the baddies over, but he wasn’t having any of it. This wasn’t a problem in Episode IV where the stormtrooper’s shooting was as off target as a Wrexham forward in a push for the playoffs.
This means that a family trip to the cinema to watch “Solo” when it comes out is a no-no. My birthday is in June, so I wondered whether asking for tickets to watch it without R2-D2 and BB-8 as my present would work instead.
But going to the cinema without kids is even more expensive than going with them. Tickets, popcorn, babysitters and the £50 Russian Roulette that is a microwaved meal for two at Bentley Bridge’s various eating emporiums. No doubt served up by Darth Waiter at Pizza Hutt. Don’t use your fingers, use the fork, Luke.
For £100 I think I would prefer a present. I could maybe ask Yoda if I could borrow the cash to do both, but he always seems short.
Maybe I should I go solo to Solo instead? Nah. The kids will be ten and eight by the time it gets to Theatre Clwyd. So it is back to the land of my fathers. And my father’s fathers. And sheep. Sorted.
May the force be with ewe.