Showing posts with label Leigh Brackett. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Leigh Brackett. Show all posts

Saturday, May 30, 2015

Movie Quote of the Day (‘The Empire Strikes Back,’ As Luke Gets a Nasty Surprise)



Darth Vader [voice of James Earl Jones]: “If you only knew the power of the Dark Side. Obi-Wan never told you what happened to your father.”

Luke Skywalker [played by Mark Hamill]: “He told me enough! He told me you killed him!”

Vader: “No. I am your father.”

Luke: “No. No. That's not true. That's impossible!”

Vader: “Search your feelings, you know it to be true!”

Luke: [anguished] “No! No!”— Star Wars: Episode V - The Empire Strikes Back (1980), screenplay by Leigh Brackett and Lawrence Kasdan, based on a story by George Lucas, directed by Irvin Kershner

And you thought that you had problems with your father, Faithful Reader! How would you like it if your old man not only didn’t die, the way that your wise mentor had told you, but that he was the personification of evil in the universe?

This is a father with a really, really warped worldview: He wants his son to experience “the power of the Dark Side.” Even Vito Corleone hoped his Michael would never get into the family business.

Thirty-five years ago this month, The Empire Strikes Back premiered. The success of this sequel to the biggest blockbuster of all time assured the world that it would continue to have, according to the satiric lyrics Bill Murray sang to that earlier movie’s theme, “Star Wars…nothing but Star Wars.”

Now, you can say that any sequel to that film would have made money. But talk to most fans of the entire Star Wars saga and, more likely than not, they’ll tell you that The Empire Strikes Back was the best of the bunch. It had reversals of fortune, a cool lightsaber duel, intriguing new characters, lines that made people wonder what was happening, a barely suppressed love triangle, dialogue that could have been flung around in a Thirties screwball comedy—and, as the above passage indicates, a surprise that really complicated matters.

I wrote about the film five years ago, in this post celebrating its 30th anniversary. For all the behind-the-scenes aspects of creating the film, I refer you to that (with the ulterior motive that I hope it boosts traffic to this blog…)

But the above passage opens up an avenue I hadn’t considered back then—one that, in a way, calls into question some of the conventional wisdom about Empire.

It escaped the notice of few fans who proclaimed this film as their favorite in the whole Star Wars bunch that it was the one in which George Lucas was least directly involved, having convinced others to take up the directing and writing chores.

In terms of whether Kershner did a better job than Lucas helming the fleck, I’ll leave that to film-school grads obsessed with montage, mise-en-scene and Minnelli.  But I can address the issue of writing.

Based on his screenplay for the 1977 Star Wars film (or, as it’s now known in the saga, A New Hope), the one entry in the series when he did not have a writing collaborator, it’s obvious that Lucas is not much of a wordsmith. (If only during his time at USC’s film school, someone had thought of drilling him in Strunk and White’s The Elements of Style!)

But we can see now that his contribution to the Star Wars saga remains immense.  Some people are born to write lines that sing; others, to act as a brilliant, if instinctive, story editor. The latter was Lucas' skill.

The first draft for Empire was created by Leigh Brackett, a natural to work on this project, not only as a noted sci-fi author of the 1940s but as a screenwriter for some of the great genre pictures of the Golden Age of Film: The Big Sleep (1946) and Rio Bravo (1959). Lucas wanted to make some changes in the screenplay, but her death precluded any further revisions he could do with her.

A critical change that Lucas decided on, as he passed the script along to Lawrence Kasdan for a rewrite, was the relationship—and the motivating forces—between Luke and Vader. Instead of the encounter that Luke has with his father—or, rather, the spirit of his father, dead at Vader’s hands, during his training at Dagobah (or Bog World in Brackett’s version)—Luke, in the rewrite, discovers that Vader is his father.

In Brackett’s version, the emotion that Luke must surmount during his training is jealousy over the relationship between Princess Leia and Han Solo. Although that might have helped trigger the plot for Empire and its sequel, it would not have helped the vast enterprise Lucas had in mind.

The question of patrimony, on the other hand, would allow for the creation of a whole other trilogy—and perhaps even beyond what Lucas had immediately in mind.  Moreover, the appeal to blood made by Vader would bring to the surface some of the most basic questions of good and evil: biological determinism vs. free will.

Lucas was out for the long game—not just in the independent financing he wanted that would cut Twentieth-Century Fox out of any potentially ruinous say-so over his work, but in the entire empire he was able to build through Lucasfilm and Industrial Light and Magic—corporate structures supported by tie-ins now made possible by his suddenly darker genealogy for the film: video games, novelizations,  action figures, and more.

Monday, May 24, 2010

Flashback, May 1980: Force Is With “Empire Strikes Back”


Sequels have difficult acts to live up to, and few as much as The Empire Strikes Back, the follow-up to Star Wars, the 1977 film that drew famously long lines even as it broke one box-office record after another.

George Lucas had so much riding on this: not just fan expectations, nor even an entire franchise that would enable him, at last, to make the films he wanted free of studio interference, but also his financial well-being. To finance the $33 million production, he used his profits from Star Wars, then received a bank loan. It didn’t seem like a good sign when Empire went over budget, because of inevitable production snafus, by $10 million.

Lucas needn’t have worried. Maybe The Empire Strikes Back was the only one of the six movies in the Star Wars cycle not to top $300 million domestically. But otherwise, everything went according to plan, and then some.

As the Memorial Day weekend came to an end in 1980, The Empire Strikes Back stood at the top of the box-office heap, on its way to becoming the top-grossing film of the year. Lucas made back his investment in three months.

But the movie had also, surprisingly for a sequel, earned at least a modicum of critical acclaim for adding emotional complications to what had been at heart, in the original, a mere throwback to the Flash Gordon sci-fi serials of the early sound era. Luke Skywalker’s ongoing confrontation with the evil Darth Vader now featured a surprise that added an unexpected Freudian undercurrent to Lucas' projected saga of the Jedi Knights.

Some more icing on the cake: In a film cycle that powered up modern film merchandising as we know it, Empire added another quirky, beloved character: diminutive Jedi master Yoda, who looked like Making of the President author Theodore H. White and sounded like one of Time Magazine’s odd inverted sentences from the Henry Luce era.

This time, Lucas stepped away from the director’s chair, while an initially reluctant Irvin Kershner assumed his old role. But really, could you honestly say that you could have told the difference between the two?

If you want to observe the divergence between the two movies, look to the screenwriting credits. In Star Wars, that belonged to Lucas himself. But a film consists of more than simply a simple scenario—what also makes it credible are characters acting believably and dialogue that rings true.

By common agreement of several key cast members, Lucas provided neither. One of the funniest moments in Carrie Fisher’s recent one-woman show Wishful Drinking came when she described her startled reaction to Lucas’ claim that “there’s no underwear in space.” Veteran British thespian Alec Guinness, used to embodying multiple characters of staggering variety and complexity onstage in Shakespearean roles and onscreen in Alexander Mackendrick comedies and David Lean epics, kept wondering aloud what was going on with his character this time, the sagacious Obi-Wan Kenobe. Most memorably, Harrison Ford, according to John Seabrook’s terrific retrospective on Star Wars in The New Yorker, told Lucas, in no uncertain times: “George, you can type this crap, but you sure as shit can't say it.”

Faithful reader, I sat enthusiastically, like much of the rest of the world, through Star Wars, The Empire Strikes Back, and The Return of the Jedi. But I bailed out after the 1999 film that ostensibly begins the whole saga, The Phantom Menace.

It wasn’t only because I objected to the all-around idiocy of Jar-Jar Binks, or even to the foul notion of killing off Liam Neeson as young Annakin Skywalker’s mentor, but also to the preposterous name Lucas bestowed on the latter, Qui-Gon Jinn.

(The latter—which rhymes with “Algonquin”--reminds me of Mark Twain chuckling at the name James Fenimore Cooper gave the mighty brave in The Leatherstocking Saga, “Chingachgook”—“pronounced Chicago, I think,” he wrote. Perhaps in that spirit, in his spoof Spaceballs, Mel Brooks, as the mysterious, gnomic knight master, announces: “I’m Yogurt—just plain Yogurt!”)

But Empire, as I’ve indicated, rang some interesting changes on Lucas’ stock characters. This time, after outlining his story, he turned the screenwriting chores over to hands less caught up in technical razzle-dazzle, as he was, and more on characterization.

The first screenwriter who took a crack at the sequel was Leigh Brackett, a veteran who had not only worked on several Howard Hawks films (e.g., The Big Sleep, Rio Bravo) but had carved out a niche in science fiction. In reading her (admittedly unfinished) script, though, Lucas felt disappointed.

Yet at this point, going back to her for a rewrite, even were he so inclined, was out of the question, because Brackett was dying of cancer. Not much of her script was retained onscreen, but Lucas made sure she shared screenwriting credit, in tribute to her professionalism under extraordinarily trying circumstances.

Lucas then turned to the young Lawrence Kasdan, who would go on to write Raiders of the Lost Art for Lucas, then tackle, on his own, Body Heat, The Big Chill, and The Accidental Tourist. In an interview a decade ago, Kasdan recalled the process of turning out this script as being “fun,” though how much it was is open to question, given that pre-production had already begun and Lucas and Kershner needed to review the evolving script every couple of weeks in “very intense, highly adrenalized” story sessions.