A Poet's Guide to the Philosophy of Lawnmowing

 

 

 

 

Mowing the lawn is such a chore.

It makes my body tired and sore.

Why do we persist in insisting so

That grass can't be allowed to grow?

We plant the stuff right in our yards.

It keeps away the weeds and dust

And serves its purpose admirably,

So we lop off its ends periodically.

Isn't this a cycle strange?

Faithful servant grass obeys;

It covers the entire yard.

Reward?  Chop off its body parts.

The bodies of the almost-living

Strewn among the truly dead

Until the executioner

Returns to steal another head

To quell grassy rebellion weak

And be the ruler of one's yard

Is not only a tedious task,

But cruel and boring, vicious, hard.

The senseless stalemate never ends,

The fighting of perpetual growth

To plant a seed and stunt its life

Seems quite counterintuitive.

The time it takes to mow the yard

Just isn't worth the small reward.

A moment's respite from the fight

Is all that's gained by this show of spite.

Cutting the grass: a brutal act

And pointless too in all respects,

But before you agree, just to be fair

I think the same of trimming hair.

 

 

Learning, Knowing, Forgetting Learning

A funny thing is learning

Increasing understanding

And forgetting It was learned

Instantly becoming

Part of what

You've always known

At least that is the feeling

To the strings
That are your brain

Synapses connecting

As if they 

Have always been
Remembering the learning

But not that

It was learned

In Defense of Defenestration as a Favorite Word

You all may call me widderschynnes

To choose defenestration.

A smorgasbord of better words

In your vocabulation,

But when some poor unfort'nate soul

Is from a window thrown,

You'll call upon my word of choice

And have to eat your own.

Shakespeare in Star Wars: Something Rotten in the State of Star Wars

Contains spoilers for The Rise of Skywalker, if you've somehow managed not to see it yet.

Shakespearean archetypes and themes are a significant part of what makes the Star Wars saga so compelling.  However, these patterns are sometimes abandoned.  This often leads to some of the least compelling parts of the story.  Shakespearean archetypes are common to both of these because they are time tested narrative patterns that have been proven effective.  When such patterns are abandoned, the story almost always becomes less thematically coherent. 

     The Star Wars Prequels are some of the biggest subjects of mockery that exist on the internet.  They are continually made fun of and have been for a long time, yet, as a previous essay noted, they are completely saturated with Shakespearean themes.  How can these movies follow so many Shakespearean patterns and yet still be regarded as so awful?  It turns out that they have a few key flaws in execution that undermine the potentially massive effectiveness of the narrative. 

      The first of these is, of course, Jar Jar Binks.  Jar Jar was intended to be the comic relief for the Prequel Trilogy, but ended up as one of the most unpopular fictional characters ever created.  This is in part because the Prequel Trilogy is a tragedy.  That is not to say that tragedies cannot have comical characters.   On the contrary, they almost always do.  Macbeth has the porter and Hamlet has the gravedigger.  Both are clearly comical characters.  However, they each maintain their plays' themes of condemnation and death in their humor.  This keeps them from disrupting the structure of the plays.  In contrast, Jar Jar has no theme.  His comedic value consists of merely slapstick humor, which is extremely out of place in the Prequel Trilogy, and thus very jarring.  

     The other flaw in the Prequel Trilogy is the romance between Padmé and Anakin.  Thematically, this romance fits extremely well, and makes the Trilogy much stronger.  However, its execution is subpar.  In Shakespeare, couples in private are almost always lively and clever, such as Beatrice and Benedick in Much Ado About Nothing or Romeo and Juliet.  Much of his best wordplay and most intricate writing is between lovers.  This is a way for him to show their love and compatibility.  Anakin and Padmé have none of this.  Their dialogue is almost painful to watch for two reasons.  The first is that it is poorly written.  "I don't like sand" may very well be the most ridiculed line ever written, and for good reason.  It is completely out of place, and represents the quality of writing in Anakin and Padmé's entire romance.  The second flaw in the romance is Hayden Christensen's acting.  Anakin is a very emotionally torn character, and Christensen appears not to have the emotional range as an actor to properly fulfill the role.  Undoubtedly, he did his best, but Anakin was a very demanding character.   

     These two flaws are the factors that undermined the Prequel Trilogy.  Anakin and Padmé's romance hindered the narrative core of the story, while Jar Jar's thematically inappropriate comedy throws off the mood.  Yet the narrative structure of the story remains sound. The Prequel Trilogy is essentially an excellent story told poorly.  

     One particular part of Star Wars has been conspicuous in this series only by its absence: the Sequel Trilogy.  This is because the Sequels in large part disregard classical archetypes and even disrupt those of past films.  Yet many people like them.  If the Prequels were a great story told poorly, the Sequels are the reverse.   The Sequels are a bad story told well.  

     One of the essential parts of a saga is that all of the stories make one coherent narrative together.  The Star Wars films are cohesive both narratively and thematically, except for the Sequels.  The Sequels not only fail to follow classical themes themselves, but upend many if not most of the archetypes of the previous films.  In the other six films, Luke begins as a poor and hopeful farm boy and becomes a self sacrificing hero.  Han starts as a careless overconfident smuggler and grows into a capable leader.  Leia was a prickly, bickering prisoner who became a wise, thoughtful princess.  Yoda was a guru of knowledge who experienced a great downfall before becoming a mentor.  Anakin was the Chosen One who rose to fame, fell into darkness and tyranny, and then redeemed himself to bring peace.  Palpatine was the evil tyrant who was ultimately defeated.  Every one of these examples follows a classical character arc, and each of these arcs was overthrown in the Sequel Trilogy.

     Palpatine was the representation of ultimate evil.  His unstoppable rise to power showed that evil cannot always be prevented in advance.  Sometimes it must be fought against after it has already taken hold.  The Original Trilogy very intentionally showed that even the strongest forces of evil can be destroyed if only people dare to stand up and fight.  The end of Return of the Jedi is the ultimate celebration of triumph over evil.  Tyranny will never again oppress the galaxy.  At least, until the First Order does.  Not only does an evil foe arise, but The Rise of Skywalker shows us that it is still the exact same enemy as before: Palpatine.  This sends the message that no matter how final the defeat of evil may seem, it can never be destroyed.  It says that fighting against evil is useless because that exact same evil will always return to oppress.  It invalidates the celebration on Endor of triumph over evil only to replace it with a fatalistic resignation.  

     Palpatine represented ultimate evil in the world at large.  Anakin's fall and transformation into Darth Vader represented the evil within every individual.  His fall showed how darkness takes over every one of us if left to our own devices.  However, there was still the potential for good in him.  His return to the Light side of the Force resulted in the defeat of the Emperor.  This symbolizes the fact that great evil can always be thrown down when people, as individuals, return to truth and goodness.  Once again, this message was destroyed when the First Order took over and Palpatine was shown to be alive once more.

     Yoda, head of the Jedi Order, was the representation of the wisdom of the institution.  He understood much, significantly more than any normal individual.  However, he was somewhat blinded by his position and could not see his own downfall.  The Jedi were overconfident in what they knew, and due to this they were destroyed.  Yet Yoda survived and learned from the destruction of the Jedi Order.  He took the great wisdom he had as the head of the Jedi and applied it as an individual and a mentor.  This great wisdom, learned in the Jedi Order,  was what shaped Luke's training as a Jedi and led to him turning Vader back to the light.  However, The Last Jedi had Yoda burn the remnants of the Jedi, in effect claiming that the Order contained nothing of value.  Yoda himself was the repository of the wisdom of the Jedi.  This was what made him so valuable as a mentor.  Instead the Sequels ignore this, declaring that the wisdom of the past is worthless.  

     Luke was a representation of every individual just like his father, but of their potential for heroism, not for evil.  He began as a boy from the middle of nowhere, a nobody.  In the end he becomes a Jedi, a hero.  This transformation is not effortless or by chance.  It comes about through careful mentoring by older and wiser men.  As Yoda learned that he had placed too much faith in the institutions of the past, Luke learns of their remaining value.  He has a vision for a new Jedi Order in a world without the Empire.  He understands how beneficial such a revival of the old institution would be.  Once again, the Sequels destroy this vision.  "It's time for the Jedi to end," Luke says, but not the same Luke from the Original Trilogy.  That Luke would never wish for the end of the Jedi Order.   His character has been dramatically changed in the same way as Yoda's.

     Han was always a highly competent person, but before A New Hope, he had no meaningful goals in life.   Han's character arc was probably the most dramatic of the Original Trilogy apart from Darth Vader.  He went from being a greedy smuggler to becoming a heroic general.  To do so, he had to become a leader.  He had to learn to swallow his considerable pride and listen to suggestions from others, even if those others were Ewoks.  He learned to risk his own life for something meaningful.  The selfish smuggler he was before would never believe who he became.  The heroic general would never want to be who he formerly was.  Yet The Force Awakens says that he did.  Han goes back to his old life as an irresponsible smuggler.  He runs away from his life and his responsibilities to his son, his wife, and the Resistance.  Han was not a coward in the Original Trilogy.  He did not run from his problems.  He faced them with courage and ingenuity. He was an example of the fact that anyone, no matter how selfish and corrupt, could become someone who could do something meaningful, and that it was worthwhile to do so.  The Sequels, however, made his meaningful accomplishments meaningless.   They threw his impact out the window, and the integrity of his character followed. 

     The Sequel Trilogy methodically destroys the character arcs and legacies of each of the characters that return from the previous films.  It not only damages the messages these characters are supposed to embody, but sometimes completely reverses them.  In turn, it replaces them with main characters who have little to no character arcs at all.   Finn starts as a Stormtrooper, and leaves the First Order in The Force Awakens, but then his role stagnates through the next two films.  Poe learns to be less cocky in The Last Jedi, but that's about it.  Rey begins as a nobody living on a desert planet and appears to return to being a nobody on a desert planet.  Only Kylo Ren has any meaningful development, though his is fairly good. The Sequels destroy the legacies of the characters who came before and replace them with nothing.  

     In addition, the Sequels destroy the themes of the saga as a whole.  The theme of the Prequels was that no one was incorruptible.  Even those who seemed to be the greatest could fall into evil.  The Original Trilogy countered this with a message of hope.  The worst people can still have a spark of good inside them, and all it takes to defeat a great evil is for people to rise and oppose it.  These messages form a perfect dichotomy, a fall and redemption story.  Weddings are symbolic of resolution.  The Star Wars saga was resolved when Han and Leia were finally united and when the people of the galaxy were reunited with their freedom.  The Sequels disrupt this resolution to insert their own message, which is a concerning one.  Yoda burns the remnants of the Jedi.   The three main characters of the Original Trilogy abandon their values and then die.  Rey buries a lightsaber in the sand.  All of these things point to one theme: that the past has nothing of value to offer and that it should be ignored.  Ignore the fall of the Republic and the destruction of the Empire.  Ignore the fall of Anakin Skywalker and the redemption of Darth Vader.  In Kylo Ren's words, "Let the past die.  Kill it if you have to."  When the message of a film is expressed chiefly by one of its villains, that is truly concerning.  Why should the audience accept such a message?   The Sequels upended the perfect dichotomy of the themes of the previous films to interject a wholly opposed and disappointing one, and twisted the arcs of all of its characters to do so.  

     Yet a large number of people like the Sequels.  Why is this?  The themes and archetypes of the films may be destructive, but most of the rest of them is very well done.  The space battles and duels are eye-catching.  The planets, creatures, and spaceships are all visually interesting.  There is plenty of drama and tension.  Even the acting is fairly good, which has not always been true of Star Wars.  All of these factors combine to make a series of visually stunning films with dramatic effect to match.  This is what makes a blockbuster movie.  However, the flashy surface level serves only to hide archetypically terrible writing and intellectually lazy themes.  It is just a shiny cover for bad films.  The Sequel Trilogy is a terrible story told well.  

     There are two ways a film can go wrong, and Star Wars has had both.  The Prequels failed to meet their potential because of poor execution.  The Sequels did not have potential, and were  saved only by their excellent execution.  To fail at both results in something like the Star Wars Holiday Special.  However, it is far more important to have an thematically deep story than to have good cinematic value.  Even expressed poorly, archetypes hold deep meaning.  Meaninglessness expressed with skill is still meaningless.  It has no value.  The Prequels will be remembered for a long time for their depth, though they will still be the butt of many jokes.  The Sequels will only be remembered because of the great films that came before and gave them a pedestal to stand on.  It is the themes and archetypes that give stories their value.  Ignoring that fact can only produce fool's gold. 

Growing Up

Every child wants to grow up.  Most children do so. Only then can they understand the blessings of childhood.   I turn 18 today, and I've been thinking about growing up a lot over the past few weeks.  The number 18 is arbitrary. Throughout history, there have been 15 year old adults, and today there are too many 30 year old children.  The number is not what's important, but maturity. However, reaching the social benchmark of 18 years is what provoked these thoughts. 

     Childhood is a beautiful and interesting time.  Children are full of potential, but there is not much that they really are.  They have no specific role in life, so virtually every role is open to them. To be a child is to be the embodiment of the possibilities of life.  It's impossible to tell what a child will do, be it in the next hour or the next 30 years. They have very little identity beyond being a child, but the potential to have almost any identity in the future. This is why children are constantly learning.  It takes an enormous amount of information to build and shape that potential. Children are always growing, not just physically, but intellectually and in personality. Childhood cannot last forever. Despite their potential, children are immature, irresponsible, and dependent.  This state of potential cannot last forever. Eventually we must sacrifice the potential of childhood for the actuality of adulthood.

     Children are irresponsible and dependant.  These things keep them reliant on their parents.  This is often the reason children want to grow up.  They want the independence and freedom of adulthood.  They want to be able ti do what they choose, without having to ask for their parents' approval, and this is good.  Children should aspire to be independent. Not relying on other people to support your existence is necessary for an adult.  However, independence is not alone. It is inextricably tied to responsibility. A person cannot be free if they can't be responsible for themselves.  This is why children cannot be independent, however much they might want to. They do not have the sense of responsibility necessary to support their independence.  The irresponsibility of children is their potential. They have no real duty. The responsibilities a person takes on is the actuality of adulthood. This is growing up.

     So then, children embody potential in their lack of responsibilities, and people are defined in adulthood by their responsibilities.  Adults have their duties, while children have not yet discovered theirs. As I move forward, I want to strive for responsibility and independence, the actuality of adulthood.  At the same time, however, I don't want to lose the childlike ability to change, nor the constant growth of youth. Though I hope to become an adult in identity, I wish to remain a child at heart.

Pendragon

A sword in a stone will discover the king.

Its blade buried deep in the cold stone rests.

The lords of the land come to try their hands,

But the hilt remains firm, their best efforts arrests.

A blade from the earth just prove the man’s worth

Who wishes to take England’s crown.

For the glory and fame and power it claims

They continue to strain, these great men of renown.

But all but the heir the sword will forswear,

And soon it was clear that the man was not there,

For the blade remained firm in the stone’s cold grasp

Which no mighty hand had made to unclasp.

Then Merlin appeared with a boy, very young

And this boy stepped forth, and to the sword clung

And in his small hand the board’s grip was broken,

And as he raised the sword, the crowd loosened its tongue.

They gave a shout, a shattering cry

Their king was revealed and they reveled in joy.

But this very outcome no man had imagined.

There beneath the sword stood a boy, the Pendragon.

Shakespeare in Star Wars: A War of Clones and Roses

O now, who will behold

The royal captain of this ruined band

Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent….

For forth he goes and visits all his host,

Bids them good morrow with a modest smile,

And calls them brothers, friends, and countrymen.    (Henry V, 4.1.29-35)

     A comedy ends in a wedding.  A tragedy ends with a pile of bodies.  How does a history end? Reality is less thematically cohesive than fiction, so stories based on real events are less often linked by archetypes.  Life is full of small comedies and tragedies, and a history can contain either. Histories do not necessarily have a binding format. Shakespeare's histories, however, have certain traits in common that link them strongly. They are legacy stories, a small part of a larger tragedy or comedy.   Some end happily, others sorrowfully, but they all focus on the same set of moral values. While his comedies focus on the morality of marriage and his tragedies on the questions of death, Shakespeare's histories expound on the nature of leadership by following powerful men through their often questionable decisions.  Star Wars: The Clone Wars takes a similar aim, focusing on the actions of the Jedi, particularly Anakin Skywalker, as they fight against the Separatists. 

     One set of similarities between Shakespeare's histories and The Clone Wars is the overarching narrative they each tell a part of.  Most of Shakespeare's histories tell of a part of The Wars of the Roses, a series of disputes over the throne of England in the 15th century.  Two rival factions vied for the monarchy through both political maneuvering and open warfare for several decades. Shakespeare's histories primarily follow the kings from the House of Lancaster, Henry IV, V, and VI.  The Clone Wars is also about power disputes.  The war began when the Confederacy seceded from the Republic.  Both the histories and The Clone Wars often ask the same moral questions about war.  When is war justified? Shakespeare asks whether it is right to go to war in order to achieve a position of power in Henry V.  Ahsoka considers her part in the war when she meets the pacifist Lurmens, and again when she and Padmé meet the Separatist Bonteris.  Should leaders feel responsible for the deaths of their soldiers? Henry V does not believe so, as long as the war is for a just cause.  Pong Krell and the Kaminoans also treat the lives of soldiers with disturbing disinterest. The similar circumstances serve as a backdrop for the discussion of similar themes.

     Shakespeare was a patron of the royal family.  Because of this, he could not safely write overtly negative things about the kings.  Instead, he had to express his opinions more subtly. The kings in the histories are often good on the surface.  They honor their word. They lead well in battle. Henry V in particular has a strong sense of camaraderie with his men.  However, he also has a violent temper and unquenchable ambition. In many ways Henry V is similar to Anakin Skywalker. Both Henry and Anakin appear to have a special fate ahead.  Henry is destined for the throne of England. Anakin is the Chosen One, and is fated to bring balance to the Force. These are the life stories of men we already know will become great.  Anakin, like Henry, possesses a sense of brotherhood with the men he fights alongside. Both men achieve brilliant military victories against insurmountable odds. These victories display the incredible capability of these two men, but like Henry, Anakin has a dark side.  He has a dangerous temper like Henry as well, raising the question of whether Henry will end up like Anakin does. Each is also irresponsible to some degree. Before he was king, Henry kept the company of fools and thieves who frequented taverns and robbed travellers. He says to himself that this is intentionally done to make his rise to the throne more incredible, but once he is king, he still shows a lack of accountability.  He places all the responsibility for the war with the Bishop of Canterbury and refuses to accept the weight of the death of his men. Anakin is also irresponsible, though it shows itself differently. Several times he runs away from his forces and disobeys orders in order to take on another mission. There is a difference between the irresponsibility of Anakin and Henry however. While Anakin is presented as an impetuous hero, Henry seems to follow morally questionable ambitions.  This is not to say that Anakin does not ever make questionable decisions like Henry. His secret marriage to Padmé was full of potential problems. The same is true of Henry and Katherine's marriage. However, both men pressed on regardless of these difficulties. Henry and Anakin have many of the same weaknesses, concealed by similar strengths and abilities.

     Unlike Shakespeare's comedies or tragedies, there are few characters in his histories with a direct analog in Star Wars.  C-3PO could be compared to the foolish and pompous Falstaff. An argument could be made for Joan of Arc being similar to Ventress.  Richard III's plotting has similarities to Darth Maul's conquest of Mandalore. However, the real similarities between Shakespeare's histories and The Clone Wars are in their themes.  Leadership, war ethics, and politics dominate both stories.  Though they are part of a larger comedy or tragedy, histories have unique characteristics of their own.  They tell the beginnings of the legacies of great men.

Inferior Craftsmanship

Drawn on by my utensil's deficit,
I trace my path again to the machine.
X-factor in my hand must how submit
Or be destroyed by spinning blade unseen.
No design must be allowed to keep
Preventing me from outlining my aim.
Eagerly the machine wakes from its sleep.
New prey for it with iron teeth to maim
Clamor of the beast gives voice to its fate.
I hear the likeness of a splint'ring sound
Lament and pain in me does this create
Since by a thousand is the sole compound.
What is the thing that does inflict this curse?
The answer here is hidden in the verse.

Shakespeare in Star Wars: The Tragedy of Anakin Skywalker

Many of Shakespeare's greatest plays are tragedies.  The tragic genre allows the author to delve into humanity and morality at a deeper level than others.  Tragedies have the opposite pattern to comedies. Comedies begin with a problem and have a happy ending, usually a wedding.  Tragedies, on the other hand, begin with a character of high status and often great wealth before his life falls apart, and many people end up dead.  Ambition and revenge are also typical of Shakespeare's tragedies. Though many stories outside of Shakespeare fit into this pattern as well, the Star Wars Prequel Trilogy is a particularly good example of these similarities.

     A key part of tragedies is the setup.  The circumstances must be exactly right for everything to fall apart at once, and there are many circumstances hovering on the brink of disaster throughout the Prequel Trilogy.  The Phantom Menace does not contain nearly as many tragic elements as the other two movies, but some are still present.  The Jedi Order was unprepared for the return of a powerful enemy like the Sith, much as Julius Caesar did not expect hostility from the Roman politicians.  In both cases, complacency and a lack of preparation set the stage for tragic events. Another critical circumstance in setting into motion the events of Revenge of the Sith is the romance between Anakin and Padmé.  Like Romeo and Juliet, the couple are not allowed to be in love, so they marry in secret.  Weddings are usually a symbol of happiness in Shakespeare, but secret weddings foreshadow tragedy.  A wedding is a joyful occasion with feasting and fellowship, so to have one without guests is to undermine the happiness of the celebration.  In Shakespeare, a wedding without guests leads to tragedy, not joy. The same will ultimately be true of Padmé and Anakin. In addition, Palpatine carefully grooms Anakin's ambition to prepare him for his tragic role.  The evil counselor is ubiquitous within the tragedies. Lady Macbeth stokes her husband's desire for the crown. The ghost of Hamlet's father goads him to take revenge on his uncle. Iago convinces Othello to distrust Desdemona and Cassio.  This type of character actively works towards the tragic outcome and is often the main contributor to its realization. The combination of unprepared leadership, improper passion, and uninhibited ambition has all the makings of a tragic downfall.  

     The causes of tragedy, however, are not the only shared element.  The motivations and actions of tragic protagonists are also similar.  Most tragic protagonists fall into one of two categories: the vengeful hero or the ambitious villain.  Hamlet is an example of the vengeful hero archetype. He seeks to kill his uncle for murdering his father and then marrying his mother.  He loses sight of almost everything as he contemplates, and eventually succeeds in, killing his uncle. Anakin follows much the same pattern, though Palpatine convinces him to attack the wrong people.  By the end of Revenge of the Sith, Anakin views the Jedi Order the same way Hamlet viewed Claudius: as an evil usurper.  He feels betrayed, especially by Obi-wan, who, much like Gertrude, has chosen to side with his enemy.  In the process of achieving his "justice," Anakin estranges Padmé, leading to her death, just as Hamlet induces Ophelia's insanity and suicide.  The obvious difference is that Anakin's usurping Claudius is not truly the Jedi Order, but Palpatine himself. However, he does reconcile his mistake in Return of the Jedi when he finally defeats the Emperor, like Hamlet, at the cost of his own life.  The tragedies, and Hamlet in particular, are characterized by soliliquys, when a character expresses his inner thoughts and turmoil to the audience.  This is not a common element in film, but one can imagine the battle ensuing in Anakin's head as he waits for Palpatine's arrest in the Council chamber.  Often, however, Anakin's struggle is expressed in his conversations with other characters. Hamlet contemplates the nature of death, while Anakin seeks advice from Yoda.  Hamlet questions the depth of his own sorrow at his father's death whereas Anakin confides in Padmé about his reaction to his mother's. Much like Hamlet, Anakin is a vengeful hero.

     Anakin is not purely a vengeful hero though.  He also has many of the characteristics of an ambitious villain like Macbeth.  Macbeth was a faithful and honorable thane, even killing MacDonwald, the leader of a rebellion against King Duncan.  It was not until three witches gave him a prophecy that he would be king that Macbeth's ambition began to take hold of him.  Similarly, Anakin Skywalker was a renowned military genius who killed the supposed leader of the Separatists, Count Dooku, before his own downfall.  Both Macbeth and Anakin killed the leaders of rebellious uprisings before becoming one themselves. Unsurprisingly, this foreshadows their own fates.  Both are awarded promotions for their victory: Anakin, a seat on the Jedi council, and Macbeth the rule of Cawdor, but each holds a flame of ambition that desires more.   In their quest for power, both Anakin and Macbeth become demented and inhuman. Their loss of humanity is demonstrated through killing of the innocent. Macbeth has Macduff's wife and son killed and attempts to kill Banquo's son as well.  Anakin shows his remorselessness by killing the younglings in the Jedi Temple. Macbeth's ambition is stoked by his wife and the prophecy that he will be king while Anakin is the subject of a prophecy of his own and a mentor's deceit. One person is skeptical of the prophecy's fulfillment however: Mace Windu.  Windu, like Banquo, warns against putting too much faith in prophecies and distrusts Anakin's counselor. In part for this reason, both Windu and Banquo are killed. Though driven by fate, both Macbeth and Anakin also seek to defy fate. Macbeth sees a vision of a line of kings descended from Banquo, and kills him to prevent it.  Anakin sees a vision of Padmé's death and does all that he can to prevent it. This selective acceptance of fate leads to each believing himself to be invincible, always a precursor to defeat. Obi-wan is Anakin's Macduff, showing up once disaster is already in motion to end its cause. Like Macduff, he faces the full extent of his enemy's delusion and desperation in a duel before brutally defeating him. Macbeth's descent into madness is not isolated however.  He is accompanied by his wife, who eventually commits suicide to escape the world her husband has thrown into chaos. Padmé too loses the will to live due to her husband's insanity and destruction. However, the wife of the ambitious villain is not the only one who is thrown into despair at his struggle for power. Many die both attacking and defending Macbeth's castle of Dunsinane, and the entire kingdom goes dark as a symbol of the usurpation of proper rule. Scotland itself bears the greatest burden of his madness.  Anakin's ambition has even graver consequences, subduing entire planets under the opression of the Galactic Empire for nearly thirty years. Macbeth is not the only example of the ambitious villain.  Julius Caesar and Coriolanus follow similar patterns.  Each time, the protagonist throws aside conventional ideas of what constitutes rightful rule to advance his own position, while ascribing to himself noble ideals.  This always brings about chaos and tyranny. Curiously, in almost every instance, the protagonist's wife commits suicide as a result. Though Anakin has the marks of the vengeful hero archetype, he is clearly an ambitious villain as well.

     How can Anakin be both hero and villain?  He obviously becomes a villain as the trilogy progresses, but the audience remembers the good man he was.  Though his actions are unquestionably wrong, the viewer holds on to the hope that there is still good in him somewhere.  He becomes a villain, but the memory of the hero remains. Although the Prequel Trilogy has become somewhat of a punchline in popular culture, it is not fitting to forget the potential that lies within it.  It has incredibly strong ties to Hamlet, Macbeth, and Julius Caesar, three of the greatest works written by arguably the greatest author who ever lived.  The tragedy genre allows the creator to dig into moral and existential issues like no other.  Though Anakin's emotion may leave something to be desired, the story of his tragic downfall is highly compelling and the perfect introduction to the redemption of the Original Trilogy.

Shakespeare in Star Wars: A Comedy of Blasters

          All's well that ends well.  This is perhaps the simplest way to sum up a Shakespearean comedy.  Today, a comedy is usually thought of as a story full of jokes. This is certainly true of Shakespeare's comedies, but it is not what links them as a cohesive group.  The comedies are stories of redemption. No matter how bad things may be at the beginning or in the middle of the story, there is always a happy ending. This pattern is what defines a classical comedy.  However, there are many other shared elements in Shakespeare's comedies as well, such as romance, deception, and plotting. Nowhere in Star Wars are these elements more clearly seen than in the Original Trilogy.  It shares not only plot elements with Shakespeare, but character qualities and relationships.  

     Perhaps the most defining feature of Shakespeare's comedies is the ending.  Almost every one ends in a wedding. A comedy must end in joy and resolution, and what better way is there to express that than a wedding with joy and feasting?  Weddings represent union and harmony, the antithesis to the conflict and chaos that takes place beforehand. A wedding is the ultimate happy ending. Star Wars is of course a very different kind of story.   The Original Trilogy is a comedy on a galactic scale.  The stakes are not the lives or happiness of individuals alone, but of galaxies.  Its ending, therefore, is not a wedding celebration, but a celebration of freedom from tyranny.  The Ewoks feast and dance as fireworks announce their victory. In later editions, there are celebrations on many planets set to joyful music, an appropriate addition.  The audience is not left without a hint of a wedding however, as Han and Leia finally give up their bickering and kiss after the Battle of Endor.  

     Another ubiquitous characteristic of the comedies is disguise and deception.  In Much Ado About Nothing, Hero fakes her death.  Hermione does the same in A Winter's Tale.  A Comedy of Errors is full of mistaken identity as two pairs of identical twins roam the streets of Ephesus, completely unaware of each other.  Many of Shakespeare's deceptions are present as well in the Original Trilogy. One of the most common of these is a woman disguising herself as a young boy.  Portia poses as a lawyer in The Merchant of Venice.  Viola becomes Cesario in Twelfth Night.  Leia disguises herself in a similar manner in Return of the Jedi.  Like Rosalind in As You Like It or Julia in Two Gentlemen of Verona, Leia dresses as a man to deter trouble.  She knows she would not be taken seriously in Jabba's hive of scum and villainy, so she dresses to intimidate until she is unmasked and taken captive.  Another common "deception" in Shakespeare is the disguising or apparent loss of family members who are revealed later near the end. The pairs of twins reunite with each other and their parents at the end of A Comedy of Errors.  Perdita returns to her parents after sixteen years in A Winter's Tale.  In a similar way, Luke and Leia discover that they are twins in Return of the Jedi, but not until after the painful revelation of their parentage in The Empire Strikes Back.  Though Vader is revealed as Luke's father on Cloud City, their reunion does not take place until his death near the very end of Return of the Jedi when Anakin Skywalker finally appears.  Reunions, like weddings, are joyful occasions, which is why they are so common in the endings of the comedies.

     One final story element of Shakespeare's comedies is plotting.  Many of the plays involve a convoluted plot that must be executed perfectly to achieve some end.  Often there is a villain with a counter-plot who must be foiled. In Much Ado About Nothing, for example, many of the characters join together to trick Benedick and Beatrice into falling in love.  Don Jon then plots to make Claudio publicly disgrace Hero, who is then restored by the plans of the priest.  Plotting is the central element of this play, and is present in many of the others. It is unquestionably present in the Original Trilogy as well.  In A New Hope, Luke and Han attempt to stealthily deliver the Death Star plans to the Rebel Alliance, which mounts a carefully contrived attack to destroy the space station.  In The Empire Strikes Back, Vader uses his cunning to lure Luke into a trap.  Return of the Jedi, like Much Ado About Nothing, is essentially made up entirely of plotting.  First the protagonists infiltrate Jabba's Palace and escape.  Then the Rebels go on a stealth mission to Endor, only to discover the Emperor's plan to destroy them.  Plotting is a key element of comedies because it increases the payoff at the end. To see the protagonists overcome difficulties along the way builds drama and makes the celebration that much more rewarding.

     Plot devices, however, are not the only thing Star Wars borrows from Shakespeare.  There are many similarities between the characters in them as well, especially between the three main protagonists in the Original Trilogy and the four in Much Ado About Nothing.  For most of A New Hope, Luke treats Leia much like Claudio treats Hero in the beginning of the play.  Smitten, he idealizes her and is jealous when Han expresses interest. Unlike Claudio, however, Luke is not unreasonable.  Fortunately, Leia takes to Han instead. Their relationship is reminiscent of Beatrice and Benedick's. They hide their feelings for each other behind insults and squabbling until a crisis encourages them to open up.  For a time during The Empire Strikes Back, however, Han and Lando compete for Leia's attention much like Proteus and Valentine pursuing Silvia in Two Gentlemen of Verona.  

     Correlations between characters do not have to be exact.  If they were, the stories would be the same and of little interest.  The similarities between characters must be strong, however, to justify a comparison.  For example, Obi-wan is not much like Prospero in The Tempest, despite the fact each is a father figure with magical powers mentoring a child to adulthood in relative isolation.  Though they are somewhat similar, their roles are very different. Obi-wan does, however, serve much the same role as the Shepherd from A Winter's Tale.  Both look after a child (Luke and Perdita) who has been sent away to avoid the wrath of a villainous father. (Vader and Leontes)  Like the Shepherd, Obi-wan helps pave the way for Luke to return and face his father. However, Unlike Luke, Perdita seems to be content with her status as a shepherd's daughter.  In a way, Luke is more like Orlando of As You Like It, who leaves the family farm, despite discouragement from his brother, in order to seek fame and fortune like his late father.  The motivations, ambitions, and personalities of characters are what link them, not merely their state in the world.

     Clearly there are many similarities between Shakespeare's comedies and the Original Star Wars Trilogy, but why?  The reason lies at the heart of classical comedy itself.  As stated at the beginning, comedies are stories of redemption; there is always a happy ending.  In a classical comedy, all's well that ends well, but that means it must start out unwell in some way.  Every comedy must begin with a bad scenario and characters who have the ability and opportunity to improve it.  While this can take many forms, it should be no surprise that there are similarities between these characters. They are driven to make the world better, and in the end they succeed.  In a comedy there may be setbacks, but nothing can go truly wrong. For all the world's a stage, the men and women merely players, and the Force is always with them.