From ‘Star Wars'

to ‘Jedi', relentless revisionism will ensure that the Dark Side triumphs

Dear Mr. Lucas,

A long time ago, in a galaxy that now seems far, far away, you made an excellent exercise in science-fiction exploitation known as "Star Wars," or as you now refer to it "Star Wars: Episode Four — A New Hope."

It was so good, and so popular, that you decided to make two sequels titled "The Empire Strikes Back" and "Return of the Jedi," or "Star Wars: Episode Five — The Empire Strikes Back," and "Star Wars: Episode Six — Return of the Jedi."

The first of those sequels was an epic love story full of action, humor, drama and the kind of self-sacrifice that Ben "Obi-Wan" Kenobi had epitomized so well in the first film.

The second sequel had Ewoks, which I'm willing to forgive based on the fact that it also had the Sarlac Pit, which redefines suffering by devouring human beings whole over the course of 1,000 years.

At the very least, couldn't you have thought of a plot device by which Wicket and some of his Ewok buddies got mistaken for Teddy Ruxpin and tossed into the almighty Sarlac?

No?

Anyway, the reason I write to you is to plead for the life of my favorite film trilogy of all time, much like Luke Skywalker had to plead for the life of Han Solo after he was frozen in carbonite at the end of "The Empire Strikes Back."

But, unlike Luke Skywalker making his appeal to vile gangster Jabba The Hut, I don't have the Force. Even if, like Jabba, you were immune to Jedi mind tricks, it only would add insult to my already injured nostalgia.

Just last week, 20th Century Fox made the announcement that the "Star Wars" trilogy will be released Sept. 21 for the first time on DVD.

When I read the headline, I was so happy that I almost cried like Princess Leia Organa when Han is finally freed from his carbonite sarcophagus.

Unfortunately, after reading further into the article, I made a devastating discovery: The DVD release only will include the "special" edition versions of the films, and not your original masterpieces.

While I realize that when human beings get old, they sometimes begin to lose their mind in a form of mental deterioration known as senility, I had hoped that you, a former film god, would be immune to such mortal ailments.

Sadly, you are not immune to senility and may have come down with something much, much worse — Alzheimer's.

Perhaps you've heard of this disease. One of it's symptoms is an erosion of the victims' memory so that they don't even remember their loved ones — or in your case, cinematic children.

When you first made the "Star Wars" movies, I assume you were trying to give the moviegoing public what it wanted. At least, that's what the charismatic heroes, unapologetically evil villains, fantastic special effects and visceral action sequences would lead your fans to believe.

Perhaps you meant them as twisted, obscure, art-house fare: a sort of beneath-the-tractor-beams parody of mainstream science-fiction and the simplistic archetypes it peddles in.

I doubt that very much.

But somehow, somewhere, sometime between attending the premiere of "Return of the Jedi" and penning the final draft of "Star Wars: Episode1 — The Phantom Menace," something terribly traumatic must have occurred in your life.

You either were lobotomized, beaten into stupidity, abducted by aliens and replaced with some sort of look-alike pod creature, or you simply developed a severe and debilitating case of Alzheimer's.

I know this because you've clearly forgotten everything that made the original three movies great in the first place. Sure, "Star Wars: Episode One — The Phantom Menace" and "Star Wars: Episode Two — Attack of the Clones" were proof of this, what with their total lack of memorable heroes or villains; sterile and completely ineffective special effects; silly, trivialized action sequences; and acting that makes Mark Hammil's in "Star Wars" look like Sean Penn's in "Mystic River."

They were convoluted, dispassionate, uninteresting stories anyway. As one of the gangsters says in "The Godfather," "Let them lose their souls."

But, nowhere has the comprehensive twisting of your mental faculties been more apparent than in the totally needless revisionist offenses you committed against your original trilogy and its countless fans around the world.

Sure, I believe that you always intended to have Jabba The Hut slither across the ground of Han's hangar in Mos Eisely. The footage of Han's responses was shot during principal photography for the film and the addition of that scene to the special edition of "Star Wars" in no way changed the story or overall emotional feeling of the movie.

I'm willing to forgive that alteration.

But Greedo firing first? Surely you don't need Ben Affleck to tell you that was a bad move.

What made Han Solo, and Indiana Jones for that matter, so great was that he was an anti-hero. Solo was a rogue smuggler who wise-cracked until the bitter end, then started blasting.

He didn't need somebody to shoot at him first to know the deadly intent was present. He may not have had the Force, but he was an experienced criminal with enough illegal man hours to know when his life was in danger.

And what about the musical number that takes place in Jabba's palace in "Return of the Jedi"? The original version of the film featured the Max Rebo Band backing up Sy Snoodles with one of the most deliriously funky jungle rhythms this side of "Shaft."

It was so weird, in fact, that it genuinely managed to sound like something you'd hear at a bar on the outer-fringes of a far-away galaxy.

However, in the "special" edition, you chose to replace that surreal piece of space funk with one of the lamest, most pedestrian musical performances this side of a Super Bowl halftime show. I've heard more creative music come out of the elevator in Mariah Carey's mansion.

It's cheesy, glossy, mediocre, totally pathetic and, quite frankly, beneath you and the film it was created for.

And those are just two examples of the myriad ways in which you made your own movies — movies that have come to be regarded as American classics, movies that have added strange beauty to countless lives — infinitely worse.

How dare you?!

What about the fans? You know, the fans that went to your movies, bought your toys and even overkilled on Burger King Kids Meals to get the free promotional glasses.

Is your desire to play God so great that you would stash them all away in some remote corner of your mind like the crew of the Millennium Falcon sneaking aboard the Death Star? If it weren't for "The Phantom Menace," I couldn't begin to imagine how you sleep at night.

So, on behalf of all the true "Star Wars" fans around this crazy planet, I beg you to reconsider your decision not to release the original, uncompromised versions of the films.

If you could find it in your heart to sacrifice your ego like Han Solo going willingly into the carbonite freezing chamber, I not only would be eternally grateful, I also would be forced to eat all of the words in this column, and that's more of a mouthful than even The Sarlac Pit could stomach.

Jake TenPas covers pop culture and night life and edits the Entertainer. Contact him at 758-9514 or jake.tenpas@lee.net.