Every Thursday morning for the past few weeks, I have woken up at 5:30 a.m. to go for a run before work. It is still quite dark at this time of day. And one part of my Thursday route takes me along a path through a heavily wooded area, where it is even darker. If I'm lucky, I get some hints of light from the still-ascendant moon, but on most mornings, the clouds and the thick covering of branches overhead block even that. In such a place, every stir, every breaking twig, every rustle in the leaves can tap into your primal fear and become cause for alarm. But not for me. In fact, I have emerged from this point on every one of these runs disappointed. Why? Because a killer clown has not emerged from the woods. I know it makes me sound like the guy in the horror movie who's not afraid of the monster or not convinced that it's real when I say this, but...
It's possible that all of this is just a mass shared delusion. Much as no one can point to exactly where the sightings began, very few of the sightings themselves (except for one) can be truly substantiated; many of the rest seem to be recycled from a few years back, the work of pranksters or trolls, or urban legends resuscitated and gone viral. It's happened before, and probably will happen again. And, in the meantime, real clowns, the ones who aren't trying to kill you, are suffering, and trying to combat the stereotypes (no, seriously).
I, for one, have no fear of clowns (again, if this were a horror movie, such a quote would just be begging a clown to off me. But I'm not in one. Right?). I've never been particularly fond of them (except the Joker, of course), but they don't frighten me. And, frankly, they shouldn't frighten you, either. For, as far as I can tell, the clowns that have appeared in this current wave--if any can truly be said to have appeared--are cowards. They prey on the solitary, the vulnerable, the isolated, the defenseless. They appear in the dark, using cheap tricks and cowardly stunts to lure their prospective prey. And they rely on, indeed, they feed on, the fear of their potential victims. Take all that from them, and they have nothing. Take, for example, this admittedly superficially creepy-seeming video of a knife-wielding clown trying to break into a house:
Yes, this does seem frightening. But think about it. A supposedly terrifying clown, seeking to sate its blood lust, thwarted by common house locks? Michael Myers he is not. Here's another example:
So yes, that's a clown in a cemetery at night. It seems pretty scary. But you know what? The person who recorded this video is in a car. Physics tells me who would win that battle.
Fortunately, people are starting to get wise to these "killer" clowns' act. In Australia, a group of people supposedly beat one up. And in England, someone who is somehow not Jared Van Dyke has dressed up as Batman to chase any killer clowns he sees. I cannot quite condone this behavior, as I try not to wish harm upon anyone. But surely, by this point, anyone dressing up as a clown with the intent of creeping people out knows what's coming. They should, anyway. And the clown opponents have the right idea. Depriving these cowardly clowns of the fear on which they thrive is the key to their defeat. Whatever it takes to do that for you, do it.
Yet that is not what I plan to do if my dreams come true and a clown does materialize on that dark stretch of road this coming Thursday. My preferred weapon is not physical. It is psychological. Readers of my blog will know that I am capable of making myself very frightening.
If I see a clown, I plan to return to this dark place within my own soul, to retrieve that voice, to laugh wildly, and then slowly approach the clown as I say something like this:
I know you. I've seen you before. You think that mask makes you scary. You know what that means? It means you don't know the first thing about fear. True fear doesn't need a mask. True fear is what's beneath the mask. True fear is what happens when you look the darkness in the face and the darkness stares back. You have a lot to learn about true fear. Lucky for you, I'm a good teacher. Now, let's get started on the first lesson...
That, with the proper creepy affect, would be enough to scare away anyone of these poseur clowns, I reckon. And if it doesn't work, well...I can pretty safely guarantee that I'm faster than any random clown I encounter. But if it comes to that, I don't think it will be the clown I'm really running away from. I think it will be the monster inside of me, the monster inside all of us, the thing that really makes us scared, that I'll be fleeing. Unfortunately for me, and for everyone, there's no escaping that monster. For, in the end, the clowns are us. And we're the clowns we really need to be afraid of.
Last week, a fun little challenge popped up on Facebook: Describe yourself in three fictional characters. I am usually averse to such Facebook trends, but this one intrigued me. We are a pop-culture-saturated age, and we find some sort of weird, profound joy from identifying with fictional characters created by other non-fictional beings. Thus, I enjoyed seeing what friends came up with about themselves, and began to wonder what three characters best fit me. Unable to think of any good fits, I jokingly suggested three fictional characters I had actually (sort of) portrayed: Han Solo, The Joker, and Ed from the play Degas C'est Moi:
Disney/Lucasfilm never called me about this one. They'll regret it
Still waiting for Warner Bros. in case Jared Leto quits
At least I'll always have Degas C'est Moi
But while I do identify with certain aspects of each of these roles--Han's sarcasm and irony, Ed's penchant for bombast and observation, the Joker's...hair--I don't really think any of them really describes me. Nor do some of the other choices I considered when trying to create my trio, including:
If this I were a list of three fictional characters I wish I could be, rather than who describe me, Jack would be at the top (sorry, Jared). As it is, however, I haven't earned being Jack. But someday, perhaps...
In the end, however, after much deliberation, I settled on three fictional characters who have probably never been thought of together before, and may well never again be though of together after this blogpost: Spock (as portrayed by Leonard Nimoy), Willy Wonka (as portrayed by the late, great Gene Wilder), and, last but certainly not least, Captain Ahab, as written by Herman Melville in Moby-Dick. Some explanation is in order to explain these three rather disparate choices.
1) Spock (as portrayed by Leonard Nimoy)
This choice is highly logical.
Spock was the most palatable expression of the emotional distance, reliance on reason, and sometimes-tenuous connection to humanity that inclined me toward the choices of Patrick Bateman, HAL 9000, and Dr. Manhattan above. Half-Vulcan, Spock's primary mode of existence in Star Trek is to value reason above all else. And yet Spock is also half-human, meaning that, unlike many Vulcans, he has actual emotions to deal with. In Spock's original incarnation, he rarely, if ever, lost control of his emotions absent the intervention of some personality-alternating external force (like mating). Most of the rest of the original series treated Spock's character as a source of deadpan humor, as a means of profound meditation on what it means to be human (even though Spock technically wasn't), and, in his finest hour, as a source of selfless nobility. I am nowhere near Spock in my detachment from emotion, nor my ability to rely solely on reason. But I do relate to Spock in often (perhaps too frequently) valuing logic above sentiment, in sometimes failing to relate to my fellow human beings, and in regarding with skepticism what others irrationally assume or take for granted. Thus, Spock is my first choice.
2) Willy Wonka (as portrayed by the late, great Gene Wilder)
Please, tell me more about how you think you're really worthy of this choice.
Peter Kistler, a friend of mine (and guest writer for this blog), once chose Jafar, the villain from Aladdin, as the Disney character I most resembled. When I was talking to Peter earlier this week, I realized that the combination of quiet introspection and unpredictable theatricality that made him choose Jafar as my Disney analogue also applied to Gene Wilder's Willy Wonka from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Wilder's Wonka is at different times calm, quiet, sarcastic, brilliant, passive-aggressive, literary, erudite, terrifying, wrathful, bombastic, warm, loving, and affectionate--sometimes in the same scene. And he is all of these things behind an often-inscrutable exterior, one hiding a great mass of seemingly contradictory emotions and personalities that leap out every once in a while. I wouldn't call myself anywhere near this complicated, but I do manifest at least some of the vastly distinct characteristics of Wilder's Wonka, often within minutes of each other. And I think I can seem, while not as mysterious as Wonka, at the very least somewhat difficult to understand. Finally, I think I do have a penchant for making obscure allusions, as Wonka often does. All of this, I think, contributes to the Wonka in me.
3) Captain Ahab
I don't have many white whales in my life, but when I do, you can be darn sure I'll chase them.
In Chapter 115 of Herman Melville's Moby-Dick, Captain Ahab, commander of the Pequod and initiator of its doomed voyage of vengeance, breaks the long solitude of its sea-bound search via an encounter with another ship. At this point, the crew of the Pequod has seen nothing but one another, their ship, and the open ocean for weeks. You might think that Ahab would be interested in exchanging pleasantries with the other ship's captain, or perhaps socializing in an even more relaxing fashion. But no. That is not Captain Ahab. All that Ahab wants to know from the other ship's crew is whether they have seen Moby-Dick, the great white whale who bit off Ahab's leg years before, leaving him in a constant state of physical and emotional turmoil. When he learns they have not, and are in fact heading home, he cares no longer for the conversation, nor the crew, and continues the Pequod on its chase. There is a similar scene in Chapter 59 of the novel. A crew member thinks he has sighted the whale Ahab seeks, and so Ahab quickly commandeers a smaller boat out to sea to meet his foe. When he finds that the crewman 'only' sighted a giant squid - "The great live squid, which, they say, few whale-ships ever beheld, and returned to their ports to tell of it" - this is how Ahab reacts:
But Ahab said nothing; turning his boat, he sailed back to the vessel; the rest as silently following.
People often find it strange when I tell them this, but I find this single-minded, megalomaniacal behavior incredibly relateable (although, unlike Ahab, I would be much more interested in a giant squid than a white whale). The more positive spin on all of this, if you're looking for one, is
that I am determined, focused, persistent, and passionate about the things that
matter to me. But the more Ahabian way of putting it is this: Life itself compels me to care about many things that I otherwise might disregard. Yet there remain a great deal of concerns, topics, and other such things in which I simply have no interest. And there are a few things to which I am passionately, almost obsessively dedicated. I am, moreover, not hesitant - and, indeed, rather callous about - delineating which is which, often to a degree that turns off even those who know me best. I cannot stand small talk, for example, and often steer a conversation directly into an area in which I am comfortable - like aliens - rather than waste precious minutes dawdling about pointless trivialities. This relentless focus on some things at the expense of all others appears to the world as a level of uninterest that can seem quite off-putting.
Due to a poor sense of moderation, moreover, my white whales tend to consume my very being when I do find them, as anyone who has seen me in the throes of some passion project can attest. This often leads me to extremes in physical or mental behavior in service of my momentary obsession. I can, furthermore, - and often do - keep ideas, goals, and (more than I'd like to admit) grudges locked away in my head for years before finally getting the chance to act on them. I'm not saying I'm Captain Ahab, but...well, maybe I'm Captain Ahab.
So, there you have it: I have described myself in three fictional characters: Spock (as portrayed by Leonard Nimoy), Willy Wonka (as portrayed by Gene Wilder), and Captain Ahab (as written by Herman Melville). What do you think of my choices? Do they make sense? Do they make too much sense? Do you have any other suggestions?
Finally, perhaps most pertinent: Are you now frightened to know me?
My local Blockbuster prominently displayed this image of the late Gene Wilder, back when Blockbuster was still a thing.
Near the end of this past August, 2016 once again proved how dangerous a year it is to be an icon of popular culture when it claimed the life of the great actor Gene Wilder. Wilder died at age 83, leaving behind an impressive body of work. Though I am a fan of some of his other work (such as 1979's fun comedic Western The Frisco Kid, in which Wilder stars as a Polish rabbi sent to America and teams up with a post-Star Wars Harrison Ford), it is most likely, however, that he'll be remembered for four films: The Producers (1968), Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (1971), Blazing Saddles, and Young Frankenstein (both 1974).
And the week after Wilder died, Warner Bros. and AMC theaters gave their own tribute in the form of a post-celebrity-death cash-grab of which I wholly approve: They re-released Blazing Saddles into theaters for the weekend. I jumped at the opportunity to see one of my favorite comedies on the big screen, uncensored, from start-to-finish. This was a wise move. Though I've seen Blazing Saddles,many times, it is one of those movies (like, say, Airplane) so packed with jokes that you notice something new, or appreciate something old in a new way, almost every time you see it. For one, despite being a thoroughgoing parody of Westerns - once almost as popular in Hollywood as superhero movies are today - it has enough respect for the form and its conventions to - among other things - look beautiful on a big screen. In an increasingly politically-correct age, moreover, it was quite something to see a movie comfortable not just dealing with racism, but deriving humor from it, yet in a back-handedly tasteful way. It was also fun to watch in a full (!) theater with obvious fans of of the movie. Finally, for sheer meta pleasure, I don't think anything beats seeing the scene in which Hedley Lamarr settles down in a movie theater to watch the end of Blazing Saddles while I myself was in a movie theater watching the end of Blazing Saddles. It's been a while since I had that much meta in my life.
The best part of the movie, of course, is the proto-buddy-cop friendship between Cleavon Little's Sheriff Bart and Gene Wilder's Waco Kid/Jim. Little plays Bart straight but stops just short of bringing him to a fault, and Wilder's Waco Kid is both convincingly washed-up and a credibly laconic deadshot when he needs to be. The two of them together have enough comedic chemistry to have powered a movie all on their own, but Blazing Saddles throws in one of cinema's most important fart jokes, Harvey Korman's hilariously narcissistic Hedley Lamarr, a well-meaning but mostly incompetent henchman in Slim Pickens, Mel Brooks' imbecilic governor, a horse getting punched in the face, and so many other hilarious characters and moments that it's impossible to list them all here.
Gene Wilder and Cleavon Little, having a blast in Blazing Saddles
Instead, I want to use Wilder's performance in Blazing Saddles to draw out some of his greater qualities as an actor. Probably foremost among these is what Todd VanDerWerff called his "comedic generosity." While a star in his own right, Wilder did not hog the screen; he was always more than happy to let co-stars shine and get the punchline, as he does in Blazing Saddles in spades. Here's a great example:
Less evident in Blazing Saddles, but much, much more prominent in his roles in Young Frankenstein and Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, was Wilder's talent for playing the man just barely keeping it all together. Yes, he could convey a quiet exterior, but he could easily hint at - and, without much prompting, ferociously display - a wellspring of hidden emotions and tensions. He could, moreover, convincingly alternate between both, often within the same scene, without seeming like a ham or a scenery-chewer. Here's probably the best example of that:
Finally, Wilder was perhaps the definitive master of the comedic pause. In the wrong hands, the comedic pause can undercut the humor of a moment meant to be funny, or draw out a joke to the point where it no longer amuses. But Wilder knew exactly how to make his pauses just as long as they needed to be; whether to provide the momentary hesitation that mirrors how the audience feels, or to highlight the awkwardness of whatever situation in which he found himself. The comedic pause is an art; Gene Wilder was its Michelangelo. Here's proof:
Gene Wilder's performances will live on for many years to come; his starring role in Willy Wonka alone seems already to have introduced him to an entire new generation of fans. Yet his passing reminds us ever more of 2016's stark question: What will popular culture look like after all of the icons of the Baby Boomer era pass away? Someday, we will have to find out. But, in the meantime, how about a little applause for the Waco Kid:
Readers of my blog - or, more likely, friends of mine on Facebook - got a surprise earlier this month. Out of nowhere on a Friday appeared this video, in which I star in a reenactment of the interrogation scene from the The Dark Knight:
Many of you may have wondered how - or why - this came about. Is this just what I do in my spare time? Well, only on certain weekends. But this reenactment - created with the help of Jared Van Dyke, my college friend (and noted Batman expert) as Batman, Jule Van Dyke, his wife, as the camerawoman, Tony Van Dyke, his brother, as Commissioner Gordon, and with other members of the Van Dyke family (though not Dick) in production roles - has been a long time in the making.
The story begins whenever it was that I first realized I could do a more-than-passable Joker impression, which I believe was sometime in high school. In college, when I met Jared, and we bonded over our mutual love of Batman (and argued over our different philosophical approaches to societal decline), we eventually started characterizing our relationship - in jest, of course - as Batman vs. The Joker.
With this goal in mind, we made a few preparations. Over Christmas Break, we watched the original scene and memorized our lines. When we returned to campus, we rehearsed a few times and did some blocking. Jared procured a pair of boxing gloves, and I told him to hit me convincingly hard (and, if he ever forgot his lines, just to hit me again and shout "WHERE ARE THEY!"). A few hours before our performance, we went out to the local Wal-Mart and bought flour and green food coloring; not wanting to buy lipstick, I borrowed a tube from a girl on the track team who didn't mind the use. I then borrowed a vest from a friend, but already had a good shirt and green pants; Jared had already assembled his costume. We were ready.
When we finally went on stage, we were a hit. Jared and I (and Elliott Murphy, our teammate whom Tony succeeded in the role of Gordon) thought it went well when we did it. We thoroughly terrified our audience, won the talent show, and received many compliments for a long time thereafter. There was only one problem: It wasn't filmed. Unlike every other talent show act I performed in college, this one, arguably my best, was not. I was crestfallen. The only evidence that the performance ever happened at all is the memories and reactions of those who witnessed, the sternum I briefly bruised from Jared's punches to it, and this photo:
Pictured: BFFs
But this was hardly enough. I tried to satisfy my acting bug in other ways. One of those ways was by, well, actually acting. I auditioned for and won a part in a one-act play on campus that year called Degas C'est Moi, playing an unemployed New York man who wakes up one day and decides that he is the deceased French Impressionist painter Edgar Degas, and goes throughout his day to see if anybody "notices."
My actor's portrait for Degas C'est Moi. The caption references my role "in a reenactment of the interrogation scene from The Dark Knight." (Better view here.)
The first scene of Degas C'est Moi. Photo credit: Caroline Kennedy Green.
Assessing the aesthetics of a toothbrush in Degas C'est Moi. Photo credit: Caroline Kennedy Green.
Marveling at the beauty of a homeless man in Degas C'est Moi. Photo credit: Caroline Kennedy Green.
Even this, however, was not enough. I wanted to reenact the interrogation scene from The Dark Knight, ideally with Jared, Elliot, and myself all reprising our roles. And this time, I wanted it filmed. As time went on, however, the dream became ever more impractical. Elliot and Jared both graduated, married, and moved away. Soon, I graduated, and moved far away from both of them. The three of us did reunite for our college's homecoming in 2015, but we were not prepared to take advantage of the opportunity as we perhaps should have. It seemed my dream was lost, and I would just have to keep telling people how great it was in lieu of having some proof to show them. Not having some live video proof had become one of my greatest college regrets.
But I am the sort of person who does not let a dream die. I may take a while to get around to realizing it, but I can be Ahab-like in my determination and persistence (see, e.g., my first foray into competitive eating). And so it was with this. Around February of this past year, I learned that my family would be vacationing in July in South Haven, Michigan, a town right on the coast of Lake Michigan, and about an hour away from Grand Rapids. Grand Rapids just so happens to be where Jared lives now. Realizing the opportunity, I mentioned it to Jared, who wholeheartedly agreed to it. I then blocked out vacations days, and Jared made sure he would be in town during that period. At last, the dream wold come true! All we had to do was practice our lines, gather our costumes, and wait.
As the appointed time drew closer, our preparations became more serious. Two weeks out, I began to read my lines every night to ensure memorization. When I finally escaped the wilderness of the Cleveland Republic National Convention, I returned to Cincinnati and began to assemble a costume and make-up: green pants and a purple shirt from Good-Will; a green vest (ordered online); green food-coloring (Wal-Mart). Jared, for his part, procured a Batman mask and shirt, and found some pretty convincing pants and boots. He also managed to conscript Tony, his brother, Julie, his wife, and other family members of his to be involved in various capacities, and found a good restaging location: his parents' garage. We were ready.
When the day and the hour had come, I drove out to Jared's residence. Upon arrival, he and I ran through the script a few times without doing any physicality or blocking. Confident that we had the script down, we then went onto blocking. Again, with the original as our guide, we divided the scene into five distinct sections. We would film each of these separately, since each one had a roughly internally consistent yet unique set of attendant angles and positions that would make transitioning from one to the next relatively seamless. We then had a nice dinner together. Since I had heard that Heath Ledger achieved his Joker's excessive tongue movement by dehydrating himself, I, too refused to drink water for most of the day leading up to the shoot (despite running 11 miles that morning), including at dinner. Satisfied with our meal, we then suited up (Jared fully, I declining to put on my makeup), and drove over to our shooting location. At the time, I looked something like this:
"Hello, ladies."
And Jared looked something like this:
#Batmanselfie
At the Van Dyke residence, we prepared for our shoot. We had to block of
all sources of natural light in the Van Dyke garage, and remove all
unnecessary debris that could get in shots. We also had to set up our
camera, figure out lighting, and other such technicalities. Before we
began, I realized we didn't have any flour; the Van Dykes graciously
supplied corn starch, which worked just as well. I applied all of this to my face (much as Heath Ledger applied much of the Joker's makeup himself). You have already seen
the final result, but here is a different picture.
"Hello, ladies. Hey, why are you running?"
With everything up and ready, we now only had to film. We confronted technical problems and filming issues as we met them, adjusting positions and angles based on how things looked on the camera. We improvised frequently along the way, often to wonderful results. Instead of starting in mostly darkness, we used a single lightbulb, cut to black when Gordon left the scene, used this a transition for the next scene, and had Batman appear behind the Joker when all the lights turned on. Lacking handcuffs, we decided to use a zip-tie instead.
Filming of the first scene about to begin, with the Joker (me) and Gordon (Tony Van Dyke)
The fun result of this was that Gordon (played by Tony Van Dyke) released the Joker from his bonds by brandishing a knife, giving the scene a momentary edge there that the original did not have. I did something smaller and subtler when I decided to give the Joker an "oh crap!" look upon Batman's angrily grabbing him, something also lacking in the original (this is a face probably more suiting Cesar Romer's Joker than Heath Ledger's):
"Oh crap, I made him mad!"
To create the noise of the Joker hitting his head on the table, a member of the Van Dyke family banged his hands off camera on a similarly-textured object in timing with when my head appeared to hit the table. Many such adjustments and improvisations marked our filming process; while it was a challenge, all were met successfully. That's not to say filming went perfectly, mind you; we had many, many bloopers, some of which you can see in this video:
Probably the trickiest scenes to film came at the end, when the physicality of the scene and the angles required to capture it vastly increased. But these we captured to our satisfaction as well.
"For the last time, Batman, I don't have your lunch money."
"Sorry, it's naptime."
"Could you hold on a second? I have to take this call."
"Say, what are you doing after this? You wanna hang out?"
One of the most unexpectedly difficult parts of the shoot was punching me in the face. We wanted to recapture as much of the physicality of the original as we could (though I did not ask Jared to hit me as hard as Batman actually would hit the Joker, as Heath Ledger reportedly asked Christian Bale during the filming of that scene). To do that, we did some trial-and-error punching-me-in-the-face to determine how hard and real-looking a blow I could sustain and not mind; the bloopers video above contained footage of these tests. This obstacle we also overcame.
Wham!
Sock!
Though I did say above I was not prepared for Ledger's purported level of physicality, I did achieve one result close to it. At the end of the shoot, after multiple punches in the face, I did, in fact, end up bleeding from the mouth; one of Jared's punches forced one of my teeth up against my gums. It didn't hurt. But it was so, so cool.
The bright red spot on the floor, directly below my hand, is my blood-infused saliva.
After filming roughly an hour of footage - a process that took far more than an hour - we completed principal photography. By this point, I was bloodied, sweaty, and most of the corn starch had come off my face anyway (which I think is appropriate, since the Joker's makeup in the original had to be applied and could easily smear or come off.).
But this was only the beginning of our little video. As Jared - and, to a much lesser extent, I - learned over the next month or so of editing, principal photography is only one stage of production. Editing is just as important, requires just as much effort, and has just as much impact on the final product. Jared had to look through the hour or so of footage (compare to the shot-to-used footage ratio of other major Hollywood productions) to see what went best with what. We had some discussions about which angles for things looked best, and how things should be cut, but, on the whole, I yielded to his judgment. Unlike most movies these days, we didn't add to much in post: Just the Joker voiceovers that bookend the video, the punch noises (if you thought those were real, I apologize), and the audio from the actual scene (which we don't own, Warner Bros., so please, don't sue us!). And with that, the final product was born. Here it is again, if you want to watch it again with renewed appreciation after learning its history:
So, there it is: the production history of our little video. Perhaps it is too insignificant to deserve such a history, but I've given it one now thanks to this blog, so there's no turning back. I am happy we finally managed to realize this dream of mine, and to erase one of my biggest regrets from my college (now if I only I could do something about that trip to Tijuana...). My only regret now is that I forgot to say "to them, you're just a freak...like me" in the final footage we used, but oh well. The important thing is that I now have this video to point to people should the need ever arise. I hope this is the last Joker impression I have to do; I'll be happy to have this character out of me. Although he may never really go away. Maybe Jared and I are destined to do this forever. Because madness, as you know, is like gravity. All it takes is a little...push...
"If you think I look good now, imagine how much better I will look when I'm evil."
I have written a lot about Star Wars for this blog (see here, here, here, here, here, here, here, and here...). That was not necessarily my intention when I started it; I don't think Star Wars is even my biggest nerd passion. But hey, it's fun, it gets the clicks, and it's current, so why not?
Filming for Star Wars Episode VIII is currently underway. What will happen? No one outside of the cast and crew knows. And frankly, I don't want to know. I deliberately - and with much difficulty - went into Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens with as little knowledge of it as possible, and my first viewing was one of my best cinematic experiences ever as a result.Therefore, I won't trawl the Internet for rumors, leaked scripts, drone footage, etc of Episode VIII. When the trailers come out, I'll probably watch those, but that's it. As of the writing of this post, I know nothing about Episode VIII, not even the title.
But I did accidentally encounter a headline somewhere on social media recently that asked a simple question: What if Rey turned to the Dark Side? Well, this got my imagination firing. And it made me realize that Rey turning evil might be the best thing that could happen to this new trilogy.
I've defended the character of Rey from what I think are unfair accusations of her being a Mary Sue (a Mary Sue is a, basically, a perfect character who does nothing wrong, impresses everyone with her skills, and is even perhaps wish fulfillment for her creator). But much of my opinion of the new trilogy will still depend on what it does with her. She has to have at least some major failing to have a full arc. The safe way to do this is either to have Luke train Rey and have them both go take on Snoke (and, presumably, lose, in Episode VIII at least, because otherwise how can there be an Episode IX, unless Ren is somehow the only villain, or some other villain[s] pop up); or have Rey foolishly go take on Snoke herself without Luke and have her defeated soundly, only rescued from certain death at the last minute by a timely intervention by Luke or somebody else. But neither of these is very interesting, and would be difficult to stretch for a whole movie. What if, instead, Rey becomes evil? This, to me, is the most interesting scenario, and so I decided to sketch out how it might happen.
The Force Awakens ended with Rey tentatively handing Luke's old lightsaber back to him, having finally found the old master. What if VIII begins with Rey, at first in awe of Luke, starting to lose respect for him as she asks him what has been on all of our minds: Where have you been? Do you know that Han is dead because of you? Do you know that the Hosnian system is destroyed because of you? Let's assume, based on Han's remark in TFA that Luke has gone to the site of the first Jedi temple, that Luke, now a mature Jedi master, had fled there to try to discover the secret of defeating Snoke, whom he learned was an ancient, powerful, once-defeated but now-resurgent evil out of the far-distant past of the Jedi-Sith conflict. Not knowing how to defeat him in the present, he returned to the site of the first Jedi temple to seek the ancient wisdom necessary to defeat the equally ancient evil of Snoke. Had he stayed and fought without this secret knowledge, he knew he would have been defeated, and with him would have died the only hope of defeating Snoke. His long yet necessary time in exile has been full of investigation, excavation, study, meditation, and preparation for taking on Snoke, in stark contrast to his brash actions in The Empire Strikes Back. There is also an element of hopelessness and futility in his exile, though he doesn't want to admit it; to a small extent, he is simply tired of the effort required to keep the galaxy safe, a la Mr. Incredible:
Meanwhile, Rey, confident and a bit arrogant from defeating Ren, can't believe that, as she sees it, Luke is just sitting on his hands while Snoke and Ren threaten her friends and the galaxy as a whole. She trains with Luke for a bit, but Luke sees his old, rash self in her--too much of it, perhaps. She is impatient, reckless, and, at times, angry. If she could, she would march into Snoke's lair and take him on herself. After a frustrating time with Luke, who constantly demands patience from her (as Yoda asked of him), she upbraids him, thinks he is weak, and leaves him behind, despite his warnings.
Meanwhile, during all of this, we see Ren trying to complete his training under Snoke, as was said at the end of TFA. But he is having trouble doing so (this creates an interesting comparison/parallel between Rey and Ren as
they both struggle with their training under their respective masters; you could even cut back and forth between the two of them regularly during this part of the movie, at parallel points in their training, to further the connection).
Killing his father has not given him the closure he had sought (a stage direction for the official script of The Force Awakensreads "Kylo Ren is somehow WEAKENED by this wicked act"). It has,
instead, added to his inner turmoil, which he cannot seem to control and
channel in the manner of the truly powerful Sith. Flashbacks
during/as part of this training period give insight into why Ren turned,
who the Knights of Ren are, and how they with Snoke forced Luke into
exile. They also perhaps hint at Snoke's origin without outright
revealing it; the physical person of Snoke himself, moreover, is not
seen. Only his disembodied voice and the massive hologram are visible to
us (perhaps with some enticing, Vader-esque exceptions here and there).
Something like this, to parallel Empire.
We also see some hints, perhaps, of ancient creatures that always seem
to be around Snoke, much as Voldemort was always flanked by Nagini;
perhaps Snoke makes Ren face one of them (they will be this movie's main "creature feature," as every Star Wars movie has at least one bizarre creature). Frustrated by his inability to
complete his training, Ren becomes convinced that the only thing that
will give him the closure he needs now is killing Luke--and maybe Leia as well.
Back at the Resistance base (which can either be the same location as in TFA, or a new location, much as the Rebellion moved to Hoth in Empire), Rey convinces Finn and a small coterie of willing Resistance members to join her in a secret effort to take on Snoke in his own lair, the location of which Luke has revealed to her but on which he won't act, adding to Rey's frustrations. Notably, she tries but fails to convince Chewbacca to come with her; in a typically-humorous Han Solo-style conversation, Chewbacca says it seems like a bad idea (Chewy: "Rawwr!" Rey: "What do you mean it's a bad idea?"). They steal some Resistance ships, since they don't think they would get Resistance approval for this mission (or it is explicitly denied them), perhaps because its fleet, much reduced by the carnage of The Force Awakens, is stretched thin fighting to a standstill against the also-reduced forces of the First Order. Then, with the Millennium Falcon leading, they sneak onto Snoke-world (which should be really unique among planets thus far encountered, but I'm not sure exactly how...ideas welcome). They do this undetected, because they have a small fleet, and thanks to covert means, the exact nature of which I haven't determined but should at least be mentioned somehow (the hyperspeed trick from TFA?).
From here, I can see two potential paths. I can imagine Rey, Finn, and her team finding Snoke's lair, making their way past the First Order troops guarding it (as well as some of Snoke's ancient creatures?), and then confronting Ren (and his Knights?), with all but Rey and Finn slaughtered along the way, and those two disarmed. I can also imagine a scenario in which Rey, unknowingly tapping into her Dark Side urges, takes on those same forces (including Ren) and defeats Ren once again. In the first scenario, Ren and his Knights would bring the two of them to Snoke himself against their will. In the second scenario, which I think I like better, Rey (and to a lesser extent Finn) defeats Ren again and make their way into Snoke's inner sanctum (maybe here, instead of earlier, Snoke unleashes his ancient creatures, which act similarly not only to Nagini but also to Flotsam and Jetsam in service of Ursula in The Little Mermaid).
There's just no way Snoke ends up being this fabulous.
The movie then cuts to Luke, who is now bearing the weight of the guilt of all the deaths his inaction has let happen. In a self-deprecating monologue with R2--whom Rey had left with Luke--that hearkens back to the Original Trilogy (interspersed with beeps and whatnot), we see his thoughts and his guilt add up, until he finally decides to return to the Resistance base (whose location Rey has revealed to him, if he didn't know it already), even though he is not sure yet that he can defeat Snoke. He finds his old X-wing, says "I hope this old thing still works," jokingly asks R2 if R2 (and he himself) still knows how to fly, and, with R2 in the cockpit, flies back to the Resistance base. Here he has a powerful reunion with Leia (Luke wanting to see Leia, and gather a force to take on Snoke, are my responses to the objection of why he doesn't just go straight to Snoke if he already knows where Snoke is).
He also briefly mourns Han, confirms what Rey has done, and gathers another team to rescue her--this time with Leia's approval--including Poe and Chewy. In a scene reminiscent of this one from Return of the Jedi, we learn that Leia wants to go, but Luke, being overbearing and over-protective of his sister, forbids it. Leia protests, asking Luke to think of all they have done together, and reminding him that she has more than held her own in the past, even saving him on at least one occasion. But Luke stresses that the Resistance--which is still fighting pitched battles against the First Order all over the galaxy--needs her, that he is the one Ren and Snoke want, and that he can't let any more deaths happen because of him--or let any more deaths weigh on his conscience. Leia, though annoyed, agrees.
Now we cut back to Rey and Finn, who are in Snoke's inner sanctum, which seems very old and is covered in undecipherable symbols, hinting at Snoke's ancient origins. Rey and Fin armed and ready to take him on (assuming the second scenario in which they go in having defeated the First Order and the Knights to get in). As they approach, there is a man behind the curtain-style revealing that the real Snoke is, contrary to his massive holograms, a tiny, seemingly-decrepit ancient figure, much resembling the old woman from the "Chocolate" episode of SpongeBob, in fact. This is a parallel to the reveal of Yoda in Empire, although this time the figure is evil instead of good (so basically a misdirection on par with what Darth Jar Jar would have been, if Lucas had actually intended it, and actually gone through with it).
Pictured: What I think Snoke will actually look like. Idea credit: Rooney Columbus.
Rey and Finn, seeing this, go to attack Snoke, but are immediately flung backward by a powerful Force push (or attacked and restrained by Snoke's serpentine servants, Laocoon-style; if so, Finn and Rey should ask "what the hell are those!?" before they are attacked), knocking out Finn (even though this already happened in The Force Awakens). Rey tries to get up, but she is immobilized. She then finds herself floating, still immobilized, toward the tiny but powerful Snoke himself. "You have come to defeat me, I see? How very brave. And how very stupid," Snoke says. "You have no idea who I am. I hold an ancient power, beyond your reckoning." Rey struggles, then looks back at Finn. "Ah, your friend? I have no use for him. I care not for him. You, on the other hand..." Snoke, without lifting a finger, spins Rey around like she's a model at an exhibition. "You have great power in you. And I shouldn't be surprised, given who you are." Rey is shocked. Snoke notices. "Oh, he didn't tell you? I should have figured. He is the one who abandoned you in the first place [note from Jack: This is assuming that I have correctly inferred from The Force Awakens that Luke trained Rey as a child but then abandoned her on Jakku when he fled into exile. It doesn't have to be; this is a somewhat dispensable element of my plot. I could see Rey being mad enough at Luke without this being the case]. "I'm sure he didn't tell you that either." Snoke then reveals to Rey that she is:
a) Obi-Wan's granddaughter
b) a Palpatine clone of some kind
c) the child of Luke or Han
d) Somehow an offspring of Snoke himself (I hope not this; a bit too Empire Strikes Back).
e) Something else that explains her strong innate Force abilities in a satisfying yet also surprising manner (this being the key necessary element of her identity and the reveal, in my mind)
Rey refuses to believe it, of course, but Snoke proves it to her with a vision of the sort that she had in TFA when she touches Luke's lightsaber. It functions as a kind of flashback, revealing Rey's origins. Rey is distraught, and her anger at Luke increases. "Yes, you are angry. You should be." But then Rey remembers where she is, and in whose clutches she finds herself. "That doesn't matter. You are evil. You have killed millions. I don't care what Luke did. I hope he comes here and kills you himself." But Snoke, confident as ever, gives an evil smile and begins a classic villainous monologue. "He won't do it. He's too weak. Just like all the Jedi. Including his father" (this is a reference to a deleted scene from TFA, one that appears in the novelization,in which Snoke explains that Darth Vader was weak because he never fully embraced the Dark Side).
Pictured: A Jedi kills a Sith.
Snoke goes on to explain that the Jedi are incompetent, weak, spineless, and incapable of keeping peace and order in the galaxy (much as Jonathan V. Last of the Weekly Standard has argued). "Only the Sith have brought order to the galaxy. Look at your history, child. Again and again, the Jedi have let this galaxy fall into chaos. Only under the guidance of the Sith has it maintained order." Snoke could even say that the Empire was a force for good and order (again, as Jonathan Last has argued), which would help explain the First Order's desire to recapture the Empire's glory (and its obsession with giant space weapons). Rey is still angrily denying it, but when she begins to think about what Luke has (and hasn't) done, a small portion of the idea begins to penetrate her mind. If Ren is in the room at this point, he begins to wonder what is going on.
We then cut to Luke, Poe, and their Resistance band, who have to go through an aerial battle before they land on Snoke-world (their fleet is larger, and they don't use whatever technique allowed Rey and her group to get there undetected). This allows Luke to show off some of his rusty but still extant piloting skills, though perhaps he is outshone somewhat by Poe's youthful dexterity (maybe leading to some "I'm too old for this shit"-style self-deprecation from Luke, expressed, again, in an Original Trilogy-style "conversation" with R2). On the ground, they have to fight through whatever remaining First Order troops (and Snoke creatures; when Luke and his group see them, one of them remarks something like "I though all of these things were extinct!," further reinforcing the ancientness of Snoke) stand between them and Snoke. Snoke, Ren, and Rey, meanwhile, all sense the presence of Luke. Snoke tells Ren/his Knights to confront them and to leave him alone with Rey. Ren, chomping at the bit to get the closure he so desperately seeks, barely needs to be told. Ren comes out to confront Luke, lightsaber blazing, in the midst of a temper tantrum (if Ren's Knights are with him, perhaps he tells them to leave Luke to him). The now mature, wise, confident, and patient Luke puts up a defense in a style suiting his new self. Call it Jedi rope-a-dope. It hearkens back to Obi-Wan's calm, confident parrying of Anakin in Revenge of the Sith. But Luke and Ren are still evenly-matched.
Yes, I do think some callbacks to the prequels would be OK in this new trilogy.
As they fight, we cut back to Rey's mental struggle with Snoke. Remarkably yet believably, she begins to accept some of his premises. He shows her Luke struggling with Ren, whom she has managed to defeat already (either once or twice, depending on which scenario above you go with). "You see? He is a weak old man. This is the man who is supposed to be save the galaxy? He can't even save himself. The galaxy is not safe with him. It is safe with me." Snoke then begins to elaborate on his relationship with Ren. "In truth, he is not the best pupil. There is an inner turmoil in him that will forever keep him from greatness. But I sense no such turmoil in you. There is a purity in you, one that you now foolishly direct toward that which you think is good, but which, under my teaching, can act in service of the greatest good of all: order."
This is all a development of Snoke's interest in Rey in The Force Awakens; recall that, before Ren and Rey battle, Snoke asks Ren to bring Snoke to her. Rey starts thinking, then, stunningly yet credibly, says yes, she'll join Snoke. Snoke lets her go. For a moment after Snoke releases her, Rey looks at her lightsaber, and Snoke, his back to her, is almost tempting her to cut him down at his most vulnerable. But, entirely of her own free will, she demurs, and joins Snoke in a vessel to escape their current hideaway (Snoke, playing it close to the chest, is secretly a bit concerned that Luke actually has found out how to defeat him and wants to make sure an evil, all-powerful Rey is standing between the two of them before Luke finds him again). At this point, Finn awakes and calls after Rey. She briefly stops, looks back, and then either simply turns forward again and ignores him, or uses the Force in some cruel way to knock him out (Force lightning would be the least believable but also the most cool-looking and provocative; a simple Force push across the room would do fine).
We cut back to Luke and Ren, still fighting. They are also in a war of words. Something like this:
Ren: "Han Solo was a weak old man! Just like you. So easy to kill."
Luke: "He was a great man, he was my friend, and he was your father, however much you want to deny it. There is still good in you."
I could also see them arguing over who is the proper inheritor of the legacy of Darth Vader, with Ren zeroing in on Darth Vader's evil, and Luke focusing on his redeeming good in his final acts.
Luke: "You think my father was an evil man. But you didn't see what he did for me in his final moments. He saved my life. Without him, I wouldn't be here."
Ren: "And that was his only mistake!"
But as they continue to fight, they both turn to see a vessel blast off from Snoke's inner sanctum; being Force-sensitive, they both know that Snoke has left with Rey. For Luke, this is saddening (and distracting), another failure. But for Ren, this is infuriating; he has been abandoned by his master for a superior pupil. How will he get his closure now? In a reinvigorated tantrum, he fights Luke furiously, much as Luke himself once used his anger to defeat Darth Vader. Through a combination of lightsaber fury and Force rage, Ren defeats but does not kill Luke (maybe Luke loses another hand? Or maybe he does kill Luke, though I think that would be too much).
He then summons the remaining First Order soldiers/Knights of Ren and leaves on his own vessel in a furious exile of his own, a parallel of sorts to the one Luke has just left. Luke, meanwhile, battered and bruised, retrieves Finn, who confirms for him what has happened. Together, they gather up the remaining Resistance soldiers, and, defeated, return to the Resistance base, where they tell Leia the bad news (which she may already have sensed). The movie ends with Luke and Leia embracing in front of a makeshift grave for Han Solo, with Finn, Poe, Chewy, R2, and C-3PO alongside them. They are sad but, at the very least, happy to be together once more, a complicated set of emotions communicated in smiles that somehow force in through their pain. Cue credits music.
How's that for dark? I want the sequel to The Force Awakens to be dark, and I think this definitely fits the bill, without being an outright copy of The Empire Strikes Back, as many people think The Force Awakens was of A New Hope(notably, though Rey in my version of VIII goes on a similar quest to Luke's in Empire, she fails the test Luke passed in that film, and her quest was much more selfish in the first place anyway). There's also plenty of interesting character arcs: Rey goes from good to evil; Ren goes from evil to pissed but neutral; and Luke goes from hesitant exile to returning warrior. Not as well developed in my imagined sequel is what exactly is happening with the First Order and the Resistance (basically they're just still fighting, both in reduced states from the previous movie, as they both suffered major setbacks. But, to be fair, the First Order/Resistance conflict wasn't well-developed in TFA, which is fine, because it's not the most important thing anyway). An Episode VIII that goes like this could shoot off in all sorts of directions for Episode IX.
Understandably, my Episode IX is a bit less thought-out than my Episode VIII, but I can see a few things, with the first act being clearest. The first act of Episode IX would have Luke, Poe, Finn, Chewy, etc. mounting a mission together to try to confront and persuade the now-neutral (and very angry) Ren to join them, since he is one of the only remaining powerful Force-sensitives in the galaxy now that Rey has turned to the Dark Side. This would be a parallel to Luke, Leia, and Lando's mission in Return of the Jedi to rescue Han (since Ren is, after all, Han's son). In this first act of IX, the mission has to slay some more weird creatures (because of course) on the remote planet where their intel has determined Ren is hiding out, defeat the First Order and Knights of Ren soldiers still loyal to him, and, finally, confront Ren himself.
They get to Ren, and then, after Luke fails to convince Ren to join them, Luke and Ren begin to fight again. As they duel, Ren, in his anger, perhaps ends up getting the better of Luke again (or not). Leia, whether Ren is winning or she simply is tired of the fighting, arrives and whips out her secret weapon: motherly love. She convinces Ren what Luke could not: That he'll never get the closure he seeks or end the inner turmoil that torments him by acting in this way. He'll only get that by helping them. By being the son she knows he still is. As she approaches him, unarmed, risking her life, as Han did, and offering many chances for him to kill her, this time, he drops his lightsaber to the ground and embraces his mother, while a tired Luke looks on (from the ground, if Ren had gotten the better of him).
Meanwhile, Snoke is training Rey, who is dressed much differently (and darker) from how we last saw her, and who is just oozing power, making Snoke proud at every step; she and Snoke preside over a reinvigorated First Order that is close to recapturing the Empire's glory. At some point in Episode IX, we would get a full reveal of who Snoke is; as I've hinted at above, I think he should be some ancient evil out of the distant past of the Jedi-Sith conflict, thought defeated long ago but now resurgent/reawakened (maybe how he got to be reawakened could be detailed, as part of Luke's continuing investigation into how to defeat him). I wouldn't mind if he's Darth Plagueis, Darth Sidious' master, as long as they go with the idea--expressed in Revenge of the Sith--that Plagueis was himself accessing some kind of ancient, long-forgotten power (again, not all prequel callbacks are inherently bad). Abrams and Andy Serkis, Snoke's motion-capture actor, have both denied this, but Abrams lied about Khan being in Star Trek Into Darkness too, so who knows.
Pictured: Darth Plagueis, and, as some theorize, Snoke.
You could maybe toy with the idea that Rey pulled some epic, Snape-as-Voldemort's-lieutenant-but-actually-Dumbledore's-mole switcheroo, waiting for the right time to turn on Snoke, (much as Luke, though tempted to the Dark Side in Return of the Jedi, wearing black when he confronts Vader and the Emperor, and indulging in anger at the Emperor's urging to defeat Vader, resists the temptation, and is revealed to have been wearing a white shirt beneath his black overclothes all along). But I would prefer Rey's evil to be played straight. Maybe she only backs away from it when she confronts Finn and finds herself unable to torture him (Snoke does it anyway)? I don't know. Again, I haven't thought this through as thoroughly, and while it's hard to speculate about something that hasn't happened yet, it's even harder to speculate based on your own speculations.
Will I be right about any of this? I have no idea. It would be pretty risky to make Rey go dark, but I think the reward in terms of creative payoff would be immense. I will say this, however: I have been a J.J. Abrams obsessivefor some time. I am pretty confident that I understand roughly how his creative brain works, enough such that I am often able to predict or anticipate what he does with certain material (this was especially the case with Fringe, which he created and executive-produced; in a Newton-and-Leibniz-both-create-calculus-independently scenario, I actually sketched out many of the ideas for the show Fringe before I ever watched it or even knew what it was). All I know is that, if I am right, I apologize for ruining the next two Star Wars movies for myself and for everyone who has read this post (so, fortunately, not many people). Again, for future reference--whether I'm right or wrong--I wrote all of this with no knowledge of Episode VIII, not even its title (which, if I were to choose, should be something like "The Ancient Fear," a rumored title of The Force Awakens, or "The Gods of the Past," both in reference to Snoke's primeval nature and the threat he poses). If I am right, I would certainly enjoy the next two movies; aside from being eerily vindicated, I think I would also enjoy the story. And since I am in the habit of giving suggestions to Disney/Lucasfilm, here's another: You are welcome to use any of this material; I wouldn't even mind not getting credit. At any rate, what do you think of my theories? Am I 100 percent right or full of crap? What do you think will happen in Star Wars: Episode VIII? Let me know in the comments below.
