
Originally Posted by
B Russ
That's the illusion of giving George Lucas all the credit.
On the original Star Wars he was surrounded, had a mentor and creative collaborators from whom he learned much, and with whom he sparred. By the time of Phantom menace, he was Christ himself lifted by a righteous army of Yes-Men, and more than ever before, the sole creative source of the product he was making. And right there, in the glint of Jar Jar's eye, is the truth on display.
About ten years ago I read a review of an exclusive theatrical screening of Marcia Lucas' workprint of Star Wars, the screener they exhibited internally before most special effects were added and long before John William's score was completed or possibly even conceived. The reviewer described a much quieter, languid movie, infused with the kind of score that is in this trailer. Not without trouble, but apparently it worked. Certainly not as solid as the movie we know, but a worthwhile alternative to experience. Such a style would be in keeping with science fiction films of the 60's and 70's, from 2001 and Solaris to Logan's Run, and even George Lucas' brilliant THX-1138.
Here is an interview with Gary Kurtz worth reading. It confirms something I felt even as a kid: From the public perspective it seems George Lucas is the sole creative force of his brainchild "Star Wars". But filmmaking reality is that one or more other invisibles are shapers of the body and soul of the collaborative project. And in fact, here it was George, his publically underappreciated wife Marcia, quite significantly his friend and producer Gary Kurtz, and later Irvin Kershner (taking the seat warmed by George's mentor Francis Ford Coppola) -- the "Beatles" foursome that made Star Wars and Empire Strikes Back work so well.
But like the Beattles, what was creative gold was interpersonal hell. They didn't get along. The collaborators completely disbanded after Empire Strikes Back, George and Marcia divorced soon thereafter, and ever since then George has been running large as the sole lord and master of his gazillion dollar franchise, surrounded by talented but totally subordinate managers and creatives. The result?
Ewoks.
And all the rest of that undead Star Wars crapola ever since. From Coppola to Crapola. Shame, like the Beattles, they had a good thing
going. Well, for art anyway, not for their collective mental health I guess.
And gobs of money.