In 1977, blockbuster cinema changed forever with the release of George Lucas’s Star Wars. While Steven Spielberg’s Jaws spawned the term blockbuster, Star Wars came to define the genre with its humongous popularity, critical acclaim, and financial success, which was unlike anything cinemas had seen at that point. Nearly fifty years later, the film – which spawned one of the world’s biggest franchises – has become a cultural phenomenon, virtually unrivalled in its popularity. After all this time its power to captivate has not diminished.
A long time ago in a galaxy far far away, the Rebel Alliance waged war against the fascistic iron fist of the Galactic Empire. They have captured plans for the Empire’s new superweapon, the Death Star, a space station capable of destroying entire planets. When Empire forces, led by the intimidating Darth Vader (James Earl Jones), board the spaceship that is attempting to smuggle the plans to the Rebel base, Princess Leia Organa (Carrie Fisher) makes a desperate gamble. She stores the plans inside the droid R2-D2 (Kenny Baker), who manages to flee in an escape pod with his counterpart droid C-3PO (Anthony Daniels).
Landing on the remote planet Tatooine, the droids are purchased by the family of Luke Skywalker (Mark Hamill), a young farmer who dreams of adventure. One day, Luke accidentally discovers a recording of Leia inside R2-D2, where she begs for help. Enticed by Leia’s message, Luke tracks down Obi-Wan Kenobi (Alec Guinness) who was once a Jedi Knight; a religious warrior with omni-present powers called The Force. Teaming up with reckless pilot Han Solo (Harrison Ford) and his wookie first mate Chewbacca (Peter Mayhew), they decide to leave Tatooine, rescue Leia, and deliver the Death Star plans to the Rebels.
On paper, Star Wars shouldn’t work. It’s a bizarre concoction of influences that seem at odds with each other, all written in such a hokey way that there’s no doubt the target audience is generally children. How else to explain the characters regularly wearing their hearts on their sleeves, or the cheesy dialogue, like when Leia claims to have recognised the “foul stench” of Empire Lieutenant Grand Moff Tarkin (Peter Cushing)? However, there is such an earnestness to the storytelling, and such a dedication to the craftsmanship, that we are instead left with something magical.
Flash Gordon is the most apparent inspiration, as the film adopts similar pulpy elements that defined those sci-fi comics into its look and tone. Layered on top are themes and filmmaking techniques found in the works of Japanese director Akira Kurosawa, whose filmography Lucas had a particular affinity for. The playful editing transitions and the mentor-student dynamic between Obi-Wan and Luke would’ve been right at home in a Kurosawa film. Add on the worldbuilding of Frank Herbert’s Dune novels – with Tatooine having many parallels to Dune’s Arrakis – and one can see how this mix of ingredients could have backfired. Yet, just like how the heroes are a ragtag group uniting to save the galaxy, these ragtag influences come together to create something new and special. The end result is a film whose resonance is so great that even its faults become part of its charm. You are unequivocally in for the ride, caught in the metaphorical tractor beam of pure entertainment.
The ambition of Star Wars is laid bare in the opening frames. The boom of John Williams’ score and the huge title card immediately grabs your attention, but the very first scene captures Lucas’s idiosyncratic vision of grand scope and scale. As a tiny Rebel ship evades space lasers, the hull of a pursuing Empire ship floats into the shot, descending in from the top of the frame, its enormous size conveyed by just how long it takes for the craft to fill the screen. It’s an awe-inspiring visual that achieves instant immersion; a sensation that the film effortlessly maintains throughout its runtime.
Star Wars is populated by an array of weird and wonderful setpieces and alien designs, all of which induce amazement and curiosity alike. The Mos Eisley Cantina, where Luke and Obi-Wan first meet Han, is like if Rick’s Cafe from Casablanca got a sci-fi makeover, with the strange jazz music and various unidentified aliens adding to the surreal engrossment. Meticulous costuming and art direction generate authenticity to the visuals, with the climactic space battle and Han’s signature ship, the Millennium Falcon, brought to life using models. These effects were considered revolutionary at the time and even in 2024 they hold up remarkably well. Lucas’s direction is so astute that these images – many of which are, in essence, nonsensical – all make perfect sense, even if there are in-universe references or discussions that we don’t understand. It’s a film where imagination proudly runs wild.
Holding it all together is a brilliantly simple story; a tale of a protagonist growing into their own, as they traverse terrifying villains and unknown worlds. Its structure is the perfect case study for the Hero’s Journey narrative detailed by Joseph Campbell and why it resonates so impactfully with audiences. Luke begins the story as a farmer desiring more. By the climax, he’s an X-wing pilot and budding Jedi willing to fly into battle against the Death Star. It’s a thrilling example of the ordinary becoming extraordinary, and while the dialogue often features characters discussing feelings and motivations, it’s within the silent moments where this sentiment is best realised. Consider the film’s best moment – Luke walks out of his boring home and pensively looks to the two suns setting on the Tatooine horizon, often branded the binary sunset. Between Hamill’s acting, Williams’ beautiful score and the otherworldly sight of two suns in the sky, this short but significant sequence gorgeously captures the essence of Luke’s character and foreshadows what awaits. In a saga defined by epic action and cosmic supernatural ideas like The Force, the fact that this moment stands out so brightly is a testament to Lucas’s skill as a visual storyteller.
Aiding Luke are an assortment of personalities who break the barriers of their respective archetypes. Obi-Wan is the wise mentor, of whom Alec Guinness portrays with charm and grace, his effortless charisma making even the cheesiest lines sound natural – e.g. “hive of scum and villainy.” Harrison Ford’s sly delivery of a swindler whose interests initially lie in profit before coming round to the side of decency is entertaining and endearing, while Carrie Fisher brings spunk and tenacity to Leia, a role that could have easily been just another damsel in distress trope. Darth Vader isn’t as fleshed out here as he becomes in later films, but he still has such a foreboding presence with his incredible design and chilling voice. Even the droids of C-3PO and R2-D2 are alive with personality, whether interacting with the heroes or bickering with each other, providing a wave of intoxicating comedic moments amongst the action and spectacle.
Deceptively resonant themes emerge from all of this splendour. If the core thesis of the prequel trilogy concerned fear and the dangers of emotional suppression then the original trilogy is, fittingly, all about hope and solidarity, to the point where this film would be renamed A New Hope in 1981. Hope can be hard to find when in the midst of crisis, particularly ones as gargantuan as being in the grip of a tyrannical empire, but films like this demonstrate the unique power such a feeling can have. Star Wars is a thoroughly entertaining experience of awe-inspiring escapism, but it is also an ode to unity – how ordinary people from all walks of life can come together and face anything no matter the odds against them. It was as true a sentiment in 1977 as it is today.
Since its release, Star Wars has attracted numerous generations of fans. While a particularly vocal faction have sadly poisoned the well through a sense of entitlement and incessant screaming that any new films or shows are “destroying” the original film, it’s apparent to see why this film has captured so many hearts and minds for so long. As hokey and silly and weird as it all is, it’s also genuine, funny, thrilling and stunning all at once. It’s pure creative expression at its most dazzling. It absolutely mesmerised me when I was a child; the same way it mesmerised my dad as a child in 1977, and the same way it continues to mesmerise me and countless others to this day.
5 stars
Star Wars: A New Hope is now streaming on Disney+.
Learn more about the film, including how to watch, on the Disney+ site.
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