Star Wars: Episode IX The Rise of Skywalker (Dir JJ Abrams, 2h22m)

In the December of 1977, Star Wars, arrived in British cinemas, having already swept the American box-office in its wake-a homecoming of sorts, considering that Star Wars was largely shot, built and designed in Elstree. Forty-two years, and ten films (including eight numbered sequels, prequels and continuations) later, the final installment, The Rise of Skywalker, with the fully-armed-and-operational might of Disney behind it, rumbles into cinemas. Behind it, lies three trilogies of films, from the original, which arguably changed cinema more than any three blockbuster films of the last half century, the prequel trilogy, where Lucas's bankability overcame the critical reasoning of those around him, and this final, sequel trilogy, where Abrams, who returns after his stint in the director's chair for The Force Awakens gave way to the bold, if divisive, The Last Jedi. With eight films and the weight of this four-decade franchise atop it, The Rise of Skywalker somehow does the impossible, living up to its weighty role, and bringing the centre of the entire Star Wars franchise to a resounding, if slightly uneven end.

Picking up some time after the end of The Last Jedi, which acts both to revert many of the biggest rifts between Abrams and Johnson's visions, most notably the introduction of its inevitably returning villain to hand-wave away Andy Serkis's Snoke, return the galaxy to a familiar good v evil axis, and indeed to set up his return, so The Rise of Skywalker returns to, essentially, what Abrams has always done. This, much like The Force Awakens, is "Star Wars, By the Fans, for the Fans"-a collection of familiar plot threads, familiar locations, familiar faces remixed for the 21st century, where Abrams' geeky love for the original trilogy overwhelms everything, for better or ill. And it's honestly a little jarring, in an oddly familiar way, where the darker, nuanced and expansive middle of the trilogy gives way to the comforting retread.

This, after all, is where a superweapon, sorry, superweapons are part of a final strategy by franchise big-bad (it's, (spoilers) the exact same guy, in the worst kept secret of cinema this year) to finally crush those pesky rebels, our hero, sorry heroine, is caught between the poles of the force, seems conflicted and wavering between the light and dark, whilst our previous big-bad confronts them as the right-hand of the main villain. It's comfortingly familar-enough, certainly this time, tooled to perfection by focus group, fans and of course, the Uber-Fan, Abrams himself, to feel like something fresher than The Force Awakens. Of course, to anyone who's ever seen a Star Wars film, the comparison is obvious.  Because, if The Force Awakens felt like A New Hope for the 21st century, The Rise of Skywalker is practically The Return of the Jedi, but, and I'll be honest here, better.

For I am conflicted. Like Daisy Ridley's Rey, who finally begins to confront her history, to question and war against her destiny, who finally finds what has been within the character all along, a wonderfully conflicted figure who seems on a knife-edge, as Luke never was, an exposed nerve, to borrow Snoke's line about her mirror, Kylo Ren (Adam Driver). I am caught between what I should be, and what I want to be. I want to dislike this film, as the ultimate show of Disney's power, a film built to succeed in as pleasing a way as possible, a greatest hits set to settle the ruffled feathers left in the wake of The Last Jedi, a film I regard as one of my favourite Star Wars films, to wipe away the tears of disgruntled fanboys.

Certainly, there are moments where this fanservice-and there is no other word to describe it-becomes overbearingly appararent-masks are reforged, Snoke is not so much benched as slamdunked into the bin of obscurity, General Holdo's suicide charge in The Last Jedi is dismissed as a one-in-a-million shot. JJ is back in charge, Rian's metatextual teardown is off; the fans want Luke being a badass? You get it! You want inexplicable millisecond cameos from across the three trilogies in a final titanic battle? You get it! You want Ian McDiarmid going full hog scenery chewing like a man presented with an all you can eat buffet, triumphantly returning to the series that made him a star? By gods, you get it, evil cackle et al!


On the other hand, it is a euphoric rush of a film, a breakneck charge of a final outing; the excitement is palpable, the partings painful, and each more painful than the last, as each element of the Original Trilogy, including the late Carrie Fisher, whose performance here is a perfect mix of steely determination and surprising frailty, is carefully, and warmly, given its farewell, until only two remain for the final battle. At its heart, Star Wars has always been an adventure series on the grandest scale, and here it is fully at the fore, with our heroes running out of time to find a colossal Imperial Fleet before the entire galaxy is put to the sword, and, if Abrams captures one message of Johnson's rendition, to carry forward into his own film, it is in the importance of people, of the tight bonds holding the tiny Rebellion together, and the spirit that this eventually inspires in the spectacular finale.


Indeed, everything familar, everything distinctly and familiarly Star Wars seems to have been notched up a few degrees since last Abrams took the director's chair. The lightsaber battles between Rey and Kylo Ren-whose character goes through the most in this film, as his ghosts come home to roost and begin to make good on Johnson's idea of the greyness of the Force-are bruising, brutal affairs, the best of all a tempestuous affair that is at turns balletic and crunchingly physical amongst crashing waves and the wreckage of the Death Star, reflecting the inner turmoil of its combatants. The chases and space battles are more of the same, but, particularly towards the finale, take on an almost desperate nature that Star Wars hasn't stepped into since Return of the Jedi, where every loss hurts and every downed enemy ship feels cathartic, whilst the comedic banter flows thick and fast.

Moreover, it captures, as, arguably Johnson also captures, the DNA of the series, what it takes as influence, from Kurosawa to Buck Rodgers and brings this in bucketloads and nowhere is this better seen than in its new additions. Jannah, (Naomi Ackie) is a perfect example of this, a deserter like Poe who, together with her comrades, appear like something out of a Western, riding horselike creatures, and charge into combat during the finale in what may be one of the strangest, yet most evocative moments of Star Wars, a moment where the Space Western finally comes full circle and embraces its western nature-her character arc, like Poe's former flame, Zorii Bliss (Keri Russell), it may be short, but it's well crafted. On the dark side, there is that clasic trope of British imperial officer, best encapsulated in the iconic Grand Moff Tarkin, and Richard E Grant's General Pryde is an impressively nasty addition to the Empire and the First Order, a fanatically loyal and merciless figure that proves a smart foil to all the existing characters



And in its finale, in its closing minutes, in its spectacular closing out of a full forty years plus of cinema, of the series that began a long time ago, in a galaxy far far away, in a small film that its creator struggled to get funded, in a film that a young film maker had crafted, and tried to find a home for, that no-one thought would stand a chance, is perfection. It captures the spirit, that unmistakable ethos that has run through the franchise from the beginning, even in the mess of the prequels, from that moment that the Blockade Runner burst into view, to the moment that the credits close out on The Rise of Skywalker. 

This may mark the end of Star Wars' great narrative. This may indeed, unless Disney come back to the adventures of the Galaxy's most dysfunctional family, mark the end of three generations of galactic wars, may mark the last time we see so many iconic characters on screen. It may even mark the end of Star Wars as a cinematic franchise, if the success of The Mandalorian is anything to go by, as the small screen becomes the successor to the silver. But it is not the end. This is a universe with stories still to tell. What Abrams does is merely add another chapter to it-one that ends on a moment that encapsulates the series well, but never truly feels like an ending, merely a perfect summary of what has come before

I wanted to be cynical about this film, to regard it as some regard The Last Jedi, as a betrayal, a slight to all that had come before it, to regard it even as Disney simply losing the plot, that oft-cursed Kathleen Kennedy finally kowtowing to the pressure and delivering a clunker on the size of The Phantom Menace, a film stuffed with flashy visuals and crowd-pleasing moments and bad jokes and odd CGI monsters. I couldn't. I still can't as I write this. Rian Johnson and JJ Abrams visions of Star Wars may be different, either paying homage to the original in spirit and heart, or looking forward, to subvert and play with the building blocks that make up Star Wars, to create something truly new from the familiar, but they are both Star Wars, just as much as what has come before is Star Wars.

Like the best myths, they relect us; Star Wars is the great myth of the last 50 years, and with The Rise of Skywalker, in its encapsulation, shameless as it is, of everything that has gone before, this great narrative draws to an end, bows for its audience, young and old, from those who grew up with Luke Leia and Han, and have grown old with them, to those, like myself, born in the shadow of these films, and before the Prequels, to those for whom the Sequels are their Star Wars, equal parts homage and fresh step forward. This film is a fond farewell to us all, a final adventure. Star Wars will carry on-but it will never feel quite the same.

It's somehow fitting, despite everything, despite its unevenness, its fanservice, its homages to that vast monolith of culture that it caps off, that the saga ends how it began. With the stars of space, the music of John Williams, and an orphan in the sands. The force will be with us. Always.
  
Rating: Highly Recommended.