It's Been Cool To Watch People Actually Discuss A Star Wars Show
So, I haven’t watched Andor yet. I’ve heard that it’s tied into Rogue One, which I enjoyed for the most part. However, I’m going to start soon, mainly because of how it’s been talked about.
The tallest hurdle that I face in regards to getting into these lore-heavy blockbuster fantasy shows is often that the chatter about them is mostly about, well, them. How does it tie into the wider universe? What does it mean for this character to return? What does this reference imply about some fan favorite bit of mythology? Articles read like rough drafts to fill out the Wiki of the franchise. And it’s not inherently bad for a series to fit into another series and dive into its depths. For god’s sake, I’m a ride-or-die One Piece fan, where every third panel and word bubble is some building block of its labyrinthine narrative.
That said, when it comes to talking about its wider relevancy, these discussions fall flat for me. What are the relatable emotional stakes? What are the defining constructs that hold up a mirror to our own society in a way that makes us say “Yes, this is a series typically about angsty space wizards, but I can see myself in it”? We didn’t get into Star Wars in 1977 solely because of the sweet Darth Vader Easter Eggs. Hell, it was about finding revolution while trapped in the crushing grip of a cruelly bureaucratic Empire. Coming just a few years after an increasingly unpopular and often senseless war, with a President impeached for unscrupulousness and an economy dragging itself out of a deep recession? Yeah, there’s something to the film that would become known as “A New Hope.”
Now, not every fantasy story needs to grasp at an exact allegorical standard to be valid. Going for a 1:1 ratio with real life history is often a recipe for clumsiness. But the best ones do quite simply allow you to find yourself in them. They reach for more than a simple platitude of “Well, there’s bad, but there’s also good, so good wins.” Because we don’t see ourselves in the blanket act of super-heroism. The reason we love Spider-Man on a cultural level isn’t because he saves the day, but because he has to do it while being a broke, depressed nerd in multiple systems that doubt his every action. That’s a description that fits most of us.
When Luke Skywalker looks at the twin suns of Tatooine, we don’t get hyped because “oooh yeah, he’s going to be a dope ass Jedi later.” We feel for him because who hasn’t felt a million miles away from the things they want to pursue? Who hasn’t felt helpless in a society or even a family where it seems like all the decisions about your life have already been made for you? When we look at all of the changes we wish we could make, the changes to a dysfunctional society, to a ravaged community, to a frustrating government, we’re often just left with “What can I do when I’m stuck here? When I’m just…me?” That’s why we understand Luke.
So, when I hear that there’s a Star Wars show, the franchise that is Exhibit A for constantly falling between distinctly personable and engaging adventures and “Hey it’s that guy you know from that thing you like,” that tackles the very human side of its universe, I get excited. Will I actually enjoy Andor? Who knows! I’ve heard the siren song of “This show is ACTUALLY about something” many times only to crash upon the rocks of “Oh, neat. Thor.” But I’m optimistic.