On the beauty of escapism: to a galaxy far, far away

This year has been an incredibly challenging and emotional time, but from that pain comes self-reflection and personal development, and from this springs creativity and artistic expression. 

Many people have achieved many things over the past year; they have reassessed what they value, taken on new responsibilities, changed careers; they have learned new skills, come up with new ideas, created works of art and literature and science. You'll have read about these things in this very magazine, and no doubt experienced them yourself. We will, of course, look back on this time with sadness and anger, but also I think with a degree of gratitude for the time we were afforded to explore who we are, how we feel and what we love. 

That being said, I was joking with a friend recently about how we might remember this past year; we began to consider how we would feel in the future if a potential grandchild were to ask “what did you do with all that time you were given?”, and having to respond honestly: “well, I got really into the Star Wars extended universe.”

Artwork by Rob Pledger

Now, I have always been a Star Wars fan. My dad is something of a nerd (admittedly more into Star Trek than Star Wars), and as such I grew up familiar with the king of nerd franchises. I can't remember the first time I watched the original Star Wars films because I can’t remember ever having not seen them. Having been born in the mid 90's, I was the perfect age for the prequel films (the ones with Jar-Jar, for any Star Wars laymen), with all their obvious flaws passing me by for the magnificence of the spectacle. I had every toy, I played all the video games on my PlayStation 2 and Gameboy, I knew the name of every character and ship and droid (looking at you, R4-P17). I had lightsaber battles through the house with my friends, to my mother's very obvious chagrin. 

But then the years passed, and the love started to fade. I grew into other interests. Some also nerdy (hello, X-Men), others less nerdy (hello, girls. No, wait, come back!). I remained a fan of Star Wars, but my enthusiasm was always superseded by other things. I didn't return to the prequel films until university, only now my approach was mocking, with all those flaws suddenly very plain to see. The newer sequel series excited me at the time, but, for a myriad of reasons that are unhelpful to get into here, it ended up leaving me cold. The love was still there but it had faded, and alongside it sat a healthy dose of cynicism. This stuff is for kids, right? Time to move on. 

But then the pandemic hit. This very conveniently coincided with the release of Disney+ in the UK (probably just a coincidence; Disney aren't that powerful, right?). With it came The Mandalorian, and maybe because it's the best Star Wars content since the original films, or maybe just because Baby Yoda is really fucking cute, something clicked. The spark was back, and due to the entire extended Star Wars back catalogue appearing on the streaming service, I suddenly had hours and hours of content I had never seen before, and hours and hours of time with which to indulge in it.

There are seven seasons of the Clone Wars animated TV series. As you might expect, a lot of it is pretty terrible. But returning to this world that I remember so well, with content that was new but also so familiar and comforting, was such a cathartic and strangely emotional experience. It was pure escapism, and it was the perfect balm to the chaos and uncertainty of the times. I was reading up on all the backstory, discussing plot developments with my friends, watching episode after episode. I'll admit, on more than one occasion, to picking up a stick in the garden and twirling it like a lightsaber. I even revisited those prequel films which had been laughable to me a few years earlier, and found myself able to accept their flaws and appreciate what they still meant to me. At a time of such great sadness and turmoil and confusion I was Jedi again, flying around in my spaceship through the stars. If I could have this time again, I wouldn’t want to spend it any other way.   

This is the value of fantasy. Of fiction. Of escapism. Stories of the real world, and the pain and joy and turbulence we all experience every day, are incredibly important, but there is equal value in tales of heroes and monsters and aliens and guys with little blaster thingies. There is a reason why superhero movies are the most popular genre in the world, and why humans have told such tales of legends and monsters throughout history. There is a reason why, nearly 35 years later, those slow, mechanical breaths of Darth Vader are so instantly recognisable. 

Such stories allow us to escape; to escape a world in which a global pandemic can come and change so many things for so many people. But more importantly they give us hope, that we can be better and do better. That we can stand up to villainy and change the world for the better. That we can return to seeing things through the eyes of a child, gazing with wonder into a galaxy far far away.