I went to see Star Wars VII, and cried. The last time I'd seen a movie from this franchise in theaters was in 1983, at the age of 6, when my parents were still alive. As soon as I saw the opening text-scroll and the opening music came bursting out of the speakers, memories of Mom flooded into my heart, and it was as if she were there with me. The theater in which I sat was in Bali, Indonesia, and most of the theater-goers were middle-class Indonesians, yet, for a couple of hours, we rejoiced in a common love for a galaxy far, far away, one that exists only in our minds. Thankfully, the wooden dialogue of the first six movies was largely absent, and, with a brown-skinned as well as a female main character rather than such characters being relegated to racially-stereotyped bit roles, the movie was fresh and modern without ever sacrificing its roots. A weak-willed antagonist too puny to live up to his grandfather's legacy rounded out the film, giving new hope to a franchise that is among my earliest memories. Thanks for being there to enjoy it with me, Mom. Requiescat in pacem, and mahalo.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥
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