Warning: there are no Star Wars spoilers in this article.
There’s something deeply paradoxical about a space-age movie being so damn nostalgic. If you’re any kind of Star Wars fan, (the original trilogy, not the Jar Jar Binks prequel disasters) and have seen Star Wars: The Force Awakens, you’ll know exactly what I’m getting at. The latest entry into the franchise is a joy, made by fans for fans, clearly understanding what we want to see, and how we want to see it.
If you’re of a certain vintage, you’ll likely remember where you were when the first three Star Wars films came out. I was too young to see the original movie in a theatre in 1977, but begged my mom to take me to The Empire Strikes Back in 1980. (Mom obliged, but thought the movie was too violent. She waited in the lobby of the Stanley Theatre for its entire duration).
My fondest Star Wars memories revolve around Return of the Jedi. The movie came out on Wednesday, May 25, 1983. It opened in but one location in the entire Greater Vancouver area: the Vogue Theatre on Granville Street, on 70mm film in six-track Dolby Stereo sound.
There was an absolute frenzy of anticipation for Return of the Jedi unlike any other film in history to that point, and Vancouver was just as swept up as anywhere else. Fans camped out in front of the Vogue for days in all manner of costumes to see the first showings. I was 11 years old in May of 1983, and as desperate as anyone to see the movie. We weren’t allowed to go to the Wednesday premiere, but my friend’s mom agreed to drive us downtown on the following Saturday morning: four boys, all of us in Grade 6.
We arrived at the theatre for the Saturday matinee hours early. I’ve never forgotten looking up at that huge, iconic, vertical VOGUE sign with the blazing marquee beneath: RETURN OF THE JEDI. The line up of excited kids already stretched down Granville, past the Movieland Arcade, around the corner onto Smithe Street, across the alley and onto Seymour. Luckily, the capacity for the Vogue was over 1,000, and we got in.
If you can imagine it, the scene in the theatre before the movie started was an out-of-control frenzy of anticipation. The audience seemed to be made up almost entirely of kids, and the air was filled with flying projectiles: popcorn, paper airplanes, movie programs, garbage, and whatever else kids felt like chucking. Ushers had already given up. We managed to snag seats in the centre near the back, directly below the balcony.
Moments before the movie began, some nerf herder in the first row of the balcony dumped his entire cup of Coca Cola on me. I was pelted with ice and thoroughly soaked with sticky syrup, but I didn’t move. You could have dumped two tons of tauntaun shit on me and I wouldn’t have budged. I wasn’t going to miss that movie for anything. When the lights went down, our screaming drowned out the famous John Williams score. I sat there for the entire film, coated in a sugary glaze, and loved every second of it.
Just like Han Solo, I’m 33 years older and crankier now, so I waited until the first rush of crowds ebbed before I saw Star Wars: The Force Awakens. It was as if the Millennium Falcon had flipped to light speed and taken me back to 1983. I would have almost welcomed someone dumping a Coke on me again. Almost.
