This honestly gets worse the more I think about it. I want to put myself through Cats as soon as possible just to have something else to analyse and pick apart. I've seen The Rise of Skywalker twice now but I don't think I want to put myself through it again, even to analyse it. The first time I saw it (on Dec 20), I had some small issues with the plot and big problems with the execution. During my second viewing (on Dec 21) I had small problems with the execution and big problems with the plot. Having sat and fully digested it now, it turns out I have big problems with the execution and even bigger issues with the plot.
Simply put, thinking about this film for even a day or two has only revealed to me that it's a cowardly retcon of everything that made this sequel trilogy feel so refreshing until about three months ago. Not just in the context of Star Wars but in the current arena of blockbuster filmmaking. After the first two films, I heard the message loud and clear: the past doesn't matter, you don't have to be "special" (or connected to the previous trilogies by blood) to become a Jedi. It was optimistic, progressive, and inclusive filmmaking. To call The Rise of Skywalker a regression would be generous, and it should have been clear the moment we heard Palpatine's laugh in the teaser.
For years on the Internet we've hypothetically joked that closing chapters of stories would be complete chaos if they were written by the entitled amateur screenwriters we see in comments sections every now and then. That hypothetical scenario no longer exists. It is here. It's been swallowed whole by J.J. Abrams & Chris Terrio and spat out in the form of this pandering, algorithmic final story in the world's most famous saga. The conclusions this film reaches generally make sense within the Star Wars universe, but the implications and end results of those conclusions are concerning - to the point where I now wonder what the point of this new trilogy was.
Because this film ends with Rey rejecting the Sith and choosing the Skywalker way instead, the emotional message we get to take home from The Rise of Skywalker is a direct retread of Return of the Jedi. To put this another way, the "Skywalker saga" has ended up in exactly the same place it was in 2014. Those new ideas introduced by The Force Awakens and The Last Jedi, which reinvigorated a tired series that was in need of some outsider perspective, are continually undermined and erased as Abrams returns to the kind of exclusive, insular, lore-heavy storytelling that made the prequels so self-indulgent and tiresome.
With that being said, I think I could forgive most of the feeble, unimaginative plot conclusions if this film ever felt like it was telling a story, but it doesn't. Ever. Instead what you get are a series of incidents and moments which are simply lined up next to one another as the script indiscriminately races through them. It piles on the crowbarred exposition to get from A to B as quickly as possible, there are numerous pathetic fake deaths and hilariously convenient resolutions at every fork in the road, and the endless stream of directionless side-missions never seems to stop.
You think that beloved character is dead? They're not. You think that other beloved character is going to have to sacrifice his memory? Well, he doesn't. You think Rey is going to be given space to comprehend (or even question) the news that she's the granddaughter of the saga's main villain? Well, she isn't. You think it's a problem that one of the many MacGuffins this film introduces has been lost? Don't worry, there's always another. That character you all hated from The Last Jedi? She's sidelined completely. This all means that there's almost no conflict, no drama, no stakes, no suspense, no tension, nothing to worry about, no speculation, no doubt, no questioning, no reflection, no space to breathe, no character building, no grand plan, no consequences. Just, nothing.
One thing Abrams has nailed is his cast. Daisy Ridley is the beating heart of this franchise and her performance here is no different. Kylo Ren has precisely one line of dialogue in the final act ("Ow!") but Adam Driver still manages to communicate every single step of his emotional journey during entirely wordless sequences. Oscar Isaac and John Boyega have terrific chemistry together and their interactions are always electric. The four of them have given this generation new characters to really love and really root for. Even when the script is forcing them to do things that don't track, they're giving every inch of themselves to be convincing in their final appearances in these roles. They carry certain scenes brilliantly and their energy in front of the camera is what prevents this from ever being boring.
Another success of this film is that, regardless of the story losing confidence and lacking perception, the Star Wars universe still feels wonderful to be inside of. The environments and planets are never around for long enough as we carelessly careen around the galaxy in the first hour, but the worlds are evocative and immersive. The colourful Festival of the Ancestors on Pasaana, the steep and snowy towns of Kijimi, the storm-ridden and pastoral landscapes of Endor. Abrams might have given up on trying to tell a story with this, but at the very least he hasn't lost his appetite and enthusiasm for worldbuilding. The world and the characters who inhabit it remain as fun as ever, which puts this miles above the prequels in terms of technical expertise.
The use of C-3PO in the first act was was far better than I expected, too.
But when it all adds up to a repeated conclusion that's 36 years old now, you're left wondering what the last five years of Star Wars were all for. The Force Awakens and The Last Jedi weren't perfect films by any means but they both had clear, defined purposes from the outset and largely delivered on those purposes: to establish a new trilogy with fresh ideas, then to take those fresh ideas and untie the weight-bags of the past. Clear, direct, sorted. The Rise of Skywalker, on the other hand, retreats into itself and offers up a cut and paste resolution that's taken almost verbatim from the original trilogy, significantly decreasing the size of this universe in the process. It's begging for forgiveness.
As this film approaches its final stages, Luke Skywalker's force ghost sits Rey down and tells her not to give in to fear. The film surrounding him, however, bows out by admitting that its creators weren't big enough or brave enough to stand up to anonymous voices on the Internet expressing their discontent. Regardless of the reasons why, or the behind-the-scenes problems experienced along the way, it will always be remembered as the trilogy that surrendered its creative vision to corporate safety and wilted in the face of criticism. Considering how confidently this trilogy opened, and given how boldly it continued on, it's just a massive shame to see it end like this.
This feels like a crucial moment in the three-way war between corporate ownership, creative direction, and fan entitlement. It doesn't feel like a good moment.