It was ten years ago today that Star Wars: Episode I—The Phantom Menace was released in cinemas. Whether you loved or hated it, there’s no denying that it was a very big deal. To mark the occasion, the staff of Home Theater Loft have put together this retrospective, detailing our own experiences with a film that, for better or worse, altered one of the most beloved movie mythologies in history.

I was walking past the magazine rack at the local supermarket the other day, and through the corner of my eye I spied Darth Maul on the front cover of a magazine. My first thought was that someone had discovered some ancient magazines and had hoped to slot them in without anyone being the wiser. Upon closer inspection, the magazine boldly proclaimed this to be The Phantom Menace’s 10th anniversary. I know this is a George Lucas property and all, a product of the man who’d gobble off the flesh of carrion several months old, but I couldn’t even fathom this event to be something worth celebrating. If I were the type of person to use similes, I’d liken this to celebrating Superman IV’s anniversary, George W. Bush’s birthday, or the day Paul Reuben’s was caught making love to his hand in a porno theater. Sure, someone out there cares, but not me.

Of course, now I can easily dismiss the hype. But, for a moment, I can let loose and get lost in the mentality of an acne-riddled freshman in high school, too young to have developed fine taste, too nerdy to have room in my life for much more than superheroes, videogames, and Star Wars. The year was 1999, and being a kid without a car and pulling in a steady $5.15 an hour bagging groceries, I was not afforded the ability to embrace a trip to the cinema just to catch The Phantom Menace trailer. Instead, for months, I scoured the net for any little nugget related to the newest entry in the Star Wars saga. And if the QuickTime trailer I downloaded at a steady 5.7kbps was any indication, the film would be nothing short of awe-inspiring. Being a kid insulated in an environment which remained largely unchanged probably magnified the hype to a new level. I mean, really, what self-respecting geek wouldn’t want to have a chance to see Coruscant? Revisit Tatooine? The Phantom Menace was a chance for me to imagine myself in some fantasy land, a chance to break free of the bonds of modern-day monotony.

And so the months continued. The marketing blitz did nothing but exacerbate the poison in my already tunnel-visioned mind. Sebulba on Pepsi cans! Obi-Wan Kenobi on Doritos! Taco Bell promotions! Long talks by the long boxes of back issues at the local comic store! Now this is pod racing! Wizard!

Flash forward to when my dad was finally able to take me to the theater. He shared his anecdotes on how he used his grandparent’s death as a reason to get out of work and brave the long lines to catch The Empire Strikes Back. We vowed to see all the remaining Star Wars prequels together no matter what. Hopped up on Sour Patch Kids, I was near trembling by the time the theater dimmed their lights. Fox’s fanfare played triumphantly. This was going to be great!

And then there was talk about trade blockades. Taxation. The hell? Is this Star Wars or CSPAN? I prefer to remember these few minutes as the moment where my childhood died. The realization that George Lucas, the man who built an empire of licensing likenesses and products and toys, had little to talk about on screen other than trade disputes and economics. Oh sure, that pod race was kind of like the speeder bike chase from Return of the Jedi! We had the Force! And that lightsaber fight at the end allowed me to fool myself into somehow liking part of the movie, in some rudimentary attempt to save face. Leaving the theater that day, I knew disappointment. I wouldn’t admit as much, because, hell, I was a stupid kid. My dad looked at me, and I kind of shrugged. But that lightsaber fight sure was great! Yeah…

Star Wars has always been a part of my life. One of my favorite childhood stories is one my mother tells of my first viewing of Episode IV. I wasn’t even a year old, but, as she tells it, I stayed perfectly still throughout the entire film, enraptured by the lights and sounds of a world I couldn’t possibly have understood at the time. It was probably my purest cinematic moment. Now, of course, the image of a drooling infant staring up at space ships and Wookies has probably been exaggerated in my mind—but I don’t care. I love the thought of it, and it perfectly communicates my affection for that galaxy far, far away.

Besides introducing me to my lifelong passion of cinema, Star Wars was a doorway to a world of ideas yet undiscovered. John Williams’ sweeping score (with due credit to Warner Bros. cartoons) introduced me to classical music. With my battery-powered record player in tow, I used to stand on a crate in my yard and conduct an invisible orchestra. Star Wars also gave me an early introduction to religion, philosophy and mythology, constructs that I would study extensively later in life. The Force, the discipline of the Jedi, the balance of good and evil and how they inhabit one another, the systems of belief that govern our lives, etc. Even before reading Buddhist and Taoist texts, Gandhi, and Joseph Campbell, these ideas consumed me and continue to fascinate to this day. One of my favorite lines in the entire saga is Yoda’s answer when Luke asks about what lies in the mysterious cave on Dagobah. “Only what you take with you.”

Really, the influence of Star Wars on my life is probably incalculable. The films even influenced decisions I made about my troubled relationship with my own father. And whenever I’m in a self-defeating mood, I always think to myself, that is why you fail.

Then there were the peripheral affects. When I was young and my mom and I were having trouble connecting, we could always turn to Star Wars. Whether it was a jaunt to every toy store in town looking for that one, elusive figure (Luke with the black tunic was the ultimate triumph), or just sitting in the kitchen together and discussing the characters, Star Wars gave a young boy and a single mother something to focus on besides school troubles, family issues, and financial crises. For that, I will be forever grateful. And, if nothing else, my mother has earned a comfy seat in heaven for taking me to see Return of the Jedi 900 hundred times. “Do you want to go see a movie?” “Jedi!” “Are you sure you don’t want to see something else?” “Jedi!” “Okay . . .”

My mother would probably be up for sainthood if not for her one treachery. We were poor, but my mom did her best to shield me from the harsher realities of our poverty. And I have a room full of Star Wars stuff to prove it. However, one fateful afternoon, she bought a Battlestar Galactica ship at a garage sale for $2 and passed it off as a Star Wars vehicle. I didn’t know about Battlestar Galactica. As far as I was concerned, Star Wars was the only thing going on in space, so this must have been a legitimate accessory. After all, Han Solo could fly anything, even that clunky vessel—which could never hope to complete the Kessel Run in less than twelve parsecs. It wasn’t until years later, at some convention, that I noticed the ship on a lunchbox and discovered her vile betrayal.

See what I mean? So many of my memories have a Star Wars angle. So you could probably guess what it meant to me when the arrival of a new Star Wars trilogy was announced. And not just a new trilogy, but a new trilogy with some of my favorite actors! Natalie Portman, Ewan McGregor, Liam Neeson! In a Star Wars film! It was so exciting.

It was the fall of 1998. We were hot off the “special editions” of the original trilogy, which I both loved and loathed (the end of Jedi is so much better now, but Han shot first!). More importantly, there was a teaser trailer for the new film! Honestly, has there ever been a better teaser trailer? Will there ever be? To date, no trailer has ever stirred such fervent elation, such lighting-in-the-veins-excitement than the one for Episode I. For me, seeing “Every saga has a beginning” scrawled across the screen marked the coming of something earth shattering, something life changing—and it was less than a year away! My friends and I analyzed every inch of that trailer, speculating on every possible movement, every character, every ship, every everything.

As the film’s release neared, the rest of the world learned of the wrath and seriousness of, we, the Star Wars Community. We showed up in droves, plastic lightsabers at our side, to toy stores and fast food restaurants so that we could collect all the new swag. I fought with security at the local mall so that fans could camp out for early tickets. Soon the entire mall parking garage was filled with people in costume, cars bumping John Williams’ new score (Duel of the Fates!); there was even a band playing Mos Eisley cantina tunes. It was nerdvana.

Then, on opening night, we stepped into the final line. In mere hours we would be watching the first Star Wars film in 16 years. We came dressed for the occasion: Steve was expertly painted (thank you very much) as Darth Maul; Kevin rocked his favorite Yoda shirt; Joel (the tallest of us) was dressed in a very impressive Jawa costume with light-up eyes and everything; Christy, who looked lovely in her civilian clothes, kindly tolerated us all; and, of course, me, dressed in my custom made Obi-Wan costume, complete with Padawan braid and Alec Guinness accent. Ironically, wearing that outfit, I’d never felt cooler.

The local news was in attendance to show the folks at home what obsession looked like. A foolish reporter made the mistake of coming over to my group. “How long have you been waiting for this?” he asked. “16 years . . . sitting in my house,” I deadpanned. He nervously smiled and began searching for a saner interviewee. Good luck, buddy.

We piled into the cinema, the 20th Century Fox logo appeared and for the next 133 minutes, the outside world didn’t exist. We were bombarded by Pod Races, epic lightsaber duels, fateful first encounters, and a plethora of new, exotic flora and fauna. When the credits began to roll and the lights came up, there was a roar of applause that went on for at least five minutes. People were hugging in the aisles. I ran into an older gentlemen dressed as OG Obi-Wan. We shook hands. The past and future converged. It was good. It was intoxicating. It was what I think is medically referred to as a mass delusion.

It was months before any of us were willing to put aside the comforts of our cognitive dissonance and own up to what had happened that night. It was really quite a psychological feat, if you think about it. An entire sold out cinema full of people were unwilling to let their 16-year wait be sullied by the petty fact that the film was, well, bad. Yeah, those wonderful trailers had been a lie.

What had George Lucas done? What happened to the excitement, fun, and adventure that was Star Wars? Why was Anakin such an annoying little shit? In the age of reliable child robots such as Haley Joel Osment, could Lucas really not find a model capable of repeating his terrible dialogue? Hell, cut Dakota Fanning’s hair short, throw her on Tatooine and—viola!—you have a halfway believable young Darth Vader.

Why did Darth Maul—the coolest motherfucker since Boba Fett—have five damn minutes of screen time? He had a double-bladed lightsaber for Christ’s sake—and horns!

Why did all the aliens have vaguely racist accents? I don’t remember Lucas spewing any Gibson-esque rants about Rastafarians. And, speaking of which, who the hell thought Jar Jar Binks—the Steve Urkel of the galaxy—was a good idea?

And, why, for the love of all that is good and true in the galaxy did Lucas feel the need to turn the Force into whispering bacteria? I’m pro science and evolution all the way. I feel that every “miracle” and other such phenomena will eventually be explained scientifically. But some things simply need to remain mysterious. And even if I could forgive the concept of “midi-chlorians,” I can’t stomach the idea that some beings are more capable of using the Force simply because they are born with more bacteria. That seems in direct conflict to much of the eastern philosophy that informed Lucas’ original notion of the Force.

Thankfully—and I know I’m in the minority here—episodes II and III somewhat made up for the disaster that was The Phantom Menace. The second and third films are stronger in both story and execution, and are closer to what I was expecting from the new trilogy. I loved the political aspects, the revelations about Anakin’s prophecy and, of course, Yoda wielding a lightsaber still gives me chills to this day. So, I am somewhat of a prequel apologist; I just don’t factor The Phantom Menace into my defense.

However, I will argue that some of the admonishments of The Phantom Menace are unfair. The stilted dialogue, the wooden acting, etc., all exist in the original trilogy. Nostalgia forgives these aspects in the original films, but not in the new trilogy. We expected the mythology to mature with us. But the Star Wars universe shouldn’t change just because we are older and less accepting. These are also fundamentally different stories, made of a different fabric, and with different agendas. They’re more political, more about societal architecture rather than stories of identity and self-reflection. Luke’s journey is never meant to be an echo of Anakin’s. The new trilogy is meant as a cautionary tale of the malignant power of corruption, not just in terms of Anakin’s journey but that of how the old Republic became the Empire. These are all great elements that I think strengthen the saga as a whole. And they showed that Lucas was still a thinking storyteller.

The major difference, I feel, between the original trilogy and The Phantom Menace is that the original films had a sense of child-like wonder, whereas The Phantom Menace is just plain childish. Between trilogies, Lucas went from being a struggling independent to one of the most powerful filmmakers in the business. Perhaps that changed the way he approached his return to cinema. He became a father between trilogies, as well, so maybe that was the culprit. Regardless, I believe this childishness to be the exposed thermal exhaust port, so to speak, in The Phantom Menace and an important distinction to make.

But The Phantom Menace is still Star Wars, damn it. Let us not throw the baby out with the bathwater. Episode I presented some of the most awe-inspiring special effects ever seen: the incredibly realized worlds, the creatures, the technologies, and the immense land and space battles. Even the awful Jar Jar Binks was a visual revelation. The film still had Ben Burt’s amazing sounds, John Williams’ goose bump-inducing music and some of the greatest Star Wars costumes ever by Trisha Biggar. The pod race is still one of best race scenes ever filmed. And though Luke and Vader’s duel in The Empire Strikes Back will always be my favorite, the Darth Maul versus Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon duel is a close second. It’s just so . . . fast. In these areas, Lucas’ amazing aptitude for visual wizardry and organization still rang true. He should just leave the writing and directing to someone else. (Hell, even Tom Stoppard couldn’t fully salvage the script for Episode III.)

For these reasons, The Phantom Menace is the one film I genuinely don’t enjoy that I still watch every few years. I’m not writing this piece as someone who dismissed the film and has now revisited it ten years later. I’m writing this as a still-recovering fan who pops in the DVD from time to time hoping, I suppose, that it has somehow aged into something of quality. For how could so much good still be so bad?

For all its obvious faults, the greatest sin perpetrated by The Phantom Menace is that of a betrayal of trust. For years, every Star Wars fan had filled in the gaps of the mythology with their own ruminations and speculations. Countless hours had been spent thinking and dreaming about the various unknowns. Who was Luke and Leia’s mother and what caused Anakin’s fall to the dark side? How did Obi-Wan come to be a great Jedi? What were the Clone Wars and how did the Empire come to power? What were the Jedi trials? It was a never-ending exploration, and in a very real sense, we felt like the stewards of the mythology.

Of course, Mr. Lucas was under no obligation to fashion his world as we had imagined it. After all, it is his world that we love so well. But to offer us The Phantom Menace after we had patiently waited for so long (especially since, let’s be honest, we paid for every inch of film), to treat our beloved memories with such passionless disdain, to not have the decency to create a glorious alternative to our hopes and dreams, was simply bad form. Last month I would have made a jesting remark about becoming a Trekkie, but I just saw J.J. Abrams’ wonderful Star Trek reboot and, well . . .

Let me start off by saying that I’m not a huge Star Wars fan. Everyone was hyped about The Phantom Menace, because it was a brand new Star Wars film. Roughly a week after it opened, my friend and I went to go see it. I was expecting the theater to be sold out by the time we got there, because we left 20 minutes before the film started. It was playing at an older theater, not the newest multiplex, which opened a few years before. Everyone thought it was a much better place just for seating alone. (That other theater is now my current place of employment.) Anyway, we got there and, sure enough, it was packed, but we were able to buy tickets and get some decent seats near the back.

It’ was 7pm and the lights start dimming and the audience began to cheer with excitement. Then, after about 12 minutes of previews, everyone starts booing and demanding the movie. Finally the feature presentation trailer played and small “yeahs” could be heard. Then the classic theme and scrolling opening began. Cheers erupted again, and a yell came from across the room to “SHUT UP! I’d been waiting, like, 16 years to see this movie.” A few laughs and cheers went out to guy. We sat back and watched.

“Man, that was cool.”
“Wow, that is some cool SFX.”
“Jar Jar is a bit annoying like they said.”
“Come on, man. Where’s the damn action?”
“Man, this Pod Race is awesome. The sound is shaking my seat.”
“Cool saber that Maul guy has.”
“Again, where is the action?”
“Now Anakin is getting on my nerves. Yippie.”
“Okay, this is kind of cool. Space battle and a cool saber duel. Man, I love this theme.”
“That was it.”

Yeah, that is pretty much my blow-by-blow of the experience. I kind of liked it, but it wasn’t OMG that was awesome. I was let down. Was it the hype? No, because I wasn’t a huge fan. Was it the action? Well, yes, in some ways, but, come on, that pod race was awesome. Was it good? No, it just seemed to drag on. It seemed too long. Plus, Jar Jar and that Anakin kid were kind of annoying.

Now, flash forward to today. Ten years have gone by. The theater I saw the movie at has now been torn down (just as of last week). Two other Star Wars prequels later and, you know what, Episode 1 was probably the best of the three. It was pretty solid compared to last two movies. Some might not agree with me, but, hey, that’s my view.

I actually went and paid full admission to see Meet Joe Black, but, really, I paid full admission to see the first Star Wars prequel trailer.

They were making new Star Wars movies. They were going to film the legendary Clone Wars. We were going to get to see them on screen. OMFG.

As the LucasFilm logo glistened on the screen, somebody let out a little yell. A “Hell yeah, I’m here just to see this trailer!” yell. There was knowing laughter. And then the music started. It’s perhaps one of my favorite scenes from Star Wars: Luke Skywalker looking out at the twin suns of Tatooine, considering his future. The amazing score from John Williams swelling in the background. It’s maybe the most perfect blending of image and soundtrack in cinema, at least to my old ears.

Anyway, that’s the music they used for the trailer. Smart move. I literally felt a surge of adrenaline course through me when that music started. I was that excited about it.

Of course, without a context for the images we were seeing in the trailer, without knowing the story, it meant nothing. It was eye candy, but the lie was not revealed in the trailer. The lie that, contrary to LucasFilm’s accusations against Godzilla earlier that year, plot doesn’t matter. No matter how you try, making a movie about a trade blockade isn’t really all that interesting.

Which isn’t to say that I hate TPM. There are some awful bits for sure. Jar Jar, of course. Jake Lloyd’s terrible acting. Midi-chlorians. But there are some truly great moments. The “duel of the fates” is the best lightsaber duel of all six movies, hands down. (And Darth Maul’s character should have been allowed to menace into the second and maybe even third episodes, because at least he brought some excitement to the movie.) The Pod Race is exciting, even if it is a total contrivance. “Anakin Skywalker, meet Obi-wan Kenobi” is chilling for those who have seen Episode IV.

So, while not a total loss, looking back ten years… TPM was a huge disappointment.

I was such a huge Star Wars fan I was literally frothy in anticipation of the new film.

But the night I saw The Phantom Menace… I don’t want to talk about it.

I stood in a long line. For a long, long time. With unwashed, smelly Star Wars nerds. Many of them had action figures with them, or were dressed as action figures. And some of them had lightsabers, made of plastic.

Isn’t there a statute of limitations on this? Why do I have to relive this night? Haven’t I had to endure enough? I’m the victim here!

The night was perfect and I was in a great mood. Giddy and eager I was lured into the darkened theater. There were exciting previews for other movies, I don’t remember which ones though, and this time I didn’t even care. This was a NEW Star Wars movie! The THX logo was mesmerizing. I was fully engaged, prepared for the most epic space movie in history.

It went down hill from here, and, honestly, I don’t want to talk about it. It was the night a trusted sage, someone I believed in and admired since I was a kid, took something away from me, something I can’t get back.

That night haunts me 10 years later.

And it wasn’t even one time. No, George Lucas raped me thrice. True, the other two times were my own fault. I should have known better, but I wanted to believe.

A wreck of my former self I turned to a life of Star Trek (original series, please). And like so many others who endured the same pain I suffered, finally suckling at the teat of my new master, Joss Whedon.