PT Is Palpatine truly evil in the prequels?

Make the GFFA Great Again! We'll build a force-field and make the Vong pay for it!

 

He is a natural born dark sider, just like Maul, Talzin or Plagueis.

 

We will also deport all Nemodians from the Galaxy and bomb their planet to smithereens. Crooked Padmé would have you pay your tax dollars to make the Nemodians comfortable and trade and deal with those bug-eyed slimes. It's gonna work, guys. It's gonna work. Believe me, it's gonna be great.

 

There is No defending Palpatine
1.) he destroyed a religious order by genocide
2.) he perpetuated a war
There is so many other crimes but those are his two biggest.

 

Palpatine is the embodiment of all evil in the GFFA. He's practically the Satan. People like to call Anakin/Vader an irredeemable psychopathic monster, but it was always Palpatine who was the truly evil person. He has no redeeming qualities, whatsoever.

 

I get the impression that even if he WASN'T a Sith, and didn't have some sort of master plan, he'd still be manipulating and controlling people just for kicks. Possibly being indoctrinated into the Sith was what gave him purpose and a direction to use his talents for, but I am firmly in the Palpatine = Sociopath camp. Not all sociopaths are inherently evil of course but for better or worse they do not have the same moral code and beliefs as ''normal'' people and I think the same applies to Palpatine.

 

The Darth Plagueis Legends novel, at least, did a good job of painting Teenage Palpatine that way.

 

It did indeed but even in the prequels I think there is enough to make the description appropriate - his constant changing of personality depending on whom was being addressed, his ability to be really charming, his pathological lying and apparent inability to not be manipulative to some degree and of course the sadism he demonstrated in killing Mace. I couldn't say if it was intentional but all those factors are (literally) textbook sociopath traits.

As I mentioned before, sociopaths are not inherently evil and in theory he could have used all those things to come to power and truly, honestly try and reform the Senate if he wanted to do that. But he didn't - he chose power at the cost of millions of lives and that's what makes him evil.

 

When I read that novel, he reminded me of an older, untrained Tom Riddle. Even as a child, Riddle/Voldemort was a conniving little monster.

 

Exactly, he would plot and scheme and manipulate people for no other reason than he wanted to, which is not exactly morally upstanding but not quite evil as such. The millions dead in a war he created purely for power IS very much evil though.

 

I don't know if it's funny or sad when people are taken in by Palpatine's words and actually believe them. It shows that some people really are that gullible, even when they as viewers can see far more than any one person possibly could.

 

Good argument, lol

 

MFW this topic comes up.


The dude orchestrated a war that turned a democracy into a dictatorship and got trillions killed.

He's not a nice person.

 

There's even the idea that Palpatine and the Sith were largely responsible for the corruption of the Republic to begin with...and the old EU certainly ran with that.

So he didn't just reform a corrupt government...he corrupted a government just so he could take it over under the guise of reform.

 

That kind of speaks to how deliciously evil the guy is. Combine that with Ian's acting and you have the perfect Big Bad. It's amazing.

 

Is he evil? As much as I’m a fan of the character, and as much as he’s the only sympathetic, likable, and relatable character in the entire prequel trilogy, yes he is evil.

But he’s evil in a very charming, charismatic and enjoyable way. He has a clear goal that he’s working towards, he has understandable motivations that a viewer can identify with, and he clearly enjoys what he’s doing. Of all the human, non-CG characters in these movies, he’s the only one who seems to possess any quirks or idiosyncrasies that make him a human being that the audience can connect with. We see him as a brilliant manipulator, a brilliant diplomat, a brilliant charmer and a brilliant deceiver. We see scenes where he’s giddy with joy, scenes where he’s angry and frustrated, scenes where he shows a wry sense of humor…and in every single one of those scenes, we can understand why he’s acting the way he’s acting without ever losing the audience’s interest or sympathy. He reminds me of Alex in A CLOCKWORK ORANGE. Like the Emperor, Alex is a truly reprehensible person, but he is compelling and oddly likable. They both get a blast out of doing what they do, and as reprehensible as they are, the viewer can always understand why they behave the way they do and why they do the things they do. And both characters benefit enormously from career-defining performances from truly great actors- Ian McDiarmid and Malcolm McDowell, respectively.

I know that some people have criticized some of McDiarmid’s hammier moments, but I actually enjoy them. No matter how goofily he acts, he’s still alot of fun to watch and you can tell that McDiarmid is having the time of his life with this part, and it also makes sense from a character perspective. The Emperor has had to hide behind this mask for so long that he’s gonna just let loose and revel in all his glorious and wonderful evil. For him, it must feel really good finally being able to indulge himself and not having to pretend to be a nice person anymore. So I can see why he just starts shouting, “POWAAAAAAHHHHHH! UNNNNNLIIIIIIMITTTEEDDDDD POOOWWWWWWAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!” I’d do it too if I were in his position. I mean, why not have a bit of fun being such an evil SOB, right? He’s like the only character in these films that I remotely like or that I can relate to in any way, just as Alex is the only remotely likable or relatable character in CLOCKWORK. Seriously, George Lucas should’ve just told the prequels from the Emperor’s perspective. Then they really would be cinematic masterpieces. Again, it worked for A CLOCKWORK ORANGE. That film is a masterpiece and it’s widely considered a cinematic classic.

 

Clockwork Orange is 18 rated though - I doubt that 18 rated Star Wars movies would have worked.

 

Masterpiece, masterpiece, classic, classic...

Star Wars, as a concentrated body of films and an iconic entertainment franchise, is, perhaps, the most famous work of Western popular art of the Late 20th/Early 21st Century. You could, from this perspective, call it the classic of classics, the masterpiece of masterpieces. In short, some items attain a stature that defies and transcends standard labelling, and have a quintessence that calls for a bit of renewed thinking about what they are, and, by extension, what all art is; and to ruminate on the potential it can unleash within us. Maybe what is also needed is a touch of apophatic awe that pays tribute to their singular brilliance and our own struggles at articulating or formulating a paradigm sufficient enough to concretely describe at least a part of them to reasonable satisfaction; let alone surpass them. Substantiated adoration doesn't come easy.

While I most certainly agree that ROTS is the Emperor's, and Ian McDiarmid's -- and, for that matter, George Lucas' -- moment to shine, I can't quite follow you into the lake and proclaim that the Emperor is necessarily full of nuance, or the most human character of the prequels. I don't mean that as any slight against Ian McDiarmid's commendable, and almost, if you will, baroque performance. No, what I mean is, the Emperor seems peculiarly (stealing a metaphor in plain sight) clockwork-like in his artfulness: masterfully manipulative. And, in that regard, not all that "human" (we are messy multiplicities, after all, not a condensed block of studied, intellectual overtures). Indeed, to me, that is the whole point of the character. Of course, there is a way, you might argue, in which he is "more human than human", as he seems to possess a grand and intricate grasp of the myriad follies of the other, ostensibly "human" characters of the drama; with his machinations the result, perhaps, of a deep knowledge of the "Living Force" originally exposed by Qui-Gon, Anakin's "benign" first master to Palpatine, his "malign" and (as far as the prequel trilogy goes) final one. There is that, yes. But, I think, next to characters like Anakin, Padme, Obi-Wan, and yes, even Jar Jar, the Emperor, as enjoyable and sublimely devious as he is, is found a little wanting. For me, there is, ultimately, something a little "cold" about the Emperor -- though that is, I think, as it should be.

In my case, at least, I'm not particularly interested in hoisting up the Emperor as a fetish object to denigrate the other characters against. You draw a nice parallel with the Alex DeLarge character (the Emperor is surely, on some level, an "Alexander The Great"-type "eloquent savage" equivalent), and there's no doubt some sort of vicarious thrill that a viewer can revel in, due to the DeLarged/enlarged fiendishness of both characters: in terms of both these characters' conduct and the way they seem oddly removed -- estranged -- from the uncomprehending apes around them. They are darkly amusing and highly watchable characters, basically, that inject their constructed realities with more life than they almost ought to have. But what this again goes back to is that, in the prequels, at least, there are other characters that seem, to me, at least, a good deal more tangible ("palpable" -- ha!), and more human in their tangled desires, mundane eccentricities, and lofty failings. Whether it's Obi-Wan complaining about how he hates flying more than once (linking him up to Threepio amongst other things), to Padme believing that Anakin is making fun of her in the grass (and revealing some incipient attraction to her Jedi protector), to Anakin qualifying statements a certain way ("I saved the pod -- mostly"; "This is a shortcut -- I think"; or even his slightly insincere "Sorry, M'lady(ies)"), there's something a little more goofy and connectable, in my opinion, about the main characters, their bonds with one another, and the tragic fates that await them.

But, again, if that's the way you see the Emperor -- great! In my other post to this thread, made in November 2014, I suppose I tried to argue for the Emperor's humanity, if only a little. I mean, honestly, you could look upon Palpatine and Sidious as different people: a "split being" that only becomes one after Palpatine does the lightning on Mace. From this point of view, Palpatine is simply a slightly goofy, vain little guy that gets a thrill from telling stories and exaggerating his own effectiveness a degree or two. "I thought I already did"; "Only in your mind, my very young apprentice." Palpatine is simply a touch ambitious, and he only becomes the Emperor, the Lord and Master of the Universe, due to how entrenched he becomes in his own stories and fables. Note that he only gains anything like his full physical strength after he successfully foments the Clone Wars and triangulates himself within a power struggle between Mace Windu, head of the Jedi Order, and Anakin Skywalker, the Poster Boy of the Republic. "I know you would, I can feel your anger." He lives to elevate emotions and sensations into something real. "Your focus determines your reality." Becoming strong in the Force means becoming the Force. Or something.

In fact, seen this way, the Emperor could actually be considered the most human character in Star Wars. He goes about as far as anyone in the movies to "understand the Great Mystery" and get something out of it for himself: making himself a god by gradually believing he is a god. And he goes a long, long way in achieving that. However, tragedy awaits even the Emperor, who has engineered so much tragedy around him, and must finally taste the bitter fruit of his own villainy; an impossibly long chain of scheming -- an alarming chain of events -- initiated when he was just a mildly conceited, ambitious little senator from some backwater place in the vast galaxy. In this regard, he is just some pesky little human, after all, that became more and more consumed by forces he didn't fully understand: he truly went and lived the life of Jar Jar; but being connected to power so long gradually corrupted him on a gross, geometric scale. It is almost as if he unwittingly stole everyone else's soul. In the end, he is overthrown (quite literally) by Anakin; who doesn't repeat his master's mistake of seeking more power but folds his tent and stows away into the netherworld of the Force itself. There is wonderful irony in this view of the Emperor: a creature who began his career in a relatively humble way, but gradually forgot what it is like to possess flaws or acknowledge the muck and the mildew from which he sprang.

All that said, I do not consider the Emperor a fully crackable character; nor Star Wars as a whole. Now, granted, smaller tracts of it might occasionally feel that way, but none of this is really an equation that one can solve; or some sort of ingredients list in which it is apropos to isolate one compound above the rest. And the prequel trilogy, in particular, has a grandeur to it, in my opinion, that doesn't reduce down to an "X" or a "Y" (try x-y-ness -- seXYness -- instead). Of course, what you resonate to is what you resonate to. My personal view is that the prequel trilogy, much like the wider saga to which it belongs, is a gleaming, visionary tapestry: a foxy assemblage of crenulated parts. The PT, as much as anything ever made, in my view, is a fully-realized epic fantasy production.

 

For me, it’s not so much that the Emperor is the most nuanced character in movie history. But I do believe that he’s the most nuanced character in the prequel films. And I think it’s largely because he’a the only (human, non-CG) character allowed to show any idiosyncrasies or quirks. He’s the only character allowed to demonstrate any emotional range within a given scene. With everyone else, they’re given one note that they’re allowed to play throughout any given scene, and they’re never at any point allowed to deviate from that one note. So with Anakin, we get an angry scene, a petulant scene, a tormented scene, a sad scene, etc. With Portman, we get brave scene, passionate scene, hero scene, sad scene, etc. With Jar Jar a inks, we get idiot scene, idiot scene, idiot scene, idiot scene, idiot scene. Whereas with the Emperor, we see the gears working in his head. We see scenes where concern turns to triumph as he solves whatever problem he encounters on the fly. We see joy become anger and vice versa. Just little nuances like that help make him feel more “real”. I’d argue that he’s the closest thing these movies have to anything resembling human warmth. If anything, all the other characters are the ones who feel “cold” to me. Lawrence Kasdan once said something very revealing about Lucas’s approach to character:

To me, the Emperor feels like the only fully-rounded character with his own unique set of quirks and eccentricities. Everyone else just sorta feels half-formed. Let’s look at a scene like this from THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK:



Throughout the course of 3 minutes, Han Solo is allowed to show range and variance. We get to see confidence, cockiness, smugness, charm, friendliness, humor, irritation, anger, and swagger. Now compare it to a scene like this:



Notice how throughout this scene, the pitch more or less stays constant. He’s clingy and desperate, she’s annoyed, uncomfortable and trying to rebuff him. There’s no variance or range in a scene like this. The characters are given one note to play during this scene and they’re not allowed to diverge from that one note. This is true of pretty much every scene in these movies, aside from those featuring the Emperor. As a result, the characters feel flat and robotic, and the viewer can’t really connect with them, even though, if you look at the big picture, they’re going through these grand dramatic arcs. And this is what Kasdan means when he says that Lucas is a more plot-driven writer only interested in the broad strokes rather than the shadings and nuance of actual human interaction.

Even though a director like Stanley Kubrick is wrongly maligned for being cold and inhuman, the fact is that Kubrick was notorious for doing endless takes of a scene until something idiosyncratic, eccentric, quirky or interesting happened. The most notable example probably comes from A CLOCKWORK ORANGE. Kubrick spent a week shooting the break-in scene where Alex and his droogs break into the writer’s house and then proceed to assault him and his wife. They kept shooting and Kubrick wasn’t satisfied because he thought the scene was too dry and dull. Eventually, he approached Malcolm McDowell and asked him, “Can you dance?” And just that little nudge inspired McDowell to do an entire song-and-dance performance of “Singin’ in the Rain”. Kubrick absolutely loved it, and immediately bought the rights to the song. The result was one of the most iconic, notorious, controversial, disturbing, yet darkly humorous scenes in the movie that also gives us information about Alex’s character and his own unique set of little idiosyncratic quirks and eccentricities.

It also serves as a perfect example of a director actually being there to help out his actors when they need it. No lengthy diatribe about motivation or anything. Just a little nudge that ignites that spark is all that’s needed sometimes…and that’s something that Lucas seems incapable of providing.

Just don’t show any rape scenes. STAR WARS has always been pretty sexless anyway, so that shouldn’t be a problem. But a film that shows things from the Emperor’s perspective, and focuses entirely on him, much as CLOCKWORK does with Alex, would be pretty awesome.

 

I don't see that at all. Sounds more like cherry-picking single examples to me that fit that specific narrative. There are always scenes were the mood swings and characters are able to show themselves from multiple angles, and scenes that keep it straight forward, for all movies so far. You could just as well pick the garage-scene from AOTC as a single example that directly contradicts your point. In that scene, Anakin moves swiftly between multiple moods and behaviours, and even Padme doesn't stick to a single behaviour even though she doesn't talk all that much.

 

Actually, I’d classify that as being his most notable Angry Scene in the entire trilogy.

 

That's fair enough. But what you're contending about the other characters sounds a little reductive to me. For instance, you define Jar Jar as simply having a non-varying string of "idiot" scenes, but I don't think the films really bear this out. There's a good deal of nuance; even though Jar Jar is clearly a "Fool". In fact, in that regard, he's the prequel version of C-3PO; but I rarely see Threepio getting talked about with such derision. Jar Jar has his calmer moments, he's good at sneaking, he helps Shmi prepare the meal, he fixes Anakin's podracer, he makes Padme laugh and consoles the Queen on Coruscant; and so on. He sometimes shows fear, but also wisely zips it at certain moments (while Qui-Gon is betting for Anakin with Watto, for instance), and clearly demonstrates pride and nobility at certain moments (such as when he talks about his fellow Gungans). His insight, and also a stealthy prompt, of sorts, to Amidala, that maybe the Naboo dislike the Gungans because they have a "Grand Army", is, perhaps, the boldest supposition in the film: a microcosm that contains a macrocosm. So, Jar Jar is a "Fool", perhaps, but hardly the one-note irritant many in the fanbase still seem militantly determined to see him as. That said, it may be true that there is some segmentation occurring in the prequels, that either isn't so present or quite so evident in the original trilogy. On the commentary tracks, for instance, Lucas often seems focused on pointing out the basic intent behind a given scene, or remarking that he later added this scene or that to illustrate X or Y about the characters. He talks about them in building-block manner; as if he were describing how to assemble a table. And the prequels are more elided than the originals -- a function, perhaps, of there being more material to rove through. But, again, you're not really doing justice to the scope of these films, or the characters, in my opinion.

Anakin manifestly shows multiple emotional states in given scenes, even if there is some basic sense of mopeyness, or petulance, or anger, or whatever, to one scene or another. An example we could discuss is the opera scene in ROTS. Anakin enters the scene in a hurried state, adding some nice (and slightly mysterious) tension. Then, crouching down at Palpatine's side, with a mixture of trepidation, and what seems like a hint of disdain for the fancy surroundings, he expresses obvious relief at being told by Palpatine that Grievous' location has been discovered. Sitting down, his body registers a lot of awkwardness, and the character radiates a feeling of not wanting to be there -- which is understandable, even palpable, given Anakin's unease with his assignment at spying on Palpatine, and his broader unease with the Jedi Council and the Republic as a whole. Palpatine's coup de grace is to quickly root out the source of Anakin's awkwardness and pass off the revelation -- "They asked you to spy on me, didn't they?" -- with disarming indifference; even inevitability. Anakin frets but Palpatine puts him at ease with a quick aphorism about power -- "All who gain power are afraid to lose it" -- but also makes him uncomfortable in a new way by adding, "Even the Jedi", causing Anakin to dig deeper into his mind as a philosophical tussle emerges about the difference between the Jedi and the Sith. At the end of this exchange, Anakin looks reasonably contented for a second, in the close-up, but the wider shot that supplants it shows him looking uncertain, even upset. This is an awesome visual "tell" that he is becoming "lost" (as he later confides to Padme) and no longer trusts his own intuition; "The Republic is crumbling" as the opening crawl cryptically suggests. Then the whole scene switches gears as Palpatine introduces the tale of Darth Plagueis and furnishes Anakin's psyche, and the audience, with the idea that there is a solution to his problems; albeit one that is peculiarly and dangerously Faustian. In this part of the scene, Anakin feigns a small degree of indifference, but can't help disguising how intrigued he is. At the end of the scene, he even seems to be using a subtle mind trick on Palpatine (nuanced acting), speaking with mechanical remove and cultivated formality, after what seems like a deliberate pause, as he asks, "Is it possible to learn this power?" A more civilized time. Indeed, this ballet scene is very civil; compared with, say, the mission that manifests (which is "activated" by this scene with the reveal of Grievous' location) and Obi-Wan brutally battling Grievous and finishing him off by incinerating him with a blaster (the unifying gag: "So uncivilized"). And Palpatine gets a doozy of a last line: "Not from a Jedi." But it's Anakin's line that suggests there is more to these characters than meets the eye. There are subtleties placed inside these broad moulds.

We could look at a few other scenes to further establish the emotional and psychological complexity of various prequel scenes. Anakin goes through a variety of emotions -- a barrage of emotions -- in the "turn" scene, for instance, first arriving at Palpatine's office and registering distance in his initial expressions (but betrayed by his actions of running back to the office in defiance of orders), while later showing anger, incredulity, pain, regret, despondency, disbelief, anxiety, fear, dread, coldness, and loathing. The platform scene between Anakin and Padme is another spinning wheel of emotions, ranging from Anakin's pressing concern for Padme, to Padme's desperate pleas for Anakin to drop everything and run away with her, to Anakin's childish -- almost angelic -- glee that they can "make things the way we want them to be", in spite of earlier shedding a tear on Mustafar when he was alone (because, deep down, he knew Padme would never accept his actions), to his sudden coldness when Padme mentions Obi-Wan one time too many, to the quietly scolding, almost mocking way he gently asks Padme, "Because of Obi-Wan?" as he seems to notice Obi-Wan at a distance, before the camera "reveals" him to the audience, which culminates in Anakin theatrically yelling "Liar!" as much for his old master's approval as an accusation directed at and against Padme herself. Padme's part is truly tragic in all of this, with her frantically asserting -- screaming at Anakin, practically -- that she loves him, urging him to "come back"; and that choking "No!" (the metaphorical to Anakin's actual) when she realizes that Obi-Wan has arbitrarily inserted himself in this personal drama, lighting the touchpaper that leads with frightening swiftness to ruin for all of these characters, forever. The music, too, is very much its own character in these scenes, adding a good deal of evil mood to the opera scene, while bringing an operatic bent to the last time that Anakin and Padme will ever behold each other; or lie to themselves that there's still a way out of the madness as long as they have each other.

You've also got smaller "bridging" scenes that have plenty of nuance and an inner life of their own. For instance, in the chapter "Seeds of Distrust", which occurs right before the opera scene in ROTS, Anakin and Padme begin somewhat furtively around each other, but also move to disclose inner misgivings about the Jedi Order and the Republic, respectively. Lucas adeptly imbues this scene with a sneak degree of tension, with as simple a directorial gesture as allowing a beat to elapse between Anakin snapping at Padme -- "I don't believe that. And you're sounding like a Separatist" -- and Padme stifling her frustration and sadness within that beat, and then moving to declare, "This war represents a failure to listen". This sort of scene construction expresses the essential stoic nature of her character; even when being accused of disloyalty/sedition by her own husband (albeit a husband dealing with divided loyalties of his own), she remains relatively fixed and calm, even though she is obviously hurt by the accusation. It gives you some measure of the intensity of the lives these characters lead. Of course, the scene doesn't end here, but goes on to Padme ominously saying, "Don't do this, don't shut me out", and asking Anakin to "hold her"; which Anakin does, but somewhat haphazardly, as his gaze suggests his mind is elsewhere, and he's missing out on what is right in front of him (covertly calling Qui-Gon's opening advice to Obi-Wan and the audience to mind: "Don't focus on your anxieties. Keep your concentration here and now, where it belongs" >> "Make a motion in the Senate, where that kind of a request belongs"). The visuals are also gorgeous and help to convey the mood and tell the story. And the main visual element here is a fading sun. It's the underlying tension of scenes like these (as in the opera scene it leads onto), combined with astonishing pictorial beauty, that give the prequels a strangely textured quality, like that of a novel. Take the scene of Padme telling Anakin she's pregnant. Anakin's reaction is wonderfully ambivalent: he strives to present an image of authority, conviction, and happiness, but there's all sorts of fears and maladies suggested as residing just below the surface (kinda like the opening shot: a "placcid" Star Destroyer gives way to an enormously convoluted battle, a lively chaos, which Anakin and Obi-Wan, largely anonymized inside metal flying machines, drop right into). Again, the characters are lit in a tungsten underglow, suggesting a "stolen" moment in an era of fading grandeur.

Or let us consider the "playful" banter between Anakin and Obi-Wan during the speeder chase that three-dimensionally (and therefore "truly") opens AOTC (compared to the landing platform explosion: a "fake" action scene marked by a one-eyed character who renders a hasty verdict that is violently falsified in an instant). You have these two Jedi men exchanging words and glances that are a mixture of sincere and put-on. For example, when Anakin retorts, in response to Obi-Wan's chide, "If you spent as much time practicing your saber technique as you do your wit, you would rival Master Yoda as a swordsman", with a cocky and Han-ish, "I thought I already did!", one can instantly feel that Anakin is being a bit facetious and self-effacing; though, there is also a real tension that exists between them, and maybe only the adrenaline of the chase sufficiently elevates Anakin's mood and distracts him from dwelling on it. Similarly, when Obi-Wan denounces Anakin for losing his target, Anakin's response is comically bland, "I'm deeply sorry, Master"; but there is also a hint of disappointment about it. A quality which becomes more manifest when Anakin suddenly switches into "bragging" mode with a swift departure line: "If you'll excuse me..." Then he actually jumps out of the speeder and Obi-Wan is suddenly left alone (somewhat like Ian Malcolm in "Jurassic Park" after the other occupants depart the moving vehicle and Malcolm starts muttering to himself in a way that Jeff Goldblum makes great). At this moment, Obi-Wan dryly remarks, "I hate it when he does that"; which elucidates something, with dazzling economy, about their unique peer bond (a mixture of brother-brother, father-son, mentor-pupil, diplomat-tactician). You get that there is a real affection between the two, but they're also the most deserving screen couple for Facebook's "It's complicated" relationship status selection in cinematic history. Between them, there is this thing, but what is it? Between the streaming, hot neon city lights, the cavernous depths of the city, the varying topography, and those purple power tendrils that Anakin flies their speeder through, Lucas depicts their mercurial bond with jazzy abstraction. It's a fun action sequence that, again, suggests tensions and yields contradictions.

And, in true Lucas fashion, a lot can be conveyed using very little. Here, for example, is a neat dissection of Anakin and Obi-Wan's "farewell" scene, before things really go south, in ROTS:

https://smittysgelato.wordpress.com/2016/05/21/prequel-posts-1-brothers-farewell/

I think, what you're missing in these scenes, and many others, is that they're not meant to be particularly ennobling, witty, or urbane; or not in any sustained or easy-to-impress fashion. As Lucas intimated about the love pledge scene in AOTC (more on that in a moment), they're more or less played to the hilt -- melodrama played straight. I'd put it to you that many prequel scenes, on a basic dramatic level, are constructed more like the scenes in "THX-1138"; while many scenes in the original trilogy are more reminiscent of the looser, fast-talking style of acting captured in "American Graffiti". They have very disparate tones. One might be more "crowd-pleasing" than the other, but what makes the prequel trilogy rich and compelling is its "intimate sweep", to use an oxymoron. You have some very, very intimate exchanges in the prequels; but these are set against an enormous backdrop of politics, galactic unrest, and existential strife. It was very fitting of Lucas, in my opinion, to mix it up between the two trilogies; such that each is true to its milieu and each stands apart (while, in a basic stylistic/grammar sense, belongs to the same unified architecture).

The thing is, in the "Han" scene you've selected, he's really performing for the benefit of Luke, and by extension, the audience (in order to arouse anxiety/interest in Leia). It's a rather kitshy scene -- albeit, well-done kitsch. It's an amusing scene, almost Vaudevillian; though not without depth. Seeing Han damaged by his own performance at the end (after Leia kisses Luke) lends the scene some psychological texture and believability (Han's immaturity is on full display here: his bravado is deployed as a disguise and motivated by his unwillingness to face up to the depth of his own attraction to Leia). However, as entertaining as it is, it remains a rather loud and brash display of character dynamics: conforming, as it does, to a certain kind of muscular, screwball-comedy style of theatrical presentation. Anakin and Padme's scenes play quite differently; by design. Moreover, in the prequel scene you've chosen to play the TESB scene off against, Anakin and Padme are, arguably, at their most intimate (and certainly, I would say, their most awkward); such is the manner of medieval fireplace pledges, I suppose. You're really comparing oil and water. Anakin's pursuit of Padme, and her own responses to Anakin's staunch declarations of passionate longing (I stop short of a simpler word like "desire") -- vaguely lofty-sounding, yet unembellished oratory -- are facets of the love story that are, in many ways, the "dark side of the moon" of Han and Leia's kicky tryst. The settings and timings communicate the scale of estrangement: the AOTC scene is a refined, plush night interior, while the TESB scene, which occurs inside a brightly-lit and somewhat ad hoc (and "Nostromo"-esque) rebel base interior, is considerably more beat-up and earthy. Further, in the TESB scene, all the troops are gathered (Han, Luke, Leia, Chewie, Threepio), while Anakin and Padme are alone, and have been alone for a while (the pledge scene is a progression from the directly-preceding dining scene with only a single other briefly in evidence), which gives the prequel scene a much darker ambience, and, I might add, a moody erotic undertone. Then, of course, there is the relatively clamped, formal attire that Anakin and Padme wear, while Han and Leia are in "if it works" military slacks. Threepio also provides a loopy comedy current all his own to many of the Han and Leia engagements. What's the saying? Three's a crowd. No wonder he was named C-3PO.

Beyond all of that, while this isn't a spreadsheet game, where one romantic story has to "beat" another, I will say that Lucas' depiction of Padme -- in my opinion -- is a fairly incisive portrait of a serious-minded young (and attractive) woman. Ol' Cryo recently did a bit of an "Anakin" (ah) on some girl not dissimilar to Padme; and her reaction, alas, was much the same one that Padme gives back (I should have known, right?). "I will not give into this" is actually a masterfully succinct rendition of the response I got. But, like Anakin, I still detect some interest there, despite the protestations. Unfortunately, that girl has a rather tragic quality, like Padme; and I might be, deep down, a bit too similar to Anakin. I am "making" these movies as I go. See, attraction isn't all about being cocky, smug, or clever; it's about fear, uncertainty, and vulnerability. Personally, I think the AOTC romance is a pretty honest depiction of young love between two individuals who demand much of themselves; yet this other reality, potentially compromising, irresistibly intrigues them. What places the Han-Leia thing in a different light, amongst other things, is that Harrison Ford is significantly older than the person his character is pursuing; he has that added roughness and experience that little Luke Skywalker lacks. In the A-P pairing, the age imbalance goes the other way (in the direction of the female: in-universe), but to a smaller degree. However, it's also fair to say that Padme is more level-headed and career-driven than Anakin (she's the more rounded/mature one); which, again, makes for a contrast with the Han-Leia romance. And while Han and Leia are relatively "free" to pursue one another, despite some resistance from Leia, Anakin and Padme are attached to institutions that demand a lot from them; and they are morbidly aware that, by placing themselves in a secret union, they will unmake themselves and the world around them. Theirs, don't forget, is a forbidden love. There is a lot on the line. You could read Anakin's advances as lacking smoothness because, aside from his glaring lack of experience, he is implicitly aware of these tensions. Ditto Padme; who directly cautions Anakin about the possibility -- the actuality -- of the destruction giving into their passions via living a lie will bring. How do you communicate that in a Star Wars framework? This was Lucas' answer. Maybe it's not the only answer, maybe it's not even the best answer; but it's the one he obviously found cogent and appealing and went with. I can only luxuriate in his choices; and luxuriate I do.

And, further, beyond all of that, I can only reiterate that the prequels are not a retread of the OT; all that undeniable rhyming and general "Star Wars-y"-ness of these films aside. They are, in some senses, more expansive and mythic; versus the "fallen fable" (but certainly not fallow fable) of the OT. That means, per George Lucas' eccentricities and idiosyncracies (terms you like; can I steal 'em?) -- and an older, maturer, digitally-obsessed George Lucas, at that -- they are only all the weirder, austere, observational, coy, lacquered, and operatic yet beautifully understated. It really comes down to simple exchanges, simple gestures, placed there at specific moments, that define a whole ecosystem. It is difficult to convey the "calculus" of these movies; but everyone knows they're a bit different. Specific moments within this wider story and universe may be a bit brittle, a bit cold, a bit anguished, a bit goofy and morose; but isn't that the whole idea? The Death Star, when you get close to it, isn't a round object, but a megastructure of sutured squares; or a jumble of scaffolding.

Kubrick and Lucas, I hasten to add, aren't remotely the same person; despite many beguiling similarities. Kubrick, for instance, never made a film for children; and the film you're talking about is absolutely not for children. They had/have different aesthetic priorities. As I said in another thread, you might as well be comparing Monet with Picasso, or Bach with Liszt.

You claim there isn't any lightning-strike inspiration of the sort you just listed between director and actor(s) with Lucas and his cast -- maybe not. But there are definitely quiet synergies and careful trusts at work. You can't expect every director to work with their actors in the same way. But improv has absolutely been a part of Star Wars from the beginning. I'm sure you know that, rather famously, Threepio was going to have the voice of a used-car salesman; but Anthony Daniels so impressed Lucas that he really superceded the original idea. Unfortunately, in Lucas' case, items like that are only framed as "proof" that Lucas' ideas are inherently terrible; and a mixture of fate and the ingenuity of others saved Star Wars from being a disaster. But Kubrick? He's a genius for "inspiring" his actors. Ya...

Anyway, one of the things I love about Lucas (there are various things -- as should be increasingly evident from my posts over the years; or I hope!) is that he is a creator of art objects. Arguably, Kubrick wasn't (or not until "2001"; and maybe fitfully after that). I should work on defining this better, but, basically, think of all the art "things" in Star Wars, ranging from the Millennium Falcon, to Jar Jar, lightsabers, Grievous, Naboo, Yoda, Dagobah, the Force, podracers, "A long time ago", the "Iris Out", etc. So many "things"; including storylines and plot motifs. Star Wars is steeped in iconography; to the point where it almost seems self-generating. Lucas birthed an entire cinematic language here; all built around a single mythology (giving it a terrific sense of self-containment). Star Wars is a fully-realized art thing. Not a small or nominal achievement. "Oh, Star Wars? It's just a thing." It's the thing of things!

Well, look, I don't want to be too rude to or about Lawrence Kasdan, here. But, despite the critical and financial success of TFA, it seems he fell on his own sword; or, at least, just a little bit. Granted, he issued those remarks many years ago, during the prequel era, as it was in mid-flow (AOTC was about to come out), and his remarks are full of evident admiration for Lucas:

http://www.theforce.net/episode1/story/lawrence_kasdan_talks_george_lucas_66998.asp

But to me, the first Star Wars is the mind-blower - it's like a Van Gogh or Monet or Picasso that takes everything that came before and uses it in a new way. It was an astounding movie that really blew everyone's mind. It took genius to do that, I think. It was no accident.

Those are nice words; as was his off-script shout-out to the "monster genius" of George Lucas at that Comic Con panel last year.

But if we look at TFA, while there is some texture to the movie, and it has a few slower and more impactful scenes toward the end (Han-Kylo, the duel, Luke-Rey), some of its characters and ensuing character threads seem rather thinly drawn. Can anyone tell me what kind of character Poe has, beyond "cocky rebel Resistance pilot"? Or, for that matter, can anyone explain the bond between Poe and Finn, beyond "they were in a stressful situation so they instantly bonded and became BFF"? How many three-minute character-driven scenes are there, being honest, in TFA? I haven't really counted too many.

At least, as Kasdan says above, "it took genius" (to make Star Wars). And, if that's the case, maybe the galling lack of that genius in TFA -- the fact that genius' story treatment was scrapped and he was shut out of the production process -- suggests, without the guiding intellect of that genius, it's difficult to create "eccentricities" and "three minute scene(s) about characters", and not simply give into "fast-moving narrative" that rarely pauses for breath; narrative that is, in fact, something like a runaway freight train, with all the jumpy camera work, cutting, and cheap "upgrades" in Force awareness to match.

Maybe Star Wars, above all else, is a more fragile thing than many people will admit. Maybe, as Lucas has suggested, it does actually need a "benign dictator" -- someone with a strong, singular vision -- calling the shots. Maybe it deserved to stay autonomous; not beholden to the interests of an imposed corporate power structure or a wider fan collective. That's just some musing outloud on my part, however. I truly don't know. All I do know is, it was one thing under George Lucas, and it's now transmogrifying into something else under Disney. And the former, while an exceptionally solid foundation, in my opinion, has never been given its due.

Apologies for the lengthy ramble.

 

NO.

 

In all seriousness, Palpatine is as evil as they come. Like the galaxy's version of Satan. Anyone that is looking for a grey area is reaching more than a 2010 Halo game.

 

Yeah, he's the Voldemort of Star Wars. There is evidence to support this comparison (some examples come from Legends sources, and may not yet be canon:

1. Before their dark lording days, they were shown to be strong in their particular powers, even without training (Riddle torturing small animals, bullying other orphans; Palpatine killing his family, which, granted is Legends and not necessarily canon.)

2. Able to charm and use power of persuasion with a pleasant disposition (Riddle fooling the other teachers; Palpatine fooling the galaxy and the Jedi Order).

3. Both strike absolute fear into even their most loyal followers (Voldemort torturing, or ordering the torturing of Death Eaters; Vader's comment about Palpatine not being as forgiving as he was, and we know how "forgiving" Vader was).