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The death of Luke Skywalker
Star Wars: Episode VIII—The Last Jedi
Writer: Rian Johnson
Director: Rian Johnson
Luke Skywalker died today.
I thought I was ready for it. From the moment it was announced that new Star Wars movies and stories were on the way, I had begun to prepare myself for the proverbial passing of the torch. These adventures were going to be focused on the next generations. New names to lead us into new times. This didn’t mean that those classic characters wouldn’t have their time in the many suns of the galaxy, but I had laid down the framework for accepting the harsh reality of losing those heroes I looked up to for years and years. It made sense to me that Luke Skywalker was going to be the Obi-Wan or Yoda of this sequel trilogy and, well, we know where that led us.
So, I really thought I was ready.
For one thing, character deaths in Star Wars aren’t necessarily shocking. In an era of fandom that is now used to, and often craves, surprise deaths and big plot twists, Star Wars keeps itself grounded in the classic myth structure. Each big death serves an important purpose in keeping with the higher calling of the story. It’s a lesson on the road to enlightenment and inspiration. It’s a mentor passing away or a heroic sacrifice. It’s the villain getting their comeuppance or finding redemption. It’s not just as simple as “you see the deaths coming,” it’s more about you need them to happen.
Obi-Wan Kenobi had to die. Yoda had to die. Qui-Gon Jinn had to die. The lesson isn’t that old Jedi gotta go, it’s that the mentor role has great value and we all have to grow past them. Death is the most powerful, visceral way to make that happen. At least with the Force around, we still get to see and hear our favorite mentors. (No one IS truly gone, I suppose.) So, again, if Luke Skywalker was the Obi-Wan of this series, then it would stand to reason that he had to die. In truth, this is all easier said than done because we don’t simply watch these films, we experience them. We love these characters. We’re not watching with a checklist of story points and names to cross off, but we do understand the big, broad beats and needs of the story.
Case in point, I was ready for Han Solo’s death. When it happened, I didn’t cry, there were no tears, I just appreciated what it was and what it meant. Han Solo died doing what he always did better than smuggling: he turned back toward danger to help his friends and finally, in the end, committed to something bigger, Leia’s wish to have him bring home their son. He died for it. It was tragic and bittersweet, but Han Solo died a good guy. Not as a scoundrel on the run. So, with all that in mind, I went into The Last Jedi confident that I was ready for what would most likely come next. The death of Luke Skywalker.
Nope.
I wasn’t ready for that.
It wasn’t just that I wanted Luke Skywalker to live either. More than anything, I have to be clear to myself about that. Would I have liked it if he lived? Yes. Yes, I would have. And same with Han, Admiral Ackbar, Kanan Jarrus, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Yoda, Dax Ralter, Zev Senesca, Jyn Erso, Cassian Andor, Sy Snootles, Max Rebo (but not Droopy McCool), and Nanta the Ewok. All of them. Each and every one of them could still be alive in the Star Wars saga and I would be overjoyed. I’d be standing side by side with the “Rogue Two” Zev Senesca Fan Club, cheering and celebrating. And I can certainly understand any other fan’s desire to see Luke Skywalker survive. He was the hero for a generation and his influence was felt far beyond the walls of the story. There is something truly comforting knowing that Luke Skywalker is just around the corner. But that’s not always how it goes in the Star Wars story. There are always losses on the path to victory. That’s part of the myth being told. So, it wasn’t that I only wanted Luke Skywalker to live, it was how I wanted him to die.
I always envisioned Luke Skywalker going out in the biggest way possible, lightsaber in one hand, blaster in the other, standing on top of an X-wing—not in it, on it—as he took down two more Death Stars. Epic, grand, the dreams of a ten-year-old. His death would come at the end of a blade or in an explosion that we all watched with bittersweet dread. It would be a fitting Star Wars death as deaths in this franchise are often rather violent. You’re either cut in half, blasted into bits, or vaporized by a superweapon. Only Yoda got to experience a quiet, humble, dignified death. So, it would make sense that I would spend my years as a Star Wars fan gearing up for Luke Skywalker, Jedi Knight, to go out on his shield. However, that wasn’t Luke’s journey. He was here for something more.
In Return of the Jedi, as we say over and over again, Luke threw down his blade. (Even more thoughts on that to come.) From there, he began a quest to discover what it really meant to be a Jedi and who he really was going to be in that role. As we learned when he spoke to Del Meeko on Pillio, his philosophy centered around making the choice to be better. His choices continued to take him away from the idea of being a great warrior. Like his mentors before him, he wanted to be a great teacher, a beacon for being better. But a funny thing happened on the way to the forum—or the next superweapon, I guess—he failed. Luke Skywalker, the great legend and hero of the galaxy, failed. When Rey climbs those steps at the end of The Force Awakens, he is not Luke Skywalker so much as he is a memory of him, and it was a fascinating take on the character. He had failed and locked himself away, but the Force found him. We all wanted him to take that blade from Rey’s hand and charge down the mountain. However, he was not ready to make that choice and, more importantly, he was no longer sure that was the right choice.
Luke Skywalker’s journey in The Last Jedi is a challenging work of art. Up close and as it forms in front of you, it’s mystifying, complex, and confronts your own expectations of what being a hero is. Of what being a hero is for Luke at this point in his life. You’re focusing on each stroke of the brush, awed by some, dubious of others, and not seeing what the artist is painting. It’s when you pull back that you see that entire piece. What all of it means. Luke Skywalker had thrown down his blade and gained victory over violence by choosing peace and accepting death rather than killing his own father. Theoretically, the next time he picks up his blade, there are some good intentions in the act. He felt Ben Solo had already turned and become a sleeping dark side giant. However, Luke chooses violence in that moment and loses everything, setting the galaxy aflame. He’s not just going to pick up his weapon again. He’s going to make the choice to be better than he was before.
When you see the entire painting, you discover a vision of Luke Skywalker as he really is. He is still a legend and will always be a myth, but he is just one man, burden by his own legacy, and Luke has learned that you should never put your trust in just one person. One person is fallible, sometimes weak, and, though each and every individual is important to the cause, Luke wanted the galaxy to focus on more than just him because, at some point, he was not going to be there. Yet, he was very clearly aware of what he had become to the galaxy at large and, as he starts to recover from his malaise, the fog of failure that has him ready to throw it all away, Luke realizes what his true value is now. He is not only Rey’s mentor. In a way, he’s the galaxy’s mentor and everyone had to grow beyond him. They have to finish this journey on their own.
And that’s the final part of my own journey to accepting this end. Star Wars deaths answer to a higher calling within this tale. Luke Skywalker was the hero of many generations. He was who many looked up to and learned from. My visions of his grand departure from the story were in keeping with what I had seen before. Violent. Brutal. Traumatic. Though he was in pain, the Force projection did take every fiber of his being, and here was Luke Skywalker, our Luke Skywalker, being called home by the Force. His last act in this form was an infinitely inspiring one that kept in line with the person Luke Skywalker had decided to be all those years ago but served the purpose of the legendary figure he had become. He didn’t just stand before the First Order on Crait for the surviving Resistance to see, he stood there for all of the galaxy to see. He went out on his own terms. This truly was a death of great peace and purpose.
Luke Skywalker died today.
I wasn’t ready for it, but as I look at the entire story, I can no longer imagine it any other way.