Finding a science fiction movie in my grandpa’s VHS collection is almost impossible, so I was pleasantly surprised when I found perhaps the best film in that genre, or at least the most famous, nestled in between two tapes full of wacky-antics comedies. Tape #74: Star Wars. Actually, as it is labeled in the notecard inventory as Star War’s. One has to wonder either A. what belonged to the Wars or B. if this is a corrupt contraction for “Star War is…” as in half of some unfinished sentence. Star War is…good? Make love, not Star War. Star War. What is it good for? Absolutely nothing, say it again. I’m rambling. Sorry.

As a huge Star Wars fan, I was looking forward to writing about one of my favorite movies, especially after the letdowns that were The Three Musketeers and Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. Like sugarplums, visions of lightsabers danced in my head. Star Wars would not disappoint. The timing seemed perfect: Force Friday was just a few days ago. That’s the day all of the new merchandise for the next film, The Force Awakens, was released into stores. I know this not because I am a fanboy, but because I spent several hours tracking down a BB-8 droid toy to put on my desk at home; clearly I was not alone in this aim, as almost every single store in Joplin was sold out of my prize by 5:00 pm. But I prevailed, and this is the first and likely only time that I can say Hot Topic did me a solid. Way to go, bolt through the nose girl, who went in the back and found me one. I hope that bolt through the nose thing works out for you. I really do wish you the best.

Having successfully acquired my nerd relic, I went home to watch Grandpa Ernie’s recording of the so-called Star War’s, a perfect end to a long day of meetings and grading. On my ride home, I thought about the first time I saw the film. It wasn’t this copy. No, I’m pretty sure I saw the “original” 1977 film for the first time in theaters during the 20th anniversary Special Edition re-released in 1997. I would have been eleven, the absolute perfect age to experience the epic fantasy, and I was instantly and irrevocably obsessed. Goodbye, Power Rangers. Hello, Jedi Knights. The original trilogy was released one after the other in January, February, and March, and I spent that summer after in a Star Wars riddled stupor.

My parents were building their dream house out in the country using a whole lot of money they didn’t have, trying to give us everything we ever wanted. The IGA grocery store was a frequent stop between our temporary home that summer, a camper in Grandma and Grandpa’s backyard, and the construction site a few miles outside of town. Even though the budget was tight, if the Armstrong boys went to IGA, odds were high they would be walking out with some Star Wars comic books. Dark Empire. Tales of the Jedi. The Golden Age of the Sith. We couldn’t get enough. I have to wonder if my parents enabled us because we were reading. I hope that’s true. They were always supportive as long as they saw the merit in the endeavour, and reading was something Mom was always willing to get behind with force. (See what I did there?)

Star Wars was one of the few times my brother and I were successful at sharing a collection. We partnered up on comics and action figures. We spent a lot of money on this. Of course, now I realize the truth: our parents let us spend a lot of their money on this. Our purchases were never completely shared though; each of us knew exactly who “really” owned this or that if lines had to be drawn. It never came to that, luckily. Rather, we maintained our precious Venn Diagram: some things were definitely mine, others definitely his, and a few were basically ours. I kept my favorite characters in my room, and David’s favorites stayed in his personal carrier, a competently constructed little tool box he made for shop class. But we shared when necessary, fair halvsies.

The comic series at the center of my obsession that summer was Shadows of the Empire. As soon as I found out it was based on a novel, I begged my Mom to buy it for me. She did, and I read it cover to cover at least three times. That’s the first time I ever reread an actual book. It might actually be the first time I read a book written for adults. Or at least, by myself. M y mother would read to us almost every night before bed. I’m sure she read some nice wholesome stuff to us along the way, but all I remember is the floppy paperback collection of Edgar Allan Poe short stories that she dramatically brought to life each evening. And people used to wonder why I became an English teacher. My point is, I really loved that cheap Star Wars paperback, and I read it even though no one asked me to or gave me a grade for it. Kids will do that if they find a book they like. I sure did.

Once the house was finished and the fam moved in, one of the first things we did was celebrate my birthday in August, right as we were getting settled and school was beginning again. The only decorative feature I can recall about my room at this time is that it had one wall solely dedicated to Star Wars movie posters. They were a birthday gift, and one of my parent’s first purchases on that Internet thing everyone was talking about. My brother played football and my mom is a teacher, so my birthday often marked the beginning of silly season in our house, a time of chaos and general busy busy busyness.

The theme of that particular party was – you guessed it – Star Wars. I got gifts, as you do, among them a C-3PO carrying case for transporting action figures (don’t you dare call them toys) from place to place. Note: I don’t think they actually went anywhere. But the most memorable thing I received was a gold cardboard box, shining like wonderous treasure from the sunlight coming over the back deck (which my father fell through that summer and temporarily died from. Well, only for like a minute or two while we were digging him out of the rubble and feared the worst).

Inside that gold cardboard case was my destiny: three VHS tapes. The Classic Trilogy: Special Edition. In fullscreen. Glory? Glory! I watched the crap out of those tapes, especially Return of the Jedi, my favorite. Grandpa doesn’t have the other two Star Wars movies in his collection. Again, not a Sci-Fi guy. His loss. My brother would later go on to one-up me by getting the silver boxset in sleek 2.35:1 anamorphic widescreen, which was superior in every way imaginable. George Lucas employed some incredible cinematographers, and almost every frame in the original series (and the prequels, honestly) is iconic and elegantly cool. It didn’t take long for my prized gift to get cast by the wayside, as all of my VHS tapes would in time.

My brother is a few years older than me, so he stopped playing with the action figures before I did. This lead me to a bizarre experimental phase where I systematically dissected, cannibalized, and boiled all of our Star Wars toys to make brand new characters. My brother still hounds me about this, as if I destroyed millions of dollars worth of shared and valuable highly collectible property. I’m like dude, chill out. Let me express my creativity in whatever weird way I see fit. I’m an artist.

See, you have to boil the Star Wars figures so that the heads and limbs come off easily, without damaging the delicate moveable parts. Then, while they are still hot and malleable, you can play the old switcheroo. Put this head on that body, with these arms and those legs. Once it cools, you can repaint and let it dry before adding accessories to complete the ensemble. Then give them a name and backstory. Introduce them to the rest of their mutant family. Even though my name actually is Andy, as far as Toy Story is concerned, my family thinks I’m more of a Sid. I swear I am not a monster. I just got bored. Seriously.

I made all of my notes for this post in a Star Wars notebook that I bought on Friday too. I felt like I needed to admit that at some point before the end. Wow. Glad that weight has been lifted off me. I feel so free.

Anywho, my skills at character de- and re- construction were put to the test at the end of the First Quarter of my seventh grade Language Arts class, otherwise known as book report season. I chose to do my report over Star Wars: Shadows of the Empire, the novel I had been reading on an endless loop for months; of course, we were supposed to pick a book that we hadn’t read before. I lied. Sorry, Mrs. Jones. We are Facebook friends now, so I should probably confess it via direct message. Better late than never, right?

There was a whole list of options for how we could present our book to the class. Shadowbox? Lame! Letter to the author? Boring. Make a poster? Beyond my skill set. But then, when all hope seemed lost, I reached the most perfect option imaginable: Make a movie. My god! All of those hours watching videos with Grandpa was finally going to pay off. I could take all of that useless movie knowledge and cash it in for a B+ or maybe even (dare to dream) an A-. I was going to create a feature length adaptation of my favorite book, and it would be the biggest thing my friends and co-students had seen since Nintendo 64.

I told Grandpa Ernie after school about my glorious plan, and he immediately shot me down cold. Not because he didn’t have faith in me, but because there was no way 13 year old me was getting anywhere near his prized and polished Sony camcorder. His camera and his banjo ukelele were irreplaceable, as far as he was concerned, or at least too expensive to risk the security and wellbeing of. Luckily, Mom came through for me and borrowed the one at her school, which up until that summer had also been my school, so it was kind of my right anyways. I don’t buy that reasoning either.

What followed over the next few weeks were various attempts to make a movie, almost all of which ended in epic failure. The worst of which involved actual actors, with my bearded brother wrapped in white sheets portraying Princess Leia while his girlfriend performed the dialogue – which was supposed to be an inner-monologue – just off camera into the boom mic. This was before editing software, so everything had to be filmed in one take, chronologically. An absolute nightmare.

Once I realized that actors complicate things, I decided to go it alone, filming the entire thing stop-motion style using all of the action figures I had mutilated over the previous summer. I performed all of the voices, and carefully queued up music before hitting REC. I wrote the script on notebook paper in my class folder. The actors were frustrated by an untold number of revisions, reshoots, and ad-libs. If Dad yelled down the stairs for me to come up for dinner, I had to hit STOP and then REW back before taping over another take. But somehow we survived.

Mrs. Jones was merciful and understanding of my ambitious and obsessive desire to nail this whole movie thing, so she kept buying me days by calling other students first. See, I was the only student brave, or foolish enough, to make a movie. My presentation, the first I ever gave in my whole life, was to be the very last one of my class. I was so nervous on judgement day as I sat down in her classroom that Friday, second hour, right after Band. She pushed a TV cart in and I handed her the tape. She popped it in the VCR, and I uncomfortably explained as quickly as I could that I had made a movie. I took my seat as she hit the lights and dimmed the theater; she pressed PLAY and I heard that rolling sound of a VHS tape turning over from one white plastic reel to the other.

I spent the entire seven minutes watching the audience’s reactions. At the end, they applauded. And then they asked to watch it again. Mrs. Jones asked if she could keep the tape to show to her other classes, in exchange for extra credit. By the end of the day, everyone knew that I was a filmmaker. I got a 110% on my book report. After seventh hour, I went to collect the tape so that I could take it over to Grandma and Grandpa’s. You know, to rub it in his face.

Star Wars has always been part of who I am, and I’ve revisited them over and over again, year after year. Some movies never outlive their usefulness. Finding this tape came out of nowhere and the timing was beyond perfect, serendipitous even. I had never seen Grandpa’s copy: this VHS fullscreen, low quality picture with stereo sound recording that had no business being in his collection. The kind of version that hardcore fans have been begging for on blu-ray for years. No CG, no added scenes, no tweaking. The way it was meant to be experienced, according to the previous generation of fans.

I finally put the tape in.

Grandpa recorded over Star Wars.

I can’t even. He traded it for The Untouchables, which is what I will be reviewing next, I guess. Part of me can’t help but wonder if this is payback for making my Shadows of the Empire masterpiece without his help, and then bragging about it. Did I get what was coming to me, 15 years after the fact?



Darth Vader learned it the hard way too. Pride comes before the fall.