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“Stay On These Roads” by a-ha is featured this week. An epic theme boasting some of Morten’s best vocals ever, it begs to be the melancholic denouement of a grandiose film…I wrote “Stillborn, By Choice” five years ago. In preparation for this blog, I redrafted the narrative, tearing it down and rebuilding from the fundamentals. It was very pleasant returning to an old work of mine after so many years, stopping to wonder what thoughts floated through my head half a decade ago. What an apropos time to feature this, one of my most beloved personal stories, than here and now. I thank Flickr for its bevy of gorgeous images. Enjoy.

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Stillborn, By Choice

The frost choked his throat like a daemon snake binding a receding apple tree in the Arctic glaciers. His cheekbones scratched against his weathered skin. The lad’s lips: dry slits invisibly caressing lifeless cacti. What remained of his eyes shrank into humid wasteland –  former suns that could not breathe a wick to life.  His hair, split with cold grease at the ends, masked his pupils like a raven defending her snarling brood.

Dawn, listening in, awaited a sleepless English town of color gray. Seiiven zombied through the withering glow of the sinking city, dragging his wooden legs along the labyrinthine path of the pearly black avenues. The dazed candles blew him no warmth as he trudged along in the amber of purgatory. These ocherous tints flicked their gaze lazily at Seiiven, blinking neither comfort nor malice. The window panes, those lacking hollow pupils, that is, shut their eyes utterly, shunning him from whatever comfort they may have harbored. The decaying white doors spoke no evil. The ajar thresholds spewed a stench into the atmosphere that fazed the senses. Eyes streamed and veins gulped; all was foul, dead. In breakneck silence, forked tongues lassoed the morning paper. The Manhattan skyline’s blood bubbled down the headlines.

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The trees, yonder in the quivering horizon, gossiped despair to one another.  With his eyes darting madly from footstep to footstep, Seiiven heard their mumbles stiffen as his beaten spirit approached them. Embarrassed, the trees straightened and ogled inconspicuously as he rushed passed them. In his wake, they returned to combing their locks, their hearsay now a stabbing hiss.

Seiiven turned almost instinctively when the wind whistled what he thought was his name…

The boy continued his wayward march.

The trees loomed larger, and then dimmed. Flap-flap-flap, the wings soared overhead. An owl? Black and brazen and slurping crimson. Seiiven shivered, digging his fists deeper into his night-splattered jacket. He kept on.

He’d been trolling the town for too long, or not long enough. Eons, it seemed to this checkered vagabond. Perhaps mere minutes? God, no doubt, dusted this off His slate as insignificant seconds. Yet, the devils relished this hour of disquietude. Theirs was the influence Seiiven drank, gingerly poking him along the inkblot landscape like a child bouncing a red balloon on a listless Sunday.

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Seiiven shrank from these thoughts and pushed his hair back, unleashing his sooty eyes on the world. A disheveled bitch resolutely avoided Seiiven’s black holes, crossed the street with her tail betwixt her hind legs, and galloped back to the world Seiiven had darted away from.  In turn, he spat the rancid aftertaste life had delivered in a mouthwash bottle. His saliva cleansed the she-dog’s waste. The convolution spilled into the sewers – the underground mutants hiccuped.

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On and on Seiiven traversed hither and thither and back again, acutely aware of the darkness etching in every direction. Man’s last ace, the Moon, suffocated above him: a gibbet wringed her neck from the greater heavens. Venomous coughs from the bloated throat of the graceless orbiter singed humanity’s skin. In Seiiven’s mind, the Moon’s sole agenda for retribution was to cast an undying eve. She thrashed through the frigid shadow she descended upon Earth, struggling to free herself from the quiet Universe. The Sun, a gloom from a forgotten ice age, stared at her from a distance, both helpless and bitter. Wasn’t like this yesterday, Seiiven thought.

And from the Moon, a tear rippled through her features, distorting the realms of the gods, and she bled a little. The droplet plunked down on Siiven’s head. The trickle bushwhacked its way out of Seiiven’s hair, branding his brow with a subtle trail. It continued by splicing his eyes and then joining his lips in fiery matrimony. The taste was empty, free from being the elixir of life. Surviving his virgin lips, the droplet dropped down to the collar of his leather jacket, stumbling over the teeth of the corroding zipper. Finally, the sky’s trinket clutched the white rose pinned on Seiiven’s jacket. A synapse cracked within him.

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Yannice knew he had loved her. Seventeen winters had brought him to her, but she could never hear his plea. All those voices inside her head…He had offered her the white rose without words – and she accepted it inaudibly. That same day, the cloaked one with the hell-scythe wrapped his fingers around her mouth and slit her breath away. With her failing heartbeat, Yannice took Seiiven’s soul with her as she slipped into the murky whirlpool. Seiiven’s mind teetered on the edge of this festering flurry from Hades, a razor’s contemplation egged on by wails from the past.

He found the flower not long after her journey to the dull light, unspoiled and yearning to live. He pinned it on the right side of his dark jacket and felt it knife his chest. It now hung snugly.

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After the white rose licked that first raindrop, it summoned more from the moaning skies. Recovering from her thoughts, Seiiven got jabbed by the pelting rain. Melted glaciers with blunt edges continued to prick at Seiiven’s body, all except his chest, where he protected his silenced lover’s keepsake. An ephemeral scar of light sliced the skies asunder, blinding Seiiven. Recoiling, he could make out a far-off speck for only a moment. He winced and his heart stuttered a bit – it couldn’t have been. Twice did he blink, and he realized that he was staring at the balcony of a black cathedral.

Questioningly, he poked around for another soul, but not a single shadow offered any solace. Perhaps that dog would be back. He dearly wished it to return, dirty and deceptive though it may have been. Alas, the only thing breathing was the rose that carried him.

He was but a half-life.

The rain veiled the view of the Moon, and the twilight now enveloped Seiiven whole. Blistering were the waters that bored into his flesh – reflections of grander evils. The incessant crying of the Moon had sheathed her face, swallowing her and masking what beauty she had claimed at birth. She blew her nose and thunder clapped in Seiiven’s ears.

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Seiiven surveyed the onyx fortress. It clawed at the heavens, climber ever higher above the reach of the Moon’s heavy sobs. The blood-oak doors elongated before his disbelieving eyes, capable of fitting dozens of caskets on end. The windows, keeping vigil of the piercing blackness within, snared at him. The stairs leading up to the ominous threshold stretched for miles – every step up meant one step down. The grotesque gargoyles, fangs dripping with the unquenchable salivation of Cerberus pouncing on a thousand intruders, gnarled at Seiiven. Their purple glare gashed at shreds of his spirit – but were they moving at all? They leapfrogged one another: where once arched the griffin now heaved the sphinx; the devil and angel swapped places as well.

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With one final search for life (the Moon, she wasn’t there, either), Seiiven took in his last lungful of contaminated oxygen, coughing quickly. The rose pulled him to the presence of the foremost statues. A half-smirk flashed after a bolt of lightning, vanishing altogether after another crack. Seiiven began his torturous climb up the stair. Every step up daggered his throat, punctured his ribcage. The rain, fearing for him, desperately splashed harder and harder to knock him down, to deter him from his impossible task, but the rose did not relent. The doors were but within reach.

The precipice of a canyon, that is what Seiiven tried to reach. Though lightheaded and gnashed, he managed to scale the spirals to oblivion. Limply, he crashed into the lordly doors. Any brusquer a crash and his face would have splintered through to the other side. Soaked in his blood and rattled by the rain’s drum beat on his skull, he felt the eidolon of his rose intimate a push. “Go,” it insisted. “Go…”

The bell bellowed stories above Seiiven, but he pushed the doors open anyway.

Two steps in, the hatch behind Seiiven fastened with an unholy clang. Two marble pillars stood before him, ordinary beyond girth. His foot squeaked forth and the pillars multiplied by ten. A slight shudder caused thousands of pillars to streak down the endless hall. Daring a look back, Seiiven could not discern the entrance. Seiiven’s Adam’s apple stirred to produce sound, but no cry came out, not even a whimper. The rose now owned his voice.

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The boy inched his way through. A shriek diced through the hall, knocking Seiiven off-balance. Then came another violent yelp, and then another. Owl hoots guided him forward – or backwards, it did not matter much now. Dead weight placed themselves on his shoulders from time to time, becoming cold claws that drilled nails into his bloodstream. With every crippling stab came the sound of thirst. Someone – something – had made Seiiven its new bloody dessert.

The red stains on Seiiven’s eyes made way to his growing pupils. He saw black and endured black. He heard black and smelled black. Black had shaded in the gaps between his skin and fogged his sense of humanity. Truly, this darkness became all that he knew. And then he saw red.

A few spots of sanguine radiance splattered on the floor. Then a few more. A little ways off, it became a trail. A thickening trail. Dense, it was, and sloshing against the pillars – levees against an enraged typhoon. The windows ingested blood.

Seiiven saw it. The shadow, the real one, fleshed into being, stirred from deafly slumber. It limped a bit, a burden to itself. Gaining momentum, it began to jog – no, run, always leaving more and more blood. The apparition bobbed between pillars, weaving in and out, crisscrossing between opposite ends, zigzagging from ceiling to floor, gliding to the beat of hide-and-seek. One last stride and the phantasm careened into Seiiven’s shrinking eyes. The abomination leaped in and out of the defiant rose.

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Seiiven awoke to the void. Groggily, he looked around. Plack! Shouldn’t have let his head drop on the indifferent marble. Massaging his inflicted cranium, he checked how intact his limbs were. Sweat and rain, with a smear of desperation, splashed his white undershirt. He smelt his forefingers, reflexively retreating from the stench, hitting his head against the marble once again. His brain did not compute the pain, however: the foul substance bathing his shirt reeked of distressing memories, pestiferous like the bogs of a posthumous swamp. Seiiven rolled back the sleeves of his leather jacket up to his elbows.

Noticing the puddles of blood around him, Seiiven decided to follow the trail. As he scrambled between pillars on the floor, he tried to think back to when he collapsed. Vague images of some elusive entity igniting before him flashed before him, but the more he gleaned the details of the encounter, the less he could grasp – a wire mesh screening the specters of the past. In an instant, he recalled a slender frame atop a pedestal, beautiful but sad. Just as quickly, the mirage vanished from all existence.

Over and over did he try to solve the riddle of his noxious abyss. Coherence gave way to questions, so many questions he could not answer. Who, exactly, was he? Why could he not remember anything? Was there a reason for why he was following these markings? Was he in a hospital – what was he in for?

The light switch, Seiiven demanded. Where’s the light switch? A source of light to hover around, this is what he wished for the most. He noticed the leathery wristbands entwined around his wrists. Maybe these are my shackles, thought he, but what a terrible place to be locked in.

His knees scabbed and his palms blistered like the hands of a fat child slipping on the monkey bars over a pit of crocodiles. The smile this image brought to him quickly dissipated as Seiiven came to an abrupt stop. Something felt missing…felt missing. Body erect, he patted the length of his body: he pulled and prodded his ramshackle hair; he poked every crevice of his sweat-parched face; he reached around for miles in his breast pockets; the lint in his blue jeans did not assuage his worries either. Alas, his detrimental fear of having been thieved of a kingly element shook his body whole.

He spread his jacket’s left wing and uncovered a hidden compartment. Smuggled below his heart, Seiiven dusted off a piece of ancient parchment. The runes returned to Seiiven, yet they granted no peace of mind. He read aloud, and though his voice reverberated decibels above a screeching vulture, he could not take in what he spoke. Blind to the enunciations and deaf to the hieroglyphics: “Stay…away…never…no, never…never meant it…hello…why, hello…’tis just the beginning…only the beginning…always the beginning…of goodbyeeeee…” His spirit wearily exhaled the profoundness of the last word oozing off the sheet. Gooooodbyeeeee.

Drawing zero conclusions, Seiiven resumed his search for nothing. An omnipresent chime, ding-DONG, ding-DONG, ruptured his ears. When at last he recovered from the blow, the darkness resumed its gentle lullaby to the outside rain, which still suicide bombed against the windows, somewhere. And then Seiiven felt the presence of a new fiend: a turbulent cackle, off in the corridor before him, or right behind him, made the rounds of the vast hall, ricocheting off the posts and bouncing along every panicked hair on Seiiven’s being. With no alternative than to follow his legs, he bolted this way and that, praying that the shrill buzzing of the hall would stop, for the love of mercy, that it would stop. But with every turn struck a sharpened blade into his thinning film of wedging sanity.

It ceased. He spent a few seconds playing on his paranoia, or the rest of his living days. Time? What is time? Pushing off his struggle against the manic cackle, he turned unwillingly. Staring at Seiiven, from the corner of his twisted eyelashes, were serpentine eyes. Their exact color, ambiguous, for it shone with the luster of brilliant riches, the corrosive wont of emerald thirst, the ache of Satan’s ruby throne, and the smoldering onyx of the Beast’s staff all at once. The orbs sparked into two conflagrations that daggered Seiiven’s own eyes. In spite of the searing stare, an invisible grip transfixed Seiiven’s gaze. Broiling particles leaped onto the boy’s flesh, slowly chomping away in layers: the hairs on his arms, trimmed; skin evaporated and danced into the fires; blood gushed to the eyes, penetrating the white-hot pupils; bones disintegrated to dust, billowing to the ground.

Seiiven regained himself with a cry. He twisted and shrank and punched and rattled in place, trying to make it all go away. His body retreated within itself after he collapsed from one of his feeble attempts to be free from something that was no longer there. Perspiring profusely, he wiped his head with his bare arm, thinking his leather sleeve would be the absorbent. Seiiven spent his next few lifetimes mulling over everything that had happened since…since…No inkling did he have for his reason for being. The horror house only served as the slate for the wordless prose he had become.

Seiiven got up, one weight at a time. He looked around a bit and noticed no pillars on his left. An about-face revealed no pillars on his right, either. A row of pillars vanished with every twitch, as if an unseen lawn mole had plucked them from beneath the marble landscape. The laughter began like a busted car ignition, growling to life. It closed in on him. Slowly, slowly. There were no trees to hide behind in this game of hide-and-seek – manhunt gone awry.

Feeling every thump in his chest and every goose bump bump, Seiiven turned to run in slow motion. The serpentine eyes of old devoured him beautifully.

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Seiiven awoke flat on his back. Shadows burned overhead against burgeoning flames. Seiiven tried to shift his position, but a leather strap held him fast in place. Individual cuffs snagged his wrists and ankles. Soft humming broke into his ear, a kind of pleasant distortion, both peaceful and ominous.

“Wha-what is this?” stammered Seiiven.

“Foolish boy,” began a dense accent, “you know not what you have gotten yourself into.”

“Let-me-GO!” shouted Seiiven with gritted teeth. Struggling in his binds proved useless.

The response was none. Seiiven felt the subdued candles’ bleak light dissipate into a the low murmur around him. A hood approached him. Seiiven pored into the darkness for the glimmer of eyes. Slowly, a cadaverous hand slinked onto his forehead.

“In onore del nostro padrone scuro, cediamo questa anima alla bianchezza del sacrificio!” a dead voice chanted from beyond the robes. “Attendiamo la caduta dell’uomo, generiamo, lasciamo questo bambino produrre l’inizio del vostro dominio…”

Growling behind terror, Seiiven forced his thoughts out. “What are you doing?” The spells continued.

“What are you doing to me?” he demanded assertively.

The shadows paused for half a second before continuing their chores.

“Release me,” he said meekly. “I…I order you to release me! Now!”

“Order? You? Haha!” scoffed the voice from afar. “Not likely, boy. You’ve become much more important than you could ever comprehend. Danneteie!” the voice shrilly called out.

An incandescent knife was placed next to Seiiven’s right arm. The hood responsible for it was struck by a third shadow, who seemed to order the hood to return to its brew. Seiiven, with reflexes of an arachnid pouncing on the night’s meal, clutched the blade and slipped it away from the shadows.

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“What you fail to understand, boy,” resumed the accented voice, “is that you’ve been caught in this web for a long, very long time.”

“Time? Where – when am I?” asked Seiiven, biding his seconds.

“To you, boy, it would be AD 1987.”

1987, thought Seiiven, that was when…

“It is of no use to you where – or when – you are now, boy,” interrupted the voice. Its drawl pricked Seiiven’s neck. “Your time has always been predetermined.”

“Just tell me where I am, dammit!” barked Seiiven. The nebulous chamber hushed a bit. The low chant resumed.

A glacial breath befell Seiiven. His muscles hardened to the cold steel of the principle wraith.

“Your life, as far as you are concerned, is over. Do not search for my eyes. I do not require them in your wretched world. Dvendemesie.”

Another hood approached Seiiven’s table and started pawing for the blade. With a smarting slash, Seiiven ripped the fiend’s gut and cut across the latches that bound him. He leapt in triumph. He cut the air in front of him menacingly, warning the ghouls to keep their distance.

“Yeah, you don’t want none of this!” he bellowed, taking a swing near a hood and gesturing at the bleeding heap on the floor.

“Insolent fool! Quit this – now!” roared the tallest of the wretches, undaunted. With no feet to sustain him, he glided purposefully towards Seiiven.

Desperately, Seiiven knocked the canisters and cauldrons, smashing them on the floor. The toxins swarmed the area, uncorking poisons into the air. Hisses broke all around.

Seiiven ran. No direction gave him clear means of escape, so he ran some more. Finally, after minutes of hearing only his failing breath and his injured stride, he stumbled unto a latch on a wall. Never thinking twice about his actions, Seiiven pried open the gateway and peered outside. The rain continued in the nightfall, but a clear trail devoid of the water revealed itself to him. It was sprinkled with sweet moonlight.

Seiiven crept into the hole, and he was out. Wait – no. With half his body feeling the calming air of night, Seiiven spotted a relic on the floor a few feet away from him: the white rose. He remembered it now, and all that it meant to him. Looking around, the coast was clear. Biting his lip, he muttered, “What the hell?”

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He stopped in front of it, quixotically. The unspoiled flower slept on top of a filmy puddle of red liquid. He stooped over to retrieve it, but the crimson lake did not relent its possession. The two fought ferociously for the prize, until finally Seiiven managed to yank it from the sanguine grip. He fell dumbfounded. Admiring his trophy, Seiiven noticed that the white rose was not blemished by the crimson substance, whereas he was splashed with the

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!

The delirious laughter that knocked Seiiven out a millennium ago spun him to the wall. Reeling, he tried to find his escape hatch, but whatever salvation Providence had offered him before had all but dispelled into the ether. The revolting cackle tightened its grip on Seiiven’s mind.

Serpentine eyes crawled to Seiiven, all knowing and all hungry.

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“In onore del nostro padrone scuro, cediamo questa anima alla bianchezza del sacrificio!”

Seiiven’s birth disclosed nothing to him. Diseased, the formless shadow faced him.

“Ah, you’re awake,” the hood proclaimed, “but not for long. Yes, yes. Not for long.”

Silence.

“For you see,” the hood continued, “His forces cannot save you now.”

“His…forces?” repeated Seiiven.

“Yes. Your God cannot interfere now. His rain – His Moon – all that! Oh! So much more!” The hood procured Seiiven’s letter. “You yourself couldn’t save you. You tried with this letter. But you…you didn’t listen to your own voice. You let the ultimate sin get the better of you. Love.” The sinewy shadow spat.

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The cloak’s poison rushed to Seiiven’s head.

“And then she died.”

Seiiven vaguely remembered of whom the hood spoke of.

“And now your folly will cost you your life.”

“I…I don’t unders-s-stand -” squealed Seiiven.

“Simpleton,” remarked the shadow. “Do you think she died of some whimsical accident? Do you think her blood spilled into my goblet by mere chance?! No. But she…she was not the specimen we required. We needed a sound sacrifice…an intact, virgin if you will. Our lord…he wouldn’t like filth such as her, would he now, on this day of Man’s reckoning? Don’t act so surprised. She was never ideal. Think about it. Your hazy perception of the truth will unite us all. She, who so willingly spooked a fool into loving a wretch…she led you right to us.”

Seiiven knew nothing in his final moments. He bore his sight at the white rose, as pure as ever. Against the wall, a shadowy leviathan did the flower produce, overseeing the goings on of the ritual. The breathing dirge of the rose stretched its claws to every corner, finally gouging Seiiven’s eyes with the absolute blackness. Darkness inhaled Seiiven’s last breath. Two droplets of blood splattered on the ground. Slowly, a bloody stream from his body forked every corner of the world, destroying all the sanctity of purple pastures and white waters. The heavens, ablaze, thundered once, twice, three times immediately following Seiiven’s departure, with the third bolt of lightning rendering the bell at the top of the black cathedral forsaken.

Blood reached last of all the white rose Seiiven left behind. Upon contact, the rose withered into a frail afterlife, and slipped into the torrid flowerbed of the blazes of Earth.

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That is the name of my band. We thought about going with The Sun Never Shone On TV, but we all like living in the present, despairing in the now. Our famousest incarnation was as St. Canard — we were unstoppable. Unfortunately, dissension in the ranks — and the hate of the Red Ring of Death — had us regrouping as The Griefgod Inscrutable. To a much lesser extent, we were the one-off No Seas Maje. We were also part of the second lineup of The Strikebeards, but that one went the way of the Padron. (F your i, I’m a pretty entertaining-slash-outrageous lead singer.)

When I say “we,” I speak, of course, of my brother and me, and I, of course, speak of Rock Band Rock Band 2.

Released on Sunday, we got on that and we immediately tackled Duran Duran’s “Hungry Like The Wolf,” among others I’m sure. Then I scratched the disk the disk got scratched and I demanded the Best Buy associate for a new copy. She knew what was up, but The Sun Never Shines On TV found itself jamming to Squeeze last night. Our session came to an abrupt end when Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles came up in the form of Season 2, Episode 2. Helluva segue…

Fall is here, and after the TV lull of Summer (Mad Men, Phelps, Liukin, and Johnson notwithstanding), I am more than ready to become the braindead couch potato I was born to be. (I used to be a bed potato, but our HDTV is in the living room.) This blog will be dedicated to the wonderful programming that awaits us all in NTSC land (soon to be ATSC). For all of my international friends, I’m sorry I cannot cover the goings-on of PAL, but I’m sure you can catch Smallville sometime…

Mondays

Terminator: The Sarah Conner Chronicles (8:00, FOX)

Save the outcast boy, save the world. We all know the premise of the Terminator franchise — Austrian neo-Nazi becomes governor of a liberal state as a Republican and James Cameron gets slightly richer. The second Terminator is still a fun movie to watch, so how could a FOX serial ever live up to that? Well, instead of having Robocop from the future as the omen of cybernetic doom, you have a luscious apparatus in the form of wooden Summer Glau as Cameron (snicker, snicker), the not-quite-human piece of ass ready to kill either other Terminators or the boy who she was sent to protect (by the boy himself, in the future). Throw in a MILF, a useless savior, going-nowhere subplots, a Beverly Hills 90210 alum, and the impending Judgment Day, and you’ve got a decent sci-fier.

My main concern with this show is, what can possibly be their endgame? We know Skynet wins, so, what, the puny humans are just gonna keep pushing it back? Christian Bale trades in his cape and cowl next year for brooding freedom fighter fatigues in next year’s Terminator future perfect blockbuster, so until then, we can only hope that the robot and mom will make out in this TV show. Or that FOX won’t ax it because of its costly special effects. (There’s a liquid-cool Alex Mack Capri-Sun T-1000 on the show now!)

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The Big Bang Theory (8:00, CBS)

Ah, the comedy tailored for geeks and the people who make fun of them. For one such as me, jokes about The Flash, Halo 3, and not getting the girl are awesome (sad?) to digest, and for your everyday Other, it’s a hilarious way to see how that growing sect of people in society behave. Really, I don’t know anyone who’s not a geek. Except maybe Carol, but she’s a dork, anyway. The overarching premise of this hit show (besides Star Wars allusions) is nerdcore Leonard is trying to get with the show’s eye candy, the I’ve-wanted-her-for-years Kaley Cuoco. I can make a joke about her last name, but I’m too lost in her hips to attempt anything. So to speak.

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How I Met Your Mother (8:30, CBS)

(If you’re wondering, I manage conflicting schedules by catching repeats down the road.) How are people not watching this great little show about five New York compadres? It’s constantly on the verge of cancellation, and it’s a real pity considering the talent and creativity this gem brings every week. The cast of characters? Ted, the wistful every-buddy determined to find the love of his life — and he did (who is the titular mama?), since the show is narrated by himself 30 years into the future, as Bob Saget. (SAGET!!!!!) You have Lily and Marshall, the cutesy-awesome couple with a slanted apartment. There’s Robyn, the hott news reporter who was once a late-’80s tween pop sensation in Canada (think Canuck Debbie Gibson). Lastly, we come to awesome incarnate with NPH’s Barney, that hellacious chick-plower whose catchphrases are as a LEGENDARY as his suits. Did I mention his father may be Bob Barker? No? Well, I shouldn’t. You ought be watching, anyway.

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Heroes (9:00, NBC)

Season Two of Heroes was lackluster. I’m being generous. Peter didn’t know who he was, Hiro was in feudal Japan, Sylar was chilling with would-be immigrants, and they still gave Nikki face time. The best part of the short-lived series? Kristen Bell, the randy sexpot. It’s been over nine months since I last got to see Claire, the cheerleader that was saved for the sake of the world, and that is a crime against humanity. (I represent humanity as a whole.) This third season will get us back on track, they say, and things look promising since this story arc has been labeled “Villains.”

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Tuesdays

Fringe (9:00, FOX)

This X-Files meets LOST thriller (forged by the latter’s exec producer) only premiered last week, but it seems really promising. You have the makings of a good suspenseful show — real-world echoes, mysterious evil organization, interesting characters you hope will evolve, and the kook who played Denethor in The Lord of the Rings. Also, you got the kid from Dawson’s Creek The Mighty Ducks and Keen Eddie…Bring back Keen Eddie!

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Eli Stone (10:00, ABC)

How many prophets of God will invade TV to champion the religious right and propel Amber Tamblyn to our consciousness? Not enough! Eli Stone is such a show. I was actually really worried that they would drop the guillotine on this one. Ratings were criminally low last season, but lucky for us Eli Stone fans (all seven of us), the ABC suits adore the show, and so it stayed. (A similar sitch occurred with Gilligan’s Island — network exec’s wife liked Bonanza better, and bye-bye, Skipper.) Starring one of the droogs from Trainspotting, it is a heartwarming tale of a wealthy lawyer knocked down by a life-threatening aneurysm. Is he hallucinating or receiving divine inspiration? Whatever you may think, you cannot deny how beautiful Maggie is. Who the hell is Maggie, you ask? Only the cutest thing to hit TV since Pam Beesley!

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Wednesdays

Pushing Daisies (8:00, ABC)

I have no idea where this idyllic Tim Burton-esque dramedy left off last season. A writer’s strike will do that to one’s memory. From what I can gather, the show was never as great as its pilot, but it was still very entertaining. How can a pie maker who can bring people back from the dead (with consequences!) not be entertaining? There’s also his irrepressible love interest, Chuck, the would-be GF were it not for her one-touch-away-from-death plot twist  (bad pie maker, bad!). Cutesy Chuck’s darling outlook is almost as eye-catching as Kristin Chenoweth’s guilty performance. All in all, a winning who-dun-it caper with a charming, whimsical, rainbowy background. The fever, catch it!

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South Park (10:00, Comedy Central)

It’s South Park! Cartman will feed you your parents in a bowl! Cartman’s hand will “make out” with Ben Affleck’s pants! BUTTERS!!!!!!

In Spring, we get LOST in this timeslot, so for now, the waiting game we must play. Poor, poor Jeremy Bentham…

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Thursdays

Smallville (8:00, The CW)

Lana Lang, Lex Luthor, and Supergirl are gone. What the hell? Look how many people they’ve offed. Only THREE regulars remain. From what I can tell, this eighth season will see the rise in “friendship” between Lois Lane and Clark Kent (finally). Did I want to know that? No. You try ignoring TVGuide.com’s daily newsletters. Like termites, they is! Beyond that, same ol’, same ol’ with The Man Of Tomorrow. After so many years (I began watching it on premiere night in the 10th grade), you would think it would have lost its luster, but no, it only gets better. However, I did lose my wish to marry Chloe. Only slightly, only slightly.

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My Name Is Earl (8:00, NBC)

More often than not, I miss Earl and the gang, but when I do catch him, it’s good stuff. Except when he’s in jail. Or in a coma. Get back on track, guys. Oh, and give the Yes, Dear alums more face time. It’s what Crab Man would want.

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Kath & Kim (8:30, NBC)

It’s part of NBC’s comedy block, so I’ma catch it in spite of knowing zilch about it. The clincher? Selma Blair’s stomach.

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The Office (9:00, NBC)

Everyone watches The Office, so why delve into the nuances of TV’s most visible comedy? (Two and a Half Men is still TV’s most watched sitcom, I don’t know why…) It’s still funny, in spite of reaching LCD viewers. (Don’t know what LCD stands for? Thanks for proving my point.) In spite of cast shakeups, it’s still the same at its core: Dwight is Dwight, Michael is the boss I dearly wish I could have, and Jim is still shrugging every two minutes. Sure, Jam (Jim + Pam) have become a “couple,” ugh, as of late, forfeiting the show’s emotional core, but they’re still good. I guess…I wish they would bring back Rashida Jones. She was sex on sticks.

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30 Rock (9:30, NBC)

TV’s huzzah laffer, 30 Rock is the show you wish you could be a part of. The cast seems so cohesive, and yet so disjointed. Tina Fey is the coolest lady on TV (sorry, Ms. Arnett), and she demonstrated that she is a lot more than just one of the many Weekend Update anchors (in yo’ mouf, Norm McDonald!). How can people not be watching this celebrated nonsense? You have Alec Baldwin and his irreverent smirk; Katrina Bowden’s occasional smoldering appearances; Kenneth the slapjaw bumpkin; Jane Krakowski’s prima donna fluffiness (she was hott as Betty in the second Flintstones flick); a veritable host of cartoony guest stars; and Tracy Morgan as Tracy Jordan, the wackiest caricature on primetime since Steven Q. Urkel…maybe. Hey, he did “Werewolf Bar Mitzvah” — boys becoming men, men becoming wolves! Choke on that link alone, slapnuts.

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It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia (10:00, FX)

Without a doubt, the sunniest funniest show on TV. The premise is gold: four friends and a dysfunky father (Danny DeVito!) own a bar in the home of my Philly Cheesesteak. That’s it. That is all you need for the funniest thing since Arrested Development. In its fourth season, this politically maladjusted riot always finds a way to poke fun of the most taboo of things. Raped by a gay black man? Only in the pilot. Take advantage of pro life manifestations to get with a hott right-winger? Why not! Find a baby in the dumpster and utilize it to make big bucks? Do it! Serve high schoolers alcohol, crash their parties, and show up to their prom? I would, too! Afraid of the phrase “Jew”? I know I am — it is a hard J.

Last season’s epic epitome of awesomeness occurred when the gang made a band. Naturally, Charlie “penned” his lyrics about getting raped by Night Man. And then came New Wave-tinged “Day Man”: “Day Man, uh-ah-ahh! Fighter of the Night Man, uh-ah-ahh! Champion of the sun, uh-ah-ahh! Master of karate and friendship for everyone!” Synchronised clapping and glam-Bowie duds? Only in a show where DeVito lays your lifelong crush. If you are ready to experience sexual magic, then click on LINK and LINK.

What’s the deal with Fridays and Saturdays? You have SNL. Maybe.

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Sundays

The Simpsons (8:00, FOX)

Twenty seasons later, the yellow clan keeps on trucking (as if they would ever want to stop trucking). Will it ever find its series finale? Well, Matt Groening was thinking about adding a seventh helipad to his puppy’s house…

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King of the Hill (8:30, FOX)

So is Sunday the end of the week or the beginning? I hate Sundays. The day of foreboding…KotH has amazing longevity. I can’t figure out what’s keeping this seldom mentioned animated comedy alive, but it’s a sure bet that it’s people like me who enjoy a pleasant, under-the-radar satire. Also, there’s a half-hour wait between The Simpsons and Family Guy…

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Family Guy (9:00, FOX)

Lucky there’s a family guy — or else Seth MacFarlane wouldn’t have $100 million to spend on covering up all of the hooker deaths he’s caused. Did you know that MacFarlane (creator, voice of Peter, Brian, and Stewie) was supposed to be on one of the planes that crashed on 9/11? Pretty surreal to think that alcoholism could save a life. As for the show itself, it still gets by on zany manatee gags and references to 1980s pop culture. This season should give us the sequel to “Blue Harvest” — just think, an hourlong Empire Strikes Back parody with Ernie the Giant Chicken as Boba Fett and Ollie Williams as Lando Calrissian (“Cloud City’s pretty!”).

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American Dad (9:30, FOX)

Family Guy‘s unfunny step-brother. Oh, and there’s an effeminate alien. Voila! A nutshell!

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Entourage (10:00, HBO)

I don’t have HBO anymore, but when I do catch the Jersey boys in their fifth season OnDemand, it’s sure to be a fun ride teeming with envy and more envy. I so wish I could be those guys. You have Vince Chase, the nascent, somewhat vapid ex-Aquaman in groovy search for Hollywood immortality. He’s in bed with a different girl every night, and when it’s Mandy Moore or Carla Gugino (ahem), well, one can only take notice. His second is Erik (or E), a no-nonsense manager with a firm grasp on reality, even though he can never get his love life in check. Turtle is the crew’s driver, a Jersey boy in big clothes with questionable baggies full of fun. Johnny Drama is Vinnie’s older washed-up actor of a brother, and his antics are just awesomeness with a goatee. Lastly, you have Jeremy Piven as the riotous agent Ari Gold, the foulest mouth on TV today. When he’s not telling E to go downtown on himself, he’s chastising his whimsically gay assistant to…well, you get the idea. Entourage is not heavy on the funny, but it does bring entertainment by the assload. It’s only a plus when you see Harvey Weinstein going off about mutilating wee Erik. My wish for this season? Keep eccentric director Walsh around. He made a film that bombed at Cannes — will he kill himself? Or just Erik?

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So there you is, jerkwads and homeboys, my flimsy excuse to post images of gorgeous women tentative Fall schedule. The midseason slate should inject some fresh blood into the sked with Joss Whedon’s Dollhouse (Eliza Dushku was brewed in a sex cauldron). We also wait patiently for LOST, the greatest drama in the history of TV (after all, it gave us beachside Evangeline Lily). That show always manages to blow your mind every two seconds. I’ve literally screamed out in astonishment while watching it. Lastly, I alone shall anticipate the devilish return of Reaper, which was this close to getting the ax last season. It’s a very decent show about the nerdy boyfriend from Grounded For Life acting as Satan’s bounty hunter. Michael Ian Black as a gay demon? All bets are off!

Too bad I already featured a-ha’s “The Sun Always Shines On TV” some weeks ago…

Oh, wait! There’s always 2oo3′s “The Sun Always Shines On TV (Live)” from the live album How Can I Sleep With Your Voice In My Head! I is a genius!

How Can I Sleep With Your Voice In My Head was actually the first a-ha anything I ever purchased. 2oo3 was when I became an aficionado, so serendipitous FTWs all around. The live highlights include the “Did Anyone Approach You,” the awesomely-extended “Take On Me,” the sing-alongs in “Hunting High And Low” and “The Living Daylights,” and this little number, the live version of what is arguably a-ha’s greatest effort. “The Sun Always Shines On TV” — doesn’t get any much better than that, folks.

Well, this is some B.S. Again. The music video is online, but no embedding allowed. I mean, what the hell’s the damn point, then? Whatever, I wanted you all to experience sexual magic this awfully good musvid, so I took the liberty of uploading it myself. Go on. I even edited to my own liking (I am a professional video editor, after all*), so if you’re not even an a-ha fan (wtf), you should watch it anyway. It’s de butters. Your applause and admiration is most welcome.

*You can sample a bit of my work at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I-S-4i5aM-Y – I make a cameo somewhere, starting at the eight-minute mark!

So here it is, the live music video (that I uploaded, modified) of the song U2 ripped off. I honored it with my band name, so it must be resplendent. Greatest. Song. Evar.

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@(^.^)@
(o)(o)

So here I am, once again, once again.

What have I been doing lately? Not much beyond working and, uh, “working.” Being in a cubicle for the entirety of a waking day is a great way to discover music. In fact, I recommend LastFM.com as the best way to find exciting up-and-comers and old warhorses who deserve another once-through.

Like Pandora.com, LastFM recommends music you would like based on that garbage you consider taste, but unlike that ineffectual Spanish girl group (¡pero mira como beben los peces en el rio!), LastFM intrinsically “knows” your likes because of your irrepressible need to scrobble.

If you’re not in the know, scrobbling records every song you listen to, and if you’re as OCD as the rest of us, you will want to know that you’ve heard “Empire State Human” two more times than “Love Is A Shield” in the past year and a half. Useless? Totally. But not really.

You can judge all of my glorificent music likes at lastfm.com/user/Alfredeus — so I listen to Ray Coniff, big whoop, you wanna fight about it?

Unfortunately, unwanted side-effects tend to occur: 1) the realization that the French love their electronic music too much, 2) I do too, 3) now I have to go out there and acquire Frenchie bloops for myself, 4) my 500 GB external hard drive dies due to this exploration, 5) I require a newer, meaner iPod to house it all, 6) listen to 12% of everything inside newer, meaner iPod.

I won’t go so far as to label myself an audiophile, though. However, I do possess the misfortune of liking music whose makers aren’t on the tongues of high school statutories, so that means I will never see The Knife swing on by on some random Friday night for a cool 20 dollarazos. A shame, too — Miami is supposed to be party central!

That’s right, I think about statutory tongue. Constantly.

Constantly.

*Back to cubicle duties*

*Back from cubicle duties*

God bless the software gods and their penchant for forging an infinite number of file extensions, each one more incompatible than the last.

I was thinking that perhaps this blog could focus on the movies to look forward to this Fall season. The Summer Blockbuster Bonanza has yielded the biggest box office tally evar (in spite of Indy’s mediocrity), and this Autumn is primed to be just as bitchin’. Except it’s not.

What do we have to look forward to? A flurry of period pieces with the same cinematographer — the No Country For Old Men/There Will Be Blood effect. This isn’t a bad thing necessarily. I mean, this is the time when the big Oscar hopefuls roll out in full force and when Focus Features craps all over your popcorn. We won’t see any big “hype” films until we get closer to Christmas. Think Lord of the Rings circa 2oo8. If only…

So what big namers should we be expecting? Well, if you really, really like vampires (and happen to be a 12-year-old Fall Out Boy fan), then Twilight should be right up your alley. So, like, what the hell are you doing reading this? You’re missing The Hills, girl!

Frick. I’m missing The Hills, girl!

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I was only really looking forward to two movies this quarter of the year, and I can’t wait to see Quantum of Solace and Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.

Oh, no! Strikethrough is a prophet of doom!

The geniuses at Warner Bros. needed a tent pole Summer film next year, what with the writers’ strike earlier this year effin’ up film production, so naturally they uprooted HP from November. Son of a damn. Fiscally, it makes a lot of cents, but as a Hermione admirer, I am outraged. Outraged!

The Potter films were spaced a year and a half apart. Tradition shattered! Besides, they always feel much more like a Christmas movie than anything else. The snow, the main theme song, the invisible cloak misadventures, the New Year’s hangover and not remembering what happened in Dumbledore’s office that night or why no one will look Ron in the face anymore.

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Which leaves only Quantum of Solace as the only blockbuster to keep me warm at night. We all know that 2oo6′s Casino Royale was a spectacular movie (and an even better OO7 flick), in spite of initial James Blond reservations. The expectation to better an already terrific film was achieved with The Dark Knight — will James Bond’s first direct sequel be as equally successful? The new trailer paints a very promising picture (link). OK, it paints an AMAZING Picasso!

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Batman, Bond (it’s looking a lot like the 1960s, isn’t it?) — everyone’s a brooder these days. I want to see Inspector Gadget take this same downtrodden, real world approach. The clincher? Penny’s death.

So that’s it. Bond will face neo-S.P.E.C.T.R.E and Potter won’t discover who the Half-Blood Prince till the humidity escalates. There’s also that backwards Brad Pitt in The Curious Case of Benjamin Button to look forward to, but why go out of my way to advertise a non-franchise not worth billions?

At this juncture in the program, I would give a hearty spiel about how awesome a-ha/Savoy/Magne/Morten/Akroyd is/are/were, but I’m not gonna do that despite my moral obligation to the a-hacolytes. Don’t blame me — blame the greedy hoarders who don’t want to distribute their videos on YouTube. (Still waiting for Savoy’s “Empty Of Feeling.”)

This week’s case worsens — the video is on YouTube, but the lone uploader refuses to allow embeddedededability. They are getting off on being withholding! Off on!

So I have no choice but to stick a measly link to Magne F’s “Past Perfect Future Tense” this week. (It’s basically a PSA to encourage bettar grammers.) Ridiculous!

Sigh. Click: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D0YfwRzN9dM

Go there and heckle Lenne1373. I know I did.

F your i, I do not share the opinions of lawfirmz lolcat. Hilarious.

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This week, we close out the Scoundrel Days album with the much-lauded music video for “I’ve Been Losing You.”

That’s it. That’s all I have for this week. Not much more to say about that, no…

Today in the U.S. of A., it is Labor Day, that most treasured of holy days that unofficially bookends the summer, for it has moved on, much like Honey. Just as Memorial beach Day kicks off the beachy season, so, too, does Labor Day kick off the smell of pencil shavings, stale candy corn, and edible cornucopias.

…No one should ever have to write so much about Labor Day, least of all me. I should be eating barbecue right now, dammit! Where are the firefighters and paramedics of the world who were supposed to save me from this fate? Sleeping?! Happy Birthday to me. -_-

[EDIT: It is now the next day, and, yes, the firefighters and paramedics of the world saved me from such a fate. I also got ice cream cake to boot. Also, it turns out that I can sing The Police's "Message In A Bottle" better than Bee.]

Let’s see, how can we spruce up this blog…What’s going on in the news? I started my video-editing job two weeks ago, and my birfday was this past week. If that’s not enough, Mother Nature is pounding New Orleans right now. Also, a hurricane is passing through. Ba-ZING!!! What else, what else…Senator John McCain has chosen a Powerpuff Girl as his running mate, and I cannot wait until she remakes that schoolteacher-fantasy Van Halen music video. What was her name? Jewel? Obama the vote!

Wait, that’s not how the saying goes…Whatever, Tracey Gold will always be my first lady.

Remember, voting is not just a right, it’s a pyramid scheme. Push comes to shove, visit your local old folks’ home. They’re our most treasured bothers. So I hear. All the way from up here. My high horse’s name is Wingdangdoodle.

Things To Do:

1. Invest in retirement facilities (Baby Boomers about to go boom)
2. Haunt family in the afterlife (enjoy living without me, huh?!)
3. Jump from an airplane (slowly)
4. Make fun of someone’s toupée (according to body part)
5. Mate (furiously)
6. Learn the National Anthem (Radiohead mutter a lot)
7. Kill a large mammal (visit a Sbarro)
8. Loot (and loot good)
9. Have a street named after me (never vice-versa)
10. Stir up a mob (lynching optional)
11. Visit Europe (the Europe)
12. Have cake (defy gravity: eat it, too)
13. Own a puppy (puppies are nice)
14. Dance the Macarena in a barn on every continent (one down, six to go)
15. Kill all humans (ask good-looking girl to kill all humans with me)
16. Cease to be a misanthrope (killing all humans easier)
17. Beat Zombies Ate My Neighbors (giant babies, sleepless nights)
18. Listen to The Beatles (really listen to The Beatles, wink wink)
19. Marry for money (and the love of it)
20. Hug Oprah (inevitability’s a beach)
21. Marry Oprah (see 19 and 20)
22. Never settle (except for 21)
23. Party wit’ tha crew from Entourage (Johnny Drama’s my homie)
24. Attend movie premiere (opportunity to punch Vin Diesel rises exponentially)
25. Be James Bond (in small doses)
26. Change name to Chachi (mystique 1-UP)
27. Be a homewrecker (caught in laundry room, bonus points)
28. Buy a home (cash in on people’s current homelessness)
29. Push someone down a flight of stairs (the fatter, the funnier)
30. Hit a home run (in all sense of the phrase)
31. Do voiceover work (hentai optional)
32. Shoot a gun (with another gun)
33. Encourage people to not look up the word “hentai” on Google (link provided)
34. Coin a phrase (find someone to help coin it)
35. Have a world record (drink tears of previous record holder)
36. Master quantum physics (it’s this year’s Sudoku)
37. Solve a crime (not the ones I commit habitually)
38. Celebrate Kwanzaa (what the hell is Kwanzaa?)
39. Get a million hits on this blog (readers can’t be counted on to spread the word)
40. Write the great American novel (sell the great American movie rights)
41. Understand great religions of the world (Hinduism + Buddhism = The Human League)
42. Go to an a-ha concert (get lucky)
43. Cry in the rain (pulmonary complications pending)
44. Find a telemarketer (kill a telemarketer)
45. Encourage harmony among the races and ethnicities (even those damn Nicaraguans)
46. Come to terms with the menstrual cycle (not mine)
47. Do it in a movie theater (set it to Babe)
48. Learn to play an instrument (neither plastic nor clarinet)
49. Win an Academy Award (use it to score date with Scarlett Johansson)
50. Be lazier (render list null)

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As I said, this week we bring you a-ha’s “I’ve Been Losing You,” an accomplished rock ‘n’ rollah piece about succumbing to psychosis, killing your wife, and waxing poetic to her decomposing corpse. (It’s quasi-necrophiliac.) Truly, one of a-ha’s most brilliantly-stitched works of narrative and composition:

It wasn’t the rain that washed away
Rinsed out the colours of your eyes
Putting the gun down on the bedside table,
I must’ve realized…

It wasn’t the rain that made no difference
And I could have sworn it wasn’t me
Yet I did it all so coldly, almost slowly
Plain for all to see…

I can still hear our screams competing
You’re hissing your S’s like a snake
Now in the mirror stands half a man
I thought no one could break…

It wasn’t the rain that made no difference
…nervously drumming on: run away
But I want the guilt to get me, thoughts to wreck me –
Preying on my mind!

So please now, talk to me, tell me things I could find helpful, how can I stop now, is there nothing I can do? I have lost my way — I’ve been losing you…and my faith in this music video. What the heck happened? You were coming off an incredible run of music videos for your first album. “Take On Me”? Still a phenom to this day. “The Sun Always Shines On TV”? Achingly profound. “Train Of Thought”? Amusing in a me-too sorta way. “Hunting High And Low”? It was nominated for a the Video of the Year at the MTV VMAs!

The train of thought (/facepalm) for this video was to “showcase” our dudes as musicians who can put on a live show — they’re not just cheekbones, hair, and Duran Duran’s usurpers of Teen Beat. Well, they were, and this music video only helps to further that maligned image of the trio. Some people can get away with making an interesting music video comprised of live footage — hey, a-ha did it themselves with “The Sun Always Shines On TV (Live)” and “Did Anyone Approach You.” “Early Morning” is somewhere in between. “I’ve Been Losing You” is pukatronic. It’s not on par with “There’s Never A Forever Thing,” but it does manage to best “Move To Memphis,” and that’s a feat onto itself. *Raspberries*

As the progenitor of The Master Storyline that roars through the bloodstream of a-ha’s works (?), this music video should have been The Great Gatsby. If these misconstrued analogies don’t throw you off, then perhaps the asinine editing gimmicks will, or perhaps even the gratuitous shots of the melting groupies in the front row will have you thumping to the nauseating gyrations. F your i, I have nothing against groupies (I look forward to meeting my own in the very near future), but when one is trying to distance oneself from the *N Sync image, you don’t parade screaming girls and ripped jeans — you team up with Timbaland and break Britney Spears’ heart all over again! (Even if the former action didn’t help Duran Duran’s career any…)

So here are Nordic cheekbones and New Wave pompadours for your viewing pleasure — Top of the Pops, eat your heart out. *Goes back to Googling Scarlett*

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]]> http://alfredeus.wordpress.com/2008/09/01/votw-ii29-im-voting-for-dukakis/feed/ 1 Alfredeus http://alfredeus.wordpress.com/2008/08/18/votw-ii28-the-force-is-strong-with-this-one/ http://alfredeus.wordpress.com/2008/08/18/votw-ii28-the-force-is-strong-with-this-one/#comments Mon, 18 Aug 2008 20:20:07 +0000 Alfredeus http://alfredeus.wordpress.com/?p=195 ]]>

Greetings, exalted ones.

[EDIT: Welcome, ComputerTV fans! Make yourselves at home, comment away, bookmark this site, and get the RSS feed at http://alfredeus.wordpress.com/feed/ -- and be sure to stay tuned for the forthcoming Top Eleventy-First Beautiful Ladies of Escapism, where I shall rank all of your favorite women from Awesome to Omigod. And now, a non sequitur poll...]

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This is the blog that made the Kessel Run in less than twelve parsecs. Yeah, she’s fast enough for you, old man.

But Grand Admiral Alredeus! A parsec is a unit of distance, not time! Right you are, my young Padawans, and that is the very reason why I am star forging this ambitious post for you all. *Smiles benevolently* It is my destiny.

This weekend sees the release of Star Wars: The Clone Wars, a 3-D animated feature film that will attempt to explain what happened between Attack of the Clones and Revenge of the Sith, if not plotwise, then at least in spectacle. You might ask, “Why should I care, when the last good Star Wars movie came out in 1983?” I don’t expect you to care…No, Mr. Bond, I expect you to die!

Oops, wrong billion-dollar franchise. Regardless, I have been a Star Wars freak since the Special Edition of the original A New Hope swirled in my wide eyes in 1997 — a fifth grader converted to a new religion. I bought the original VHS trilogy quickly thereafter, and I watched them ad pukeum so much that I made my dad drive us all over town to watch Return of the Jedi‘s Special Edition many a month after its release. (Sadly, I have never watched my favorite movie of all time, The Empire Strikes Back, on the big screen.)

Of course, all hobbies come and go. By the end of middle school, I had denounced Star Wars in favor of the James Bond movies — not long after, puberty hit me like a ton of sleepless nights and I “floated away with the rest of the garbage.”

The Prequel Trilogy managed to incite the type of excitement in me that only Triumph the Insult Comic Dog could lambast. And thus, from Star Wars freak to Star Wars aficionado, I am heir to the empire.

It would be beyond ridiculous for me to attempt a comprehensive chronology of the Star Wars saga in the same vein as my Batman retrospective. Star Wars invented the concept of merchandising and expanding beyond the one medium, and the Star Wars history belongs as much to the core films as it does the toys, videogames, novels, comics, cartoons, and even Christmas ornaments (I always place Vader ominously close to the angel). For decades now, the so-called “Expanded Universe” has chronicled many a millennia before Luke Skywalker, as well as a full century after his death. Videogames, from the replayable Super Empire Strikes Back on the Super Nintendo (true story: I had the game before I ever knew what a Star War was) to the mind-blowing Knights of the Old Republic on the Xbox, have all added their gnawing dimensions to Lucas’ pocketbook. Do, or do not — there is no try.

So instead of me giving an extensive review of everything that has popped up in the world since 1977 (the 2003 Clone Wars animated series is amazing; my mom ripping up my lifesize Yoda poster was not), I am going to countdown my favorite Top 60 Star Wars characters. Daunting, I know, given that this intro already eeks beyond 500 words. Why Top 60? I’ve decided to include 10 of the Expanded Universe characters, i.e. people never seen in any of the movies. Put away that game of sabaac — let’s get our lasersword groove on!

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To better understand the time frame, here is a quick Star Wars timeline:

Episode I: The Phantom Menace (1999): Invasion of Naboo, 32 Years Before the Battle of Yavin;
Episode II: Attack of the Clones (2002): Battle of Geonosis, Start of the Clone Wars, 22 Years Before the Battle of Yavin;
Episode III: Revenge of the Sith (2005): End of the Clone Wars, Birth of the Empire, 19 Years Before the Battle of Yavin;
Episode IV: A New Hope (1977): Destruction of First Death Star at the Battle of Yavin;
Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back (1980): Battle of Hoth, 3 Years After the Battle of Yavin;
Episode VI: Return of the Jedi (1983): Destruction of Second Death Star at the Battle of Endor, 4 Years After the Battle of Yavin

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60. Chancellor Valorum

The most forgettable of characters, Valorum was the guy who stepped aside to give Palpatine (a.k.a. the Emperor) his power as the head of the Senate in Episode I: The Phantom Menace. Unwilling to resolve the Naboo-Trade Federation crisis, the good Chancellor was seen as a weak, crooked man. Lucky for us, something good came out of Valorum’s ineptitude: the Galactic Civil War! Yay!

59. Wampa

The abominable snowman’s only real purpose in Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back was to be the reason for Luke’s facelift. Before the filming of Empire, actor Mark Hamill was involved in a disfiguring car crash, resulting in the loss of his nose. Reconstructive surgery can only do so much, so the wampa’s attack in the beginning of the 1980 opus served as the in-universe reason for Luke’s change from tanned farmboy to space troll. Since ’97, debate has rattled whether it was better to not see a lot of the ice creature like in the 1980 original, or if the newly-filmed full-body shots from the Special Edition (as pictured above) carry bigger weight? I side with Lucas’ reiminagining…for now.

58. Zam Wesell

While Anakin Skywalker was creepily hitting on Padmé in Episode II: Attack of the Clones, a bounty hunter by the name of Zam Wesell made an attempt on the beautiful, albeit wooden, senator. Zam gets credit for the high-flying chase sequence in Coruscant, with Anakin and Obi-Wan Kenobi in hot pursuit. The scene establishes Obi-Wan as the nagging mentor to Anakin’s reluctant follower rather nicely; an added bonus occurs when Obi-Wan “dissuades” a substance abuser from partaking in “death sticks” at the bar. As for Zam, she is killed by her hirer, Jango Fett, and as it turns out, Zam (a she) is a changeling (an it) — a humanoid able to shift appearances (up top, from third picture of pretty woman to ugly alien on the right). You have to hand it to George Lucas and his ability to name characters — what a weasle!

57. Cliegg Lars

A poor excuse for a human being, Cliegg Lars failed utterly when he attempted to save his wife, Shmi Skywalker, from the Tusken Raiders on Tatooine in Attack of the Clones. You lost a leg, Cliegg? Cry me a river, failure! If you remember, by the time Anakin got to his mother, she was already beyond hope, causing poor Ani to slaughter the tribe of sand people (even the little ones!). If Cliegg had been a real man, he would have saved Shmi himself, and Anakin would’ve never have had to resort to his Dark Side leanings. I poo on your grave, Cliegg.

56. Lama Su

In 2OO2′s Attack of the Clones, the emotionless people of Kamino are the ones who provide the Republic with their Clone Army. Lama Su, their Prime Minister, is a striking, lean presence — he introduces detective Obi-Wan to the clones, as well as Jango Fett. It could be said that Lama Su is responsible for the clones’ mass slaughter of the Jedi. Yes, it could be said.

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55. Dexter Jettster

A jovial, portly fellow, Dex is the owner of Dex’s Diner, a dive where Obi-Wan frequents to get smashed. Obi-Wan, being the uptight twit that he is, doesn’t really know anyone of questionable inclinations, which leads him to seek out his old friend Dex, who is as much an underworld scum as Matt Lauer is. Even so, Dex tells him that the clue Obi-Wan snagged from Zam Wesell is of cloner origin, which leads the master Jedi to Kamino, all while Anakin is busy cleaning up Cliegg’s stupidity. Boy, these Attack of the Clones one-sceners can’t catch a break.

54. Porkins

Porkins! The second he signed in as Red Six in Episode IV: A New Hope, you knew he wouldn’t make it long enough to see the Death Star get blowed up. Look at him. Look-at-him! His name was Porkins! In that picture, he looks like he’s about to upchuck his footlong salami sam’ich with all the fixings. PORKINS!

53. Prince Xizor

There’s a lot you don’t know about Prince Xizor. When he gets aroused, he goes from green to red, which happened when he tried to lay Princess Leia. Also, you have no idea who he is. This is because he hails from Shadows of the Empire, the multimedia project that burst onto the scene in 1997 that told the story between The Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi. As leader of the Black Sun crime syndicate and the main antagonist of Shadows of the Empire, Xizor (she-zor) tried to get in the Emperor’s good graces by killing Luke Skywalker, simultaneously enraging his mortal enemy, Darth Vader. Alas, the reptillian prince met his end when his skyhook was destroyed by Vader’s forces, putting an end to future appearances beyond the novel, comics, toy line, and videogame he was featured in. Perhaps in another life, Xizzy.

52. Bail Organa

His royal highness of Alderaan served two very important uses: he was largely responsible for the Rebel Alliance and he adopted Padmé and Anakin’s Leia as his own in Episode III: Revenge of the Sith. Friend to the Jedi cause, he was a noble dignitary who was wary of Palpatine’s actions during the Clone Wars. Bail saved Yoda after the little guy’s explosive confrontation with Palpatine in the Senate. After that, he gave Leia a loving home on Alderaan and set into motion the Rebel Alliance she would one day lead. Jimmy Smitts did the bare minimum with the character, but so it goes with everything George Lucas directs. Organa died when Alderaan was destroyed by the Death Star. Leia, well, she hardly noticed.

51. Bria Tharen

A very obscure Expanded Universe character, Bria (such a lovely name) was Han Solo’s first love. Of course, for Han to end up with Leia, something very wrong had to happen to Bria. Well, she fell in with the wrong crowd and became a slave to the Hutts. I was fascinated by the Han Solo Trilogy of novels (even if I only read parts 2 and 3), and I was quite stricken by how Bria was taken by the “religion” the Hutts had shown her. In truth, the whole colony was being drugged out of their minds…She died securing the data of the first Death Star for the Rebels. Han Solo was given this information by Boba Fett right before he met Luke and Obi-Wan in the cantina. Allegedly.

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50. Lobot

He was a bald mute with a gizmo wrapped around his head that allowed Lando Calrissian to control him. What’s not to enjoy?

49. Nute Gunray

There’s something about this guy that is very unlikeable. No, he’s not menacing at all — he’s just an idiot. He was manipulated by Darth Sidious (Palpatine) to assault Naboo in The Phantom Menace, believing everything would be copasetic. By the end of the Prequels, Anakin Darth mauled him to a crisp. Viceroy Gunray (yeesh) might be a bad, bad stereotype, given his appearance and voice. Shame on you, Lucas. Shame!

48. Biggs Darklighter

Burt Reynold’s mustache be damned, he was Luke’s childhood friend! In a deleted scene, when Luke Skywalker went to Tosche Station to pick up some power converters (/whine), Biggs showed up to give Luke some pointers on the opposite sex. “Above everything,” Biggs said, “stay away from blood relatives.” Guess Luke wasn’t paying much attention…Biggsy met his maker on the assault of the Death Star, teaching everyone a thing or two about standing between the love found only between incestuous siblings.

47. Boss Nass

The Gungan leader from The Phantom Menace, CG-animated Boss Nass had exiled Jar Jar from his underwater domain. You can easily relate to this character. We all hate Jar Jar, too. Unfortunately, Jar Jar met Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi during his banishment, so we had to endure Binks’ existence just so Nass wouldn’t. You slobbering scum.

46. Sebulba

Sebulbie is a crazy-looking podracin’ dude with attitude that has it in for young Anakin in The Phantom Menace. Spitting out foreign rhymes like nobody’s bid’niz, Sebulba took Ani to the edge by sabotoging the kid’s podracer. I named a freaky-looking pet fish after Sebulba, true story.

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45. Mara Jade Skywalker

Mara Jade is one of the most beloved Expanded Universe characters out there. She was first the Emperor’s Right Hand — you know, the chick Palpatine turned to when he and Vader were having one of their little lovers’ quarrells. After Palpatine’s death, Mara Jade made killing Luke Skywalker an obsession, but when she couldn’t do it, she became a Jiffy Lube luber. Eventually, she joined Luke’s band of new Jedi; after that, she fell in love with Luke and bore him a son, Ben Skywalker. Alas, her fairy tale came to an abrupt end when her nephew, Jace Solo (Han and Leia’s kid), killed her after he became Darth Caedus. All of this is traced in years’ worth of reading material — I have Wookieepedia.

44. Ki-Adi-Mundi

The Prequel Trilogy’s Conehead! A master on the Jedi Council, Ki-Adi-Mundi left his most lasting imprint with audiences during the devastating Order 66 montage of Revenge of the Sith. Poor guy never knew what hit him.

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43. Jedi Offspring

#43 of our countdown is dedicated to the collective that consists of Jacen, Jaina, and Anakin Solo, as well as Ben Skywalker (images from left to right). Jacen and Jaina are the Expanded Universe twins du jour, the holy duo sprung from Han and Leia’s loins. Anakin Solo came along later on, and he was announced to be the strongest Jedi since Anakin Skywalker, his grandpapi. Later on still, Ben Skywalker (named after Obi-Wan) brought a smile to Luke and Mara Jade amidst the interminable galactic turmoil. Like their parents, the foursome would have a lasting impact on the galaxy from the very instant they were born. For example, Jacen and Jaina were hunted by the reborn Emperor (I know, I know, WTF). Anakin Solo was killed during the Yuuzhan Vong invasion, giving his life for his comrades. As for Ben, he was mentored by Jacen Solo…that is, until Jacen Solo went all Dark Side as Darth Caedus, a calamitous threat hearkening to the days of his grandfather. Ben’s sleuthing deduced that Jacen was responsible for Mara Jade’s death, much to Master Luke’s dismay. In the end, Jaina met her evil twin in combat as the only person who could stop him, ultimately killing him to assure the safety of the galaxy. Boy, imagine Thanksgiving in that family. Han, you belligerent drunk, you.

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42. Greedo

Greedo is someone you’re more familiar with, I’m sure. The Rodian was the unlucky bounty hunter who wanted to take Han to Jabba the Hutt in A New Hope. We all know what happened next, don’t we? Well, we kind of don’t — we only know what we want to happen next. In the 1977 original, Han Solo kills him cleanly; in the Special Edition, Greedo shoots first, causing an uprorious outcry from the legions of fans who think vagina is an alien goo. In the 2004 DVDs, they more or less shoot at the same time, but both warped scenes are always kinda off. Damn Lucas and his endless tinkering! HAN SHOOTS FIRST!!!

41. Rancor

Beneath Jabba the Hutt’s palace dwells a fearsome monster known as the rancor. He’s mean, he’s ugly, and he loves the taste of slave dancers. Return of the Jedi‘s rancor didn’t know what hit him — I guess he had never squared off against a Jedi with a moptop from the 1970s.

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40. Mon Mothma

“Many Bothans died to bring us this information.” In Return of the Jedi, Mon Mothma, undisputed leader of the Rebel Alliance, bled those words. Although she had the tiniest of scenes, Mothma stood for the righteousness of the Alliance, and so it was when she became the Chief of State of the New Republic after the Empire went bye-bye. A grave lady, indeed. Makes you wanna get her drunk, don’t it?

39. Nien Nunb

I think we all know what they were going for with Nien Nunb: eyeballs of awesome! I don’t know what that crazy little man was saying to Lando aboard the Millennium Falcon during their assault on the second Death Star, but it was noodles of oodles of fun. And, oh, how he laughs! Like a baby’s giggle!

38. Dash Rendar

Dash was the Han Solo stand-in during Shadows of the Empire while Solo was selfishly chilling in carbonite. What an ego. A rogue and a mercenary, Dash Rendar cruises the stars aboard his Millennium Falcon-wannabe, the Outrider (you can spot it leaving Mos Eisley in the Special Edition of A New Hope). In the Nintendo 64 Shadows of the Empire videogame, you play as Dash as he takes on a spot in Rogue Squadron’s assault against the AT-ATs in the Battle of Hoth; he also does battle against Boba Fett to pry Han away from the bounty hunter’s clutches (that fight, including the intimidating struggle against Fett’s Slave I, is one my favorite videogame moments ever); Dash even takes on the dreaded dianogas — sewer tentacled-monsters that had me jumping in fifth grade fright. Being the lazy gamer I’ve always been, I played the game on Very Easy, which ends with Luke and Leia lamenting Dash’s death right before they infiltrate Jabba’s palace. Had I been a more industrious slacker, I would have realized that Dash survives to never do anything important again. I also read the Shadows of the Empire novel, but he wasn’t as prominently badass as he was on the Nintendo 64. I mean, as Dash, I wiped the floor with wampas and IG-88. No joke!

37. Jar Jar Binks

Is Jar Jar Binks as terrible a character as everyone says he is? Yes. Is he the worst character in the history of cinema? Very likely. Is he a godawful stereotype that should have never been given animated life? Most soitenly. So why did he make the Top 40? Just to piss off a lot of fanboys. Thankfully, Lucas got the hint about how much we all detest Binks as the Prequels went on. Let us never forget that it was Binks’ idiocy that granted Palpatine emergency powers, which gave the conniving Chancellor unchecked authority over the Republic — he became the Emperor in everything but in name in Attack of the Clones. Mesa done something muy muy bombad! How did Jar Jar not die? How?! (Click HERE for Robot Chicken‘s hilarious take on Jar Jar’s fate when he meets Vader. Also, other hilarities.)

36. Salacious Crumb

He doesn’t utter a word in Return of the Jedi, but this cackling Muppet stole the show as Jabba the Hutt’s court jester. I think he deserves a buddy comedy, starring alongside Pepe the Prawn from the Muppets. When he’s not busy making love to Jabba’s tail, Salacious can be seen salaciously dealing death to C-3PO’s eye. Much to Crumb’s dismay, R2-D2 got the last laugh.

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35. Bib Fortuna

Bib Fortuna, the head-tail’d Twi’lek, was the faithful majordomo of Jabba the Hutt’s palace. Looking slimy and acting slimy (the way he caresses R2-D2…), Bib was no match for Luke’s Jedi mind trick. “He must be allowed to speak,” he whispers to his master in reference to the Jedi Knight. I can easily imagine Mr. Fortuna engaging in all sorts of seedy slave-boy activities. I’ll stop now.

34. Watto

Watto was Shmi and Anakin Skywalker’s owner in The Phantom Menace, but as far as desert slavers go, he wasn’t a terrible winged human being. Yeah, he had an atrocious accent (more racism!), but consider this: he was nowhere as gag-inducing as Jar Jar Binks. Luckily, Gollum came along in 2OO2 and wrote the book on CGI characters done masterfully.

33. Beru Lars

Aunt Beru seemed like a caring old bat in A New Hope, sympathizing with Luke’s wishes to leave the the dirt farm. In the Prequels, the pretty young thing and her husband take Luke in as their nephew. Aunt Beru will always be remembered as the lady with the blue milk.

32. Shmi Skywalker

As Anakin Skywalker’s only parent, the Virgin Mary Shmi Skywalker gave birth to the demon child who would destroy an entire galaxy. No, not Darth Vader in the Galaxy Far, Far Away — Jake Lloyd in the Milky Way! Shmi was a poised, if troubled, figure in The Phantom Menace, adding a smidgen of gravitas to a movie riddled with pink effects and cardboard one-liners. Her death at the hands of the Tusken Raiders sent Anakin on a mission for demolition. We will always remember you, allegorical slave lady.

31. Owen Lars

When Uncle Owen bought the two droids from the diminutive Jawas on that fateful Tatooine day, he never knew that it would cost him his life, nor did he suspect that it would change the course of history. Still, you can see it in his disgruntled eyes that he saw great things for his nephew — perhaps even terrible things. Before the Prequels ever came to light, it was said that Obi-Wan was Owen’s brother, and that Owen was always tiffed at the Jedi Master for imposing young Luke on him and Beru. This theory was put to rest when it was shown that Owen really was Anakin’s step-brother, making Luke a real family member. Still, Owen was always wary of Old Ben Kenobi’s presence, and he never wanted to see Luke run off with the old wizard on some damned adventure. [EDIT: I watched Attack of the Clones last night, and something struck me as curious: the Lars family once owned C-3PO, so why didn't Owen recognize the droid -- at least his name -- when Owen re-purchased him in A New Hope? The holes, they widen!] Owen and Beru’s deaths were the catalysts for Luke to follow Obi-Wan, and thus the universe at large owes a great debt to the ashen bones of Mr. and Mrs. Lars.

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30. Darth Malak

Darth Malak was an evil bastardo. 4000 years before the events of A New Hope, Malak ravaged the galaxy in a little spectacular videogame known as Knights of the Old Republic, the one game that prompted me to request an Xbox for my birthday in 2OO3. Cunning and deplorable, Darth Malak was the mastermind behind the Sith Empire’s galactic obliteration. And yet…to my recollection, after dozens of hours of RPG heaven, Malak wasn’t that big a deal to defeat. I guess my Jedi skills were complete.

29. Darth Revan

Yes, videogames are part of the Star Wars canon (official storyline), and they don’t come much more canonized than Revan. In Knights of the Old Republic, the player assumes the identity of a nameless man (or woman) with amnesia. The game introduces the idea of choosing to belong either to the Light Side or Dark Side of the Force via your actions and reactions. If you chose to pay for an item, you would lean towards the Light Side; if you chose to slaughter the merchant and steal his goods, you would be a Dark Sider, natch. I walked a fine line between benevolence and malevolence, sometimes veering to evil for comical kicks, but mostly staying true to the Light Side. As the story progresses, you become a Jedi of considerable merit — and then the I Am Your Father bomb drops: you are, in fact, Darth Revan, the war mongering Sith Lord of the Jedi Civil War, as well as the mentor who instructed the galaxy’s greatest threat, Darth Malak, the ugly fiend who betrayed Revan and left him for dead. After dozens of hours of planet-hopping RPG’ing, the revelation that you are the main antagonist throws you for a loop, making it one of the greatest twists in videogame history. As Revan, you race against time with your ragtag band of Force conjurers to stop Malak — or to claim the Star Forge (think rustic Death Star) for yourself. Darth Revan, we really never knew you.

28. Bastila Shan

You can really see how much fun I had with Knights of the Old Republic (its sequel, ehh, not so great). Bastila was the game’s femme fatale, a she-Jedi with an alluring British accent and a curvy disposition. A lot of the game is spent trying to woo her — you know, flirting, tapping, petting, lightsabering. Even though it would lower her defenses dramatically, one of my favorite things to do would be to disrobe Bastila in-battle, leaving her only with the granny panties she was born with and the yellow double-bladed lightsaber I gave her…through the in-game menu (pictured above). Storywise, she is a master of Jedi Meditation, a technique wherein she can control entire space battles through the Force, making her an asset to either of the feuding factions. She falls to the Dark Side by the end of the 60 hours, but it is her strong, loving bond for Revan that brings her back (or you could just kill her — your choice, ‘member?). Ah, Bastila, you pale, sexy Brit, you.

27. HK-47

This is the last Knights of the Old Republic character on the countdown, as well as the first droid. What makes this robot so special? Well, he’s a spunky assassin droid with an acidic attitude. Everything he retorts bleeds sarcasm, and everything he says to you is dementedly hilarious. He constantly resorts to violence, always seeing humans as a lesser form of species. Why, his favorite epithet is “meatbag”! You find him on Tatooine, and if it wasn’t for the fact that Revan owned him in a past life, HK-47 would have offed the Jedi with the quickness. A favorite amongst many, HK-47 is the lovable cold murderer you just want to huggle, meatbag.

26. Asajj Ventress

The mysterious Dark Jedi known as Asajj does not appear in any of the movies, but she is a prominent fixture of the Clone Wars animated series that aired on Cartoon Network from 2OO3 to 2OO5 betwixt Attack of the Clones and Revenge of the Sith. Asajj was one of the great reasons why that terrific micro-series was in many ways better than the Prequels; she was a furiously fast combatant, she possessed lightning-quick reflexes, and she was just a delight to watch. Hissing very few words, Asajj was the acolyte sent to destroy Anakin Skywalker (in reality, she just served as one of the many to antagonize him). During a breathless confrontation on Yavin IV, it was Asajj who gave Anakin the fashionable scar across his eye. Look for her in the new Clone Wars movie, and go get the DVDs of the 2-D cartoon, like, now. (I still don’t possess Season 3…)

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25. Wedge Antilles

What better way to kick off the Top 25 than with Wedge Antilles, the only other X-Wing pilot besides Luke Skywalker to survive the original trilogy? Wedge was always cool to watch because he always seemed in control, ready to take on the whole Empire himself. (Wedge never actually said that — Dack did, and he died in Empire.) Wedge would succeed Luke as the leader of Rogue Squadron, the starfighter elites of the Rebel Alliance. Dennis Lawson played Wedge in the movies, and a nephew of his went to see him in the theater: Ewan McGreggor, the future (past?) Obi-Wan Kenobi. Looking upon the Death Star, Wedge exclaims, “Look at the size of that thing!” That’ll do, Wedge. That’ll do.

24. Admiral Piett

Piett was not an enviable man: as the officer in charge of the Executor Super Star Destroyer, it was he whom Darth Vader turned to for explanations when things didn’t go very well. In spite of this, Piett survived long enough to appear in both Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi, a feat not accomplished by any other Imperial officer (windpipes tend to get in Vader’s way). “Don’t fail me again…Admiral,” Vader warned, and you can see Piett’s Imperial pants getting creamed just from the look of Imperial fear in his Imperial eyes. Piett was promoted from captain to admiral when Vader Force-choked Piett’s predecessor; Piett never met this fate. Instead, Darth Vader’s flagship was destroyed when it crashed into the second Death Star after an A-Wing starfighter careened into the bridge, instantly killing Piett. That will show Piett to utter “bounty hunters — we don’t need their scum” again.

23. Jango Fett

Let me start this paragraph by prefacing it with a very simple statement: I hate Jango Fett the man. Jango Fett the bounty hunter is brilliant (Image Three) — without the helmet, he is filth (Image Four). Because of the unveiling of Jango as just a guy trying to make it in a crazy galaxy, it totally ruined the mystique created by Boba Fett, his, ugh, son. Boba Fett was a lightning rod of awesome: he wore a badass costume, he had a medieval knight’s helmet, he wore slain Wookiees’ skin, he had a jetpack, the cool starcruiser Slave I, and he snagged Han Solo away. All of it, marvellous. Then, in Attack of the Clones, this all gets tossed away by Jango Fett and his cloned son, two hobos with a night job. There is no intimidation in Temuera Morrison’s delivery of the face under the helmet, nothing with a semblance of badassery. Paperweight can do more with the material! Ah, but when he dons that helmet, all bets are off. His battle in the rain against Obi-Wan Kenobi is a highlight of the second Prequel, and it kind of makes up for everything preceding that. Then he gets his head chopped off by ice-cool Mace Windu. Thank the Maker!

22. Grand Moff Tarkin

The evilest cheekbones this side of Morten Harket, Moffy is the vampirric Imperial officer that unleashed the Death Star’s devastating power on Leia’s homeworld of Alderaan. Hoth to the bone, Tarkin was a bad guy you can count on to deliver the pain. (Jango, you taking notes?) He actually held some authority over Vader, for the Dark Lord of the Sith himself didn’t get in Tarky’s way. The same could be said of Alderaan, that Earth-like planet that went kaplooey when Princess Leia was being handful. This guy was so devilish, Leia even smelled his stench when she was brought aboard the Death Star. “Evacuate!” Tarkin scoffed. “In our moment of triumph?!” He was one of the million souls Luke assassinated when the voice in his head told him to.

21. Admiral Ackbar

“IT’S A TRAP!!!” Since 1983, the fishy Rebel Alliance leader’s catchphrase has become an Internet meme, reverberated by fanboys the world over when Nintendo promises to cater to the hardcore gamer. What is so entrancing about that darling Ackbar? Is it his stilted breathing? His failure to communicate without pausing mid-sentence? Those sensuous eyes? The pouty lips? The irresistible exoskeleton? The eligible bachelor was the comically dominant leader of the Rebel assault on the second Death Store, giving his all to Lando in a witty rapport. “We won’t survive against those Star Destroyers!” Ackbar mused. “We’ll last a lot longer than we will against that Death Star!” Lando casually called. How droll.

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20. Mace Windu

Mace Windu’s violet lightsaber has the letters BMF emblazoned on the hilt. That’s what Jedi Master Windu is — one bad motherf…Mace Windu was Yoda’s go-to baldie on the Jedi Council, one swing away from being a Dark Jedi himself. When he furrows his brow, you know it’s on. In Attack of the Clones, he was part of the grand-scale Jedi battle in the stadium, where he neutralized Jango Fett’s pathetic existence once and for all. In Revenge of the Sith, he confronts Palpatine when it is apparent that he is the Sith manipulating galactic events. In spite of his badassery, Mace couldn’t foresee Anakin’s turn to the Dark Side, leading to Anakin to choose Palpatine’s salvation over his Jedi Master. In the Clone Wars cartoon, Windu is disastrous weapon of raw power, quelling entire armies with a flick of his signature-hued lasersword. “You refer to the prophecy of the one who will bring balance to the Force,” Mace asked Qui-Gon Jinn, “and you believe it’s this…boy?” Yeah, and that boy pwned your ass, Sammie. Dayum!

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19. Wicket W. Warrick

The Ewoks get a bad rap from too many people. Marshall from How I Met Your Mother thinks they’re awesome, and you should, too. Sure, it’s a little implausible that a tribe of midgets in fur could overthrow the Galactic Empire, as seen in Return of the Jedi, but contextually, they really just beat the small number of troops guarding the shield generator on the forest moon of Endor. Wicket is the most famous Ewok of all time, responsible for befriending Leia, and thus the Rebels, first. He was uppity, adorable, and as Leia put it, “jittery.” Han’s leg was even humped by this little dude, awesome, awesome. In 6th grade, I was to write about what pet I wanted for my Language Arts class. Naturally, I painted the portrait of Wicket. (When I got the year’s trophy for being the most accomplished English student in the school, my teacher told the capacity crowd during the ceremony that I would be the next George Lucas. One of these days, Georgie…) Love him, hate him, there’s no denying the raw power of Wicket’s spear. (I actually owned an Ewok action figure many years before I knew what a Star War was.) As for the stalwart dude inside the skin, Warwick Davis successfully parlayed his small role (teehee) into the most successful little person career on film. He’s been Willow and the evil Leprachaun from, um, the Leprachaun flicks, as well as magical characters in the Harry Potter and Chronicles of Narnia series. Nothing says fantasy quite like knee-high reach. Yub yub!

And just now, in our own galaxy, the USA has lost the gold medal in Women’s Gymnastics. Oh, unhappy day.

18. Darth Maul

DM has got to be one of the badassiest villains every put to celluloid. He is tangible hell, a devil with a double-bladed red saber. Not only that, he had the culazo skills to fend off both Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi simultaneously in the best sequence of the movie. What he lacked in vocal emnity, he made up for in pure demonic athleticism. A death angel with glorious Sith tattoos, Darth Sidious’ shadowy apprentice showed that evil can come in devil horns and yellow teeth, not just breathing apparatuses. The Phantom Menace‘s most heart-breaking moment came when Maul slew the fatherly Qui-Gon, throwing Obi-Wan into anguished rage. On cue, the audience applauded when Kenobi sliced the Sith’s body asunder. I’ll see you in hell, varmin!

17. Count Dooku

Darth Tyranus, a.k.a. Count Dooku, was the replacement Sith apprentice Darth Sidious (the future Emperor) took under his wing after Darth Maul became two people. Whereas Maul was just lightsaber on legs, Dooku was a poised aristocrat with Jedi insight, a true gentleman who happened to fall to the Dark Side. A fallen Jedi, Dooku orchestrated the formation of the Separatist Confederation, the rogue systems of planets that fought against the Republic for three years, from Attack of the Clones to Revenge of the Sith. Dooku was the visible decider of the Seperatists, General Grievous its war monger, and Palpatine its Dick Cheney. In spite of his hoity-toity disposition, Dooku can keep up with the best of ‘em as an expert swordsman, managing to defeat both Anakin and Obi-Wan, that is, until Yoda stepped in and pwned Dooku’s velvet arse. Like so many foolish mortals, Dooku believed that Palpatine was on his side, so it came as quite a shock when the faux-captive Palpatine ordered Anakin to lob off the Count’s head with one scissors movement. A shame, that. Veteran actor Christopher Lee, as Dooku, accomplished something no one else ever has — he has acted in three of my all-time favorite franchises: he was Francisco Scaramanga in James Bond’s The Man With The Golden Gun, he was Saruman the White in The Lord of the Rings Trilogy, and he was Darth Tyranus. What a deep-voiced baddie.

16. General Grievous

“He’s more machine now than man, twisted and evil.” Although Old Ben wasn’t referring to Grievous, he might as well have. A cyborg with the corrupt heart of a human and the skeleton of an assassin droid, the hybrid Grievous wheezed and winced into Separatist supremacy following the events of Attack of the Clones. In Revenge of the Sith, Grievous is the calculating commander behind the assault on Coruscant, and at Utapau, he faced General Kenobi in a terribly entertaining battle to the death. However, it was in the original Clone Wars animated series that General Grievous showed his mettle: as lightning-paced as Asajj Ventress and Darth Maul combined, Grievous slaughtered Jedi for keeps, always inheriting lightsabers for any of his six limbs. It’s a shame that the theatrical release didn’t showcase this version of Grievous — you could say that I was left grieving. facepalm

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15. Qui-Gon Jinn

Qui-Gon is most definitely the best aspect of The Phantom Menace, my least favorite of all six movies. He is comforting, fatherly, wise, and honorable, and he’s Liam freakin’ Neeson. That man has a lock on all things righteous on celluloid. He’s gonna play Abe Lincoln in a future Spielberg joint, for the love of Yoda. As Qui-Gon, Mr. Neeson brought world-class acting chops to a 1999 popcorn flick bereft of any gravitas. Amidst the eye-squirming special effects, Jar Jar Binks, and Jake Lloyd’s young Anakin Skywalker (*shivers in disgust*), Qui-Gon still managed to give his presence some depth.

Qui-Gon Jinn will always be responsible for introducing the world to Darth Vader. The young slave boy was just podracing along until Qui-Gon met him. The good Jedi Master presented the blond hellion to the terrible-looking Yoda puppet and his ilk and said, “This kid, he’s gonna bring balance to the Force.” The Council forbade Qui-Gon on grounds of age (pfft, Luke was so much older), and so Señor Jinn took it upon himself to teach Anakin against orders. Or at least, that’s what he intended: Darth Maul bore a red saber through the Jedi’s gut, leaving young Obi-Wan Kenobi to raise the child as a future slaughterer and impregnator.

Of course, as it is with all of the plot-carrying characters, George Lucas found a way to make even Qui-Gon a lesser version of himself. Yes…You see, Qui-Gon was the saga’s biggest proponent of, ugh, midi-chlorians. According to the deluded Jinn, midi-chlorians are metachondrial things that reside in one’s bloodstream, and the more microscopic organisms you have, the greater the chance of being a would-be Jedi. This totally demistifies the spiritual aspect of the Force; it replaces the divine connotations of the living Force with a Biology class. Totally unnecessary, and a little insulting. In The Empire Strikes Back, Yoda describes it as a supernatural phenomenon that unites all living things; to Jinn, it’s nothing more than a blood sample. Even though Anakin’s, ugh, midi-chlorian count exceeded Yoda’s, the Jedi Master saw beyond the test tube results — he knew that his ally was the Force, not some crude matter, and all signs were pointing to no with Anakin. This time, however, science beat religion. You win this time, Darwin.

Before the movie was ever released, I read the hardcover novelization (Kenobi on the cover, f your i), and as the movie started up, I knew Qui-Gon’s death was unavoidable. When it happened, my dad gave an audible yelp of dismay that echoed through the pack house. “There goes the best part of the movie…” (Obviously, reading the novel before the movie destroyed a lot of my inborn hype. After the movie came out, and I saw what I was dealt, I was a freak no more. I, 13.) I would have dearly wished for Qui-Gon to appear again, but his absence set up Obi-Wan’s inexperience in teaching such a reckless, headstrong disciple. It was said that Neeson was to film a scene for the end of Revenge of the Sith which would have reunited him with Obi-Wan as a ghost. I would have wished that dearly, too.

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14. Padmé Amidala

Without a quark of a doubt, Natalie Portman’s Padmé is the hottest thing to ever float into the Galaxy Far, Far Away. Is that why she places so far up, because of my decade-long infatuation with Natalie Portman? Well, it helps a lot. Truly, one of the drop-dead gorgeous women in Hollywood. (The geek cred just clinches it.) (Also, I only pawed at my Padmé action figure maybe twice, eighteen times.) It goes without saying that Padmé, as the highest-ranking Prequel-only person on this faves list, is a vital character within the Star Wars mythology for two very important reasons: A) she mothered Luke and Leia Skywalker, and B) her imminent death sent Anakin Skywalker into a Dark Side spiral.

In The Phantom Menace, she played the “dual” characters of handmaiden Padmé, the very pretty girl young Ani falls for (“Are you an angel?” — gag me with a saber!), and the elected Queen Amidala, the stone-faced ruler of Naboo, that idyllic planet overrun by a droid army and the Gungan species of amphibious wretchedness. Ten years transpired (during which time Anakin, Jedi Padawan, spent honing his Force skills and beating off to her picture whining), and when the pair met up again, she hadn’t aged a day, only becoming more disarming in her ripped, white combat fatigues, while Anakin became a brooding, braided lightsaber prodigy. Their adoration for one another quickly became a star-crossed love (*snicker*): she, the dignified Senator from Naboo, he, the Jedi Knight-in-waiting forbidden from carnal love (beyond the one involving Yoda behind closed doors). Aw, to hell with the Jedi Code — Padmé and Anakin become one right before the second Prequel’s closing credits.

During the course of the Clone Wars, they kept their marriage a secret, and they must have been pretty damn good at it, too, since Jedi Masters Yoda, Obi-Wan, and Windu didn’t suspect a single thing. So, how do you ruin the harmonious bond between a young couple? Get knocked up, of course! And so the rumors began: “Padmé, what a whore…a baby out of wedlock…who’s the father?…I bet it’s C-3PO…he looks like he’s packing…” Amidst the escalation of war, Anakin has bad dreams, the poor baby, wherein he foresees Padmé becoming one with the Force. In desperation, he seeks a way to keep her from dying, requiring the highest level of black magic Sith Lord discipline. As ever, Palpatine tricks an impressionable mind and claims Anakin Skywalker as his servant of evil. How does Padmé respond? “Anakin, you’re breaking my heart!”

That’s it. That’s all we get. The galaxy has been raped by the actions of Palpatine and Anakin, and all we get is tears from her heart. He killed younglings, you know! Younglings! But that’s the most prevalent problem with Padmé’s portrayal: she’s as stiff as Woody Woodpecker’s pecking tree. No emotion, no range, no nothing resembling true-to-life human emotion. You’re being wooed with magic tricks? Giggle, woman! Your husband has now become a cold-blooded murderer? Won’t somebody think of the children?! You can’t blame Natalie Portman, of course. She’s a gifted actress. All blame will always fall on director George Lucas, perhaps the richest of worst directors of all time. Yeah, he’s got imagination (if you call lifting stories from old samurai movies “imagination”), but he can’t direct for tauntaun dung. Steven Spielberg offered to direct Revenge of the Sith, and Lucas should have granted the request. (We might have even been spared Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Aww Who Cares.)

In the end, Padmé dies “of a broken heart” while giving birth to the Skywalker twins. I wanted a bit of background as to why she chose the names Luke and Leia. Her pet dogs when she was a child, maybe? A couple she met during a drunken night, which led to a very interesting motel encounter? We all get the irony in the fact that Anakin’s turn to the Dark Side killed her since his fall was done with the motive to save her. What we don’t get is why Vader sounds like a grade-A wuss when Palpatine informs him that he killed her. “NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!” he squeals. Takes you right out of the scene. This is the birth of the most fearsome villain ever, not a Steve Carrell punchline. And so you have Padmé Amidala, the beautiful mother of two who can’t act her way out of a paperbag and caused the coolest bad guy in the history of the world to turn into a pansy. Wonderful.

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13. Jabba the Hutt

If you’re a fat kid, chances are, you’re probably gonna get called Jabba the Hutt. Jabba is the poster child for obesity, reinforcing every preconceived notion that goes along with the societal deviation. When Lucas penned Return of the Jedi, he must’ve described the Hutt as “a rubber tub of lard with a gruesome tongue.” As a criminal mastermind, Jabba’s a pretty cool guy. He has a monopoly on drugs, he owns erotic dancers, he can devour entire humans, and he can have people eliminated on whim. His palace may be dingy and unsavory, but do you have a fortress? Do you have a pet rancor? Do you even have your own slave girl? Get outta here with all that jive, sucka.

Han Solo was his best smuggler. You need drugs to go from Point A to Point B? Bam, you turn to Han. Unfortunately, during one of Han’s infamous Kessel exploits, Captain Solo was forced to jettison Jabba’s cargo when he was boarded by Imperials for inspection. I read the novel in which this occurred — Jabba’s reaction wasn’t pretty. And so Jabba put a price on Han’s head, as illustrated by Greedo’s death. In A New Hope‘s Special Edition, Han promised Jabba a large sum of credits to pay him back, but as we saw, Luke’s idealism and Leia’s legs derailed Han’s mission. Even though Han comes off as a prick in the first movie, you have to understand that the scourge of the galaxy are out to put a laser bolt through his skull.

However, three years pass, and by the Battle of Hoth in The Empire Strikes Back, Han is desperate to pay Jabba back, citing a bounty hunter he confronted on Ord Mantell (it was the nefarious 1G-88, a formidable assassin droid one faces in Shadows of the Empire). Of course, Imperial entanglements ensue, and before you know it, Lando Calrissian betrays Han. Solo is frozen in carbonite and given to Boba Fett, his longtime arch rival. By Return of the Jedi, Han Solo becomes Jabba’s wall fixture. That is the power of the Hutt — he can either eat you whole or hang you as decor. Yeah, his empire crumbled when his hubris got the best of him. He should have taken Luke’s deal. “Last mistake you’ll ever make,” chided Skywalker. No, Jabba’s last mistake was giving a chain to slave-girl Leia. His loss, our gain.

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12. Boba Fett

Boba Fett has but a handful of sentences in the Classic Trilogy. “As you wish.” “He’s no good to me dead.” “What if he doesn’t survive? He’s worth a lot to me.” “Put Captain Solo in the cargo hold.” “What the — ?!” That’s it. Thirty words in an entire trilogy, including the girlish swan song yelp before the Sarlaac gobbles him up. So why is Boba Fett so fascinating?

You gotta give it to the armor. It’s the textbook definition of cool. He’s got gadgets, gizmos, guns, and a jetpack. He is a faceless bounty hunter, a cold serious warrior with a sweet ride aptly named Slave I. Han Solo (the roguish grin with hair) fears him and Darth Vader respects him (they even dueled, and Boba kept his own with a saber). He is Jabba’s main guy for all things honorably underhanded. He’s a cunning analyst, as shown when he was the only one to figure out Han’s ploy to hide among the Star Destroyer’s refuse in Empire Strikes Back. Every time he walks, the chilling sound of spurs ricochets — an outlaw with a six-shooter. He is of Mandalorian descent, an ancient warring people that only knew how to ravage hard and harder. His emblem reeks of noble malice. Those braids he carries? Wookiee hide proudly brandishing past victories. His only real score subtraction comes with the way he was put to rest: Han turns around with a staff, accidentally igniting the jetpack. Boba Fett hurls into the Sarlaac Pit, a lackluster demise if ever there was one. But who cares? The fans loved him, the Expanded Universe adored him. (Naturally, he survives Return of the Jedi, hell-bent on revenge.)

So what the Force happened in Attack of the Clones?! Let me be glib…First mistake: giving him the face of Atreyu from The NeverEnding Story II. Jeez, what a detestable little kid. His interaction with Papa Jango sounded like Styrofoam having sex with an alley cat. Young “Boba” completely obliterates the mystique, making him little more than an orphaned clone with no sense of fashion. Every time I see Daniel Logan’s stanky face on the screen, I just want to pummel the TV. So infuriating. There’s talk of making him the star of the future Star Wars live-action series, set between Revenge of the Sith and A New Hope. That is grade-A horse shoestain! The Fett-man should be left alone! If not, bring him back as the wordless badass who has no face. Speaking of which, in the Classic Trilogy DVD, Lucas has replaced the original Boba voice with that of the actor who played Jango Fett. Logically speaking, since Boba is a clone, he should have his father’s voice. Well, that’s just stupid. The original Boba voice is steely and focused; the new voice is flat and empty, recorded between bagel bites.

And such is the torn legacy of Boba Fett, the galaxy’s most famous bounty hunter reduced to Jake Lloyd territory. The curse of Vader, as it were. Had it not been for the Prequel retcon, Boba Fett might have fared better on this countdown. He was always a top five favorite. Was. In the novels, he resurfaces time and again, sometimes as an adversary, sometimes as an ally. (He even trained Jaina Solo. I know!) But the imprint of young Boba, well…he’s good to me dead.

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11. Chewbacca

Chewie is one helluva Wookiee. Imposing and furry, this half-ape, half-Big Foot, half-walking carpet gargles every lovable stream of nonsense, instantly becoming one of the most memorable big lugs of cinema. (Not so lovable? People trying to imitate his speech pattern.) Co-pilot of the Millennium Falcon, Chewbacca was handy with a bowcaster and with a screwdriver, but most importantly, he was Han Solo’s best friend.

In Revenge of the Sith, Chewie is given a glorified cameo as Yoda’s trusted Wookiee friend (it really does warm your circuits to see them together during the Battle of Kashyyyk and the inititation of Order 66), but he’s best known as Captain Solo’s second. Han Solo had a rising career in the Empire (no, really), but he gave that up when he risked his neck to save a mistreated Wookiee named Chewbacca, whose people was put to slavery because of their brute strength. Han Solo was kicked out of the Imperial Academy, and although he lost the opportunity of having a brilliant (albeit corrupt) career, he gained a best friend in Chewie, who swore a life debt to the young Solo. A life debt is the most honorable of vows a Wookiee could make; basically, it means that they swear to be with the person who did right by them to the end, through thick and thin. Chewie appointed himself Han’s brother, even if Solo did shirk him away in the beginning.

In the Classic Trilogy, Chewie is Han’s foil, of course, being a comical distraction whenever Han made things too heavy. Chewie was also pretty well-fleshed for a guy who didn’t speak Basic: he was scared of the dianoga, he was torn by Han’s absence in Hoth’s snowstorm, he was enraged by Han’s carbonite prison, and he always managed a good chuckle. “Laugh it up, fuzzball,” Han seethed. He’s also very loyal to his other friends, being much more outwardly caring than Han. He hugs Luke, fixes a discombobulated C-3PO, and promises to take care of Leia during the Han’s carbonite solstice. Beyond the movies, Han was also a caregiver to the Solo kids, becoming a doting ball of fierce fur. Chewbacca also had a wife and kid. No, it’s true. In 1978, the world-infamous Star Wars Holiday Special aired on TV, featuring the original cast singing space carols in a ’70s cliche variety-style show. The backdrop was Chewie going home for the holidays, and so we meet Mallatobuck, his baby mama, and Lumpawarro, the lumpy chip off the old block. Yes, this all happened, and you can easily find it online. George Lucas has sworn to burn every copy of that TV atrocity…(Hey, it did give the world their first glimpse of Boba Fett. And Chewie’s snowball papi.)

As for Chewbacca, he died a hero’s death many years after the Battle of Endor (pictured above, in flames), driving Han to alcohol and mean drunkeness. But the Chewbacca we all love, he is still with us, making us laugh and feel good about the movies we’ve come to see as the mirror of our lives. Or something. Favorite Han quote to Chewie: “Get in there! Get in there! I don’t care what you smell!” Genius.

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10. Lando Calrissian

“Lando? Lando System?” “Lando’s not a system, he’s a man. Lando Calrissian. He’s a card player, gambler, scoundrel. You’d like him.” “Nice.” The little exchange between Princess Leia and Han Solo dutifully sets up the introduction of the saga’s suavest bar of chocolate. After the first Star Wars was whiter than a Stormtrooper’s armor, George Lucas hustled the ladies’ man of the ’70s, Billy Dee Williams, to be the traitorous administrator of the city among the clouds.

Like Han’s pursuit of monies in the first film, Lando had no other choice in his ultimatum. He gave up the Rebels aboard the Millennium Falcon — after Han vouched for him — for the greater good of Cloud City. Of course, any deal with a Sith always goes awry, so by the end of the transaction, Darth Vader encased Han in carbonite, handed him over to Boba Fett, and ordered Leia and Chewie to be brought aboard his Super Star Destroyer. So after the betrayal (and after Chewie almost ruptured his windpipe), Lando did good by the Rebels in lending them a hand. After all, he was the Millennium Falcon‘s previous owner (irrate, he was, when he lost it to Han in a high-stakes game of sabaac), so he was perfectly qualified to infiltrate Jabba’s palace to save his old buddy. Or something…Once upon a time, Boba Fett drugged a cornered Solo in Nar Shaddaa, but he was saved when Lando put a blaster to the bounty hunter’s back, then drugged him. From there on out, Lando and Han became the Bennifer or Brangelina of the galaxy — Hando. (That moment also begot the Solo-Fett feud…)

In Return of the Jedi, Lando Griffin General Calrissian was deep within the walls of Jabba’s palace, ready to spring to action on Luke Skywalker’s words. In truth, Lando didn’t do very much — he just sorta shouted at the blind Han to not shoot him while the Sarlaac grabbed a hold of Lando’s leg. No matter, the good general had the Battle of Endor to prove himself to the Alliance. As head of the assault, it was Lando’s job to destroy the second Death Star, something that isn’t entirely impressive since Luke had done it four years earlier and with greater inexperience and fanfare. Still, Lando made good use of the Rebel fleet (go Ackbar!). His accomplishments as a Rebel leader won’t be the thing people remember the most about him, nor will it be the odd way he pronounces his own surname — it will be that grin that macked it to Leia so gallantly in front of Han.

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9. C-3PO

Threepio is a character. A know-it-all scaredy cat, this protocol droid always brings teh funnie. Known for his hush-hush “partnership” with Artoo, Threepio says what the audience is thinking. “You want to go where?” Only a few were born to be Jedi; the rest tend to be C-3PO.

C-3PO began life on Tatooine, the hobbie of a kid with an incredible knack for building things and the even more incredible knack for annoying the living hell out of the world at large. The naked Threepio of The Phantom Menace left very little an imprint beyond his bare chasis. In Attack of the Clones, he rejoins his booty partner, R2-D2, at which point he is introduced to the high-flying adventures he will suffer through for an eternity. Just as he is prone to do, Threepio becomes an easy target, losing his head, literally, which ends up atop a battle droid. As a killer robot, he is determined to eliminate the Jedi scum. After he bears witness to Anakin and Padmé’s unholy union, he doesn’t do much beyond give it to Padmé, yeah, give it to Padmé good. Don’t believe me? Take a gander to the right at the infamous Threepio image that Lucas himself released.

C-3PO’s memory gets wiped at the end of Revenge of the Sith, leaving him with no memory of his servitude to Padmé, Obi-Wan, or his fallen assembler, Anakin. (Kinda makes you ponder about Threepio’s exclamation of “Thank the Maker!”) After that, he went through a series of owners, some more into robot S&M than others (like Jabba the Hutt). He and R2-D2 starred in the 1980s toon series Droids, which is of no real consequence. (Ewoks was another ’80s toon that bounced for a bit, too. There were also a couple of spin-off Ewok movies, but why bother…)

Eventually, C-3PO gets the first uttered words in A New Hope, expressing his cowardice, what else? In this film in particular, Threepio acts as Artoo’s babysitter, often squabbling with the astromech droid. When Uncle Owen purchases C-3PO and R5-D4 (the trilogy’s true sacrificial hero), C-3PO sticks his neck out and vouches for R2-D2. He was repayed in kind when Artoo ran off to find Obi-Wan Kenobi, who might be related to Old Ben Kenobi, as Luke stupidly suggests. And so occurs the first theatrical Threepio embarrassment: discombobulation at the hands of the Tusken Raiders.

He was similarly blown to pieces by Stormtroopers on Cloud City, leaving Chewbacca with the task of putting Humpty Dumpty back together again. Threepio is none too pleased with the mop head, for Chewie places Threepio’s head backwards. Then the poor guy had to suffer the indignity of being carried like a backpack by the Wookiee. When would his misfortunes end? Return of the Jedi, friends, since he was elevated to the role of god. Yes, god. To the Ewoks, the shiny golden man is a deity, going so far as to say, “That guy’s wise.” Even though impersonating a divine power is against C-3PO’s programming, he managed to float in the air to pursuade the teeny bears to release the captive Rebels, as if by magic the Force. C-3PO’s supernatural influence (and his talent for storytelling) cost the lives of many blood-hungry Ewoks in the Battle of Endor.

C-3PO is half of the galaxy’s most famous comedy duo, like Abbot and Costello, or Ryan Seacrest and Brian Dunkleman. With Artoo, the chuckles never end, but even by his lonesome, the self-righteous, British-toned droid brings the funny. (Anthony Daniels, Threepio’s actor, will be the only Thespian ever to appear in every Star Wars film, including this weekend’s The Clone Wars.) His fidgety style of comedy is most apparent in The Empire Strikes Back, getting on Han Solo’s nerves by spouting know-it-all facts about the Millennium Falcon, citing perilous statistics (“The odds of successfully navigating an asteroid field is 3720 to 1!” “Never tell me the odds!”), and c-blocking the ribald cap’n while he tries to put the moves on the princess. Such is the storied android life of C-3PO — annoying when you don’t need him, invaluable when he thinks you’re being crushed to death in a trash compactor. “Shut him up or shut him down!” How rude.

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8. R2-D2

Artoo is the bleepity-bloopity observer of the entire saga, alfredeus ex machina on wheels. He was there from The Phantom Menace to Return of the Jedi and beyond. Unlike C-3PO, R2-D2 never gets his memory wiped, leaving one to wonder what exactly is going on in that dome of his…

Artoo’s heroics are enough to put any famed Jedi to shame. Audiences first noticed that they were looking at a special little guy when the princess fidgeted with a futurist’s floppy disk while the Tantive IV was taken over by Imperials in A New Hope. Artoo’s mission was to find Obi-Wan Kenobi on Tatooine, whom Luke Skywalker figured was Old Ben Kenobi’s distant cousin, the jackass. Incorrigible to the end, Artoo runs off and finds Kenobi, silmutaneously beginning the adventure and luring Luke away from death at the hands of Stormtroopers. Throughout the rest of the trilogy, Artoo saves the day simply by being the brains of Luke’s X-Wing fighter and by inserting his shiny penis into wall sockets. Hey, it’s how droids get theirs. (Refer to C-3PO’s picture for more details on the filthy Lucas mind.)

In the Prequel Trilogy, Artoo played just an important a role, often saving ships and individuals with the flick of his appendages, as well as serving Anakin’s starfighter the same way he served Luke’s X-Wing. It is in the Prequel Trilogy, however, that the role of R2-D2, the silent god, comes into play. He watched Anakin grow from a young little pain to a brooding Jedi pain. R2-D2 was the astromech droid that flew with Anakin in the Clone Wars, so he knew very well what he was capable of. Artoo even witnessed Order 66, as well as Anakin’s mutation into Dark Lord of the Sith. This, all this, did he keep to himself when he joined the Rebel Alliance. Is there a little irony in that Darth Vader’s squadron severely damaged little Artoo during the Battle of Yavin — the same dude Artoo served for so many years? Maybe. But perhaps the selfish little droid was too busy admiring his own sheen during the medal ceremony of A New Hope to tell anyone that, hey, Darth Vader is Luke Skywalker’s father.

I posit this theory here and now: R2-D2 doesn’t give a damn. He’s only in it for the reward, the adulation that comes with activating the hyperdrive on the Millennium Falcon. In the cybernetic eye of the droid, nothing else really matters. C-3PO begs R2-D2 to patch him up — oh, how Artoo does love the attention. The details? They are of no use to the kinky bastard. The one gripe this glory hog has to live with? He doesn’t taste very good.

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7. Princess Leia

“Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope.” Such is the way that Princess Leia Organa Solo came to be the most drooled-over eminence in the history of geekdom. She was so nice to look at, in fact, that her own twin brother fought an entire small moon just to touch her a little.

Leia has balls. Not just testicular fortitude, but balls of dough atop her head, making for a memorable hairstyle that no one really wanted to replicate, in spite of George Lucas’ trendsetting cred. (He also thought that Queen Amidala’s lipstick down the lower lip would catch on with girls, as well as the rat tail braid of Jedi Padawans.) Her one-of-a-kind ‘do reflects her personality almost dutifully: she is spunky, self-empowering, and she takes no B.S. from nobody, honey. Yes, that is exactly what the cinnamon bun hair says.

She was no damsel in distress, despite her lack of bra. She was resilient to both Papa Vader’s “forceful” interrogation (it involved a lot of bad daughter spanking) and Grand Moff Tarkin’s halitosis symbiosis. As a result, Leia watched her home planet of Alderaan get blown to smithereens. But did this put a damper on her day? Of course not! She was looking forward to a nap! Who the hell cares about your loved ones and everything you’ve ever known when a pirate and your long lost brother are vying for your body? Sarcastic and rude, she was the type of lady any self-hating boy could fall in love with. (The first image of Leia in this here spiel is from The Courtship of Princess Leia, perhaps the best Star Wars novel I’ve read. It’s where she and Han get married after he beats her, psst, pass it on.)

In The Empire Strikes Back, she was even colder as she fended off Han Solo’s come-ons. Outraged by his gall, Leia locked lips with Luke as Chewbacca felt something within him stir. I can only imagine that Luke was getting frequent wet dreams for at least a year after that…Leia finally accepted her feelings for Han. She tore down the Hoth-frigid wall she always kept up, but by then, we had lost the Leia we had come to admire. She became affectionate and caring, but who wants that? I want her to insult Chewie, mock Han, and be incestuous with her blood kin. (Re: Vader.)

Princess of a dead planet Leia had to put her love on hold when Han was frozen, giving Luke ample time to get jiggy with his sis. This was never shown in Shadows of the Empire, but it’s very possible, mostly in my mind. Dressed as the bounty hunter Boussh, Leia brought Chewbacca in for reward to Jabba the Hutt, threatening the Hutt’s palace with the dreaded thermal detonator. (It’s a hit at parties.) She freed Han from hibernation, but it was up to her twin to save them all. How typical. Han spends the rest of the Battle of Endor trying to make sense of Luke and Leia’s relationship (a year in carbonite is plenty of time, you know).

Luke reveals to Leia that they are twins, and that Vader is their father. Well, knock her over with a feather, why don’tcha! Leia claims to remember her mother, her real mother. This is surprising in that they were together for, oh, seven whole seconds. Must be Force Recollection or something. By the end of the Battle of Endor, Han gives Leia a free pass to stay with Luke. Boy, was he surprised (and perhaps a little disturbed) when she told him they were siblings. I’m sure they had sex that very moment as the Ewoks watched and danced and yub-yubbed. Spunky, militant, and just a tad freaky, Princess Leia is the queen of all of our hearts…

…wait, I didn’t even mention Leia in slave outfit?! Blasphemy! It’s not like I owned the action figure in question.

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6. Emperor Palpatine

The smartest man in the galaxy? In all likelihood, yes. Emperor Palpatine is the very definition of evil incarnate. There is no other way to put it. But how did he come to rule an entire galaxy? More importantly, how the hell did every step George Lucas laid out for him actually make sense?

It is in the Prequel Trilogy that Palpatine shines brilliantly — in the Classic Trilogy, he is more of an absolute ruler playing with Legos. In The Phantom Menace, he is the honorable senator from Naboo seemingly concerned for the welfare of his people, but behind the scenes, he is Darth Sidious, Dark Lord of the Sith, and minipulator of galactic events. By moving the pieces of the Trade Federation army into Queen Amidala’s territory, he made her desperate for resolution. However, Senator Palpatine said he would be of little help in the Galactic Republic because of the beureucrats’ stronghold on Chancellor Valorum. By planting the seed of no confidence in the Padmé’s head, Palpatine managed to sway enough sympathies to gain him the seat of Chancellor.

By Attack of the Clones, the Republic was on the verge of open war against the Confederation of Separatist Planets, which, of course, Darth Sidious was manipulating. When the Clone Wars broke, Jar Jar Binks, of all people, opened the door to give Chancellor Palpatine limitless powers due to the crisis. And thus Palpatine played both warring parties for fools.

All was revealed in Revenge of the Sith. General Grievous “kidnapped” Palpatine, and during the ensuing rescue, Palpatine pursuaded Anakin Skywalker to destroy Count Dooku, Darth Sidious’ apprentice. The betrayal gave Anakin a taste of the Dark Side, even though he lamented his actions. And thus came to light the most ingenious aspect of Palpatine’s grand scheme: the rise of Darth Vader. When Anakin came to Palpatine in his most desperate hour (Ani saw Palps as a father figure), Palpatine related that there was a way to manipulate the Force to spring life from nothing — truly, a divine birth. Even though it was never explicitly stated, one can only deduce that Anakin Skywalker, having no father, was born through the manipulation of the Force by Darth Plagueis the Wise (Palpatine’s mentor), who, you can say, was the man who fathered Skywalker.

So at last Anakin Skywalker figured out that Chancellor Palpatine was Darth Sidious, Dark Lord of the Sith. When a group of Jedi, led by Mace Windu, came to apprehend him, Palpatine put on a brilliant show, but was eventually subdued by Windu. And here comes the great fall: Palpatine promised to help Anakin save Padmé from death, and so it happened that Skywalker helped the Dark Lord kill Master Windu. The slide to the Dark Side was complete. Palpatine branded Skywalker with his new name: Darth Vader.

Then came the Great Jedi Purge. All along, Palpatine was responsible for the Clone Army, so he finally put them in his employ: Order 66. Immediately, Jedi across the galaxy were slain by their clonetrooper squads, instantly decimating the Jedi Order. Only a couple were left: Obi-Wan Kenobi and Yoda. Palpatine battled Yoda in a hellacious confrontation in the Senate building while Anakin dueled against his Jedi Master. Spectacular, and nothing short of it.

And so Palpatine elevated himself to Emperor of the newly-minted Galactic Empire. He oversaw the creation of the Death Star and his star pupil, Darth Vader, who had an unfortunate run-in with molten lava. Still, this allowed Vader to forget his humanity, becoming the black emblem of devastation Palpatine’s Empire required. And then Palpatine set his sights on another Skywalker — Luke. The Emperor wanted the son of Skywalker for his own, and he instructed Vader to fetch him. Palpatine always replaced his dark pupils with the latest model, and Vader was yesterday’s tinker toy compared to fresh-faced Luke. What he didn’t count on, however, was Vader’s sliver of humanity: Vader, upon witnessing the assured death of his son at the hands of the Emperor’s signature Force Lightning, betrayed his Sith master and killed him in his last few moments of breath.

As you can see, Palpatine is an extraordinarily brilliant, irredeemable force. He bent the will of the Force to his machinations, leaving an entire galaxy crippled in his wake. History’s greatest minds have also been its most dangerous, and this is no exception with Palpatine. Watching him in The Phantom Menace, one almost laughs at his acting as the hypocrite senator, knowing full well the calamitous repurcussions he will incur on every living soul. Bravo, Mr. Lucas, bravo. If for nothing else, then for the Emprer’s exquisite voice. “Now, young Skywalker…you will die.” We are in your debt, Ian McDiarmid.

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5. Obi-Wan Kenobi

Obi-Wan is a lot of people’s favorite character from the Prequel Trilogy — he’s probably mine, as well. He’s not a very dynamic character, no, and he rarely ventures beyond his status as the resident good guy trying to good. But that is his appeal — through the hardest of hardships, he is the idealist that keeps the faith for everyone, if not for himself, then for those around him.

In the Classic Trilogy, Old Ben Kenobi is the Joseph Campbell sage, the wizard who will guide the wide-eyed youth through his trials, even beyond death. Kenobi, touchfully played by Sir Alec Guinness, introduces the world to the Jedi Knight, the lightsaber, and the Force. With hesitation, he also conceals Darth Vader’s true identity to Luke. Princess Leia’s distress call is utilized as a guise to teach Luke about the ways of the Force, but his second battle with his old apprentice, Darth Vader, put an end to the training. Kenobi allows himself to be killed by Vader to become one with the Force, guiding Luke along in a gingerly, voices-in-your-head fashion. When Luke is told of his true parentage, he is rather miffed at the old wizard, but what can he do? He’s dead! Mwahahaha! Take that, blondie!

In The Phantomo Menace, Obi-Wan is not the center of attention at all. He’s actually a smug tool (just look at his showy dueling style) with unfunny one-liners, although he is rather amused by his own humor. It is only when master Jedi Qui-Gon Jinn is killed that he steps up to the plate, vowing to teach young Skywalker. With a more able director, Qui-Gon’s death would have resonated a lot more in relation to Obi-Wan, but after watching The Phantom Menace last night (on VHS!), I can’t help but feel a little snubbed by the potential relationship that an abler director could have built between master and pupil.

By Attack of the Clones, however, Ewan McGreggor grows into the Obi-Wan we fondly remember, slapping Anakin’s hand whenever the apprentice does a no-no. Obi-Wan cares for Anakin, he does, but Anakin doesn’t see that — he only sees a nagging by-the-textbook instructor that is blind to Anakin’s obvious superiority. Time and again, Obi-Wan offers his wise advice to his pupil, but Anakin has his own demons to worry about, his own seething jealousy. Duing this time, the Jedi Master was building a considerable reputation among his colleagues as a cunning strategist, an accomplished duelist, a formidable leader, and a respected negotiator. When the Clone Wars erupted, Obi-Wan became General Kenobi, perhaps the best asset of the Republic’s cause.

By now we know that everything unraveled for the Jedi in Revenge of the Sith, and the world came to an end when Obi-Wan’s best friend became his mortal enemy. Skywalker and Kenobi’s blue-on-blue duel above the lava lakes of Mustafar borders on legendary, but despite Anakin’s blind hatred for his Jedi Master, Obi-Wan fought for his fallen fiend. “I loved you like a brother!” Obi-Wan pleaded to his defeated adversary after a tactic gone awry for Anakin Darth. Obi-Wan took Anakin’s lightsaber, which he would bestow upon Luke, and left him in ashes. The Jedi’s heart faded on that day, reawakened only when Luke Skywalker became the last hope of the galaxy. Jedi Master, general, and Old Ben, Obi-Wan Kenobi was always the man you rooted for — from a certain point of view.

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4. Luke Skywalker

Luke Skywalker, the hero of kids since 1977, embodies what every child wants to do: leave behind a boring life for adventures that will change the world. The archetype doesn’t get any simpler than this, and Luke Skywalker is the personifcation of the audience — adventurous, weary, defeated, chivalrous, and triumphant.

We first see 18-year-old Luke Skywalker on his uncle’s moisture farm on Tatooine, the most unlikeliest of heroes, as they all tend to be (be they from Miami or Hobbiton). He is an impatient teenager always looking to the two-sun horizon, fascinated by his friends’ war stories and eager to leave his desolate rock. (Ironic, it is, that so much of the saga is spent on Tatooine.) A chance purchase of two worker droids propels him into stratospheric fame, instantly becoming the Rebels’ ace in the hole (quite literally) as well as the Empire’s obsession. Luke Skywalker, moisture farmer no more.

In The Empire Strikes Back, Luke’s wampa misfortune and Battle of Hoth failure send him to Yoda on Dagobah, just as the voice in his head told him to. Impatient as ever, Luke posesses no discipline, no peace of mind, nothing that would make him an ideal candidate, at least, not in the bulbous eyes of Yoda. Still, he’s the only shot they got to ending the Emperor’s despotic reign, so what the hell, make blondie balance some rocks. Luke’s Jedi training is jarring when compared to everything we see in the Prequel Trilogy. He took the G.E.D. high school version of a doctorate’s. (I’m not knocking anyone who took the G.E.D. Some of my best friends did. They’re reading right now. Well, sort of. It’s a lot of squiggly and it makes their heads hurt, but they do like the pretty pictures.)

Luke races to duel Darth Vader in Cloud City out of fear, something Yoda and Obi-Wan, ghost version 1.0, advise him against. They don’t know anything at all, being Jedi Masters and whatnot. After all, Yoda spent many of his hundreds of years backpacking through the galaxy, setting up questionable hooker locales, while Obi-Wan really did just phone it in during the Clone Wars. Foolish or not, Luke clashes laserswords with Darth Vader in my favorite lightsaber duel in the saga. Then again, you can’t help but think that both Vader and Luke’s abilities are weak. Square Luke off against young Anakin, and it would have lasted three seconds. Yoda would have disemboweled him in two seconds. The Cloud City clash was a sport between fencers — every Jedi in the Republic were trained to be warrior gods.

“No, I am your father,” reveals Darth Vader at the crux of Luke Skywalker’s defeat. To this day, it’s still one of the greatest moments in cinema, always able to send a chill down your spine. Only a handful of people knew of the revelatory bombshell upon the film’s release, adding to the aura of the often misquoted scene. Hand-less, saber-less, and father-full, Luke plunges down Cloud City, resenting Old Ben for his disturbing lack of disclosure. “Why didn’t you tell me…”

By Return of the Jedi, Luke Skywalker is up to snuff as a Knight decked in black, just as his old papa once was. After being the only one out of seven to successfully rescue Han Solo, Luke pays Yoda one last visit. The poor little guy is in the twilight of his life, significantly less Muppety since Luke last saw him a year earlier. Yoda’s final words reveal the existence of the only other hope for his Jedi Order: “There is another Sky…wal…ker…” Fade to Force. Confronting Obi-Wan (you know that when Luke calls him this, he-is-pissed), Luke learns the reason for the wool over his eyes, that it would have been too dangerous to reveal to the Emperor the existence of a Skywalker offspring. Luke then realizes the identity of his twin sister — Leia, that hot mama he so slovenly French kissed time and again in his liquid dreams.

At last, the bookend face-off of Skywalker and Skywalker, father and son. Luke believes beyond hope that humanity lingers within the darkness of Darth Vader, but even so, papa turns Luke over to the Emperor, where no mincing of cackled words ensues. Despite himself (and Palpatine’s uncanny abilty to egg on), Luke duels with Darth in the fallen Jedi’s final battle. In a fit of rage caused by Vader’s supposition that if Luke doesn’t fall to the Dark Side, he could get his sister to do so, Luke overpowers his dark father, returning the favor of a chopped limb in kind. (Lightsabers and hands, just don’t do it, people.) For a fraction of a second, Luke looks to give in to his baser instincts, feeding the anger Palpatine has fanned. Realizing the slippery slope, Luke chucks his saber hilt and declares, “I’m a Jedi, like my father before me.”

Force Lightning! Luke’s end nears, and all the hope Luke had in Anakin Skywalker gushes forth in one swift Emperor-killing movement. Luke Skywalker was the catalyst for the ignition of the balance of the Force, the untold ingredient in the prophecy of the Chosen One. Luke saw into his father’s eyes, the only fleeting moment when the Skywalkers would be together. After the Jedi funeral pyre, Luke becomes the consummate Jedi Master in innumerable adventures. He starts his own Jedi Academy, gets married, has a kid, battles scores of intergalctic threats, and even falls to the Dark Side, the pupil of the reborn Emperor. Beyond the mythology, Luke is the face of youth’s yearning, the embodiment of fulfilling the wish for something better. Kids and adults alike can associate with gazing at the horizon with John Williams’ score booming, both honoring who you are and desiring the world and all its promises. “I’m Luke Skywalker, I’m here to rescue you!” As we all are.

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3. Yoda

“Yoda, you seek Yoda,” the Muppet concludes. “Take you to him, I will. Yes, yes. But first, we must eat.” The diminutive Jedi Master, everybody loves. User of inverted speech, he is. Talk backwards he does not. Foolish, people are. Wars make not one great, but Yoda makes Star Wars great, he does, hmmm.

He is nothing short of glorificent, ahem. (One drawback? People who “imitate” his voice.) Named Mitch in George Lucas’ early drafts, Yoda is the wisest of personalities, earthly or otherwise. The first time you see him on swampy Dagobah, the hoboish elf-eared green whatsit screams favorite character charisma. Both stern and caring, the Jedi Master takes Luke in as his last pupil after 800 years of Jedi mentoring. Obi-Wan was a mage of the Force — Yoda, its very incarnation. Comical but sobering, Yoda emphasizes to young Skywalker the importance of mind over matter, as illustrated by pulling the X-Wing out of the gooey lake. “I don’t believe it,” Luke exhales. With grave disapproval, Yoda notes simply, “That is why you fail.”

Yoda was the last of the ancient order of the Jedi, the final link between the Old Republic and the Galactic Empire. His death is a touching one, showing that even the people we care about the most cannot escape the hereafter. Yoda’s least successful outing was in The Phantom Menace, where the respectable puppet was replaced by grassy turd. It’s only a few decades in the past, and considering that he lives for nearly nine centuries, his appearance should not have been so dramatically altered. Still, Yoda’s counsel is beyond question, delivering the movie’s most poignant quote. “Fear leads to anger,” warns the head of the Jedi Council, “anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering.” Yoda knew Anakin’s destiny would not be a tranquil one…

Then, in Attack of the Clones, we saw a side of the dwarfish Jedi we never expected: galaxy’s greatest duelist. Witnessing the ephemeral confrontation between Yoda and Count Dooku on opening day had me in a fit of giggles, truly beyond belief of the torrential abilities of the stalwart Jedi. His lightsaber attacks looked like glowing green helicopter propellers, whirring and devastating. In the Clone Wars, Yoda assumed the position of head of the Jedi generals, the unquestioned hope of the Republic. Yoda was the Jedi we looked to in awe.

We all want a Yoda in our lives, someone to give us nuggets of powerful wisdom, someone to tell us to do or do not — there is no try, doi. Benevolent, wise, and dangerous, Yoda is the world’s greatest awesome. Remember virtual pets? I had Yoda as a Giga Pet in sixth grade (my brother had R2-D2). However, I didn’t learn very much from the miniscule grey screen, unless you count cleaning up Yoda turd as a skill. If only my virtual pet had the ability to use Force Lightning and possessed the rawness of Palpatine-fightin’ a la Revenge of the Sith…”I won’t fail you,” Luke announces. “I’m not afraid.” “Oh,” Yoda responds, his voice gravelly, weighty. “You will be. You will be.”

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2. Anakin Skywalker Darth Vader

The nightmarish breathing. The sleek black samurai helmet. The lit chest plate that nerds use to call their moms to pick them up. The silhouette black cape. The red lightsaber. The voice of James Earl Jones. The revelation of his true self. All of these things and more add up to make the most fascinating villain in cinema history. Fallen Jedi, Dark Lord of the Sith, and redeemed father — this is Darth Vader.

Stepping triumphantly onto the Tantive IV, Darth Vader’s presence was instantly felt like an earthquake in the Force. Within seconds, the imposing stature is seen choking the Rebel captain, flinging the lifeless body like an empty soda can. Not long after, he uses Force choke on an Imperial officer to prove a point, a technique he would become famous for. In A New Hope, he isn’t fleshed out at all, “merely” existing as absolute evil. He has a history with Old Ben, that much we can ascertain, and as the antithesis of Kenobi, he finds the Rebel pilot he almost killed to be more than just a regular pilot. “The Force is strong with this one,” he muses within his TIE Advanced, just before Captain Solo interjects with a “Woohoo!”

As it is with all of the characters, The Empire Strikes Back is Vader’s masterstroke. He singlehandedly orchestrated the attack on Echo Base, shouldering none of the evil with anyone else (in A New Hope, there’s Tarkin, and in Return of the Jedi, it’s the Emperor’s show, obviously). Vader would not relent throughout the length of the film, chasing down the Millennium Falcon through ice planets, asteroid fields, and cloudy cities, even if he had to choke his own men to get to them. “We would be honored if you would join us,” Vader announces to the startled Han, Leia, and Chewie at the Cloud City buffet table. Great, we all think, he got to Lando. Perhaps the unfilmed thing I would like to see most out of the whole saga is the union of Imperials and Rebels — gosh, to be a fly on the wall at that dinner conversation.

“The Force is strong with you, young Skywalker,” Vader booms, “but you are not a Jedi yet.” The Cloud City duel ensues, with Vader’s superior skills obviously overtaking Luke’s swordplay. “Impressive.” Vader takes a swing at Luke, misses. “Most impressive.” Failing to encase Luke in carbonite, Vader escalates the standoff by using the Force to fling all things bolted down at the helpless Skywalker, managing to chuck the flailing Rebel out of the window. Their last Bespin showdown is a fierce one: Luke manages to scrape Vader’s shoulder, and the Dark Lord returns the favor by chopping Luke’s hand off — no more lightsaber duel. “Obi-Wan never told you what happened to your father,” Vader pontificates. “He told me enough,” Luke spits, “he told me you killed him.” “No, I am your father.” That’s not true! That’s impossible! Luke screams it, we think it. Darth offers a father-son teamup that would destroy the Emperor, you know, as a fun little project, just the boys.

Luke careens down Cloud City in escape, leaving Papa Vader disappointed. My son does not like me, he sadly concludes. Not even Force telepathy can bring the two together, so the next time we see Papa Vader, he is waiting like a giddy child for his Emperor to arrive on the second Death Star. Both Vader and Luke understand that a second showdown is inevitable, but Vader’s facade is noticeably less ominous in Return of the Jedi, softened by parenthood and Palpatine’s nagging voice. Vader releases young Skywalker to the Emperor, citing that Anakin Skywalker is dead and only the Dark Side path lingers. At last, Luke and Vader’s final duel ignites, and it is an even battle until Vader plays the sister card: “If you do not turn, then perhaps she will.” “DARTH!” Vader is outdone by Luke’s ferocity, unable to keep up with Luke’s powerful saber strokes. Payed in kind, again: Vader loses his hand — for a third time.

Luke does not kill his father at the Emperor’s insistence, so when Palpatine unleashes Force Lightning on young Skywalker, Anakin is reborn, instantly killing the Emperor with one brute heave. Anakin’s last request from his son is to remove his helmet, that symbol of hatred personified. “You were right about me,” the dying Anakin whispers. “Tell your sister, you were right.” And there, in a moment of breathless tranquility, Anakin Skywalker, former Dark Lord of the Sith, slips into the netherworld of the Force. We see Anakin’s image one last time as a ghost overlooking the Rebel celebration, joined by Yoda and Obi-Wan. And here is where George Lucas’ meddling destroys another piece of the soul: up until 2004, it was Sebastian Shaw who stood as the ghost — you know, old Anakin. However, in the hyped DVD release, Shaw is replaced by Hayden Christensen, a.k.a. Anakin Skywalker from the Prequels. How did Anakin revert back to his youth? Yeah, Lucas wants to tie the two trilogies together, but bringing Christensen in is just stupid. Also, Shaw’s image is benevolent and relieved, whereas Christensen makes use of his creepy, crooked stare, totally misplaced for the old Jedi who found redemption and peace.

Which brings us to the Prequel Trilogy. (I have recently concluded without a shadow of an empire doubt that the saga should be watched in the following order: IV, V, VI, I, II, III. If you start with the Prequels, you might get turned off by the stilted acting, lame characters, and tariff negotiations. The Prequels will always be a back story — the real meat is in the Classic Trilogy, with the tantalizing surprises and ambiguities intact. Yeah, you’ll end your adventure on the down note of Revenge of the Sith, but you know it ends well for Anakin, anyway.)

(Yes, a paranthetical paragraph, big whoop, wanna fight about it?) We meet Anakin Skywalker on Tatooine, a slave podracer with a head of gold and the voice of a thousand chalkboard calamities. There is very little to like in Jake Lloyd’s portrayal as little Ani. He is comparable to Jar Jar Binks in inducing nausea. Yeah, I get it, Anakin started out as a happy-go-lucky kid with no trace of evil, but even as a child who is supposed to be likable, there is nothing to like. Barney and Friends would be too good a gig for this kid. Hate, hate, hate.

So what goes askew for Ani as the phantom menace? He left his slave mother behind, which I think made him sad, but I cannot tell since I can read Mandarin better than I can read his “emotions.” Still, Yoda senses much fear in him, so I’ll take the Jedi’s word for it, but just this once. Qui-Gon promises to make him Jedi purely on the basis of a DNA test, but he dies, the lucky bastard, leaving Obi-Wan with the task of raising Skywalker to be a little less annoying. Obi-Wan fails.

Hayden Christensen steps in as Anakin ten years later — a Jedi Padawan with a ‘tude and a bad ‘do. I think Christensen took his acting cues from Jake Lloyd, so instead of being brooding and formidable, Attack of the Clones‘ Anakin is whiny and emo. Yes, emo. I strongly believe Lucas said the following to his actors: “Cut! That was great, Hayden, it really was, but think about an oak tree. Feel the bark. More wooden. Action!” It’s the only possible explanation. Lucas even manages to tone down Samuel L. Jackson’s presence, and he’s always an over-the-top motherdeflowerer…Anakin, in all of his teen “angst,” spouts such memorable lines as, “It’s all Obi-Wan’s fault! I hate him!” Nice. And when it comes to Anakin’s unflinching devotion to the maple tree Padmé? “You’re asking me to be rational. That is something that I know I cannot do. Believe me, I wish I could just wish away my feelings, but I can’t.” His lips tremble from under-acted self-importance, and his crocodile tears hiccup after slaughtering a tribe of Tusken Raiders. Really nice.

Still, the second Prequel establishes Anakin as a reckless self-messiah, choosing his own dark leanings in favor of what is kosher. He also has a terrible fear of death after witnessing his mother’s passing, something he could not prevent. Taking the afterlife as a personal affliction, Anakin vows to ward off death, perfectly setting up the cataclysmic events of Revenge of the Sith. So he’s having scary dreams about his secret wife, so what does poor Ani do? He confides in his favorite dude, Chancellor Palpatine, who’s just the tops, daddio. Palpatine relates the “Tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise,” a comical little tale of a Sith lord (Palpatine’s mentor) who could manipulate the Force to beget death and stave off life. Erm, flip that and reverse it.

Badda bing badda boom, Palpatine extends his hand to Anakin to join him, but Anakin does not falter, choosing instead to tattle. However, when push came to shove, Anakin was there for Palps (he already resented the Jedi for not granting him the rank of Jedi Master), and together, they would save Padmé, supposedly. Newly minted as Darth Vader, the galaxy’s greatest Dark Lord of the Sith rises. (The Sith were an ancient race of people who practiced something akin to devil-worshiping via the Force. One day, a Dark Jedi discovered them, and one thing led to another, as it always does, and soon Dark Lords of the Sith were born, a specialized Dark Jedi with the unfathomable teachings of Sith worship in mind.) Vader’s first task? The mass slaughter of the Jedi Knights, including a horrific instance of the swift murder of Jedi younglings. (They’re just kids…)

Vader is instructed by Palpatine to go to Mustafar to eliminate the Separatist leaders that elevated Palpatine to heroic heights in the Republic, and when Obi-Wan gets wind of this, boy, it’s on like Donkey Kong (coin-op, zoinks). Padmé tries to reason with Anakin, but she is unable to convince him that his train of thought is wrong, wrong, wrong. Obi-Wan steps out and Anakin suspects a bit of extracurricular Jedi activities from his wife, so he Force chokes her. Heart-warming stuff. Then Obi-Wan goes off on his democracy spiel, which seems kind of jarring considering the spousal abuse that just transpired. And with that, the greatest blue-on-blue lightsaber fight in the history of what-I-just-said commences.

Cut to the end where Vader stands below Obi-Wan. Kenobi warns him against it, but Ani does it anyway: he jumps over Obi-Wan in a criminally stupid move, allowing Obi-Wan to destroy every limb on the Sith’s body. And now, the tears. “I loved you like a brother!” Obi-Wan calls through tears. Like a brother. Vader seethes with vulcanic hatred as the lava engulfs him. Anakin Skywalker, in that moment, is killed by Darth Vader. Obi-Wan leaves his former comrade to die, but Palpatine arrives just in time to pick up the mess. We then witness the birth of the black suit, the breathing apparatus, and the onyx helmet that defined an entire franchise. Vader’s first words inquire about his wife. Palpatine, the behement manipulator, simply responds, “You killed her.” NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! A billion hearts die and laugh all at once.

The tragedy and redemption of Anakin Skywalker/Darth Vader is perhaps the most fleshed-out and recognizable in all of modern American mythology. It took six films to convey who he is and why he is the id of the human condition. You can say all you want about George Lucas (and I have), but you have to hand it to him — he gave us the entire life of a single human being, outworldly but earthly, and that must count for something. Darth, Darth, what would we do without you?

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1. Han Solo

They just don’t come any more glorificent than Han Solo. Favorite character to the end. His story is a dynamic one, from pirate to savior, and his sly coolness is something everyone wants to emulate, be it in the grocery isle or on the dance floor. Han Solo, captain of the sweetest movie vehicle ever (sorry, time-hoppin’ De Lorean), is the unbridled winner of this contest.

I don’t know what I can possibly say that can appropriately convey just how much of a star Han Solo is. We first me him with Chewbacca in the Mos Eisley cantina, smug and opportunistic. Seconds before, in a shot not included in the scene, Han is making out with a nameless hottie. What? Han, always the braggart, drops the bomb on how hella sweet the Millennium Falcon is. “It’s the ship that made the Kessel Run in less than twelve parsecs,” he says, blowing your fraggin’ mind. Damn, boy, it’s so fast it converts a unit of length to a unit of time! Ah, but here’s the explanation to the promise I made you tens of thousands of words ago: the Kessel Run is a perilous pocket of space anchored by a black hole, so the deeper you go into it, the shorter your life is bound to be. The bragging rights of the Kessel Run come with flying ever closer to the black hole, so the shorter your distance from one side to the other, the more dangerous your run. Also, the closer you are to the black hole, the faster your ship will have to be to escape its pull. If that weren’t enough, Han beat his 12 parsecs record a short while after A New Hope. Is that guy bloody brilliant or what?

What’s cooler than a marked man? A marked man who kills his pursuers! Bang bang, Greedo is iced! In the Special Edition, Han meets with a younger Jabba. They’re both pals, you see, in spite of Jabba wanting Solo’s head on a plate, but either way, Han steps on the Hutt’s tail, getting a very “comical” reaction from Jabba, per GL. Stuff leads to stuff and Han introduces Old Ben and Luke to the Millennium Falcon. “What a piece of junk!” Luke exclaims in spite of his hobo fatigues. I don’t know what everyone is talking about. The Falcon‘s design is superb. Like a bit cheeseburger with a satellite dish. Delish. A beaut. “It’ll make .5 past lightspeed,” Han extolls. Stephen Hawking is pleasuring himself to this factoid, I assure you.

In Stormtrooper fatigues, Han reluctantly goes on the princess-saving mission aboard the Death Star, hoping for a reward that will make him a filthy, filthy Wookiee. Luke and Han meet Leia, who ain’t no walk on Corellia, lemme tell ya. Han’s reckless bravado gets him almost killed often, as seen by shooting at magnetically sealed trash compactors and chasing Stormtroopers to a whole a squadron. Han and Luke, safely aboard the Millennium Falcon, fight four TIE Fighters with all their might. “Don’t get penisy cocky!” Han yells to one of Luke’s victories. Leia explains to Han that the Empire let them go, but he’s so pig-headed he can’t see it. Uh, hello, a whole battlestation is gonna allow the release of enemy spies? They’re only gonna send a handful to chase them down? Please. Han, you oaf, you!

Naturally, the Battle of Yavin takes place, and Han, the only reasonable human being, ducks out with troves of munny. “May the Force be with you,” Han says to Luke. Hey, maybe he believes now. Before the Death Star, Luke questioned Han’s beliefs: “You don’t believe in the Force, do you?” “What, you mean that religion this old man just sold to you five minutes ago?” Thanks, “Blue Harvest” episode of Family Guy wherein Obi-Wan is played by the old pedophile. Luke thought he had detered Han’s greed (and his faith), but Luke goes to the trenches by his lonesome anyway. Bam, 18-year-old gets in a bind and what happens? Captain Solo saves the day, ya hearrrrd? When he gets his medal (shouldn’t they be evacuating ASAP?), Han slides Leia a wink. Douse this man, I’m serious!

Ah, the competition between Solo and Skywalker for Leia’s S&M dungeon. In A New Hope, Luke plays the neophyte younger brother, almost pleading to Han to back off in the Millennium Falcon. In The Empire Strikes Back, Han knows the princess wants him to death, but she won’t admit it, so she swaps tonsils with her sibling to prove a point: once a cold prude, always a cold prude, even in the ice planet of Hoth. Still, Han manages to outmanouver her as they escape the Empire (after he saves Luke’s frozen hide for a second time). “You like me because I’m a scoundrel…” That’s how they get them. Siiigh. No room in this galaxy for nice guys or twin brothers.

Han hopes Lando can do him a solid by fixing up the old Falcon, but then he is backstabbed (reflex move: shoot at Vader! Damn! Brother got ice-cold Force powers!) and is frozen in carbonite. Only someone that cool can make frozen, suspended animation look that, um, cool. “I love you,” Leia announces just before Han gets molded. Best line of the saga: “I know.” I know. Omigod! Fangasm! Pansy Lucas’ original line was, “I love you, too.” That ain’t Han, baby. Harrison Ford, in the final, beleaguered take, just drops an all-knowing, all-powerful “I know.” Test audiences were riotous about it, but it was all they could talk about as they left the theater. Suavest mother of all time.

I wonder what Han was dreaming about while in carbonite. Electric sheep, definitely. Anyway, Robot Chicken showed us that Boba Fett made intimate maritals with the block of Han, and that’s the twisted version I choose to believe. Next thing he knows, Han is blind, wet, and visibly older in Return of the Jedi. What happened? Ford aged as Indiana Jones? Bah! Han Solo calls Jabba a fool and almost kills Lando. Sweet. He punk-”murders” Boba Fett. Weak, Lucas. Weak. Back with the Rebels, only an idiot would lead the strike team to sabotage the second Death Star’s shield generator, and Han is just my kind of idiot. “Hey,” Han says, flashing his grin, “it’s me.” Two seconds later, his plan backfires against the Stormtroopers and all hell breaks loose. Ewoks are introduced, C-3PO (Han’s mortal pain) becomes a deity, and cats start having sex with dogs. Biblical stuff.

Captive of the Ewoks no more, Han fends off the sexual advances of the little bears only to discover that Leia can only confide in Luke. That cheeky Jedi bastard! Whatevs, we got a star war to climax. Han is unable to overtake the Imperial base with his pitiful band of Rebels, so the Ewoks pinch hit for an unfair victory. (How can an AT-ST stand the mighty might of stones?) Han got tha thang blowed up and all is gravy, son…But then there’s that c-blocker Luke. Han is honorable, however. He is no longer selfish. He understands the happiness of others is more important than his own wishes. “When Luke comes back,” Han nobly declares to Leia, “I won’t get in the way.” Aww, what a guy. “He’s my brother,” responds Leia in a manner that suggests Han should have known. It takes a couple of seconds for Solo to realize just how big a freak both Skywalkers are, but screw it, he ain’t gonna do much better than a princess of a dead planet!

So ends my tasking rundown of the greatest characters of the Star Wars Universe. Who did I miss? That crazy wriggling soldier from Clone Wars‘ first season? Captain Panaka? IG-88? Kit Fisto? Grand Admiral Thrawn? Nothing next to Han Solo! Why would I have a signed Harisson Ford autograph of Han Solo’s mug hanging in my bedroom? Well, mostly because it was a birthday gift. Thanks, Juanito. There is no one greater than this smuggler. My other ride is the Millennium Falcon. He bagged the babe and fathered a trio of galaxy-changing offspring — and he rolled with Chewbacca. Only a dude that money can understand the deluded ramblings of the Sasquatch. Han Solo, captain of the Millennium Falcon, and captain of this neverending voayage through the stars. The Shwartz will be with him — always.

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That is the order in which I enjoy these films, from least favorite to favorite: Episode I, IV, II, III, VI, and V.

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And those are the various Star Wars videogames I have owned in my life, from least awesome (top) to most awesome (bottom):

- Super Star Wars (Super Nintendo, never played it but have it; I also have its Game Boy counterpart, but I couldn’t find an image);
- Rogue Squadron II (Nintendo GameCube, got it for Xmas, regretted it);
- Super Return of the Jedi (Super Nintendo, haven’t played much);
- Behind the Magic (not a videogame, just a CD-ROM encyclopedia);
- Lego Star Wars (Xbox, only played it for a week);
- DroidWorks (CD-ROM, teaches you about pulleys as you make your own droid);
- Episode I Racer (Nintendo 64, a podracing sim);
- Knights of the Old Republic II (Xbox, played a lot, not as fun as original);
- Rogue Squadron (Nintendo 64, excellent game I replayed the death);
- Super Empire Strikes Back (Super Nintendo, had it before I knew what a star war was, played it incessantly after becoming a SW freak);
- Shadows of the Empire (Nintendo 64, amazing game, one of the console’s best);
- and Knights of the Old Republic (Xbox, oustanding gameplay and storyline, as shown by the inclusion of major characters in the countdown — they need to make a worthier current-gen sequel).

The highly hyped The Force Unleashed is due in stores soon, wherein you play as Vader’s secret apprentice. Might be worth checking out.

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And these are some of the innumerable collectables I have gathered (and thrown away) over 10 years of up and down obsession. I had so many action figures (including both of those Leias, slave girl and Boussh), a worthy Micro Machines collection (including my prized possession, the Millennium Falcon), my talking Darth Vader bank, the aforementioned Yoda Giga Pet, a Taco Bell Cloud City, and at least six different lighsabers (I claimed Luke’s, above, and my brother claimed Vader’s). If I could, I would supply a picture the year I dressed up as Luke Skywalker and my brother dressed up as Darth Vader for Halloween. If I could.

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At Kinloch Park Middle School, I read an obscene number of Star Wars novels, including the Han Solo Trilogy, the Courtship of Princess Leia, two-thirds of the Jedi Academy Trilogy, the abysmal Black Fleet Crisis trilogy, The Phantom Menace novelization (which was stolen by an a-hole in class who had previously attempted to steal my Pokémon strategy guide), and Shadows of the Empire (the first Star Wars novel I ever read, age 11). It has become virtually impossible to keep up with the Expanded Universe nowadays…

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Which brings us to the “major” motion picture Star Wars: The Clone Wars, released this past weekend to crippling reviews and mediocre box office numbers. I have not yet seen it (illustrating my apathy, considering I saw every Prequel on opening day), but I do not think it will hold a candle to Clone Wars, the 2-D animated TV show that aired between 2002 and 2005. I watched the whole series in its entirety for the first time last night (altogether, it’s only the length of a regular movie), and it is outstanding. I do not know why George Lucas has to taint something already that good.

So ends my devastatingly comprehensive Star Wars manifesto. I did not expect it to take this long at all (an entire week for an average of five hours a day). I’ve had to break up this post into two pieces — my Firefox can’t withstand firepower of this magnitude. Suffice to say, there are enough words here to constitute a doctor’s thesis for Visual Arts (how apropos), and if this were all published, it would constitue some 80 pages — a novella!

I also want to thank Wookieepedia — not for its Star Wars knowledge (99% of the data I dropped in these paragraphs was culled straight from my brain, and that is surprising, seeing as how a lot of it is stuff I gleaned ten years ago), but for its bevy of images. Let’s just hope they allow hotlinking…

The Force will be with you — always.

…Oh, wait! I still need to do Video of the Week! So what could possibly capitalize on all of this? a-ha’s “Minor Earth Major Sky,” my absolute favorie music video in the world! Space, the final frontier! Oops, wrong sci-fi franchise…Um, Morten was seduced by the Dark Side of the Force in this music video — or did that happen to Paul and Mags? After all, they did abandon the guy on the moon. Who the hell does that? Anyway, Morten hallucinates that he’s in a 1970s swingers party, and right when he’s about to get some action, the space shuttle leaves him behind. This is what you get for using the astronaut suits from Apollo 13. The curse of Tom Hanks. (The a-ha spacesuits were also used in Apollo 13, which was directed by Ron Howard, who was directed by George Lucas in American Graffiti, who created Star Wars. Degrees of separation!) And there you have it — Howard the Duck!

And now, if you’ll excuse me, a hurricane’s about to hit Miami, so I’m sure there are things non-Sith-related to take care of. Off to my solstice!

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My soul to keep the night I dread!

Happy Beijing, everybody! The Summer Olympics are here! Get ready ’cause these sports are about to get heavy — I just settled on my lawsuit, flunked you, bevy! Go U.S.A.!

Whut it dew, cuz? I’m here, living life like nobody’s business. It really shouldn’t be anyone’s business, of course, but the talk always bubbles, always bounces off walls.

So what gimmicky awesome funness do I have planned for us this week? I was gonna pick whatever topic anyone suggested to me, but since the debacle of last week’s Alfredeus Reader Mail (my loan sharks got a hold of it), I have been reduced to my own devices. Sadly, those only include a dead DSL modem and three standard-def televisions. (None of those can help us now — unless, of course, you want me to start watching self-improvement fashion shows on basic cable. Like catty crack!)

♪♫ We just got a letter! We just got a letter! We just got a letter! I wonder who it’s from? ♪♫

Darlene’s kids write, “Dear TheMunDial, can you please talk my mom into buying me an Australian frilled lizard?”

Thanks for the post, younglings! But the truth is, those things can be very dangerous. Why, they remind me of the venom-spitting dinosaur that attacked Seinfeld‘s Newman in Jurassic Park! You know, the one whose neck flaps open up like a prehistoric umbrella of raw, extinct, Steven Spielberg power. Of course you can have one!

(And I’m not a closet Blue’s Clues fan — I would watch it with my brother when he was but a wee tyke. Nick Jr’s programming was boss back then. You had Little Bear, The Busy World of Richard Scarry, Rupert Bear, Gullah Gullah Island, Franklin, Allegra’s Window, and all of those other psychedelic “kids” shows. Our Handy Dandy Notebook was the Rubik’s Cube of the era. I hate Joe — Steve for President! Ah, those were the days. My brother is gonna be 17 soon.)

In this edition, I have decided to make a small ode to one of popular culture’s last remaining openly distributed pieces of static artwork: the album cover. In an era when people only remember Da Vinci as spreader of blasphemous lies and Andy Warhol as the bastard grandfather of Woody Allen and Andy Dick, album covers have come to mean more* in the daily lives of denizens of the world than the mauled face depicted by Picasso.

*”This medium will soon die out in the era of online piracy,” spat the Emperor.

So now I’m just gonna revel in the nuances of album covers by some of my favorite artists. (Sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Floyd Zeppelin.) Let the Google Image Search commence!

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I always loved the cover for a-ha’s 2003 live album, How Can I Sleep With Your Voice In My Head. There’s something eerie and eccentric about the zombie seal suspended in animation. Imported from somewhere like the Himalayas, this live best-of two-for-one album (with poster!) was the first a-ha joint I ever purchased. Favorite live tracks: “The Sun Always Shines On TV,” “Take On Me,” “Did Anyone Approach You?,” “The Living Daylights.” Hopeless…it’s not hopeless…

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A New Wave concept album? Surely, you jest. Alas, that’s what the former members of The Human League funked out as Heaven 17, those me-toos who never really got their shot in the limelight. Still, Penthouse and Pavement is a veritable diatribe against the social norms of getting up and making money wearing a tie, blasting its way through mundane grave-lives and political bigotry. It’s like the early ’80s musical of Mad Men cynicism. In some respects, it’s a lot like Christian Bale’s American Psycho (just look at the album cover) — except the band never say they’re going to slaughter Reagan. They just don’t like him a whole lot. Favorite tracks: “(We Don’t Need This) Fascist Groove Thang,” “Penthouse And Pavement,” “Let’s All Make A Bomb,” “The Height Of The Fighting,” “Song With No Name,” and “We’re Going To Live For A Very Long Time.”  Although the war has just begun, ignore the sirens, let’s have fun: put on your best, go out in style. Although our future’s looking black, we’ll go downtown and join the pack — let’s celebrate and vaporize…

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Bar-none, Ladytron’s Witching Hour is the best statement of New Wave for the 2000s. Droning, hypnotic, and taboo, it firmly establishes the ladies-fronted ensemble as the ones to look to for rebel-electronica done super-cool. Though not as intricate as their followup cover, this one is attractive in that it clearly exhibits who wears the pants in the band. (Also, doesn’t the flower pattern remind you of a-ha’s Analogue?) Yeah, a couple of male hobos tend to wires in the background, but this ebullient duo are the ones who put the tron in Ladytron. What? Yes, they were crazysexycool at their concert — Topher prevented me from bum-rushing the stage. Blasted c-blocker. -_- Favorite tracks: “Destroy Everything You Touch,” “International Dateline,” and “Soft Power.” We’re not sleeping at the wheel, the wheel is turning the machine that kills — for us…

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In 1984, Depeche Mode moved away from their socialist imagery of previous albums (what is up with Speak & Spell‘s birthing cuckoo?) to give us an intriguing juxtaposition of newlyweds against the cold steel of machinery. I guess that’s the overall Depeche M.O.: soulful yearning against clanks, tanks, and bleeps. The two lovers (Martin Gore isn’t on the left, f your i) have I found to be engagingly romantic. Favorite tracks: “Somebody ” and “Blasphemous Rumours” (even if I haven’t heard it in a long, long time for fear of divine reprisal — again). Can we forget about “People Are People” now? I want somebody to share, share the rest of my life, share my innermost thoughts, know my intimate details…

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It’s pretty well-known that The Smiths’ second-to-last album, ’86′s The Queen Is Dead, is their magnum opus. Nothing says dopey moping quite like Morrissey on “There Is A Light That Never Goes,” my personal epitaph. The album cover, which is more vampire slumber than French actor from the 1960s, reflects the strung-out wordplay and Johnny Marr’s guitar’s last claim to fame. Queens never had a chance. Favorite tracks: “Bigmouth Strikes Again,” “The Boy With The Thorn In His Side,” “There Is A Light That Never Goes Out.” And if a double-decker bus crashes into us, to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die…

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Duran Duran’s second album cover couldn’t help but become a cliche of the ’80s. Everything about it screams yuppie caviar, yacht captain’s hat, and champagne trickling down models’ bikinis. Everyone must’ve had a painting resembling Ms. Rio on their walls. It was inevitable. And don’t you dare think I mention the LP that spawned “Hungry Like The Wolf” just because of its pop-culture status — by and large, many of Duran’s album covers were atrocious. What the hell’s going on in this one? Favorite tracks: “My Own Way,” “Lonely In Your Nightmare,” “Save A Prayer,” “The Chauffeur” (maybe the image of the topless model grinding up against a ghost in a parking garage clinches the surreal ambiance for me). And the droning engine throbs in time with your beating heart…

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a-ha had been wayward for the better part of a decade, but they finally crash-landed onto our Earth, returning only with their creative heads, leaving their fuselage baggage of the past in the great death of space. 2OOO was a new beginning for us all — a world torn by war, a dream burst by happenstance. I am only but a minor earth flying silently through major sky. Favorite tracks: All of them? “Least” favorite track: “The Company Man.” Yes, we all fall down, don’t make a sound as we hit the ground…

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Many believe that The Cure’s Disintegration album was the best anything to come out of the 1980s. Tracks like the eponymous number make a grand case for this 1989 album. This was the LP that everything from Seventeen Seconds to Pornography, from The Head On the Door to Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me were all leading up to. Just as beguiling is the cover, with the happily drowning visage of Robert Smith meets Bride of Frankenstein suffocating in a dark void inhabited by black embers and nightmarish foliage, all in the name of hourglass love. Favorite tracks: “Pictures Of You,” “Lovesong,” “Fascination Street,” “Lullaby.” Whatever words I say, I will always love you…

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New Order’s Power, Corruption & Lies is my favorite NO album. It exudes everything that was so right about Hooky’s powerful bass and Barney’s dead deliverance. Who knows what the dead flowers could mean? A gift that went wrong — a lover’s disappointment? Perhaps a salute to fallen Joy Division frontman Ian Curtis? Regardless, it belonged to the people of France, and so it went that the British took it back. Favorite tracks: “Age Of Consent” and “Your Silent Face.” You’re not the kind that needs to tell me about the birds and the bees…

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The loudspeakers symbol is an elegant gesture of mass consumption. Symbolically red, it spreads the propaganda of Depeche Mode’s heresy, forbidden but alluring. This is the album that finally catapulted them as the most successful band to survive the crash of New Wave, heralding a domination of the synthtastic genre that would forever go unquestioned. Music for the masses, and nothing but. Favorite tracks: “Never Let Me Down Again,” “The Things You Said,” “Strangelove,” “Little 15,” “Behind The Wheel,” and “I Want You Now.” She knows your mind is not yet in league with the rest of the world and its little intrigues…

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In the past, I have said that, pound for pound, Tears For Fears’ debut album could be the best standalone record of the entire 1980s. Lofty claims, no? By 1983, the New Romantics had taken the genre into the circus, some with more clown makeup than juggling prowess. Tears For Fears mixed the cold synthesizer with the bleakness of childhood, the rolling synth bops with despair only a child with his head in his hands could have nightmares about. Tears for fears. The simple truth is that the duo of Roland and Curt used the medium to vent about their failed upbringing, which in turn gave us an album of immeasurable dimensions. Yeah, they would claim their biggest successes with Songs From The Big Chair (“Shout,” “Everybody Wants To Rule The World”), but those are bombastic Top 40 meteorites compared to the pained depth found in The Hurting. Favorite tracks: “The Hurting,” “Mad World,” “Pale Shelter,” “Suffer The Children,” “Watch Me Bleed,” and “Change.” The dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had…

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The first four Echo & The Bunnymen albums tell the tale of the elusive Bunnygod, Echo. It is up to the Bunnymen to search for the deity in the shrubbery of dour Post-Punk landscapes — the forest, the beach, the arctic, and finally, the sea caverns. They do not find Echo in Ocean Rain, but they do find what the journey meant for them, and what it meant to us. Their second album cover, for 1981′s Heaven Up Here (what a title), is achingly gorgeous. Simply told, it is the face of shadows against nature. Careful eyes will spot this image in another realm of the Alfredeus continuum…Favorite Tracks: “Show Of Strength,” “With A Hip,” and “Heaven Up Here.” Groovy, groovy people, we’re all…

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Savoy’s debut album is a daring piece of art, especially when you consider the suggestive Mary Is Coming moniker. Tawdry to a climax, the elegance of a lady in waiting is one of anticipation frozen in blue seduction. Not only that, but look at where her toes are pointing — if Mary doesn’t get hers now, the city will be her tongue’s oyster. For the time being, however, she has a feel for her velvety skin. Hey, maybe a-ha’s dissolution wasn’t such a bad thing after all. Favorite track: “Velvet.” Her touch would be tender, her lips would be warm — but when we’re together, I’m always alone…

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What’s going on with The Human League’s first album cover? Well, if we are to believe “Being Boiled,” “just because you call her ‘mother’ doesn’t mean that she’s your better.” This image is what is meant by “blind revenge on a blameless victim.” You can have your “Don’t You Want Me” — I’ll stick with the nihilistic gloom and doom of Reproduction. Favorite Tracks: “Almost Medieval” and “Empire State Human.” Outside the office hangs the man on the gibbet…

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Organisation has got to be one of the most depressing albums out there. Sure, Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark were supposedly influenced by Joy Division and all that noise in this brief epoch, but the mere fact that one expects to encounter the tragically poppy “Enola Gay” throughout the album but instead gets a sea of melancholia is enough for a man to don guyliner. Perhaps this overcast cover should have been something of an indication. Somebody, please get me Architecture & Morality! Favorite track: “Enola Gay,” that layered melody blown to pieces by a diatribe against the bombing of Hiroshima. Enola Gay, is mother proud of Little Boy today? This kiss you give, it’s never, ever gonna fade away…

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Morten’s looking a bit manorexic, isn’t he? No worries: he’s got his magic typewriter en tow. Wild Seed is an album about Morten looking at whorish flowers, I think, and realizing just how pretty they are. Someone must think he’s a threat, however, since they tried to shatter the image, as well as put emergency tape around our misjudged Cheekbonez. Favorite tracks: “A Kind Of Christmas Card” and “Spanish Steps.” Just think of the girl I used to be — you were my age once, mama, 23! I can still hear some of the songs you used to play from that summer of love in ’68 — seems it’s turned into a winter of hate…

I can’t help myself: the Summer of Love was in ’67.

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The Psychedelic Furs’ self-titled debut album was one of pure Post-Punk energy, straddling the line between discordant Punk and groovy Bunnymen vibes sans the heavy drinking. Richard Butler’s smokey, tone deaf voice shines like a crumpled paper stuck in a creaking door (?), which is just perfect for the bravado of the overlooked Furs. The album cover is almost self-congratulatory, veering a little too close to next big thing category (easily trouncing Duran Duran with its debut image) — too bad they never got to imitate Christ in earnest. Damn U2. Favorite tracks: “Sister Europe,” “We Love You,” “Imitation Of Christ.” Jesus is a woman, too, he looks like all of me and you…

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It’s OK Computer by The Radio Heads. Get over yourself. Favorite track: “Fitter Happier.” Calm, fitter, healthier and more productive, like a pig in a cage on antibiotics…

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Magne F’s Past Perfect Future Tense is something out of the DSM IV, whatever that is. I can just imagine a poor fool inhabited by the ghost of an alien etching all of the creepy vibes on the floor. Very Smallville. Favorite track: “Kryptonite” and “Past Perfect Future Tense.” Go easy on the Kryptonite, easy on the black and white. Just try to be civilized — no one wants to compromise. If you don’t like the way it sounds, well, bite me…

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Joy Division’s Unknown Pleasures. It practically invented Post-Punk and Goth all at once. No more tearing down the establishment like the Punk revolution — now it was time to tear yourself down. Watch 24 Hour Party People and Control. Write to me about it sometime. The album cover invokes an ephemeral instant — Ian Curtis would only be around long enough to start the ripples of a black infinity. Favorite track: “She’s Lost Control.” And she screamed out, kicking on her side and said, “I’ve lost control again,” and seized up on the floor — I thought she’d die…

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“I’ve made myself so sick — I wish I’d stayed asleep today.” Words we can all live by. Maybe I just like napping too much…Regardless, The Head On The Door is a wonderland of downtrodden pop, wading through murky rainbows and bright swamps. The phrase itself holds so much promise, so much longing. After all, the head on the door was a dream. The cover of the album illustrates the clapping from “Close To Me” (the first Cure track I loved, and one of my favorite music videos, like, evar), as well as the vanishing incorporeal phoenix slipping through reality. Favorite tracks: “Inbetween Days,” “Kyoto Song,” and “Close To Me.” Yesterday I got so old, I felt like I could die…

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I dream pictures of houses burning, and what I get are the screams from Scoundrel Days. Delivering some of a-ha’s most accomplished pieces (the three intro numbers alone are enough to make any competing composer give up for twenty years), their second LP is one of breathless perfection. With the mysteries of scoundrel’d days come the album cover, which forever encapsulates the trio in a sea outside of time. Favorite tracks: All of them! “Least” favorite track: “Cry Wolf.” You can start but you cannot stop — you give in, but you can’t give up — you can tell all your desperate jokes to a world that puts your love on hold…

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Depeche Mode’s Violator is perhaps the greatest single compliment of the New Wave genre: it not only set the gold standard for past and future, it also managed to do it in 1990. Truly, the last memory burn of the Synthpop genre before it was driven underground by the decade of Beavis and Butt-head. No better way to end an era than with a crowning masterpiece. Favorite tracks: All. “Least” favorite track: “Personal Jesus.” There is a sound in the calm: someone is coming to harm. I press my hands to my ears — it’s easier here just to forget fear. And when I squinted, the world seemed rose-tinted — angels appeared to descend. To my surprise, with half-closed eyes, things looked even better than when they were opened…

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Their greatest statement, Echo & The Bunnymen’s Ocean Rain would prove to be the denouement of their bunnysearch. Yeah, they would go on to make many a new album (with a new singer at one point, blasphemy!), but the essential Bunnymen saga is only traceable in their first four volumes. After that, they sold out, disbanded, and one of them even died, unfortunately. Then there was the Electrafixion debacle. Whatever. Ocean Rain is the aria of sorrow to the sirens — hopeless, we know, but the cries of the human spirit is there, lingering beyond Death. The album cover concludes the search for Echo, as their manager put it (biographies purchased through Amazon, FTW!), with Ian McCulloch not finding our Bunnygod, but instead finding himself — Narcissus in Hades. Favorite tracks: “Nocturnal Me,” “The Killing Moon,” “Seven Seas,” and “Ocean Rain.” All at sea again, and now my hurricanes have brought down this ocean rain to bathe me again. My ship’s a-sail, can you hear its tender frame screaming from beneath the waves? Screaming from beneath the waves…All hands on deck at dawn, sailing to sadder shores — your port in my heavy storms — harbours the blackest thoughts…..

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And there you have it, many a laborious hour spent trying not to visit the pictures of many a skanky girl on MySpace to convey the significance of album covers for bands who, by every right, should have their HMOs get them a walking stick. I jest. Who knows, maybe I spend too much time poring over the minutiae of music that was never intended for me. Seriously, Kanye deserves all of my munny.

So post a comment (be it here or on Cold As Stone) detailing what some of your favorite album covers are. I know you won’t, but I’m doing the douchebag courteous thing and putting it out there.

Serendipitously, I will feature Savoy’s “Isotope” this week. Why is it serendipitous? Because I wanted to embed “Empty Of Feeling,” but since it isn’t available on YouTube, this danged WordPress won’t let me do nuffin’ with MySpaceTV. Seriously, why is it serendipitous? Stop using that word…”Isotope” features works of art as old as time itself for the first minute or so of the video, which coincides perfectly with this blog. I think.

Sadly, the song does not hail from the Savoy album featured here. Still, the video’s very pretty to look at. I’m not entirely sure what Paul Waaktaar is singing about, but believe you me, it’s probably an allegory of the Periodic Table of Elements.

So after y’all check this shnooka out, why not lend me a hand by adding “Empty Of Feeling” to YouTube? Thanks.

…In a blog devoted to pieces of art associated with pop musicians, you would think I would make at least some sort of reference to Magne Furuholmen’s accomplishments in the art community. After all, he gave Oscar winner Nobel Prize winner Earth-winner Al Gore a deck of cards. That’s my time! “Isotope”!

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No seas maje!

After a wee hiatus, I am back, babes, and I am crankier than ever. Watch out, world, there’s a sourpuss Alfred comin’ to getcha, and he ain’t none too happy about the Iran-Contra affair.

So what’s going on in your lives, sweeties? All’s well, I hope? Well, you know what they say, it’s better to have clapped and lost than never to have clapped at all. I think they were referring to a taping of Sabado Gigante. I wanted to get a job there, seeing as how I now have the minimum credentials to do so, and I’ve been watching Don Francisco effeminately hit on women (including my mom*) my entire lifespan. However, Alex, a friend of mine who works at Univision, told me about a hiring freeze, and tried as I might to force my way onto the premises, I could not get my name on the roster. C’mon, a lowly P.A.! Hell, I even had a recommendation from the aunt of the president of the network! Surely, nepotism must count for something in this crazy world.

But now things look brighter. I’m not gonna divulge for fear of jinxing it, so this is me, not divulging — lest I should jinx it.

*My mom went on the show and won some thousands. My uncle went on the show and won some nothing.

So did y’all watch The Dark Knight yet? (You’da thunk I’da gotten over the cape and cowl by now — and I did.) Terrific film, no? I still wanna catch it on IMAX. I had a dream where I went to see it in IMAX with my dad. The quality was terrible. Never let my dreams stand in the way of an otherwise outstanding picture.

I think it’s time for Alfredeus’ Reader Mail! Here’s the mail, it never fails! It makes me wanna wag my tail! When it comes, I wanna wail, MAAAAAIIIILLLL!!!!!!

This first one comes to us from VanillaSilly:

Hi! First time reader, longtime correspondent. I was just wondering, who did you take to the prom?

Thanks, VanillaSilly, for asking such a thought-provoking question. My prom was like any other. Tux, dancing (including the patented Fishing Rod-cum-Sprinkler maneuver), hateful longing for the little bewildered girl. (Restlessness is in our genes…) It was more of a sitcom than I care to admit, capped off by a long walk along Bayside and anxious sleep. Thanks for reopening those old wounds, you harlot. This next one comes to us from CraxyCat:

Alfred, you always seem so tense. Do you ever think about drinking green tea?

Do I ever think about it? No. Here’s a message from tinytink:

Where do you get off badmouthing my sister?

Hm, it seems that one of my personal MySpace messages has found its way onto Alfredeus’ Reader Mail. And your sister deserves it, toots. Here’s one from ElGranChorizero:

Dale, Alfredo, vamos pa’ la playa!

To the beach? Sure, why not? I’ll hit dat up. (Yeah, a lot of my correspondence comes from close personal friends requesting to spend money.) CutieFever89 says…

Hey there, big man. Feeling lonely tonight? Well, I have just the party to get rid of your worries. Ooh, baby, come a little close. I wanna whisper it to you…If a train leaves Boston at 8:00 PM, and another train leaves New York at 8:30 PM, and they’re traveling at the same speed of 88 MPH along the same train tracks, how long before we get this all-night party started?

Approximately 47 seconds. Here’s AndyTheDandy:

You owe us a lot of money, you little freak.

And YOU owe US a lot of comped meals! This next one is from GeorgiaBaby01:

What are your thoughts on the current political climate?

Excellent question, GB01. People always ask me, “Alfred, when are you going to pay us back?” And I always respond, “Wouldn’t you rather know who I’m going to vote for?” And they just punch me a little. Anyway, I think Israel deserves a trustworthy leader who can guide that fragile state into the next decade. (That one’s gonna be a doozy.) I say let Jerry Seinfeld take over the reins. Here’s a message from Carol:

Alfred, wanna come chill at my house? I’ll buy Doritos!

No, Lorac, I do not. It’s Tuesday and you’ve got schoolwork. Also, you know how I am with Doritos. It’s an obscene love affair of orange fingers and passionate love-making. Guess we’re all like that with Doritos. Maybe this weekend, cousin. “Good girl” Jo asks:

What’s the deal with spider monkeys? Haha awww.

I don’t know. The same deal as Corn Nuts and Big H. And here’s another one from tinytink…

You’re kinda cute. Cutiesezwat?

This guy is getting on my nerves. Can’t any of the propositions be legit? What I wouldn’t do for a ravenous mob of groupies! Here’s ClandestineDestined:

What was the last thing you ate?

A white Tic-Tac. Anything else?

Have you ever had sex in hyperspace?

What the — ? How does this person know that that is one of my all-time favorite quotes from a book? Get out of my head! Get out of my head! And now, a word from our sponsors:

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I don’t know why you would have to give such a steep deposit, or why an online service would be looked up in your local Yellow Pages, but that’s Corporate America for ya!

Here’s a line from DirtySexyComrade:

Seriously, man, I think we need to pay those guys their money. They sound scary.

Scary! I don’t even know the meaning of “defecating in my pantaloons”! Jeannie writes:

Didn’t I know you in middle school?

No, but I knew you in middle school. Siiigh. TitiElMafioso, all the way from Topher’s house, asks:

Where’s my toy?

I already gave you your danged toy, you little git, and you lost all of the accessories! Some gratitude from a cigar-chomping three-year-old, huh, folks? Here’s a message from my brother:

I dreamt the girl I was kissing turned into you.

Marvellous. We were probably in that IMAX theater, too. -_- What lousy letters…Next time, fans, a simple hello — no death threats, no ambiguous sexuality, no c-blocking — will do. Also, go ahead and ask me about my business. I dare ya.

That’s just swell. So let’s get on with Video of the Week already. I read the Watchmen graphic novel recently (spectacularly coming to a theater near you in March), and I wanted a video that mirrored the gritty realism depicted in that literate work. That a-ha music video is “There’s Never A Forever Thing.”

One of a-ha’s loveliest arias, “There’s Never A Forever Thing” is a simply orchestrated composition about solace after loss, as told by Morten’s shimmering vocals. Not even three minutes long, it’s the band’s shortest music video (ironic, given the title). The story behind the song is just as heart-breaking as its execution — Paul Waaktaar wrote it for his beloved Lauren, who was grieving the death of a family member. Wipe your tear at such songs of faith and devotion. :(

Too bad the music video is what it is. I think this is the first time I watched the whole thing without getting fed up. Since it was her song, I guess Lauren, as the director, could have done anything she wanted with it. In an epoch in the band’s history littered with synchronized swimming and sailors playing footie at the World Trade Center (tandem bikes!), I guess the only way to counterbalance the ice cream spectacle of the Stay On These Roads album was by focusing on a sobering image of the homeless. I believe that’s why this promo clip was a straight-to-video dealie…

Anyway, here are a-ha with “There’s Never A Forever Thing.” Minus a-ha.

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“If Clark wanted to, he could use his super-speed and squish me into the cement. But I know how he thinks. Even more than the Kryptonite, he’s got one big weakness. Deep down, Clark’s essentially a good person…
and deep down, I’m not.”

Bob Kane’s Frankensteinian creature (a hollowed vessel infused with a monster that possesses something that is not quite a soul) has a few nicknames. His unrivaled powers of deduction has Ra’s al Ghul frequently calling him the World’s Greatest Detective. The Caped Crusader is the Dynamic Duo with the Boy Wonder. And this Friday, Bruce Wayne, he who was so tragically orphaned according to American mythology, returns to us in the form of his most telling moniker: the Dark Knight. Ladies and gentleman, I give you the Batman.

Aye, penguins and catwomen in the audience, it would be very easy for anyone to say that my favorite superhero is Batman. Why would it be so easy, you ask? Because anyone hazarding that guess would be correct — the Riddler’s query, shattered.

The Dark Knight is set to obliterate out of the Batcave this Friday. Already, it has reviewers and enthusiasts chiming in with “best picture of the year” and “Heath Ledger deserves an Oscar for his performance.” This is one of those moments in popular culture where everyone is waiting with bated breath for the instant when it all breaks apart, like gears ripping from the Batmobile. Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that. Cesar Romero’s mustache’s ghost be damned!

It’s safe to say that we have all been salivating for this one for three years now — ever since Gary Oldman handed Christian Bale the joker playing card emblazoned with the promise of comic chaos. “I’ll look into it,” quipped Bale’s Batman, a hint of sarcasm and duty dripping from the words of the demigod.

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But Batman isn’t a god at all — he’s not even a superhero. He’s just a man like you and me, born with an unlucky destiny. Basically, he’s a Ninja Turtle without the brothers. Sure, he can take as well as he can give, but he can’t really beat his rival, Superman. And that is the fascination that has held audiences and readers by the collar for the better part of a century: a fallible man who happens to take it upon himself to clean up his hometown. It’s not a very original idea. In fact, it was Bruce Wayne’s adoration of The Mark of Zorro that prompted his family to go out that tragic, make-believe night — from black comes black. (Side note: Batman must have a formidable jaw. Must.)

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Somewhere in all that mess explains why I find the idea of Batman so fascinating. To a sense, he is an idealist shrouded in murky thoughts (like me!) — he thinks, nay, believes that by leading by example, his actions will influence his native city of Gotham to change its ways. Every night he goes hopping from roof to roof is a new night for him to show the people that they need not turn into diabolical clowns.

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Lucky for us, however, Gothamites haven’t gotten the hint since 1939. Arguably, Batman sports the best rogues gallery (“bad guys”) in all of superherodom, and possibly all of fantastical make-believe, period. Sure, Superman has an arch-nemesis in baldie-gone-president Lex Luthor, but how memorable is he next to the acid-washed sneer of the Joker? Star Wars has Darth Vader, and even the Emperor, but just compound the Clown Prince of Crime by adding Two-Face, Catwoman, Clayface, Harley Quinn, Killer Croc, Mad Hatter, Mr. Freeze, Penguin, Poison Ivy, The Riddler, Scarecrow, Ra’s al Ghul, and Bane (the eloquent beast who finally curtailed the Bat’s quest by breaking his back). Feel bad for Batman? You should feel bad for the poor saps at Arkham Asylum!

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You read most of these things and you nod, don’t you? You know what Oswald Cobblepot looks like (imagine Danny DeVito with pale skin and greasier hair — Penguin!), so it’s quite a small thing to say that the legend of the Bat is ingrained in our knowledge of the poptastic side of life. (Next week, I’m gonna do a blog dedicated to Soviet leaders just so you won’t think that I only focus on the frilly aspects of living in a terrible, terrible world.)

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And then there’s Nightwing Robin. People love him (or the handful of people who have called themselves Robin) as much as they do the black cape and cowl. Hypothesis: Here’s this borderline lunatic punching madmen at 4:00 AM — how can I possibly relate to him? Oh, wait! Who’s that brightly-colored lad next to him? He’s saying cheery things, he is! It doesn’t matter just how much danger Batman’s putting this teenager in — we absolutely adore him!

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Same deal with Batgirl, except male audiences (read: the majority of Batfans who get tired of staring at Robin’s tights) have something to fantasize about.

More so.

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Alfred (Alfred!) is the loyal butler-cum-confidant that has always stuck by Bruce Wayne’s delusions of grandeur, regardless of the medium. He’s a skilled medic, a supplier of reason, and an earnest, wise ear to gripe to — and he’s British! Lastly, we have Commissioner Gordon, the haggard police chief with a heavy heart and a firm belief in justice. Batman’s only true liaison beyond his ilk of vigilantes, the Commish is as trusted an ally as any. Fortunate for us all, he was finally properly handled in Batman Begins. (And catapulted to the stratosphere in The Dark Knight.)

And now, Batman’s (history) begins.

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It all started with the Bat-Man, the brainchild of the late Bob Kane, who conceived his world-famous vigilante for the May 1939 issue of Detective Comics. Like the Last Son of Krypton before him, the Caped Crusader spread like wildfire in the imaginations of the war-ravaged West, becoming a symbol of good and righteousness against a backdrop of unspeakable evil.

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Even I made that costume look better –
and I was a seven-year-old trick-or-treater!

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By 1943, Hollywood studios were busy churning out pieces of entertainment to go along with the bouyant newsreels. Thus, in a move no one in this day and age can imagine, Batman, that impossibly popular character from the funnies, was imported to the big screen. The serial format was the tops in those days, and the Bat and his Bird got the same treatment. Sure, the villains were no-name gangsters atop runaway trains, but it’s just what the public wanted. In spite of the primitive transition to celluloid, the early Batman serials of the 1940s influenced the cheese out of the late ’60s TV show, to an embarrissingly fun (if not slightly racist) degree.

The 1950s were a lull for the winged rat in popular medium. Some say that Robin’s red costume incited cries of “communist pig” and “pinko.” Still, the future was shimmering brightly — holy wantons, Batman! It’s the 1966 TV series!

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With one movie and a measly two seasons (120 episodes?), Batmania became part of the trifecta of B’s of 1960s popular culture, along with the Beatles and Bond. (Never mind bombing and biggotry.) No plot was too hammy, no line too corny. Any given Bat-Time, you would witness the “Dark Knight” foiling the Puzzler’s schemes with his patented Anti-Slinky spray, conveniently stored next to the batarangs in his utility belt.

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Arguably, the image of homoerotic Bruce Wayne (Adam West) and his ward (Burt Ward) BAM-ing and ZOINK-ing pink henchmen named Fee, Fi, Fo, and Fum became the most recognizable legacy of the character for a long, long time. All that noise about exacting justice on a world that had taken a child’s parents away? Gone! It’s the ’60s, man! “Na na na na Na na na na BATMAN!”

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All riiiiiiight, a fun night at Wayne Manor. ;)

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Personally, I enjoyed the holy heck out of this TV series growing up. What could be more fun than watching Adam West’s stilted delivery match wits with “the count of criminal conundrums” (The Riddle-er)? So my mum (who watched it growing up, as well — her fave being “Batichica”) and I would sit together as Nick At Nite reminded us how Batman was really just a swinging bachelor with a penchant for fake punches and leggy sidekicks.

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In the 1970s, Batman felt the full backlash of flower-empowered narcissism…or did he? Nah, he just got (even more) animated with his Super Friends, a ragtag team of superheroes rife with recycled footage and Hanna-Barbera laziness. If you’ve seen one episode of Super Friends, then it’s a safe bet that you’ve seen them all in that one sitting, including such fringe series as Aquaman (and his ambiguous partner, Aqualad — and their ambiguous seahorse), or that episode where The Flash fights a giant ant. I swear to you, there was but one animator doing all the work, replacing masks and reusing still frames ad vomitous. Nowadays, we do animation the even lazier way: we export it to the Far East — let 11 cents an hour do the work.

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By the time the 1980s synthed its way onto MTV, Batman had about as much gravitas as George W. Shakespeare’s opus. And then it happened: Batman comic books started becoming relevant again. In fact, they became the focus of the media, something that never really happened. The culprit: The Dark Knight Returns, a gritty look at the cape and cowl way past his prime. Y’see, Two-Face (a.k.a. former District Attorney Harvey Dent, once a friend of Bruce Wayne’s) has been rehabilitated and released to the public. So it is up to the senior citizen that is the Dark Knight to babysit his old adversary in a plot that’s good, but not as good as people play it up to be, if you want my honest opinion. Still, it smacked the 1986 world into realizing that the story of Batman is not one of Scooby-Doo guest spots — it’s one of aching duty, of the duality of deception, of fear in the hearts of the superstitious ne’er-do-wells. Also, of kicking Superman’s Boy Scout ass.

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The Dark Knight Returns was quickly followed up by Batman: Year One (same storyteller, Frank Miller, who would achieve further success as Hollywood’s grit-master of the 2OOOs with Sin City and 300), which hones in on Bruce Wayne’s formative transformation into the defender of Gotham. A much better narrative, this one is intricately tied to 2OO5′s Batman Begins, especially in terms of James Gordon’s characterization as a new-to-GCPD detective looking to clean up the body count.

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A year after that, the harrowing glimpse into the Joker’s past was given in The Killing Joke. This comic book in particular seems to have a lot of weight within the story of this Friday’s The Dark Knight, given the Joker’s partialiaty to random evil with a side of chuckle. The most lasting impact of that story, I think, is the fate of Barbara Gordon (Batgirl), who is crippled by the Joker’s handgun. It almost seems like an afterthought in the panels of the comic, but it sets up Ms. Gordon as Oracle, the trusty HQ voice for Batman’s future exploits — it also expertly showcases that the Joker isn’t just whoopie cushions and gag guns, but truly the deadliest of maniacal enemies.

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By the end of 1988, the Batman comic book phenomenon hit its zenith with the Death In The Family story arc, which produced the carcass of the Boy Wonder. 1-900 numbers were set up for fans to vote for his fate, ultimately choosing his execution at the hands of none other than the Clown Prince of Crime himself. However, this did not sit well with the general public that had grown up with Robin — death threats were lobbied at DC Comics, even. What people did not understand was that this was the second Robin, Jason Todd, a character who was never really accepted by the fandom (clearly). The original Robin, Dick Grayson, became disenchanted with his second-fiddle status and turned into Nightwing, with his own city to oversee. This particular graphic novel was a pleasure to read, especially given the almost ridiculous notion of the Joker becoming an ambassador to the United Nations by authority of Iran (how topical!). (And like I stated in a previous blog, I do not read comics — I’ve only meticulously pored into these funny pages this week, both in anticipation for the movie and as research for this very blog.)

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And with 1989 came Tim Burton’s Batman – and wasn’t everything leading up to this? Here at last was the Batman everyone had been hoping to see on the big screen, although reservations came in droves. Tim Burton, the director of Pee-wee’s Big Adventure and Beetlejuice, was to orchestrate this thing? And Betelgeuse himself, Michael Keaton, would star? But the nay-sayers were quickly hushed that summer of ’89. It goes without saying that this movie is still the best one from the Burton/Schumacher legacy/debacle.

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First of all, Gotham City never looked so alive. Glowering gargoyles, simmering frost, unwelcoming alleyways — this was the Gotham you never want to visit, much less live in. Batman himself is a towering legend come to spandex life — cold, calculating, ruthless (to a fault — since when does he kill unto others?). And the Joker! Jack Nicholson fluidly pulls off the flamboyant murderer, giving it his all as he prances and pummels. His plot, quite simply, is to kill everyone in Gotham City with a soundtrack provided by Prince. The Batmobile has never been slicker, Alfred never more marginalized, and Bruce Wayne never more meh. If he’s doing this because the Joker killed his parents, one cannot really tell from the tortured Michael Keaton. Most significant of all, perhaps, is the fact that Oingo Boingo’s Danny Elfman made a career out of composing music because of this film — the same freakish man who was singing about loving little girls because they made him feel so bad.

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Just shy of three years later, the ante was upped with Batman Returns, which exists only in contrasts of black and white. I still use the bedsheets from that movie, and I am constantly reminded of Michelle Pfeiffer’s smokin’ leather outfit in that film — prrr, meow, wet dreams! If Catwoman was a kitten-raped S&M fetishist, then Danny DeVito’s Penguin was an ogreish blob of pale black ooze. Stir that in with Christopher Walken’s zombie acting, Michael Keaton’s hair, a giant rubber duck, and Tim Burton’s obsession with The Cure, and you have a 1992 blockbuster that is still an enjoyable, if not creepy, film to watch to this day. Now just imagine Marlon Wayans as Robin, as Warner Bros. originally intended. Holy —-!

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I remember the Chri’mas of 1992 — I got Batman, Catwoman, and Penguin dolls. Yes, dolls — more Barbies in size than G.I. Joes (which I never liked), making their non-opposable arms very oppose-able. I also got a Batmobile…One day, before Christmas, my dad sent me to fetch something from the glove compartment. Being the 5-year-old tyke that I was, I went for the trunk instead, and there it was, shining so pretty in its box: the Batmobile I had so lovingly asked Sandy Claws for. I ran to my parents with the glee of all the Toys “R” Us’s in the world…and how cruel that world became when my dad snatched the prize away from me, claiming that it was some other kid’s and that Santa would be bringing mine on Christmas morning. The tears, kids, the tears! (On Christmas morning, I didn’t really care that my Batman Returns dolls couldn’t fit inside my Batmobile, or that my Batmobile didn’t even have an opening for a regular action figure. Hey, I was the kid that put toilet paper around the neck of a black ninja and dubbed him the Shredder. All this, and I didn’t realize the Santa Fable until I was 8.)

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In 1992, we also got what is most certainly the best incarnation of the Batman in the ’90s — Batman: The Animated Series. Aimed at kids (supposedly), this adult-themed Saturday morning cartoon brought the dark streets of Gotham to life with dark-deco and Depression-era sensibility. It wasn’t a loud or annoying animated program like the ones from today; it was a quiet, self-contained drama that did not treat the demented in a mocking manner, and Batman’s force was never brutish or bullying; instead, his approach was as somber as the whispered denouement of every episode. The main characters were all decidedly nuanced and balanced, given rich life like no other moving medium before it (Robin was actually a likable asset here, not just a hindrance with no foil value). Why, the best Batman voice ever is that of voice-over artist Kevin Conroy, who would go on to portray the Bruce Wayne/Batman persona for more hours than Adam West, Michael Keaton, Val Kilmer, George Clooney, and Christian Bale combined. And the list of baddies were no pushovers, either: the Joker was superbly portrayed by Mark Hamill — it’s Luke Skywalker gone clownish!

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The 14-year legacy of Batman: TAS is a daunting one, what with its rewriting of bios (Big Bad Harv was the precursor to Two-Face, brilliant) and its enrichment of the mythology with new adversaries (Harley Quinn — Joker’s squishable love-me-don’t girlfriend — where have you been all our lives?). Not only was every episode packed with no-holds-barred action and noir, but it also set the stage for an entire generation of DC Comics animation. Alongside the elongated adventures of Batman and Robin(s) and Batgirl (oh, my!), there was Superman: The Animated Series (the team-up with Bats in “World’s Finest” — which also saw the union of the Joker and Lex Luthor — is still an exemplary marriage), Batman Beyond, and both Justice League shows, all furthering the simple myth introduced in the little Batman show that was supposed to cash in on the movies’ popularity, not outdo it. Certainly, it is one of the most sprawling continuities in the television wasteland, comparable to Star Trek (blech).

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If you think you’re above watching a cartoon about a man and his cape, think again — the Batman: Animated Series films are the most lauded of Batman adventures, besting the likes of even Batman Begins in reviews. In 1993, before camp was reintroduced in Batman Forever, Baman: Mask of the Phantasm made few ripples at the box office, but, boy, was its storytelling superb. A lush story about Bruce Wayne’s past and a new adversary picking off gangsters, Mask of the Phantasm is heralded as one of the greats. The same can be said about Batman Beyond: Return of the Joker. Set in the future backdrop of Batman Beyond (wherein Bruce Wayne of 2O5O is retired but overseeing the rise of his new apprentice, Terry McGuinnis, the Batman of the brave new world), Return of the Joker details the old Batman’s last confrontation with the Joker and how it affected the sanity of the second Robin. Both of these films come highly recommended (by me!), so go seek them out. (Spoiler warning: Robin kills the Joker. Pass it on.)

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Approaching the 3000th word, I finally make it to 1995′s Batman Forever. After two very dark films and a TV series that was equally serious and genre-defining, there could be no way, no how that the story of the Bat could take a dip back into villains on tiptoes and out of this world puns. Lucky for you non-believers, “director” Joel Shumacher brought in Jim Carrey to, you know, Ace Venture things up a bit. Genius, no? As The Riddler, JIm Carrey introduced his very popular character, the Mask, to the Batcave. Along with him came Tommy Lee Jones as Two-Face, which, on paper, sounds like a great idea, right? Tommy Lee Jones is already a creepy guy to begin with, so how can he not pull off Batman’s most schizo-dangerous gangster? We finally (!) get Robin, by way of teen heartthrob (?) Chris O’Donnell — and his career is doing just fine, thanks. Finally, Batman’s lips have never been poutier than with Val Kilmer behind the eye slits. Yup, the “actor” from Willow would be portraying one of the most conflicted characters of the 20th century.

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Growing up with cable television, Batman Forever is probably the Batmovie I’ve watched the most (and drank from — McDonald’s mug, jeah, boi!). How can it not appeal to a pre-pre-teen with nothing to do on a Saturday afternoon (besides Nickelodeon)? By rights, it’s an enjoyable, comedic fare with overall likable (albeit broad) characters. And, hey, they even attempt to explore Batman’s origins and his dark past. Kudos, yes? Riddler’s back-and-forth rapport with Two-Face was the best part, which is more than I can say about the exchanges between Dick and Bruce (which one is the gayer name?). And I must say, Nicole Kidman never looked hotter than she did perched on that rooftop, breasts ablaze. Had I been capable of a woodie as an eight-year-old in that movie theater, I would have surely pitched a tent. Why, Schumacher even managed to make Drew Barrymore look good. I know!

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The good times (um…) did not last, however. No one had done it before — not Joker, not Bane, not even the entire Justice League (including that worthless Plastic Man) had been able to defeat Batman, but somehow, someway, the cruel malice of Joel Shumacher managed to destroy the Batman. And as the world wept after Batman & Robin, all that was left behind was a wardrobe full of Batnipples and cod pieces. Run at us, Caped Crusader, and never come back! [Oh, don't be so dramatic. Chill out.]

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I suppose the only reason Arnold “watch-me-ruin-a-state” Shwarzenegger was given the part was because no one could deliver such terrible lines without feeling at least a little guilty. (Also, the former Hitler admirer Mr. Universe could take on the 70-pound Mr. Freeze suit, no prob.) I can somewhat imagine Governor Shwarzenegger being an intimidating villain. After all, he was a Predator-killing silent commando in his heyday, verily, a formidable Stallone-mauling terminator. But no…as Mr. Freeze, he has a legion of ice-skating henchmen from hell, culled from the annals of Adam West nostalgia. Remember when he sang “I’m Mr. White Christmas” a la The Year Without A Santa Claus? Me neither. Lucky for us, when we see it on TV, we treat this movie like (warning! warning!) Kryptonite. (Warned ya.)

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Uma Thurman wasn’t a terrible choice at all to portray that most enchanting of female opposites, Poison Ivy. Sure, she’s not the best looking knife in the drawer (by a wide margin), but she sure did prove her mettle. No, Batman & Robin didn’t show that — Kill Bill did, doi. They gave her such a rubbish job (watch out! Batman and Robin are no longer on speaking terms because of her perfect kiss!), it really is a waste of potential energy. Acting as the deceitful girlfriend of the allegedly tortured Freeze is so…sigh…uninspired.

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If Robin was a tool in Batman Forever, then he was…a wet match in a dark room in this one. You haven’t seen such dead weight since the 1988 elections. Hey-yo! Such an ineffectual character, my Jebus. And what’s the deal with Batgirl? Let’s cash in on the dying Alicia Silverstone money train! Yes, Clueless was a great movie. I repeat: Clueless was a great movie. Nothing there about no danged she-bat. I’ll admit, seeing the lifesize window cutout of Ms. Silverstone at my local Taco Bell got me all a-tingle, but when she’s been rewritten as Alfred Pennyworth’s niece, then it’s all…whatever…

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Lastly, we come upon the eponymous hero (even if he does get second billing): George motherdeflowering Clooney. How dare you. It’s not enough to desecrate our women’s imaginations with your youthful exuberance, but you also have to throw feces at our testosterone role models, too? Your unassuming, inflated ego that manifests itself as a bobblehead is offensive enough (especially when you get Oscar noms for playing what is essentially the same role every time), but I will not have you strut about pretending to be Bruce Wayne in name. When the movie came out, I got a talking Batman bank, and let’s just say that the plastic figurine guarding my quarters emoted his lines (“Hey, Freeze! The heat is on! I’m Batman!”) more than Clooney did in his entire run on ER. As Bruce Wayne, Georgie-boy projects no angst, no tortured polarity, nothing resembling a guy who believes in the justice his murdered parents believed in. He’s just playing Clooney, dammit! It just makes me so damn mad!

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What else irks me about Batman & Robin? Besides its existence? Probably the aforementioned Batnipples (boohiss!), as well as the Batcredit card gag. The plastic lips. The eye-retching colors. Bane, the imbecil, which starkly contrasts the real Bane, the wordsmithian businessman. Yeah, he’s a gigantic juicer, but he’s very tactical, that one. Like I mentioned, he derailed Batman by breaking his back, akin to when Superman died in the comics. It was an experience that always weighed Batman down, the physical version of Robin’s death or Batgirl’s disability. But Batman & Robin‘s Bane is none of that. He’s a green trunk that grunts and sells fewer action figures than John Kerry. (On the DVD commentary for this atrocity, the director himself apologizes profusely. Not kidding.)

Thus came death to the Batman. There’s blood on your hands, Ms. Thatcher. There’s blood on your hands!

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After 1997, the world would not be ready for another big-screen Batjaunt for the better part of a decade. Ironically, there was another film about Mr. Freeze that was all set to be released alongside the theatrical turd. However, upon witnessing the dismal reaction to the abysmal movie, the good folks behind the goodest Batman anthology of the era were wise enough to release it a full year later. Not as uber-culazo as Mask of the Phantasm, SubZero does manage to tell a formidable Mr. Freeze tale that won’t have you recoiling in Scarecrow’s fear toxin.

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So while our Caped Crusader experienced a Hollywood-induced lull, it still chugged along brilliantly on TV (continuing in Batman Beyond and as a founding member of the too-good-for-you Justice League). In the realm of its native format, el libro comix, Batman was getting the royal treatment with such stellar fare as The Long Halloween, which deals with the origin story of Two-Face (this one is probably my favorite Batman comic ever — I read it every day after finishing my classes in my Freshman year of college, waiting in the bookstore for my dad to drive up in the rain), and Hush, an exhaustive collabo within the ranks of the Batbaddies, all leading up to the ghost of the dead Robin. (There’s also a great graphic novel in the form of Arkham Asylum: A Serious House On Serious Earth, which was released in ’89, but I did not mention it because of the movie hooplah. It’s deliriously painted, with every page splashed with echoes of your sanguine dreams. Muy bueno.)

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I even read a novel released in 2OOO (albeit a few years down the line, post-Batman Begins hysteria). That’s when you know Alfred’s hit a curious threshold with his fandomonium, when he starts treating the spectacle as literature. (The only other time this really happened, beyond built-in values of reading The Lord of the Rings, was in middle school when I read dozens of Star Wars novels. Does Harry Potter count? Nome.) The novel was No Man’s Land, a nihilistic, blood-drenched look at Gotham City gone to the dogs. After a calamitous earthquake, the island of Gotham is declared no man’s land, meaning that the U.S. government broke all ties with it, leaving it to its own devices. Naturally, the nuthaus of Arkham Asylum spreads to the streets, and every demon you’ve ever feared takes up a turf. Batman isn’t so much the central figure as are the desperate citizens of Gotham, who are forced into loyalty either to Two-Face or the Joker, whose orchestral manoeuvres in the dark lead to a heart-breaking climax that will have your mama bawling.

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While all this jazz was going on, you have to know that Warner Bros. was not idling by while its most treasured property sank into theatrical despair. (Just forget Superman IV ever existed, mmmmkay?) Shumacher was all set to go forward with Batman Triumphant, which would have had a worse actor than George Clooney, if you can believe it, don the emblem. There was also Batman: The DarkKnight, which languished in development hell up until 2OOO. Stuff was even written by the showrunners for Batman Beyond, which is something they should definitely retry sometime. Then there was Batman: Year One, the project that most assuredly gave the OK for Christopher Nolan’s masterpiece. Lastly, Batman Vs. Superman was given considerable thought.

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Batman Vs. Superman is a no-brainer. Why not have the most popular comic book wiseguys (Spider-que?) go at it on the big screen. It’s not like they like each other very much, and they’re usually found bickering an awful lot. One’s a vigilante on rooftops, the other an adored Boy Scout. Their methods are quite distinct, but their mutual respect goes without question. Talks of Caped Crusader Versus Kal-El were given serious consideration post-Superman Returns, now that Warner Bros. had two faces with which to sell the movie. I would actually vote for an adaptation of the “World’s Finest” episode — warring Bats and Supes team up against love-hate Lex and Jokes, easy enough. Of course, that fell apart, in favor of a Justice League movie, actually. Naturally, that fell apart, too, so for the forseeable future, all we will have is The Dark Knight on DVD. And maybe Wonder Woman.

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In 2OO2, hot on the heels of everyone’s fave TV show, Smallville, the Birds of Prey series debuted to decent numbers and worthwhile demos. Set in the Gotham universe, the episodes followed Huntress, the daughter of Batman and Catwoman, along with her lesbian lovers allies, Oracle (still in a wheelchair because of the Joker) and some other chick who probably was a lesbian. Sure, it fandoogled the hell out of the mythology, but I watched it every week…until it was canceled. If you want to see what you’ve been missing, then check out the newly-released DVD set (cash-in kaching!). In 2OO4, Oscar-winner and terrible Bond girl Halle Barry starred in Catwoman, but there’s no need to delve into that. At all.

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…Which finally, finally brings us up to speed with 2OO5′s Batman Begins, the holy grail of Batman’s Renaissance. It’s what every kid who bought a black mask growing up wanted. This wasn’t just an origin story told in the opening credits, or an origin story that really didn’t say much (I’m looking at you, both Hulk movies), but rather an origin story that tells us everything about Bruce Wayne, and then some. It so eloquently establishes him as the hate-filled twenty-something looking to channel his anger into something better, looking to drive that fear of bats into fearlessness.

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I must admit something here: I was not looking forward to Batman Begins all that much. Yeah, it was a new Batman and all, but I just didn’t feel the surge of energy that was waiting at the movie theater, and I’m sure a lot of you were like that, too. Hell, it didn’t even boast the cream of the rogues gallery. Scarecrow? Ra’s al Ghul? What gimmick were they throwing at us? Of course, we were treated to the finest Batman film of all time, as well as the finest Batactor of all time. Christian Bale is Batman as Bruce Wayne, which we have never really seen before. You know, his anguish, his thirst for justice, his life for Gotham. Every Bruce Wayne before him was just an arrogant jerk, more playboy than thespian. With Bale, we finally got the three faces of the one man: Bruce Wayne the determined misanthrope, Bruce Wayne the playacting, frivolous socialite, and Bruce Wayne the Kevlar enthusiast.

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And for the first time ever, all of Batman’s alliances feel just right: Alfred Pennyworth (Sir Michael Caine) is the concerned parent figure with a sardonic tongue; James Gordon (Gary Oldman) is the disheartened good cop given life anew by Batman’s quest for justice; Lucius Fox, a bit player and the black dude who knows the ins and outs of Wayne’s billion-dollar conglomerate, even he gets a tremendous push by Morgan Freeman. And then there’s Rachel Dawes, she who is now the dearly departed Katie Holmes, actually adds something by being the idealistic district attorney. (Sure, she was dismissed for Maggie Gyllenhaal…1 Up?) Even Thomas Wayne, the deceased papa, got some tangible recognition, and he had always been so marginalized, in spite of his significance. (The same cannot be said about Mama Wayne, although I give props to her pearl necklace.) (Don’t think of it as dirty, perv.)

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And much to our wonderment, the evildoers were real people, not cut-outs from In Living Color. Dr. Bob Crane, the Sleepy Hollow’d Scarecrow, was murderously achieved by Cillian Murphy. Yeah, his stage exit left a foamy taste in my mouth, but you heard Gordon — he’s still running wild in the Narrows, hint-hint. And then there was Liam Neeson, that jack of all trades actor who always finds a way to be the wise statesman who takes on a willing learner, whether it’s The Phantom Menace, Narnia, Kingdom of Heaven, Batman, or even Schindler’s List. As the dual-faced Ra’s al Ghul, Neeson is self-righteous and knowing, willed to cleanse the world of the treachery of Gotham’s hedonism. Remember, in the lore, Ra’s al Ghul utilizes the Lazarus Pit to lengthen his life over the centuries — The Dark Knight may tell us what happened to Mr. Neeson…

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Director Christopher Nolan is one of the best directors of this generation — not just for the batty hijinks, but also for Memento and The Prestige. In Batman Begins, he gives life to Gotham — no, not just gothic mirages culled from The Nightmare Before Christmas, but actual life. It’s a city people would actually live in, a metropolis in everything but in proper name. It’s also a degenerate toilet splashed in browns, decadent yet deadly. Nolan doesn’t just reinvent the Batman mythos, he makes it seem like it’s something actually going on in the news. The Burton films were comic book spectacles for the Invader Zim crowd; the Schumacher films were episodes from tonight’s Cartoon Network lineup; the Nolan films (with the new one included) are operatic dramas that happen to center on a legend as old as World War II itself.

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So much ado, so much ado! That brings us to tonight, to The Dark Knight. Wheels of anticipation have been turning at full throttle — I watched a slew of Batman: The Animated Series episodes and Batman Begins last night, along with premiering Gotham Knight, the anime collection a la The Animatrix, voiced by Mr. Batvoice himself, Kevin Conroy. I haven’t been this excited for a film since the last Star Wars film, I’d say, which came out just before Batman Begins. Everyone’s back (minus Mrs. Cruise, duh), plus we get two stellar additions: Aaron Eckhart as the man who would be Two-Face and Heath Ledger as the most wizard villain in recent memory. You and I both know it will be a glorificent, bittersweet experience, watching a masterful performance that will be his last one. (Let’s not rule out the minor crush I have on Donnie Darko’s sister, Maggie Gyllenhaal. She’s like an attainable pretty — who happens to look like her male sibling.)

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The hype is monstrous. “I Believe In Harvey Dent.” “Let’s Put A Smile On That Face.” On Sunday, I purchased a poster of the Joker writing “Why So Serious?” in blood on glass, and it looms over me as I type, a chilling reminder of how something so right can go so tragically wrong. We wanted to watch this momentous film in an IMAX theater (seeing as how it’s the first Hollywood film to be shot in that format), but it’s sold out for the weekend in the tri-county area. I guess we’re just gonna hafta camp out at our local mall, thirsting at bits of excitement, letting the thrill of a motion picture engulf us just as it did back when Edison turned the projector on for the first time.

And as I near the 6000th 7000th word (holy typographical errors, Man-Bat!), I have had enough of so much children’s fantasy. I just want this damn movie to be over and done with to get on with some semblance of a life. I’ll have a date by this decade, I assure you. (I’m not referring to the decade that ends in 2010 — I’m talking about the one that begins right now. 2016 looks good, baby!)

If you think this manifesto was comprehensive, you should check out the bit of writing I did for the Ninja Toitles last year. A doozy, that one.

EDIT: Well, my worst fears have been realized: this damn blog post took so long to bring to life that I already watched The Dark Knight. Crazy, huh? You’re expecting my review, I reckon. Well, here it is, as spoiler-free as a toy without pee…This movie does not disappoint. If you think the hype was gargantuan, that your own expectations are too inflated to be realized, then just you wait: all of the excitement was a kiddie pool compared to this 100-story high-diving extravaganza.

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It takes the raw energy and true-to-life bravado of Batman Begins and lights a flamethrower under its ass. After having seen so many spoilers (blast!), I thought I would be jaded by the whole affair, but it was so fresh, so jaw-dropping, so unequivocally wowing. It is not a superhero movie by any stretch of the imagination, and it’s much more than just a drama with moralistic overtones — it’s a horror movie because it seems so real, and nothing’s scarier than reality.

Everyone is sublime, everyone. Bale confronts his ambivalence about his role the way he ought to, with trepidation and remorse, like Christopher Reeves in Superman II, that is, if Supes had been faced with a terrorist that echoes the panicked oblivion we live in. Oldman as Gordon also went above and beyond everything ever given to the good cop, and you’ll be cheering for him throughout the film. Eckhart as District Attorney Harvey Dent is a force of likable — questionable? — hope, and although I had doubts about his prophetic metamorphosis…well, those doubts were obliterated. Once again, co-writer/director Christopher Nolan does not sacrifice Gotham City as a character — it is rich, powerful, full of mistrust and deception, yes, but also embodying the goodness we all one day hope to live up to.

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It’s not just all prolific rhetoric — the action sequences, even the smallest of frames, are astounding. No facet of this movie suffers (the plot, the characterization, the mythology), and this goes especially true for the next-gen “superhero” action you’ll see in this film. And thus, we come to Heath Ledger’s Joker. It’s a primal tour de force, a daringly maniacal take on a character we all thought we had known all our lives. He deserves a standing ovation for turning chilling, tongue-lashing malice on its head (quite literally, wink), and this is, quite simply, the actor’s grand overture, the one he will be remembered for after a dozen more Batman movies get made. My friend says that Javier Bardem’s Chigurh in No Country For Old Men was better, but I have to object: yeah, Bardem did something creepy with an unknown movie, but what Ledger does with a film with so much hype, with a character so established, it’s really nothing short of devastating.

(Let’s not be too hard on my friend, Topher, though — he enjoyed Hellboy II: The Golden Army more, which was a really good movie, yeah, but this is the Batman. The quintessential Batman. Batman: The Godfather Part II version.)

So it goes, citizen. So it goes.

After so many words about glum and blah (and three four days of the same), I can only let you go with this week’s Video (but of course!). What would be the most punny video to showcase? a-ha’s “Dark Is The KNight For All“! What says The Dark Knight more than a song and video practically tailored for the occasion some 15 years prior?

All this talk of crazies in costumes is sure to go hand-in-hand with a-ha’s bizarre imagery in the music video — people having sex with stilts, holey spheres falling from the heavens, Mags checking himself into a sepia mental institute. But it would not be enough to give you just one music video on this grand occasion, no, no! I am bringing you both the censored and uncensored versions! Why did it have to be censored at all? I suppose the suits at the U.S. MTV didn’t take kindly to men being born on stomachs of other men (or the same man, for that matter), or the freaky dude sexing with timber. “Dark Is The Night For All” is something right out of MirrorMask, I tell ya.

So I thank you, dear reader, for tuning in to this. Ever wonder what it feels like to dance with the devil in the pale moonlight? It’s as fortuitous as it sounds.

“I never said thank you.”

And you’ll never have to.

The classic, censored version:

The Italian TV uncensored joint:

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¿Que coño les pasa a ustedes? ¡Me tienen abandonado, y no, no, no los perdonos!

What it be, clones and drones? Taking the summer heatstroke in stride? As a Miamian clawing his eyes out from sundeath, I just try to avoid wearing jeans. Problem is, I seem to be applying for a job everywhere in jeans. Nothing respectable about a sweaty man and his wet, all-fluff resume.

So the Celebration of Independence of the Greatest Country In The World (no, not Papau New Guinea) has come, gone, and left us with a massive hangover (damn that dirty, sexy barbecue chicken). I hope you spent your 4th of July awesomely. (This goes especially for those of you who haven’t even visited the United States — isn’t it about time you start thanking us for saving your hides in the War of 1812?)

(And by “us,” surely I don’t mean any one of my ancestors. First-generation American and all.)

As you can guess from my fingertip ramblings, I don’t have all that much planned for this edition of America’s Funniest Homebodies. Have you heard of the exciting new band named Crystal Castles? Their debut album warps the friendliness of ’80s-era videogame music with the sonic exploitation of noisy dance-punk and bruised shriek-screaming — that is, once you get passed the copyright infringement of Atari soundtracks and Madonna’s bloated image-as-an-album cover entanglement. So sing it with me, gals and gals: “But the kid is not my son!”

Funny thing you should ask, so here’s the skinny: every year, the people who make English (Merriam-Webster, Oxford, Jesucristo) add words to our prestigious dictionary. They dissect the trends of the English-speaking world, and after a phrase becomes popular enough with the muggles, “muggle” becomes an actual, factual word that can be looked up in the dictionary (those antique book-things with the weighty, dusty pages and the picture of you next to “slut”) and deplored.

This year, a host of new words you have never used (prosecco? soju? prescatarian?! I believe in Jesus!), as well as some you have (fanboys, rejoice! Batman looms!), has joined such past favorites as “cloistered” and “bronchial” and “ziggurat” to become part of the daily lexicon you never use, you lazy…um…guys.

“Mondegreen” is a newly-inducted word that means misheard lyrics. Simple, right? The phrase comes from a Scottish song that sounded like “Lady Mondegreen” instead of the PG-13 correctness that was “laid him on the green.” I haven’t dedicated a blog post to the band that made this very web journal possible (Deepeechee?), so I figure, why not do one for the home team? Enough jibba-jabba, let’s get on with the a-ha mondegreens that have been praying preying on my mind since January 2OO3!

(And for any of you’ze guyses who just want to get on with this week’s VOTWii, then just click on the PLAY symbol down yonder. What, born into Internet 2pornO just yesterday, wingnut?)

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SOLACE

My version: You waste in the moment, biding your time / No one got ahead standing in line

“True” version: You’re wasting the moment, biding your time / No one got ahead standing in line

What Alfred has to say about his sins: “I prefer the thought of having oneself waste, like melting wax, instead of just sitting around.” Winner: Alfred.

THIS ALONE IS LOVE

My version: Our souls are a myriad of wars, and I’m losing every one

“True” version: Our souls are a myriad of wars, and I’m losing everyone

What Alfred has to say about his sins: “It could go either way (jivin’ homophones), but the Interweb’s lyrics give the emphasis on the people the narrator is losing, whereas I refer to the wars.” Winner: Mags and Waaktaar

LOCUST

My version: Don’t be afraid, it’s a heartless moon

“True” version: Don’t be afraid, it’s a harmless moon

What Alfred has to say about his sins: “Morten’s pronounced Engrish funkered me up on this one. A heartless moon personifies the satellite, whereas a harmless moon just lessens the foreboding.” Winner: Alfred

EARLY MORNING

My version: See the lonely August summer rise

“True” version: See the lonely August sun arise

What Alfred has to say about his sins: “Pretty much the same diff, but summer doesn’t litterally rise. Eh.” Winner: Tie

CANNOT HIDE

My version: I sent the postale to my mum the other day, but it got lost and now she can’t afford her oatmeal / Life stinks without oatmeal / I’ve never tried it myself / Catacombs of Egypt

“True” version: French French postale French French

What Alfred has to say about his sins: “The French ‘rap’ at the end of the explosive Morten sex romp is almost indecipherable. (Just don’t consult anyone who understands French, though.) You have Morten wanting you to do him right all the while someone who I choose to name ‘Magne’ goes off about the postal service (not the band) and what sounds like the catacombs of Egypt to me.” Winner: Everyone

ANALOGUE

My version: Come back, my darling one / I’m coming on ya

“True” version: Come back, my darling one / I’m calling on ya

What Alfred has to say about his sins: No comment. >_> Winner: The authorities

LIVING A BOY’S ADVENTURE TALE

My version: I’ve been lost in so many places — seeked love in so many faces

“True” version: [same]

What Alfred has to say about his sins: “Nothing. It just irks me to see “seeked.” What, ‘sought’ wasn’t sing-song enough? Replace it with ‘sicked’ and you’ll be jam. (Of course, that just screws up the word ‘in.’ Also, since when is love a hunting dog? When isn’t it?)” Winner: Poetry

YOU ARE THE ONE

My version: I fought for you — didn’t let me win / Don’t even care, you don’t care where I’ve been

“True” version: I fought for you, did you let me win? / Don’t even care, you don’t care where I’ve been

What Alfred has to say about his sins: “Seems more spiteful in mine. Yes, seems.” Winner: Kazaa

ORANGES ON APPLETREES

My version: Bugs that mate with bumblebees … Birds that mate with bumblebees

“True” version: [same]

What Alfred has to say about his sins: “Bumblebees are whores.” Winner: Birds and bugs

DARK IS THE NIGHT FOR ALL

My version: And when the heathens fall, dark is the night for all

“True” version: And when the evenings fall, dark is the night for all

What Alfred has to say about his sins: “Heathens don’t make no sense, nome. Evenings is boreness.” Winner: Female a-ha fans

SLENDER FRAME

My version: Pack up your things and go / Run down the road, they’ll never know

“True” version: Pack up your things and go / Run down the road, don’t take it slow

What Alfred has to say about his sins: “The reuse of ‘don’t take it slow’ is often written as the lyrics for the second chorus of ‘Slender Frame,’ but this is simply because people don’t really know what Morten’s saying. Trust me, it’s ‘they’ll never know.’ Would Unkie Alfie lie to vou?” Winner: Me, clearly

MANHATTAN SKYLINE

My version: I hear myself say, “My bird’s leaving now,” so we shake hands and cry

“True” version: I hear myself say, “My boat’s leaving now,” so we shake hands and cry

What Alfred has to say about his sins: “Mine is just stupid. The bird/plane imagery in my head did not last very long. Hell, this was before I even knew of the omitted bridge from the album version.” Winner: My haughty brother

STAY ON THESE ROADS

My version: The cold air has a voice — it talks to me

“True” version: The cold has a voice — it talks to me

What Alfred has to say about his sins: “I’m giving mondegreens a bad name.” Winner: Stillborn babies everywhere (nowhere?)

LIFELINES

My version: Once I can make us believe it’s true

“True” version: One sign to make us believe it’s true

What Alfred has to say about his sins: “My version has the lovelorn narrator taking it upon himself to prove his worth to his Better Half, whereas the truer version looks upon the Heavens for divine confirmation. Either way works.” Winner: Bowtie

STOP! (AND MAKE YOUR MIND UP)

My version: Beer goes to my head / I want you to come back to bed

“True” version: You’ve gone to my head / I want you / Come back to bed

What Alfred has to say about his sins: “I’ve read my version online somewhere. Noticeably, it is hyperspace better.” Winner: Me, zoinks

NEVER NEVER

My version: I walk in your shadows, never, never

“True” version: I won’t give you shadows, never, never

What Alfred has to say about his sins: “When you listen to this demonic gem, you can clearly see why some of the Internets thought it was the version I chose to sing for an awfully long time. BAM, Kattastic posts up the realness, and what does Alfred get? The sadness. Still, ‘Never Never’ is the crackin’-good tune that never went commercial, kept it real. But what is this I read about ‘All The Planes That Come In On The Quiet’? Who has been keeping songs away from me? Who, I ask you? WHO?!” Winner: Darlene!

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Yeah, sometimes I amaze even meself. (It’s not that hard. Trust me.) So the mondegreens are there — what are yours? Surely, you’re not dying for a cigarette in the coffee lounge?

Which brings us to this week’s video, and wouldn’t you know it, it’s probably the most difficult of all the a-ha & co. music videos to discern. Why? It’s in Norwegian, you silly goose! Yup, yup, when a-ha were no more in the mid-’90s, Morten Harket decided to release a biblically-tinged, all-Norwegian album dubbed Neon Genesis Evangelium Potent. Or something. So go mondegreene-apenuts with Morten’s “Salome,” which is about salami, belly dancers who can’t dance, and Morten’s locks as The Hair That Would Be Zorro’s (Had Zorro Been In The Desert).

Impress us now, Morten’s “Salome” and The Hair That Would Be Zorro’s (Had Zorro Been In The Desert)!

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