At the point with which I began reading Science Fiction, I was probably a bit older than most young men.  As a young’un, I wasn’t much interested in books, per se: I spent countless hours writing and drawing my own space adventures on the backsides of sheets of paper my parents brought home from their various employers.  Instead of losing myself in novels, I wrote my own stories, and reading was a bug that never quite bit me until my early teens.

​It was at that point that I discovered – perhaps simultaneously, if you can believe it – such authors as Mickey Spillane, Ray Bradbury, and Harlan Ellison.  (Don’t ask me how I ever came up with that combination; I just did.)  Spillane appealed to the budding Alpha Male in me, as his Mike Hammer character was quick with his fists and even quicker with his guns.  Bradbury, by contrast, always seemed to put a downright magical spin on practically anything – even the most mundane ideas – stringing together words into sentences and sentences into books that made the imagination run wild.  Ellison – as much as I enjoyed some of his stuff – really seemed like a bitter Bradbury to me.  I couldn’t say why with any specificity, but his particular brand of ‘what if’ always percolated with an undercurrent of despondency, of anger, so I had a hard time sticking with anything he’d published for long.  Either that or Ellison seemed content to create a magical, mystical place to visit only to then yank the rug out from under the reader, as if he were standing over their shoulders crying, “Oh, wake up, for God’s sake, it’s only a story!”

Consequently, I didn’t stick with him as an influence, though so many of the folks I hung around with for so long did.  They swore by him.  They read his stuff over and over and over again (the way I did Spillane and Bradbury).  They worshipped him as the veritable master of all things SciFi.

Later in life, I ended up picking up a collection or two from Harlan, and – as an adult – I enjoyed his work with greater understanding and appreciation; so perhaps he was so far ahead of his time that I just kinda/sorta missed the bus all of my contemporaries were all too happy to ride.  I suspect now that he’s gone, I might even be pressed back into service, seeking out and exploring just a bit more of what he’s left behind in a legacy that’ll only grow more impressive as I slip into my own Golden Years.

Still, I’d seen Harlan in a handful of interviews throughout the years, and he always did seem more than a bit angry.  I’m not saying whether or not his frustrations were justified – each of us much inevitably be our own arbiter of the things which rile us up so I generally pass on judging others.  Besides, I’ve never walked so much as a mile in Harlan’s shoes, and I can’t hold a candle to his immeasurable knack at making a point.  I’ll leave him be … but I do hope the hereafter is ready for whatever emotion he no doubt brings with.

Honestly, I’ve never been a big fan of traditional fairy tales.

​Don’t get me wrong: as a consumer of stories, I think that many of them are suitably grand, if not downright poetic.  It’s just that rarely have I seen them translated well to the silver screen, Walt Disney’s animated projects aside.  In some respects, I think it’s that these rather simple tales get “beefed up” and/or complicated with unnecessary subplots in order to make for a 90-minute product; and what gets sacrificed or cheapened is the necessary ‘moral of the story,’ buried under mountains of subtext not in the original legend.  Sure, the meaning is still there; but it’s padded so heavily with narrative baggage that it all feels diluted from the process in transforming it from the script to the screen.

Thankfully, Russia’s I Am Dragon (2015) serves more as exception to the rule, and I ended up loving it much more than I thought I would.  As imperfect as it is – with some drag throughout an all-too-commercially constructed fabled love story – Dragon ends up being, perhaps, the most traditional adaptation of a fairy tale I’ve ever seen.  (And, again, this is leaving out the usual Disney fare.)

Princess Miroslava aka Mira (played by the lovely Mariya Poezzhaeva) is slated to wed Igor (Pyotr Romanov) not necessarily out of love but from duty: as is often the case in fairy tale times, a union is oft required to ‘keep the peace’ between kingdoms, so these two young spirits are both doing what they must in order to maintain the status quo.  However, the singing of an old village hymn awakens the dastardly dragon, one who quickly swoops down on the wedding ceremony and kidnaps Mira.  Why?  It would seem that, in days of old, these villagers offered up fair young maidens (as dinner!) to the nearby dragon in exchange for leaving their kingdom untouched.  Just when they thought it was safe to begin their lives anew, the dragon proves otherwise.  So much for happily ever after …

On the dragon’s hidden island, Mira discovers Arman (Matvey Lykov), a young man who also appears to have been held captive by the winged serpent.  But before the monster can make a meal of either of them, Mira uncovers a dark secret: Arman is actually the dragon in human form, and he’s forever bound by a curse to serve out his days as the fire-breathing demon lest he master the art of self-control.

From there, Dragon picks up all of the usual fairy tale tropes.  Igor is destined to attempt the rescue of his bride despite confessing that he may not really love her all that much, much less with a true heart.  Mira’s sister has sacrificed her pursuit of nuptials – Igor’s ward – as it defies the rules of what’s an acceptable union between two kingdoms.  And the bounds of true love are shown to be powerful enough to navigate uncharted waters, bring peace to the faraway lands, and help a cursed young man control his inner beast.
​

Much of the story works very well, though director Indar Dzhendubaev’s carefully crafted visuals often times end up feeling and edited like one’s watching a high-priced car commercial.  There’s a slickness to too much of it at times, and the end result is Dragon feels like it was put together in such a way as to compete in the global marketplace where Americanized action pictures take a rushed yet inevitably choppy pace in order to keep an audience’s short attention span glued to the screen.  While there are a handful of sequences that feel truly lyrical, much in the way the aforementioned Disney animated pictures (i.e. The Little Mermaid, Beauty and The Beast, etc.) capitalize on storytelling for the young-at-heart, I still have to wonder if Dzhendubaev’s intent was to put the veneer of a Transformers’ production on what is essentially a vastly kinder, gentler, and more human tale.  If so, it was a mistake, one that can’t be corrected in post no matter how hard an editor works; if not, then perhaps the material may’ve been captured with greater nuance by a different director entirely.

Nonetheless, the film succeeds, especially the idyllic, almost enchanted setting the young lovers build for themselves on this hidden island.  Think of this as “The Blue Lagoon Meets Beauty and the Beast.”  Their developing relationship feels organic – as if it’s what Fate intended all along – and the actors – both who look extremely young especially given their ages according to IMDB.com – manage to make this fairy tale work in ways often reserved for animation.  Poezzhaeva’s skills could’ve used a bit more polish – the woman has to carry much of the emotional weight behind any classic love story, and she’s a bit rough here – but Lykov rather seamlessly shows us a man tortured by a curse not of his creation but one he’s ready, willing, and able to overcome, even at the cost of his immortal soul.

​According to Wikipedia.org, I Am Dragon failed to find an audience in its native Russia, and I couldn’t say why exactly.  Historically, dragon-centric features (i.e. Dragonheart, Eragon) have never quite caught fire socially the way other Fantasy works have (i.e. The Lord of the Rings trilogy).  As a live action feature, I found it quite compelling at times, though a bit inconsistent in pace.  (A more-than-fair amount of set-up is required to put all of these elements into place, so it’s hard to make sense of so much time spent in Mira’s initial imprisonment.)  That and the film sacrifices a no-holds-barred blockbuster finale in favor of the more traditional ending which speaks to the heart of its source material.

English-speaking audiences, sadly, have to be a bit older than the material is probably intended for, largely because of having to read subtitles instead of hearing this one spoken.  Reading a visual love story definitely detracts from the vicariousness of it, but those interested are heartily encouraged to check this one out.  It’s quite magical in all the right ways.

​Like dinosaurs, franchises come and franchises go.

​Those that earn longevity generally tend to continue bringing something new to the table, maybe not exactly with each successive installment but – at the very least – they try to deliver something interesting every other picture.  (Anyone heard of Star Trek’s cinematic success relying on its even-numbered releases?)  Generally speaking, once audiences have “seen behind the curtain” of any particular property they tend to sour on the whole premise unless there is that special something extra that wasn’t there before … and that’s the problem in maintaining momentum with the whole Jurassic Park phenomenon: five pictures in, I find myself asking, “Haven’t we been here before?”

Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom finds our beloved creatures on the verge of (dare I say?) extinction.  A long-dormant volcano beneath the island is threatening to erupt, and the prospect of seeing these lumbering clones reduced to ash has put Jurassic World’s Claire Dearing (played by Bryce Dallas Howard) on a mission of securing a wealthy benefactor who’ll finance the world’s biggest relocation effort conceived by man.  Naturally, a subplot involving the fabled ‘Blue’ – the world’s first intelligent velociraptor – brings hunky Owen Grady (Chris Pratt) back into the fold, and our heroes set sail for the island with a handful of supporting new players in tow.

Sadly, Isla Nublar only survives for a few obligatory action sequences – well-constructed with the right amount of tension and endless running by director J.A. Bayona – but who knew rescuing dinosaurs would be so easy?  And most of it happened while the main cast wasn’t even involved!  Eleven species are salvaged, and before you know it the cast and crew find themselves racing against time to stop the scheming ‘power-of-attorney’ to a dying millionaire from selling these survivors on the open market so that he can … erm … well, so that he can have control of even more global currency than he already does.

Say what?

​Fallen Kingdom’s Eli Mills (Rafe Spall) is – without a doubt – the film’s silliest development.  Who knows?  Over time, Mills may just go down in film history as one of the worst film villains ever.  The only thing missing is a mustache he can twirl, but those watching closely will see one on a billionaire attending Mills’ dinosaur auction (complete with fashion model runway, I might add).  Derek Connolly and Colin Trevorrow’s script feels more ‘Sharknado’ in the second half than it does ‘Jaws,’ giving the entire franchise a Bond-esque twist albeit in an Austin Powers package.  Does Hollywood miss the inherent irony of decrying capitalism with a big budget picture seeking to fill movie houses for weeks on end over the summer?  Or are they just that lame-brained?

Whatever the case, Kingdom still manages to hit its marks admirably, delivering scenes of dinosaur-on-dinosaur action its fans have come to expect.  Producers spare no expense in keeping the thrills, chills, and spills up on the silver screen, even when it means sacrificing all logic by having Pratt’s Grady (an animal behaviorist by training) suddenly display the Alpha Male machismo needed to take out an entire military squad with fisticuffs at the auction gala.  If there’s ever been better evidence that the young actor could take over the Indiana Jones franchise (should Steven Spielberg change his mind about allowing only Harrison Ford in the role), here it is; and I, for one, would probably give the kid a shot at the title.

Much to my surprise, Kingdom manages to squeeze in some of the same, human sentiments of true scientific wonder that made the original Jurassic Park (1993) such a delight: from time-to-time, videos of Grady’s attempts to domestic the velociraptors are used to advance understanding of where we are in the present film, and Pratt does a particularly winning job at conveying the surprise and spectacle of these little moments of discovery.  Kingdom could’ve used more of that – those subtle epiphanies of interacting with a species long thought extinct – and maybe there’s even another film or two possible for budding storytellers out there who want to tell a more intimate tale as opposed to tentpole moviemaking.  Those flicks might not gross billions, but they likely wouldn’t cost billions, either.
​

​The bottom line?

Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom is a perfectly acceptable popcorn movie.  Sit down, turn off your brain, delight at the visuals, enjoy the ride, and don’t expect too much.  On that level, the film achieves whatever modest promise it makes to keep the viewer entertained.  But like that prophetic warning to the decades old The Wizard of Oz?  Don’t you dare look behind the curtain or you’ll be forced to abandon the wide-eyed innocence that brought you here in the first place.

Oh, the curse of the summer TV series!

Half the time, no one knows when their favorite summer shows are returning to the broadcast schedule; and the other half the time no one tunes in, expecting these fill-in programs to be sub-par in terms of quality.  After all, if they were such grand fare worthy of our time wouldn't they be broadcast during the regular TV season instead of when we're all preoccupied with barbecues, swimming pools, and flip-flops?  I suppose that's a good enough argument to accept, but I'll admit to having taken in more than my fair share of summer slots.

In any event, Somewhere Between must've come and gone quicker than others.  It apparently appeared on network television sometime in late July and lasted through mid-September.  I hadn't even seen this one advertised.  Some of the reviews I've checked out weren't exactly what one would call "flattering," but it still deserves a mention in our corridors as it definitely falls into the category of genre entertainment with a SciFi twist.

As of today, all of the episode citations are up-and-running.

As always, thanks for reading ... and live long and prosper!

Hey there, SciFi nostalgia geeks, do you remember Starman?

Now, I'm not talking about the John Carpenter directed movie.  What I am talking about is the mid-1980's television program which kinda/sorta lifted inspiration from the silver screen and appropriately adapted it for the Boob Tube.  I have a very vague recollection of watching its first episode and perhaps one or two more, but it just didn't hook me from the start.  Thus, I turned it out, as we're all want to do from time-to-time.

In any event, I wanted to simply put up an announcement that I've finally gotten around to completing its various daily citations; and you'll find them about the place when you go looking from day-to-day.

As always, thanks for reading ... and live long and prosper!

Happy Monday, peeps, and here's another cause and a pause for celebration as today's page -- May 21st -- has reached its benchmark 50 citations!  Way to go, me ... and, of course, you for remaining one of SciFiHistory.Net's faithful readers.

Check out May 21st's citations right here.

As always, thanks for reading ... and live long and prosper!

I'm an old school Superman fan from way back in my youth, and that's why the news of Margot Kidder's passing hits me hard on this day in SciFiHistory.  For all intents and purposes, she was my first Lois Lane as I was never quite a fan of the popular 1950's television incarnation.  (For the record, I didn't hate it; it just never quite struck me as all that interesting.)  For a handful of Super-movies, she paired up opposite Christopher Reeve, delivering what many thought to be a wonderfully contemporary version of a feminized non-Superhero, always ready with a quip to help put that dullard Clark Kent back on his heels.

I do recall from some reading that she'd fallen on hard times -- a fate which befalls many actors and actresses who can't secure work in their later years -- but here's hoping that, in the end, she accomplished everything she wanted as a fellow human being.  Certainly, her legacy will live on so long as there are movies featuring superheroes and those who share their space, and that looks to be for many years ahead.

​May she rest in peace ...

I'd recently received an email regarding why there hadn't been any updates to the FrontPage area of SciFiHistory.Net, and the short and sweet answer is two-fold: (1) I didn't have anything I felt strong enough to post and (2) I've been working a side gig helping a fellow friend get his business back on track after some corporate chaos.  But with May 14th I'm back on the feed -- so to speak -- and I noticed that the 14th is the first 50+ citation day for the month, a definite cause for celebration!

So keep your eyes out for some new content.  I have a few items in the hopper, but never forget that the days are really what this site is all about.

​As always, thanks for reading ... and live long and prosper!

Like so many, I was fascinated with the whole ‘Mayan Prophecy’ of our alleged ‘End Times.’  (Yeah, that one that didn’t quite come to pass.)  I’ve always argued that there’s something innate about humanity’s fascination with our own demise, be it weather-driven, computer-driven, or Zombie-driven catastrophes.  There’s something deep within each of us that compels us to contemplate “the end of life as we know it,” and it’s that same compulsion driving us to gaze over at car crashes and such: we just can’t help but hope to catch a glimpse of ‘The Big Sleep,’ and so much of what the Mayans prophesied taps into those dark corners of our collective consciousness.

All too often, however, storytellers try to cash in on said fears: they’re perfectly willing to break bread with our impending doom yet sadly bring not so much as a dish to pass to the potluck.  They cheat by drawing us in, daring viewers to wait for the big finish, only to disappoint, doling out dog-worthy scraps instead of a shared meal.  Such is the case with Joaquin Rodriguez’s Curse Of The Mayans, a direct-to-DVD release (so far as I’ve been able to find) tempting mankind to explore one more diversion into what could’ve been … or may even yet to be.
​

From the product packaging:
“In present day, Dr. Alan Green, an American professor discovers the manuscript and the ark during his studies and believes he has found the key to the lost Mayan culture.  He travels to Mexico and hires an expert team of cave divers led by Danielle Noble to explore an underwater labyrinth where he hopes to unearth more secrets about how the Mayans lived and why they disappeared …”

There’s more, but not much of it provides sufficient excuse for audiences to invest serious time in this Curse.  Suffice it to say, writer/director Rodriguez hasn’t made a bad film: rather, it’s more like a travelogue wherein the plot of a B-flick suddenly broke out.

For those of you who have never experienced a legitimate travelogue, here’s an explanation: back in the days of my youth, worldwide travelers used to be invited to the local high school auditorium or gymnasium for the purposes of putting on an informational slide show about a particular trip of theirs.  Educators used to think this was a way to bring the trials and tribulations of the Ugandan people to their students, but – being perfectly honest – all of the ones I attended (some required, some for extra credit) were relatively uninspired if not downright snore-inducing.  No matter how they try, it’s hard to capture the beauty and majesty of the Third World in two-dimensional flickerings projected onto small silver screens, but kudos to all of those who gave it the sailor’s try.

And no matter how hard he tried, Rodriguez barely achieves the same results with his Curse: the rich culture of the Mayans – what little of it gets airtime here – feels less authentic and more staged for the purposes of a future audience.  Oh, the production quality is there – much like the travel shows of my teens – but it isn’t all that interesting, nor does it sufficiently add depth of his paper-thin monster story of how they left behind a monster that’ll prophesize an alien race’s return.

​Admirably, Curse tries to follow in the mold of other features that’ve already provided a foundation for such a tale.  Ridley Scott’s Alien franchise as well as the multiple Predator flicks revolve around various crews hell bent on surviving their respective brushes with creatures, and Curse’s greatest asset lies in lead diver Danielle Noble (played by Carla Ortiz).  She’s athletic and occasionally passionate about her work, giving smart watchers something to focus on other than some nifty underwater photography.  Rodriguez’s script even gives her the requisite emotional baggage which threatens her performance, and – like Alien’s Ellen Ripley – Noble must come to grips with past failures in order to kinda/sorta survive an impending tragedy.  Dare I say: I’ve already seen Ripley in action, milady, and you’re no Ellen Ripley.

​At around 90 minutes in length, Curse is just too muddled by characters who mean little and circumstances that don’t add flavor to an already flat center. I don’t doubt that maybe – just maybe – there’s a nifty li’l 30-minute ‘Twilight Zone’ episode in here, but as this one stands viewers are better suited to fast forward to the second half and spare themselves the agony of inconsequential banter.  The ending promises more to come – much in the way any good ‘Zone’ did – but I, for on, hope this is the only dip into these waters we take.  As it stands, this 'Lara Croft' is all wet.

​Like so many of us who blog these days, I, too, was there in the theatres when George Lucas first promised to whisk us off to a galaxy far, far away.
 
I was understandably captivated with Star Wars.  I had the action figures.  I read the comics.  I listened to the soundtrack album constantly.  I drank it all in, and I swam ably and as often as I could in its cinematic ocean.  True, I had first wanted to grow up to be Star Trek’s Captain Kirk, but Luke Skywalker?  Where Kirk had swagger, Luke wrapped himself in a kind of youthful optimism that made you think he, too, probably relished the prospect of going where no man had gone before.  Young Skywalker was about as admirable a second place as a young guy my age could want, though perhaps a bit too whiny to legitimately be called ‘a new hope’ when he was.
 
In a manner many storytellers have tried to understand and replicate, Star Wars lit the fuse for a generation of moviegoers, exploding into our collective consciousness the way only the best space fantasies always have.  One of those truly inspired by all things Lucas was a young JJ Abrams, the auteur eventually tasked with bringing the franchise back to silver screens everywhere with The Force Awakens (2015).  With it, Abrams paved the way for a new generation of heroes – Rey, Finn, and Poe – to carry the torch for audiences new and old, perhaps guaranteeing The Force will be with us (always) whether we wanted it or not.
 
Still, for all its studio polish, I found Awakens a creative ‘dud’ for many of the same reasons fanboys and girls my age did: it was simply too derivative.
​

​Every narrative ‘beat’ felt like it had been fashioned to deliberately harken back to Lucas’s Original Trilogy – the band of upstart rebels, the planet-destroying weaponry, the race to save the galaxy from certain destruction, etc. – and much of the story revolved around these new characters who just (dare I say?) weren’t all that interesting.  While Daisy Ridley’s ‘Rey’ was inspired, John Boyega’s ‘Finn’ seemed like watered-down Will Smith (the actor) circa 1990 and Oscar Isaac’s ‘Poe’ sounded like watered down Han Solo (the character).  The villainous Kylo Ren (played by Adam Driver) spent much of his screen time throwing tantrums like some X-generation Bond villain holdover (how did he possibly survive Sith much less Jedi training with this attitude?); and Domhnall Gleeson delivered the best Nazi propaganda speeches since the Third Reich.
 
To make matters worse, Abrams entire script postulated that all of the gains of that bold Original Trilogy truly amounted to nothing in the fate of the greater galaxy.  The Rebellion – that fateful organization which returned freedom and free will to the Galactic Senate – was held in contempt by the surviving government.  To the victors went none of the spoils; instead, Leia and company were forced to spin-off on their own into The Resistance.  And The Empire?  Well, it didn’t go away in the slightest.  In fact, it just opened up shop under a new name, too: The First Order.  Even had its own evil Emperor – Supreme Leader Snoke – at its head with its own Vader Jr. (Kylo Ren) as his enforcer.  They dropped ‘The Sith’ and replaced it with ‘The Knights of Ren’... and you can probably see where I’m going with all of this.  Nothing was new.  Nothing was fresh.  It was, simply, handed down.
 
Despite vanquishing the forces of evil, Luke and his friends weren’t so much as rewarded with a single Republic franchise for their effort.  Abrams’ carefully undid everything the Original Trilogy accomplished: he simply erased the blackboard and started anew, bringing back a few familiar faces to … what?  Make it all somehow seem fresh?
 
Thankfully, writer/director Rian Johnson shed so much of Abrams’ paper-thin ideas and simply focused on telling a story with 2017’s Star Wars: Episode VIII – The Last Jedi.  Heck, he even dispatches a few of those unnecessary creations in pretty grand fashion, trimming the cast and giving the franchise a much-needed makeover for a new generation of Force-lovers.  Now, The Last Jedi may not be perfect.  It may not – at times – make perfect sense.  But it’s the kind of wild ride audiences probably expect from the name ‘Walt Disney.’
 
Essentially what carries this film is the budding relationship between Rey and Kylo.  Although there’s sadly still no explanation offered for Rey’s sudden onset of Jedi mastery, Kylo continues to wrench apart at the seams with each passing failure (and there are plenty).  Though spiritually at odds, they’re somehow connected by what appears to be much more than just The Force.  To their credit, Driver and Ridley have found a shared dramatic center, and Johnson’s script pushes the envelope in a weird kinda/sorta ‘will they or won’t they’ dynamic.  There is goodness and evil pulling them apart in equal measure, and this duo get terrific mileage out of their galaxy-spanning tête-à-tête.

For what it’s worth, The Last Jedi is the kind of film best watched in much the same way many of its exquisite action sequences work best: at light speed.  When it slows down and tries to make broader sense of its characters, situations, and circumstances, it just doesn’t quite work as well as it should.  (Why is it that an entire fleet with light speed capabilities can’t seem to get ahead of the fleeing Resistance ships?  Was it necessary to have the entirely CGI character of Maz Kanata ‘phone in’ a holographic cameo?  How exactly would bombers work in the zero gravity of outer space?  Did we have to spend so much time on the gambling planet?  And is Benecio del Toro stuttering?  Didn't he already do that in The Usual Suspects?)  Johnson’s script is too often clunky as side plots feed into the central premise of The Empire striking back, and many of these diversions require more time, weight, and explanation than they’re given.  Consequently, some of the antics “feel” a bit too much like “antics” instead of necessary AND thoughtful organic developments.
 
If those points aren’t enough, then how about:

• Luke’s motivation for leaving the galaxy high and dry might seem pure, but his personal predicament is a far cry from the young Jedi who just decades earlier would stop at nothing to save his friends and family from certain doom.
• Finn’s mysterious illness vanishes as quickly as it came.  In its place?  A mortal adversary – Captain Phasma – who never quite displays the moxie behind the vaunted reputation either film has given her.
• Poe’s inability to follow orders would likely have him grounded for life, if not thrown out of any respectable military ever.
• Snoke’s background remains shrouded in mystery, and – without ruining it – audiences might know nothing more of him.  Ever.
• The Knights of Ren?  They remain as elusive as our world’s Knights of Columbus.
• And Leia?  Well, she managed to lead The Resistance nearly into oblivion, with no one in the galaxy seemingly noting nor caring.  How’s that for leadership?

 
There are more quibbles, mind you, but I’m trying not to spoil some of what makes the film worth a viewing.  I know, I know.  Nitpicking, right?  Well, if it’s “nitpicking” to want things to make narrative sense, then I suppose I am.
​

​Despite these shortcomings, I’ll admit that I still found The Last Jedi a rollicking blast.

Like any good carnival attraction, it’ll have you on the edge of your seat as you ride over the rails.  Unlike The Force Awakens (which I found to be one of the worst big budget examples of fan fiction ever produced), Jedi captures the spirit of high adventure that mostly made the Original Trilogy a bucket of fun.  The Force is back the way it was always meant to be – an almost lyrical current beneath the galaxy at large – and, despite the ominous title, it’s clear to this viewer that those rascally warriors with their laser swords are always only a generation away.