The 1977 phenomenon that invented the modern blockbuster's second lane (the first being Jaws, which is settled law). The case turned entirely on statutory interpretation: Rule 03 bans wizards, prophecies, and chosen ones; this film contains all three, plus laser swords. Matt argued the classics clause supersedes — he co-signed the fantasy ban, he noted, but not retroactively. Norm held the line: a wizard is a wizard, jurisdiction notwithstanding. Management ruled up, with Matt, on narrow grounds the critics are still arguing about. Norm's chart has gained a fourth column.
Yes, I co-signed the fantasy ban, and no, I will not be taking questions about the apparent tension, because there is none: the ban is not retroactive, and the classics clause — the oldest law of my personality — supersedes. This is 1977. I was there, spiritually. The medium split into before and after over one summer, and the “after” includes every practical model shot I’ve spent this site defending: motion-control cameras invented because the shots Lucas wanted didn’t exist yet, a model shop full of kit-bashed Star Destroyers, Ben Burtt building the entire vocabulary of sound design out of a broken TV and a bear.
“The trench run is the single most influential action sequence ever cut — so influential that this site recently gave two thumbs up to a movie that is, respectfully, the trench run with jets.”
The Maverick precedent is on the books, and consistency demands I honor the original. Add the greatest score Williams ever wrote — and this court has heard me argue there are several — and the thumb is up. The Force is not fantasy. The Force is production design with a philosophy.
Let’s read the statute together, since my colleague has apparently lost his copy. Rule 03: fantasy is inadmissible — wizards, prophecies, chosen ones. Exhibit A: an old wizard in a robe who teaches magic. Exhibit B: a prophecy-shaped destiny about Exhibit C, a chosen farm boy who hears voices and blows up a space station by TURNING OFF HIS TARGETING COMPUTER — which is the single most anti-ledger act ever committed on film. Trust your feelings? I have never once trusted a feeling. That’s why my numbers are accurate.
“Putting a wizard in space does not make him an astronaut. It makes him a wizard with a commute.”
Concessions, entered fairly: the pacing is ruthless, the models have real weight, Alec Guinness is giving a genuinely fine performance in a bathrobe, and 121 minutes only invoices me 13. If it were merely a war picture about stealing plans and bombing a fortress, we’d be having a different conversation — and NOTE that this is precisely the film my colleague and the court claim it is, which tells you they had to relabel the wizard to acquit him. The label doesn’t change the robe. Thumb down, per statute, and yes — the chart has a new column. It’s color-coded now.
Ratified up, on narrow grounds, so read the opinion before celebrating. First, jurisdiction: May 1977 — two years after Jaws. The film walked in the front door; no appeal required. Second, the wizard question, which the court takes seriously: Rule 03 exists to keep prophecies and chosen ones from substituting for plot. But examine what this film actually runs on — a smuggled data tape, a rescue, a heist through a fortress, and a bombing run with a ticking clock. That's a WAR PICTURE wearing a robe, structured like the serials it's quoting, and the robe-wearer himself is dispatched at the two-thirds mark, which is more than can be said for most wizards. The mysticism is seasoning; the plot is load-bearing. Ruled up. And counselor Norm — the court has seen the fourth column on the chart. The court finds the chart increasingly well-organized. The finding changes nothing.