My best mate, his girlfriend, his dad and I have an annual tradition. We meet up, order takeaway, get in the car, patiently wait as his dad explains the ‘lore’ to us, get our tickets and take our seats. Each year, we go to watch the latest Star Wars at a midnight. It’s fun. It’s exhausting fun, but it’s cool.
Spoilers are to follow.
This past December, we saw Star Wars Episode Eight: The Last Jedi, together in the cinema. For what it’s worth, the film was a bit ‘meh’ for the others, but I was delighted. It took canon and bended it. It moulded a realistic ‘life is now bad’ Star Wars film. It took blows from internet sweaties who thought they made the ‘First Order’ too evil (lads, it’s literally space Gestapo. The age rating is the only thing stopping these lot from binning off entire races off space-people. Still, they blow up entire planets at will, so I’m not sure how they are... good?). All in all, you can positively say that the film endured a ‘mixed’ reception and that we didn’t expect to see our childhood heroes sucking off space giraffes in 4K (I struggle with that being a bad thing as the said childhood hero is clearly desperate for nutrition, so be it, and hell, I can write you a list of things childhood heroes have done that is worse than sucking off a space giraffe to ensure you don’t die in space Ireland while digitally rendered puffins laugh at you).
I loved the film. Honestly. The style of one certain fight, the switch-ups of tropes, the space Mary Poppins bit DID test me, but hey - I’ll take that. It was a little bit different and a nice gear change. I loved it. Usually, when I watch a film I am expecting certain things to happen (thanks University!) due to my sweet knowledge of tropes (not good), and The Last Jedi did enough to keep me hooked.
However, some startling news has arrived to my inbox this morning, like someone shoving a letter full of anthrax through my door. I feel sick, nautious - I want to vomit and I feel like I’m going to be quarantined.
Friends, I have learned that Mark Hamill, one of my heroes, is backing Wolves against Aston Villa today.
This is bulls**t.
Go s !!!— Mark Hamill (@HamillHimself) March 10, 2018
Luke Skywalker? He’s dead to me. I’m glad the Last Jedi ended with his space heart bursting into lakes of fire (probably from that high-fat space giraffe milk diet), I’m glad he’s gone. Screw him. He was a prick the ENTIRE film anyway. Luke Skywalker in Episode 8 insisted that he had been ‘friend-zoned’ from the Jedi order. He ruined a perfectly good lightsaber, and did some devious things. He was a monumental space twat. I’m done with him.
Oh, and the Joker? He’s not cool anyway.
Hamill? You were a hero, now you’re dead to me lad. Go ask Tom Hanks what it means to properly support a decent team instead of performatively tweeting at a bunch of fools baiting you for a ‘WHEY LADS LOOK AT THIS’ on the internet. While you do that, I’ll try not to launch all my Batman: The Animated Series DVD’s into the road, watching as the splinters of DVD and jewel case erupt, just like your stupid heart did in the Last Jedi.
Mind the gap Aston Villa? Screw that. Mind the gap James Rushton, between you and your broken heart.