Dig your hand into the core of any story of meaning, and you will be able to grasp its theme, notice between your caressing fingers the way it beats, how alive it feels. There is a synonym for heart, and it is theme. Suspend your disbelief, for a brief moment. Din is a prop piece in his own world, a puppet for big men playing little boys in a universe far removed from his. What would Mando see in his heart, if he looked? We will never know the show doesn’t care to consider it. This was no underworld, but the upper world of goofy puppets, vivid blue shrimp, kids’ cartoon shows, and surprising love. We watched the unravelling of the myth in real time, as Din Djarin stumbled through his first day as a protagonist like some kind of Star Wars Sailor Moon, and wound up a dad. The Mandalorian was to be a man, a real man, unlike-uh, the rest of the men of Star Wars, I guess. Silver like the knights of old, the men of mud and blood and smoke. Sharp, silver armor, untainted by the childhood colors of Boba Fetts in the toybox. Strong shadows, dark moons, bounty hunters with snappy lines. The Mandalorian (deep grey clouds) once promised a grittier, more grounded Star Wars. Tony Gilroy takes us like a puppy and rubs our face in the dirt, asking us, Do you understand what is happening now? and it is done with such brutal beauty that it’s hard to believe this is actually Star Wars. We are shown oppression, real and fictional and fictional but far too real. Andor is a show about fascism, and revolution. Mostly it is grey, or entirely stolen away by architecture and brutality. When he looks into the hole in his heart, what does he see?Įasy answer: no, it is not. Where do you fall? Where do I fall? Where, in the end, does Andor fall? Not just the show, but the man himself. Or maybe there is-too-sweet coffee from the chain down the road (don’t think about the labor conditions of the growers) the vivid sky as the sun sets over the sea (don’t think about how the smoke adds to the beauty) a silly little show about space once a week, while it lasts (don’t think about how the industry is being eaten alive by conglomerates).Ĭynicism. There is no escape from the world, the real world, the one crumbling and burning and flooding and filled with sadness. When you look into the hole in your heart, what do you see? A loneliness, empty black, endless as the sea of space stretching infinite.
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