42 years of fandom rage, endless dollars spent, endless hours of production...and it all ends with a whimper.

Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker is the final entry of the once legendary franchise that sparked the modern state of the film world as we know it. Thank God for that. When George Lucas unleashed a Pandora’s Box of box office record breakers with A New Hope in 1977, even he didn’t know what would happen. I doubt he would’ve wanted this. In the past few years, Disney has managed to slaughter his golden goose, and there’s no more denying that. I like Rogue One, I like The Last Jedi, and I enjoy The Mandalorian. But there’s no denying that the luster and shine on this old franchise has been dimmed to a dull rust. 

The Rise of Skywalker has many problems, which begins with the rolling crawl. Palpatine’s return is frankly put, fucking stupid. The pair of screenwriters (Chris Terrio and director J.J. Abrams) undermine almost everything set up in not only the last film, but the beginning of the trilogy as well. Fan service above all, and it leads to a series of groan worthy moments. The sequel trilogy is a botched experiment without a solid reason to exist. Say what you want about the prequels, but even they have a clear vision. No matter how bad they got, Lucas’s vision was there. The sequels are a muddled mess.

This epic finale is not unlike a video game. The film is a fetch quest with multiple locations, characters, and cut scenes to highlight the main story arc. It’s frustrating to watch and mind-numbingly dull, leading to the slowest pacing in the entire franchise (despite the breakneck feel of the first twenty minutes). As our intrepid heroes trek across the galaxy, it all becomes a lifeless blur. 

Even the cast seems aware of how pointless the entire affair is. Only Ridley manages to escape unscathed; even series highlight Ian McDiarmid feels bored here. Once a gloriously campy, cackling villain who was having a blast trying to rule all of space, now no more than a mere personality-free obstacle. Isaac and Boyega are hamstrung by the script, and Driver seems embarrassed by the ridiculous material that’s been given to him. I’m glad Richard E. Grant got paid, though. I’m always happy when he gets a role. 

I digress. Perhaps The Rise of Skywalker’s greatest failure is that it simply fails to find any reason to justify its existence - and by extension, the existence of the sequel trilogy. The whole time, it’s felt like bad fan-fiction written by a lonely nerd in his bedroom, surrounded by his childhood toys and collectibles. We’re finally free, at long last. We never have to see another damn Star Wars again.