Sitting in a box in my basement, and before that my parents’ basement, was the last, pummeled remnant of my Star Wars childhood. There was:
- A Millenium Falcon, missing half the covers, decals falling off from the glue drying off.
- An Imperial Shuttle, with the trigger that made the noise busted, the canopy gone.
- A Tie Interceptor, still in pretty good shape, actually
- An Ewok Village, mostly in original working order
There are those who would consider this treasure. I did not. I considered it fodder for dust bunnies. So I sold it last week at a yard sale. The entire box, for $3. Could I have gotten more? Assuredly. But I didn’t want more; I wanted it out. I no longer had room for it.
Truth be told, they had outlived their time. I have never bought toys to keep them sealed in packaging mounted to my wall. I can’t grasp the point. Such things exist to be played with, not to cover your home in geekery.
I introduced the wife to a look at true geekery when I watched The People vs. George Lucas for the second time. These people are obsessed to the point of rage with something they know to be just a story. And you could dismiss them on that point, declare them mentally deranged, psychologically damaged, consumer-sheep. You could reduce the entire exercise to a rather vocal commodity-fetish community in this our Brave New World.
But I am geek enough not to. I am geek enough to remember the something underneath all the green-screened matte-paintings, un-special edition effects, and Jar-Jar cups. I know why I liked it, even if George Lucas does not. And because I know, I’m going to speak out. To the fans, to the geeks, to the mythologizers and the money-men. I’m going to make the argument that no one else will make. I’m going to remember the hero.