It’s the world premiere of the “Rebel, Jedi, Princess, Queen: Star Wars And The Power Of Costume” exhibit, and the opening night party is at Seattle’s Experience Music Project museum. The Loop family (Jack, Lisa, and Ava) are first in line, waiting patiently since 6 p.m. so that 7-year-old Ava gets the best chance to meet special guest Anthony Daniels, a.k.a. the gold droid C-3PO (for adults less interested in the evening’s celebrity factor, the VIP Blue Lounge offers complimentary “Golden Droid” cocktails: sparkling wine, apple cider whiskey, Tuaca, and bitters). Ava’s been a fan since seeing Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope, the first Star Wars film released. “It was just so intriguing and so exciting,” she says. “It made me feel like I wanted to be with it more.”
Attendees are encouraged to wear costumes of their own—not that Star Wars fans need much encouragement. Tonight there are numerous would-be Jedi warriors being trained in the fine art of how to thrust a lightsaber. There’s a number of Princess Leias, with Microsoft employee Beth Fitzgibbons’ ensemble being especially creative: She’s the hologram version of Leia, in the message that pint-sized droid R2-D2 plays at the beginning of A New Hope. There are a few Stormtroopers, some encased in hard white plastic outfits, others opting for more comfortable, if less aesthetically pleasing, cloth outfits made to look like hard plastic. There’s even an elaborately costumed Queen Amidala.
But Anthony Daniels—much to his relief—is without his signature costume. The actor who’s been stuffed inside C-3PO for all six Star Wars films (and who will continue to endure being placed in what he calls “the most uncomfortable costume in cinematic history” in the three upcoming Star Wars epics) wears a dapper black suit this evening, a gold tie the sole reference to the character who’s been the dominating presence of his career. Though Daniels jokingly tells me that looking at C-3PO’s costume provokes “dread, nightmare, horror!” he also admits to having a more nuanced relationship with his alter ego. “I use that structure as a tool—as a costume, it’s something I wear. But I’m not him, and he’s not me, and the costume isn’t without me to animate it, shall we say. So it’s quite a curious relationship. It’s not a very easy role to play, physically. But my fondness for the character makes me put up with it. We’ve been together for 40 years or so—if I didn’t like him I wouldn’t put up with him, would I?
“So I have this kind of ambivalence when I look at it, but I admire the artistry that went into it. And I realize just how clever a job they did 40 years ago, particularly the beautiful woman who sculpted it, Liz Moore, who made 3PO’s face, and sadly who died in a car accident before 3PO ever reached the screen. So she never saw the outcome of her work, which has become iconic and has been viewed by millions and millions of people around the world, millions of times over. It’s a nice little reminder of her.”
The exhibit ostensibly celebrates the artistry of those signature Star Wars outfits. But at its heart, it’s really about the broader phenomenon of Star Wars itself. When the first Star Wars film was released, the studio, 20th Century Fox, had so little faith in the project that it allowed director-writer George Lucas to keep the merchandising rights, and Lucas himself wasn’t certain of the film’s success. But the sci-fi/fairy tale mash-up took the country, and then the world, by storm. It was the first multi-generational blockbuster of the era, the kind of film that makes fans get misty-eyed as they recall first seeing it. One such fan, Terry, is carrying a picture of himself and a group of friends taken in front of the Briggsmore Theatre in Modesto, California, where they first saw the film (and where, he notes, Lucas premiered American Graffiti). It later appeared in the school yearbook. “I love that it’s in color!” Terry enthuses.
Fans didn’t just return to the theater to see the film numerous times. They also bought stuff. Star Wars-emblazoned posters, T-shirts, lunch boxes, action figures, and other collectables flew off the shelves. The proceeds made Lucas a millionaire, and allowed him to leave directing behind in favor of executive producing, along with developing sound and effects companies like Industrial Light & Magic; after the original Star Wars, he wouldn’t direct another film until 1999’s Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace.
Not that the fans necessarily thank him for that. In a random survey of attendees at the opening festivities, every single person I ask prefers the “original trilogy” (A New Hope, The Empire Strikes Back, Return Of The Jedi) over the “prequel trilogy” (The Phantom Menace, Attack Of The Clones, Revenge Of The Sith), hands down. And with one exception, everyone’s favorite film is The Empire Strikes Back (that exception is, perhaps unsurprisingly, Queen Amidala look-alike Crystal Vonoy, who opts for Phantom Menace, the film in which her character is introduced). The prequel trilogy gets no love here; one fan grouses that those films were simply examples of Lucas “ripping off himself.” Another bemoans the number of prequel trilogy outfits on display in the exhibit versus those from the original trilogy: “Too much Padmé,” she sighs. A popular view is that Lucas sacrificed substance for style in the prequels. (A.V. Club contributor Mike Vago called The Phantom Menace “a slick effects reel that pushed film into the digital age, while also putting acting, pacing, and basic storytelling a distant second.”)
Some of that is generational; those who saw the original trilogy on its first release are far more dubious about any merits the prequels have to offer. And preferences aside, there’s certainly a difference in style and tone between the original and prequel trilogies. The prequels are darker, somber, and everyone’s so serious and moody (except for the much maligned Jar Jar Binks; perhaps not coincidentally, none of his costumes are in the exhibit). The originals (especially A New Hope) have a fresh-faced, wholesome quality that bordered on parody. Even at the time of their release the films felt nostalgic, a look back at a kinder, gentler era, especially in contrast to the cold, clinical perfection of the prequels.
That difference is apparent in the costumes on display. The ones from the original trilogy are more basic, without much in the way of embellishment. Part of that was for budgetary reasons; A New Hope had little money to work with, so the characters wore the same outfit throughout the entire movie. But those outfits served them well; even before they speak, you know exactly who they are by what they’re wearing. Luke, in his white tunic, is clearly the aspiring young hero; Obi-Wan Kenobi wears the brown, hooded robe of the wise old man; Darth Vader, clothed head to toe in black, is the ultimate bad guy. Access to more money didn’t necessarily bring about a better result; the CGI-created drone armies of the prequels don’t have any of the impact of the sinister in-the-flesh Stormtroopers of the original trilogy.