I Don't Know Where You Get Your Delusions, Lazerbrain

As part of Blonde Champagne’s careful chronicling of George Lucas’ descent into utter batcrap insanity, we present the following from this month’s issue of Vanity Fair, purchased for the pure research purpose of staring a whole lot at a full-color picture of Ewan McGregor in leather boots.

Herein, George discusses why is was actually a good thing that the new Star Wars trilogy sucks in epic proportions when propped up against the original, which he refers to as—and this makes me feel, as a fan, just spiffy—“the children’s trilogy.”

“I could have had that same tonality…” he says. “The thing about children is, they’re exuberant, they’re naïve. You know, they’re funny.” You know, they like movies that don’t suck.

We also learn—and I would like everyone out there to grab onto their desk chairs for this one—that George just might not be the world’s best source of dialogue. “I’m trying to tell a story using cinema, not trying to write a great script,” he says. Well I for one am shocked. So he isn’t trying to write a great script when he sees to it that words like “Sand storms are very, very dangerous” actually come out of people’s mouths?

He then explains that Star Wars is in fact all about how awesome the baby boomers are. “With the Vietnam War we were going from a very idealistic, patriotic-thinking country to a ‘Hey, wait a minute, who’s in charge here? This isn’t what everybody says it is. We’re going to stand up against the system’… it’s really up to the sons and daughters, the new generation, to make up for the mistakes of the last generation.” Because that World War II generation, they really screwed the pooch what with the Hitler-stopping and the democracy-defending and the moon-landing-on and all. Good thing their kids came along to reform them via a constant refusal to shower.

George also confirms in the article that the odious JarJar Binks will return for Revenge of the Sith. In other news, I just blinded myself with a Bic pen.

NOTE FROM THE PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE: Class, today is my twenty-eighth birthday. Required reading for the next post, which will undoubtedly detail how crappy it was, may be found here, here, and here.