Getting personal

When Disney first announced production of Rogue One, plenty of cynics (including me) assumed the movie would be little more than a cash grab—the studio maneuvering to keep our appetites whet for next year’s sequel to The Force Awakens. It’s clear, however, that director Gareth Edwards was unwilling to settle for making a placeholder.

While Rogue One (rated PG-13 for largely bloodless action and some scary alien encounters) may not be the most fun film in the Star Wars pantheon, it is certainly the most emotionally stirring. This is in large part due to Edwards’ stated aim of emphasizing the war in Star Wars by telling a grittier, more grounded tale. He succeeds wildly, and it’s fascinating how much of his success is due to his subtle alteration of the Force. Because it seems a more realistic Star Wars innately calls for a more personal belief system.

The “Force” mythos has always been central to Star Wars as a generic religious concept. But in many ways it functioned as a standard fantasy device, giving certain characters supernatural abilities that range from telekinesis to mind control to the ability to glimpse the future. The fact that the Force has a dark and light side that one can tap into based on individual choice always made it a detached kind of spirituality.

Here, the Force seems less indifferent and more like “the force” behind events in the book of Esther. One character proclaims he’s not afraid of an Empire attack because everything that happens is working out as “the Force wills it.” Episode I also mentioned the Force having a will, but this is the first time I recall the so-called “energy field” of all living things having its own explicit purposes. Later, another character closes her eyes, clearly imploring the Force to intervene on her behalf. I could be mistaken, but it’s also the first time I remember any film in the franchise featuring prayer.

Certainly Rogue One has a sense of predestination that goes beyond Star Wars fans already knowing the broad outlines of the story. You’ll recall that the first Star Wars began with Princess Leia inputting the plans for the Death Star into a little R2 unit before sending him off in search of Old Ben Kenobi. Rogue One tells the story of how those plans came to be in Leia’s possession.

The first half of the movie feels a bit slow as Edwards meticulously sets his players and intrigues into motion. But his diligence pays off when we reach the triumphs and tragedies of the second and third acts. This is the only Star Wars film I’ve ever cried in.

Jyn Erso (Felicity Jones), daughter of the scientist (Mads Mikkelson) who designed the Death Star, and her comrades aren’t Jedi knights but soldiers who, for the most part, have no supernatural abilities. They have only faith that the Force will work for them in a cause they’re willing to die for. Once we step back from the plot and see how every small human decision, every betrayal, and even every setback almost miraculously sets up the events to come in later movies, we almost have a sense we’re witnessing something like American history. Like we’re seeing the George Washingtons and Nathan Hales of a galaxy long, long ago and far, far away. Their objectives are so wildly unlikely, only the benevolent hand of providence could bring them about.

Beyond the subtle tone shift of this standalone Skywalker-less story, Edwards also makes some stylistic changes that serve to reinvigorate the brand without reinventing it. The abrupt braking of starships as they come out of hyperdrive is a startling but somehow logical visual (though the less said about some familiar CGI characters, the better. Creative camerawork would have been a much better choice than weird humanoid expressions).

Eastern influence is still present—particularly in a priest who chants about being “one with the Force”—but by shifting to a higher power characters actually cry out to, Edwards achieves a rousing tale of honor and sacrifice that both deepens and broadens the rest of the Star Wars world.