The story in the original Star Wars (sorry - A New Hope) is paper-thin. It’s a collage of well-worn tropes dressed in laser beams and dusty desert planets. Farm boy becomes hero. Wise old mentor dies. Big shiny evil thing goes boom. It’s fun. It’s iconic. But the narrative itself? It’s Diet Campbell’s Hero’s Journey with extra pew pew.
Now, let’s jump to The Empire Strikes Back - the holy grail of Star Wars storytelling. The “actually, this one is Good” movie. And I agree - it’s amazing. I’ve watched it a million times. I love every second of it. But if we’re being brutally honest… there’s barely a plot. Han and Leia run from the Empire until they get caught. Luke trains in a swamp until he gets his hand chopped off. Darth Vader drops the greatest plot twist in cinematic history. Roll credits. That’s not a story. That’s three parallel vibes with a dramatic soundtrack.
And it’s not just the originals. The prequels? Sure, they tried to tell a more complicated tale, but Lucas wrote them like he was allergic to human conversation. Anakin’s tragic fall was supposed to be Shakespearean—but came out sounding like a bad soap opera written by a lonely algorithm. The sequels? Don’t even. A billion-dollar improv jam session with no plan and no character consistency. You can’t even call it a trilogy—it’s three movies trying to retcon each other mid-sentence.
Yes, I’m being harsh. But it’s only because I love this thing so much. I’ve just realized I’ve loved it despite the story. I love the world of Star Wars. I love the sound of a TIE fighter. I love the look of an AT-AT stomping through the snow. I love a Jedi mind trick and a scruffy-looking nerf herder. I love that we all just know what a moisture farm is. The design. The music. The lore. The mythology.
But the story?
Mid. At best.
Compare that to something like The Lord of the Rings, where the writing is dense, poetic, and deliberate. The character arcs feel earned. The themes are eternal. You watch those films and feel like you’ve read scripture. The battles mean something. The victories are bittersweet. The characters evolve in ways that stay with you.
With Star Wars? It’s more like flipping through the best graphic novel ever made—gorgeous to look at, insanely quotable, incredibly fun—but you’re probably not walking away with any profound insights about the human condition.
And that’s okay.
Not every fandom needs to be built around airtight narrative architecture. Some are built around vibe. And Star Wars? Star Wars is the blueprint for vibe.
It’s the greatest universe ever built for mediocre storytelling. A cinematic sandbox where everything looks cool and nothing has to make sense. It’s why a guy like Boba Fett—who had literally four lines of dialogue in the original trilogy—spawned an entire subculture of fans. It’s why the blue elephant guy playing space jazz in Jabba’s palace is somehow iconic. It’s why The Mandalorian, a show with barely any dialogue, became a sensation. Because it finally understood the assignment: less story, more Star Wars.
So yeah. I’m a Star Wars fan.
I don’t love it for its rich storytelling, deep characters, or Oscar-worthy screenwriting. I love it because it’s Star Wars. And honestly, that’s enough.
And if that makes me a fake fan, so be it.
I’ll be over here rewatching Rogue One just to hear that Vader hallway scene again, completely ignoring the plot.
