Another Happy Landing

Skeleton Crew Season 1 Episode 8 "The Real Good Guys"

TO THE PIRATES GO THE SPOILERS

With a dash of panache and even more heart, Skeleton Crew comes to an end. I wondered, in my last newsletter about the series, if Skeleton Crew would come to a surprising end, as promised in the tag line. Instead, the crew behind Skeleton Crew brought the Onyx Cinder in for a (crash) happy landing fueled by nostalgia.

Nostalgia powers more and more of my life and entertainment; films and productions try hard to inspire memories of old feelings. To some, this prevalence of nostalgia keeps stories from innovating, trapping them in a self-referencing cycle, draining them of originality. And certainly, the longer a series goes, the more in danger it is of feeding an audience empty calories of mere recognition. Skeleton Crew avoids the potential pitfalls wields nostalgia like a conductor might wield a baton.

The question is, what makes some nostalgia so magical, the way Skeleton Crew employs it, and what hinders less successful attempts at capturing a bygone spirit?

I think some of it is just in the DNA of any given series. Star Wars was built on nostalgia, even when it was considered new and innovative. It’s made of the stuff. Lucas’s story was meant to evoke the serials of his own childhood; and now, almost fifty years after Star Wars first hit the big screen, shows like Skeleton Crew are made by people my age, evoking the stories we had when we grew up.

Some series traffic in nostalgia, but use it less adroitly because nostalgia was never their appeal. Alien Romulus (a movie I really enjoyed, to be clear), for example, treats the Aliens series the way the sequel trilogy does the original trilogy, but in a way that shoehorned ‘nostalgic’ moments in awkardly. The spirit of Aliens has never been ‘Aliens Rhymes.’ When we hear a character quoting an earlier story in the series, it feels artificial and inelegant. Then again, when Romulus works, it’s because it captures the spirit of the original: trapped on a ship, with monsters, in a floating haunted house.

I’m a big professional wrestling fan, and wrestling can often use nostalgia as a cheat code. WWE recently rebooted its Saturday Night’s Main Event show, using the old music and even bringing back an original announcer, Jessie “The Body” Ventura, to provide older fans like me all that sense-memory. But the slickness of the production leaves me a little cold, even if they’re tossing old music at me. It’s an illusive feeling, and can be used as a way to engender goodwill, or a cynical ploy to repackage something that lacks the original’s spirit.

Skeleton Crew gets the balance exactly right. I think, for me, it’s because when I watched Star Wars for the first time, I was a kid. I was Wim, KB, Fern and Neel. I longed for adventure and imagined exactly what I watched in this series: to be taken from my middle class life into a world of starships and pilots, heroes and villains. To pick up a lightsaber myself and, also, maybe, watch my Dad punch out the bad guy too. Skeleton Crew embodies the collective unconscious of everybody who grew up in the 1980s, without ever feeling like it’s trying to manipulate that feeling. Instead, I felt like I was sharing a memory with someone else who was there, too.

I think Skeleton Crew also adds something new to Star Wars. Originality is, in my experience, an additive process. It’s about remixing and reviving existing ideas in a new context or new way. Star Wars rhymes, yes, but there’s a difference between rhyming and repeating yourself. Skeleton Crew’s planets, conundrums, characters, and memorable villain all felt very unique to itself. It never relied on cameos or legacy characters. It trusted the story it decided to tell and what it decided to add to the Star Wars galaxy.

A few things stood out for me during this final episode, which ended with each kid getting their moment, Jod revealing his reason for being a rogue (he watched his Jedi Mentor, killed and it made him believe the galaxy was darkness with only pinpricks of light), and a galaxy of catharsis.

I was happy to see the series textually underline what I’d noticed as a theme: that there are good people everywhere. I think we can all recognize that At Attin is sheltered and therefore safe, but that safety is also borne from fear. Fear of the world outside, of a world without Supervisors and Barriers. It makes for a life without worry, but also without creativity and adventure. When the children finally convince their parents to shut down the Barrier, we see an aspirational argument against being too scared of life beyond your door. The dangers of the galaxy are real, but so are the opportunities and wonders. The final moment, with Wim looking on the New Republic with a sense of the possible, will be deeply felt by anyone who ever longed for a big, adventurous life.

The New Republic’s presence at the end of the episode also felt particularly satisfying. It has been, thus far, rare to see The New Republic portrayed in a celebratory way. In The Mandalorian, The Book of Boba Fett and Ahsoka, The New Republic is characterized as ineffective, overly bureaucratic, or an absentee landlord. I understand why this decision was made on a macro level, but it makes the end of Return of the Jedi a little less triumphant. It means more to defeat the Empire if the heroic New Republic represents a safer galaxy.

In “The Real Good Guys” that gets a hearty remedy. Once The Barrier falls, the X-Wings arrive as we know everything will be okay. Instead of being discovered by a tyrannical Empire, At Attin is saved from pirates by the heroic New Republic, here to save the day. It’s been a rarely played note in the post-Disney Plus era, and I could not have loved it more.

With this final episode of Skeleton Crew (no second season has been announced) we’ve hit the end of an era. At least one seasons of every streaming series that was announced over the last five years has been aired. All that’s on the horizon is another season of Andor. The secrets of Star Wars streaming to this point have been revealed.

And what’s been the result? I’m sure I could write an entire newsletter on this. (I might.) But I will say that while there is some inevitable lessening of the impact of a new Star Wars show (seven new shows in five years will do that); I’m still floored that any of this exists. As a person who was raised with Star Wars as a scarce resource, to be given five years of new stories, on a TV schedule, with effects and acting and writing at the level of films, is just astonishing. Since 2019, we have seen the return of Obi-Wan Kenobi, of Hayden and Ewan, Boba Fett escape the Sarlacc, a legion of Mandalorian warriors battle stormtroopers on jetpacks, a baby version of Yoda, Luke Skywalker and Ahsoka, Thrawn in live action, a prestige Star Wars drama in Andor, young Princess Leia, a wild story about the resurgence of the Sith, and now, Amblin Pirate Star Wars. And that’s just in live action.

We hear so much about toxic fandom, but really, if you’re a fan of Star Wars, a true fan, you have been treated to an abundance of what you love. I cannot think of a single reason to complain about getting a whole lot of something that brings me joy. I’m just glad it all exists.

What’s on the horizon? It feels like films, once we’re past Andor. And I’m ready for that. I’m excited to miss Star Wars and look forward to it again. And I’m excited to see it return to its natural habitat, the movies.

I watched Skeleton Crew, largely, alongside my oldest friend. We met when we were six. The show reminded us of one another, and of how we met, and what Star Wars means to us. It was a great way to reconnect, to text each other on Tuesday nights, to just say hi and geek out about what we love to geek out about. He’s in California, safe but concerned, as his chosen city struggles. So, it was nice to know he’s okay and have an excuse to reach out and just talk about space battles and booby traps, now in our middle age.

Isn’t that what this is all about? What nostalgia is for? A connection to who we were and what we love most about ourselves? A retracing of steps? An acknowledgment of how much we’ve changed, and how we haven’t changed at all?

Skeleton Crew was just what we needed, at the right time. Or, as Josh wrote, “1000 out of 100. No notes.”

Love you buddy.

Let’s go ride bikes.