Why Darth Vader Is Not Luke Skywalker’s Father

PUNCHING YOUR HAND THROUGH A WALL FROM A CERTAIN POINT-OF-VIEW or Why Darth Vader Is Not Luke Skywalker’s Father
Working as a screenwriter in the business of motion picture production, I have had the opportunity to study a strange and disparate species known as The Film Director. More specifically, I have encountered, worked with and endured the myriad insecurities, eccentricities and outright childish regressions of the Film WRITER-Director in his natural
element. I have studied the beast close-up. I know where he nests and breathes. And I know how fearsomely he (or, in those rare cases, SHE) protects his (or her) babies from the cold, cruel world out there. I have seen these people rage out of control. I have seen them shield themselves behind walls of arrogance and self-delusion. I have seen them manufacture alternate realities and stand up to claim the fruits of other people’s hard labors. I have also seen them regress into chasms of self-hatred and wallow in the shallows of creative burnout. I have watched helplessly as beautiful dreams and best-laid plans were shot to hell in front of horrified eyes. I’ve even stood right next to a few of these bizarre creatures as they were calling “cut” on a scene, their faces twisted into desperate grimaces, signifying that they had no idea in hell how any of this shit was gonna cut together later. In one specific case, which I will never in a million years forget, a film writer-director turned to me after a particular performance in a scene did not please him … and slammed his fist through the nearest wall, breaking three of his fingers. I’m pretty sure he hoped I would forget about that a few days later. In fact, most people in Hollywood COUNT ON you to forget stuff like that a few days later. But, see … that’s just it, people. I’m a writer and it’s my job to remember stuff. (That’s usually so I can steal it for a story later.) I don’t forget it when something weird goes down—particularly when it has to do with one of my heroes on a movie set. It’s all burned forever in my brain … along with the many formative memories from childhood that made me wanna do this shit for a living in the first place.
Like … oh, let’s see, maybe seeing STAR WARS for the first time? Read more »

Posted March 26, 2008
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In the medieval era most parishioners did not speak Latin. Mass, however, was delivered in Latin (sometimes, undoubtedly, by illiterate priests who were simply reciting by rote). In the highly organized structure of the Catholic Church the fact that the laity could not understand Latin did not matter. It was not their lot to truly understand, but to accept on faith. There were priests to act as intermediaries in absolving their sins. There were Bishops and Cardinals whose jobs were to pour over esoteric texts and pages filled with strange symbols and letters, to unravel and understand the workings of God’s Universe and to dole out that knowledge in spoonfuls and dollops as they saw fit.














