Space junk

Anthony Lane lustily rips apart Star Wars Episode III in The New Yorker: "What Lucas has devised, over six movies, is a terrible puritan dream: a morality tale in which both sides are bent on moral cleansing, and where their differences can be assuaged only by a triumphant circus of violence. Judging from the whoops and crowings that greeted the opening credits, this is the only dream we are good for. We get the films we deserve."
Last night Stacy and I watched episode II on DVD, which I had wisely avoided up until now. Anticipating that I might subject myself to the final chapter of the prequel triology, I figured I might as well bone up and take some notes. Episode II was a wretched mess. If Lane is even partially right, the last installment will be little better. The Star Wars opus, now that it has been fully realized, deserves to be beamed up to the satellite of love, where Joel, Mike, and the 'bots could give it the proverbial Mystery Science Theater treatment. I've pretty much concluded that the only decent Star Wars film was the first one, a wonderfully rendered space fantasy with some mythic resonance and a few characters you could care about. Geroge Lucas should have stopped there, much as Rocky should have hung up the gloves after film one. Let's face it. Everything since is so much galactic clutter, imaginatively vapid, narrative-challenged space junk.