The Ghost of Sebastian Shaw: For Where Didst Thou Fly?

In 14 weeks, my son will be born. And, obviously there are a lot of expectations as to what I will show him, the things that are important to me, for whatever reason, the obsessions, the rites of passage, my favorite foods. However, one thing that's been burning in my mind, something I haven't until now had a forum to release my frustrations on, is what the hell am I going to tell him about Star Wars? Am I going to only show him the original, unedited old versions, tell him that this is what moviemaking was like in his old man's time? Tell him, over time the megalomaniac, wanton perfectionist billionaire decided that his masterpieces were not quite right? That after these movies became classics, became ingrained into our brains from such an early age, and that there were so many of us who felt the same way, that this saga, in reality, no longer belonged to him? Or do I let him be free, let him choose what he wants? Let him ooh and aah and at what he sees, the same way I did when I was younger, not caring at all about the purity of the image? What is my parental responsibilty here? IS he going to be able to tell the diffrence between CGI and models, stop-motion, and optical printing? It's getting harder, even for reservists like us, when Mr. Lucas advances his own bionic war-machine to the point that there is no difference between his reality and the fictions he creates. Geez...am I gonna have to tell my son that when the Wampa gets his arm sliced off, those 3 extra seconds of the Wampa gripping his arm is not original? These heartaches are hard to take for me.

What is my responsibilty? Yes son, the first death star really took 18 years to be completed, while the second, larger, more powerful and more accurate one was built in less than 3. I feel sorry for him in some ways, because what movies are going to be his influences? I made my Mom feint in utero in the lobby for The Last Hope...what will be there in the future? No movie we have seen yet has made my son make his Mother feint in the lobby...I'm only 27 and I blame Mr. Lucas for foreshortening my youth this way, for forcing me to take the things-were-better-in-my-day attitude that was once anethema for me, and that the once bright boy who not afraid of new special effects technolgy and ways of telling the story died. Died remembering The Story of Our Lives...