Perhaps the last bit of fallout from our Disneyland vacation (I swear to God this is the last time I’ll mention the trip again) is my oldest son’s burgeoning fixation with all things Star Wars. In an attempt to sate his curiosity, we checked some of the movies out from the library, starting with The Phantom Menace and Attack of the Clones.

I had not previously seen this movie, having sworn off Star Wars since the Ewoks disgraced the series with their appearance in Return of the Jedi. I had, of course, heard it was bad. That they were movies as empty of quality storytelling as they were filled with eye candy. “Still”, I thought as I reached for the popcorn bowl, “how bad can they really be?”

Oh, my. This bad.

I’m sure this comes as a surprise to none, but I was still incredulous. Wooden acting, thin plot, horrible scripts. BAD. Jar-Jar. Fart jokes. ?berbadass Darth Vader reduced to a petulant, whiny teenager. BAD.

I know these are hardly amazing revelations. It’s just… man… I don’t know, I don’t know if I’m more baffled at the terrible quality of the films, or disappointed in their utterly squandered potential. Lucas had the chance, as an auteur, to build on the success of Star Wars and cement a position as a good filmmaker. Instead, he showed that the craftwork on display his famed 1977 film was no more than a fluke. How people can actually continue to be fans is now quite beyond my ken.