Believe it or not, everything after this amusing run-on sentence in blog film critic Jeremiah Lewis’ review of Revenge of the Sith is fairly restrained and informative. But not as funny:
I remember when Space Balls was the best Star Wars parody around. RotS (which, by the by, does) is sure to win the title with its monumentally bad dialogue, the rather silly, pre-cloaked and face masked Lord Vader who has taken the Oedipal thing way too far, a Yoda who spouts Yodified versions of sentences that vaguely resemble those broken sentence tree diagrams in high school grammar class, a unitard-wearing lifeless mannequin who, I’m told, took Natalie Portman’s job when she bowed out due to, quote, scheduling conflicts ACCHHHHOOOOTHISMOVIEBLOWS, unquote, and a rather cheery, jetpack wearing R2-D2 who, before George Lucas’ brain hit the stratosphere smoking up whatever desert peyote he could find in the depths of Skywalker Sound, manages not only to spill oil on a couple of pesky drone droids “messin’ with his rep”, but sets both on fire using the flame from his aforementioned flying mechanism (which went strangely AWOL in the original trilogy). And did I mention the strange, talking spindly robots that first appeared in Ep. 1? They still talk. It’s still awful.
Yes, Lucas has outdone himself this time, as nearly every frame mocks his once gritty, grimy, space world, now clearly just a room with a big square block of green upon which he projects his digital, cancerous fantasies. George, you really need to get out more.
I’m a tech journalist who’s making a TV show about a college newspaper.