ROGUE ONE is a Star Wars story born of the present, but it ends in May of 1977. Itâs a direct prequel to a movie made in response to Nixonâs reign, and it resonates all the more strongly for opening at the dawn of the Trump era. Itâs Star Wars in A-flat minor, using most of the same notes from 40 years ago, pounded out on the black keys.
Thatâs not to say that Rogue One is âedgy,â meaningless as that phrase has become. But it is on edge: Its heroes are nervous and squirrelly, angry and tired, and frequently scared shitlessâof the fascist nightmare of the Empire, of the defeatist infighting of the Rebellion, and of the possibility that the pain of fighting for a better tomorrow will all be for nothing.
But this is still a Star Wars movie, and that means itâs a hopeful one. The kind of hope at Rogue Oneâs center isnât triumphant and rewarding like the original. Instead of using its prequel status to scatter winking references like buckshot (although it does indulge a few times too many) it leans on the inevitability of its premiseâthese are the doomed spies who stole the Death Star plansâto give the characters a more muted victory, the kind that sets up a better future for their loved ones, whether or not they see it themselves. Those characters are sketched in very quickly, and if this had been anything like the prior efforts of director Gareth Edwards, that would have been a problemâhe wasted his casts in Monsters and Godzilla, sticking them to the surface of his frame like emotionless Colorforms. (Of Edwardsâ multiple stylistic similarities to George Lucas, this is the most troublesome.) But much as the cast of Star Wars saved Lucasâ ass in â77, the rogues assembled for its prequel bring an abundance of heart and personality.
Felicity Jones bears most of the filmâs weight as Jyn, the abandoned daughter of Imperial scientist Galen Erso (a briefly present but effective Mads Mikkelsen), the man who perfected the Death Star. Sheâs forced into the Rebel Alliance and paired with Cassian Andor (Diego Luna), a James Bond type, but not the swaggering kind (itâs Darth Vader who gets the Connery-style one-liner). Cassian is more of a haunted, conflicted Bond, exhausted by his constant dealing in betrayal and death. The emotion the pair generates is often powerful, and fuels Rogue Oneâs hope. The most notable of the filmâs numerous surprises is that its best scene doesnât feature cartwheeling X-wings or lumbering, leviathan AT-ATs, but two wounded people trying to make sense of themselves, yelling at each other in the hold of a cargo ship.
Itâs not all drama and tears. The film has a dry sense of humor, thanks to Alan Tudykâs reprogrammed Imperial droid K-2SO, and Jiang Wen and Donnie Yen as essentially ronin of the Force, guardians of a holy temple that no longer exists. The filmâs squirrelly nature is embodied by Riz Ahmedâs Imperial defector, and while Ben Mendelsohnâs Imperial Director Krennic gets lost in the sauce as the movie barrels to its packed climax, his oily initial impression stays good to the last sneer.
Star Wars is often championed as timeless, but Rogue One is immediate. Where the saga often treats the galaxy like a playground, Edwardsâ environments constantly threaten to fall upon you and swallow you whole. It is gigantic, earnest, and ambitious. It doesnât always pay off (and thereâs a fairly big misfire concerning one supporting character), and you may not leave feeling all that happy. But you will feel hope.