The deconstruction was intentional.
The deconstruction was intentional.
“I sense a plot to destroy the Jedi.”
— Mace Windu
W ho determines the meaning of a text? Is it the author, or the reader? What about the meaning of a movie — the director or individual members of the audience experiencing it in their own way? If you subscribe to the school of thought known as “Deconstruction,” your answer is probably the latter in both cases. Deconstruction is a hermeneutic, a way to interpret meaning in texts, marked by rejection of meaning itself. The effect of this philosophy is detectable in nearly all aspects of our culture.
Take the Star Wars franchise — specifically, Disney’s newest production, The Acolyte. Series creator Leslye Headland seems to be applying a deconstructionist lens to the galaxy far, far away. “The idea that only George Lucas holds the key for what we understand to be Star Wars is just untrue,” she said on a podcast several years before the show’s release. Headland presents a largely nontraditional Star Wars story, commits to queer representation, and frames the story from the perspective of those who have historically been villains. Every main character in The Acolyte is portrayed by a woman, minority, or member of the LGBTQ+ community. Central to the show is an all-female coven of space witches, who are killed in conflict with the Jedi a century before the events of Star Wars – Episode I: The Phantom Menace.
The Acolyte has been divisive and has received poor audience ratings. Its fans suggest that those who hate it are racist, transphobic, or otherwise bigoted. Critics say the show is poorly written and woke, created by people who do not know Star Wars history and lore.
Both takes are too simplistic.
Leslye Headland knows Star Wars. She has bragged of an encyclopedic knowledge of its lore; The Acolyte’s actors attested to this. Of course this may be an exaggeration for PR purposes, but an additional consideration remains. Disney is fully aware of the effect that flops in the franchise have on its revenue and reputation, and likely would not hand out a $180 million budget to someone who was clueless about Star Wars.
It’s likelier that The Acolyte is not a misinformed production, but an intentional deconstruction of Star Wars. What sounded like a profitable value proposition to Disney execs (Headland pitched it as “Frozen meets Kill Bill”) became something completely different in execution, largely at Headland’s hand. It is not a mistake that fundamentals of this franchise are broken by The Acolyte. That is the express purpose behind the show.
Deconstruction, according to Jacques Derrida, its most prominent advocate, criticizes Western values, tradition, and thought. It rejects the idea that meaning is a stable and present thing behind words. It instead suggests that meaning is relative and evolving in nature, and dependent upon the fluidity of language and the interpreter’s perspective. Deconstruction opposes all binary concepts. It shows how opposing forces are locked in hierarchical struggle, and questions the established power structure, assuming that there are always exclusions made to shape a narrative. Finally, it subverts and changes symbols and icons, reinterpreting the dominant narratives to highlight their inadequacies. Succinctly, Derrida states “there is nothing outside the text,” not even the author, and the implication is that through deconstruction anyone can shape and reinterpret meaning in their own context.
In The Acolyte, the Force and the Jedi undergo an acute deconstruction. The Force is perhaps the single most important concept in Star Wars. Previous films described it as the energy which binds all living things together, and empowers its users. The Acolyte subverts this. We are instead presented with “the Thread,” which is to be “pulled” rather than wielded as a power. The function of this new label and explanation is to upend the traditional narrative surrounding the Force.
Meanwhile, the Jedi are portrayed not as noble defenders of peace, but as a conspiratorial religious cult that kidnaps children and marginalizes those who don’t meet their ethical standard. They are the establishment — effectively colonialist enforcers of an oppressive institution. Headland herself has said as much: “If the Jedi are this benevolent institution at this point,” Headland adds, “then anyone who opposes them would be the underdog.”
The show is sympathetic towards the Sith. True to her word, Headland presents them as underdogs in an inter-galactic political power structure monopolized by the Jedi. The new story reverses everyone’s role: the dark and light sides included. It stains the morality of traditionally noble characters, and questions the binary structure of previous films, showing us a Jedi Order that faces the temptation of deceit and selfishness, and gives in every single time.
Other controversial aspects of the show are consistent with this deconstructionist lens. Having the Force-strong twins who serve as its central characters be conceived without a father (a characteristic previously unique to Anakin Skywalker), including characters who were not thought to be active in this era and retconning their ages, and even using pop music instead of the regular orchestral theme all attest to the employment of this framework. The LGBT magazine Them well summarizes the result: “In the hands of Headland and her team, queerness isn’t a checkbox, it’s an additive way to question institutional power and norms, and to interrogate the kind of attachments that are considered ‘right.’”
So what is the truth about the Jedi, the Force, and Star Wars as a whole? I would not pretend to know exactly, but I suggest that to discover it, we should try to understand its original creator’s vision. Truth is not a relative, ever-evolving connection of ideas. Meaning itself is real and fixed. And the better you understand the speaker, the better you understand the meaning.
Why do I suggest this? When we communicate, we have an intent in mind. If someone else applies an interpretation to our message that does not align with that intent, then the interpretation is wrong. Deconstruction’s critique is that objectivity in interpretation is difficult. But its weakness is that objectivity in interpretation is necessary. Even to understand the argument of deconstruction, one must adopt an intentional interpretation of Derrida. Hermeneutically, this perspective is known as “authorial intentionalism,” and you rely on it every time you communicate. Headland and every other filmmaker rely on it as well, because without it there is no definitive coherence in their works.
Philosophical discussions aside, people may still differ on The Acolyte. You are free to like it or dislike it. Many Star Wars fans dislike it because it is not Star Wars. It is an attack on Star Wars.
This sentiment is often characterized as bigotry. But Star Wars fans do not have a problem with a queer director; we have a problem with a destructive one. Fans don’t have a problem with minority or female Jedi leads; we have had many before. Fans have a problem with destroying the idea of the Jedi. You should know what ideologies are shaping our media, and you shouldn’t be afraid to hear differing opinions. But differing opinions are not what The Acolyte is about. Deconstruction is not a new meaning, but the death of meaning itself, and as such is a harbinger of the death of Star Wars.
Deconstruction’s effects manifest in every other sphere of life, from the religious, to the educational, to the political. They have now made their way into the fantasy galaxy so many of us love. I, for one, care about meaning far too much to be silent. And I care about Star Wars far too much to praise The Acolyte.