The Rise of Skywalker
As a lifelong Star Wars fan, I’m often asked a deceptively simple question: “What’s your favorite film in the saga?” Cue existential crisis. The answer isn’t straightforward because, depending on my mood, mindset, or whether I just watched a particular scene for the umpteenth time, any number of these films could snag the top spot. A New Hope? A revolutionary piece of cinema that changed the game forever—but in terms of personal enjoyment, it lands squarely in the middle of my rankings. Controversial? Maybe. But can I definitively name my favorite? Sure. And then, two seconds later, I’m doubting myself, spiraling into a ramble that makes me realize this question might as well be Star Wars’ own Sophie’s Choice.
Now, as for my least favorite? That one’s answerable, but no less painful. Two films jockey for the bottom, each with its own unique set of sins. One commits basic screenwriting and filmmaking offenses that even a first-year film student would cringe at. The other? It commits the cardinal sin of trampling on Star Wars mythology itself. When I finally choose, it’s because one’s flaws are so egregious they outweigh the other’s—even if it’s like picking between a rock and a garbage compactor.
The first of many spoiler alerts to come: The Last Jedi is nowhere near the bottom. Not even close. Far, far from it.
One of the most tantalizing lines in Revenge of the Sith—“The dark side of the Force is a pathway to many abilities some consider to be unnatural”—set up the perfect foundation for Palpatine’s return in The Rise of Skywalker. Unfortunately, much like the sequel trilogy itself, it squandered the potential.
Palpatine’s resurrection in Episode IX felt less like a grand narrative twist and more like a desperate roll of the dice by writers stuck in a bind. The tragic passing of Carrie Fisher left the studio grappling with an impossible task: how to honor a beloved character without resorting to disrespect or digital puppetry. Enter Palpatine, the ultimate distraction—a Sith-shaped bandaid slapped over the gaping narrative wound left by Fisher’s absence. While I can empathize with the challenges, the execution felt like it was devised in a panic room rather than a writers’ room.
The most glaring problem? Palpatine’s return was completely unearned. Outside of the ominous line from Episode III, there’s zero buildup. This trilogy was supposed to spotlight the next generation—Rey and Kylo Ren—yet here we are with an undead Emperor inexplicably back in the spotlight, dragging his gnarled fingers across the plot like a Sith specter that no one invited. Understand though, Palpatine remains my most favorite character in not just ‘Star Wars,’ but in all of fiction. So it absolutely pains me to see him treated respectfully, yes, but also with heightened ignorance.
Imagine this: Kylo Ren, after The Last Jedi, begins obsessively seeking the Sith’s forbidden knowledge to satiate his insatiable lust for power. The first act being his journey, leading him to Exegol and, surprise! There’s Palpatine, waiting at the end of the road like a toxic mentor. Now that would have been a story with weight and resonance. Instead, we get an off-screen announcement (via a Fortnite event, no less) that Palpatine has returned, followed by an opening crawl that feels like it’s gaslighting the audience. The film sprints through four minutes of clunky exposition, with Kylo finding a Sith Wayfinder, popping over to Exegol, and discovering the whole “somehow Palpatine returned” fiasco. The film barely leans on “dark sciences, secrets only the Sith knew” as if mumbling nonsense under your breath counts as an explanation. Spoiler: it doesn’t. Screenwriting 101: show, don’t tell, for Christ’s sake.
From there, The Rise of Skywalker starts its descent into absurdity. General Hux, one of the remaining holdovers from The Force Awakens, is reduced to comic relief before being unceremoniously discarded in favor of Allegiant General Pryde—a character so forgettable he might as well have been named Placeholder. Hux could have easily filled Pryde’s role, maintaining continuity while sparing us another unnecessary addition.
The film then doubles down on its overreliance on cheap emotional fake-outs. Chewbacca’s “death”? Immediately undone. C-3PO’s poignant memory wipe? Reversed faster than you can say “plot contrivance.” Leia’s passing, which should have been the emotional cornerstone of the film, feels overshadowed by all the unnecessary side plots—like the utterly nonsensical Sith dagger with its coincidental map to the wreckage of the Death Star II. Why does the dagger exist? Better yet, why does it conveniently point to a specific part of the wreckage? The film never bothers to explain, and the audience is left wondering if it was all just a big joke.
Speaking of jokes, Kylo’s big reveal to Rey that she’s a Palpatine lands with all the gravitas of a sitcom punchline. The idea itself isn’t inherently bad—it could have added layers to Rey’s struggle with identity—but the execution is painfully lazy. Palpatine’s cloning? Glossed over. The logistics of Rey’s lineage? Ignored. It’s as if the writers assumed fans would just shrug and roll with it. Spoiler again: they didn’t.
By the time Luke hands Rey two lightsabers to face Palpatine, you can almost hear George Lucas facepalming in the distance. Luke, who once understood the Jedi Order’s failings, is now back to handing out sabers like party favors. There’s no meaningful purpose behind the gesture—just a shallow nod to nostalgia that rings hollow. You know what? No, it’s not even nostalgia. It’s fan-film level garbage from filmmakers who know nothing about the story, the meaning, and the lessons of ‘Star Wars.’
Then there’s the Dyad. The concept of Rey and Ben being a “Dyad in the Force” could have been thrilling—a fresh take on the Force mythology that added depth to their bond. But instead of weaving it into the story, the film drops this revelation like a mere afterthought. “Oh, by the way, you two are super special!” Thanks for the heads-up, movie. Yes, “The Last Jedi” delved into this and Kylo acknoweldges it by name earlier in The Rise of Skywalker, but its lack of depth and importance is squandered like so many other elements and completely loses its resonance.
A revised narrative would have resulted in a great first act: Kylo pursuing greater power in the dark side, while Rey raises concerns to Force-ghost Luke of the unique connection between her and Kylo. Delving into the Jedi texts, she learns of the Dyad and its power, and solidifying her decision to go after Kylo as the only one who can connect with him. This of course, becomes exploited by Palpatine in ways only he can.
And yet, buried under all the bad decisions, there are glimpses of what The Rise of Skywalker could have been. The Dyad? Fascinating—why not explore it more? Palpatine’s return? Hell yes, but give us context and a logical build-up. The duel on the Death Star wreckage? A visual treat, even if the choreography felt uninspired. Strip away the convoluted plots and contrivances, and there’s a decent story hidden in the rubble.
Instead, we’re left with a film that epitomizes wasted potential. Rather than honoring the legacy of George Lucas’ saga, The Rise of Skywalker feels like it’s frantically trying to patch together a sinking ship, hoping fans won’t notice the leaks. Spoiler for the last time: we did.