How "Star Wars" Changed My Life

In 1977 a film came out that redefined movies as both art and industry, and became a cultural touchstone for a generation as a grand and glorious distillation of the history of the cinematic experience. "Star Wars", from writer-director George Lucas, unquestionably changed the lives of thousands, perhaps millions of moviegoers that magical summer, a long time ago in a galaxy just around the corner at the local theater.

But I hadn't been born yet, and, as such, pretty much missed the boat.

That's not the story of how "Star Wars" changed my life.

My first exposure to "Star Wars" came at the tender age of eight; my half-sister Erin had been charged with the noble task of babysitting me, and had brought, as an entertainment selection, a copy of "Star Wars" on VHS, taped off a television broadcast. It may not have been the most noble or impressive way to introduce a child to the saga, but I was hooked. Indeed, I remember going to her in confusion and asking if there had been some mistake, upon being presented with "Episode IV" in the opening crawl.

I remember my first glimpses of the saga as if they were yesterday, every thrill of excitement still new. I vividly recall becoming quite excited as Obi-Wan Kenobi shared the first quiet tidbits of Darth Vader's origins with Luke Skywalker, as if I was being let in on some kind of great secret that only club members knew about. And I was excited to have something special to belong to.

I don't particularly remember my reaction to things at the end, but clearly the movie meant something to me, and in time I watched the others. Had my big, frightened reaction to Lord Vader's big reveal at the end of "Empire". Had my big, overjoyed reaction to Princess Leia's revealing bikini at the beginning of "Jedi". Ah, youth.

That's not the story of how "Star Wars" changed my life.

In 1997 a trilogy was re-released to celebrate twenty years of movie magic. And make a few bucks on the side-why not?-but the old excitement was still in the air. I was in eighth grade at the time, and that's no time to ask a kid what he wants to do with his life. And young people need direction. I was doing well enough in school and I had friends and hobbies and interests, but nothing in my small town had leapt out and me and said, "Here's your calling." Or "Your calling here is, yes..." if you prefer.

But consider the story of the original "Star Wars" film. A young man stuck in the middle of nowhere finds purpose and a mission in life upon being thrust into a new adventure. It's an iconic story, as old as time itself, that we can all identify with on a mythological level, and connect with the hero's journey as if it was our own, and... okay, it doesn't take the Force to see where this is going, but I beg your indulgence.

The movie began. Cheering ensued. I was having a great time, certainly... let's fast-forward a couple of hours.

There's a shot in the epic space battle sequence where two X-wings combine their attacks on one gun tower, then pull away from each other. It's not the most important shot in the movie, nor the best-executed, nor superior to its companions in any particular way. But nonetheless, as that precise shot played, something clicked in my mind, with pure and simple clarity on par with whatever tickle in Luke's imagination would cause him to trust the Force later on in the reel.

It dawned on me then, for some reason, that a long time ago in a studio far, far away, people got paid to make that shot happen, from George Lucas himself to the camera crew and special effects technicians. That behind that shot, and every shot in the movie, were people whose life's work was the movies-not just that movie, but making movies in general.

And I knew that's what I wanted to do with my life, too.

The boy who walked into the movie theater to see "Star Wars" on the big screen was just a casual fan of the movie who had a few collectible toys. The boy who left had a dream. Not bad for a few bucks and two hours' entertainment.

That's the story of how "Star Wars"... well.

The first movie I ever made, just me and my high school friends messing around, was a "Star Wars" parody. The first film I ever screened at a festival was a (different, and thankfully better) riff on that same saga. As a screenwriter, director and producer, I don't necessarily make movies that have anything in common with "Star Wars", but I carry with me the passion I got from that fateful screening in January of 1997. And of course that same energy carries over to my day job; I'm a freelancer in film and television post-production, where I work in the fields of editing, graphics and effects. No spaceship-related projects yet, but you never know.

In 2005 the "Star Wars" saga came to a close with "Revenge of the Sith". One week later I screened my senior thesis film, and a few weeks later I graduated Northwestern University with a film degree, a few filmmaking awards and a dream that I continue to pursue each day. Somewhere in between all of this, I wrote a letter to George Lucas thanking him for the "Star Wars" saga, and more importantly, for giving me this dream. I got a nice letter from his secretary in return. Oh, don't get me wrong-I never expected it to get into his personal hands, I know he must get tons of fan mail.

Besides, if I want to pay him back, a letter's not the way to do it. What I need to do is make a film that, somewhere in the midst of its run time in a dark and crowded theater, casts a special kind of spell amongst the flickering images, and tells a young man to dare to dream.