Yesterday, I felt a great disturbance in the Force; it was as if millions of voices of horny women cried out in terror, and were suddenly silenced. That’s because Disney+ pulled the plug on The Acolyte, forever denying us more glimpses of Manny Jacinto‘s magnificently toned arms in a Star Wars series. However, the loss of The Acolyte went further than that for fans. Without The Acolyte, there might never again be queer Force witches living on the fringes of the galaxy in their little dark space communes. The Season 1 cliffhanger ending will never be resolved. Worst of all, we might never get to see Bazil sniff out a solution to a problem ever again!
The Acolyte had its narrative issues, but it was also a creative breath of fresh air for the Star Wars galaxy. At its heart, The Acolyte asked the question: Who, exactly, gets to wield power in the Star Wars universe? The show’s creator, Leslye Headland, is a queer woman raised on the lore of early ’90s Star Wars. She wanted to expand the canvas of live action Star Wars by exploring never-before-seen parts of the official timeline. The story eschewed the Skywalker clan to focus on Force-sensitive twins Mae and Osha, both played by Amandla Stenberg and both torn between the light and the dark.
The Acolyte divided critics and fans alike. Some camps enjoyed the shades of moral grey that The Acolyte applied to the Jedi, Sith, and the overall universe, while others loathed it. Indeed, if there’s one pervasive trend in the Disney Star Wars era, it’s how divided the fandom feels. I often wonder what exactly people want out of a Star Wars show. Do we want non-stop Baby Yoda, aka Grogu, and his buddy, The Mandalorian? Nostalgic fan service, like the retcon-heavy Obi-Wan Kenobi? Spin-offs about popular side characters like The Book of Boba Fett? Live-action versions of the beloved animated series? A nuanced and brilliant piece of art made by and for adults, like Andor? Whatever Skeleton Crew is going to be? All of the above? None of the above?
It’s past the point of cliche to compare Star Wars to Star Trek, but the latter franchise has figured out how to successfully expand its brand with numerous television projects for numerous networks and streaming services. What unites the likes of Star Trek: Discovery, Strange New Worlds, Lower Decks, and beyond seems to be an understanding of how to stay true to the franchise’s core tenants. When you tune into a Star Trek show, you expect to see diverse casts of characters working together with a sense of optimism and a love of discovery. Starfleet itself gives structure to the storylines, thanks to the organization’s rules and history. Alternate universes are clearly delineated within the lore of the franchise itself. Star Trek knows what Star Trek is.
I’m not sure Star Wars knows what Star Wars is, though. Star Wars fans certainly find themselves caught up in existential debates over what it is time and time again. Is Star Wars specifically the Skywalker saga or can it be an omnibus of stories from all over that galaxy, far, far away? Do we tune in for lightsaber battles or profound contemplations about morality? Should Star Wars be funny? Can it be romantic? What is canon and what’s not?
That last question is one that dogs me, personally, the most. When Disney acquired Lucasfilm, the vast off-screen canon of stories known then as the “Expanded Universe” was wiped off the board and renamed “Legends.” Nevertheless, recent projects, from Ahsoka to The Acolyte, have made bold nods to the “EU.” Not only that, but Obi-Wan Kenobi and Ahsoka both changed our understanding of the prequel trilogy in profound ways. Disney can’t stop futzing with the Star Wars canon, further muddying the rules of the franchise itself.
What I liked about The Acolyte was the bald fact that it had the audacity to directly ask these existential questions about Star Wars out loud. As Mother Aniseya (Jodie Turner-Smith) tells her daughter in one episode, The Acolyte was not about good versus evil, but about power and who is allowed to wield it. However, many Star Wars fans felt this philosophy was antithetical to what Star Wars is.
But, again, I keep circling back to this larger existential question: What is Star Wars? Is it about the pure dichotomy of good versus evil? Is it about just Jedi? Should it only encapsulate the three generations of Skywalkers we’ve seen on the big screen? Is Star Wars mystical or rule-bound? Is it more for children or for adults — or is it for everyone?
I don’t have any answers to those questions, and judging by the last dozen years of output since Disney bought the franchise from George Lucas, no one at Disney (up to and including Kathleen Kennedy) really has a clue what Star Wars is, either. If they did, the fandom wouldn’t melt down into self-destructive, finger-pointing chaos every time a new series rolls out. The fandom would be largely in accord with how they felt about each new installment of the Star Wars saga.
The most powerful contribution The Acolyte made to Star Wars was questioning our preconceived notions about the Jedi, Sith, and Old Republic. Ironically, in doing so, The Acolyte revealed that Star Wars itself might not be as solid and strong a franchise as we previously thought. Star Wars is fully in the throes of an identity crisis, and appears to be far, far away from a solution on how to solve it.