Star Wars: Revenge of Brady

Star Wars: Revenge of Brady

Recently, I came very close to single-handedly ending the Patriots’ dynasty, all because a certain $60 million, superstar quarterback couldn’t keep his mouth full of perfectly symmetrical, sparkling white teeth shut during the premiere of Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith. Apparently, Tom Brady can dissect the opposition’s complex, constantly shifting defense in a matter of seconds as he strolls up to the line of scrimmage but can’t quite grasp the fact that Anakin Skywalker will eventually become Darth Vader. Which is why I almost had to take him out, dynasty or no dynasty.
My friend, Jeff, ended up with two invitations to the premiere and the before and after parties at Felt, courtesy of his company, MFS. I’ll be honest- I don’t even know what MFS stands for. I know they do something involving money and would personally like to thank them for spending the $500 necessary to get me into the premiere. Thanks, MFS- you guys are the best at whatever it is you actually do.
Jeff and I were excited to see the premiere but we were both a little hesitant about what we would find inside Felt at the pre-movie party. There is a definite stigma that goes along with being a Star Wars’ fan. People’s natural assumption after telling them that you’re a fan of the movies is that you sit home at night dressed up as Han Solo meticulously building a replica Millennium Falcon out of toothpicks. Sure, I’m a fairly normal person and am pretty sure that most Star Wars’ fans are but I was still terrified that we would walk up the stairs to Felt’s second floor and directly into a horde of costumed 40-year olds, chortling about womp rats and Princess Leia’s metal bikini.
Thankfully, the crowd proved to be a higher class of nerd and corporate flunky. As Jeff put it: “I’ve never felt so cool and yet so lame at the exact same time.” And with the second and third floor reserved for the party, there was plenty of space to hide from the people dressed up as Darth Vader and Storm Troopers. As is the rule at any event where there is a top-shelf open bar, either Jeff or I were always within 5-yards of the bar, continuously ordering drinks. I look at my drink at an open bar event as if it’s an alcoholic version of the eternal flame at JFK’s grave. Just like the flame at Kennedy’s gravesite is supposed to never extinguish, my drink should never be empty. Plus, considering that MFS had shelled out $500 for my ticket, I figured that it was only right that I get them their money’s worth. 90 minutes and a bottle of Grey Goose later, Jeff and I were ready for the movie.
Because Jeff and I are incredibly important people, we had reserved seats at the movie. Unfortunately, so did everyone else. So, when we couldn’t find seats in our section because we had arrived later than everyone else because we were making sure we were getting MFS’ money’s worth at the open bar, we, of course, raised an enormous stink. Jeff, who is at his outrageously best in these situations, repeatedly told the ushers that he had paid $500 for these tickets, that the whole situation was ridiculous and that heads were going to roll. Rosa Parks put up less of stink when she couldn’t sit where she wanted to.
After fifteen minutes of gradually wearing down our usher’s will to live, he finally cracked. There were two conspicuous rows of empty seats in prime territory. We had tried to sit there earlier and had been told that they were reserved for the Patriots and the Pats’ cheerleaders. Now, after listening to Jeff carp about the injustice of not providing us with the proper seats (mind you that this was a charity fundraiser for City Year), the usher could take no more and told us to sit on the end of one of the two reserved rows.
Two rows, empty, except for the two of us. And now, we’re terrified because the lights are still on and sooner or later someone is going to come to these seats and we’re going to end up sitting on each other’s lap. When another couple sits down next to us, Jeff, without hesitation, asks them if they are the types who are going to get up every five minutes to go to the bathroom. I don’t know what brought on that amazingly rude, but brilliantly prophetic, question but just as we are switching seats with the couple, the Pats’ cheerleaders walk in.
And head straight for our row. Like a bunch of giddy nine year old girls, Jeff and I are beside ourselves, giggling and whispering to each other. Somehow, we have managed to not only get better seats than everyone else but now we’re going to end up sitting next to cheerleaders. And since we switched seats with the other people, I’m now elbow to elbow with a professional Pats’ cheerleader. Before I can figure out whether or not my fiancé said that we were having an “open” engagement, the Pats walk in.
Fauria, Koppen, Paxton and the other big guys who seem to permanently reside in the Herald’s Inside Track. In the row directly in front of us. And we are still sitting in our pilfered seats.
Both of us are begging for the movie to start and finally, thankfully, the lights go down.
And then the City Year skits started. Maybe these guys aren’t working hard enough trying to save the world because they seem to have plenty of time to practice elaborate double entendre skits relating Star Wars and City Year. I didn’t accept a free $500 ticket to the premiere of Star Wars to watch a bunch of selfless do-gooders put on a freakin’ talent show, especially when I’m in risk of losing my prime seat next to a professional cheerleader.
After what seems like an eternity, the City Year Variety Hour ends and the movie finally begins. Literally, seconds later, three people come up to the people next to Jeff and me, the couple who switched seats with us, and tell those two that they need to move. Now, there are three of them and I am in the fourth seat from the end, so there is not a chance in hell that I’m moving. Jeff, sitting in the third seat, suddenly descends into some sort of trance-like state because he’s literally not moving, not breathing, refusing to make eye contact with these people. Sensing that the only way Jeff is leaving is in handcuffs, one of the threesome leaves.
We have our seats. We are winning the Star Wars premiere.
When all of a sudden, Brady shows up. And plops down right in front of us. I do the only thing I can think of- text my fiancé to let her know that while she’s at home doing nothing, I’m sitting next to a Pats’ cheerleader directly behind Tom Brady. We truly have a love for the ages.
The movie opens and it’s awesome (See Sidebar). But Brady won’t shut up. At one point, when Natalie Portman makes her first appearance, he starts yapping and I can’t help but imagine that Brady is telling his buddy that he’s hooked up with her on numerous occasions. But the talking doesn’t end there. Every climatic scene, he’s got something to say. Jeff and I are wondering if the MFS crew can handle the Patriots’ offensive line because it looks like we may come to blows if Tom Terrific doesn’t pipe down.
Lucky for him, I decided not take the path of the dark side. But if he ends up in front of me at the premiere of the new Harry Potter- well, then there is going to be some bloodshed.

Jamie Chisholm

Sidebar:

Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith- The Review

It’s good, really good.

Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith is by far the best of the three prequels and compares favorably to the original Star Wars trilogy. After suffering through the cartoonish Phantom Menace and the plodding of Attack of the Clones, Sith is something entirely different: It’s an actual movie. There is palpable drama, seething conflict and underlying tension- and all the more impressive because everyone but the most green of Star Wars’ rookies knows exactly how this story is going to end.

Long gone is the buffoonery of Jar-Jar Binks. Sith is dark, violent, edgy and most importantly, human. The eventual reasons behind Anakin Skywalker’s decision to follow the Dark Side are realistic, believable and understandable. It is a simple human drama played out in out-of-this-world circumstances.
There is finally some actual material for the actors to work with. Hayden Christensen is infinitely better as the heel. Ewan McGregor gets to show some emotion after surfing through the first two prequels, nodding politely. The Sith story is very simple and George Lucas smartly gets away from injecting every ridiculous character Industrial Light & Magic can think of into the drama.

In terms of action, this is easily the most action packed prequel. You can tell that Lucas has been watching the movies that made Phantom Menace and Attack of the Clones seem so mundane and laughably “action-packed” when they were released several years ago. The fight scenes in Sith are longer and far more violent than any other Star Wars’ movie- heads are lopped off, limbs lost, characters horribly disfigured. The final encounter, the penultimate nail in the Anakin coffin, is especially impressive.

The special effects are ridiculous as always. There isn’t another movie that looks anything like Sith. But thankfully again, Lucas reels himself in- the special effects add to the movie, they don’t overwhelm it.

There are moments when Sith feels too formulaic or the dialogue gets campy but Lucas isn’t trying to win at Cannes- he’s just trying excite viewers. And he does, stunningly.