Do We Need Star Wars Spin-offs?

To be honest, I usually groan at the announcement of spin-offs. Entertainment designed as a byproduct is rarely as good as its originator, and with an industry obsessed with cinematic universes it can be very easy indeed to tune out of series with more than a few films. I’ve similarly groaned at the most recent additions to the Star Wars pantheon, whose efforts to introduce nostalgic new entries have created waves of fan controversy. My already-mild interest in the franchise was decapitated by a mess of a mainline trilogy, most notably the awful Rise of Skywalker. Disneyfication doesn’t help: considering all subsidiaries, the company now owns nearly 40% of the entire US film industry. Knowing this, I can’t help but think cynically about the artistic (or rather financial) intent of Star Wars’ future. Its upcoming instalments are defined by a sharp left turn into television, almost all of which are spin-offs (Obi-Wan Kenobi, Andor, Ahsoka…) rather than new stories. How far is this in the best interest of the mythos, and to what extent does it push homogeneity over storytelling?

Star Wars isn’t a stranger to film spin-offs. 2016’s Rogue One and 2018’s Solo, though released as interim diversions between the first two members of the sequel trilogy, were significant releases. Rogue One seems to have become a firm favourite, justifying its retcon setup with clean action and a Darth Vader scene that no doubt caused fans everywhere to have to change their underwear. Solo was vastly less memorable; while Rogue One backtracked but ended up feeling fun and climactic, Han Solo's origin story treatment was a clunky 135-minute exercise in superfluousness. Having 70% of the thing reshot by Ron Howard sure didn’t help - I’m very happy to bet that what was originally envisioned was a much more interesting film. #ReleaseTheLordMillerCut?

Rogue One was a trick that Disney could probably only land once though, at least in terms of a stylistically familiar, big-studio spin-off to the franchise that ended right where the 1977 original began. The more major cinematic extensions to the universe are added, the less consequential the main films (and therefore the series) becomes. Way back in 2015, I felt excited for The Force Awakens in that Endgame, cultural event kind of way, just the significance of its existence carrying my ambivalence into enthusiasm. I find it difficult to imagine that happening for Star Wars again. This is the fault of recent fan backlash too of course, but also Disney’s guns-blazing approach; film-wise, there’s Patty Jenkins’ Rogue Squadron, an untitled Taika Watiti instalment, a new trilogy from Rian Johnson starting as early as 2023, A Droid Story (kill me), and even a film developed by Kevin Feige. This isn’t including the nine new seasons of various live-action and animated shows that are set to roll out over the next couple of years. There’s so much on the slate that you could mistake it for the MCU.

The best evidence for more original stories comes in the form of TV’s The Mandalorian. In its first season, the show walks a surprisingly deft line between doing something new and self-contained while relating itself comfortably to the broader timeline. The surprise that Disney pulled off such an enjoyable set of episodes without heavily relying on the franchise’s most famous iconography (somewhat excluding the internet-breaking Grogu) gave me hope for its future. Surely, this is the way forward: film has been subject to the series' hallmarks since 1977. If Disney doesn’t develop new, interesting characters and push what we can expect from Star Wars, they shouldn’t be surprised when we stop turning up.

Harry Geeves