Retrospective: Star Wars: The Roleplaying Game

Between early exposure to televised coverage of NASA launches and constant reruns of Star Trek, it was almost inevitable that I would become a science fiction fan. It helped, too, that my father’s only sister, who was barely twenty years my senior, shared that passion and actively encouraged my fascination with all things related to space travel, robots, and laser guns. So, when George Lucas’s space opera Star Wars premiered in the late spring of 1977, my aunt and I wasted no time in seeing it. Like countless other children of my generation, the experience marked a turning point in the development of my imagination.

As I’ve written elsewhere, Star Wars dominated the mental landscape of my childhood from 1977 to 1979, a reign challenged only by my discovery of Dungeons & Dragons and, through it, the wider world of roleplaying games. Even so, my enthusiasm for Star Wars didn’t vanish. I vividly remember the thrill I felt at the first rumors of "Star Wars II" (the film’s actual title wouldn’t be revealed until late 1979, as I recall). While D&D redirected some of my imaginative energy, it never fully replaced my love for Lucas’s galaxy. That said, there’s no denying that the fervor of my early affection dimmed somewhat in the face of newer, competing obsessions.

By the mid-1980s, that dimming had become a common experience. Star Wars itself seemed to be fading into the past. In 1987, the franchise appeared adrift. Four years had passed since Return of the Jedi had concluded the original trilogy and no new movies were on the horizon. For many fans, the galaxy far, far away was becoming a relic of childhood. The Kenner toy line was winding down, Marvel’s comic book series had ended, and while fan interest endured, it was increasingly nostalgic in character. There were occasional whispers of more to come, but nothing concrete. To be a Star Wars fan in the late ’80s was to dwell in the long shadow of what had been, clinging to worn VHS tapes, dog-eared storybooks, and well-loved action figures.

Meanwhile, the tabletop roleplaying game hobby was entering a new phase. TSR’s Dungeons & Dragons still loomed large, but the landscape was shifting. A host of new games had appeared, offering players fresh ways to explore favorite genres. Yet the RPG industry had not yet figured out how to handle licensed properties particularly well. With a few notable exceptions, like Star Trek or Marvel Super Heroes, most licensed RPGs of the era felt to me like clumsy grafts, existing more as marketing tie-ins than true adaptations. Then, in 1987, West End Games released Star Wars: The Roleplaying Game, designed by Greg Costikyan.

What West End delivered was more than just a faithful adaptation of a beloved movie trilogy: it was a revelatory act of worldbuilding. The game employed a streamlined D6 system, originally developed for Ghostbusters, that emphasized speed, flexibility, and cinematic flair over rules complexity. It was a system that matched the tone and pacing of Star Wars perfectly. Characters weren’t defined by a tangle of subsystems but by evocative archetypes: the Brash Pilot, the Young Senatorial, the Quixotic Jedi. Combat was fast and improvisational, encouraging swashbuckling heroics rather than tactical micromanagement. It felt, in a word, right.

But the real genius of the Star Wars RPG wasn’t its rules; it was its tone and presentation. The game didn’t merely borrow the setting of Star Wars; it inhabited it. The rulebook and its indispensable companion, The Star Wars Sourcebook, were filled with film stills, in-universe schematics, detailed planetary entries, and short snippets of fiction. These books didn’t feel like products about the galaxy far, far away; they felt like artifacts from within it. For fans starved for new material, the RPG was a lifeline, offering a way not just to revisit Star Wars, but almost to live in it.

It’s hard to overstate the influence these books would go on to have. Much of what we now take for granted about the Star Wars universe, like species names, background details about the Empire and the Rebellion, classifications of ships and vehicles, and descriptions of distant planets, originated not in the films, but in the pages of these RPG books. Lucasfilm itself came to rely on West End’s material. When Timothy Zahn was hired to write Heir to the Empire in 1991, he was handed a stack of WEG books to use as reference. In many ways, West End Games defined the Star Wars expanded universe before it officially existed.

Within the RPG hobby, Star Wars: The Roleplaying Game was also a harbinger of things to come. Unlike many earlier games, it emphasized genre emulation and collaborative adventure over simulationist detail. Its influence can be seen in the rise of narrative-focused design philosophies that would emerge in the late 1990s and early 2000s. It welcomed new players with familiar characters and easy-to-grasp mechanics, helping to expand the hobby beyond its traditional fantasy roots and making it more accessible to newcomers.

As I mentioned earlier, there were other successful licensed RPGs during this period, each with its own merits. But, in my opinion, none matched the totality of West End’s vision. The Star Wars RPG wasn’t just a game; it was a doorway into a living, breathing world, one that players could explore, shape, and make their own. Today, with Star Wars a global media brand, it’s worth remembering the quiet, crucial role this game played. It expanded the setting beyond what we saw on screen. It kept the flame alive during a fallow period. And it reminded us all that, with a few friends, a handful of dice, and the right kind of scenario, we too could journey to that galaxy far, far away.

Stuck in the Past

As I've no doubt explained previously, I was never much of a comics reader as a kid – or, more precisely, I was never much of a superhero comics reader as a kid. With the exception of Doctor Strange, Master of the Mystic Arts, which I picked up intermittently, the two comics I followed with any devotion were both science fiction titles, Star Wars (about which I've written many times before) and Micronauts (about which I don't believe I have). 

Nevertheless, like all American boys growing up in the 1970s, I was still very much aware of superheroes, thanks in no small part to their TV and movie adaptations, including cartoons. Perhaps because he was Marvel's most popular – and merchandised – character at the time, I had a special fondness for Spider-Man. I loved the terrible 1960s cartoon, which I saw in reruns, as well as the equally awful 1977 live action series, starring Nicholas Hammond of The Sound of Music Fame. I also remember watching the Adam West Batman series, various incarnations of Super Friends, the 1978 Superman movie, and probably others I've long forgotten.

As I got older, I retained a vague affection for the idea of superheroes, especially after I started playing RPGs. I can still vividly recall some of the adventures my friends and I had playing, first, Champions, and, later, Marvel Super Heroes. I remember, too, when we started to see big budget Hollywood movies featuring various costumed characters, starting with Tim Burton's Batman. The release of that movie in 1989 was a major cultural event and its success not only spawned three sequels but also paved the way for yet more superhero movies, a trend that has continued to the present day.

Despite not calling myself a fan of superheroes, I've seen more than my fair share of the superhero movies released in the last three decades, enjoying some more than others. One of the things that's always bugged me about these movies (and other adaptations) is how many of them continue to tread the same ground that their original source material did decades ago. There may indeed be nothing new under the sun, but did we really need to see another version of "The Dark Phoenix Saga?" For that matter, have there been any new superheroes or superhero stories produced in the last couple of decades with any staying power? Why are the biggest pop cultural characters all products of the 1980s or earlier?

I think about this often, most recently during a recent trip with my family. While perusing some weird snacks and candies in a store, I spied a tall, thin, red can featuring what looked to me like Larry Elmore's iconic cover painting for the Frank Mentzer-edited Dungeons & Dragons Basic Set (1984). Drawing closer, it turned that, yes, it was Elmore's artwork on a D&D-branded energy drink calling itself a "Hero's Potion of Power." Intrigued, I bought the thing, but I didn't have the courage to try it. That job fell to my daughter, who declared it "alright, but nothing special." 

On the same trip, we went to a bookstore not far from where I grew up. I hadn't found anything to purchase, so I stood out near the lobby of the store while my daughter paid for a book. When I looked over at the checkout counter, I saw a display filled with little boxes sporting an immediately recognizable color scheme. I did an almost comical double take, because I was sure that my aging eyes must have erred in some way, because I couldn't conceive that I was seeing what I, in fact, was seeing – the familiar blue and brown palette of the AD&D Monster Manual.

Sure enough, that's exactly what it was. Apparently, the boxes contain one of a series of randomized plastic monster figurines based on the illustrations of the original Monster Manual. This, frankly, befuddled me almost as much as the Hero's Potion of Power, but then I've never really understood the appeal of these expensive, randomized "loot boxes." Beyond that, why were the figurines based on the artwork of Dave Trampier and Dave Sutherland rather than more contemporary designs? Did it have something to do with D&D's 50th anniversary? I'm honestly not sure of the answer. For all I know, there may be similar loot boxes available for the monsters of later D&D editions, but my gut tells me that's unlikely to be the case. (If I'm mistaken about this, feel free to correct me in the comments).

Of course, this past Christmas, my wife bought me a Dungeons & Dragons T-shirt that she unexpectedly came across while shopping. She knows I'm normally not a wearer of such things – I abhor the brandification of the game – but the fact that the shirt featured the Erol Otus cover painting of Tom Moldvay's Basic Set was sufficiently unusual that she decided to take a chance. She was right to do so, because I was positively tickled by the gift and often wear it as a sleep shirt (I'd never wear it while out and about – I'm too old for that sort of thing).

I can't help but wonder why it is that, in the pop cultural sphere, so much of what is being presented and sold to us are the products of earlier generations of creative minds. Is this simply the result of a lack of imagination or is it because, on some level, we know that we'll never be able to come up with anything better than our predecessors? If I were to travel back in time to tell my younger self that, decades from now, there'd still be new Star Trek shows and Star Wars movies – or that I couldn't care less about any of them – I doubt he'd believe me and yet here we are. Nostalgia is a hell of a drug, but what does it mean when popular culture spends decades luxuriating in it? 

I'm as happy as anyone to see Erol Otus art on a T-shirt (even if he's unlikely to have profited from it in any way). At the same time, I think there's something not just decadent but even stagnant about endlessly recycling the pop culture of the 50s, 60, 70s, and 80s only even more vapid and rampantly consumerist than before. Have we simply run out of new ideas? Or do the new ideas simply lack the appeal of the older ones? What's really going on here and what does it mean?

Be a Creator, Not a Consumer

To say that I was a Star Wars fan during my childhood is something of an understatement. Children are, by nature, given to intense enthusiasms of all sorts, whether for dinosaurs or the planets or ancient Egypt – all of which I was, at various times, as utterly devoted as I was to George Lucas's 1977 space fantasy. During the period between 1977 and the release of The Empire Strikes Back in 1980, I lived and breathed Star Wars. I saw both movies in the theater multiple times, read every newspaper and magazine article about them that I could find, and (of course!) owned a disturbingly large amount of Star Wars-related merchandise. If I hadn't discovered Dungeons & Dragons, I daresay my zeal for the galaxy far, far away would likely have continued unabated well into the next decade.

Looking back on my youthful ardor from the vantage point of jaded middle age, I can't help but feel mildly embarrassed, though, as I already noted, such devotion is in the nature of children. And, to be fair, Star Wars enjoyed a cultural moment of the sort that doesn't happen everyday, so I hope I can be forgiven for being caught up in it. Furthermore, Star Wars was a genuinely good movie, one that simultaneously had a strong connection to earlier storytelling and did things that had never been done before, especially in the field of visual effects. In retrospect, I think it would been more remarkable if I hadn't become a fan of it.

I'm no longer much of a Star Wars fan. Aside from DVDs of the original movies, which I don't think I've actually watched in more than a decade, I don't think there's a single piece of Star Wars merchandise or memorabilia in my home. That's not out of dislike so much as disinterest. I still retain a residual affection for the 1977–1983 films, as I do for many other things I adored as a child, but I no longer devote much mental space – let alone closet space – to Star Wars. Were I to gain the ability to travel back in time and reveal this state of affairs to my younger self, I doubt he would believe me, so important was Star Wars to me as a child.

Even during those three or four years of my childhood, Star Wars wasn't my only interest, but it certainly occupied a pride of place that was immediately evident to anyone who spent more than a few minutes talking to me. Dungeons & Dragons – and roleplaying games more generally – eventually displaced it and indeed surpassed it in staying power. More than four decades after I first cracked open my beloved Holmes Basic Set, I'm still playing RPGs, whereas Star Wars (and lots of other childhood enthusiasms) are now very much in the rearview mirror. 

Allow me to reiterate: this isn't because of dislike on my part, let alone hatred, but largely because of disinterest. I simply don't find Star Wars all that compelling anymore and I suspect it has to do with the way that it's become little more than a brand rather than a vehicle for telling rollicking space fantasy adventures. Arguably, that's always been the case, as evidenced by the large number of Star Wars-branded products available for purchase as soon as the movie was released – a great many of which I proudly owned and displayed. Like a lot of children in the late 1970s, I demonstrated that I was a fan of Star Wars by owning a lot of Star Wars products.

I recall that, at the time, there were critics who complained that George Lucas had "ruined" cinema with the blockbuster success of Star Wars. In their opinion, movie studios would now prioritize crowd-pleasing spectacle over the more serious films that had characterized the early part of the decade. It's an old – and recurring – line of attack that isn't completely without merit. Nowadays, though, I tend to think that the true "sin" of Star Wars is not that it ushered in an era of "dumb" movies, but that it demonstrated just how lucrative merchandising it could be. 

One of the best things about roleplaying games is that, at base, they are vehicles for creating your own rollicking adventures with your friends. I sometimes think we don't recognize just how powerful a thing Gygax and Arneson unleashed upon the world almost half a century ago. There's a reason Greg Stafford likened RPGs to Pandora's Box in the dedication of RuneQuest. After the appearance of D&D, the world was forever changed, in ways both big and small. 

Roleplaying games gave their players the tools to make their own imaginary worlds. Once you had learned their rules, you had everything you could ever need to keep on creating for the rest of your life. This fact has long vexed RPG publishers who, understandably, want to keep selling products, but the truth is that there's absolutely no need to ever purchase anything else. That hasn't stopped game companies from trying to convince you otherwise, of course. If they couldn't get you to buy an adventure or a supplement or a rules expansion, then how about this T-shirt, maquette, or beach towel? Let's equate your hobby with your personal identity to make money!

It's a predictable script, one very similar to that employed by Star Wars merchandising over the years. While there's nothing inherently wrong with this – everyone needs to make a living somehow – it doesn't hold much attraction for me. Been there, done that, literally bought the T-shirt. From my perspective, this hobby is at its best when it's about creating, not simply consuming. If you're a roleplayer, then play – imagine a new setting, generate a character, write up an adventure. That's what makes this pastime so uniquely compelling, especially in a world that seems increasingly hostile to the liberation of the human spirit. Give free rein to your imagination and fight on.

Terrifyingly Beautiful

If you were into fantasy during the 1970s, you were almost certainly familiar with the artwork of Greg and Tim Hildebrandt, generally known as the Brothers Hildebrandt. Today, they're probably most remembered for their various Lord of the Rings calendars (the first of which appeared in 1976) and the covers to the Shannara novels of Terry Brooks, but I suspect the first of their paintings I ever saw was this one:

To say the Brothers Hildebrandt were a big deal is thus something of an understatement. That's why I'm not at all surprised that, in 1982 and 1983, TSR released two Dungeons & Dragons calendars featuring paintings by Tim Hildebrandt (I wonder why Greg was not also involved in this project). Here's an ad for the 1984 calendar from Dragon:

Did anyone reading this own one of these calendars? Searches online reveal that the calendar's paintings, while indeed beautiful, are fairly generic in their subject matter. I don't see anything distinctly D&D-ish about this, for example:

Mind you, it's an open question as to what marks any artwork as "Dungeons & Dragons artwork" beyond the fact that it appeared in a D&D product, so perhaps I'm being unfair. More to the point, I imagine TSR didn't worry much about such questions. For them, the union of the D&D name and the artwork of one of the world's premier fantasy artists was likely sufficient justification for the existence of Realms of Wonder.

Different Worlds: Issue #11

Issue #11 of Different Worlds (February/March 1981) is an interesting issue to me, because its content continues to differentiate the magazine from its contemporaries, like Dragon or White Dwarf. For whatever reason, Different Worlds published a significant number of "theoretical" articles about roleplaying, which is to say, articles about roleplaying rather than simply articles providing additions and options to existing games. If I had to guess, I imagine this reflects the local culture out of which Chaosium and, by extension, Different Worlds, grew. I've noted on a couple of occasions that California, like the Midwest and the East Coast, was distinctive in its approach to RPGs, so I suppose it shouldn't be surprising to see this distinction reflected in its periodicals. 

The issue begins with "Running Low Level Dungeons" by Robert Plamondon, which offers some advice to referees on the necessity of taking beginner dungeons seriously, as a means of "hooking" people into the hobby. Plamondon's concerns are twofold. First, he feels strongly that even low-level dungeons should be every bit as interesting as high-level one. Second, he feels equally strongly that low-level dungeons should be accommodating to the inexperience of new players and thus not "killer" in their approach. Mind you, Plamondon seems generally opposed to dungeons designed to kill characters, seeing this as somehow antithetical to the purpose of RPGs. 

"A Change of Hobbit" by Ronald Mark Pehr is an odd piece. It's a critique of D&D's portrayal of hobbits (halflings) on the basis that it differs from they way Tolkien portrayed them in The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. Beyond that, Pehr's main complaint is that D&D pigeon holes halflings as thieves and doesn't acknowledge their skills as warriors. These are fair points, if being true to Tolkien, is one's goal, but I'm not sure that was ever the point of including halflings in the game. (I resolve the matter by dispensing with halflings entirely.) Part two of "Gems & Magic" by Steve Marsh and Margaret R. Gemignani is also here, completing what began last issue. I'm a big fan of "natural" magic items like this, so the article was most welcome to me.

"A New Computer System for Traveller" by Martin Connell is an attempt – in 1981, I remind you – to offer new rules for computers to make it "truly representative of the far future." More amusingly, Connell notes that his rules are based on his experiences with an "IBM 360, and IBM 3033, a PRIME, and several hobby computers." He also consulted with "several friends who are computer science majors." I don't mean to mock Connell, whose larger point about how outdated Traveller's computer rules have always been is sound, but only to point out that, when it comes to technology, predicting the future is not always easy. Personally, I've generally found Traveller's somewhat retro approach to computers less problematic than trying to import the moving target of "realistic" far future computer rules into the game.

"The Fourfold Way of FRP" by Jeffrey A. Johnson is a follow-up of sorts to the articles by Glen Blacow and Lewis Pulsipher in issue #10. It's another stab at trying to describe types of gamers and approaches to roleplaying. Johnson offers a diagram consisting of two axes, one relating to personal goals (power gaming vs storytelling) and realism (pure fantasy vs simulation). Honestly, this isn't a bad approach, though, as with most such articles, I marvel at gamers' desire to try and codify everything into neat categories (I am as guilty of this as anyone).

There is a huge collection of lengthy reviews in this issue, starting with a positive one for Azhanti High Lightning. Also covered are Tunnels & Trolls (also positively) and DragonQuest and several smaller adventure publications of which I've (mostly) never heard. What stands out about these reviews is how lengthy they are, something I appreciated, since, if nothing else, they afforded the reviewer to explain his own perspective in detail. This is particularly useful in the case of case of the T&T review (by Ken Rolston) and the DQ review (by Michael Stackpole), since there are multiple points where their own opinions differed with my own. Even more interesting is that the review of DragonQuest was followed by a rebuttal of sorts by the designer, Eric Goldberg. Good stuff!

John T. Sapienza reviews Beasts of Antares and several other novels in the saga of Dray Prescot. Sapienza also provides D&D game statistics for some of the magical items and monsters that appear in the series. "The Cult of Kali" is a "gateway" cult for RuneQuest by Greg Costikyan. Meanwhile, "The Sword of Hollywood" by Larry DiTillio is a new column about fantasy and science fiction movies, this time focusing rumors of the D&D movie, a new Star Trek TV series, and pre-production of the third Star Wars movie, Revenge of the Jedi. 

Lewis Pulsipher's "Personalities of Role-Playing Gamers" presents fifteen types of roleplayers, ranging from "The Barbarian," who always plays fighters and likes combat, to "The Puppet," who does what other people tell him to do, and "The Entrepreneur," who's always looking for ways to make money in an adventure. It's a fine, if limited list, but, much like Johnson's article earlier in this issue, I'm not quite sure the point of all these attempts at codifying the hobby and its players. Ending the issue is another column by Gigi D'Arn, which sadly doesn't contain any remarkable bits of gossip worth mentioning here. Oh, well.

RIP David Prowse (1935–2020)

By now, most of you will have heard that the news that English bodybuilder, weightlifter, and actor, David Prowse, best known for physically portraying Darth Vader in the original Star Wars trilogy, has died at the age of 85. I don't believe it's an exaggeration to say that Darth Vader is one of the greatest fictional characters ever created, as instantly recognizable across the world as Superman or Mickey Mouse. While none can –or would – deny the importance of James Earl Jones's vocal performance to cementing Vader in the popular imagination, Prowse's contribution is often sadly overlooked. 

That's understandable, I suppose, given that we neither saw his face nor heard his voice, the two most commonly understood tools in any actor's repertoire. Yet, Prowse was more than just "a guy in the suit," as I've sometimes heard said of him. His performance in Star Wars is quite good, portraying the imposing physicality of the Dark Lord of the Sith while also evincing a low-key intensity that's even more evident in The Empire Strikes Back. From what I have read, the Vader costume was bulky and stiff, which would have made it hard for any actor, particularly one whose face was completely obscured, to convey much of anything. Nonetheless, he did so and did so memorably.

I was seven years old when I first saw Prowse as Darth Vader on the big screen and I will never forget it. The moment he strides into the smoke-filled corridor of Princess Leia's starship, surrounded by stormtroopers, is one of the truly great character introductions in all of cinema. Prowse effectively portrayed menace and authority in equal measure. By all rights, Vader could well have come across as ridiculous rather than threatening. That he did not is no mean feat and a testament to Prowse's skills. In a very real way, Star Wars would have been impossible without him.

RIP Ron Cobb (1937-2020)

When I was a child, I owned a book called The Art of Star Wars. It was a fairly thick perfect bound book that featured sketches, drawings, and concept art from the production of the 1977 science fantasy film. I adored the book and carried it everywhere with me, which is why it eventually fell apart. I spent untold hours looking at its pages upon pages of illustrations, many of which I can still see in my mind's eye today. Among the artists whose work was included in the book was Ron Cobb, who died yesterday at the age of 83.

There was another book, published just a few years later, in which Cobb's art was even more prominent. Entitled, The Book of Alien, I read a library copy of it voraciously, checking it out and re-checking it innumerable times. As it was rated R, it would still be many years before I would see the movie, but I remember very well how fascinated I was by the film, due to its heavy promotion in magazines like Starlog. The Book of Alien ably served as a substitute for the movie until I was older and, like The Art of Star Wars, I read it again and again. In doing so, Rob Cobb's concept art forever seeped into my sub-conscious.

Cobb's work had a "grounded" quality to it; there was something believable about his visions of starships and aliens and far-off planets. To this day, when I think of sci-fi in a generic sense, it's colored by Cobb's strong, sleek line work. My ideal edition of Traveller – or Thousand Suns! – would be illustrated by Cobb. He had, in my opinion, an amazing ability to bring the little details of living and working in space to life in a way that few other artists working in Hollywood have. I'm sorry to hear of his death: may he rest in peace.

If You Want to Feel Really Old ...

... consider the fact that today is Mark Hamill's 60th birthday.

Star Wars Invades My Dreams

I woke up this morning remembering a strange dream about a new Star Wars movie I'd seen. As is so often the case with my dreams, it took me a little time to both realize it was in fact a dream and to understand exactly what it was I had dreamed. In this case, the "new movie" I'd seen was an alternate take on Episode I, one in which Obi-Wan and his apprentice, Darth Vader, journeyed to the distant planet of Tattooine on some mission vital to the success of the "good guys" -- I don't distinctly recall who Obi-Wan and Vader worked for -- in the ongoing Clone Wars.

At some point in my dream, the two Jedi are traveling aboard a starship or are aboard a space station in the vicinity of Tattooine. They're then personally assailed by a bunch of guys wearing armor similar to Boba Fett's, except that it was a different color (blue?). In their fight against them, some guy helps them out and he turns out to be Anakin Skywalker, whom Obi-Wan senses is strong in the Force, despite his being a lowly navigator from Tattooine, the very planet they're going to. Obi-Wan asks Anakin to act as his guide, since he's never been to Tattooine and having a friendly local in his company would be useful. Vader counsels against this course of action, but Obi-Wan rebuffs him and we see Vader begin to seethe with resentment against Skywalker.

And that's most of what I remember. What's interesting to me is that what I remember of the dream appears to be a composite of events from the actual Episode I and events from issue #24 of the Marvel Star Wars comic. Like most dreams, it's not filled with original ideas so much as reworkings of ideas from other places, although, in this case, if I do say so myself, it's actually pretty clever. What impresses me about it in retrospect is how many little details from the 1977 film -- details the prequel films either ignored or forgot -- were worked into it, like Skywalker's being a "navigator on a spice freighter" and Darth Vader's being a separate character from Luke's father. I also vaguely recall there being a "scene" in my dream in which Anakin's brother, Owen, argues with him about helping Obi-Wan, saying something about how "the Clone Wars don't concern us here on Tattooine."

As I've said before, I've don't hate the Star Wars prequels the way that some fans do. I even think there are a lot of solid ideas in them (and my dream self would seem to agree). What bugs me most about them is how many things established in the original trilogy they either outright ignore or twist into such knots as to be unrecognizable. I mean, Star Wars -- Episode IV in Lucas speak -- establishes very few specific details about Luke's father or about Obi-Wan's younger days. Even assuming that, as Lucas developed it, Obi-Wan was shielding Luke from the truth in his conversations, there are too many discontinuities with what we see in the prequels for it to hang together as well as it should have or indeed could have, had a little more effort been made to do so.

How Star Wars -- and Roy Thomas -- Saved Marvel Comics

I'm not a big comics reader and never have been. I read a handful of comics when I was a boy -- Dr. Strange, Star Wars, Micronauts -- and I continue to read them when someone else suggests I take a look at a particular issue or series. Even so, I have a longstanding amateur's fascination with comics as a medium and as an industry, so I'm quite keen to learn more about both. My friend and business partner, Richard Iorio, pointed me toward yesterday's entry on Jim Shooter's blog, where the former Marvel editor-in-chief spins the tale of how, in the mid-70s, Marvel was floundering and the combination of Roy Thomas and the Star Wars license helped to save the company.

It's an interesting read, especially if, like me, you have a fondness for the Marvel Star Wars comics.

Retrospective: Freedom in the Galaxy

I've spoken many times of the fact that wargames and I have had a very tempestuous relationship over the years. I've always wanted to enjoy them, but, with very few exceptions, that desire has never been realized. I consider this a great failing on my part and a telling gap in my own attempts to understand our hobby and its complex web of connections to its older sibling. Despite this, several wargames have had an impact on me, even when I never got the chance to play them. An example of such a game is Freedom in the Galaxy.

Originally published in 1979 by SPI, Freedom in the Galaxy (subtitled "The Star Rebellions, 5764 AD"), it was later picked up by Avalon Hill and re-released in 1981, which is the edition I saw. If there are any changes between the two releases, I have no idea; someone more knowledgeable than I can specify them in the comments below. Its designers were Howard Barasch and John H. Butterfield, the latter of whom was known to me as the creator the starship combat system used in Universe.

If you look at the cover of the game's box, it's not hard to see why this game held such an interest to me. Freedom in the Galaxy quite clearly riffed off of themes and situations from Star Wars and its imitators. The idea of a two-player simulation of a rebellion against an evil galactic empire is actually quite compelling, even though I thought then, as I do now, that the game would have been even cooler if the game had included more factions than just the rebels and imperials. Of course, the actual coolness of Freedom in the Galaxy in play something at which I can only guess, as it had a hefty rulebook and very complex rules -- certainly not what my 12 year-old self was expecting based on the cover illustration!

And that's a shame, because, having looked at the game again in recent years, there are actually some very interesting ideas in it. For example, the rebel player's goal is to foment unrest throughout the Empire, in the process shifting the loyalty of worlds and races to his cause. If he plans his strategy properly, he can initiate a "domino effect" whereby not just one world but many will follow his flag, providing him with the military units he lacks earlier in the game. On the contrary, the imperial player needs to find ways to make shows of strength in order to keep planets in line, including well-timed atrocities (like blowing up entire planets), but not tightening his grip so tightly that star systems slip through his fingers, so to speak. Both sides thus require different approaches to succeed and there are enough random factors in the game that playing it sounds like it might be a lot of fun.

Unfortunately, an average game is supposed to take 20 hours to complete and I can believe it. As I noted above, the rulebook is complex, with combat (both ground and space), movement, resources, loyalty, missions, and other topics all demanding a great deal of attention, or at least more attention than I could ever muster. Instead, I found myself staring at its fascinating map of the empire and its provinces and the many "characters" the game includes. These characters are noteworthy rebels and imperials with special abilities that might help their side in significant ways. Think Darth Vader or Han Solo and you've got the general idea.

That was the real shame about Freedom in the Galaxy from my point of view. The game has such delightfully suggestive chrome that it pained me mightily that it was pressed into the service of such a terribly complicated military simulation that I'd never play, even if I ever did manage to wrap my mind around its rules (which I never did). Even now, I think about how wonderful it would be either to simplify Freedom in the Galaxy or to simply create my own pulpy, space operatic wargame manqué, because I honestly think either approach would be more worthwhile than trying to play this monstrosity as it was intended to be played.

Lest anyone think I'm being too harsh, I should point out that I nevertheless did derive a lot of enjoyment out of Freedom in the Galaxy. I often lifted some of its setting details for my various Traveller campaigns and I'd do it again. Heck, I seem to recall someone round these parts (Jeff Rients perhaps?) suggesting that someone ought to do to Freedom in the Galaxy what Arneson and Gygax did to Chainmail by creating a new RPG out of it. I think that's a superb idea and had I the time -- and a copy of the game, my own having disappeared years ago -- I might take up that gauntlet. Wouldn't that be awesome?

The Past is a Foreign Country (Take Three)

A great way for someone to prove they have very little grasp of recent history is to use the phrase "this generation's Star Wars" in an un-ironic fashion. Just type that phrase into Google and you'll find lots of interesting comparisons made between some current bit of pop cultural ephemera and George Lucas's space fantasy juggernaut. I mean, there have been plenty of very successful films, TV shows, comics, and books over the last couple of decades, but are any of them even close to Star Wars when it comes it comes to the impact they've had on the wider culture? Perhaps Harry Potter comes closest but, since it's barely been a decade since the release of the first book and the final installment of the movie series has yet to be released, it's difficult to tell if its impact will be as lasting as that of Star Wars. Other than that, though, can anything truly be called "this generation's Star Wars?"

I say this not because I'm a Star Wars true believer who will brook no dissent from the Jedi Way. Heck, I'm probably a bigger Star Trek fan if I'm honest with myself. I say this because I'm not sure pop culture works the same way in 2011 as it did in 1977. Certainly there are still fads (and their brain-damaged cousins memes) today, as there were 34 years ago (!), but they don't seem to have much staying power. Paradoxically, I think the ubiquity of cheap, instantaneous, worldwide communication ensures that fads burn out more quickly than they did in the benighted days of my youth when you couldn't pop onto a movie discussion site or forum and find out everything you wanted to know about an upcoming movie. Nor could you expect to see a movie anywhere except in a theater, where any moderately successful film could be expected to be shown for many months rather than mere weeks (or so it seemed to me anyway).

But I think the main factor that prevents most contenders for "this generation's Star Wars" from any plausibility is the way Star Wars changed the cultural landscape forever. Much like D&D, it's not so much that Star Wars burst fully-formed from the head of George Lucas with no cultural antecedents; it's that it brought together a number of things we had seen before in a way that no one else had ever done -- and it fed a hunger that no one knew the popular culture had. Star Wars made science fiction cool and fun and, most important of all, mainstream. Everyone seemed to be a Star Wars fan back then, not just kids and nerds. It was OK as a "serious" adult to admit you liked Star Wars and with that admission came a kind of respectability that allowed these movies and their ideas to take root in unexpected places within the wider culture.

Indeed, I would argue that Star Wars was so successful that it all but precluded the possibility of there ever being a "this generation's Star Wars." There very fact that we still, more than three decades later, talk about Star Wars and use it as a yardstick to measure pop cultural influence is a good indicator of just how potent a force (no pun intended) it remains. There are vast swaths of the population who were born after the release of the original films who still feel as strong a connection as I do, who saw Star Wars on the weekend of its premier in Baltimore in 1977 with my sci-fi-loving aunt. I'm certainly open to the possibility, but will kids not yet born feel the same connection to Harry Potter decades hence that many feel today for Star Wars?

I honestly don't know, but my gut tells me no. I mean, take a look at that editorial cartoon above. My kids have no idea who Ronald Reagan or Mikhail Gorbachev are but they can recognize Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader and get the point of the cartoon. Star Wars has so suffused our culture that we can talk in metaphors derived from it and others understand what we mean, much the way that our grandparents might have done by referencing the Bible or Shakespeare. That's a level of cultural penetration that I don't think we've seen since then and I am skeptical we'll ever see again. Certainly, I don't anticipate seeing disco versions of the Harry Potter soundtrack anytime soon and, while that's an admittedly low standard for judging success, I nevertheless think it shows that the circumstances that gave birth to the Star Wars phenomenon in the past are not easily replicable today.

It might be instructive to compare Star Wars with D&D in terms of lasting appeal. Both were products of the same era and both enjoyed immense success beyond the expectations of their creators. Yet, as I have argued before, D&D isn't particularly culturally relevant anymore (though its ideas are), while Star Wars remains broadly appealing and influential. I doubt my children would have even heard of Dungeons & Dragons if I weren't their father, whereas I am certain they'd have heard of Star Wars. World of Warcraft has usurped the Throne of Generic Pop Cultural Fantasy Referent, while Star Wars is still the science fiction referent of choice, even amongst those not particularly knowledgeable about it.

I'm neither a sociologist nor a cultural historian; I'm just a guy who remembers the 70s. So, I can't explain either why Star Wars has remained so vital nearly 35 years after its initial release or why nearly every contender for its place in the hearts of "this generation" has been anything but. However, there's definitely something at work here and my guess is that it has a lot to do with when Star Wars was released. I suspect that, had it comes out a few years earlier or a few years later, it might not have had the traction it acquired. Figuring out why that is so and why no one has ever repeated its level of success would be a fascinating exercise.

John Berkey

The other day, after I'd posted a piece of art by Vincent DiFate, several commenters spoke highly of John Berkey, whose artwork is in a similar style:

Ironically, Berkey also painted one of my favorite illustrations of a Star Wars space battle, which I recall vividly seeing the first time when I was a kid:

Berkey's art has a "fast," "blurry" quality to it -- no, those aren't quite the words I'm looking for -- that I really like. They suggest speed and movement and they perfectly suit the kind of wide-eyed SF I like these days.

RIP: Irvin Kershner (1923-2010)

Irvin Kershner, perhaps best known to geeks everywhere for his direction of the second Star Wars movie, The Empire Strikes Back, is dead at the age of 87. Although I don't share the opinion that The Empire Strikes Back is the best Star Wars film -- I still prefer the original -- there's no question that Kershner was a much better director than Lucas and The Empire Strikes Back benefited greatly from his talents. It's a great film in its own right and has had a profound influence on my imagination in the 30 years since its release. Kershner will be missed.

A Sci-Fi Goulash

A couple of weeks ago, I asked the question "Why do you think science fiction is a lot less broadly appealing than fantasy as a genre for roleplaying games?" I got a number of thoughtful replies, but the one that still sticks in my mind is this one, which references Jeff Rients's even earlier post on the "genre of D&D." In that post, Jeff described D&D as "You play Conan, I play Gandalf. We team up to fight Dracula." The reason that description rings true is that Dungeons & Dragons was inspired by an older understanding of "fantasy," one I typically call "pulp fantasy," since you saw a lot of this stuff in the pulp magazines and in the work of authors who got their start there.

Pulp fantasy is a very expansive notion of fantasy that encompasses everything from Burroughs's Barsoom and Amtor tales to The Wizard of Oz to Howard's swords-and-sorcery to, yes, Tolkien's Middle-earth -- and more. The genius of D&D is just how broad its notion of "fantasy" is and perhaps the way in which subsequent iterations of the game have deviated most from its origins is the way that their conceptions of fantasy have contracted, becoming ever more self-referential and staid rather than embracing the bold lunacy that enabled Dungeons & Dragons to become, almost literally, the vehicle for any type of fantasy adventures its players could imagine.

There's never really been a science fiction game that's successfully adopted a similar approach to its subject matter, unless one counts Encounter Critical and, perhaps unfortunately , EC is a game a lot of us can't imagine playing straight. (Yes, that means I am a bad person: you have my permission to say so) Actually, I lie. FGU's Space Opera undertook this Herculean task and I think, all things considered, it didn't do a half-bad job. Most of the complaints about Space Opera are (rightly) directed at its rules system, not its kitchen sink setting where the United Federation of Planets, whose Navy is Roddenberry's Starfleet and whose Army is Heinlein's Mobile Infantry, squares off against a Galactic-Empire-meets-the-Third-Reich, in a galaxy inhabited by Vulcans, Kzinti, Lensmen/Jedi, Bugs, and just about any other sci-fi species/culture imagined between 1930 and the late 70s.

Though I no longer own any Space Opera materials -- how I wish I did! -- I remember well the conflicted feelings of awe and disgust I felt when I first read them. On the one hand, the game really was a solid attempt to create a "mega-setting" where Luke Skywalker could team up with Captain Kirk to fight Cylons on Arrakis, but, on the other, my narrow little mind, so obsessed with verisimilitude, just couldn't accept the idea of such a setting. I am sure I was not the only one who thought this way. The desire to have "everything make sense" is strong in a lot of gamers, especially those with sci-fi proclivities. Rather than deny this or suggest that one ought to simply "get over it," I'd prefer to think that all that's really needed is a better mega-setting, one whose "seams" don't show as much as they do in the Space Opera setting, whose borrowings (and outright thefts) from a variety of sci-fi media never managed to achieve that weird Gestalt that D&D did.

I honestly have no idea where I'm going with this. I've been thinking a lot about science fiction lately, especially science fiction roleplaying games, and what I've noticed is that they're getting ever more narrow and specific in their focus. Admittedly, this is true of just about all RPGs (and all entertainment, for that matter), but the problem somehow seems to me more acute in the area of science fiction roleplaying. It's pretty clear why this is so. The question now is: can it be addressed?

Morning Amusement

Courtesy of the ever-awesome Space: 1970 blog, I bring you Star Wars Hawaii 5-0 style:

That Crazy Tagge Family

Several commenters rightly pointed out that I'm probably being selective in the way I've been portraying the Marvel Star Wars comics versus the Gold Key Star Trek ones. There's definitely more than a grain of truth to this. I still contend that, overall, the Gold Key Trek comics are, apart from their artwork, almost universally awful (and de-inspirational, if that's a word) while the Star Wars ones feel fresh and original, there's simply no question that there was a lot of silliness in the Marvel comics too.

Good cases in point are pretty much every scheme Baron Orman Tagge came up with in his quest to both defeat the Rebel Alliance and make Darth Vader look like a fool. I love the character of Baron Tagge and I have very fond memories for the issues in which he and his family figure prominently, but, if one were to be objective, you'd have to admit that it's no wonder the Baron never succeeded. His schemes were bizarre, even within the context of the much more loosey-goosey Star Wars universe.

For example, there's building a base with a giant turbine inside a gas giant:

The gas giant in question was "Yavin Prime," around which Yavin IV rotated. Apparently, after the defeat of the Death Star, the Rebels remained on the same moon rather than bugging the hell out of there. More strangely, the Empire, its Death Star having been defeated, just shrugged its collective shoulders and decided, "They're obviously too powerful to stop" and never went back with a huge star fleet to bombard the place from orbit. So, Baron Tagge decides to destroy the Rebel base by building his own base inside Yavin Prime, protected by this giant turbine that creates a safe pocket within its atmosphere but one the Rebels can't find or enter, thereby giving him free rein to attack Yavin with small squads of TIE fighters. Sure, why not? It's certainly no crazier than the Empire just ignoring Yavin IV entirely.

Then there was "Omega Frost," a mad science device that froze everything and which Tagge tested out on Tattooine (note the Imperial troop transport toy product placement in this issue):

He also tested it out in space, as you can see here:

Yes, that is really goofy. There's really no way around that.

Eventually, thanks to Tagge's crazy schemes, his family acquired a well-deserved reputation for being nuts and Darth Vader decides to take full advantage of this by using the Baron's little sister, who was living in seclusion as an intergalactic nun to preserve her innocence -- no, I'm not making this up -- as a trap to lure Luke Skywalker to his doom. You can draw whatever conclusions from that that you wish.

Vader's scheme doesn't work any better than Tagge's did, but at least he does manage to get the Baron killed in the process, so it's not a total loss. And while I do appreciate the fact that the Marvel writers at least had the gumption to kill off their new villains rather than fall in love with them and contrive new ways to keep them alive and coming back for more beyond all reason (unlike some writers I could name), the fact remains that, for all their good qualities, the Tagge family weren't exactly playing with a full deck. Giant turbines? Freeze rays? It's not exactly awe-inspiring stuff, is it?

Visualizing Star Wars

One of the problems with conjuring up a vision of Star Wars that follows a different path than the one George Lucas laid down for it is that, whatever his other faults may be, Lucas excels at creating compelling images. I love the look of the prequel films, for example, and often suffer through them simply because they have some great visuals. So, trying to imagine a different Star Wars, one that might have been, requires at least partially shaking off those visuals and that's a tall order -- but not an impossible one.

When I was a kid, one of my most beloved books -- so beloved that I eventually split its binding from reading it so much -- was The Art of Star Wars, which included pages upon pages of concept art for the film. A lot of this concept art was done by Ralph Mcquarrie and I remember being intrigued by what at the time seemed like really weird versions of things we saw in the films, like this early interpretation of R2-D2 and C-3PO:

There's a definite Metropolis vibe to C-3P0 that I like. He looks a lot more like a human being than the movie's version and, for some reason, this pleases me. At the very least, it gives a different notion on what a 'droid might be.

Then there's this illustration of some stormtroopers preparing to face the heroes:

There's a lot to love here, particularly the shields. I mean, sure, it is cool to see lightsabers as standard issue weaponry, but I really dig the shields they're carrying. It makes no sense, of course, but it looks awesome to me and it's one of those nonsensical esthetic choices that helps to ground the film in a fairy tale reality rather than anything more realistic.

Speaking of lightsabers, here's Vader facing off against a similarly armed opponent:

I love the fact that the other guy is wearing goggles and a breathing mask. That kind of stuff screams space opera.

And here's a group shot of the protagonists from a very version of the screenplay:

I distinctly remember that the Star Wars Fan Club sold a poster of this image in its early days. I never got it then, because, well, I was young and stupid and didn't see any point to a poster that had characters on it who weren't "real." Now, I kick myself for not having gotten one, because I find it really evocative. I get a clear "Star Wars vibe" from it, but it looks sufficiently unlike the actual film that I find it a lot easier to use it as a springboard for letting my mind wander so as to come up with new approaches to the basic ideas Lucas was playing with when he created his space fantasy.

And, yes, before anyone mentions this, I am aware that Hasbro released action figures based on the Mcquarrie concept art (a pity their subsidiary WotC couldn't be similarly broad-minded when it comes to D&D). If I had the money to spare, I'd probably try to acquire a few of these -- the stormtrooper at the very least. I don't usually indulge in such geekly man-child purchases, but I can't deny that these things really hit a sweet spot with me.

Why Even Try to Fight It?

I'm done trying to make excuses for ever more frequent posts about the Marvel Star Wars comics. The simple fact is I loved these things as a kid and, unlike a lot of stuff I liked back then, I think these actually hold up pretty well more than 30 years later. At the very least, they're incredibly inspirational to me as I turn my mind toward science fiction and space fantasy.

Which brings me to the Wheel:

The Wheel was basically Las Vegas in space, a pleasure station owned and operated by Senator Simon Greyshade, who seems to have stolen his wardrobe from Dr. Strange (not that there's anything wrong with that).

Greyshade isn't exactly a villain; he's more of an antagonist. In fact, looking back on him now, he comes across as a kind of Lando Calrissian figure -- a guy quite happy to keep raking in the credits until he gets in over his head in a bad deal with the Empire, a deal that puts him at odds with our heroes, until he finally finds the courage within himself to do the right thing.

Like Baron Tagge, what I find interesting about Greyshade is what his existence implies about the Empire. Marvel's vision of the Empire is far more corrupt than Evil, if that distinction makes any sense. Yes, there are plenty of evil men in the service of the Empire. Indeed, the Empire provides lots of scope for such men to give vent to their evil. But, mostly, the Empire is about the acquisition and maintenance of power by any means necessary. In such an environment, a giant casino in space -- complete with live gladiatorial games for prize money -- seems natural, indeed plausible, rather than goofy.

I have a hard time imagining a place like the Wheel in the official Star Wars universe, whose Empire is too monolithically evil, from its black magic-wielding Emperor down to its lowliest jackbooted minion. Don't misunderstand: I love the good versus evil vibe of the Star Wars movies and I certainly don't think what the setting needs is a lot of moral grayness. Still, I do think that, by making Darth Vader an exemplar of what the Empire is rather than a throwback, an aberration, used by it for its own purposes, a lot of dramatic possibilities are lost.

As I noted in my post about Tagge, I much prefer an Empire filled with plots within plots, where everyone of any ambition and influence is using every tool at his disposal to advance himself one step toward the top of the heap. From a roleplaying perspective, it's a really great set-up and provides plenty of scope for a multitude of campaigns where the PCs don't feel like second-stringers who aren't fighting the Empire "for real" since they're not staring down Vader or a bunch of dark side adepts personally sent by the Emperor to hunt them down. Space opera is supposed to be a wide open genre and on this the Marvel comics really delivered.

Quick -- A Distraction!

My apologies for the slowdown in posts here. I'm knee-deep in work on the revision to Thousand Suns and, as often happens when I'm hitting my stride, I'm ignoring lots of other work to take full advantage of the momentum I've generated. I'm also gearing up to finish the first Dwimmermount-related PDF (on dwarves and gnomes) and do more work on the Dwimmermount book itself, so, needless to say, I've been more neglectful than usual with posts and, especially, correspondence. With luck, that'll change soon, since I have quite a few posts to make, including many, many reviews, but I can't guarantee anything.

In the meantime, though, I thought I'd share some more images from the Marvel Star Wars comics, because I continue to be, well, obsessed with them and people seem to be enjoying my entries reminiscing about them.

Among the many intriguing characters introduced in the Star Wars comics was Baron Orman Tagge, the head of a noble house of which General Ulric Tagge -- the guy with the awesome sideburns in the Death Star conference room -- is a member. Baron Tagge had a vendetta against Darth Vader, who'd apparently blinded him at some time in the past, and now plotted revenge against him, hoping to displace him in the Emperor's favor.

As you can see, Tagge was a believer in old school irony; nothing less than beating Vader at his own game would suffice, which is why he trained relentlessly with the lightsaber. But, like just about everyone else associated with the Empire in the original film, he has no respect for the Jedi or their "ancient religion."

So, Tagge uses his family's resources over several issues of the comic trying to create a new "technological terror" with which to defeat the Rebellion -- and embarrass Darth Vader in the process. The baron is a wonderfully melodramatic villain and you've got love the man's fashion sense, right down to the "cyber vision" glasses that allow him to see despite the wounds he received from the Dark Lord.

I also like Tagge because of what he implies about the political structure of the Empire: a dog-eat-dog society of barely controlled chaos, where ambitious nobles, greedy corporate executives, mad scientists, and military strongmen vie with one another for power and influence under the iron fist of the Emperor, who no doubt encourages this behavior as a way to keep his Empire powerful and ensure his underlings are too busy fighting one another to try and overthrow him. It's a very different conception than what we get in the later movies, but I confess to preferring it in many ways, not least of all because it makes for better space opera.

Anyway, I should get back to work, so I'll leave you with another Marvel Star Wars image. It has little to do with the musings in this post, but it's cool nonetheless and you have to dig the boxed text.