I haven’t stopped shaking since I saw Star Wars: The Last Jedi. It’s minus one outside and the central heating’s fucked. The film, however, hasn’t yet had the same impact on me. Perhaps in a couple of days my delayed joy, which must currently be gurgling in my intestines somewhere, will eventually burst out of me in bile form and permanently scald a child’s face. Hopefully.
Everyone else, however, seemed to instantly love it. They particularly enjoyed those fucked-up guinea pig space penguin things, which hijack the film at the halfway point with their incessant screeching and shitting on rocks, and several members of the audience started mooing with pleasure whenever Luke Skywalker touched his lightsaber. Graham Norton was sat just a couple of rows in front of me and even though I could I only see the back of his head, I’m confident he had an excellent time.
Their reactions are understandable, really, because Star Wars: The Last Jedi is a sprawling, space opera extravaganza that’s almost like an actual Star Wars film. It sees the return of all your favourite characters, like Ello Atsy (Helen Mirren) and Vice Admiral Amilyn Holdo (Glenn Close), for an action-packed adventure that constantly surprises. For instance, I had no idea it was going to turn into a Marvel movie and that Iron Man and Scarlet Witch were going to arrive and set up fourteen more sequels.
I was also surprised by the sheer amount of bold decisions made by director and writer Rian Johnson. General Leia has an absolutely massive collar that prompted me to gasp at least seven times, and Snoke is actually the reanimated corpse of popular magician Paul Daniels. But while these shocks and twists ensure the film remains completely unpredictable, they ultimately steer the franchise away from what I recognise Star Wars to be: women in golden bikinis choking massive slugs.
The Last Jedi reiterates that Rey and Kylo Ben are the main focus of this new trilogy, this time connecting them in a vaguely erotic bond that gradually made the cinema stink of meat. Their relationship is the best thing about this film, which ends wide open on the gynaecologist’s table, legs clamped apart and fanny primed to receive whatever the fuck they come up with next.
Star Wars: The Last Jedi is in UK cinemas December 14.