Last time we pondered the Gungan.
Andor flickers back on forth on the boundary between being better treated as a serialised narrative and better treated as discrete stories, even accounting for the all-serial episode 7 which ended with effectively a prologue for this run. Having waited two weeks to watch all these episodes together, after the first one I felt like I’d have been better splitting them over the weeks, not least because the ongoing stories with the characters on the fringe of the current story were gelling better (at first) than the new cast of incarcerated workers.
By the end of the second episode however I didn’t care, idle thoughts about the formal structure of the show swept away by a solid 50 minutes of man’s inhumanity to man. One of Andor’s great strengths is in avoiding sentimentality, a habit that dogged Obi-wan, a show which was full of doe-eyed tributes to the inspiring sacrifice of the Rebels and future Rebels yet to come. Even the great climactic prison break isn’t lingered on. There’s no scene of the prisoners hoisting a new flag over their floating prison. They just escape by force and leave by the first means available to them, even if it is a nightmare plunge into an unknown sea.
As well as the prison — which doubles as a factory (didn’t spot Foucault’s name in the credits but I’m sure it was there) — we get a string of supporting characters ensnared in various scenarios where they have to choose to be rational over idealistic or compassionate — but without sentimentality, or the sort of nihilistic fatalism that is the flip side of it. Mon Mothma engages with a grotesque aristocrat whose (unknowing) support for the rebellion is pending on her handing her daughter over to the kind of relationship that has made her miserable. The up-and-coming ISB agent has to turn to torture to extract the information she needs, but the show is not so squeamish as to have her prevaricate over it nor so dull as to linger on it for longer than necessary. And we get a delightful guest appearance from Forest Whitaker, reprising his character from Rogue One in a barnstorming cameo which makes his truncated appearance in Rogue One all the more upsetting. Here he’s Luthen’s equal, sparring with him over plans and funding and refusing to be drawn or baited with the kind of revolutionary logic Luthen engages in. I’m hoping he makes a return.
If the show indulges in sentimentality anywhere, it’s ironically in the baroque misery of Luthen, whose grandiose monologue about sacrifice closes out this block. Skarsgård plays it fine, and there’s an implication that it may be more deliberate smoke and artifice than deep-seated agonising, but it’s still in sharp contrast to the episode’s highlight: work group supervisor Kino — played by Andy Serkis — as he delivers the message over the prison PA to the other prisoners that a break is in progress and the guards are no longer in control of the prison. Kino is unsure of himself, starts out meandering, steals lines that Andor and the other prisoners have been saying to him. He’s not struck by the moment and infused with the holy spirit of speechmaking, nor is the deep personal sadness that Serkis brings to the character lingered on. Luthen is just having too much fun with it all even when it’s not going his way; he comes across strung out and grumpy, not hollow from years of loss.
The finest scene, to my mind at least, is the one that closes out the second episode, where the prisoner Ulaf, who has been struggling and often confused at the work desks, has a stroke while heading back to the cells. As above, there is no sentimentality here. Ulaf doesn’t get to deliver a final speech, rousing his friends to action. It’s not even clear that they have a friendship other than the basic compassion shared between human beings. Conversely, there’s no cartoonish unpleasantness. No-one gets shocked or zapped or punished because the old man collapses. But it’s still horrible. The inhumanity of the institution fills the whole scene. There is no compassion for the man’s coworkers to see that he is taken care of. There is no time to lift him from the floor where he has fell. There is no interruption of the standard routines, either to bring help faster or to avoid the people caring for the old man from having to raise their hands to their heads. The doctor, another prisoner, barely has the time to learn the dead man’s name. When he dies, Ulaf is placed in a bag on a gurney and rolled straight out. The other prisoners never see him again. It’s deeply sad — I found it deeply sad.
The relationship between Andor and Star Wars continues to fascinate. It’s very good, which sets it apart from most (if not all) the other Disney Star Wars projects. But it’s good beyond being good Star Wars, and yet it determinedly is still Star Wars and is in a deep conversation with the rest of Star Wars. The Senate chamber makes another appearance here, and the prison institution resembles nothing so much as the cloning facility on Kimono. When Andor says “we’re cheaper than droids and easier to replace” the comparison is explicit. Saw Gerrera talks about Separatists and New Republicans. The space wizards are absent for now, but Star Wars hasn’t gone anywhere.
Up next:
- Andor: Episodes 1, 2, 3
- “Can Andor save Star Wars from itself?” Andor: Episodes 4, 5, 6 (supplemental)
- Andor: Episode 7
- Andor: Episodes 11, 12
Ranking, best to worst:
- The Phantom Menace
- Andor: Episodes 4, 5, 6 (supplemental)
- Andor: Episodes 8, 9, 10
- Andor: Episodes 1, 2, 3
- Andor: Episode 7
- Flashback recap of the prequel trilogy
- Obi-wan: Episode 5
- Obi-wan: Episode 3
- Obi-wan: Episode 1
- Obi-wan: Episode 6
- Obi-wan: Episode 4
- Obi-wan: Episode 2
If you like my writing, please subscribe to my Letterboxd reviews or watch Sixteen attempts to talk to you about ‘Suicide Squad’, available on Youtube now.
