100 Things Star Wars Fans Should Know & Do Before They Die

Triumph Books

A Galaxy Far, Far Away

Everything changed on May 25, 1977. To the untrained eye, it was just another endless day in what seemed like a year that threatened to drag on forever. In the Netherlands, two days prior, a group of Moluccan terrorists seized control of a train and a school in the Netherlands, holding more than 100 children hostage. Two months prior, KLM Flight 4805 and Pan Am Flight 1736 collided mid-air, killing 583 people in a horrific accident at the Tenerife airport in the Canary Islands; at the time, it was the deadliest accident in aviation history. In Dover, Massachusetts, residents reported seeing sights of an eerie monster dubbed the Dover Demon. On television, viewers were made to wrestle with their own demons as British journalist David Frost reopened old wounds with former President Richard Nixon in a four-night interview series. In short, the country — and even the world — felt as though it could use a new hope. On that Memorial Day weekend, that was exactly what they got, as a little-known sci-fi film called Star Wars opened in theaters and changed the course of cultural history.

The lights in the theaters faded to black as the reel-to-reel roared to life. After the classic Chuck Jones cartoon short Duck Dodgers in the 24½th Century played — something on which George Lucas insisted — the Fox fanfare filled the theater with its indelible drum roll and bright, piercing horns, heralding the arrival of something new. (In fact, this fanfare, originally created in 1933 by Alfred Newman, had fallen out of use by the time of Star Wars' premiere; it was another relic that Lucas insisted on reviving and appending to his baby.) Yet the fanfare was merely a preamble, a triumphant crescendo paving the way for 10 simple words in an icy blue font that would burn their way into the wrinkles of our brains: "A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away ..."

This was the first indication that audience members weren't in for another run-of-the-mill sci-fi affair; these words had a fairy tale quality to them. That's because this wasn't "sci-fi" per se — it was space fantasy, a clever amalgamation of multiple genres to make an elemental tale of good and evil, light and dark, all set against a backdrop of the infinite. Of course, this thought barely had time to register for most viewers because suddenly the massive, yellow Star Wars logo filled the frame, accompanied by the thunderous arrival of John Williams' opening theme. Then, came the opening crawl, the sprawling wall of slowly scrolling text that crept up from the bottom of the screen, flying off into oblivion. (Note: the title Episode IV: A New Hope would not appear in the opening credits until the film's re-release in 1981.)

On its first day, the film opened in just 32 theaters across the country, and was set to open in 11 more over the coming days. There had only been one trailer for the film that had come out the previous Christmas, which promptly disappeared until, like Jesus, it returned for Easter. In spite of what seemed like a relative non-presence, the film had record-breaking ticket sales, grossing $255,000 on opening day. By the end of the weekend, it had grossed $2.5 million in ticket sales, technically placing it behind Smokey and the Bandit, which grossed $2.7 million across 386 screens. The numbers don't lie, though. A new king had been crowned.

The film became an instant cultural phenomenon. It spread like wildfire, all in an era before texting, Twitter, and Internet message boards. "On opening day I was on the East Coast and I did the morning-show circuit — Good Morning America," producer Gary Kurtz recalled in an interview. "In the afternoon I did a radio call-in show in Washington and this guy, this caller, was really enthusiastic and talking about the movie in really deep detail. I said, 'You know a lot abut the film.' He said, 'Yeah, yeah, I've seen it four times already.' And that was opening day. I knew something was happening." In fact, it is largely due to the popularity of Star Wars that theaters instated a policy of clearing out audiences in between shows; previously crowds could remain seated and watch the film again if they waited long enough.

Seeing the film immediately inducted the viewer into a sort of secret cabal with its own signifiers and vocabulary. "May the Force Be With You" buttons and homemade t-shirts emblazoned with Star Wars sayings became common sights, immediate indicators that you were in the know. Fans began trading theories and speculating about the film's vibrant backstory and the rich world Lucas had created. They were particularly curious about the nature of the Force. The film would go on to earn seven Academy Awards, $461 million in domestic box office receipts, and nearly $800 million in ticket sales worldwide. But more importantly, it had created a movement, a legion of diehard fans who weren't just obsessed with the intricacies of the galaxy far, far away.

This was, of course, just the beginning. Over the next 38 years, there would be five more Star Wars films, an ill-fated holiday special, two critically acclaimed animated series, countless video games, and a veritable merchandising empire. Honestly, if you can think of an item, there is a Star Wars-ified version of it (and it's likely housed at Rancho Obi-Wan for posterity). In total, the franchise has grossed more than $2.2 billion at the domestic box office, and more than $4.5 billion worldwide. Those box office receipts were just a fraction of the income generated by Star Wars; an April 2015 estimate stated that the franchise had generated $27 billion when toy sales, book sales, home video, and other assorted licensing fees were factored into the equation.

With statistics like that, it should come as no surprise that on October 30, 2012, the Walt Disney Corporation paid $4.05 billion to acquire Lucasfilm and all of its holdings, including the Star Wars brand. After giving his sweat, blood, and tears to this mythic story of good versus evil — two trilogies spanning the course of three decades — George Lucas was ready to pass the torch, the proverbial lightsaber, as it were. "For the past 35 years, one of my greatest pleasures has been to see Star Wars passed from one generation to the next," said Lucas in an official press release at the time. "It's now time for me to pass Star Wars on to a new generation of filmmakers. I've always believed that Star Wars could live beyond me, and I thought it was important to set up the transition during my lifetime."

Leading that new generation of filmmakers into the bold, new future are J.J. Abrams and Kathleen Kennedy, the respective Luke Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi of this new era of Star Wars stories. After co-founding Amblin Entertainment with Steven Spielberg and Frank Marshall, Kennedy had a long, fruitful career in film that prepared her well to become president of Lucasfilm. Making a name for himself first as a maverick writer and director, J.J. Abrams proved that he was more than up to the task of tackling a revered franchise in a sci-fi setting when he rebooted Star Trek for Paramount. Now, the duo are preparing the first new Star Wars film in a decade, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens, combatting feverish fan expectation and ravenous paparazzi while they craft the film that will effectively kick off the next era of Star Wars films.

Considering that we already have release dates for Episode VIII and IX, as well as planned Star Wars Anthology standalone films in between, it doesn't look like the saga will be slowing down anytime soon. Some might see it as potential oversaturation, but to the Star Wars faithful, it seems like manna from heaven. Calling Star Wars a multi-generational franchise is underselling it because this is truly a family affair. Parents took their children to see it in the 1970s and '80s, and those children grew up endlessly watching it. Now, those children have children of their own, a new era of freshly minted Padawan learners who are growing up with their own unique encounters with the Star Wars series. It's all quite fitting for a saga of fathers and sons, really; after all, family has always been at the core of the Star Wars story. Where this sprawling space opera will take us next, nobody knows. Come December 18, 2015, we'll find out when we finally return to the galaxy far, far away — together.

George Lucas

George Lucas is so much more than Star Wars. Not only did he create Star Wars, but he is also the creative force behind the Indiana Jones franchise. Over the course of his career, he has earned four Academy Award nominations. His companies, Industrial Light & Magic and Skywalker Sound, not only brought those films to life, but they redefined industry standards of excellence for a generation of filmmakers with advancements in special effects technology and filming techniques. He is largely responsible for the rise of the modern effects-driven blockbuster. He has a net worth of more than $5 billion, which is no small feat by anyone's measure. Yet without him — and moreover, without Star Wars — much of that would not exist.

Star Wars is the reason why we are here, after all. It is a uniting force, a pop cultural superpower that transcends cultures, languages, and generations. Epic in its scale, elemental in its narrative, it is a cultural product that borders on the universal — and it all sprang from the mind of one man, at least at first it did. Before we dive headfirst into the twisting, winding history of Star Wars, one must understand the origins of the galaxy far, far away. Though Star Wars' influences can be traced back to a number of sources, it was born from the confluence of passions and interests of George Lucas. With a quiet demeanor, a keen analytical eye, and a perpetual beard, Lucas seems at times like a man unstuck from time. A lifelong passionate film fan whose tastes appeared at odds with the mainstream, Lucas remained undeterred in his mission to transform the distinct pleasures of his youth into a sprawling saga of space fantasy.

Born on May 14, 1944, in Modesto, California, George Lucas grew up in relative comfort on an isolated ranch just outside the town itself. It was, by all means, the quintessential experience of growing up in small-town America. Like Luke Skywalker, Lucas had a need for speed in his younger days, spending endless hours at the racetracks of Modesto. Securing a fake ID, the young Lucas entered into autocross races of his own, and his world seemed to revolve around tinkering under the hood of his souped-up Autobianchi Bianchina, an Italian supermini that he tricked out to eke out every extra ounce of speed that he could. However, all of that changed on June 12, 1962, when Lucas was involved in a nearly fatal car wreck that cut short his teenage aspirations of being a professional racecar driver. It was a watershed moment that gave Lucas a new attitude on life, one that would stay with him for many, many years.

Speaking with Oprah Winfrey in 2012, Lucas said, "It gave me this perspective on life that I'm operating on extra credit. I'm never afraid of dying. What I'm getting is bonus material." It was the fearlessness Lucas now experienced which allowed him to channel that familiar sense of adrenaline into his filmic work. In fact, when Star Wars first came out in 1977, it felt faster-paced than any of its rivals at the time. It may sound silly when compared to the frenetic, apoplectic editing style heralded by Jason Bourne and his ilk, but it was the truth.

Lucas' fondness for filmmaking also blossomed from his passion for automobile racing. While working as a pit mechanic for the AWOL Sports Car Competition Club, Lucas would often bring his 8mm camera with him. One day, it happened to catch the eye of a famous cinematographer named Haskell Wexler, who took an interest in the young man, noting his keen cinematic eye. With some pushing and prodding — and a phone call by Wexler to a USC instructor — Lucas applied to the film school at the University of Southern California. Whether it was due to Wexler's influence or his own aptitude, Lucas was accepted, and officially enrolled as a film student at USC.

Though he would come into his own at USC, the origins of Lucas' lifelong fascination came from his time at Modesto Junior College. Alongside his childhood friend John Plummer, Lucas would venture into Berkley and San Francisco to seek out the burgeoning independent film scene on the North Coast. In particular, a series called Canyon Cinema, curated by filmmakers Stan Brakhage and Bruce Conner, called out to the boys like a siren song. At these screenings, George Lucas turned from casual consumer to cineaste. Of all the films he saw, a short film called 21-87 had the greatest influence on Lucas. Created by a young Montreal filmmaker named Arthur Lipsett, 21-87 was a pastiche of seemingly random audio clips and video footage culled from the National Film Board of Canada's archives. One audio clip spoke of a "kind of force" that pervaded man and nature. It was a sentiment that would evolve into the Force of the Star Wars films and a film that would echo across the galaxy far, far away.

At USC, however, George Lucas went from gawky Modesto teen to one of the brightest young cinematic lights the school had ever known. Alongside classmates like Walter Murch, John Milius, Howard Kazanjian, and Robert Zemeckis, Lucas became part of a clique known as the Dirty Dozen, a group of emerging filmmakers who would go on to become major players within the film industry. In particular, they had a passion for cinema outside the cultural norm, especially world cinema. To wit, John Milius, who would go on to co-write Apocalypse Now and direct Conan the Barbarian, introduced him to the works of Akira Kurosawa, which would have a powerful effect on the development of Star Wars.

In 1966, Lucas graduated from USC and received a draft letter for the U.S. Army. However, when Lucas reported for medical inspection, he learned that he would not be heading to Officer Candidate School or to Vietnam at all; he received a 4-F rating and a diagnosis of diabetes, the result of surviving on a steady diet of Coca-Cola and Hershey's bars in the editing room at USC. Embarking on a lifestyle that bordered on ascetic, Lucas cleaned up his act and his diet in order to improve his bill of health. Though he intended to apply to USC graduate school, his brief detour into potential military service caused him to miss the application deadline. Rather than rest on his laurels, Lucas started a job cutting films together for the U.S. Information Agency, working out of editor Verna Fields' living room. This was a formative experience for Lucas, not only because he learned that he wanted to be a director and producer, not an editor, but also because he met a young woman named Marcia Griffin, whom Fields had hired as a second editor. She was clever, willful, and able to match Lucas creatively, pound for pound. It's no wonder that in a few short years, she would be his first wife.

"Neither one of us would take any shit from the other," Lucas said of his future wife. She was his intellectual equal, but more importantly, she challenged him in new and exciting ways. It's fitting that she was one of the first people that he told about the space fantasy story swirling around in his head, the result of years of consuming sci-fi adventure serials like Flash Gordon. "That damn movie was whirring through the editing machine in George's head on the day we met," Marcia would reveal nearly 20 years later, in the wake of their divorce. "He never doubted it would get made. ... He spent a lot of time thinking of ways to get those spaceships and creatures on the screen."