Let Us Pray
Really, how ingenious and how devout of director Stefen Fangmeier to sacrifice the glory of his feature film debut as an offering to the might and, dare we say, magnificence of His Highness George Lucas, that god of cinema without whose loving guidance none of us would have a true appreciation for the power of the motion picture today. Yes, in the many and sure to be complex analyses of Eragon, it will be dissected and discussed and deconstructed, this humble and yet simultaneously brazen supplication before the altar of Star Wars, this prayer, nay, this plea that the divine eye of the Lucas might cast itself upon a young artiste, this Promethean endeavor to steal fire from the cinematic heavens and spread it amongst us, we mere, puny movie lovers parched in a desert bereft of Star Wars these 18 months.
And lo! How it is that Fangmeier found in his quest the second coming of Mark Hamill in Ed Speleers, a paragon of bland blondness and earnest youth. And mark! How it is that Fangmeier, worshipper of the Lucas and stealer of the Lucas’s thunder, found the second coming of Carrie Fisher in Sienna Guillory, a demigoddess of brusque efficiency and royal tediousness. And see! How it is that Fangmeier unblinds our eyes and leads us to know that Jeremy Irons himself is the second coming of Alec Guinness, ripe with mystery and magic and swordfighting practice sessions and not revealing who the hell he really is. And exalt! How it is that Fangmeier prostrates himself before the Lucas by using the Lucas’s own eyes through which to tell us his tale! Verily, if imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, Fangmeier is the most frank and forthright petitioner of the Lucas’s favor yet.
Let us share in pious intonations of the wondrous chants as we bear witness to the marvel of Eragon, transporting us miraculously from the land of Tatooine to the land of Alagaësia, where nary a thing of any substance differs from the Gospel of Luke, except here be dragons instead of landspeeders and X-wing fighters and the Han Solo is really lame. Where farmboys dream of adventure in distant realms absent of chores and uncles
Looks like I’m going nowhere… Looks like I’m going nowhere… Looks like I’m going nowhere…
and secret powers reveal hidden destinies
I’m not going to Alderaan, I’ve gotta get home, I’m in for it as it is… I’m not going to Alderaan, I’ve gotta get home, I’m in for it as it is… I’m not going to Alderaan, I’ve gotta get home, I’m in for it as it is…
and the village idiot holds the key to distant fates
That wizard’s just a crazy old man… That wizard’s just a crazy old man… That wizard’s just a crazy old man…
and princesses await rescue by young heroes of questionable parentage
Aren’t you a little short for a dragonrider… Aren’t you a little short for a dragonrider… Aren’t you a little short for a dragonrider…
But hark! The Force is strong with young Eragon, but he is not a dragonrider yet. And so we pray that the Lucas shall see Eragon, and that he shall see it as Good, and that he shall bestow upon Fangmeier his blessing to go forth and make a Sequel or — praise be to the Lucas — a Trilogy. For it is known throughout the land that those crappy Saturday-night Sci Fi Originals have been really pathetic lately, hardly worthy expending the energy to snicker at, but that when this one comes out on DVD, it’s gonna be perfect for offering up to other gods, that old triumvirate whose words are wise and noble and yet have abandoned us lo these many years: Joel Robinson and Crow T. Robot and Tom Servo who dwell on the Satellite of Love.
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