Is there anybody else out there who doesn’t care a jot about the new Star Wars film, or any of the previous George Lucas fantasy, sci-fi action adventures from the last 38 years? I think I see a few hands in the air. But not many.
It’s close to heresy to condemn these overblown inter galactic battles of good vs. evil, with their deep philosophical messages.
But let’s be honest, they’re just action adventure yarns for children.
Which is why it’s so weird to see grown ups with proper jobs, families and mortgages getting into such a kidult frenzy whenever the latest movie appears on the horizon.
You know the type: aged 30s/40s with Star Wars action figures on display in his man cave.
Like thousands of other 15-year-olds I queued at the cinema to see the first film in 1977, carried along on the wave of hype.
Two hours later my suspicions were confirmed. This escapist nonsense, like Dr Who, isn’t real; it has no relevance to growing up in a northern town.
That view held firm until I was dragged along to a sequel, prequel, re-hash, whatever you want to call it, where Ewan McGregor gave a cringing performance and one of the aliens looked and sounded like a spaced out Rastafarian.
I walked out half way through.
The recently premiered seventh film has had gushing reviews from devotees of the franchise who would still have been cheering from the rooftops if the Conservative front bench had taken the starring roles.
Maybe I should lighten up and stop being such a misery face about the whole Star Wars phenomenon. After all, it gives pleasure to millions, uniting fans of all ages and both sexes who revel in harmless entertainment where only they know the magic.
A bit like country and western music then.