Yesterday I told you about the parallel universe in which The Lord of the Rings was adapted by The Beatles and Stanley Kubrick. Now I'd like to tell you about another of my favorite narrowly-averted Hollywood disasters: Return of the Jedi, directed by David Lynch.
|Slowly transforming into an Ewok.|
Sometimes I think we’re a little too mean to George Lucas. Long before he pissed all over the Mona Lisa, Lucas was one of the few players in the field who deserved the title of genius. He not only reinvented filmmaking, but created a new mythology for the 20th century that is now deeply imbedded in our cultural landscape. He also managed to make movies that told a deeply human story, yet were filled with lazars and star-destroyers and shit, and still managed to keep them PG enough for a 6-year-old. But while we’d like to believe that he was fine up until he lost his goddamn mind in the late ‘90s, it turns out that his Bad Ideas were always waiting just around the corner. In 1983, he approached David Lynch and asked if he’d be interested in directing Return of the Jedi.
|You aren't David Lynch. You are a dumbass.|
At some point that midget from Twin Peaks shows up (because come on, that midget rocks fucking hard) and declares in his tweaked voice, "I'VE GOT GOOD NEWS FOR YOU! THE FORCE IS GOING TO COME BACK IN STYLE!"
Cue saxophone solo.
Enter Darth, who slaps the hell out of Luke, and shouts, "DON'T LOOK AT ME!!! DON'T YOU FUCKING LOOK AT ME!!!"
Luke: “Father, I won't fight you.”
Darth: “IT’S DADDY, YOU SHITHEAD!!! WHERE’S MY BOURBON??”