Star Wars Day is a chance to practice curiosity

Star Wars has always demanded our curiosity toward its many colorful background characters. 

Consider the iconic cantina scene from the original 1977 film. Our heroes stumble into the bar looking for a literal escape, a way off the planet Tatooine. But before they find it in the form of a cocky smuggler and a giant walking carpet, viewers are treated to several minutes of varied shots that feature the alien patrons of the Mos Eisley Cantina.  

What do we get for our time? A classic earworm, for one. (Is this the house band, or are these Bith musicians on a galactic tour?) And a good look at dozens of alien species, reminding viewers of just how strange this galaxy is. (What are these creatures? Do they have names? Why are they all here on this planet?) We see some conflict, too. The barkeep (did you know his name is Wuher?) refuses stalwart droid heroes C-3PO and R2-D2 entry: “We don’t serve their kind here.” 

That confident declaration and consequential expulsion have little bearing on the unfolding plot. Still, another question emerges: Why? Fans had to wait 40 years to learn the answer in a short story: That grumpy barkeep had lost his entire family in the Clone Wars at the metallic hands of killer droids.

An interesting bit of trivia, perhaps, but why does it matter? Because again and again, throughout the nearly 50 years of Star Wars storytelling, the franchise returns to minor characters or seemingly rushed plot points for new story threads. 

Take that cool-looking bounty hunter with four lines of dialogue and six minutes and 32 seconds of screen time spanning both “The Empire Strikes Back” and “Return of the Jedi” combined. His name is Boba Fett, and this brief appearance spawns not only the Mandalorian culture but a series of parallel storylines that cut through the entire Star Wars universe. We are talking about multiple TV shows, cartoons, books—everything.

And that technical oversight that led a hotshot Luke Skywalker to blow up the Death Star? Well, that was discovered because a crack team of rebels got a secret message from one rebel’s father, who was kind of a double agent, as was revealed four decades later in “Rogue One.”  And by the way, one of the leads in that prequel storyline got a whole spinoff series called “Andor.”

A cynical viewer might say: Yes, of course—it’s all about making money, about squeezing every last penny from this once-beloved franchise.  

But as a lifelong Star Wars fan, I refuse to adopt that perspective. Rather, I believe this approach to storytelling is one we could all use a bit more of in our real lives. Engaging Star Wars stories today means cultivating a disposition of curiosity toward everything on the screen or the page. Everything and everyone is a gateway to more stories if we are curious. If we wonder. If we ask why. 

This is the essence of good worldbuilding. Worldbuilding is what it sounds like: the creation of new and wondrous places, built from internally consistent rules that translate into cultures, economies, religions and languages. Dynamic worldbuilding is why we feel as though we could step right into Middle-earth and Narnia, Westeros and Oz. 

And it’s why we care about that galaxy far, far away.

But worldbuilding is not simply a storytelling tool. Worldbuilding is inherently a spiritual task. It asks storyteller and viewer alike to pay close attention, to hold preconceived notions and biases in suspense, to wonder and to wander, always mindful that this next item, this new insight, this strange character may hold the key to the whole plot. And if not the whole plot, then at least some interesting tidbit that expands the world itself, making it so much larger than we previously thought. Good worldbuilding means that there is plenty of space for the reader to explore. There is always more to know.

Everything and everyone points beyond itself, if we have eyes to see and patience to explore. 

I will bet you did not know the name of the barkeep at the cantina. But I wonder: Are you now a bit more curious about how his story fits into the Star Wars prequel era? 

That’s the whole point. If we can learn to display such wonder and curiosity toward fantastical creatures and fictional characters, perhaps we can learn to do so toward the very real, flesh-and-blood companions with whom we share this real world. Perhaps we can—and should—pay closer attention to the so-called background characters of our stories and of the sweeping narrative of history. 

After all, if the Mos Eisley Cantina barkeep has a story of trauma and resilience, I wonder about the stories of the people we have dismissed to the proverbial background in our own lives: folks living in shelters, being bombed from the skies or suffering in silence. What if, instead of hunkering down in our own stories, we got curious about theirs?

Ultimately, curiosity is trajectory-setting: It sends us out and into the world to encounter the fullness of God’s creation. I believe that’s where God wants us to be, finding the holy in unexpected places and trusting that even here, even in the subplots and tangents and seemingly minor characters of our days, we discover God’s Spirit.

May the 4^th is Star Wars day. May it be a day of curiosity and wonder. 

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