 |
||||
 |
March 21, 2002
Yet many have wonder at a particular revision in the Special Edition version of Star Wars. Namely, a revision in Greedo’s scene with Han Solo which prompts Greedo (and not Han Solo) to fire his gun first, at point blank range, and yet miss. An erroneous blast fired off by Greedo before his inevitable murder at the hands of the heathen Han Solo. Why was this scene altered? And how could Greedo possibly miss? Many have mistakenly ascribed this action as an attempt to make Han Solo appear less ruthless by having him first fired upon before he defends himself. While I must admit that I find this proposal fascinating, it is nevertheless an ignorant assertion.
As the following excerpt from the life of Greedo will demonstrate, the truth is far more painful.
The sands had carried themselves in through the dusty window portals of his home. The aroma of bantha poo-doo was heavy in the air. Yet the room was pregnant with tension; a pregnant tension that threatened the birth of an outburst at any moment. A tension Greeda hoped to abort before it was too late. “Come Greedo,” Greeda soothed. “Let us attend the pod races together, as it was meant to be. As husband and concubine.” “Fie! Away with thee woman before thou see’st the backside of my hand!” Greeda moved beside him and laid an understanding arm upon his shoulder. “I know what you intend Greedo. But please, let us end it here.” “Never!” The momentary fury betrayed by Greedo startled even Greeda for a moment as she pulled back into the foyer. “Han Solo,” Greedo continued, composing himself and softening his eyes. “My beloved concubine, Han Solo must not leave Tatooine. He must not for I have sworn it, and that bond cannot be broken by any mortal being.” Greeda paused before responding in a whisper, “I know what he has done to you, my love. You believe yourself successful in hiding your dark past, but I know. Do not think I am ignorant of such matters.” “Then you know,” Greedo nodded. “That Han Solo raped and murdered my sister. And then he disgraced her by not marrying her!” “Greedo, you must not dwell upon that. She was horribly mutilated... and dead.” “It is the honor of the Rodian!” Greedo shouted. “When a man makes a mistake, he amends it himself! He and no one else!” “But you cannot win against him! I love you Greedo, but you cannot triumph!” “I shall find him and I shall allow him to taste the musky tang of a Rodian weapon. This day, Han Solo shall look into my eyes. And he will know that today is his last day on Tatooine.” Greeda began to tremble until she could hold herself back no longer. “But Greedo! Your glaucoma!” Greedo’s eyes widened and his ears perked. “Yes! Did you think I could not know? I, your beloved.” “I shall fire my weapon first! I shall get close enough to fire my weapon first! Glaucoma shall not hinder me. I shall steady my hand and God will steady and resolve my spirit.” “And if not?” “If not? Then they shall set aside a table for me in Valhalla this very day! Be gone woman!” “But Greedo, my love, Han Solo was able to make the Kessel run in under 12 parsecs. If he can boast the Kessel run in under 12 parsecs, perhaps he is fast enough to draw his weapon in under 3 inches.” “No one is quick enough to unholster their weapon 5 inches in just 3 inches! Not even the renowned Han Solo can boast those reflexes! Let him fold space-time to his content, he shall not fire first!” “Papa, let me lead you!” Greedo twirled to see Antigone in the doorway. Had she heard everything? “Away with you Antigone. I need no one to lead me as an invalid.” Wearily, Greedo stood and moved toward the doorway. A twitch to the side unconsciously brought his eyes to Greeda’s. Her mottled complexion invoked a pain of longing from somewhere deep within. Perhaps I will never share with her the secrets of the Rodian Choo-natra again. A bond between male and female. The connection only a man may share with his uninhibited concubine. Greedo turned to the door, but met with something that startled him backwards for a moment. He met with his own eyes, gazing deeply within him from the doorway mirror. Wearied eyes. Eyes clouded over with pain and a lifetime’s overindulgence in astro-mead. Eyes that had seen too much bounty hunting. Shaking his head and throwing the door open, Greedo proceeded forward with newly inflamed rage. Those eyes he had seen... These are the eyes forged by Han Solo! Greedo’s world swirled about him. He saw nothing. He heard nothing. And then he stood, head rising upward, to gaze above the barren ground. Greedo stumbled as his vision faltered for a moment. The image was cloudy, yet certain. The Mos Eisley cantina. “Wretched hive of scum and villainy,” Greedo murmered to himself. And then he paused. In an emotional burst of fervor, Greedo’s hand found its way to his side, unholstering his blaster, raising his weapon into the air. “Dagon, bestow upon me the strength to fire my weapon first! Lay upon me your favor so that I may presently be off with myself to join the heroic rebel alliance and prove myself in jihad!” Greedo’s blaster hovered, raised toward Tatooine’s sultry stars. An eternity unfolded before him. Greedo turned to the door of the cantina, reviewing the words. The words his mind had practiced for years. The words he would utter to Han Solo before the final endgame was met. A quiet protocol droid awaiting its master stood Greedo’s lone witness. Alack, poor Greedo prays to his heathen God Dagon; a God who will not listen. The God of Yoda and the God of Shmi and the God of Anakin, and the God of his son Luke and Luke’s sister Leia, and the God of Samuel L. Jackson is a jealous God. And I fear that Greedo shall not fare well today. |
|||
|
Copyright © 2000-2002 Jacques. All rights reserved. |
