The Last Jedi

For boomers like me Star Wars was never the epic film that has been for younger generations. For me the master film was 2001: A Space Odyssey, which exerted a tremendous influence on my life, especially because of its philosophical implications.

The Star Wars saga lies not in the serious science-fiction league. Rather, it resembles the space fantasy comics that became fashionable in the 1950s and 60s. There is nothing wrong with the comics genre, if we take into account that in a 2018 interview George Lucas told James Cameron in Story of Science Fiction that he had designed his project for twelve-year-old children.

But that genre that Lucas chose, like the most serious science-fiction, can produce good or bad movies. I agree with Richard Spencer that, from the point of view of the messages, Star Wars: Episode IV: A New Hope, of 1977, is the best as the protagonists are white and coloured heroes are missing. In addition, in the final minutes Princess Leia awards Luke and Han with medals for their heroism: visually, with slightly fashy tones.

From the strictly cinematographic point of view I believe that Star Wars: Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back, that I saw with my family in 1980, is the only masterpiece of the eight episodes that have come out. It has a disadvantage: it introduces Lando Calrissian, a mulatoid character, as the administrator of Cloud City.

It was such an enthusiasm that that masterpiece caused me, that Star Wars: Episode VI: Return of the Jedi, which I saw on the big screen in 1983, caused me a huge disappointment. Darth Vader, so impressive in The Empire Strikes Back, here appears as the busboy of the emperor: an unpardonable blunder in Lucas’ story. I said above that the Star Wars genre was space comics taken to the screen. I still remember the American comics that came out in the 1970s and early 80s on Star Wars: infinitely better plots than the crap that occurred to Lucas when taking away all the aura of mystique from the figure of Vader.

So the series disappointed me since the eighties. When the first prequel was premiered in 1999, Star Wars: Episode I: The Phantom Menace, I was living in Manchester. If Lucas told Cameron that his original idea had been to make films for twelve-year-old children, in his first prequel he made it for children of even younger age: the age in which Anakin Skywalker appears in The Phantom Menace.

I saw on the big screen Star Wars: Episode II: Attack of the Clones, released in 2002. Although it seems more for teenagers, this second trilogy of Lucas can be summarized with these words: ‘Everything for the eye, nothing for the mind’. Unlike 2001: A Space Odyssey that can be described as ‘Everything for the eye and for the mind’, the new genre of space films do not leave food for thought.

When I saw the last of the prequels, Star Wars: Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, released in 2005, I told myself that the contemporary westerner knows nothing about the nature of evil (e.g., how Anakin became bad): a topic that I have pondered in my two books. That Lucas does not grasp evil is also apparent in his most recent interview by Cameron, another completely clueless guy.

Lucas is a white man. But since Jews bought the Disney Company, the messages have invariably become toxic. For that very reason I did not see, on the big screen, the sequels such as Star Wars: Episode VII: The Force Awakens, released in 2015.

At the corner of my house there is a travelling Mexican market of Indians every Monday, which includes stands of pirated DVDs. Only that way I dared to see part of The Force Awakens on my plasma television. Although Leia has behaved like a princess, in The Force Awakens the roles of the male hero are reversed to make room for a new heroine, the scavenger Rey. In this Greg Johnson, under the pseudonym of Trevor Lynch, has failed big time in his favourable reviews of the Star Wars sequels. With his tacit feminism Johnson seems to subscribe the Hollywood agenda of toxic messages.

Although Star Wars: Episode VIII: The Last Jedi was released in 2017, I saw it last week. For the ridiculous amount of $ 10 pesos (in dollars, 53 ¢) I bought a pirated DVD of The Last Jedi in the same travelling market (I would not give the Jews at so-called Disney more than a buck to watch both films).

There is something I would like to say about this latest movie. As I did with The Force Awakens, I did not even spend my time with the latest saga film, insofar as in most of these movies I used the fast-forward of my remote control! That’s how we should treat the films produced by Jewish firms: there is no point in pissing us off with their bad messages at normal speed. And regarding the special effects, we already saw all that in the pre-‘Disney’ Lucas prequels, right? So I still pressed the fast-forward button…

But that is not what I wanted to say. There are times that even in films with bad messages a master scene that contrasts with the garbage is sneaked. That scene happens almost at the end of The Last Jedi.

I refer when Luke appears to help escape the few remaining survivors of the Resistance. A frozen image after he walks straight ahead toward a row of Imperial Walkers, a few seconds after Kylo orders them to stop, is very artistic and deserves to be kept in our memories. (To me, it evokes the isolated white nationalist confronting single-handedly all the power of ZOG…)

Then the madman Kylo orders that all Imperial Walkers’ cannons shoot at Luke. But after an orgy of shots he appears unscathed among the reddish smoke that evaporates, slightly shaking something off his shoulder, in challenge to Kylo. The latter makes a gesture of shocked surprise, and decides to go down his haughty ship, against all advice from his envious second-in-command, to confront him alone.

He then engages Luke in a lightsaber duel never seen before in any of the other Star Wars films: as the swords never collide but Luke, wielding his blue lightsaber, deftly evades all the onslaught from the fire colour of Kylo’s lightsaber. There comes a time when Luke turns off his lightsaber to talk to him, and Kylo runs toward him to cut his body in twain. Upon striking Luke, in the climactic scenes of the movie Kylo realises he has been fighting a Force projection of Luke and shouts, defeated, ‘Nooo!’ as he comprehends Luke’s plan to save the Resistance (including his sister Leia) by buying time with the duel distraction.

In the subsequent scene, Luke, exhausted, becomes one with the Force and dies light-years away from his phantasmagorical encounter with Kylo, peacefully and purposely, on the planet of the first Jedi.

All those scenes I loved, but you have to see them ignoring almost the rest of the film to appreciate them—something very difficult, because in one of the climactic moments there is a cut and the white Rey girl allows a long hug from a Negro that has also been featured in another Star Wars film. (Sometimes I would like to edit my home DVDs and cut off all the offensive segments: about 95 percent, or more, from most films.)

Many fans have complained on YouTube that the personality of the Luke of the first films was betrayed in the latest film. I disagree. My previous entry referred to the life of Karlheinz Deschner, who was a parachutist who fought for the Third Reich as a young man and, much later, became a critical scholar of Christianity. I myself admired St Francis in 1974. But when I read the first Jedi books, so to speak, I transvalued my values and started to admire Himmler’s SS.

What Star Wars fans ignore is that the mind matures over the decades. If any of those who knew me as a teenager saw me now, they would be shocked by the changes, both external and internal.

If we think about the battles that Deschner waged as a young man in the Second World War, all that remains of the Resistance are a few nationalists. What happened in Charlottesville last year should move what’s left of the Jedi knights to consider that, perhaps, it is time for more reading rather than direct legal action. If they read the collection of The Fair Race (which includes a section from William Pierce’s Who We Are), along with Hitler’s Table Talk, Mason’s Siege (or The Turner Diaries); what Deschner and others unearthed from the true story of Christianity, and even Goodrich’s Hellstorm, the internal force that the initiate would develop would be equivalent to that of a hermit Jedi.

A single example will clarify the above. In The Fair Race it is explained that in the historical Republic blond and blue-eyed Romans were the good guys. When Rome became a racial melting-pot for all the peoples of the Empire, including the subversive Semites, they became really bad. Conversely, the later Star Wars trilogy depicts the Empire as whites and the Republic as practitioners of miscegenation: the exact opposite of what history tells us!

Internal Jihad (see Luke above with his books) must precede external Jihad. The time has come to do an internal work in the sacred island where the last Jedi became wise and powerful before confronting ZOG.

On Greggy’s review of Rogue One

Editor’s note: Irmin Vinson, the author of an important book on Hitler, has commented on the latest Star Wars film, recently reviewed by Richard Spencer and Greg Johnson (here and here). Italicized sentences come from Johnson himself. Vinson wrote:
 

On Spencer! On Johnson! My inclination is to vote for neither, and to avoid watching the movie as well. Sorry to sound obnoxious, but it seems bizarre to me that two grown men, both of whom read great books and can spell big words correctly, are babbling away about a children’s movie, a worthless piece of pop entertainment that was deliberately conceived as an attempt to multiracialize a revered film franchise.

We know that racial hostility toward us has shaped both of the new Star Wars films. That should be enough to keep white nationalists far away from them. Even when they were innocuous politically, Star Wars movies were never worth the trouble of learned analysis. The only justification for watching this particular movie would be to analyze its racial politics and to encourage others to stay away from any movie theater screening it.

If I had to vote, I would choose Spencer, since he eventually gets around to the real political purpose of this latest piece of anti-white propaganda. I figured it out without actually seeing it, which wasn’t difficult. As a Radix reader pointed out over at YouTube, if anyone desperately needs to watch this film, it will eventually be available on a torrent. Hold your breath for a while, and then get it for free. Think of your theft as a minor act of rebellion against people who hate us.

In short, casting non-whites in Star Wars is not the same as putting them in stories like King Arthur or Robin Hood.

In both cases the multiracial casting would be an attempt to remove us from, or marginalize us within, our own popular culture.

Many people have sentimental feelings about the original Star Wars movies. I don’t myself, but many people do. Today those old movies seem far too white in the eyes of liberal multiracialists and Jews. Hence the multiracial casting. If we are so weak that we tolerate being removed from our own popular culture, then they are more than willing to do it to us. It is part of their deliberate campaign to immerse us in a popular culture that embraces and promotes the demographic changes currently underway throughout the West. We could end their propaganda simply by refusing to pay for it, but they’re confident that we won’t.

The creators of the new Star Wars movies are hoping that twenty years from now young viewers from 2016 will have the same sentimental feelings about non-white Star War characters that older viewers today have about Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia. They do not want white film heroes for our future; they want non-white heroes. Unfortunately they have, at the moment, the media power to make their wishes a reality.

I can’t see any reason to be pleased by a film that carries so sinister a purpose. If the film is good, then its qualities are bad for us and good for all those who favor the destruction of the West. It would be great if Rogue One turns out to be a box-office disaster. I’m crossing my fingers.

Go see the film. Then come back and apologize for this obnoxious sperging.

Why should he waste his money paying a Jewish studio for the privilege of watching a multiracialist children’s movie? We’re not talking about Touch of Evil here; the movie under review can be nothing more than a high-tech, CGI-intensive version of an old Flash Gordon serial, with Asians and Negroes playing roles previously assigned to Europeans.

Published in: on December 23, 2016 at 3:12 pm  Comments (1)  
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Beneath Ridley Scott’s planet

In my Hojas Susurrantes I recount how I liked Planet of the Apes (1968) the same year I watched Kubrick’s magnum opus on the big screen. When I learned as a child that they were filming the second part of the Planet, I loved the idea and thought it would be a fascinating film that would respect the original story. I remember that I found very long the months that, with great anxiety, I expected Beneath the Planet of the Apes (1970) to be released.

When it finally was released in Mexico City and went with my cousin Julio to the Cine de los Insurgentes I was shocked. The film was light-years apart from what I imagined it should be a legitimate sequel. As a child I didn’t have the faintest idea of what Hollywood really was, much less did I imagine that much of Hollywood’s interests had nothing to do with art or with an indictment of humankind—the main theme of the 1968 film. The sequel Beneath the Planet of the Apes, which was released in Mexico about three years after the masterpiece of Franklin Schaffner, proved to be an absolute crap and the worst was that it made the boy I was feel completely cheated.

As a personal vignette I would say that, after watching the movie with my cousin, in the confusion we passed directly to the large roundabout which is in front of the now defunct Cine de los Insurgentes instead of going around it. (Incidentally, twenty years later they would film scenes of the 1990 Total Recall with Arnold Shwarzenegger in the commercial part beneath the roundabout.) We got stuck on it and the speed of the cars would not let us escape the roundabout. It was not built for pedestrians and Julio and I, who were about ten and twelve years old respectively, had gone to the theater without our parents. I discovered the roundabout was not made for pedestrians when I realized that the “sidewalk” had no room for my feet. In a sense we had risked our lives by rushing directly into the upper side of the roundabout when we left the movie theater. The chaotic and noisy Avenida de los Insurgentes and the congestion of the two children alone in the large roundabout turned out to be a pertinent corollary to my great disappointment.

Decades, and a dozen more disappointments of traitorous prequels, sequels and remakes to great sci-fi movies, passed until I grasped the fact that a market-driven society does not always coincide with my artistic sensibilities. In “Ridley Scott’s Prometheus” Trevor Lynch (Greg Johnson) recently put it this way:

As the credits rolled, I took off my 3-D glasses and rubbed by eyes in disbelief, trying to fathom the vulgarity of spirit behind this godawful movie. It is the same vulgarity of spirit that took the mysteries of Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) and gave us Peter Hyam’s sequel 2010 (1984), where the monoliths work to prevent nuclear war. It is the same vulgarity of spirit that took “the Force” of the original Star Wars trilogy and explained it in terms of little measurable material widgets called “midichlorians” in The Phantom Menace (1999). It is the same vulgarity of spirit that took the mysteries of Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds (1963) and gave us Rick Rosenthal’s made-for-TV sequel The Birds II: Land’s End (1994), in which we are informed that the bird attacks are due to pollution.

Heidegger tells us that this vulgarization is the essence of modernity, which seeks to abolish all mystery and transcendence, replacing them with the transparent and available, which in cultural terms boils down to the vulgar and the trite.

But some of us are more modern than others, and it all fell into place when I spied the name of screenwriter Damon Lindelof, one of the principal culprits behind Lost […]. Prometheus is the same kind of portentous swindle: just Jews making millions peddling myths for morons. Don’t lose your money, or your lunch, at Prometheus.

I lost my money today watching this grotesque film and I agree. But about Star Wars Johnson failed to say that the real abomination started not with The Phantom Menace but with The Return of the Jedi: where an idiotic George Lucas completely betrayed the character of Darth Vader that had impressed many adolescents that had watched the splendid The Empire Strikes Back.

In the interview “Alien Special Features” of my DVD, Special Edition I heard a Ridley Scott saying that after Blade Runner he would never direct another sci-fi movie unless the story was really good, referring to the original script of the first Alien. With Prometheus Scott has just betrayed what he said.

Worst of all, of course, was 2010: Odyssey Two. Fuck you Arthur Clarke for having accepted the green bill, according to your own confession, to write a sequel you had promised never to write…

Civilisation’s “Man—the Measure of all Things”

For an introduction to these series, see here.

Below, some indented excerpts of “Man—the Measure of all Things,” the fourth chapter of Civilisation by Kenneth Clark, after which I offer my comments.

Ellipsis omitted between unquoted passages:

The Pazzi Chapel, built by the great Florentine Brunellesco in about 1430, is in a style that has been called the architecture of humanism. His friend and fellow-architect, Leon Battista Alberti, addressed man in these words: ‘To you is given a body more graceful than other animals.’

There is no better instance of how a burst of civilisation depends on confidence than the Florentine state of mind in the early fifteenth century. For fifty years the fortunes of the republic, which in a material sense had declined, were directed by a group of the most intelligent individuals who have ever been elected to power by a democratic government. From Salutati onwards the Florentine chancellors were scholars, believers in the studia humanitatis, in which learning could be used to achieve a happy life.

In Florence the first thirty years of the fifteenth century were the heroic age of scholarship when new texts were discovered and old texts edited. It was to house these precious texts, any one of which might contain some new revelation that might alter the course of human thought, that Cosimo de Medici built the library of San Marco. It looks to us peaceful and remote—but the first studies that took place there were not remote from life at all. It was the humanist equivalent of the Cavendish Laboratory. The manuscripts unpacked and studied under these harmonious vaults could alter the course of history with an explosion, not of matter, but of mind.

The discipline of trade and banking, in its most austere form, was beginning to be relaxed, and life—a full use of the human faculties—became more important than making money.

The dignity of man. Today these words die on our lips. But in the fifteenth century Florence their meaning was still a fresh and invigorating belief. Gianozzo Manetti, a humanist man of affection, who had seen the seamy side of politics, nevertheless wrote a book entitled On the Dignity and Excellence of Man. And this is the concept that Brunellesco’s friends were making visible.

Gravitas, the heavy tread of moral earnestness, becomes a bore if it is not accompanied by the light step of intelligence. Next to the Pazzi Chapel are the cloisters of Santa Croce, also built by Brunellesco. I said that the Gothic cathedrals were hymns to the divine light. These cloisters happily celebrate the light of human intelligence, and sitting in them I find it quite easy to believe in man. They have the qualities that give distinction to a mathematical theorem: clarity, economy, elegance.

Alberti, in his great book on building, describes the necessity of a public square ‘where young men may be diverted from the mischievousness and folly natural to their age.’ The early Florentine Renaissance was an urban culture, bourgeois properly so-called. Men spent their time in the streets and squares, and in the shops.

Elsewhere I’ve talked about how the modern world of money is inimical to racial interests. As to date, no white nationalist that I know has criticized the barbarous architecture, symptomatic in the worshiping of the new god of capitalism, so well epitomized in both London and New York: the subject of the last episode of Civilisation.

Together with the degenerate music, TV and Hollywood tastes and sexual lifestyles of some nationalists, architecture is another facet where the uncorrupted individual can read the signs of a decadent society; and why he cannot blame non-gentiles for all our problems when even the nationalists themselves are part of this problem.

Remember Clark’s words in the first episode? “If I had to say which was telling the truth about society, a speech by a Minister of Housing or the actual buildings put up in his time, I should believe the buildings.” One only has to contrast the completely soulless edifices we see everyday going to work with Raphael’s town square and see how extremely degraded, Mammonesque in fact our large cities have become.

In the popular imagination, the extreme examples of this degeneracy are the Foundation novels of Asimov and the latest Star Wars films, where a whole planet has become metropolis: the exact opposite of the most humane sci-fi novels by Arthur C. Clarke where, like the Florentines, the white people lived in small Elysian towns. Architecture today is so degenerate that even Roger Scruton in Why Beauty Matters—a 2009 BBC documentary that, unlike Clark’s Civilisation, is marred by the constant presence of non-whites—pays special attention to the sterile architectural forms of today’s world.

I wish young nationalists became believers in the studia humanitatis and familiarise themselves with those intellectuals in the movement that (like Clark) have a much broader sense of European culture than the common white nationalist blogger. I refer to people like Tom Sunic in Europe and Michael O’Meara in America. Both could help us to leave behind the provincial scene so common in the nationalist sphere as well as the simplistic single-cause hypothesis.

It is true that, unlike the Athenians, fifteenth century Florentines were chiefly interested, like contemporary western man, in making money. But like the Athenians the Florentines… loved beauty. Of the landscapes whose beauty mostly caught my attention during a trip through Europe by train, I still remember the Italian, about which Clark said:

Looking at the Tuscan landscape with its terraces of vines and olives and the dark vertical accents of the cypresses, one has the impression of timeless order. There must have been a time when it was all forest and swamp—shapeless, formless; and to bring order out of chaos is a process of civilisation.

Then, in the first years of the sixteenth century, the Venetian painter Giorgione transformed this happy contact with nature into something openly sensual. The ladies who, in the Gothic gardens, had been protected by voluminous draperies, are now naked; and, as a result, his Fête Champêtre opens a new chapter in European art. Giorgione was, indeed, one of the inspired, unpredictable innovators who disturb the course of history; and in this picture he has illustrated one of the comforting illusions of civilised man, the myth of Arcadia, which had been popularised some twenty years earlier by the poet Sannazaro. Of course, it is only a myth. Country life isn’t at all like this, and even on a picnic ants attack the sandwiches and wasps buzz round the wine glasses. But the pastoral fallacy had inspired Theocritus and Virgil, and had not been unknown in the Middle Ages. Giorgione has seen how fundamentally pagan it is.

True, but I don’t believe that the pastoral fallacy is childish. Pace Arthur Clarke, achieving Arcadia is an essentially psychogenic endeavour rather than a technological one. And I sincerely believe that utopia is feasible: only human primitivism, and especially the “monsters from the Id” currently affecting the white peoples, prevent it.

It has long seemed to me wise thinking about an ideal to direct our efforts toward it. It doesn’t matter if the ideal encounters numerous pitfalls: our will should incessantly be directional toward the worlds of the Florentine Fête. If the will of a sufficiently massive amount of white people is noble, the outside world can and will only represent the nobility of that will. Clark said:

With Giorgione’s picnic the balance and enjoyment of our human faculties seems to achieve perfection. But in history all points of supposed perfection have a hint of menace; and Giorgione himself discovers it in that mysterious picture known as the Tempesta.

What on earth is going on? What is the meaning of this half-naked woman suckling a baby, this flash of lightening, this broken column? Nobody knows; nobody has ever known.

To me the meaning is obvious. Even since the Renaissance artists started to see that the cities, more inclined to Mammon than to Raphael’s square, were places of tribulation in contrast to the madonna and her child with the man standing in contrapposto. Broken pillars often symbolize death (that bucolic world was about to die), and the painting’s storm in the background could be interpreted to symbolize urban turmoil.