A hilarious article in WIRED magazine profiles a group of New York Star Wars fans who style themselves as latter-day Jedi Knights, right down to the weekly lightsaber training sessions.
On Tuesdays, Master Flynn and his Jedi posse squeeze into a few corner tables in this busy café before heading to lightsaber training at a dance studio down the street. Sessions can be grueling, starting with meditation and yoga poses before moving on to choreographed swordplay.
“Star Wars is all about the hero’s journey,” says General Sun, an intense, goateed red-head in a tight green T-shirt. He sips carefully on his supercharged coffee. “Get that lightsaber in your hands and suddenly you’re like, ‘Hey, maybe I can be a hero, too!’”
The writing is hysterical as the reporter deals with this earnest absurdity. All the stereotypes are at play, right down to the unemployed theater geek. What’s sad is that it stands as a symbol of the emptiness of a culture that has rejected God yet seeks the ultimate meaning for which the soul yearns. And what’s scary is that somewhere in Manhattan, I’m sure there’s an equally earnest group of fans playacting at being Sith Lords.
Incidentally, Melanie compares this to the ridiculousness of some Harry Potter fans playing quidditch. As she says, you don’t have flying brooms or semi-intelligent flying balls. Whatever you’re playing, it’s not quidditch. Ditto for the New York Jedi: they don’t have force powers or swords made of light that can cut like a blade. What’s the point?
