Goodbye, Carrie Fisher

I don’t normally get teary-eyed at the passing of a celebrity. And I don’t often feel prompted to write about them afterwards, either. Sure, celebrity passings, especially of the iconic, are sad, but it’s difficult for me to become emotional about someone I didn’t know, despite however much I admired them or how much they had an impact on my life.

But Carrie Fisher’s passing is different. And the only time I can remember getting teary-eyed because of a celebrity passing.

Star Wars fans take the franchise very seriously, even though Star Wars itself isn’t necessarily a serious thing. Sure, it can be, but ultimately Star Wars is a sci-fi fantasy romp. It’s fun. It’s entertaining. It’s epic. It’s wondrous. Within that, we as fans can take what we want from it.

For me, Star Wars became more and more personal as I continued to get older. It was an example of one person’s personal vision of combining pure entertainment with philosophical concepts. You don’t have to get too deep with Star Wars, but the offering is there if that’s what you want to take from it. There’s the battle between good and evil, the grey area in between, and redemption. It was about being one with everything in the universe, the drawbacks of being too rigid in one’s point of view, and the handling of power.

All wrapped up in lightsabers, aliens, and hyperjump calculations.

The three main characters of the original trilogy are as iconic as they come. They were, after all, the core of a film that helped change cinematic history. But they were more than that. They were heroes, whether reluctant at first but grew into one (Han Solo), destined to become one (Luke Skywalker), or always was one (Princess Leia) – each with their own strengths and struggles.

Leia didn’t take crap from anyone. She knew what she had to do and did it. When Han was about to be frozen in carbonite, she remained strong and composed, never turning sappy or broken, even as she finally professed her love for him. The famous Jabba scene with the gold bikini? Controversial as it may be, what we see on screen is a strong woman trivialized and sexualized, only to have her come out as the victor when she kills her captor with the very chains that bound her. Leia was fiercely independent and tough. She was in charge, and her followers looked to her as an important figure. She was reluctant to open herself up to a love interest. When she did, she was still her own woman, and she relied on Han as much as he relied on her.

And it was Carrie Fisher’s particular portrayal of her that made Leia come to life. We can speculate how the character would have turned out had another actress portrayed her (we can watch audition footage for some insight), but why, when we can take a look at her regal, authoritative, scrappy, witty, take-no-shit performance. Cheesy dialogue? What cheesy dialogue? Fisher spoke as if those words were natural. Her portrayal made the character more than the idea it was on paper.

Whether you love, like, dislike, or hate any of the Star Wars characters from either the original or prequel trilogies (and you know which ones I’m talking about), they are forever ingrained into American pop culture. For me, and millions of others, Star Wars and its characters permeated every single year, every single month, and likely every single day of my life since I first watched the original movie on VHS in my parent’s livingroom and I had no clue what the hell I was watching. I’ve known Luke, Han, and Leia my entire life, and their story was, and is, very important to me for several reasons.

Now, Carrie Fisher was much more than Princess Leia. She starred in many movies after Star Wars. She was a screenwriter, script doctor, and novelist. She was a mental health advocate. And it’s important we acknowledge these things.

But Fisher is an icon because of Star Wars. For better or for worse, the character of Leia is the way Carrie Fisher was able to make an ever-lasting connection with the world. So, it’s weird to know that Carrie Fisher is no longer with us, because Princess Leia will live on. At the same time, her passing feels like someone I knew very, very well has died, even though that’s completely false. I didn’t know Fisher at all. I knew of her. I knew of her sharp wit. I knew of her mental health struggles. I knew of her no-shit attitude. I knew of her prowess with words.

So, I find it weird that someone I didn’t know, except through my love of Star Wars, could have such an impact on me that this is the first time in my life I can recall becoming teary-eyed at a celebrity’s passing, and that I’ve been prompted to write about them. It’s difficult to even look at a picture of her without wanting to well up.

It’s trite and expected, but I have to say it; after all, Star Wars and Carrie Fisher’s Princess Leia are important to me, they’re a part of me, and now the story’s heroic princess has died:

May the Force be with her.

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