"...Pull Up To The Second Window....And May The Force Be With You....."

Just this past week.....

....in a galaxy not so far, far away......

Editor's note: Lewis Beale writes about culture and film for the Los Angeles Times, Newsday and other publications.The opinions expressed in this commentary are solely those of the author.

(CNN) -- Now that the cast of the seventh "Star Wars" movie has been announced, you can imagine the anticipation among the millions of fans of the film franchise. And why not? The six "Star Wars" films have been enormous successes: they have grossed over $2 billion domestically at the box office, spawned scores of books, comic books and merchandise (how many kids have their own light saber?) and made household names of characters like Darth Vader, Han Solo and Luke Skywalker.

They've also been the worst thing ever for the science fiction genre.

I say this as someone who has been a devoted sci-fi reader since childhood. I was so blown away by the first "Star Wars" film when I saw it in 1977, I went back two more times the same week to wallow in its space age fantasy. But here's the thing: George Lucas' creation, basically a blown-up Flash Gordon adventure with better special effects, has left all too many people thinking science fiction is some computer graphics-laden space opera/western filled with shootouts, territorial disputes, evil patriarchs and trusty mounts (like the Millennium Falcon).

"Star Wars" has corrupted people's notion of a literary genre full of ideas, turning it into a Saturday afternoon serial. And that's more than a shame -- it's an obscenity.

Science fiction is in fact one of the most creative literary genres around. The best of sci-fi is filled with meditations on what's "out there," what makes us human, how technology is used and how it is changing us. It takes up issues of race, sexuality and quite literally everything else under the sun. It is essentially about ideas, not action, and that's the problem, as far as Hollywood is concerned.

There are, for example, no light sabers, spaceships or Death Stars in the 1979 novel "Kindred," by Octavia Butler, who won the Hugo and Nebula, sci-fi's top awards, and was also awarded a MacArthur Foundation "Genius" Grant.

Butler's main themes are race and sex, and in "Kindred" she wrote about a modern black woman who travels back in time to the antebellum South, where she is enslaved. The novel is regularly taught in classrooms and has made at least one list of "Great Books By Women."

But Hollywood has yet to adapt it for the screen. Maybe if the lead character had a Wookie by her side...

Many of the great works of sci-fi have not been made into films -- The Foundation novels of Isaac Asimov, Joe Haldeman's "The Forever War," William Gibson's "Neuromancer," among others -- partially because they are too smart, too dense and too thoughtful.

Sure, some classics have made the transition, but the track record is spotty: David Lynch's "Dune" was a disaster, for example, and the recent "Ender's Game" was a mixed bag that was not successful at the box office. Francois Truffaut's "Fahrenheit 451," although stylish and intellectual, was a bit too frigid for a mass audience.

Which means that Hollywood studios, not known for thinking outside the box, opt for the "Star Wars" template -- lots of whiz bang, plenty of quirky alien characters, CGI to the max, plenty of explosions and little thought of any kind.

To be sure, the first "Star Wars" was a breath of fresh air, a fun flick for sci-fi geeks. But the series quickly ossified, a victim of its own success. Only two of the films -- "Star Wars" and "The Empire Strikes Back" -- show any originality. The rest tread water, give the hardcore fans the same old, same old. I mean, how many light sabre duels can you sit through before you're bored out of your skull? 

How many outer space dogfights? How many seemingly profound Yoda-esque thoughts?

Me, I'm giving up on the whole thing. I don't care that J.J. Abrams, a director with talent, is helming the new flick. He's hemmed in by audience expectations -- like casting the stars of the original in this film -- and recycling stale material. I'll pass.

Instead, I'll queue up "The Matrix," and enjoy the most original sci-fi movie of the past 25 years. I recommend "Star Wars" fans do the same. They need to be reminded what real creativity is all about.

Couple of immediate impressions found their way into my nebula.

First, Lewis Beale ain't gonna win no new readers, fans and/or friends from the faithful followers of George Lucas pool with his little essay of intended enlightenment.

Any put down, or perceived putdown, of the world of Star Wars is, to the aforementioned faithful followers, treason on a "calling for the registration of all hand guns" scale.

Something along the lines of preferring duck a l'orange to Duck Dynasty.

What is ya? Some kind of damn Commie or sumthin'?

Next, in my humble o, Beale makes a reasonable, measured and balanced case for his point of view, with only a cayenne pepper pinch of snark added to the presentation.

The kind of presentation that would be considered reasonable, measured and balanced by your average well educated, literate, erudite individual.

Which circle back, both neatly and ironically, to the primary fault in his presentation.

A fault on a scale just a little shy of San Andreas.

More on that in a sec.

Or light year.

EHHH! (sound of buzzer)

That was a pop quiz and only those who would find Beale's points palatable likely knew that light year is a measurement of distance and not a measurement of time.

Meanwhile, back at Degobah....

"Legitimate" science fiction (and, let's be honest, Beale leavens the loaf of lament with just enough self deprecating humor to avoid being tarred with the snob brush but underneath it all, I think we all know that snob is the correct sobriquet and Beale considers Star Wars to be legitimate in about the same sense that the spawn of Kim and Kanye is legitimate),  has always been much more about intellectual pursuit than insurrection protection, more about philosophy, sociology, psychology, physiology and/or biology than it has about advanced technology and/or Scientology.

The most sincere examples of the work are literary works of depth and substance, style as a means and not as an end, thought provoking, even inspiring, addressing, dealing with and, even at times, trying to make sense of mankind, mankind's existence and relevance in the universe, even the existence and relevance of that universe itself.

The very best, or at least best known, writers in the genre have long been respected as authors of serious intent.

Ray Bradbury, Ursula K. LeGuin, Isaac Asimov, Phillip K. Dick, Robert A. Heinlein. Arthur C. Clarke.

The list goes on....to infinity and beyond.

Or at least where no man has gone before.

The Martian Chronicles, The Left Hand Of Darkness, I, Robot, Do Androids Dream Of  Electric Sheep, Stranger In A Strange Land, The Sentinel.

All seminal works considered essential reading and unquestionably significant contributions to both the world of literature and cultural history itself.

And not a Wookie or Jar Jar to be found among them.

Not to mention Tribble.

Hey, no reason why poor George Lucas should take all the phaser hits. 

Plenty of photon fun to be made of Roddenberry and his Wagon Train to the stars, too.

Not that there's anything wrong with any of them.

Not every meal need be the creation of a highly educated, intricately trained master chef of the cuisine.

Plenty of enjoyment to be found at the drive thru windows, too.

Nutrition and/or erudition, not so much, but enjoyment?

You bet your Big Mac, baby.

And you want fries with that?

Meanwhile, getting back to the point that has suddenly wandered far, far away.....

I understand and, for the most part, agree with Beale's contention about the junk food nature of Star Wars and its offspring.

But I think his belief that they've been "the worst thing ever for the science fiction genre" is a little harsh.

And runs the risk of causing a little de-cloaking of that previously mentioned snobbery that he, for the most part, avoids in his piece.

Because I grew up reading Bradbury and LeGuin and Asimov and Dick and Heinlein and Clarke, among a lot of others.

And I also read Flash Gordon and Tom Swift, watched This Island Earth, Invaders From Mars, Plan 9 From Outer Space and, more recently, Mission To Mars, Red Planet and Here Comes Honey Boo Boo.

Hey, let's be fair. One person's charming, moronic, borderline inbred family of hillbilly goofballs is another person's fascinating, borderline otherworldly group of strange visitors from God knows where.

And none of the crap ruined my taste for the classic.

Any more than the Quarter Pounder with cheese put me off the pleasures and sustenance of the pound of shrimp with Lobster sauce.

I have a lot of appetites.

And moods.

And moments.

Peter Paul Almond Joy's got nuts.

Peter Paul Mounds don't.

And sometimes I feel like a nut.

Sometimes I don't.

And sometimes I feel like a Darth.

Sometimes I don't.

George Lucas didn't ruin anything.

If he's guilty of that assertion, then, seriously, kids, fair being fair, we really have to haul Colonel Sanders in for ruining people for a magnificent chicken cordon bleu.

Just my opinion, of course, but I think Lewis Beale should consider getting his nose out of the air.

Even if that remains the best way to view the stars.