James Anthony is arrested by Imperial stormtroopers of the 501st Legion. Photograph: Sarah Harries
This weekend, I attended a celebration of 30 years of Star Wars. Celebration Europe, as it was called, was huge, and the interest so great, that the venue was upscaled to the gargantuan Excel Centre in London's Docklands. Quite how they thought they were going to fit all those fans, exhibitors, dioramas and various international garrisons of the truly awesome 501st Legion into Earls Court, is anyone's guess.
It was, as is George Lucas's wont, mostly given over to making fans part with their cash in exchange for yet more Star Wars merchandise. There were some fantastic pieces of artwork on sale; this drooling fanboy parted with a not inconsiderable sum for a piece by Star Wars artist Adam Hughes. The emphasis on merch was evident at what was, essentially, Star Wars Argos, with its cash tills and pick-up areas. All that was missing were the stubby blue pens and laminated catalogues. (There were catalogues, just not laminated.)
One of the highlights of any sci-fi convention, however, is seeing the effort put into fan costumes. People with far too much time on their hands were duelling with the new, sturdier lightsabers, and on Sunday, there was a recreation of the Battle of Mustafar (Episode III) by two talented and reckless Jedi. There was a full-size replica of Jabba the Hutt (complete with hooka pipe and Leia lookalike in that fabled gold bikini).
The costumes of the 501st Legion, a collection of fans whose dedication is such that they have a legion of stormtroopers named after them in the Star Wars extended universe, have to be seen close up. The authenticity is stunning, and all the costumes are self-made (they do not give out instructions on how to make them, since that would result in Lucas busting their collective asses, despite Lucas himself being an honorary member). One even told me, through his stormtrooper radio mic, to "wipe that smile off my face", as he was arresting me. It's the nicest thing anybody has ever said to me.
Sunday was brought to a close with an interview hosted by Warwick Davis (star of Willow, Harry Potter and virtually every other film that has required a small person). Davis, the chief ewok in Jedi, despite being only 11 at the time, was talking to a true legend, Robert Watts, who has worked on Star Wars, Indiana Jones, Who Framed Roger Rabbit, Papillon and 2001: A Space Odyssey, among others.
As great as this chat was, it highlighted a problem with conventions like this. I dearly wanted to ask Watts (and Davis) about his experiences on other films besides Star Wars. Everyone there was a die-hard fan of those films, and probably knew the anecdotes told almost as well as the tellers.
Watts, bless him, was not fazed by the unavoidable questions about whether someone could email him the script they had written, but he was at his best when going off at a tangent about his experiences, rambling away at his leisure. Nobody really taxed him with their questions, and nobody asked any questions that were new or un Star Wars related.
How did Kubrick's attitude to sci-fi differ from Lucas's? What difference did Spielberg's input on Indy bring to Lucas's filmmaking? I really wish I had been able to roll in my tongue and close my jaw for long enough to ask those questions, and more.
