Star Wars Episode 1: The Phantom Menace

Star Wars Episode 1: The Phantom Menace Trailer

Director: George Lucas Writer: George Lucas

Cast: Ewan McGregor, Liam Neeson, Natalie Portman

When the poster goes hard but the movie does not.

The Phantom Menace is the perfect title for a movie with no rhyme or reason in the conceptual world of Star Wars. It’s deliberately ambiguous, the representation of a film that could have layers if it were written with the intent of actually adding to the universe. Instead, it screams of a vanity project, a fantastical reach into Star Wars that implicates at something looming: Sidious is hiding, the Sith are hinted at, Anakin is introduced, but there is no meaning in this film. What exactly is the menace beyond Palpatines precense? Is it the underutilized Maul? Palpatine's manipulation of the Trade Federation Invasions on Naboo? Or is it the audience's awareness that our ‘chosen’ one will one day turn into one of the most destructive villains of all time?

I say this not out of casual dislike, but from disappointment as someone who grew up on the weight of Star Wars mythology. These films were more than popcorn flicks—they were modern legends. They taught moral complexity through myth, love through sacrifice, power through restraint. And as someone who longed for layered female characters, for stories that gave us meaning rather than just spectacle, The Phantom Menace felt like a betrayal. Not because it dared to try something new—but because it abandoned what made the saga mythic in the first place.

Mother Mary Shmi

I have a multitude of reasons as to why I’m deeply unsatisfied with this film, and it has very little to do with the poorly done CGI and the near-pointless Battle of the Great Grass Plains (honestly). The original trilogy had depth, it had meaning and sacrifice. The Empire represented tyranny, oppression. They exemplified the dangers of unchecked power, showing how anger and ignorance can lead not only to personal destruction but also to mass destruction. The Sith were sheer power without morality, while the Jedi represented selflessness. A perfect balance of good and evil, the concept that both is not something set out by fate but a choice made. Luke could have very well been his father, standing at the crossroads between the dark side and light, but the biggest difference between Luke and Anakin is that Luke was given agency. Luke had a path laid out before him, the road to the dark side or the light was always his decision to make, but Anakin was born by a virginal mother; he was biblical in nature, always been the chosen one. The first step in a film that takes the lore of Star Wars and bastardizes it. If the Skywalker saga was originally set out to be a story of Good versus Evil, then why is The Phantom Menace a story of inevitability?

If you have seen Andor, then Maarva is who Shmi Skywalker should have embodied. Both of the maternal characters should be important in the Star Wars universe, both raising their sons in a fascist and oppressive regime, both losing their children to something larger than themselves, but the difference in the writing of each woman is staggering. Shmi’s role as Anakin's mother should have been prominent; instead, she received no agency, no autonomy or authority over herself. She’s passive, lives a life of a slave with quiet acceptance, a woman defined by suffering. Her character served no purpose except as a means for Anakin’s existence; a virginal mother conceived by the force is a hard enough pill to swallow in a space saga with laser swords. The whole idea of a biblical notion existing within Star Wars is blasphemous to begin with, especially when there’s no exploration of this divinity. An immaculate pregnancy to create the chosen one is lazy writing, exploiting a religious figure, while adding no depth is a shallow narrative that we could have done without.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, we are given Padmé Amidala—if she had remained this strategist, intelligent Queen throughout the remaining two prequels, then we would have been blessed with a powerful, well-written woman in Star Wars. They portrayed a 14-year-old as an intelligent leader, a girl who refuses to be a pawn in the Trade Federation and the growing impression of Palpatine. She leads the charge to free her planet, she masters deception with the use of one of her handmaidens as a decoy, she thinks ahead and refuses to be manipulated, not defined by anything but how she chooses to define herself. How Padmé was written in Episode One is stark compared to the writing of Shmi; it’s hard to tell if one was written so weak because the other needed to be written with strength, but that begs the question: why couldn’t we have two strong women? I was 12 when The Phantom Menace came out, I was already existing in a world where women were heavily influenced to be damsels in distress; having an icon as Amidala was palpable, it’s become hard to watch this film without seeing the upcoming reduction of her power. She was a queen, a powerful one. Her tragedy is not her eventual demise, but the slow erosion of her agency being removed from her. Set up with the potential to be one of Star Wars’ greatest women characters, only to have it removed so Anakin’s story takes priority. Despite Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan in this film, Padmé is the actual representation of the light side of the Force. She was the voice of reason and the ultimate advocate for justice. Her compassion for her people was a principal element in her story.  The eventual stripping of her agency, removing the key aspects that made her so special, undermines the entire thematic weight of the saga.

Started out incredible.

Despite the uneven writing, The Phantom Menace does have moments that briefly echo the mythic power of Star Wars. The introduction of Duel of the Fates is one of the franchise’s most iconic musical pieces, evoking a scale and gravity that the rest of the film struggles to match. The set design of Naboo, the intricate costuming of the Royal Court, and the bold visual contrast between the luminous Gungan city and the cold sterility of the Trade Federation do hint at a richer worldbuilding effort. And in moments like Amidala’s appeal to the Senate, or the Jedi Council’s quiet doubt, you can glimpse what this story could have explored—if it had trusted itself more.

There is so much going on in The Phantom Menace that we lose perspective of which parts of the story are integral and which parts are secondary plots. Is Star Wars Episode One by the Trade Federation, Palpatine’s rise to power, the whispers of the Sith? Or is it about the Jedi and their role in the galaxy? Is it really a movie made to introduce Anakin Skywalker? Or was he just a plot device so they could yap about Star Wars politics? I mean, I’m all for a film about the politics in Star Wars—Rogue One is my favourite Star Wars movie, and Andor is my favourite Star Wars show, but this film had so many layers that it just comes off as thick. There’s nothing fleshed out here, and on top of that, we have to deal with the jarring tonal shift that is Jar Jar Binks. We can have comedy in non-comedic movies without creating a caricature. His role in the Star Wars universe is equal to his role in The Phantom Menace, sheer, dumb luck that gives no meaning to the deeper themes in the universe. His presence didn’t stand for anything of intrigue, his success in the movie is not created from a species of intelligence, but a stereotype in marginalized communities. You could remove him from the movie entirely and it would be better for it. It’s a film about high stakes, universal political war, the rise of the Sith and Palpatines influence, the origin story of the chosen one, a new generation of Jedi and then Jar Jar fucking Binks. He felt like a commercial filler to appeal to kids, which in turn is an insult to children—my son, 7, loves the original trilogy. He thought The Phantom Menace was ridiculous, and Jar Jar was a huge part of that. Remove Jar Jar, and we could have at least had fully formed Jedi’s, and a Sith that felt like he was more than a shadow.

The worst character in Star Wars history.

“But at least we got Liam Neeson as Qui-Gon Jinn” is one of the most common phrases I hear when I talk about my distaste for Episode One. We at least get more of Obi-Wan in the other prequels, but Qui-Gon and Maul are such wasted opportunities for perspective story-telling. A Jedi who questions authority, who follows his instincts—the ideal Jedi. Do we not feel like we deserved more of him? We know he has philosophical differences with the Jedi Council, but we have no idea why. A wise mentor to Obi-Wan, a near paternal figure to Anakin, but no depth as a Jedi who is written to question the dogma of his order. Why was his mission to find Anakin in the first place? It makes his relationship with the child seem more like a leap of faith than a calculated decision, and then before we even know his character more, to realize his depth and understand his philosophies, he is murdered, by the hands of Darth Maul, cutting the thread of his importance before it is even realized. Obi-Wan, we get at face value, since we met him many years ago, we already have some concept of how he is personified. He’s always learning, always growing, a stoic man saturated in knowledge with too much empathy and attachment. There’s not much to say about the writing of Kenobi in The Phantom Menace; he isn’t there for us to get to know, he’s simply placed there because we have his backstory.

What an epic waste of talent.

Darth Maul is the biggest missed opportunity in Episode One, to see how he is remembered despite only being in less than 8 minutes of runtime, shows exactly how easily we were manipulated into thinking we had an iconic villain from his air of aesthetics alone. Darth Maul was fucking cool (though, not as cool as his concept art). His design was to look flawless, his red-and-black tattooed face, double-bladed lightsaber and flowing black cloak, removed to reveal a black, form-fitting tunic that moved perfectly in his acrobatic fighting style. A symbolic figure but with no substance, he didn’t even have to speak; his lack of dialogue made him appear to be a shadowy henchman in lore, but they could have at least given him some personality beyond a brooding Sith Lord who’s mad at Qui-Gon.

Literally ten minutes of screen time.

He’s a cipher, written entirely for The Phantom Menace, giving him no mythology, no lore. Palpatine’s greatest trick was turning Anakin, but Episode One’s was convincing the audience that Maul was anything more than a disposable pawn. He’s a menace lurking in the shadows, but he’s not a mastermind; he’s a well-dressed errand boy sent to do some dirty work. Darth Vader is a hell of a villain to go up against when it comes to the essence of evil; he was intricate, well thought out and littered with substance. Darth Maul is a spectacle; he only serves this film for a very cool, well-choreographed fight scene. He embodies theatrics for the sake of theatrics, a character based on vision rather than emotional or ideological conflict. It’s clear he’s meant to encompass the dark side, rage, and physical prowess, but couldn’t we have received this from a character with a little more…depth? Such wasted potential, a character that only exists to pace back and forth with a sinister look on his face. He doesn't even make it out alive in his first real fight against a Jedi. Put in that much effort into how cool you look, only to be cut in half.

No grand plan, no devastating strike—just bisected and forgotten, until later writers scrambled to stitch him back together, desperate to give him the depth The Phantom Menace never did.

I’d love to say The Phantom Menace had potential, but it was a pointless film that utterly collapses under the weight of its indecisiveness. It’s hard to find any redeeming qualities in something that underdevelops its characters, giving them motives that are often inconsistent, incoherent and at times, outright reprehensible. Episode One is what happens when someone runs with their first okayish idea. The fixation on political intricacies adds nothing to the story and distracts from the rich mythology that made Star Wars so beloved in the first place. Instead of enhancing the universe, it diluted it, taking its themes and turning them into a parody. It’s shocking to see a film made in the Star Wars universe that fundamentally misunderstands what made the original trilogy resonate in the first place. The Phantom Menace replaces mythic storytelling with mind-numbing political drivel.

It’s hard to believe this was the foundation for a saga that would go on to redefine cinema. If this film had come out before A New Hope, Star Wars would have never had the success it did. Darth Vader was more than a bland prophecy. The Jedi were more than bureaucrats endlessly debating their own policies. These elements are sucked of their depth and complexity, and what’s left is a soulless exposition with no emotional anchor. This isn’t an expansion of a universe we wanted to explore; it’s a miscalculated addition that nearly kills the magic of Star Wars. It’s a film that takes everything people loved and, in a misguided attempt to “improve” it, drained it of all its vitality.

Maybe The Phantom Menace could have worked—not by being louder or bigger, but by being smaller in the right ways. By allowing Shmi to embody the same fierce hope as Maarva. By giving Maul a voice and letting Qui-Gon’s death mean something beyond spectacle. By letting Amidala’s strength continue through the trilogy instead of fading into a romantic subplot. It had all the makings of tragedy, of political tension, of mythic scope. But instead, it whispered its best ideas and shouted its weakest ones.

Star Wars has always been about the balance between the mystical and the personal, the epic and the emotional. The Phantom Menace forgot that. And it left many of us—especially those looking for more than just laser swords—waiting for the Force to return.