Over a year ago, we learnt through a cousin of ours that this June, the New York Philharmonic would be playing the score to The Empire Strikes Back, live to the film. Had we known about all the upheaval and difficulty that would come our way in the year to come, we would never have gone for buying tickets a year in advance. But, at the time, life was rolling sweetly, and it was an easy sell.
Yes, the tickets were mind-numbingly expensive. But the counter-balancing considerations were plentiful: Empire is my favorite movie; we have never seen the Philharmonic live; the concert was during summer vacation – so there would be no academic stress to spoil the experience; it would be perhaps the last summer we have as a family together in New York; and this early on, prime seats were still available. Mrs. Deeply Boring, who knows I hate splurging on myself, shrewdly pointed out it would be something memorable for the family. Star Wars movies are the only films my kids will agree to watch in the theater with us, which made them a family holiday tradition. But the last Star Wars movie to come out was Rise of Skywalker in 2019, and it simply felt…overdue.
Fast forward to this summer. Ordinarily, some build-up in anticipation would be normal as we neared such an exciting date. However, with all that happened over the previous nine months, we knew better. Various emergencies and contingencies had caused us to forfeit tickets to Jeff Lynne’s farewell tour and to reschedule two Broadway shows, of which we could only make one rain date (we gave away the tickets for the other, our 25th wedding anniversary celebration). Our new normal made it impossible to plan nice things too far in advance. Instead, we learned how to schedule life two to three days ahead at a time. So rather than looking forward to big things, in my heart, I learned how to be grateful for small things. I celebrated going to the supermarket together to shop for a meal we planned to cook together, an impromptu round of indoor mini-golf during winter, and discovering a nearby restaurant with awesome steak fries. So, now, a full year later, when the time came around for our trip to Lincoln Center, Florence and I played it cool. No point getting excited about tickets we might have to give away.
But as the day drew closer, as it became more and more apparent that a welcome bout of stability would allow us to actually go for the concert, things started to feel real. To some extent, you could say we willed it into existence. Keen to see the show, Ben decided to travel back home from D.C. after work on Friday. But the thunderstorms that had pummeled the Midwest were now on their way out to sea, stranding him in a small plane on the runway for several hours. After a frustrating wait, they cancelled the flight, which turned him around; at midnight the night before the concert he was no closer to home than when he woke up that morning. Undeterred, he took an early train the next day, four hours to New York, the morning of the performance. He said there was no way he was going to miss it, and I was grateful for his travails. We fed him and insisted that he rest.
Come evening time, we started to get dressed. I decided I would be a little cheeky and wear a Star Wars tee under my shirt. Florence, ever game, did the same. Our kids thought we were silly, but it turns out we weren’t the only ones. We arrived at the recently renovated David Geffen Theater to discover at least one gentleman in Jedi robes, and an older lady dressed as Princess Leia (in her white robes from the Tantive IV: “Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope”). Plenty of fans wore Star Wars apparel or caps. It made the whole experience campy and lively, for everyone to have a little fun at such a formal venue (the week before featured novel presentations of Mahler’s Symphony No. 7 conducted by Music and Artistic Director Gustavo Dudamel, who, according to a press release, has been re-interpreting Mahler since 2009). I suppose Star Wars is so intractably ingrained into our culture that no excuses need to be made for such social faux pas; a rebellious strain resides deep in every American, and every New Yorker even more so. A little like Jedi and midi-chlorians. The boys picked up on the vibe and got in on the action at the eleventh hour, picking up “Star Wars in Concert” hoodies at the merch stand.
We were blessed to have the opportunity to see a movie played to a live orchestral score (Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter are also popular, it seems); it’s a fabulous experience. I’d love to share three memories I will cherish from the night.
Stunningly, even though Disney now owns the franchise, the NY Phil played the 20th Century Fox fanfare to open the concert. For an entire generation, the fanfare was an integral part of the Star Wars movie-going experience, one that transferred to home theater, on VHS, then DVD, then Blu-Ray. The snare drum and trumpets are a clarion call to fans everywhere. Whatever your mind has drifted to waiting for the movie to start, the fanfare snaps you to attention like no other studio’s opening signature. So too at Lincoln. By the time the string section rolled around, everyone was quiet and filled with anticipation of the main theme and accompanying crawl. You might hear a bit of Star Wars in another orchestral presentation, but never the Fox fanfare, certainly not performed by such professional musicians of such calibre. On the newer Blu-Rays, the Fox fanfare is gone, and Disney’s trademark “Cinderella’s Castle” opening has taken its place. It always feels a little odd to me. So hearing the OG Fox fanfare was a rare treat, and I was surprised that Disney allowed it. But it set the mood perfectly, and pleased all the fans, so credit to them.
Everyone loves the music of Star Wars. Even though he borrowed heavily from “The Planets”, by Holst, John Williams’ genius was to take all of those classical elements and, rather than scoring the movie, to score the characters. Vader has the Imperial March; Luke and Leia have their own themes, as does Yoda. The droids have their own signature tune (just picture R2-D2 and C-3PO wandering through the Jundland Wastes of Tatooine). Thanks to John Williams, as kids, we sang – of all things – classical music while we played Rebels vs. Imperials, flying our X-Wings, Snow Speeders and TIE Fighters around our bedrooms and dens. I personally looked forward to the sequence where Rogue Two skims the surface of Hoth, scanning the ice sheets of in search of Han and Luke. So of course, the music was great. But performed live, it is so lush, so forward and immediate in its presentation, that even for this old fan, one who knows the script almost by heart, I was somehow, magically, watching Empire for the first time all over again; drawn, once more, deep into a story I already knew the end to, at once both captivated, and eight, all over again.
Nobody watches Star Wars with their eyes closed – what would be the point? But at times, the music was so moving that I felt compelled to close my eyes. Even the opening crawl made me emotional. Just a few seconds was enough to know a live orchestra would elevate the Star Wars experience to a new level, and I felt both grateful, and nostalgic. I closed my eyes to internalize the moment. Mid-way through the film, I closed my eyes again, when Yoda uses the Force to lift Luke’s X-Wing out of the Dagobah swamp. It is the most majestic and serene sequence in the entire Trilogy, and as kids, watching Empire for the first time, we all felt Yoda was speaking directly to us: “Size matters not. Look at me. Judge me by my size, do you? And well you should not.” My favorite instrumental section across all eleven movies is the closing scene of Empire, as Luke, Leia and the droids bid good luck to Lando and Chewie as they fly off in the Millennium Falcon in search of Han. I just closed my eyes and took in the music, allowing it to transport me to a galaxy far, far away. I wanted those few seconds to last forever. Not to stay in that moment, but rather to be held by it. For the rise and fall of my breath, and my emotions, to be led, however briefly, not by my beating heart, but the conductor’s baton. We live in an exhausted, cynical world. But there is such beauty in music, and from time to time, we would do well to let it enter our most private spaces, to allow ourselves to be swept away by it, because it points to something greater than ourselves.
Shortly before the performance, I was clicking around the Lincoln Center website for directions to the venue. I noticed that the Philharmonic will be performing Return of the Jedi next year, and mentioned it to Florence. Given we don’t know what the next year holds, we paused and reflected. No longer able to jump feet-first into such things, we discussed buying just two tickets, for ourselves. And if we couldn’t go, we wouldn’t have trouble finding someone who would take them. But we agreed, let’s first just see how tonight goes.
In the car, we shared our thinking with the boys. Let’s see how much we enjoy the concert, and we can talk about Jedi later. No pressure, no plans. After all, you will recall, my heart has learned to be grateful for small things. And just being in the car together, going to see Empire and the Philharmonic, was already much more than a small thing. It was enough to live in the moment. In fact, in each moment. The car ride to Manhattan. The walk from the parking garage to the theater. Lining up for merch. Finding our seats. Waiting for the lights to dim. The Fox fanfare. Hoth. Dagobah. Bespin. “I love you.”; “I know.”; “I…AM your father.”
As the end credits rolled, I glanced over at the boys. They were beaming, on their feet, hands sore from a minutes-long standing ovation, expressing appreciation for the joy these world-class musicians had brought, not just to us, but to a community of strangers, united for an evening by a story about friendship, and courage, betrayal, and redemption, sacrifice, and loss. The lights bloomed back on, and Ben’s eyes caught mine. I gave him an eyebrow flash, inviting his thoughts. He shot back, “Ok that seals it, we’re coming back for Jedi”. Zach confirmed his agreement with a broad smile. “Let’s hurry home and get those tickets.” So that’s what we did.
I don’t know what the next year holds. But we have a date marked on the calendar, a concert to look forward to. Meanwhile, we are back to our life of small moments, taking things one day at a time. No need to look away, to the future, to the horizon. We’ll just keep our minds on where we are, and what we are doing, marking each moment with gratitude for what we have.
God willing, we’ll see you on the forest moon of Endor.
Grace and peace, J
Beautiful sharing! Thank you.
This is such a great story. Thank you for sharing this. What a beautiful gift to you all.