Andor finishes what Rogue One started
Like eating a scrumptious dinner backwards, starting with dessert.
Back in 2016, when I first watched Rogue One: A Star Wars Story, I thought it was, without a doubt, the best Star Wars movie ever made. Period. Full stop. The end. I have bored people stupid about how good Rogue One is ever since. Now, Andor has proven me right.
Sure, nothing would exist without 1977’s Star Wars, and much of what made it grand was a visual language unlike anything before it. I saw it for the first time as a child in 1977, and it genuinely blew my mind. Every subsequent Star Wars film has built upon both the technical and world-building achievements of the original, later retitled Episode IV — A New Hope. But what Andor and Rogue One have accomplished is something altogether new: they capture what it’s like to be an average citizen living under the Empire, devoid of any secret powers of “royal” bloodlines — and it’s pointedly restrained in its use of flashy special effects to tell that story. The Andor saga is the most grounded Star Wars, and in turn, makes it the most human; as a result, the Star Wars galaxy feels more real.
SPOILER WARNING: This essay contains some minor spoilers for Andor and major spoilers for Rogue One… but if you’re watching Andor without knowing about Rogue One, may I suggest you go fix that, thank you.
Andor and Rogue One make up a fundamentally different Star Wars anthology to anything that has come before. For starters, the name “Skywalker” is never once mentioned in either the series or the movie, and the word “Jedi” is notably absent from Andor. The concept of “the Force” is only lightly referenced in season 2 — Cassian Andor reluctantly visits a “Force healer,” and Bail Organa (Benjamin Bratt) says the now immortal line, “May the Force be with you,” in the season’s final episode.
In Rogue One, the Force is present mainly in the abstract as a belief system — a dormant, legendary power lost for generations, the memory of which is famously channeled in the mantra of Chirrut Îmwe (Donnie Yen), the blind monk who chants, “I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me” as he strides through a hail of blaster fire, relying solely on his faith, instincts and a big stick to take out Stormtroopers. It’s arguably one of the purest expressions of the Force in the entire saga, precisely because it comes from someone without Jedi training, instead relying on his (literal) blind faith and discipline.
That more practical magic extends to the series’ iconic and elegant weapon of choice. In what is the most notable departure from all of Star Wars is that, throughout the entire 20+ hours encompassing both seasons of Andor and the Rogue One movie, there is only one instance of a lightsaber being used, and its presence drives home how horrific such a weapon can be for the common Space citizen. One of Rogue One’s final scenes is a grim prequel to the opening scene of A New Hope: Darth Vader boards a rebel command ship and proceeds to effortlessly and sadistically slaughter members of the rebel resistance valiantly playing pass-the-stolen-Death-Star-plans as each is mercilessly cut down by Vader’s lightsaber or flung against the ceiling by the power of the Force.
It is a dark scene, both tonally, but also literally, with most of the lighting sourced from Vader’s red blade. The film’s editor suggested this to the movie, and it remains the most brilliant ending of any in the Star Wars franchise. The sheer brutality of Vader cutting through Rebel soldiers in a darkened corridor is astonishing; it’s a scene that transformed this character from a figure of baddie nostalgia into a true force of terror.
But it’s the normal human stories that make the Andor saga truly remarkable. These are tales of ordinary people just trying to get by in a time of political upheaval, a cast of cynics, criminals, civil servants, and outcasts, rich and poor, who slowly but surely rise against an overwhelming, authoritarian and menacing regime to prove that a collective “resistance” begins with an individual’s personal decision to take a stand and make a difference. The format of Andor often feels more like a political thriller than traditional Star Wars, with slow-burn storytelling, intricate, transactional maneuvering and plotting, forcing many of the characters to make morally ambiguous choices.
There are times when the character of Cassian Andor reminds me of Martin Brody in Jaws. Both face an existential threat that demands they get involved, not least to convince some of the obstinate people in power that a threat is real, and their personal frustration builds until they’re forced to take matters into their own hands. Rebellions may be built on hope, but none of that matters unless you can find .
And like Jaws, Andor makes it clear that the stakes are very high and the sacrifice is very real. This is perhaps most beautifully captured in Luthen Rael’s (Stellan Skarsgård) to an embedded informant in the finale of season one, ending his speech with some of the most powerful lines ever spoken in Star Wars:
“I’m condemned to use the tools of my enemy to defeat them. I burn my decency for someone else’s future. I burn my life to make a sunrise that I know I’ll never see. And the ego that started this fight will never have a mirror or an audience or the light of gratitude. So what do I sacrifice? Everything.”
Skarsgård’s acting is exemplary, but he’s not alone. The entire cast of both Andor and Rogue One is extraordinary, and there are so many outstanding performances that it seems disingenuous not to list them, particularly the number of strong female characters. So here goes: Genevieve O’Reilly’s Mon Mothma is a career-defining role, balancing her political survival — and literal survival — with her moral conviction (she’s also a ). Fiona Shaw as Maarva Andor brings a raw, emotional gravity to her role, culminating in her posthumous revolutionary call to arms that echoes across the entire series. Denise Gough’s portrayal of Dedra Meero is particularly menacing: an ambitious ISB officer whose methods and motivations become increasingly questionable and sinister — her subtle threats of violence directed towards Syril Karn’s mother, Eedy (Kathryn Hunter) at the dinner table are particularly icy. Other notable nods include Adria Arjona’s Bix Caleen, haunted by traumas of sexual brutality and torture; Elizabeth Dulau as Kleya Marki, Luthen Rael’s co-conspirator, assistant and adopted daughter; and, of course, Felicity Jones as the protagonist Jyn Erso, in Rogue One.
But it is Andy Serkis who delivers one of the most heartbreaking lines in the series. Serkis plays Kino Loy, a beaten-down, hardened prisoner who, inspired by Cassian Andor, finds the courage to lead a prison breakout, only to confront his own doom at the moment of freedom. Standing at a platform’s edge as his fellow prisoners leap into the lake below, he looks Andor in the face and says, “I can’t swim.” While you would think Serkis, one of the greatest motion capture performers of all time, would be perfect to portray one of the Galaxy’s many alien species, what we have here is more fittingly human. This isn’t Serkis conveying a tragic revelation behind a prosthetic facade; his eyes tell a story without any filter between him and the camera.
And when it comes to death, the Andor saga is positively Shakespearean in terms of body count. If Andor were a play, the stage would be covered in corpses by the final act. Some like Serkis’ are hinted at; others are brutal, many of them tragic. Rogue One is one of the only major blockbusters in recent memory that kills off its entire main cast by the end. The film is essentially “Seven Samurai in Space,” but with fewer survivors: a desperate, hopeless but valiant last stand and sacrifice that makes the eventual victory in A New Hope feel truly earned. It’s a bold, brave, emotional narrative choice that pays off in spades, and couldn’t be more of a contrast to the Star Wars films that came before or immediately after.
Prequels to Sequels and back
Plenty has been written about . Some feel that the prequels took a decided turn for the worse following The Return of the Jedi. Others (i.e., me) think that the Ewoks broke our suspension of disbelief — I mean, seriously, Imperial Stormtroopers being beaten to death by a bunch of teddy bears throwing rocks? They would have nuked the fluffy fuckers from space without a second thought.
My relationship with the prequels is mixed. I remember the unbelievable excitement watching the trailer for The Phantom Menace at my go-to cinema in High Street Kensington, London, in the spring of 1999, only to feel decidedly mixed feelings when I saw the actual film some months later. Astonishing scenes like the Darth Maul duel and the incredible CGI effects and sound of the Podrace on Tatooine were in stark contrast with the infantile humor of the Jar Jar Binks character, who I found genuinely annoying. However, that hardly warranted the years of seemingly endless hatred directed towards the character. Ahmed Best, the actor who voiced Jar Jar and wore a rudimentary motion capture suit on set during filming, has since opened up about how the harassment led him. Thankfully, Best is still very much a part of the Star Wars universe, having recently played Jedi Master.
Yet, as much as the character of Jar Jar was hated, he was a technical marvel; had never created such a complex digital character before. Indeed, the entire Phantom Menace movie was truly revolutionary in its use of digital cameras and effects, including digital projection in four cinemas for the film’s premiere. As a result, Lucas is widely credited with ushering in the digital era for feature films.
Jar Jar notwithstanding, I have a grudging respect for the prequels; their heart is in the right place. That is not the case with the more recent sequels, which, frankly, seem to lazily remake the original trilogy and strain all credulity in the process. Look, I know Star Wars is science fiction fantasy and that X-wings wouldn’t really be able to and that the Death Star would have cost more than the entire galactic economy to build and what happened to all the when it was blown up and and or what’s with the anti-gravity “repulsorlift” floaty things or how come it seemingly only takes a few hours to travel literally anywhere in hyperspace, etc. But come on, a super massive space gun built through the middle of a planet. Fuck off.
Rogue One: A Star Wars Story is not just a great Star Wars movie; it’s a truly great cinema, period. My suspension of disbelief is never once tested, the effects never once overshadow the characters, and the script is tight and sharp, regardless of how many re-writes it took to get there. Rogue One is emotionally closer to the original Star Wars (and Empire) than any (and I do mean any) that have come before or after it; adding the backstory of Andor to the saga has created a singular masterpiece that I suspect will be respected and revered, including by many well outside of the traditional Star Wars fan base, for years to come.
There will doubtless be more Star Wars movies and series. But seriously, how many will touch the level of the emotional arc of Andor and Rogue One? Very few, I’ll wager. And so, just to drive home the point once more, the Andor Saga is the greatest (and longest) Star Wars movie ever made. I will not be taking questions at this time.
Now re-release Rogue One in , you cowards.
