The Story that Might Have Been...Part One

Journey back with me if you will to May 1999, before internet ticket buying, and assigned seating (God bless those who invented assigned seating). You are standing in line outside the newest multi-screen theater, publicly ridiculing but secretly admiring those who dressed up. After about two hours, the ushers start letting you into the theater where you will wait another half hour illegally saving seats and buying overpriced candy and soda. The enthusiasm of the crowd is electric, and you can't help but feel like a kid on Christmas, especially if you have waited twenty years for this moment. The lights go down, the familiar music blares out of the DTS sound system, and your entire childhood seems to return in an instant. But about ten minutes into the movie, your heart starts to sink, and you realize that, as flashy and pretty as it is, this is not YOUR Star Wars.

Yes, I was describing my experience at the opening night of The Phantom Menace, and with the 3D version soon hitting theaters, all of that old pain and disappointment has been drudged up. So, I am finally going to put all of my complaining and criticizing to a constructive use in order to help others see the story that might have been. Think of this as my "Ninety-Five Thesis" except less important, and not as long - although because I have a lot to say, I will split it into parts, this being the intro.

Why the Hero's Mentor Has to Die.

Obi Wan Kenobi, Dumbledore, Brom, Kelsier, and Gandalf. What do these fictional characters have in common? Well, they were all mentors to great heroes, but each of them also did not live to see their protégé’s win the day (well Gandalf cheated and came back to life). So why does a hero’s senex have to die? Do they have to die? What would happen if they didn’t die or leave the hero to finish their work? I believe the answer to this question is yes, the mentor must die (or leave) in order for the hero to rise to his or her full potential. Why? Well, let’s look at an everyday example.

Stevie is a 25 year-old, single male who lives in his parent’s basement. He has a part time job at the local burger-joint, but doesn’t pay rent, buy groceries, or worry about dependents. The only way Stevie will see the need to go to college, save money, or get a full time job is if he is forced out of his moocher’s, comfort zone. In short, Stevie’s parents have to kick him out in order for him to develop ambition or go anywhere in life. You get the point.

When a hero embarks on his journey, he or she is usually weak, vulnerable, and always inexperienced. Consequently, they need protection, training, and an education. They need someone to give them a reason to fight, a reason that is driven home by the sacrifice of their mentor. Think about it. How much more motivated did Luke Skywalker become in fighting the Empire when Ben Kenobi was reduced to a pile of robes by Darth Vader? He didn’t really start growing up until everything Obi Wan taught him about the evil of their enemies was illustrated in his being slain by those very villains. Therefore, the mentor capstones all of his preaching and moral instruction with an object lesson – one that says “this is what you’re fighting and this is how important it is for you to fight it.”

But how does the death of the mentor make the hero stronger? Aside from galvanizing the hero into determined action, the absence of the mentor exposes the hero to the full threat of his enemies (Harry Potter 7 is an excellent example of this). Like the resistance of weight-training, the facing of death and danger forces the hero to stretch, draw on all of his or her resources, forge their own alliances, and ultimately grow stronger. Without this, the hero would never rise to the challenge of changing the world.

So the next time someone says, Dumbledore shouldn't have had to die, you can answer; if he didn't Harry would've never saved the world.