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 The Duellists: Lucas vs. Spielberg Nathan Williams and freelancer Michael Allen debate the greatness of George Lucas and Steven Spielberg. |
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The Duellists: Lucas vs. Spielberg
by Nathan Williams and Michael Allen
George Lucas and Steve Spielberg have an awful lot in common. They were the relative innocents in the 70s film scene. They are both blamed for the blockbuster revolution of the film business. They are the two richest artist/entertainers in human history (George beating Steven by about half a billion). And they are, allegedly, good friends.
But their careers have taken very different paths and their legacies fifty or a hundred years from now will be quite distinct. And the greater legacy will certainly belong to George Lucas.
There are only a handful of filmmakers who have had an impact similar to Lucas’. He is in the select company of Griffith, Eisenstein, Lang, Walt Disney, Welles, and Godard. Simply put, what we know as cinema would be a very different thing if not for the careers of each of these men, and Lucas undoubtedly belongs with them. The way we make films today, the way we watch films, and the way we think about films all owe something to Lucas.
Spielberg, on the other hand, is more like a Cecil B. DeMille: An extremely talented craftsman, a great showman, and the most widely known filmmaker of his day, but nothing much beyond that. Spielberg is possibly the most talented pure director of screen action of all time (with some ghastly exceptions—like the car factory scene in Minority Report). He will forever be cherished by film lovers. But his impact on the medium will pale in comparison to Lucas'.
But, hey, let’s get beyond just legacy. Lucas has three startlingly original works for which he is unquestionably the primary author. THX-1138 is one of the most vivid and relevant works of pop science fiction ever made. To follow that up he made American Graffiti, the single best film about the impact of the 1960s on white America, a film Spielberg called the “best American film [he’d ever] seen.” And then he conceived and executed the most imaginative and compelling work of fantasy in the history of the cinema, a film whose social impact is perhaps more far-reaching than any since Birth of a Nation.
Michael Allen:
When Steven Spielberg and George Lucas were asked to choose the defining image from their careers, the ostensibly similar directors gave radically different answers. Spielberg said, “It’s the little boy in Close Encounters opening the door and standing in that beautiful yet awful light, just like fire coming through the doorway. And he’s very small, and it’s a very large door, and there’s a lot of promise or danger outside that door” (Gene Siskel and Roger Ebert, p. 72[1]). It’s a fitting metaphor for Spielberg as innocent audience member, peering into the unknown with wonder.
Lucas responded that it isn’t one image, but the kinetic montage of “a very odd little sequence in Star Wars, where they escape from the Death Star and they’re shooting the TIE Fighters” (Gene Siskel and Roger Ebert, p. 103). Straight from the Tauntaun’s mouth you get Lucas’s In Memoriam Oscar clip: corny dialogue, Wookie screaming, and things blowing up. Rarely does anyone do action as well as Lucas, but this is the legacy of a manipulator of fragmented images and not of a great director.
I’ll not make the case that Spielberg is a legendary director, but he is easily the better filmmaker because he takes far more risks and has a stronger grasp of cinema’s possibilities. While Lucas is content to corner himself into a green-screened insular world, Spielberg has (naively) taken on such diverse topics of the systematic destruction of a disadvantaged society, an individual’s dislocation from war, and the breaking up and transformation of the nuclear family. Spielberg’s singular talent is to collectively move audiences with his belief in mankind’s humanity. Though he may not be the most financially successful filmmaker, he’s certainly the best loved and admired by all kinds of moviegoers.
For all of Lucas’s predominant themes of leaving home and going on an adventure, it’s surprising how resistant he is to do anything without the Star Wars cash cow. People will be ripping off Star Wars for years on end, but nobody wants to take credit for the frozen dinner either.
[1] Ebert, Roger and Gene Siskel, "The Future Of The Movies: Interviews With Martin Scorsese, Steven Spielberg, And George Lucas," Andrews and McMeel, Kansas City, 1991.
Nathan Williams:
While I contest your (or Ebert’s) version of the “defining moment” question (Lucas has definitely gone on record claiming the 300mm final THX-1138 shot as his), let’s examine them.
Spielberg’s: a character we know nothing about looking at some aliens we know less than nothing about. If the scene evokes emotion it is one of fear for the child and wonder at the intentions of the aliens. This is because, ultimately, Spielberg cares more for situations than he does for actual stories.
Spielberg not only can’t write original screenplays (Lucas only works from original material), he is a completely undisciplined storyteller. You remember a Spielberg film for some great set pieces, and that’s it. If there’s a memorable character, you can be sure he didn’t create it (who created Indiana Jones, by the way? Don’t say Phillip Kaufman).
Spielberg is an old style directing talent in a system that doesn’t suit him. He doesn’t just need Ernest Lehman writing his scripts, he needs Selznick telling him who to cast and when not to shoot the sappy coda. Under such a system—if Spielberg developed some emotional maturity—he might have been our Hawks. Instead he makes the occasional three-quarters of a great film and mostly a lot of prestigious pulp that is forgotten as soon as the unopened DVD case is put on the shelf.
Oh, and Lucas’s scene? Four great characters (yes, with corny dialogue and wookie howls) in a thrilling, humorous, and joyous action scene. A scene that has more genuine humanity than anything you can find in the empty characterizations of Saving Private Ryan.
Michael Allen:
The critique of Spielberg’s films being full of set-pieces with unmemorable characters is a rich one considering that the majority of Star Wars screen time consists of the most rudimentary of dialogue scenes to get to yet another chase sequence. A reflective moment in the Star Wars universe is half a shot of Luke Skywalker sulking over the loss of Obi-Wan Kenobi before he flashes a goofy grin as he blows away TIE fighters. The Point A to Point B and then Point C storytelling gets seriously muddled in the prequels when Lucas attempts to make his political statement (Fascism=bad), but neglects to tell the audience how intergalactic politics work (Padme’s a child queen…now she’s a teenage senator…no, she’s a housewife!). And perhaps the laziest development in Lucas’s storytelling is his repeating (he calls it “riffing”) of earlier Star Wars films by having characters quote lines or reenact traits of already beloved characters. The Star Wars universe was always a thin one and the continuation of the series only shows how little was originally there.
If Spielberg’s films are frustratingly mixed with the sublime and the stupid, it’s because he holds a collaborative set. Lucas regards directing as a sadomasochistic chore to have his cast and crew understand his inarticulate direction. Spielberg will take ideas from everyone and has long-term working relationships with actors, writers, and an unhealthy obsession with a composer. Friendships develop and this may have led to some less than stellar choices, but Spielberg always has an audience in mind. His love of connecting with the average viewer has lead to far more successfully traveled adventures than Lucas has ever lead.
And if you cite box office again, I may remind you of the resounding disappointment from all types of fans over the first two Star Wars prequels.
Nathan Williams:
I find it interesting that you continually pick on the same chunk of Star Wars. The emotional shallowness of this single moment pales in comparison to entire films of Spielberg’s (1941, The Lost World, The Terminal).
Your arguments have been fierce, but they lack conviction. Mostly you laud Spielberg for “loving his audience,” a weak defense if there ever was one. I think deep down you know I’m right. Think about these questions:
1. Does Spielberg have an original moment as ecstatic as Luke blowing up the Death Star?
2. Does he have anything (even in Schindler’s) as jaw-droppingly horrific as Anakin burning alive?
3. Has he ever made a film as genuine and warm (and socially observant) as American Graffiti?
4. Has he done anything as remotely avant-garde (and successfully avant-garde!) as THX?
5. Is filmmaking itself different because of Spielberg’s vision?
6. What’s the more radical institution, Lucasfilm or Dreamworks?
7. And sometime in 2007 George Lucas’s next directorial effort will be released. Honestly Mike, if a Spielberg film opens on the same day, whose would you actually go see?
Michael Allen:
1. What, Elliot and E.T. escaping from faceless bureaucrats by bicycling across the moon doesn’t do it for you? Not enough explosions?
2. Sith’s finale is shockingly horrific because of the number of kids lured in by Burger King, Mattel, and Potato Head toys. Spielberg is far more subtly devastating in Jaws with Robert Shaw’s U.S.S. Indianapolis monologue and, “Anyway, we delivered the bomb.” Psychological justification for atomic annihilation trumps whiny teen any day.
3. The only social relevance in Graffiti comes out with a pre-end credits description of what happens to the characters (which you can see in the sequel). If it weren’t there, Graffiti would be slight. And you know a movie’s heart is in trouble when it relies on that many pop songs.
I know nothing as genuine or warm as when the aliens from Close Encounters communicate peace through music and sign language. The message transcends politics, nostalgia, and an American identity.
4. I actually admire the hell out of THX and recommend it to any Lucas-haters out there. It really benefits from his shortcomings (flat acting and dialogue).
While Spielberg has avoided anything remotely avant-garde, all I know is that within two years of each other, Spielberg and Lucas introduced two wholly artificial characters in their films. A.I.’s Teddy is a neglected toy who only wishes to be protected by his master. He also has the voice of a 50-year old smoker. Lucas made Jar-Jar.
5. Spielberg taught a generation of filmgoers that spectacle could be intimate by having ordinary people experience extraordinary events.
6. Lucasfilm has shepherded films for friends and master filmmakers with financial troubles, but the output is little, at best. Industrial Light and Magic, THX Sound, and Lucasfilm Animation are the very tools by which more American films are becoming dumber, louder, and neglecting humans for special effects. Spielberg has inspired some mediocre talent, but at least he’s not handing them the pick-ax slowly killing American cinema.
7. If it’s Return of the Jedi in 3-D, my money’s going to Spielberg.
"Despite their displays of invective, Messrs. Allen and Williams love cinema more than anything else wrought by the hands of man. That both were raised on a steady diet of Lucas and Spielberg is probably not entirely coincidental."
© 2004-2005, Being There Media. This is a copyright statement. Don't steal me.
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