Kylo Ren's memorable The Last Jedi line changed Star Wars, upending the Skywalker legacy and how fans would engage with the franchise moving forward. Read more!
Kylo Ren uttered a line in 2017 that still makes the fan community go berserk: “Let the past die. Hide it under a rock, if that’s what you need to do. That’s the only way to become what you are meant to be.” We thought he was just a broody dark-sider having a mid-thirties crisis. Looking back on how the Star Wars sequels flailed their way to solid footing, it turns out Ben Solo wasn’t just a villain — he was a saving grace for the franchise.
For nearly half a century, the Star Wars “Skywalker Saga” has been the gravity well of Star Wars. But if it’s going to survive for another half-century, the franchise will need to get away from this Earth. We’re finally coming into an age where movies and games aren’t just ‘side stories’ to Luke’s lineage — they’re a statement of independence.
The sequel trilogy needed to push the continuity forward; yet it found itself anchored all too firmly to the Original Trilogy (OT). This isn’t to say legacy characters are bad; instead, narratives can’t lean on them as a primary structural crutch.
Reaction to Luke Skywalker showing up in the Mandalorian wasn’t universally positive, among fans. A lot of people embraced it, while others dismissed it as “nostalgia bait” — a digital mask to hide an absence of narrative risk. Box office sales wise, playing it safe by making movies about known IP is a guaranteed winner for studios: 100% of the 10 highest grossing Star Wars films have a Skywalker, or a tie to the 1977-1983 era. But the critical exhaustion is tangible. For Star Wars to expand, it has to show it can be without a Skywalker on the credits.
The new film slate marks the most significant departure in franchise history. While The Mandalorian & Grogu will certainly placate the “Filoni-verse” fans with some familiar faces, the real meat is in the unknown:
It’s been five years since the chapter (Rise of Skywalker) ends, and now here we are. Rumors are that there is no legacy character. If it gets that lived-in feel just right — without a single lightsaber ignite or a “hello there” — it could very well shift what the industry thinks Star Wars is.
Mangold is skipping ahead 25,000 years, so by doing so he’s not only stepping around legacy characters, he’s stepping around the entire notion of the Force as we understand it. No Sith, no Jedi Council—just the raw excavation of the galaxy’s mystic energy. This is the “Godfather of the Force” story we’ve been waiting for.
This is the precarious balancing act. Rey may have assumed the Skywalker name, but in order for the franchise to grow, she needs to construct something that isn’t just a mirror image of the failed Academy of the past. If she’s for the entire film talking to Luke’s Force Ghost, we haven’t gotten anywhere, we’ve just switched out the window dressing.
Waititi has said he wants to “broaden out” the world. If his film evokes the cheerful, “used-future” style of the OT without relying on a single legacy cameo, it will demonstrate that the feeling of Star Wars is more powerful than the names in Star Wars.
The films have been wary, but Star Wars games have long been the point of experimental narrative storytelling. The future roadmap indicates a full separation from the “Vader-era” crutch:
| Project | Era | Legacy Risk |
| Star Wars: Zero Company | Late Clone Wars | Moderate. Anakin and Rex are still active here. |
| Star Wars: Galactic Racer | Post-OT | Low. Focused on the underworld and speed. |
| Star Wars: Eclipse | High Republic | Low. Set 200 years before The Phantom Menace. |
| Fate of the Old Republic | Old Republic | Zero. More than a millennium before the films. |
Star Wars Jedi Fallen is the offender right now for taking “Vader-as-a-boogeyman.” For the third game to really connect, Cal Kestis needs to stop being a footnote in the Rebellion’s shadow. He needs a destiny that doesn’t finish with him being “too busy” to give Luke a hand in Episode IV.
If there is one thing the new age should learn, it is the Andor Lesson. Andor showed you can have legacy characters (Mon Mothma, Saw Gerrera, K-2SO) without them feeling like cameos. They didn’t exist because the marketing department wanted a trailer clip, they existed because the plot needed them there.
Star Wars, to its credit, has sometimes been skewered for having precisely no diversity of viewpoint, concerned consistently with a fantasy 1% of the galaxy (the Jedi and the High Command).
In fact the Star Wars audience is diverse: roughly 40% of the active fanbase is female, and international audiences now represent more than half of the box office. Stepping away from the Skywalkers, the saga can tell stories that speak more to this broad, modern audience: tales about smugglers and soldiers and civilians who just happen to not have magic coursing through their veins.
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Kylo Ren was right, but with a caveat: we don’t owe the past “killing,” we just have to stop residing in its basement. As it jets to the High Republic, the distant future, and the distant past, Lucasfilm is at last giving the galaxy some room to breathe. Star Wars’ Future Begins Where the Skywalkers (Masterpiece) End.
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Explore all James Bond movies in order, iconic fight scenes, unforgettable villains, and how 007 evolved across six decades of cinema.
James Bond fighting is so much more than flashy action sequences. It is a six-decade journey through the evolution of fight choreography on film, changing global attitudes toward violence and the increasing complexity and artifice of stunt choreography in the movies. Ian Fleming once described Bond as a “blunt instrument” of the state—a man made to achieve results, not to be elegant while doing so.
It prefers its action to be muscled, aggressive, and violently blunt rather than graceful or theatrical. While Bond in Fleming’s novels was taught boxing and judo to mirror commando skills of the Second World War, cinematic 007 has evolved into more of a living painting, adapting to the martial philosophies, political climates and cultural sensibilities of the era.
The best fight scene in No Time to Die is the punishing stairwell brawl in Safin’s lair, where Bond is up against three armed adversaries in a narrow slab of concrete. Filmed in long, fluid shots, the scene is relentless and tiring, highlighting Craig’s older, injured Bond relying on instinct on the battlefield.
There’s a weight behind each punch, every gunshot is earned, and being in a tight space doesn’t bring with it any glitz. It’s Bond the hardened survivor, not the dazzling hero—pragmatic, efficient, and potently human. This moment perfectly embodies the movie’s themes of sacrifice, perseverance and the physical toll of being 007.
Spectre contains a loving nod to the From Russia With Love train fight, with Bond facing off against Mr. Hinx (Dave Bautista). It’s destructive, shattering several train cars. Bautista was starting to be “gentle,” but Craig told him to be more brutal.
Bautista complied, hurling Craig so violently that he left the actor with a serious knee injury (meniscus tear), forcing him to wear a brace for the rest of the shoot and ultimately having surgery. This fight, then, features real pain and injury from both players.
“Casino Royale” jolted the audience with its unsentimental brutality right from the start of the film. Shot in high-contrast grainy black & white the fight isn’t clean, it is chaotic and crude and Bond ends the fight bleeding. Bond attempts to drown his quarry, Fisher, in a sink, the quarry fights back. There is no elegance here.
The cinematography is in keeping with Cold War noir and spy fare such as The Ipcress File while confirming that this Bond is a “blunt instrument” and implying that he’s still coming to terms with the emotional cost of killing. The scene was intentionally to feel unchoreographed, to ball the struggle and the fatigue of taking a life.
Die Another Day is widely derided for its use of terrible CGI (the invisible car, the tsunami surfing, etc.), but the fencing match between Bond and Gustav Graves (Toby Stephens) at the Blades Club is a rare moment of hands-on stunt work. It begins as a civilized fencing bout and ends with a full-on broadsword brawl, wrecking the club set.
Trevelyan is Bond’s equal—a fellow “00” agent with the same training. The battle is a mirror match. Most importantly, the sequence mutes out the bombastic score and all we can hear is the metallic thuds, the heavy breaths and the wind. This sound design decision highlights the brutal intimacy of two friends attempting to kill each other.
The fight is a combination of technical grappling and dirty fighting (headbutts, biting), Bond finally throwing Trevelyan to his death. The classic line “For me” in response to Bond’s “For England, James?” that he answers shortly after meeting Trevelyan, signals a personal change in Bond’s motivation.
In The Living Daylights, the tussle between Bond and Necros clinging to the outside of a cargo plane is a marvel of aerial stunt work. Withstood the strain Unlike the green-screen-laden sequences of later times, this was shot with stuntmen (BJ Worth and others) actually hanging from a plane over the Mojave Desert.
The physical struggle, as well as the roaring wind (sound design has a significant role in that), make it all very disorienting and high-risk. It’s a battle dominated by gravity, not martial arts moves.
Licence to Kill is the bloodiest of the pre-Craig Bond films, and was the first to be given a 15 rating in the United Kingdom. The Bimini barrelhouse brawl is a highlight for its raw brutality. Bond isn’t trying to get away as he fights; He’s trying to do as much damage as possible. They refer to pool cues, broken bottles and a brawl that seems more at home in a western saloon than a spy movie.
The scene is staged and lit to highlight the fearsome Jaws, playing with shadows (the train closet) and jump scares. Bond is completely physically impotent; he punches Jaws in the jaw and breaks his hand — a world away from Connery’s crushing blows to Grant’s neckline. This makes Jaws a supernatural entity.
The resolution Bond stabs Jaws with a jagged lamp, delivering an electric shock is a variation on the Oddjob demise that includes a comic bounce, as Jaws endures and then departs. The sequence was choreographed by Bob Simmons, maintaining the trilogy of train fight masterpieces.
The beach fight and the hotel room brawl with Draco’s men reveal a new editing philosophy employed by director Peter Hunt. Hunt used quick cuts, jump cuts and a little bit of speeded up footage to make the fights more energetic. This gave the film a visceral, almost frenzied feel that anticipated the “shaky cam” mode of the Jason Bourne series by several decades.
The brawling judo fight is a demonstration of this transition from the chaotic to the slightly more stylized fighting in Dr. No. Bond uses the environment, a sofa, and a large statue to fend off the sumo’s size, continuing the message that Bond has to change his fighting style to whatever culture he’s invading.
When you ask people who know what they are talking about when it comes to the Bond movie library what the best is, it’s almost always From Russia With Love that is named, the duel between Bond and Donald “Red” Grant (Robert Shaw) on the Orient Express stands as a cornerstone moment in action movie history. It took the genre away from the bloodless fisticuffs that defined 1950s action films to a more visceral, claustrophobic reality.
The development of James Bond’s style of fighting is indicative of a narrative that’s about more than just choreography or spectacle. Every punch, wrestle, and fight for life is a product of the time it was made, informed by global politics, shifting definitions of masculinity and what audiences want to see in it. From Connery’s primal, rough-and-tumble fights to Craig’s brutal, Krav Maga–inflected efficiency, Bond’s battles have always stripped away the suave disguise of the gentleman spy to expose the lethal truth beneath.
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Star Trek: Starfleet Academy Episode 6 is a turning point, as cadets confronthard truths, moral sacrifices, and even the end of hope in a shattered galaxy.
When Star Trek: Starfleet Academy premiered on January 15, 2026, we got a whole new show as it gave the entire franchise a soul transplant. Following the launch of Star Trek: Discovery leading us into a 32nd century devastated by “The Burn,” the galaxies felt distant and broken. Academy arrives as the desperately “Architecture of Optimism,” you could call it, because it’s about a generation that doesn’t simply study history — they have to rebuild it.
At the midway point (Episode 6, “Come, Let’s Away”), the series has established itself as an intriguing, if divisive, “teaching hospital” among the stars.
Showrunners Alex Kurtzman and Noga Landau took a sharp left turn away from Trek tradition. Typically we are chasing the best of the best.” In the Academy, taking place on the USS Athena in the year 3195, the school is not simply a campus in San Francisco, as it is a mobile unit where the classroom itself is the front line.
It is this paradigm that enables the series to address the cost of idealism. These cadets aren’t legacy hires, they’re survivors of a galaxy that stopped trusting. Seeing them fall on their faces — emotionally and professionally — helps their triumphs later on feel earned, not scripted.
The series derives real dramatic heft from its powerhouse cast, and Holly Hunter’s Chancellor Nahla Ake is a defining force that lifts the whole show. She’s not a hard-nosed commander; she is a “reformed” officer who at one point walked out of Starfleet in protest. Her “steel magnolia” energy is a perfect foil to the raw, explosive energy of the cadets.
Opposite her is Paul Giamatti as Nus Braka. Giamatti never becomes the stereotypical “cackling space pirate” character, instead portraying Braka as a bitter victim of the Federation’s past mistakes. He’s a “Small Man” with a big grudge, a reminder that a single individual with a scheme can be as lethal as a Borg Cube.
With the addition of Robert Picardo (The Doctor) and Tig Notaro (Jett Reno), you do have the vital connective tissue to Trek’s history.
The Doctor is the “voice of history,” having evolved from a 24th-century medical instrument to an ethics mentor.
Jett Reno is still the final reality check with the dry wit needed to put all the high stakes drama in perspective.
Caleb Mir (Sandro Rosta) is a reluctant leader. His vulnerability offers a welcome breath of fresh air among all the “swaggering captains”.
Tarima Sadal (Zoë Steiner): A Betazoid whose abilities are more of a curse than a gift. Her arc culminated in utter bleakness in Episode 6 when she had to take her empathy out as a lethal weapon.
Jay-Den Kraag (Karim Diané): A Klingon who shuns the “warrior” stereotype. In the 32nd century, Klingon is a diasporic identity, and Jay-Den gains his strength from arguing rather than from the bat’leth.
SAM (Kerrice Brooks): A photonic cadet engaging with the “Pinocchio” trope in terms of faith, resulting in a stunning (and divisive) homage to Benjamin Sisko.
The first six episodes made a brilliant transition from “academic orientation” to “survival horror.””
Many singled out Episode 5, “Series Acclimation Mil,” as a love letter to Deep Space Nine. The use of archival audio of Avery Brooks (with the blessing of the Sisko estate) was a gamble that paid off by anchoring the high-tech 32nd century in the spiritual mystery of the Prophets.
But then there was Episode 6. The addition of The Furies—cannibalistic hybrids taken the “CW Trek” whines down several notches. It was a painful reminder that the “teaching hospital” is now a trauma center. Tarima when she rescues the crew by “liquefying” the enemies’ brains, the show is letting you know it’s no longer the age of innocence.
Maybe for the first three episodes, but by Episode 6, Starfleet Academy has got it right. It’s a show about how fragile civilization is, and how much responsibility comes with being the “Class of the Rebirth.”
| Aspect | Detail |
| Theme | Rebuilding the Federation through empathy. |
| MVP | Holly Hunter (Chancellor Ake). |
| Key Set | The Sato Atrium (Largest in Trek history). |
| The Big Bad | Nus Braka & The Furies. |
The first half of a season has established a high standard. We’ve had “sorting hat” moments; now we’re seeing the scars. As they pursue Nus Braka into the latter half of the season, these cadets have moved beyond mere students—they’re the final hope of a Federation desperate to make its way back toward the light.
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What Star Trek Starfleet Academy truly is not so much another story about the spacefaring life — it’s what hope looks like in a shattered galaxy. Star Trek: Discovery showed us the end of the world, Academy the slow, painful, everyday work of rebuilding. By moving the storyline focus away from iconic captains to fallible cadets, from glory missions to moral consequence, the series recalibrates optimism as something acquired rather than bequeathed.
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