Of Editors and Rebels

I was one of the Star Wars generation, the group of kids who were still kids when the original, first movie came out 30 years ago next month. It’s hard to explain how that film affected us, even that famous and fabulous first scene. Imagine seeing for the first time that small transport suddenly streaking over our heads, fleeing the impossibly huge Star Destroyer running it down, all the while John Williams's trumpeting score erupting in echoes around us. From Luke and Leia’s daring swing across the chasm in the depths of the Death Star, to Han's “negotiation” with Greedo, from Vader’s first menacing appearance to Ben Kenobi’s sacrifice--now pieces of pop culture, they once were simply a story told well. All the way to the end, when the center of mechanical evil suddenly bursts into fragments of light, all by the hand of one boy trusting in himself. No doubt, Star Wars is a great adventure, but the film is one of those rare works where everything--characters, story, music, eye candy--combine to do more than entertain. As Luke found his own way, the film made children believe they could, too. And for adults, it uncovered a bit of their own missing childhood.

I just wanted to know what the hey happened to Biggs.

Like many other kids, I clamored for the Star Wars toys: playsets and action figures, ships and games. Because I’m a bit of bookworm, I also wanted the books, and one of the first ones was the movie picture book--a toddler’s retelling embellished with movie stills. And there, near the beginning, was a picture:



Hey, I knew who that was! That was that guy who was the last to get blown up in the Death Star trench run! The one whose death made Luke seem slightly put out! What was Biggs doing on Tatooine?

Of course, when I read the novelization ghostwritten by Alan Dean Foster, I found out. Biggs was an old buddy of Luke’s, and at the very beginning of the story, he had come back to say goodbye. Novelizations usually are based off of the original script, before the film receives its final edit. Many times, scenes that seemed crucial on paper become extraneous on celluloid, and they’re cut and cast aside. They live on, however, where they started--in words.

Because of that picture, I knew even at my preteen age that the scenes had been filmed. It was the first time I knew anything about deleted scenes, and that knowledge began a lifelong obsession about them. I love to see what might have been and what justifications the editor or director used in removing them from the finished story. In a strange way, it probably led me to my career as a book editor--trying to figure why some things work and others don’t, why a piece of information that originally seemed so important suddenly has outgrown its need, long before the narrative is made public.

A age or so later, I read that the Biggs scenes still existed, and I hoped that one day I could finally see them. Thirty years after Star Wars surprised everyone, I have. Whoever dirtiejon is, I owe him and, by extension, YouTube a debit of gratitude. Enjoy: