Queen
Amidala in 2000:
A New Hope
Commentary by Brian Algra
8/7/99
At long last I have seen the new Star Wars movie. After having endured the hype, the long hours of waiting, and the lack of an early Jar Jar Binks death scene, I have only one thing to say: Queen Amidala for President! You heard me right—-I want to dispense with the tedious sycophants who run our country today. I’m sick of starched shirts and Grecian Formula 16; I want funky face paint and garishly glowing gowns. I don’t want fireside chats and "plain talk"; I want orotund speech and a mannered delivery. I want to flush out the new and bring in the old. I want to elect a Queen, not another blue-suited brown-noser.
Lest you quibble with my logic, let me remind you of the result when last a painted queen was put in charge. What, have you already forgotten Elizabeth, the star of this year’s Oscars? The England she inherited was not unlike our America today: financially fixated, emotionally bankrupt, and generally uninspiring. So what did she do? Did she pose with babies and tour disaster scenes? No! She got herself a high-flown hairdo and a milk-white makeover to match her elaborate wardrobe and affected accent, and voilą—-England was transformed. Her country cast aside its gray demeanor and blossomed, flourishing in the arts, in diplomacy, and in feats of foreign war. Don’t for one minute think that this sudden English renaissance was precipitated by anything other than face paint and fancy gowns. Would Spencer and Shakespeare have written their verses for a woman who strove to be ordinary? Would Drake and Essex have fought so bravely beneath the standard of a common crumpet? Would everyday citizens have proudly endured the hardships of the age out of fierce devotion to a lady who looked and talked no differently than they did? No, Elizabeth was successful precisely because her dress and demeanor were carefully cultivated to set her apart from her countrymen. She was the frontispiece of a mighty nation, and she took pains to appear accordingly impressive.
I must admit that I envy those Englishmen of yore. Okay, so they didn’t have televisions or T-1 lines or even toilets, but they did have what we lack: unity under, devotion to, and inspiration from a majestic leader they respected and admired. The present American political landscape is, by contrast, extremely glum. Far from earning our devotion with the substances or shapes of majesty, our leaders wheedle for our favors and claim that they are "just like us." Instead of projecting glory and grandeur, they seem rather like the shameless folks next door—-their mystery departed, they invite and even force us to look over the fence into parts of their lives we needn’t see.
Indeed, not since the days of powdered wigs and two-foot top hats have our presidents kept their proper distance. How foolish they were to doff their garish garb and their stilted speech! For nowadays they wear no white faces, nor carry themselves in extravagant costumes, nor speak in sonorous tones, and yet they are clowns. With their cookie-cutter suits and their colloquial conversation they bring on ridicule before respect, day by day allowing a once-proud nation to founder further into disillusionment.
I for one want the illusion back. I want a leader with the talents and the trappings of a queen—-I want a return to inspiration, to imagination, to something to write for, something to fight for. As things stand, I fight for nothing but my own self-interest, and that makes me feel small.
But Queen Amidala is something greater, something very close to the perfect potentate for the new millennium. She is well-educated (Harvard, I’m told), great with technology, and a capable campaigner (how else does one win a planet-wide election at the age of 14?). More importantly, she knows how to give herself a killer paint job, how to find bargains at the galaxy’s most opulent boutiques, and how to turn a phrase with masterful grandiloquence.
As the time again draws near to determine the future face of our country, can we afford to turn from her example and once more sell our souls to the Al Gores and Dan Quayles of the world? Perhaps indeed the time has come to take a stand against this world, to strike a blow for the sort of splendor which now seems only to exist beyond its bounds.
And so, my fellow Americans, I urge you to abandon your claustrophobic workday cubicles and go once more to see "The Phantom Menace". Imagine yourself a citizen of Naboo, with the great Queen Amidala as your elected leader. Is she not a sight to behold? Do not her comportment and her mien serve as an inspiration, to you as much as to her people? You cannot say no.
Then lastly, as you leave the theater to trudge reluctantly back to the office, I want you to ask yourself: are you better off now than you were two hours ago? I think you know the answer. And I think that even if you lack my vision of a new world order, you will agree that a little elegance, a little elocution, a little makeup, a little majesty can go an awfully long way. Long live Queen Amidala!
(Brian Algra is a 24-yr. old grad student and Scotland-bound California native with feet as fleet the Millenium Falcon and a predilection for Guinness as thick and black as a Dagobah bog at midnight.)