Yes, Princess Leia was a smart, resourceful woman who had action hero chops of her own. She wasn’t just a princess waiting around in a castle for men to save her — despite the infamous scene where she ended up in a metal bikini as a sexy slave to a giant space slug.
But the fact remains: If you count up all the significant female characters who appear in the original Star Wars trilogy, the list reads as follows … Princess Leia. The only other two women with names and speaking parts in all three movies are Aunt Beru, and that Rebel Alliance representative at the end (who no one remembers until they’re forced to come up with more women).
As great a character as Leia was, however, she was functionally the lone representative of the female gender in a larger Star Wars universe where every other character moving the plot forward was a man. It’s even sadder when you consider that the dearth of women who play important roles (or any role at all) in the classic George Lucas films from the late ’70s and early ’80s echoes a problem we still have today: Women are dramatically under-represented in films and media.
And they’re even more poorly represented in roles where they are driving forces, not just ancillary characters or love interests for male heroes.
If you’ve never really noticed the absence of women in Star Wars (or movies at large), consider yourself living proof of how the limiting narratives of culture and media can warp our expectations. To the point where the presence of one woman in a cast of dozens of memorable male characters can seem like perfect equality.
Women accounted for a mere 33 percent of the roles in the top 100 Hollywood films in 2011, according to a study commissioned by the Center for the Study of Women in Television and Film. When it came to the leading characters, women were even more dramatically under-represented, comprising only 11 percent of identifiable protagonists.
It gets even worse when you look at all-ages entertainment. Women — who, by the way, make up half the human population — comprised only 28 percent of speaking roles in top-grossing family films last year. And when women did appear, they were far less likely to hold roles of power or influence: making up only 3 percent of executive portrayals, for example, compared to 25 percent in real life.
Consider also how many Hollywood films — including the original Star Wars trilogy — fail the Bechdel Test, which asks only that a film contain two women who talk to each other at some point about something besides a man.
While not necessarily an indicator of quality, the Bechdel Test recognizes another uncomfortable truth: that women are most often portrayed in media primarily in terms of how they relate to men. I doubt the people who made these movies don’t believe they don’t value women as discrete human beings independent of men. But it’s the story the media shows if not tells.
It’s the narrative we’re all exposed to, over and over, whether we realize it or not.
Just look at the formidable female character Amidala, portrayed by Natalie Portman in the Star Wars prequel trilogy. She takes the throne of Naboo as queen at the age of 14, knows her way around a blaster to lead and win a war, and later steps into the role of a wise and far-seeing senator.
But ultimately, her narrative arc proves far less empowering than that of her daughter’s. Where Leia at least remained the same powerful, determined woman from beginning to end — and won Han’s heart regardless — Amidala crumbled emotionally and physically in Episode 3 after the loss of Anakin. She died not because of medical complications during childbirth or Anakin’s Force-choking domestic abuse, but because (according to the droid doctor) “she lost the will to live” after Anakin turned to the Dark Side. A reason so lame that it sounds like a futuristic version of “the vapours.”
Criticisms about representations of gender (or race and other diversity) are often countered in fandom by sociological or scientific analyses attempting to explain why the inequality happens according to the internal logic of the fictional world. As though there is any real reason that anything happens in a story except that someone chose to write it that way.
Fiction is not Darwinian.
Fiction is not Darwinian: It contains no impartial process of evolution that dispassionately produces the events of a fictional universe. Fiction is miraculously, fundamentally Creationist. When we make worlds, we become gods. And gods are responsible for the things they create, particularly when they create them in their own image.
Science fiction in particular has always offered a vision of the world not myopically limited by the world as it exists, but liberated by the power of imagination. Perhaps more than any genre of storytelling, it has no excuse to exclude women for so-called practical reasons — especially when it has every reason to imagine a world where they are just as heroic, exceptional, and well-represented as men.
More than any genre of storytelling, science fiction has no excuse.
Yes, many franchises are locked into demographic and historical legacies that make it difficult to introduce new characters that develop the iconic power or fan following of characters like Superman or Spider-Man. This makes women unlikely to play big roles in the important stories, and more likely to be killed, de-powered, or demoted. But the good news for Star Wars is that while these grandfathered gender dynamics may weigh heavy on stories that are still trapped in the past, they need not hinder the future.
Close your eyes, for a moment, and imagine a version of the Star Wars universe full of rich female characters who play diverse roles ranging from Jedi warriors to military leaders to bounty hunters.
Here’s the exciting news: It already exists. It’s called the Star Wars Extended Universe, a world developed through the officially licensed novels and other media outside the feature films. And it’s rife with excellent female characters who have already been embraced by Star Wars fandom, notably: Mara Jade, who appears at different times as an assassin, smuggler, Jedi Master (and Luke Skywalker’s wife); and Jaina Solo, a Rogue Squadron fighter pilot and Jedi Knight (and, you guessed it, Leia’s daughter with Han).
With a brand new film trilogy on the way from new Lucasfilm head Kathleen Kennedy and director J.J. Abrams — famous not only for his sci-fi success with the Star Trek reboot but also female-lead TV fare like Alias — there’s no reason new Star Wars movies can’t aspire to achieve what the Extended Universe already has. A world where the other half of the human race is not only visible to movie-goers of all genders and ages, but equally capable of astonishing and inspiring feats of heroism.
Where Will All the Female <em>Star Wars</em> Characters Go?
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Where Will All the Female <em>Star Wars</em> Characters Go?
