Star Wars Ep.III (2005) - George Lucas
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Nuno Antunes
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O artigo sobre o «Star Wars» vem assinado: Tom Roston em Los Angeles. Às vezes, os textos vêm com erros, que são detectados por quem faz a tradução ou pelo Luís Salvado, que me facilita muito o trabalho: quando as matérias me chegam, os factos estão quase sempre OK.RMI wrote:Nuno Antunes, tu estás ligado à Premiere não estás? Quem é que escreveu o artigo sobre o Ep.III deste mês? Estive a lê-lo ontem e reparei em vários erros factuais que parecem indicar que quem o escreveu não conhece muito bem a saga.
E já agora tenho um reparo/queixa a fazer: Já fui assinante da revista em tempos. Deixei de o ser pois como nem todos os meses queria o DVD opcional e era pouco práctico ter que os contactar quando queria o DVD. Acontece que nos últimos tempos quando tempo encontrar a revista nas bancas já esgotou porque trazia um brinde qualquer que fez com que pessoas que não se interessam por cinema comprem toda a tiragem! O que me irrita mais é o facto de os brindes nem terem a ver com o tema da revista. Tal como a oferta a assinantes: perfume?! O que é que isso tem a ver com uma revista de cinema?
Neste processo, há sempre coisas que escapam: em Abril ninguém estranhou um "José Mário Grilo". No caso concreto, consegui ainda detectar algumas coisas erradas, mas com os prazos e todas as outras matérias, confesso que principalmente tentei ver se não existiam erros de português, se as fotos estavam OK, coisas assim. Não tenho presentes os erros factuais da peça, mas pessoalmente não gosto é do estilo do "português", que para mim teria levado uma grande volta.
Em relação à revista e aos brindes e às ofertas aos assinantes, realmente não têm nada a ver com cinema, mas trata-se de um estratégia para atrair leitores que resultam de parcerias. Pessoalmente preferia algo mais vocacionado, mas acho que não vem daí grande mal ao mundo: os jornais e as revistas andam a "oferecer" todo o tipo de tralhas.
A questão de não conseguires comprar a revista na tua zona quando esgota por causa dessas coisas: não será melhor tentares comprar revistas e jornais mais ou menos no mesmo sítio, tornando-te um cliente fiel e assim puderes pedir ao vendedor para te guardar um exemplar?
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Argaroth01
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Nuno Guerreiro
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Desculpem la, mas entao todas as salas do alvalaxia n têm projecção digital???? Onde é ta isso a dizer?? Não acredito....Argaroth01 wrote:Qual é sala digital do Alvaláxia ? A 3 ou a 4 ?
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não. só a sala 4 tem projecção digital.Nuno Guerreiro wrote:Desculpem la, mas entao todas as salas do alvalaxia n têm projecção digital???? Onde é ta isso a dizer?? Não acredito....Argaroth01 wrote:Qual é sala digital do Alvaláxia ? A 3 ou a 4 ?
quando o alvalaxia foi inaugurado foi dito que apenas 1 sala teria projecção digital
Alguém sabe quando é que o Discovery Channel vai passar o documentário sobre Star Wars que andam a anunciar? É que eles não mencionam data ou hora...ups... esta semana tou a contar com uma enchente maior ainda que no matrix reloaded pelos lados da amc.... a sessão de quarta as 00.15 ja esta esgotada desde ontem na sala 16...
Last edited by onix on May 17th, 2005, 11:32 pm, edited 1 time in total.
é capaz de ser um pouco longo, mas é genial!!
SPACE CASE
by ANTHONY LANE
“Star Wars: Episode III.”
Issue of 2005-05-23
Posted 2005-05-16
Sith. What kind of a word is that? Sith. It sounds to me like the noise that emerges when you block one nostril and blow through the other, but to George Lucas it is a name that trumpets evil. What is proved beyond question by “Star Wars: Episode III—Revenge of the Sith,” the latest—and, you will be shattered to hear, the last—installment of his sci-fi bonanza, is that Lucas, though his eye may be greedy for sensation, has an ear of purest cloth. All those who concoct imagined worlds must populate and name them, and the resonance of those names is a fairly accurate guide to the mettle of the imagination in question. Tolkien, earthed in Old English, had a head start that led him straight to the flinty perfection of Mordor and Orc. Here, by contrast, are some Lucas inventions: Palpatine. Sidious. Mace Windu. (Isn’t that something you spray on colicky babies?) Bail Organa. And Sith.
Lucas was not always a rootless soul. He made “American Graffiti,” which yielded with affection to the gravitational pull of the small town. Since then, he has swung out of orbit, into deep nonsense, and the new film is the apotheosis of that drift. One stab of humor and the whole conceit would pop, but I have a grim feeling that Lucas wishes us to honor the remorseless non-comedy of his galactic conflict, so here goes. Obi-Wan Kenobi (Ewan McGregor) and his star pupil, Anakin Skywalker (Hayden Christensen), are, with the other Jedi knights, defending the Republic against the encroachments of the Sith and their allies—millions of dumb droids, led by Count Dooku (Christopher Lee) and his henchman, General Grievous, who is best described as a slaying mantis. Meanwhile, the Chancellor of the Republic, Palpatine (Ian McDiarmid), is engaged in a sly bout of Realpolitik, suspected by nobody except Anakin, Obi-Wan, and every single person watching the movie. Anakin, too, is a divided figure, wrenched between his Jedi devotion to selfless duty and a lurking hunch that, if he bides his time and trashes his best friends, he may eventually get to wear a funky black mask and start breathing like a horse.
This film is the tale of his temptation. We already know the outcome—Anakin will indeed drop the killer-monk Jedi look and become Darth Vader, the hockey goalkeeper from hell—because it forms the substance of the original “Star Wars.” One of the things that make Episode III so dismal is the time and effort expended on Anakin’s conversion. Early in the story, he enjoys a sprightly light-sabre duel with Count Dooku, which ends with the removal of the Count’s hands. (The stumps glow, like logs on a fire; there is nothing here that reeks of human blood.) Anakin prepares to scissor off the head, while the mutilated Dooku kneels for mercy. A nice setup, with Palpatine egging our hero on from the background. The trouble is that Anakin’s choice of action now will be decisive, and the remaining two hours of the film—scene after scene in which Hayden Christensen has to glower and glare, blazing his conundrum to the skies—will add nothing to the result. “Something’s happening. I’m not the Jedi I should be,” he says. This is especially worrying for his wife, Padmé (Natalie Portman), who is great with child. Correction: with children.
What can you say about a civilization where people zip from one solar system to the next as if they were changing their socks but where a woman fails to register for an ultrasound, and thus to realize that she is carrying twins until she is about to give birth? Mind you, how Padmé got pregnant is anybody’s guess, although I’m prepared to wager that it involved Anakin nipping into a broom closet with a warm glass jar and a copy of Ewok Babes. After all, the Lucasian universe is drained of all reference to bodily functions. Nobody ingests or excretes. Language remains unblue. Smoking and cursing are out of bounds, as is drunkenness, although personally I wouldn’t go near the place without a hip flask. Did Lucas learn nothing from “Alien” and “Blade Runner”—from the suggestion that other times and places might be no less rusted and septic than ours, and that the creation of a disinfected galaxy, where even the storm troopers wear bright-white outfits, looks not so much fantastical as dated? What Lucas has devised, over six movies, is a terrible puritan dream: a morality tale in which both sides are bent on moral cleansing, and where their differences can be assuaged only by a triumphant circus of violence. Judging from the whoops and crowings that greeted the opening credits, this is the only dream we are good for. We get the films we deserve.
The general opinion of “Revenge of the Sith” seems to be that it marks a distinct improvement on the last two episodes, “The Phantom Menace” and “Attack of the Clones.” True, but only in the same way that dying from natural causes is preferable to crucifixion. So much here is guaranteed to cause either offense or pain, starting with the nineteen-twenties leather football helmet that Natalie Portman suddenly dons for no reason, and rising to the continual horror of Ewan McGregor’s accent. “Another happy landing”—or, to be precise, “anothah heppy lending”—he remarks, as Anakin parks the front half of a burning starcruiser on a convenient airstrip. The young Obi-Wan Kenobi is not, I hasten to add, the most nauseating figure onscreen; nor is R2-D2 or even C-3PO, although I still fail to understand why I should have been expected to waste twenty-five years of my life following the progress of a beeping trash can and a gay, gold-plated Jeeves.
No, the one who gets me is Yoda. May I take the opportunity to enter a brief plea in favor of his extermination? Any educated moviegoer would know what to do, having watched that helpful sequence in “Gremlins” when a small, sage-colored beastie is fed into an electric blender. A fittingly frantic end, I feel, for the faux-pensive stillness on which the Yoda legend has hung. At one point in the new film, he assumes the role of cosmic shrink—squatting opposite Anakin in a noirish room, where the light bleeds sideways through slatted blinds. Anakin keeps having problems with his dark side, in the way that you or I might suffer from tennis elbow, but Yoda, whose reptilian smugness we have been encouraged to mistake for wisdom, has the answer. “Train yourself to let go of everything you fear to lose,” he says. Hold on, Kermit, run that past me one more time. If you ever got laid (admittedly a long shot, unless we can dig you up some undiscerning alien hottie with a name like Jar Jar Gabor), and spawned a brood of Yodettes, are you saying that you’d leave them behind at the first sniff of danger? Also, while we’re here, what’s with the screwy syntax? Deepest mind in the galaxy, apparently, and you still express yourself like a day-tripper with a dog-eared phrase book. “I hope right you are.” Break me a fucking give.
The prize for the least speakable burst of dialogue has, over half a dozen helpings of “Star Wars,” grown into a fiercely contested tradition, but for once the winning entry is clear, shared between Anakin and Padmé for their exchange of endearments at home:
“You’re so beautiful.”
“That’s only because I’m so in love.”
“No, it’s because I’m so in love with you.”
For a moment, it looks as if they might bat this one back and forth forever, like a baseline rally on a clay court. And if you think the script is on the tacky side, get an eyeful of the décor. All of the interiors in Lucasworld are anthems to clean living, with molded furniture, the tranquillity of a morgue, and none of the clutter and quirkiness that signify the process known as existence. Illumination is provided not by daylight but by a dispiriting plastic sheen, as if Lucas were coating all private affairs—those tricky little threats to his near-fascistic rage for order—in a protective glaze. Only outside does he relax, and what he relaxes into is apocalypse. “Revenge of the Sith” is a zoo of rampant storyboards. Why show a pond when C.G.I. can deliver a lake that gleams to the far horizon? Why set a paltry house on fire when you can stage your final showdown on an entire planet that streams with ruddy, gulping lava? Whether the director is aware of John Martin, the Victorian painter who specialized in the cataclysmic, I cannot say, but he has certainly inherited that grand perversity, mobilized it in every frame of the film, and thus produced what I take to be unique: an art of flawless and irredeemable vulgarity. All movies bear a tint of it, in varying degrees, but it takes a vulgarian genius such as Lucas to create a landscape in which actions can carry vast importance but no discernible meaning, in which style is strangled at birth by design, and in which the intimate and the ironic, not the Sith, are the principal foes to be suppressed. It is a vision at once gargantuan and murderously limited, and the profits that await it are unfit for contemplation. I keep thinking of the rueful Obi-Wan Kenobi, as he surveys the holographic evidence of Anakin’s betrayal. “I can’t watch anymore,” he says. Wise words, Obi-Wan, and I shall carry them in my heart.
O meu bocadinho favorito é:
The general opinion of “Revenge of the Sith” seems to be that it marks a distinct improvement on the last two episodes, “The Phantom Menace” and “Attack of the Clones.” True, but only in the same way that dying from natural causes is preferable to crucifixion.
SPACE CASE
by ANTHONY LANE
“Star Wars: Episode III.”
Issue of 2005-05-23
Posted 2005-05-16
Sith. What kind of a word is that? Sith. It sounds to me like the noise that emerges when you block one nostril and blow through the other, but to George Lucas it is a name that trumpets evil. What is proved beyond question by “Star Wars: Episode III—Revenge of the Sith,” the latest—and, you will be shattered to hear, the last—installment of his sci-fi bonanza, is that Lucas, though his eye may be greedy for sensation, has an ear of purest cloth. All those who concoct imagined worlds must populate and name them, and the resonance of those names is a fairly accurate guide to the mettle of the imagination in question. Tolkien, earthed in Old English, had a head start that led him straight to the flinty perfection of Mordor and Orc. Here, by contrast, are some Lucas inventions: Palpatine. Sidious. Mace Windu. (Isn’t that something you spray on colicky babies?) Bail Organa. And Sith.
Lucas was not always a rootless soul. He made “American Graffiti,” which yielded with affection to the gravitational pull of the small town. Since then, he has swung out of orbit, into deep nonsense, and the new film is the apotheosis of that drift. One stab of humor and the whole conceit would pop, but I have a grim feeling that Lucas wishes us to honor the remorseless non-comedy of his galactic conflict, so here goes. Obi-Wan Kenobi (Ewan McGregor) and his star pupil, Anakin Skywalker (Hayden Christensen), are, with the other Jedi knights, defending the Republic against the encroachments of the Sith and their allies—millions of dumb droids, led by Count Dooku (Christopher Lee) and his henchman, General Grievous, who is best described as a slaying mantis. Meanwhile, the Chancellor of the Republic, Palpatine (Ian McDiarmid), is engaged in a sly bout of Realpolitik, suspected by nobody except Anakin, Obi-Wan, and every single person watching the movie. Anakin, too, is a divided figure, wrenched between his Jedi devotion to selfless duty and a lurking hunch that, if he bides his time and trashes his best friends, he may eventually get to wear a funky black mask and start breathing like a horse.
This film is the tale of his temptation. We already know the outcome—Anakin will indeed drop the killer-monk Jedi look and become Darth Vader, the hockey goalkeeper from hell—because it forms the substance of the original “Star Wars.” One of the things that make Episode III so dismal is the time and effort expended on Anakin’s conversion. Early in the story, he enjoys a sprightly light-sabre duel with Count Dooku, which ends with the removal of the Count’s hands. (The stumps glow, like logs on a fire; there is nothing here that reeks of human blood.) Anakin prepares to scissor off the head, while the mutilated Dooku kneels for mercy. A nice setup, with Palpatine egging our hero on from the background. The trouble is that Anakin’s choice of action now will be decisive, and the remaining two hours of the film—scene after scene in which Hayden Christensen has to glower and glare, blazing his conundrum to the skies—will add nothing to the result. “Something’s happening. I’m not the Jedi I should be,” he says. This is especially worrying for his wife, Padmé (Natalie Portman), who is great with child. Correction: with children.
What can you say about a civilization where people zip from one solar system to the next as if they were changing their socks but where a woman fails to register for an ultrasound, and thus to realize that she is carrying twins until she is about to give birth? Mind you, how Padmé got pregnant is anybody’s guess, although I’m prepared to wager that it involved Anakin nipping into a broom closet with a warm glass jar and a copy of Ewok Babes. After all, the Lucasian universe is drained of all reference to bodily functions. Nobody ingests or excretes. Language remains unblue. Smoking and cursing are out of bounds, as is drunkenness, although personally I wouldn’t go near the place without a hip flask. Did Lucas learn nothing from “Alien” and “Blade Runner”—from the suggestion that other times and places might be no less rusted and septic than ours, and that the creation of a disinfected galaxy, where even the storm troopers wear bright-white outfits, looks not so much fantastical as dated? What Lucas has devised, over six movies, is a terrible puritan dream: a morality tale in which both sides are bent on moral cleansing, and where their differences can be assuaged only by a triumphant circus of violence. Judging from the whoops and crowings that greeted the opening credits, this is the only dream we are good for. We get the films we deserve.
The general opinion of “Revenge of the Sith” seems to be that it marks a distinct improvement on the last two episodes, “The Phantom Menace” and “Attack of the Clones.” True, but only in the same way that dying from natural causes is preferable to crucifixion. So much here is guaranteed to cause either offense or pain, starting with the nineteen-twenties leather football helmet that Natalie Portman suddenly dons for no reason, and rising to the continual horror of Ewan McGregor’s accent. “Another happy landing”—or, to be precise, “anothah heppy lending”—he remarks, as Anakin parks the front half of a burning starcruiser on a convenient airstrip. The young Obi-Wan Kenobi is not, I hasten to add, the most nauseating figure onscreen; nor is R2-D2 or even C-3PO, although I still fail to understand why I should have been expected to waste twenty-five years of my life following the progress of a beeping trash can and a gay, gold-plated Jeeves.
No, the one who gets me is Yoda. May I take the opportunity to enter a brief plea in favor of his extermination? Any educated moviegoer would know what to do, having watched that helpful sequence in “Gremlins” when a small, sage-colored beastie is fed into an electric blender. A fittingly frantic end, I feel, for the faux-pensive stillness on which the Yoda legend has hung. At one point in the new film, he assumes the role of cosmic shrink—squatting opposite Anakin in a noirish room, where the light bleeds sideways through slatted blinds. Anakin keeps having problems with his dark side, in the way that you or I might suffer from tennis elbow, but Yoda, whose reptilian smugness we have been encouraged to mistake for wisdom, has the answer. “Train yourself to let go of everything you fear to lose,” he says. Hold on, Kermit, run that past me one more time. If you ever got laid (admittedly a long shot, unless we can dig you up some undiscerning alien hottie with a name like Jar Jar Gabor), and spawned a brood of Yodettes, are you saying that you’d leave them behind at the first sniff of danger? Also, while we’re here, what’s with the screwy syntax? Deepest mind in the galaxy, apparently, and you still express yourself like a day-tripper with a dog-eared phrase book. “I hope right you are.” Break me a fucking give.
The prize for the least speakable burst of dialogue has, over half a dozen helpings of “Star Wars,” grown into a fiercely contested tradition, but for once the winning entry is clear, shared between Anakin and Padmé for their exchange of endearments at home:
“You’re so beautiful.”
“That’s only because I’m so in love.”
“No, it’s because I’m so in love with you.”
For a moment, it looks as if they might bat this one back and forth forever, like a baseline rally on a clay court. And if you think the script is on the tacky side, get an eyeful of the décor. All of the interiors in Lucasworld are anthems to clean living, with molded furniture, the tranquillity of a morgue, and none of the clutter and quirkiness that signify the process known as existence. Illumination is provided not by daylight but by a dispiriting plastic sheen, as if Lucas were coating all private affairs—those tricky little threats to his near-fascistic rage for order—in a protective glaze. Only outside does he relax, and what he relaxes into is apocalypse. “Revenge of the Sith” is a zoo of rampant storyboards. Why show a pond when C.G.I. can deliver a lake that gleams to the far horizon? Why set a paltry house on fire when you can stage your final showdown on an entire planet that streams with ruddy, gulping lava? Whether the director is aware of John Martin, the Victorian painter who specialized in the cataclysmic, I cannot say, but he has certainly inherited that grand perversity, mobilized it in every frame of the film, and thus produced what I take to be unique: an art of flawless and irredeemable vulgarity. All movies bear a tint of it, in varying degrees, but it takes a vulgarian genius such as Lucas to create a landscape in which actions can carry vast importance but no discernible meaning, in which style is strangled at birth by design, and in which the intimate and the ironic, not the Sith, are the principal foes to be suppressed. It is a vision at once gargantuan and murderously limited, and the profits that await it are unfit for contemplation. I keep thinking of the rueful Obi-Wan Kenobi, as he surveys the holographic evidence of Anakin’s betrayal. “I can’t watch anymore,” he says. Wise words, Obi-Wan, and I shall carry them in my heart.
O meu bocadinho favorito é:
The general opinion of “Revenge of the Sith” seems to be that it marks a distinct improvement on the last two episodes, “The Phantom Menace” and “Attack of the Clones.” True, but only in the same way that dying from natural causes is preferable to crucifixion.
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Nuno Antunes
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Miguel T wrote:é capaz de ser um pouco longo, mas é genial!!
SPACE CASE
by ANTHONY LANE
“Star Wars: Episode III.”
Issue of 2005-05-23
Posted 2005-05-16
O meu bocadinho favorito é:
The general opinion of “Revenge of the Sith” seems to be that it marks a distinct improvement on the last two episodes, “The Phantom Menace” and “Attack of the Clones.” True, but only in the same way that dying from natural causes is preferable to crucifixion.
Só li na diagonal. Como gostei muito do filme, peço desculpa, mas confesso que não aprecio muito críticas que se dedicam a "rebentar" ou melhor, gozar à grande com aquilo que gostei... imenso. É a escola de alguns no "Público" e não gosto disso, seja ou não escrito com estilo.
Este estado de espírito advém também de ter regressado à momentos da ante-estreia no Alvaláxia e a 2.ª vez ampliar a minha experiência, foi ainda melhor.
Aliás, retiro tudo o que disse sobre alguns diálogos não estarem bem ou uma ou outra situação menos convincente. A certa altura, pensei se Anakin Skywalker não cedia a Palpatine muito cedo, ajoelhando-se. No entanto, logo a seguir ele diz algo como "Desde que salva a Padmé".
Não sei se a legendagem foi corrigida ou foi apenas na cópia digital, mas os erros que vi da primeira vez foram corrigidos, recuperando mesmo o sentido de alguns diálogos irónicos do início do filme e que se tinham perdido com a primeira legendagem que vi. Ou o momento em que se diz algo como "o imperador é ruim" ("the emperor is evil"), isso foi emendado. Os dróides é que continuam mal escritos.
Vendo segunda vez deu para apreciar melhor a banda sonora, que desta vez cresceu como não tinha acontecido na primeira vez, mas principalmente os pormenores da "queda" e a brilhante construção dramática deste filme.
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Argaroth01
- DVD Maníaco
- Posts: 3178
- Joined: August 11th, 2003, 9:00 pm
- Location: Portugal
Early in the story, he enjoys a sprightly light-sabre duel with Count Dooku, which ends with the removal of the Count’s hands. (The stumps glow, like logs on a fire; there is nothing here that reeks of human blood.)
Esta observação é realmente absurda. Admirava-me eu se de facto existisse sangue, uma vez que usando um sabre de luz, os cortes são imediatamente cauterizados. Parece que o tipo teve mesmo um mau dia.
Esta observação é realmente absurda. Admirava-me eu se de facto existisse sangue, uma vez que usando um sabre de luz, os cortes são imediatamente cauterizados. Parece que o tipo teve mesmo um mau dia.
Também fui ver ontem a ante-estreia ao Alvaláxia e também gostei muito mais deste do que dos dois anteriores. Sem entram em grandes pormenores (agora não tenho tempo) aqui fica...
O que gostei:
- A evolução do design de modo a fazer a 'ponte' para a trilogia original
- O CGI que está bem melhor
- O Ian McDiarmid que é a verdadeira estrela do filme
O que não gostei:
- O som que frequentemente parece inacabado
- Os pontapés na ciencia que mesmo sendo tolerante com o universo de fantasia por vezes são mesmo exagerados
- A 'lagartixa' do Obi-Wan
- Muitas das armas e técnicas usadas nas batalhas que são ridiculas
O que não percebi:
- Porque é que o Grievous tinha aquela tosse?
Agora que o Lucas parece estar no ponto é que se acabaram os filmes de Star Wars...
O que gostei:
- A evolução do design de modo a fazer a 'ponte' para a trilogia original
- O CGI que está bem melhor
- O Ian McDiarmid que é a verdadeira estrela do filme
O que não gostei:
- O som que frequentemente parece inacabado
- Os pontapés na ciencia que mesmo sendo tolerante com o universo de fantasia por vezes são mesmo exagerados
- A 'lagartixa' do Obi-Wan
- Muitas das armas e técnicas usadas nas batalhas que são ridiculas
O que não percebi:
- Porque é que o Grievous tinha aquela tosse?
Agora que o Lucas parece estar no ponto é que se acabaram os filmes de Star Wars... And now for something completely different...
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Nuno Antunes
- Fanático
- Posts: 584
- Joined: December 6th, 2004, 8:16 pm
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RMI wrote:O que não gostei:
- O som que frequentemente parece inacabado
- Os pontapés na ciencia que mesmo sendo tolerante com o universo de fantasia por vezes são mesmo exagerados
- A 'lagartixa' do Obi-Wan
- Muitas das armas e técnicas usadas nas batalhas que são ridiculas
O que não percebi:
- Porque é que o Grievous tinha aquela tosse?
Tens que me explicar essa do som, que não percebi. Um pequeno reparo: estamos a falar de filmes de fantasia, como referes, valerá a pena pensar em exagero dos pontapés na ciência? Nesse mundo, o que é mais ou menos exagero? (isto aplico também nas questões das armas e técnicas, mas pronto, é o teu ponto de vista) Por exemplo, levando a questão da ciência à letra, todas as batalhas no espaço não deviam ter som. O que havia de ser bonito neste filme, onde há batalhas nunca antes vistas (e até uma primeira na atmosfera de um planeta).
A questão da tosse do Grievous é explicada no livro que cobre os acontecimentos da Guerra dos Clones, isto é, do período de tempo entre o episódio II e III.
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Argaroth01
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- Joined: August 11th, 2003, 9:00 pm
- Location: Portugal
A tosse do Grievous é explicada na segunda série de Clone Wars. Antes do General fugir, o Mace Windu usa a Força para lhe causar danos no peito. Quanto aos pontapés na ciência, basta lembrar o que disse uma vez George Lucas "Este é o meu universo. Se quiser som no espaço, tenho som no espaço". Não é uma questão de ignorância, mas uma questão de escolha. Eh pá, e a lagartixa está assim tão má ? Sempre li que foi uma das coisas que melhoraram (a interacção com os bichos CGI). Bom, amanhã lá vou eu...RMI wrote:O que não gostei:
- O som que frequentemente parece inacabado
- Os pontapés na ciencia que mesmo sendo tolerante com o universo de fantasia por vezes são mesmo exagerados
- A 'lagartixa' do Obi-Wan
- Muitas das armas e técnicas usadas nas batalhas que são ridiculas
O que não percebi:
- Porque é que o Grievous tinha aquela tosse?