What was a seemingly standard Upper Middle Class planet with its cul-de-sacs and pocket-money doing in the universe of Star Wars? My initial discontent with the At Attin suburbs in Disney+’s Star Wars: Skeleton Crew, rooted in my emo/pop punk upbringing, ultimately led to a deeper appreciation of its narrative.
The debut trailer for Skeleton Crew initially put me off with its suburban portrayal of At Attin and its unremarkable homes. As a child, I turned to Star Wars to find an escape from that very reality; witnessing something so mundane felt out of place. The presence of banal features like garage doors starkly contrasted the adventurous spirit I had come to love. How could a planet, strikingly normal in its geography, stand alongside the vibrant jungles of Kashyyyk, the arid dunes of Tatooine, the icy expanses of Hoth, and the sprawling metropolis of Coruscant?
However, the mounting hints that At Attin was hiding something sinister in Skeleton Crew took me by surprise. This dull society, where children aspire to monotonous 9-to-5 jobs, revealed its eerie facade as the story progressed.
At Attin: A Metaphor for Suburban Stagnation
The metaphor at play is as obvious as the themes seen in early seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. To children, teachers can feel robotic; thus, the educators on At Attin are, fittingly, literal droids. The adult workforce lacks purpose, caught in a cycle where the mint prints Old Republic credits with no one to spend them. The overseer of their daily grind? Merely another machine.
Residents of At Attin remain oblivious to the vastness of the galaxy due to a dense cloud barrier, shielding them from not just the stars but also the universe itself. Indeed, this artificial separation parallels the realities of suburban life, where light pollution often obscures the night sky. Such disconnection emphasizes why few were even aware of At Attin’s existence.
Interestingly, At Attin wasn’t the dark dystopia I had anticipated; instead, it depicted a childlike innocence tainted by ignorance of the political turmoil brewing beyond their borders. While the children may have enjoyed safety, they were ultimately unaware of the dangers – unable to defend themselves against outside threats, a risky reality whether rooted in fiction or everyday life.
One statement from Fern sticks with me: she tells her mother that even the most repugnant planets they had encountered housed good-hearted individuals ready to lend assistance. This reflection resonates, capturing the essence of adventure beyond the perceived safety of suburbia. Skeleton Crew does not romanticize the suburbs nor denigrate alternative lifestyles. Even Wim’s friend Neel, who initially embraces the At Attin way of life, undergoes a transformation as the story unfolds.
A Millennial Perspective on Suburban Life in Skeleton Crew
I empathize with Luke Skywalker’s longing as he gazes at the twin suns in Star Wars, yearning to explore. Yet, my upbringing mirrored that of Wim and Fern, navigating a landscape dominated by uniform housing and cookie-cutter neighborhoods with homes so similar that I could identify their identical layouts.
This monotonous existence breeds existential discomfort, as daily life revolves around repetitive routines. The concept of street smarts becomes a mere storyline we read about rather than a skill to master. We are tutored on acing standardized tests instead of embracing critical thinking. Suburban sprawl acts as our own form of feeling trapped, which has grown more relevant as millennials increasingly migrate from urban centers.
While the nostalgic “Amblin vibes” and nods to classic 80s films like The Goonies, Stand by Me, and E.T. may resonate more with Gen X, it is the millennial generation that grapples with feelings of suburban despair. Films from the 90s and 2000s, such as Edward Scissorhands, American Beauty, Little Children, The Ice Storm, Donnie Darko, and even Hook encapsulate this sentiment.
We may not have collectively experienced the latchkey existence like Wim, but we all share disdain for those cookie-cutter houses. We embodied the angst reflected in Simple Plan’s music (and let’s face it, Fern and KB would have loved attending Warped Tour).
As Skeleton Crew draws to a close, Wim gazes at departing X-Wings with a spark of excitement, embodying his own binary sunset. His suburban life on At Attin is no longer satisfactory; one thrilling expedition has forever changed him. Let us hope he avoids the dreaded millennial burnout typical of many in the galaxy.
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