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FTN Saturdays! Max takes a look at just what makes Boba Fett so darn cool…

March 17th, 2012 by Max O. Miller Comments

Boba Fettish!
It sometimes can overwhelmingly feel like you need to punch it to light speed just to familiarize yourself with the entire Star Wars universe.
In the almost limitlessly vast archive of characters the galaxy offers, oftentimes it’s unanswerably clear that you just can’t pick one stand-out persona from the cast. In the endless search for your lone favorite, the coronation of one feels like the treacherous disloyalty of another old friend. Quality comes in quantity in this mythos. Well…unless you’re Jar Jar.
It’s like the time someone hauntingly asked who I prefer – Han Solo or Indiana Jones? The world went black and there was this divine backdrop of shimmering white … before I knew it I awoke in some corner crying in the fetal position. Apparently I had a fierce aneurysm the size of the second Death Star. The equation for world peace is more easily answered. Yet if staring down the barrel of a blaster, forced to decide or else they’ll bullseye me like a womp rat, who would I chose to save me from becoming the latest steaming mess in the Mos Eisley cantina.
Many people ask “Why Boba Fett?” when I reveal my top Star Wars character. I’ve got an unnatural self-proclaimed Boba ‘Fettish,’ as I put it. Granted I’ll be the first to admit that he was conceptually a glorified extra with only one plot-point: Take freeze-pop Solo from point A to B. Therein lays the point! It’s in the mystery that he intrigued excessive fan attention. Ole’ bucket head’s always been visually a little boys dream (cool armor inevitably spawns fascination) but what elevated him to icon status was his obscurity. Luke Skywalker had a thorough every-man background. Han Solo’s space-pirate personality was notorious. Darth Vader’s history was explained, albeit delivering a few revelations along the way. Boba Fett was something else entirely.
Before “Attack of the Clones” unfortunately decided to deliver the coup de grace to that said ambiguity…he was instantaneously empathetic. He had no major affiliate. He was out for his own well being. He was faceless but identifiable. Any ethnicity could have a connection. His appeal encompassed a larger demographic. Children of any race and gender could be the meticulous Mandalorian man-hunter. After all, at the time, for all we really knew…he was actually she.
Boba granted free-reign with the largely unexplained back-story. He is the spaghetti westerner of the galaxy, the ‘Man with No Name.’ Was the charismatic Fett an alias? Why was “No disintegrations!” emphasized? Did he just talk back to Lord Vader and live!? He’s got the biggest thermal detonators in the galaxy!
I could envision anything I so liked while playing in the literal and proverbial sandbox. I was hardly anchored whatsoever to the films continuity, so my imagination was endless. What more could an artistically budding 80‘s child ask for? Here’s Boba Fett. Here’s your empty canvass. Welcome to a galaxy far, far away.

Max O. Miller

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The macabre Max Odysseus Miller is a savant of popular culture and lifelong consumer of nerd Kool-Aid. As the self-titled Simon Cowell of science-fiction and fantasy, he may be infamously critical (and suffer from severe Twilight Tourette's), but does enjoy long walks through the comic shop and candlelit cult horror movies. When the outside world grows grim, he retires to his dimly-lit Batcave of remedial memorabilia and retro gaming to make another failed attempt at genetically reviving the velociraptor. Taking his vows at the altar of all things Harrison Ford, he also dedicates sacrifices to his unhealthy obsession with the Joker, his unnatural crush on Harley Quinn, and his bizarre affinity for the second-tier Spider-Man villain, Mysterio. When he’s not daydreaming of living in Middle-Earth, you can most often find him swaddled within copious amounts of literature and sketchbooks or practicing the ancient art of blogging at The Nerd With Nothing Better To Do. Complete with zombie contingency plan, his base of operations resides somewhere just outside of the Romero-beloved Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.