Growing up, I was surrounded by Star Wars fans, but I never connected with their lightsaber duels or their mantra "May the Force be with you." I couldn't understand how these elements would be effective in an interstellar war that should rely primarily on starships. I also struggled to see what made Star Wars unique compared to other sci-fi franchises. Marvel's Avengers offered more straightforward superpowers, the building of an otherworldly atmosphere in Dune was nothing short of impressive, and movies like Independence Day delivered more thrilling war scenes. Until I watched the prequel trilogy, Star Wars seemed like just another story about mysterious future agents called Jedi—figures who remained enigmatic and difficult to relate to. I felt like a Muggle from the Harry Potter universe when I was among Star Wars fans, as everything they discussed felt foreign and distant. Yet ironically, it was an apathetic bystander like me who became eager to discover everything about Star Wars, beginning with Andor.
"What makes Andor so good?" I've asked myself this question repeatedly over the past week. After searching through numerous online reviews, I found plenty of praise but few perspectives from non-Star Wars fans like me. Many Star Wars enthusiasts have claimed that Andor captured the true essence of Star Wars and has steered the IP back to its proper course. This puzzled me since, as noted earlier, the show lacked lightsabers and the Force—two quintessential Star Wars elements. How could it represent the true Star Wars then? From my understanding of Andor, I sensed they were referring to something along the lines of freedom, the central theme of the show's two seasons. This realization led me to watch the Star Wars prequel trilogy.
After doing so, I realized that lightsabers and the Force were never the most compelling aspects of the Star Wars universe.
Take the planet Naboo from Star Wars: Episode I – The Phantom Menace for instance—I could talk about it for hours. Its surface was inhabited by the Amidala people, who resembled humans on Earth. Beneath the waters dwelt the Gungans, whose clumsy appearance masked their true bravery and kindness. Their frequent pauses in speech might strike others as an inability for deep thought, but this actually reflected their strong reliance on intuition. The more you learned about the Gungans, the more you'd notice their similarities to real humans. In real life, we often meet people who rely heavily on intuition. These individuals are sensitive-minded and quick-speaking. They're filled with abundant emotions and energy, and while they might occasionally appear reckless, this doesn't mean they make poor decisions. The Gungans' wisdom was built on emotional intelligence, and though the rational Amidala people initially looked down on the emotional Gungans, they overcame this misunderstanding after the Trade Federation's invasion, successfully forming an alliance to resist the invasion.
Beyond Naboo, Star Wars had many stories about different alien species which turned from enemies to friends, and those who judged others by their appearances invariably paid the price for their hasty assumptions.
The droids in Star Wars, such as R2-D2 and C-3PO, were fascinating, too. While they weren't designed with human-like thinking abilities, the films portrayed them as souls housed in mechanical shells. I had several theories about their design. For instance, I suspected that the droids' use of audible language instead of silent electronic signals was a deliberate choice by human designers to prevent them from conspiring in secret. R2-D2, an engineering droid, communicated in a melodic Morse code—concise and efficient, with pitch variations expressing emotions. C-3PO, a protocol droid fluent in human languages, served as R2-D2's interpreter, which explained their frequent pairing in the films. Though I initially dismissed C-3PO as merely a comic relief—since many characters seemed to understand R2-D2 directly—I later recognized his crucial role in helping audiences connect with the droids. Beyond his Chinese servant-like appearance, C-3PO's interactions with other droids consistently focused on teaching them how to better serve humans.
Naboo and the droids revealed something far deeper. Though they were two different entities, they shared a crucial characteristic: the power of forming diverse connections. Each strove to build relationships with those unlike themselves while preserving their own identity. At their core, they all sought friendship.
The desire for emotional connection is often misunderstood. While both cooperation and control stem from this desire, they represent fundamentally different approaches. This distinction inspired George Lucas to create characters like the Imperial ruling class and the Sith in Star Wars. The prequel trilogy powerfully illustrated this through Anakin Skywalker's tragic fall from grace. His transformation from a noble knight to a brutal executioner stemmed from his desperate desire to protect those he loved—a fatal confusion of love with possession. This culminated in his heartbreaking confrontation with Obi-Wan Kenobi in Star Wars: Episode III – Revenge of the Sith. As Anakin attacked with lethal intent, Obi-Wan defended himself while pleading for his former student to see reason. When Obi-Wan finally shed tears, it revealed a deeper truth: he wept not from being emotionally hurt, but from the realization that he could no longer love Anakin as before. Unlike Anakin's disappointment from failing to satisfy his possessive nature, Obi-Wan's grief came from losing the ability to help his friend grow—a profound difference that highlighted their divergent understanding of love.
Even without lightsabers and the Force, all the concepts and stories discussed above could stand on their own. In Star Wars: Episode IV – A New Hope, George Lucas offered a detailed explanation of the Force through Obi-Wan. Through my understanding of Andor and the prequel trilogy, I've come to realize that George's vision of the Force transcended mere telekinetic power—it represented a principle of universal interconnectedness. This principle is manifested in our real world, from the microscopic bonds between atoms to the vast networks of symbiosis. When Jedi Knights persistently spoke of the Force's presence, they weren't boasting about their ability to choke enemies or summon lightsabers the way Thor summoned his hammer in the Marvel universe. Rather, they were expressing their attunement to this principle of universal interconnectedness and their belief that faith in it led to positive outcomes. The utterance of the mantra "May the Force be with you" as a blessing wasn't a wish for someone to gain supernatural powers—it was a hope that others would recognize this fundamental connection just as they did.
What happened when one sensed the rules of the Force? Consider the scene from Rogue One: A Star Wars Story where Chirrut Îmwe crossed a battlefield under heavy fire, chanting: "I'm one with the Force, and the Force is with me." He emerged unscathed and completed his mission. What made this scene remarkable was that Chirrut was blind—though his hearing was exceptional, he couldn't possibly detect threats from hundreds of meters away as someone with sight could. He hadn't mastered Jedi Force techniques either. The only explanation was that in that moment, he truly became one with the Force's principles, fully embracing the interconnectedness between individuals and the universe. It wasn't divine intervention answering his prayer—his actions simply became part of the Force's natural flow.
Many Star Wars fans have criticized the later spin-offs for losing their way—a criticism that largely stemmed from misunderstanding George Lucas's vision of the Force. They'd misinterpreted the philosophy of universal harmony as merely a power reserved for individuals with special talents. In these interpretations, the Force became nothing more than a supernatural ability rather than a universal value system, and mastering it devolved into a power struggle instead of a practice of faith. When the protagonists simply gained privileges through special powers, viewers naturally struggled to connect with the story.
Star Wars was never intended to be a game of power politics. The "wars" in Star Wars were wars against everything that didn't align with the value of freedom.
Back to Andor, a distinctive feature of the series was that the main plot unfolded independently of the protagonist's actions and desires. If the protagonist weren't Andor but any other ordinary person, the story's key turning points, climax, and conclusion would remain largely unchanged—only minor details would differ. This explained why many fans interpreted the revolutionary actions in Andor as expressions of collective will rather than acts of individual heroism.
When analyzing how relationships evolved within each faction, a clear pattern emerged: the revolutionary faction progressed from mutual suspicion to mutual trust, while the Imperial faction took the opposite route.
In Season Two, there was a fascinating code phrase: "I have friends everywhere." Initially, I thought it was just a catchy, appealing line, but now I believe it'll be remembered in film history for its profound meaning. The creator of this phrase was the most tragic character in Andor, Luthen Rael. As the chief architect of the rebel army and mastermind of anti-Imperial espionage operations, he faced deep contempt from other revolutionary leaders who despised his methods of espionage. When he sensed his impending doom, he instructed Andor to use this phrase to contact Mon Mothma—a principled Imperial senator with vast connections who'd been conducting covert missions under Luthen's guidance. The irony was striking: Luthen, who crafted the phrase, had no friends; Andor, who carried it, deliberately shunned friendship; while Mon, who received it, seemed to have friends in every corner of the Empire. Yet paradoxically, Luthen's spies forged bonds with him that ran deeper than mere friendship; Andor evolved from a self-serving survivor into the rebellion's pivotal hero; whereas Mon, despite her extensive connections, remained fundamentally alone.
Throughout the story, these three characters evolved from mutual suspicion to trust, with each decision to trust becoming a pivotal moment in the plot. From another perspective, the word "friends" in the code phrase functioned for them as the Force did for others (though they'd either never heard of the Force or believed in it). For Star Wars fans who understood the Force's principles, Andor portrayed a world that followed these principles without explicitly wielding the Force. In this world, the bonds between rebels became the power that brought down the Empire.
This was why, after watching Andor Season Two, when we revisited Rogue One: A Star Wars Story, Darth Vader's display of lightsabers and Force powers against the rebels no longer seemed impressive—instead, his abilities appeared almost trivial. We've learned that the true Force never resided in individual power, but in a shared faith that united people in a collective purpose.
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