The 100 Greatest Star Wars Movie Moments Of All Time

The opening moments of "Star Wars" serve as a study in contrasts. When the logo first appears, John Williams' iconic, towering score practically blasts you backward in your seat. But seconds later, the legendary opening crawl makes you lean forward.

This riff on traditional opening text, slanted and disappearing toward a vanishing point at the top of the screen, is a microcosm of what George Lucas is doing with this movie, remixing elements of pulpy "Flash Gordon" serials into something operatic and new. You immediately want — you need — to know everything you can about this world Lucas has created.

Once the stage is set, two ships fly past overhead, firing laser blasts at each other. The first ship seems tiny, but the second one is enormous, instantly and clearly laying out the stakes of the action: The big guy is chasing the little guy, and the little guy is helplessly outgunned. Everything about this is designed to immerse you in the story, including the decision to place the camera underneath these ships, so the audience is looking up at them instead of observing them from above or from afar like some sort of omniscient being. This is cinema, folks. Mel Brooks famously parodied this moment with a much longer ship in "Spaceballs" years later, but that doesn't diminish the power Lucas's film still has. I still find myself almost reflexively ducking down a little when watching this scene, because you can almost feel the weight of the Imperial ship above your head as it flies overhead. It's evident from the jump that this movie will be working with absolutely massive scopes, far bigger than the rinky-dink, small-scale science fiction of the previous decades. And all of this has happened before you've even seen a single character on screen. (Ben Pearson)

For decades, some corners of "Star Wars" fandom have liked to complain about just how "whiny" Luke Skywalker is in the first movie. But isn't that obnoxious, petulant attitude a vital aspect of the character's journey? Luke begins these films as a self-absorbed teenager who would much rather be out blasting womp rats with his friends than doing household chores (#relatable), and nowhere is that more evident than the moment where he's at absolute peak whine.

The way Mark Hamill delivers the line "But I was going into Toshi Station to pick up some power converters!" is grating, childish, and yes, annoying as f***. It's the "Star Wars" equivalent of nails on a chalkboard. And yet.

There's an art to the perfect whine. A musicality to it. An ineffable quality which, over time, can elevate an audience's reaction from, "Wow, I really wish that guy would shut his pie hole," to a more begrudging, "This might actually be the most annoying line reading I've ever heard, but it's perfect for this character in this moment. Respect." Hamill tapped into something universal with that delivery, and I suspect that a big part of the reason there's been so much hatred levied against it over the years is that, for a brief second, Luke Skywalker showed us a reflection of the worst parts of ourselves ... and we didn't like what we saw. But without the whine, without this moment showing Luke as a boy, his growth into a man, a Jedi, and eventually a legend wouldn't have been nearly as effective. (Ben Pearson)

There are a few lines from the "Star Wars" saga that literally everyone knows. It's like once it was released in 1977, the culture simply downloaded half a dozen of them into every new person, whether they've seen "Star Wars" or not. "Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope" is one of those iconic lines. Just reading it out loud is enough to give a person sufficiently invested in "Star Wars" the chills.

It was so iconic, Carrie Fisher would perform the scene years later on stage at conventions. And when Fisher passed away, her daughter, Billie Lourd, came out on stage at Star Wars Celebration to honor her mother and this was the moment she decided emulate and recite, word for word.

What is so powerful about this moment? It's a desperate plea for help delivered with such elegant care. That's at the core of it. This is the urgent thing that spurs Luke into action, that makes him excited again, that sends him on his adventure. This is the moment Luke takes his first turn toward being a hero.

That's why it's so powerful when Rian Johnson utilized this moment again in "The Last Jedi." R2-D2 is looking for a way to bring Luke back into the fight, and this move worked once. Why wouldn't it again? It breaks our heart to see it in this context, especially when Luke calls it out at as a cheap move. But it stirs something in him once again. Why? Because even after 40-plus years, it's still that powerful. (Bryan Young)

Obi-Wan Kenobi (Alec Guinness) introduced audiences to the idea of the Force, but we first get a demonstration of its power courtesy of Darth Vader when he chokes the insolent Admiral Motti (Richard LeParmentier) with only a thought and gesture. Doing so, Vader shows his anger isn't limited to his enemies and that his devotion to the dark side trumps petty political concerns. Both actors sell the moment; James Earl Jones makes Vader's voice quiet and yet more intense than his previous booming anger, while LaParmentier convincingly gasps for air.

The scene made such a strong impression that the "Force Choke" became Vader's go-to move in subsequent media, especially when dealing with incompetent or insubordinate underlings. In fact, it's easy to forget there's a whole 90 seconds worth of build-up to the moment — the Death Star's leadership is discussing how to handle the matter of the station's stolen blueprints. All of their lines are textbook cases of George Lucas' trademark stale, overwritten dialogue. 

Luckily, though, "Star Wars" was filmed in England, so minor roles were filled out with local thespians. I'm not sure the actors are convinced by the lines they're reciting, but somehow it doesn't matter. Peter Cushing, expending not even his full charisma, makes his lines sing, while the others lay it on thick to leave an impression. In the process, each character in the scene has a distinct personality: Tarkin is unblinking and quietly commanding — it is he who stops Vader's throttling — Motti is arrogant, and General Tagge (Don Anderson) is careful, if not paranoid. Even so, they all exist in Darth Vader's shadow. (Devin Meenan)

Han Solo, hot pilot and cool adventurer, might be one of the most charismatic characters in the history of cinema. We all wanted to be like him. And George Lucas gives us a character so cool he introduces himself in the original "Star Wars" by pointing at himself and simply saying his name. But he's also a total badass.

It's with a bit of shock that we watch him get threatened by the Rodian bounty hunter Greedo and instead of negotiating further with him, he simply shoots the poor guy. For 20 years, the moment was left without Greedo trying to fire, and some consider this to be the definitive version of this moment that shows us that Han Solo can as cold-blooded as he is an arrogant bumbler.

For those who have grown up with "Star Wars" in the post-1997 world, they're vaguely aware of the different versions and resulting controversy. In the 1997 release, Greedo fires first, and in subsequent releases George Lucas tweaked it so they shot at about the same time. Regardless of which version is your favorite, the moment that makes Han firing at Greedo one of the coolest, coldest moments in the "Star Wars" saga is him coolly flipping a credit chip to Wuher, the bartender and casually apologizing for the mess. We see a sangfroid in Han Solo here that belies the guy who put all of his skill points in charisma and dexterity, but not much else. He can kill a guy in a bar (provoked or otherwise) and we're still going to root for him.

This is the glimmer of a confident Han Solo who would volunteer to lead the mission on the Endor moon without even telling his friends knowing it was likely a one way trip. (Bryan Young)

Han Solo is not normally one to get flustered. He's the guy that wants you to think he's got it all under control. Obviously Harrison Ford understood this better than anyone — he's playing the character, after all — and he knew exactly how (and when) to subvert that. It's inspired a handful of genuinely funny moments throughout the saga, but Han's failed attempt at improv in "Star Wars" might be the most underrated. 

Han's already out of his element when he joins Luke on his mission to rescue Princess Leia. While they make it to the Death Star's detention level easily enough, they do eventually attract some unwanted attention from the Imperials. Han tries to stall (and by that, I mean impersonate a stormtrooper) as best he can, even adopting a noobish tone that only sells this scene further. "Everything's perfectly all right now," he tells Imperial HQ. "We're all fine here now, thank you. How are you?"

Ford's habit of ad-libbing on set is well-established. While he never outright confirmed whether this scene in particular was improvised, it sure feels natural. Ford himself seems ruffled in the exchange: he doesn't know what he's going to say any more than Han does, and he's visibly mortified by what's coming out of his mouth. But that's absolutely what makes this brief moment so brilliant. Han is introduced as this impossibly-cool, impenetrable dude that can charm his way out of anything. He's not a paper pusher! He's the guy that shoots from the hip — and that is exactly what he ends up doing. 

When he does finally handle it in his own way, we all know they're pretty much doomed — but we also know he'll find another way out of this mess. He always does. (Lyvie Scott)

"Did you see it?"

"See what," I asked, only half-interested and eating my Fruit Roll-Ups.

"The scene in 'Star Wars' where the Stormtrooper hits his head on the top of the set?"

"Shut up."

"No, really!"

A long time ago, in a playground far, far away, rumors about movies would spread like wildfire. This was before DVD and streaming, where you couldn't watch a movie in high-definition, frame-by-frame, and single out all the little bloopers. A lot of us didn't have VCRs, and if we did, we didn't necessarily own "Star Wars."

So a moment like this — where an extra in the movie bonks their head on the top of a door, a blink-and-you'll-miss-it bit of nonsense that, really, has no place in a film as self-serious as the original "Star Wars" — sounded like a fake. It was like the rumor that in "King Kong vs. Godzilla" a different monsters wins depending on what country you saw it in. (That wasn't true.)

But it was enticing. We had to check. So we rented "Star Wars," and by god, there it was. One of the silliest things we'd ever seen, and they left it in the movie. Maybe it they never noticed. More likely, they did notice, but figured that there was no way audiences would ever be so obsessed that they'd go through this weird sci-fi throwback over and over and over again.

It was a moment that humanized the film. George Lucas made mistakes too. What's more, it was such a cherished little gaffe that even when Lucas "fixed" most of the "mistakes" in the special editions, he didn't just leave the head bonk in. He called attention to it by adding a cute little sound effect.

He must have liked it too. (William Bibbiani)

Regardless of when you first encounter the scene where Obi-Wan Kenobi sacrifices his life to let Luke Skywalker escape on the Death Star, it's a potent, emotional moment that crescendos into something awe-inspiring and amazing.

For those who encounter this scene first, we get the impression there's a history between Vader and Kenobi and the end of their story is tragic. We feel the weight even if we aren't sure of the details. It's well-designed and forces a gasp from an unsuspecting audience. We share Vader's disbelief that Obi-Wan simply vanishes.

But what makes this moment even more incredible is the added gravitas when you combine all of the history from the prequels, "The Clone Wars," and even the "Obi-Wan Kenobi" television series. This moment goes from something that implies a lot of history to a moment that carries all of its grim weight. But Obi-Wan Kenobi's sacrifice isn't a sad moment. It's triumphant, keeping in line with George Lucas's intentions of showing audiences of his new mythology that a selfless sacrifice is nothing to cry about. The power we gain by helping others, even at the cost of our own life, is incalculable. George Lucas was creating a myth, and Obi-Wan Kenobi's death is a symbol for that idea. We need to work to better the future of those younger than us, to make their sunrise better, even if we'll never get to see it ourselves.

Literally and figuratively, Obi-Wan's selfless sacrifice opens a pathway to immortality. He will never be forgotten, and his example and his lessons will shine on and echo for the Luke beyond his own life. (Bryan Young)

Imagine what would have happened if Han didn't risk his own life to venture out into the harsh tundra of Hoth to save Luke at the beginning of "The Empire Strikes Back." The fate of the galaxy would have been dramatically altered if Luke had succumbed to his wounds suffered during the Wampa attack, freezing to death, alone and abandoned. When Han straddles his tauntaun moments before the shield doors are closed at Echo Base and yells "Then I'll see you in Hell!," it's a spur of the moment act of rebellion against the Rebel Alliance that gets to the heart of who Han is as a character. 

Han is a friend first and a soldier second. He doesn't have the patience for procedure or protocol when Luke's life is at stake. Han's last minute rescue aboard the Millennium Falcon at the end of "A New Hope" may be more indelible, but it's the moment when he rides off into the unknown past the first marker on Hoth where Han truly becomes a hero. 

It's also fun to speculate why Han is making a biblical reference that would only make sense to someone from Earth, our home planet that doesn't exist in official canon (although a planet called Urthha is referenced in the Expanded Universe). Does Han believe that there's a Hell? If he does, he's not the only one. Luke's prickly Uncle Owen does, too. Or at least he mentions it first in "A New Hope" when he threatens that his wide-eyed nephew "better have those units in the south range repaired by midday, or there'll be hell to pay."

Understandably, it's Han who gets the glory in an act of defiance that gives Harrison Ford the chance to be a cowboy and a Captain all at the same time. (Drew Tinnin)

There are many reasons that "The Empire Strikes Back" is held up as one of the greatest movie sequels of all time, but its core strength is intimacy. You can't just go bigger than "Star Wars" — how do you top a weapon that can destroy an entire planet? The next chapter needs to go deeper, to get more personal, and every element of "Empire" does exactly that. That quality is obvious in the simmering romance between Han and Leia and in Luke's turmoil over the sacrifices required to become a Jedi. But the intimacy even extends to the movie's action sequences, starting with its unforgettable first-act set piece, the Battle of Hoth.

Our first glimpse of the All Terrain Armored Transports isn't a breathtaking vista like the original film's opening shot of the Star Destroyer. Instead, director Irvin Kershner shows us the walkers far off on the snowy horizon, first as tiny distant dots and then as grainy images in a Rebel trooper's macrobinoculars. We're seeing the AT-ATs as we would if we were there, more aware of the dreadful stomping of their feet and the looming shape of them than we are of how they work or what they can do. We can only be sure of one thing: they're coming.

When we do get a good look at the walkers (brought to life by the exquisite craftsmanship of Dennis Muren, Phil Tippett, and their stop-motion team), that dread pays off spectacularly. Their wholly unreal yet completely believable movements blur the line between beast and droid, representing the cold force of the Empire as something both disturbingly unfeeling and startlingly alive. Where the Death Star was existentially terrifying, the AT-ATs conjure the more visceral, primal threat of something that's coming to kill you personally. (Andrew Ihla)

The way this scene comes barging into "The Empire Strikes Back" is a thing of beauty. We're thrown directly into the chaos of a chase already in progress, accompanied by the booming horns of "The Imperial March" that kick off the track known as "The Asteroid Field," one of John Willams' best score compositions in the entire "Star Wars" saga.

This entire scene is classic Han Solo. First, the smuggler uses a tricky maneuver to get two Star Destroyers uncomfortably close. Then, he gets reasonably frustrated when C-3PO won't shut up. On top of that, he has to hurriedly fix the hyperdrive when his exit strategy sputters out with an industrial whir. But the best thing about thing about this sequence is the asteroid field itself, because if there's one thing Han Solo is good at, it's turning accidents into opportunities.

As Han tries to fix the hyperdrive, the ship is rattled, but our hero knows it's not by a laser blast. Yes, Han Solo has so much experience with being shot at that he can tell when the ship has been hit by an asteroid. This seems like a problem, Han turns it into a solution, and he doesn't hesitate to veer the Millennium Falcon straight into the asteroid field. A mix of visual effects wizardry and perfect score composition creates danger, suspense, and excitement all at once. Of course, we get one of Han's all-time classic lines, too, as C-3PO explains how they're statistically unlikely to survive, Han cockily says, "Never tell me the odds." 

After starting with a menacing boom, we end with a more peaceful though somewhat ominous calm as the Falcon flies a loop into a larger asteroid cavern, with the score providing the perfect accent to the ship's swoop maneuver. Like I said, it's a thing of beauty. (Ethan Anderton)

Filmmakers and studios love to tout their latest sequel as being "the 'Empire Strikes Back' of the series," but what does that even mean? Director Irvin Kershner's entry in the Skywalker Saga never descends into nihilism, yet it acknowledges keeping the forces of evil at bay is easier said than done. It also delves deeply into its characters psychologically, exploring how the potential for darkness exists within us all.

When Luke enters the cave on Dagobah in the film, he's yet to learn the truth about his connection to Darth Vader. He simply sees Vader as the terrible embodiment of everything he stands against, which is why it's such a shock when our hero picks up his lightsaber against a figment of his enemy and slices their head off ... only for Vader's helmet to explode, revealing Luke's own dead face staring back at him. For the first time, our hero's faith in himself is truly shaken. Is he really as righteous as he believed? Or is the line between good and bad not as clearly defined as he thought?

Therein lies the key to what it means to be "the 'Empire Strikes Back' of the series." The film proved "Star Wars" could tackle more mature themes and a darker, meditative tone without losing the sheer exuberance that defined "A New Hope." The rich, nuanced philosophical lesson at the heart of Luke's cave vision — that what appears to be the quicker and easier solution for solving your problems, like a show of violence, could lead to something worse — embodies this notion as well as any other scene in the film. It also set the stage for future "Star Wars" projects, like "Andor," to take these ideas a step further, painting a galaxy far, far away in even richer shades of grey. (Sandy Schaefer)

I first heard "do or do not, there is no try" from the mouth of Yoda in "The Empire Strikes Back," but that was far from the last time. This line has been echoed on everything from t-shirts to internet memes and inspired an eponymous TV Trope (defined as "a tough love comment or speech from the mentor to get the hero to stop holding back").

Yoda has many quotable lines, but I'd argue this one is the most so. Why? Its context and purpose extend outside the realm of "Star Wars" or even fiction. No, these eight words contain true wisdom. No one will ever struggle to use the Force in real life, but we all have obstacles that we write off as insurmountable. If you believe you're destined for defeat, then of course you'll make only a halfhearted effort. Merely trying is materially no different than failing before you begin — and when you do fail, you have the excuse of "I tried" to fall back on. If you take that approach, you might as well just not do the task at all.

Plenty of writers have tried to recapture this line's spirit. Take "The Matrix" — another Joseph Campbell-ian hero's journey like "Star Wars" — where Morpheus instructs Neo: "Don't think you are, know you are," which carries the same message about how you can't believe in yourself only halfway. Talking from my personal experience, one of my high school teachers used "there is no try" as a motivational reminder to his own students like Yoda does to Luke. Hi, Mr. Bowen! (Devin Meenan)

Much has been made of "The Empire Strikes Back": its characterizations, special effects, set pieces, look, and so on. One of its ingenious aspects is its structure, as it's the first "Star Wars" film to adopt a trick or two from film noir (see also: "Attack of the Clones"). Where the original "Star Wars" film was a Joseph Campbell-meets-JRR Tolkien pulp space adventure, "Empire" muddies the waters considerably in a number of ways.

One of those ways involves the subplot of Han Solo, Princess Leia, and the splinter Millennium Falcon crew's flight to the supposedly neutral territory of Cloud City on Bespin playing out much like a '70s conspiracy thriller. After being relentlessly pursued for scene after scene since the fall of the Rebel base on Hoth, Han and Leia have made one daring, narrow escape after another, and believe they've found a safe haven. Yet Han's old Sabacc buddy Lando Calrissian leads them right into the jaws of Darth Vader and the Empire, and to add insult to injury, this trap is sprung with a large amount of civility, Vader expecting his captives to join him for a meal rather than blasting them into space.

Han at first refuses in the most swashbuckling way possible, but to no avail; he's no match for Vader and the Force. As Boba Fett and multiple stormtroopers surround the now trapped Falcon crew, the white Art Deco-style sets for Cloud City by Norman Reynolds lend the moment a certain World War II resonance, with Vader and company standing in for the Nazis. This makes the scene even more chilling, lending a historical frisson to the ignoble defeat of our intrepid heroes. (Bill Bria)

The duel at Cloud City is not just a memorable, immaculately crafted lightsaber battle between two characters — it is a sequence that defines the relationship between two people who chose to embark on divergent paths. The older, power-drunk Darth Vader regards a young Luke Skywalker (Mark Hamill) as a misguided child yet to understand the true nature of things. And this is true to an extent, as Luke learns a horrible truth about his parentage during this fateful fight. What makes this sequence so special boils down to a merging of style and substance: Vader and Luke engage in a mad dance with their weapons in a space drenched mostly in shadows, with neon hues lighting them to enhance the emotional impact of the scene.

The way in which the two choose to engage in this battle reveals a lot about who they are, and how they view the world. Luke, eager to defeat Vader, swishes his saber with quick dexterity, while the latter fights languidly, perhaps because he underestimates Luke's determination to do right by the world. Vader is caught off guard by Luke's fiery defiance and tries to lure him to the dark side, and this back and forth is perhaps the most crucial aspect of the film, as it paints the characters in nuanced hues that feel more meaningful with added context down the line. Vader also displays contrarian impulses, as he tells Luke that he acknowledges his potential, but cuts off his hand unceremoniously at the same time. (Debopriyaa Dutta)

It's always been infuriating how little attention the "Star Wars" films pay to Leia's latent ability to use the Force, with "The Empire Strikes Back" (which, yup, is still the best "Star Wars" film) being the exception. When Luke, down a hand and perilously hanging from an antenna at the bottom of Cloud City, reaches out and contacts his sister through the Force, it's Leia's turn to do the rescuing this time. It's a powerful, understated sequence, considering it features one hell of a reveal about Leia's untapped powers while alluding to the truth about her own dark heritage.

Sadly, the other films in the Skywalker Saga never followed through on this. Oh sure, "Return of the Jedi" had Luke assure Leia the Force flows just as strongly through her as it does the rest of their family. Then there was what you could describe as Leia's Mary Poppins maneuver during "The Last Jedi," which was far more satisfying and reasonable than its detractors would have you believe. It's also impossible not to wonder what might've been, had Carrie Fisher not died prior to production on "The Rise of Skywalker" (although my cynical side suspects J.J. Abrams would've still found a way to muck up Leia's storyline).

In the end, Leia using the Force to locate Luke in "The Empire Strikes Back" is all we got (so far as Fisher's run playing the character is concerned), which only makes this moment all the more special. Years later, the franchise would eventually introduce other female protagonists with Force sensitivity, but Leia was the first to break through that glass ceiling. Luke may have gotten most of the glory, but his sister was just as important as he was in the grand scheme of things. (Sandy Schaefer)

There's nothing that "Star Wars" or its fans love more than a good underdog story ... but the saga and fervor surrounding Boba Fett might take that to a whole other level. In a quintessential example of turning absolutely nothing into an inextricable part of franchise lore, fans went completely gaga over little more than an action figure draped in some admittedly nifty costume design. Such admirers would point to the bounty hunter's introduction in "The Empire Strikes Back" and Darth Vader's plea for "No disintegrations" as the start of their love affair with the Mandalorian, but I'd much rather focus on his incredibly anticlimactic "death" (as far as the original trilogy is concerned, at least) by the Sarlacc in Tatooine's Great Pit of Carkoon.

Contrary to the impotent cries of countless fanboys these days, there are no sacred cows in this franchise. Yoda's first appearance didn't resemble the wise and supremely powerful Jedi Master Luke expected, but an annoying little Muppet who raided his supplies and beat R2D2 over the head with a stick. The great Anakin Skywalker was introduced as a maladjusted, 10-year-old wunderkind prone to yelling things like "Yippee!" And Boba Fett, the mysterious foe who made quite the impact standing in the background looking cool, was doomed to an eternity of being ingested by the Sarlacc after Han Solo accidentally hits him in the jetpack and sends him careening down the pit.

Sure, subsequent media wouldn't be able to resist resurrecting the villain and continuing his story, but real ones know that he was never the badass the fandom built him up to be. The man, the myth, and the legend Boba Fett went out like a chump. And that's how we like it. (Jeremy Mathai)

It's hard to consider now, but there was a time when it looked like "Star Wars" was just going to be a trilogy of movies and not much else. Commercialism and demand changed all of that, giving way to the expanded universe in the years after "Return of the Jedi" put a button on things. The expansion of the universe often means coloring in the lines where a story already exists. This can be tricky as one doesn't want to disrupt what is already there. But George Lucas and Lawrence Kasdan, in their infinite (perhaps accidental) wisdom, built in a little speech for Obi-Wan Kenobi that has allowed creators to operate in the margins for decades now. Heck, it even allowed Lucas to make the prequels.

After Yoda dies, Luke gets a little visit from Obi-Wan, in which it's explained to him that his father, Anakin Skywalker, only died "from a certain point of view." When Anakin became Vader, the man Obi-Wan knew and trained was dead, in a manner of speaking. This retroactively brilliant piece of writing ended up paving the way for so much storytelling in this galaxy that it's honestly difficult to picture the franchise without it. Not only is this a very impactful moment in the movie itself, but it has allowed so much else we have enjoyed to exist in the first place. And, not for nothing, it does make sense. "Many of the truths that we cling to depend greatly on our own point of view." Kenobi with the wisdom bomb. (Ryan Scott)

What is radical about "Return of the Jedi" is that it makes Darth Vader into a human being for the first time. When he and Luke come face-to-face, reunited after their duel in the previous movie, they call each other "father" and "son" — Luke does so first, having to coax his father out of the dark side.

Take note of the blocking in the scene, which conveys the pair's dynamic in perfect unison with their words. Everyone rightfully remembers James Earl Jones' vocal work as Vader, but in "Return of the Jedi," David Prowse's physical acting is the key ingredient. 

There's the way Vader stops in his tracks and aggressively points the lightsaber hilt in his hands to Luke, all because the latter to dared call him "Anakin." The way Luke looks up in slight fear when Vader activates that Lightsaber and admires his son's handiwork. How Vader turns his back as Luke's pleas start to crack his armor. 

Through those cracks, we see emotion from the previously ice-cold Vader. "Obi-Wan once thought as you do," Vader declares, finally expressing regret about his old master's fate. Then the crowning denouement: "It is too late for me, Son." Luke responds "Then my father is truly dead," before he's escorted away, but the scene wisely doesn't end there. Vader walks alone, silently pondering those words. The climax of the film is about Vader's choice as much as Luke's, so we need to see him both from Luke's own perception and divorced from it. In other words, as a whole, human character. (Devin Meenan)

Luke Skywalker has his father, Darth Vader, the legendary Sith Lord, on the ropes. He's given into his anger, channeled his rage, and sliced dad's lightsaber hand right off. The duel is over. The next step is execution. But that's not what happens. In one of the most powerful moments of the saga, Luke throws his lightsaber away. He will not give in to the hatred, the fear that made his father into a brutal machine powered by the dark side. "You've failed, your highness," Luke tells his audience of one, the insidious Emperor Palpatine, who was hoping to see this young man become his new right hand. "I am a Jedi, like my father before me," Luke says.

And Palpatine responds, in an icy croak that sends chills down the spine: "So be it, Jedi."

It's a radical moment for any kind of action hero, and Hamill — an underrated actor then as well as now — sells it with conviction. We believe that this farmboy from Tatooine has made this transformation into a warrior powerful enough to discard his very weapon. And Ian McDiarmid, never better as Palpatine as he is in this very moment, spits a gallon of acid with only a few words. Luke has chosen the righteous path. One of peace. Of love. Of forgiveness instead of revenge. And now, he will suffer for it. Greatly. Because when "Star Wars" is at its best, it's a story about how making the right choice is often the most painful one, and how choosing the path of decency is going to get you hit by a freight train of Sith lightning.

But making that choice defines us. And Luke makes it. (Jacob Hall)

When Anakin Skywalker's story is complete, it feels rather obvious that George Lucas was heading toward a story like "Faust." A good man has made a deal with the devil and spent many years heading down that path, but even at the last minute finds good left in him. He reneges on his deal and is able to find redemption.

What more important or powerful message is there? No matter how far down a path of evil you go, there is always a chance to do the right thing. Luke taps into that goodness that turned Vader dark in the first place, manipulated and twisted by the "Star Wars" equivalent of the devil Anakin made that Faustian bargain with.

The reason this moment sings so much is because of the evil we've seen Vader do, and the humanity we're able to read in his mask. The shot choice between Luke's torture and back to Vader, then over to Palpatine, then back to Vader. Without him speaking a single word, we understand the thought progression of everything going on in that helmet. It's pure cinematic filmmaking, the kind of stuff Hitchcock used to rave about. And then, in one lunging move, Vader picks up the ultimate evil in the galaxy and tosses him into the reactor. He's saved his son, but not himself.

Luke holding him there (a moment Lucas echoed in "The Phantom Menace" with Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan), showing compassion to his enemy of a father, proves that love wins the day. Tying Anakin's fate to Qui-Gon's, it is no wonder that he's able to find the path to immortality and appear as he did as a young man on Endor.

This moment is the entire point of George Lucas's "Star Wars" saga and it's nothing short of stunning. (Bryan Young)

The big space battle around, and ultimately inside, the second Death Star is one of the most impressive action sequences in the original trilogy. If it feels a smidge quaint by modern standards, that's not the fault of director Richard Marquand, who puts every penny on the screen and pushes the envelope of what was possible in 1983.

So why, whenever I think about this utterly massive sequence, do I always transfix on the destruction of the Millennium Falcon's radar dish as it narrowly escapes the exploding (fully operational) battle station? Why do I forget about the bombastic moments seen elsewhere and just remember Lando Calrissian — borrowing the Falcon from his old rival Han Solo — scraping the top of the ship against the roof of a tunnel and taking that dish straight off?

I think it's because it's the kind of little detail that lends life to what could've been a generic action scene. It's a reminder that the heroes of "Return of the Jedi" are as flawed as you or I, and that Lando's navigation of the Death Star interior isn't effortless. It's hard! It's really damn hard! And a pilot as skilled as Lando freakin' Calrissian barely gets out alive. And the most famous ship in the galaxy is permanently altered because of it! (The Falcon has a completely different radar dish in the sequel trilogy.)

In the "Star Wars" saga, the heroes are real people. They have baggage. They mess up. They lose lightsaber duels. They get frozen in carbonite. They learn. They grow. They rebuild. And yes, they skim the top of their best frenemy's beloved ship against the roof the Death Star tunnel because fighting space fascists is hard. (Jacob Hall)

A lot of people don't really like the podrace in "The Phantom Menace." I have to confess that I was one of those people once, back when I was first getting into "Star Wars." It's just a little ... boring, at first glance. More than that, it takes up so much of the film's runtime. I've never been interested in racing, but even I knew that a good race is typically short and to-the-point.

My dad, however, loves a race of any kind — be it NASCAR, Formula 1, or drag — and it was he who taught me to appreciate the sequence that I once found so banal.

There's a lot more going on in the podrace than meets the eye. It's a crucial moment for our new hero, slave boy Anakin Skywalker, as he essentially wins his freedom in this race. Of course, he has no idea that so much is riding on his success: Qui-Gon Jinn (Liam Neeson) stakes a bet with slave owner Watto for his freedom, all without Anakin knowing. It's an effective exercise in irony, but it also establishes just how much faith Qui-Gon has in the kid. 

The podrace is another great way for Lucas to double down on the role of fate in "The Phantom Menace." So much of Anakin's future seems determined by other forces, and that becomes even more apparent as the prequels go on. Given his strength in the Force, though, you have to wonder if he actually was controlling his own destiny. So much goes wrong for Anakin during the race, but he still overcomes the odds and goes on to win. Say what you will about Lucas and his grasp on subtlety, but "The Phantom Menace" might be one of his best-written sequences on this point alone. (Lyvie Scott)

Young Anakin Skywalker sits in the cockpit of a Naboo starfighter. The kid is a natural pilot, able to enter the final battle against the Trade Federation without missing a step. Even his bumbling proves effective, like when he decides to spin the craft because it's a "good trick." And if you were in a theater in 1999, you probably remember the universal tightening of skin, the reddening of faces, in collective shame as lil' Annie declares, "Now this is a podracing!" Even though, no, it's not podracing. Not at all. This is the movie we were so excited about?

Time has been...weird to "The Phantom Menace." Decades later, it's not a better movie, but its sins feel less egregious and its oddities more special in a homogenized blockbuster landscape. George Lucas followed his muse and straight-up DGAF about what you, or any "Star Wars" fan, wanted. One respects the nerve, if not always the execution. And perhaps because of that, moments like "Now this is podracing!" have been embraced, both by young fans and old curmudgeons alike. I'd be lying to you if I said I didn't quote this line often. I'll make a pretty good sandwich and declare, "Now this is podracing!" I'll unclog the vacuum and announce to my dog, "Now this is podracing!" A traffic jam will end, and I'll mutter to myself, "Now this is podracing!"

Because like it or not, this shameful moment has entered the pop culture lexicon, and the embarrassment has dripped off of it like gold melting in a furnace. Jake Lloyd's performance? Not great. "The Phantom Menace" overall? A grand misfire. But this is podracing, baby. And we've learned to roll with it. It's a good trick. (Jacob Hall)

Is there any single event in the Skywalker Saga that doomed the "Star Wars" galaxy like the death of Qui-Gon Jinn (Liam Neeson)? The scene is dramatic enough in the moment, with Obi-Wan Kenobi (Ewan McGregor) screaming in despair, unable to immediately rush to his mentor's side when he's struck down by Darth Maul (Ray Park, et al) during the climax of "The Phantom Menace." Yet, it's only after we come to realize just how monumental Qui-Gon's demise truly is.

Qui-Gon, as we see throughout the film, had a much more progressive and liberal outlook on the Jedi Code than his fellow Jedi Masters. As much as Obi-Wan meant well in fulfilling his mentor's dying wish and training Anakin Skywalker in the ways of the Force, Qui-Gon was the teacher Anakin needed and would've been far better suited to guiding him away from the dark side. Qui-Gon was also the glue holding the Jedi Council together. As later films and series would reveal, his death was the final straw for Count Dooku, who, disillusioned by the council's complicity in the corruption of the Republic and lost in his grief, embraced the darkness by joining the Sith and setting the Clone Wars into motion.

George Lucas' prequel trilogy remains deeply flawed (especially "The Phantom Menace"), yet Lucasfilm's animated "Star Wars" shows have brought new dimensions to its story and characters, Qui-Gon included. Lucas' films have also been rightly re-evaluated for their political prescience and the way they illustrate just how easily seemingly stable democracies can collapse into totalitarianism if not proactively maintained. In that respect, Qui-Gon's has come to carry a great deal more weight. Liberty dies with "thunderous applause," as Padmé observed in "Revenge of the Sith," but its decline begins with one less person to fight for it. (Sandy Schaefer)

One of the most infamous moments in "Star Wars" history demands a second look. Anakin Skywalker stands on a balcony with Padme Amidala, the love of his life and the future mother of his children. He says: "I don't like sand. It's coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere. Not like here. Here everything is soft and smooth."

It's a groaner of a line, one that a skilled and versatile actor would struggle to bring to life. (And let's just be polite and say Hayden Christensen has a ... specific range.) For all of his technical virtuoso, George Lucas can't write a proper romance scene to save his life. This moment, this line, has entered the pantheon of bad movie moments. It's on the Mount Rushmore of clunky scenes.

But what if the intention of the scene, of the dialogue, makes total thematic and emotional sense? Anakin survived as a slave on Tatooine, barely getting by with a single mother. It was a painful life, a brutal one, an existence where he struggled to find dignity as the property of a bloated bug alien who treated him as something less than human. And now, in this moment, he is a promising Jedi apprentice. He is with the woman he loves. And the sands of that planet, the sands that define his pain, are nowhere to be found.

Conceptually, it's beautiful. It's evocative. It makes total sense. In execution, it's about as awkward and unintentionally hilarious as moviemaking gets. Therein lies the fascination of the prequel trilogy: a collection of brilliant ideas, filmed in the most baffling, alien way possible. I kind of love it? (Jacob Hall)

Anakin (Hayden Christensen) slaughtering the Tusken Raiders after the death of his mother Shmi marks a palpable shift in his moral stance as a person and as a Jedi. We're all aware of the "I killed them. I killed them all" viral meme, but this particular confession perfectly encapsulates the tragic, heartbreaking circumstances that contribute to Anakin's eventual fall. There's a bristling vulnerability in the way Anakin confesses his darkest truths to Padmé (Natalie Portman), vocalizing his hatred for the Sand People who took his mother away from him. There's more to this moment than unsavory moral tussles: Anakin also feels helpless, and blames Obi-Wan (Ewan McGregor) for the tragedy right before his confession, expressing his desire to be so powerful to bring back the dead.

This is especially disheartening when framed within the context of what's to come: the fear of losing Padmé sets him on a dark path, and her eventual death seals his fate forever. What he did to the Tuskens is only a glimpse of the brand of brutality he will be known for years later as Darth Vader, a man who kills indiscriminately and without remorse. Here, Anakin struggles with his emotions, which spiral out of his control — soon, he won't even be able to do that, scarred and unrecognizable as he becomes from without and within. The embers of terrible, desperate ambition are ignited right here, engulfing him completely during the fateful duel at Mustafar. (Debopriyaa Dutta)

Samuel L. Jackson is one of the baddest motherf*ckers around, but when he joined the cast of "The Phantom Menace" and only got to sit around in a meeting room, it felt like a waste. So when "Attack of the Clones" came out and Mace Windu shows up and finally ignites his purple lightsaber, it finally paid off Jackson's casting and gave us one of the all-time great "Star Wars" lines: "This party is over."

It's an effective moment because of the context. Anakin, Obi-Wan, and Padmé are about to be executed, and when the Master Jedi shows up, it brings with it a sigh of relief. And he is not alone. He arrives with a whole army of Jedi — the first time we properly see the might of the Jedi Order as feared monk warriors — and it is a moment of triumph. Jackson's uber-serious delivery of the line, and more importantly, the fact that he calls it a party while holding a lightsaber to the throat of Jango Fett while his young son watches, is not just the coldest thing Windu does, but also the closest we got to Samuel L. Jackson being Samuel L. Jackson in the prequel trilogy. With a single line, we understand Windu is not just a stern Jedi who cares for tradition more than a child's psychological well-being, but also a ruthless warrior who not five minutes later decapitates a dude with a samurai movie move. He's a ruthless warrior that nevertheless likes to crack a joke on occasion. When Samuel L. Jackson says the party is over, the party is over. (Rafael Motamayor)

Putting aside the constant memeification of this moment, there's a reason this scene is so incredible. To this point, we've only seen hints and innuendos about Palpatine's manipulations of Anakin Skywalker. As Anakin sits down beside his friend and mentor, Palpatine tells him a fable that includes everything he wants to hear. He dresses it up as something the Jedi are keeping from him, and makes him believe that power to change the future he's seen in his nightmares is attainable. 

At Star Wars Celebration Orlando in 2017, Ian McDiarmid (Palpatine himself) cited this scene as his favorite of the series. "Of all of the deliciously evil scenes — and there are many — the one that stands out for me is in "Revenge of the Sith.' And that's when we all get to go to the opera...The reason I liked that so much is because I'm a theater actor too, but more than that Hayden [Christensen] and I could really sit down and, from my point of view anyway, have an evil chat. And I think it's one of the longest dialogue scenes in the whole of the saga."

And it feels evil. Like you're being lured into something wrong. The scene feels unlike anything we've seen in "Star Wars", visually and tonally. This fantastical opera puts us in a higher rung of society than we've experienced. The sound of the opera is low and ominous, giving us an aural quality that makes us uneasy. And Palpatine spins an amazing yarn about the path to immortality. McDiarmid was never better in the Palpatine persona and Hayden Christensen captured Anakin's thirst for forbidden knowledge to perfection. This scene is a foundational cornerstone in the creation of Darth Vader and that's part of why we love it.

The birth of our favorite villain starts here. (Bryan Young)

The "Star Wars" prequels don't have nearly as many iconic moments the original trilogy, but they do have plenty of campy bits so over-the-top that they've landed among the most memorable scenes in the entire saga. Such is the case with Chancellor Palpatine's transformation into the disfigured Emperor Palpatine, where he shows his true colors.

Mace Windu has just engaged in a lightsaber battle with Palpatine, having realized that the chancellor has been clouding the vision of the Jedi Council with the dark side. When it look like Windu has gotten the upper hand, Anakin Skywalker shows up, and Palpatine puts on his best "old man in distress" face, which is helped by the fact that the Force lightning that Windu deflected with his lightsaber has warped Palpatine's deceptively kind face into the Emperor's monstrous, pale expression that we know. 

There are actually two brilliant bits from Ian McDiarmid that lead into this particular moment, and honestly, these quick beats made me appreciate this scene in a new way. First, as Palpatine pleads to Windu, "I'm too weak. Don't kill me, please," he momentarily glances at Anakin to confirm the Jedi is buying his little act. Then, after Anakin intervenes and cuts off Windu's arm, just before Palpatine begins to electrocute him, the Emperor briefly savors his successful ruse with a devious grin (seen above) before executing his most hammy villainous moment. That's when we get the infamous "Unlimited power!" line, and while it's a far cry from the chilling Emperor Palpatine of "Return of the Jedi," it's kind of the perfect, bombastic rise for a villain who has been hiding for years, finally able to unleash the true evil within. (Ethan Anderton)

Suffice it to say, the irony has never been lost on Starwoids that the best moment between Anakin (Hayden Christensen) and Padmé (Natalie Portman) in perhaps the entire prequel trilogy is one where they're in completely different places and not talking. Be that as it may, the scene in "Revenge of the Sith" where Anakin silently ruminates on whether or not to interfere in Mace Windu's (Samuel L. Jackson) attempt to arrest Palpatine (Ian McDiarmid) makes for powerful, understated storytelling.

Using nothing more than John Williams' haunting, moaning score and some good old-fashioned Kuleshov Effect-style editing, this scene fully drives home just how tormented Anakin is by the thought of losing Padmé, while also knowing he risks almost definitely losing himself by embracing the dark side and becoming Palpatine's pupil. George Lucas' prequel trilogy can be guilty of touching on the traumatic events that shaped a younger Anakin emotionally before swiftly moving on, but "Revenge of the Sith" really pauses to ensure you feel the weight on his shoulders. It makes him easier to sympathize with him, realizing just how much Anakin struggled to make the choice that would forever dominate his destiny for the worse.

In a broader sense, this scene speaks to one of the tenets of "Star Wars" going back to 1977: Rarely is the right choice the one that is easier, ie. requires less of us. Such is the seductive power of the dark side, which (falsely) promises you can act to fulfill your own self-serving interests without paying a hefty price. To fully grasp the tragedy of Anakin's life, you need a scene like this one, wherein we see just how much our so-called Chosen One wants to do the right thing ... before he ultimately chooses not to. (Sandy Schaefer)

Anakin's fall to the dark side remains one of the most tragic things in all of "Star Wars," a moment audiences were told to prepare for since 1977. But seeing it actually play out is something else entirely. From seeing the clone troopers march on the Jedi Temple like it's a Nazi rally to the devastating montage of the Great Jedi Purge, this is the franchise at its most operatic. And yet, that was nothing compared to the sight of Anakin Skywalker, war hero and legendary Jedi General in the Grand Army of the Republic, just walking up to a group of younglings and igniting his lightsaber with murderous intent.

It is the darkest action someone has taken in "Star Wars" since Tarkin ordered an entire planet destroyed, and it works wonderfully. Anakin is silent during the scene, with the only dialogue coming from one of the younglings, a boy who comes to Anakin in fear, asking for help. Worse yet, the boy is literally the only person in the movie to refer to Anakin as "Master," the title he coveted yet didn't get from the council. That a boy would call him that, the highest honor and rank for a Jedi, right before Anakin ignites his lightsaber, is heartbreaking — but not as much as the boy shuffling back in reaction to the lightsaber ignition, a sign of surprise, confusion, and sudden horror. George Lucas cuts right before the violence occurs, but it is too late. We know what happens, and there is no coming back from this. (Rafael Motamayor)

Our first introduction to Rey shows her in an alien-looking outfit that covers her whole face. We watch as she silently scavenges the wreckage of a crashed starship, as she makes her way through an empty desert, as she takes off her mask and drinks the remaining sips of water from her flask. Not a word is spoken here, and that only further evokes the strong sense of loneliness about her. We haven't been told yet that Rey has no real friends or family yet, that she's just barely able to feed herself on a daily basis, but we can already tell. 

For about four minutes straight, the fast-paced "The Force Awakens" slows down to give us a wonderful self-contained short story that tells us everything we need about Rey: she's tough, she's patient, and she's resourceful. In other words, she's wasting her potential by sticking around Jakku. Much like Luke and Anakin long before her, we know her journey can't truly start until she leaves this barren planet. 

This desert home of hers draws plenty of parallels to Luke Skywalker in particular, but at least Luke had a loving aunt and uncle, and enough free time to whine about picking up some power converters. With this introduction to Rey's precarious, quiet life, the movie expertly establishes the protagonist of this trilogy: she's a lot like the heroes that came before here, but plenty different enough to promise a fresh start. This was our first look at the character we'd be following for three whole movies, and man did it make for a great first impression. (Michael Boyle)

Few things are as intrinsically "Star Wars" as heroes with a knack for getting in way over their heads, bumbling along on their way to saving the day. So it is with BB-8 and Finn (John Boyega) in "The Force Awakens." The pair start the film on opposing sides before fate throws them together, with Finn keen to keep his dark past a secret from their newfound acquaintance Rey (Daisy Ridley). With a little help from BB-8, he manages to do just that (for a while, anyway), which the pair amusingly celebrate by giving one another an impromptu thumbs up.

At least, we all assume that's BB-8's version of giving a thumbs-up (unless our bestest rolly boy has a much wryer sense of humor than we realized).

Like other "Star Wars" memes, gifs of BB-8's thumbs-up have taken on a life of their own thanks to the internet. They've come to embody the universal experience of people coming together to cooperate as they scramble to keep their heads above the water, just like BB-8 and Finn during this moment. This author can personally testify that replying with a custom-made emoji of BB-8 and his makeshift "thumb" on Slack became a short-hand at their previous workplace for "I appreciate you, but I'm currently suffocating under an avalanche of work and this is all I have the time/energy/ability to reply with right now."

"The Force Awakens" plays things safe, yet there's just something so relatable about the next generation of "Star Wars" heroes it introduced. Indeed, who among us living in the year 2023 can't relate on a spiritual level to a droid who's just trying to do their job under extremely stressful circumstances while being as polite as possible? (Sandy Schaefer)

After years without a new "Star Wars" film, we finally got to see if Leia Organa and Han Solo got the happily ever after that was implied by the end of "Return of the Jedi." They didn't, and it broke so many hearts, including my own. It also made sense. Fireworks are one thing, and that can certainly lead to love, but these two people were very strong-willed and hard-headed. It never really seemed like they'd be together forever. It made their first meet-up in years in "The Force Awakens" so bittersweet. As much as many of us wished to see them joyfully working together in the Resistance, the depth of the looks on their faces — and how that mirrored the actors' shared history — when they met after losing their son to the Dark Side was more of a gut punch than anything else in the franchise. 

The entire scene defines their lives, or at least what I imagine their lives to have been. They see each other and start to speak about their feelings when they're interrupted by C-3PO, then Chewbacca (though he's less intrusive). It's the perfect metaphor for their characters. They want to be together and care deeply for each other, but things keep getting in their way. However you think their romance should have worked out, life happens, and it isn't always kind. Still, the looks in their eyes tell the whole love story. (Jenna Busch-Henderson)

"Star Wars: The Force Awakens" is one of the funniest films in the series, especially when it leans into the Han Solo of it all. The old smuggler is at his curmudgeonly best in the film, even (especially?) when it's clear that the decades have made him a very different man.

Late in the film, Han learns that Finn's plan to sneak into Starkiller Base is flawed at best, leading to some incredible comedic acting from Harrison Ford. When Finn suggests they just use the Force to solve their problems, Han snarls, "That's not how the Force works!"

It's a hilarious moment right when the film needs a comedic beat, and Ford beautifully summons that classic exasperation that so often erupts from beneath Han Solo's cool, collected demeanor. But it's not just Ford's pitch-perfect delivery that makes the moment sing. It's the fact that the audience has known Han for decades, and we know that the Han of the original trilogy would've scoffed at the very idea of the Force. And here he is, lecturing this kid about the finer points of space mysticism. What a remarkable balancing act: This is still the Han Solo we know and love from the original trilogy, but it's also a Han Solo who has spent the past 30 years realizing he was wrong to ever doubt the Force and he's since become familiar and comfortable with its power. We laugh because the line is good and because Ford is funny, but also because it's embedded directly into profound character change. We laugh because Han Solo has grown up, and we love that for him. (Jacob Hall)

The Millennium Falcon reveal. Han Solo and Chewbacca's first appearance. Kylo Ren's true parentage. When it comes to pulling off carefully-crafted moments of nostalgia and dramatic surprises, it's hard to argue with the choice to hire director J.J. Abrams for "The Force Awakens." The master of the mystery box used every tool at his disposal to create the "Star Wars" movie he seemingly always wanted to make since first becoming a director, but perhaps his crowning moment came much later during the climax of the legacy sequel. You can probably picture it now: a snowy forest, a fallen Finn, and a terribly wounded Kylo Ren summoning up his Dark Side abilities one last time to call Luke Skywalker's lightsaber to him. It ever-so-slightly begins to move, Kylo strains even more, and suddenly it flies right towards the screen ... and past Ben Solo to land in the grasp of Rey.

As the heir apparent to a new trilogy of "Star Wars" movies, this is the defining moment when Rey came into her own as a fully-fledged member of the franchise. After hours of breathless anticipation and various hints of her Force sensitivity, one only needs to look back at the near-ubiquitous applause that most theater audiences spontaneously broke into in order to confirm just how effective this moment really was (and continues to be). Finally, a new generation of fans — ones who grew up attached to such larger-than-life figures from the originals but only from a distance — could see themselves reflected in another young and relatable hero. Of all the stand-up-and-cheer surprises in the entire series, this ranks near the top. (Jeremy Mathai)

Out of all the feature films to come out of Lucasfilm during the Disney era, "Rogue One" is not only the best of the bunch on a purely cinematic level, it also features one of the most emotional moments in all of "Star Wars" history. Jyn Erso has been estranged from her father Galen (Mads Mikkelson) ever since he was recruited as an Imperial scientist to help develop the Death Star, the most feared weapon in the galaxy. When they're finally reunited, it's bittersweet — they can't even have an actual embrace together. As the planet killer he helped design bears down on them on the desert moon of Jedha, Jyn breaks down at the sight of her father's heartfelt pre-recorded message that finally redeems him in her eyes. 

Not only is it some of the finer acting in a franchise that's sometimes maligned for wooden performances, Galen's farewell has a profound impact that ripples across the galaxy. In one heartbreaking speech, the critical flaw that Galen back-doored into the Death Star is exposed, which inevitably leads to Luke's triumphant moment at the end of "A New Hope." In a series that, at its core, is about the relationships between fathers and sons, Jyn and Galen are only allowed this one moment together as father and daughter. Through tears, Galen even calls Jyn by her childhood nickname "Stardust," giving her the crucial codename to steal the plans to the Death Star. 

The way Galen's final message to Jyn works both as a crucial connection within "Star Wars" canon and as a real moment of catharsis is genuinely astounding. If you want to add even more impact to this scene, read James Luceno's prequel, "Catalyst: A Rogue One Novel." (Drew Tinnin)

When "Rogue One" came out, much was made of how it corrected the biggest "plot hole" in the original "Star Wars," i.e. the first Death Star had a weak spot. As is usually the case when people fixate on supposed plot holes, however, this reading very much missed the forest for the trees. The film's greatest contribution to the franchise was the way it reframed Luke Skywalker's legendary trench run, showing how it was only possible thanks to the selfless acts and sacrifices of others (many of whom would be all but forgotten by the citizens of the "Star Wars" galaxy).

To that same point, "Rogue One" fairly gets flak for its distracting acts of fan service and CGI necromancy, but of all the Disney-era "Star Wars" films, it's the one that goes the furthest in making its setting and characters feel real and grounded. It's why Jyn (Felicity Jones) and Cassian's (Diego Luna) final moments on the Scarif beach hit so hard. There's no deus ex machina to save them from being vaporized by the Death Star, nor is there a contrived sense of closure to the way their story ends. All the two can do is hug one another and ponder what might've been — had their companions lived and, especially, had they been able to explore a relationship with one another — as they await their imminent doom.

The beach scene ranks among the most visually striking "Star Wars" moments ever brought to the screen, yet it's maybe the closest the property has recently come to recapturing that feeling of bittersweetness and uncertainty from the end of "The Empire Strikes Back." Thanks to "Andor," the climax of "Rogue One" has only taken on greater dimensions, as has its reframing of Luke's first triumph. (Sandy Schaefer)

The opening sequence of Rian Johnson's "The Last Jedi" is a thrilling encapsulation of what makes Johnson such a diverse and riveting filmmaker. At first, Poe Dameron is engaging in some delightfully offbeat banter with the increasingly frustrated General Hugs (sorry — Hux) in order to buy some more time for the Resistance to evacuate D'Qar. A few moments later, an exciting full-scale battle has broken out, which quickly turns into a harrowing conflict as the Resistance finds they need to utilize their few remaining StarFortress bombers to quell the forces of the First Order.

Thus begins a moment that harkens back to the pulp WWII roots of "Star Wars" and its space battles, as the last bomber and its pilot, Paige Tico, find themselves the Resistance's only hope. As Paige struggles to overcome a series of mishaps that include falling from a great height, losing consciousness and then narrowly catching the bomb control device before it floats off into space, Johnson makes the moment into a mini-cliffhanger serial combined with a pulse-pounding war film.

What the scene does beyond that is help establish the character of Paige's sister, Rose, as someone who understands the same thing Paige does when she makes her noble sacrifice: that victory comes from those fighting with their hearts out of love and a desire to see others thrive. It also establishes one of Johnson's larger themes for the film, the idea that in these wars within the stars, there exist numerous heroes who make an incalculable difference, not just those with the last name Skywalker or Solo. The old cycles cannot truly end unless and until the contributions from less infamous individuals are properly acknowledged; in a very pointed fashion, Paige Tico is the first hero of "The Last Jedi" to make a difference. (Bill Bria)

Leia's abilities in all things concerning the Force have always been a little up in the air. Though the original trilogy never outright confirmed she was Force-sensitive, she's as much the daughter of Anakin Skywalker as Luke is his son. Her powers were explored plenty in non-canonical Legends, which saw her become a Jedi in her own right. But it wasn't until "The Last Jedi" that fans really got to see Leia put her skills to good use — and in a way that no one could deny her power ever again.

It's fitting that one of the most contested scenes in "Star Wars" history would reside in one of the most divisive "Star Wars" movies. Whether you love it or hate it, it finally allows Leia to flex a muscle that most die-hards always knew she had. Even so, I don't think anyone expected it to happen the way it did. When Leia's ship is attacked by the First Order and she's sucked into the cold vacuum of space, most assumed it was the end for her character. Moments of painful silence felt like an eternity. As a pared-down version of John Williams' iconic "Princess Leia" theme played, it felt like a goodbye. But then, Leia opens her eyes. She reaches out towards what remains of her vessel, and somehow manages to bend space to her will. 

No, it's probably not all that plausible. But does that really matter? Isn't it enough to know that Leia saves herself, just as she always has? Even if she's never really used the Force until this moment — a possibility later negated in "The Rise of Skywalker" — Leia can still feel it. Leia's using it in a way no one ever has. And that's almost enough to make up for decades of underestimation. (Lyvie Scott)

"The Last Jedi" has filmmaking verve we haven't seen before or since in a "Star Wars" film, resulting in some breathtaking blockbuster spectacle. Take Admiral Holdo launching a light-speed, last-ditch attack on the First Order flagship Supremacy. In the half-minute of build-up, director Rian Johnson and editor Bob Ducsay cross-cut to various parties on the Star Destroyer, using the power of editing to amp up the tension.

General Hux and the other First Order bridge officers panic as they realize what's about to happen. Captain Phasma's Stormtroopers count down to the execution of Finn and Rose. Rey and Kylo Ren remain locked in a telekinetic tug of war over the Skywalker lightsaber; the sword is pulled apart by the two halves of the Force just as Holdo's ship makes impact.

The Star Destroyers trailing the Supremacy are blasted apart. Johnson uses underbelly shots of the ships, which in past "Star Wars" movies have communicated the might of the Imperial Fleet. Heck, the opening of the original "Star Wars" opens on such a shot. Here, that power is flipped on its head.

The only colors on the screen are the black void of space and the white light of broken ships. The best decision of all is the silence when the "Holdo Maneuver" hits, as if these objects are moving too quickly for the sound to catch up. The sound is gone for only five seconds but its absence is felt. Flickering moments of movie magic like the Holdo Maneuver are what "Star Wars" was made for. (Devin Meenan)

Finn left the First Order, and promptly fell right into the hands of the First Order. His primary interest wasn't helping the Resistance, but in saving his own ass and Rey's as well. At the beginning of "The Last Jedi," we're shown how scared Finn is of the First Order and he's clearly more afraid of them than he is anything else. He just wants to get away. That's why his embracing of his new rebel identity is so satisfying.

It's implied through the course of the first two sequel films that Finn was mistreated by the First Order, and Captain Phasma had a personal hand in all of that. So when he is finally able to confront her and save Rose Tico — who he as come to care about — it feels cathartic. It's triumphant when Finn is thought to be defeated and rises up on that platform. As a viewer, you can feel that swell of satisfaction when he cracks Captain Phasma across the helmet with that baton. We want to cheer for him, if only because it's been impressed upon us how abused he was in the First Order.

But he still hasn't committed to a cause.

When Phasma coldly tells him that he's always been scum and he responds to take his identity for himself once and for all, we realize that Finn has grown exponentially since the start of his journey away from the First Order. He's carving an identity for himself and actually turning his back on the nihilism he had before and joining a cause that matters.

It feels so good in the narrative. Rian Johnson crafted incredible moment after incredible moment in the context of this particular series of climaxes in "The Last Jedi," and Finn finally learning fits thematically and narratively in the best way. (Bryan Young)

There are a lot of things that are just a damn shame about "The Rise of Skywalker," but Leia's presence in her story's final chapter being pieced together from scraps of archive footage might be its biggest bummer. It's not the movie's fault that we lost Carrie Fisher before she could finish her work on the sequel trilogy, but maybe the better tribute would've been to build a script around Leia's absence rather than around a Leia simulacrum. For one thing, "The Last Jedi" had given her a lovely swan song, albeit unintentionally.

Rian Johnson clearly knew the most powerful card in his hand was reuniting Luke and Leia for the first time in the sequel trilogy. It's a card he plays at exactly the right moment, with Luke appearing to Leia at her lowest, when she believes the Resistance (and thus the Rebellion she helped ignite in her youth) has truly fallen. When he walks through that door, the weight of the entire saga is palpable.

John Williams, as always, plays a key role in the emotion of the scene, moving through quotes from the "Force Theme," "Luke and Leia," and "Han Solo and the Princess." But it's the bittersweet joy of watching Hamill and Fisher look into each other's eyes that makes the moment sing. When Leia says that her son is gone, Luke's reply — "No one is ever really gone" — means so many different things. It's about the fall of Ben Solo, it's about the memory of Han, it's about Luke's own knowledge that he's about to sacrifice himself to reignite the spark. But for those of us sitting in a theater in 2017, a year after Carrie Fisher's death, that line took on a power no one could have predicted. (Andrew Ihla)

Though "The Last Jedi" is full of subversive storytelling that interrogates the mythology of the franchise while reinforcing the sense of magic from the original films, Rian Johnson's skill at identifying what makes "Star Wars" so special is at its most clear in the final shot of the film — Broom Boy looking to the stars in awe. It is the culmination of the entire film, a scene that pays off Luke Skywalker's story of embracing his legacy and what he means for the galaxy, his sacrifice inspiring hope in everyone — including this random kid on a tiny planet. More importantly, the scene encapsulates Rian Johnson's democratizing of the Force, showing that heroes can come from any background.

It is not just that the kid — who we met earlier as Rose and Finn escaped from a space casino — is wearing a secret Resistance ring Rose gave him, a trinket that gives the little kid hope as he's trapped in a remote planet working for a cruel master. No, what makes this an emotionally damaging scene is that the kid is sent to clean the stables (in the middle of the night, mind you) and he pulls a broom using the Force, before wielding it like a lightsaber and looking at the stars like he's a Jedi. It is a scene that represents every kid who has ever played with a broom, a toy, or even a stick and pictured themselves being a mighty warrior, a scene that's not a tease for the next film or an easter egg, but a simple yet effective homage to the effect "Star Wars" has had on children all over the world. (Rafael Motamayor)

How should one describe Han and Chewbacca's relationship? Is it a bromance? Is Chewie the equivalent of Han's pet (although vice versa would make more sense, seeing as Wookiees live way longer than humans)? You could even argue there's more than a whiff of interspecies romance to the duo — though one suspects the corporate powers that be are too cowardly to ever make that canon.

Whichever way you choose to interpret it, "Solo" dares to address the walking carpet in the room directly by having the younger Chewie (Joonas Suotamo) join Han (Alden Ehrenreich) uninvited in the shower after their escape from the muddy trenches on Mimban. It's played for laughs, of course, those it does get the wheels spinning in your head as you ponder how, exactly, Han and his fuzzball companion idled away their hours alone on the Millennium Falcon. "Solo" raises similar questions about Lando (Donald Glover) and his droid colleague L3-37 (Phoebe Waller-Bridge), to the degree that hard-to-pin-down relationships between humans and non-humans are something of a theme in the film.

Much of the origin story stuff in "Solo" is tediously by the book, but it's mischievous, winking moments like this that breathe life into the film and leave you wondering just how many of these scenes were leftovers from Phil Lord and Chris Miller's tenure as directors. Roll your eyes all you want at the scene where Han receives his fabled surname; "Solo" made it official that Han and Chewie are, at the bare minimum, shower buddies, and for that this rollicking space adventure has my respect. (Sandy Schaefer)

As recounted elsewhere in this list: once upon a time, Han Solo shot Greedo first, and then some very awful tinkering from George Lucas made him shoot in self-defense. A scene that once defined Han Solo as a true scoundrel and bastard, someone who would truly need to find himself redeemed by future friends and allies, was undone. "Solo: A Star Wars Story" is often too reliant on callbacks and winking nods, but the moment that once again solidifies its title character as a truly dangerous sun of a b*tch can't help but work. It's "Star Wars" at its most self-referential, but also its most satisfying.

In the film's climax, Han confronts his mentor turned enemy, Tobias Beckett, who has helped this young kid from Corellia grow up a bit too quickly. And a bit too viciously. Before Beckett can even raise his blaster, Han shoots him down. He's not going to wait, and he's not going to play the victim. He's going to shoot first. As Beckett notes as he dies, Han made the smart move.

It's a harrowing moment of gritty violence in a movie that could've used more like it, and effectively completes the arc that transforms young Han into the guy we meet in that Mos Eisley cantina. And perhaps more importantly, it suggests where Lucasfilm stands on the whole "Han shot first" matter. George Lucas may feel one way, but the company that bears his name and the fans who love his work feel very differently. (Jacob Hall)

How does one of the worst "Star Wars" moments of all time become one of the best? "The Rise of Skywalker" has no time to explain the baffling return of the very, very dead Emperor Palpatine, relegating this key plot point to a Fortnite video game event (seriously) and then just hand-waving it away in the actual film. "Somehow, Palpatine returned," Oscar Isaac's Resistance leader Poe Dameron tells his comrades, his handsome mug crestfallen. That utterly and totally exhausted look on his face does double the work: Isaac seemingly has as little time for this nonsense as the frustrated fans do.

But the internet came to the rescue. As people routinely mocked this plot point, and specifically, this line of dialogue combined with Poe's expression, this moment took on a life of its own. Soon enough, "Somehow, Palpatine returned" became a meme of incredible power, one that allowed fans to express their frustration with shoddy cinematic storytelling, but also one that could double for any situation where something inexplicable and painfully annoying has happened and all you can do is close your eyes and try to vanish for just a second or two.

"The Rise of Skywalker" is a mess of a film, one that does a grand disservice to "Star Wars" as a whole. But the fandom took one of its most cowardly moments — a retreat back to a familiar villain because doing something, anything, new was too much for its makers — and made it their own. Somehow, Palpatine returned, and he brought with him a movie as bad as "The Rise of Skywalker," but a meme so good that it kind of evens out. (Jacob Hall)

Leia Organa's legacy spans the entire saga — her presence alone is a ray of hope for everyone in the Resistance. After Carrie Fisher passed away in 2016, Lucasfilm decided to not recast the role and instead utilize unused archival footage to tell a story that aimed to honor both Leia and Fisher's legacy at the same time. While such a decision often runs the inherent risk of coming off as distasteful, Leia's final scene in "The Rise of Skywalker" feels appropriately sincere, as it carries a genuine emotional impact that is neither manufactured nor forced.

Moments before this big moment, Leia is seen alone in contemplation, feeling the acute loss of Han's death and reckoning with the truth of Ben's (Adam Driver) turn to the dark side. In a final attempt to redeem her son, she reaches out to him while he and Rey (Daisy Ridley) are engaged in a duel, allowing Rey to fatally wound Ben with his own lightsaber. This is the moment when Kylo Ren gradually sees the light — but the world loses the brightest light to ever shine when Leia breathes her last. Brave and resilient till the end, Leia shaped countless lives and helped the Resistance meet its goals over the years, which intensifies the loss felt by those who knew and respected her. In a film peppered with many unforgettable scenes, this heartbreaking moment in "The Rise of Skywalker" feels truly special, like the end of an era. (Debopriyaa Dutta)

The most major theme running throughout the "Star Wars" films — and certainly the Sequel Trilogy — is that of revolution, of a galaxy (not so subtly standing in for our real world) attempting to break the shackles of oppression and tradition in order to make a progressive new future for itself.

"The Rise of Skywalker" has a lot on its plate, but while it may have some issues as a film on its own, as a franchise capper it hits the high notes well. The moment that feels the most well-earned in the entire film is when the Resistance finds that they've undertaken one scrappy Hail Mary-maneuver too many, their fight against the literal world-ending forces of a resurrected Emperor Palpatine a doomed one. Until, that is, Lando's mission to attempt to rally as many unprofessional yet passionate fighters to join the Resistance in a last-ditch effort to quell the Dark Side once and for all is shown to be successful, with ship after ship showing up to join the fight in the nick of time.

Just as the Original Trilogy was responding to the Vietnam/Nixon era and the Prequels referred to George W. Bush's post-9/11 foreign policies, the Sequels are Trump-era films through and through, suffused with the theme of watching a once-proud society fall victim to the rise of fascism, hatred, and war yet again. The arrival of the Galaxy ships in this scene speaks most touchingly to this theme, showing that resistance against bigotry and oppression is not futile. "It's not a navy, sir, it's just...people," one First Order officer observes, incredulous that regular folks have finally taken a stand. "There are more of us," says Lando, wisely. "Star Wars" makes you believe that Lando's absolutely right. (Bill Bria)