BREAKFAST WITH ASSHOLES 7: GEORGE LUCAS
Caviare, lobster, champagne, more caviare, more champagne and gold flaked crackers
I drive up to the Skywalker Ranch and George Lucas leaps out of a bush and into the road. ‘Wa-Hey!’ he yells, grabbing me and dancing around the car. ‘Woo hoo!’ After about two hours of exuberance which involves tree climbing, dancing about and games of tag, we head up to Chewbacca HQ where breakfast is served.
We start with large bowls of Coco pops and beluga caviare, with Dom Perignon champagne. As we tuck in, I ask Lucas about the Disney deal.
What does he plan to do with the money?
Charity. I’m going to put it all into an education programme, but before that I’ve put it all in the swimming pool. All $4 billion. We’ll got for a swim after breakfast. More lobster.
Thank you very much. But I haven’t brought a costume.
Doesn’t matter. We’ll go skinny dipping. (high pitched maniacal laughter).
Of course, I’d love to go swimming in $4 billion but the idea of going skinny dipping with George Lucas is now in my mind cinema and I want it to turn off, so I ask:
And what about now? What are you hoping to do?
Future projects and stuff? I’m glad you asked. Finally I am free of the stifling responsibility of the most awe inspiring universe a man has ever created out of his own bearded oddly necked head. Now, I’m free to make those personal, experimental, small films I’ve always wanted to make.
All that commercial trash has just tied me down for so long. Of course, it was iconic. In fact, the word iconic didn’t exist before 1977 and the first Star Wars film. Coincidence? I very much think not.
The thing about Star Wars is it affected a generation so deeply and yet for my the artist genius who created it if you will, it became a burden. In a way I’m kind of like God. God created a universe – the universe as some scientists and religious leaders termed it – and I created a universe, the Star Wars TM universe. But I got bored of it. I imagine God has as well. And now I’m ready to do new things. Loads of things. Too many to mention.
Later we’re towelling off and getting into clean clothes after our money swim when George makes an excuse and leaves. He is pacing up and down in the garden and I can here him talking on the phone. His voice is strained and desperate.
‘I’ve made a terrible mistake, Mr. Mouse,’ he says. ‘Please I want it back. I want my baby. Please!’