I know with the economy still being sluggish, you are worried about your investments. And it’s true, some of your funds have underperformed in the last fiscal year. But speaking as your accountant, you still have what we in the field call a “metric shit-ton” of money. Seriously, if you wanted to build a life-sized Death Star and blow up Mars, you could do that. Last weekend, you bought a Mexican. You used the change in your cupholder to buy a first class ticket to Bali on whim. So believe me, you are not hurting for money.
You are especially not hurting for money so much that you need to do something stupid, like say, re-release the worst Star Wars movie you ever made in a gimmicky and pointless format. We’ve been over this before, George. The more you remind people that this movie exists, the less money you’re going to make later. When this movie came out, remember how I told you that “Jar Jar Binks probably cost you that island you’ve been looking at?” And how a couple weeks later, that prick Steve Jobs bought it? He may be dead now, but the point stands. Please don’t do something stupid.
Have you ever thought about maybe remaking Howard the Duck? Because that would be a better use of money. And I say that as a friend and a fan. Don’t do it, Lucas. You’re our only hope.
Han shot first,
When George Lucas received this letter, which was sent via email, printed by a slave onto single-use disposable gold paper and delivered to his jewel encrusted mailbox, his immediate reaction was: “Bring me a diamond shake. I’m feeling weird.” Lucas was immediately carried to his 10,000-thread count Egyptian Cotton sheet-covered bed and sedated for a week using tranquilizers manufactured in Dubai.
But Lucas can hardly be blamed for cashing in on the 3D craze, which lately has delivered Toy Story, The Lion King, and Sophie’s Choice. The choice to remake Sophie’s Choice in 3D was called “tasteless” by Roger Ebert, although to be fair he has not read the book. Meanwhile, Manohla Dargis claimed watching the “choice” scene in three dimensions was the most human she has felt since a nose bleed she suffered in the seventh grade.
This letter is also cross-referenced to our definitive Jar Jar Binks-related letter collection, which consists for the most part of internal college recruitment memos, a 244-email-long chain debating whether to make Jar Jar Binks a deliberately shitty Ben and Jerry’s ice cream flavor, and letters requesting divorce over the fucking voice.