It stands to reason that somewhere, out in all that vast space, there must exist another being who hated "Star Wars."

Notice, nobody used the term "intelligent life." This is not to attack the people who loved it - it's not a good idea to start anything with people who are so fond of weaponry. It's just to look for one kindred soul, who used those great flashes of light on the screen in order to peer at a watch face.

The question might well be asked how anyone who wouldn't like "Star Wars" could wander in to see it. It's not a misleading title. But our society is so constructed that people of differing tastes and generations are thrown into the same families, and that some members of these families have stronger tugging arms than others.

Also, people on trusts, ie., adults, go around saying they loved it. People one used to trust.

Betrayal No. 1 one stems from the promise in the premise that the heroine is smart, while the hero is a dumb blond. Yes, but. She is a smart princess in a long white dress. When she exhibits leadership, nobody says, Hey-let's make-her-our-leader. They say, Hey-look-how-spirited-and cute-she-is-maybe-she's-worth-marrying.

Also, she is literally the only woman in the universe. Allowed special privileges because she is the daughter of an important man, she alone is allowed into a galaxy in which all rules, all workers, even everybody who shows up for a holiday ceremony, are men. This does, however, admit the hope that the society will die out before the sequel.

But for sheer offensiveness there's nothing as strong as The Force. The chief attribute of The Force. The chief attribute of The Force is that it can't be explained, even if the hero had thought of asking for an explanation before he plunged into it. We find only that it operates best if the intellect and the senses are shut off. Cover your eyes before you strike; drop the bomb where it feels right. A morality for our time. One can only hope that the hero will find himself a future career in standing around space stations, pinning carnations on the travelers.

But these pale beside the crime of calling fantasy and satire something which takes its observations not from life or imagination, but from conventions from previous movies, based on previous genres. To be tugged to a space movie only to find that it has drawn nothing from real or imaginary knowledge of space, but relies instead on cliches from swashbucklers or westerns, is a gyp.

What's worst, though, is the isolation of being, in all this vastness, the only one who thinks so.