Now That It’s Over, Will Anyone Even Remember ‘Ahsoka’?
Here we go again, folks. Ahsoka, the latest Star Wars series from Disney+, ended with a new Big Bad for the franchise eventually blasting into hyperspace, ready to be forgotten as Loki takes over the schedule for the next few weeks. It’s an unfortunate end to a middling series, with Ahsoka’s glacial pace and chronic lack of heart making it ripe to be consigned to the list of Disney+ shows that came and went without leaving much of an impression at all—a fate to which all Star Wars live-action series may be doomed.
As a setup, Ahsoka might have played well as a film or even a miniseries. A short, sharp jaunt to introduce a new threat—notably not a dork with a lightsaber—might have broken up the wearying grind of Disney+ shows. Instead, Ahsoka stretched over eight episodes of inconsistent runtimes (I am begging Disney to pick an episode length and stick to it) to become a portentous crawl that ultimately landed not far from where it started.
Mileage will vary on what the best part of Star Wars is, but Ahsoka thrived when it captured the George Lucas ethos of putting stuff on screen that a young teenager might find cool. Ahsoka beats up starfighters in space, Ray Stevenson glowers with peak-bad guy vibes, and there’s some dude made of dust for a bit. But with a rating of TV-14, and a pile of deep-cut references, it’s clear this is a show designed for older fans.
‘Ahsoka’ Season Finale Recap: Anakin Skywalker Approves
This is most obvious in how serious all the characters are. Ahsoka was haunted by a lifelessness that came from Ahsoka herself and bled into everything around her. Where once she was a charismatic antidote for the brooding Jedi of Clone Wars, creator Dave Filoni has rendered Ahsoka here in an expressionless facsimile: the Jedi formerly known as Ahsoka Tano. Granted, it’s been a couple of decades since Ahsoka was a peppy teenager—or child soldier, as Ahsoka drove home in its live-action rehash of Clone Wars. But for all semblance of Ahsoka’s personality to just disappear doesn’t feel like growing up; it feels like a disservice to the character.
It would be easy to blame the actor for this, and Dawson isn’t wholly innocent in how Ahsoka sucked emotion out of every room. But it feels more like a holistic problem, what with Lars Mikkelson’s Thrawn, a voice role from Star Wars Rebels he reprised in live-action, shorn of his careful menace too. Their characterization is emblematic of Dave Filoni’s stewardship of live-action Star Wars, in which it doesn’t feel like we’re watching real people so much as Filoni playing with his Boba Fett toys in front of Stagecraft (that giant LED screen that makes things look so flat).
This is most evident in the show’s treatment of its biggest plot, the intergalactic journey of Sabine Wren (Natasha Liu Bordizzo)—literally Boba Fett with a lightsaber. Over the course of the season, she traveled to another galaxy, survived her encounter with Thrawn, beat up some bandits, and finally reunited with Ezra Bridger (Eman Esfandi)—her whole reason for coming on this celestial road trip in the first place—only for the two of them to just stare at each other like toys perched precariously on a tabletop. This awkwardness was repeated in Ezra’s reunion with Hera Syndulla (Mary Elizabeth Winstead) too, in which the two friends blankly smiled, three meters apart, before the screen wiped.
Ahsoka took moments like this that should be emotionally charged and saps the life out of them. Here was a group of friends, separated by tragedy and the gulf between galaxies, and every movement they made felt like wooden fence posts that, on very rare occasions, fell over.
There is something to like in Ahsoka despite these cold interactions. The show picked up in its final two episodes, ratcheting the action as it finally sent Thrawn on his way. (Whether it’s a compliment to say a show finally shows promise as it ends, however, is an exercise for the reader.) .
Nor are all the characters a nightmare to be with. Baylon Skoll (Stevenson) and his space-goth apprentice, Shin Hati (Ivanna Sakhno)—who definitely listens to the jizz version of My Chemical Romance, by the way—made for a compelling duo on the rare occasion they were on screen. I admit, I am biased on this score: I’ve been a Ray Stevenson fan since Rome, and his death is one of the suckier things about 2023. But Ahsoka felt like Stevenson’s show whenever he was there (and that was not often), as he managed to break through Filoni’s embargo on emoting to smolder with charismatic ardor throughout. Which makes it more of a shame that both Skoll and Hati were essentially AWOL in the finale, with Skoll’s arc left open and Stevenson tragically unable to complete it.
Even at its best, however, Ahsoka refused to bring us anything new. People rode rat-dog-things, hung out with little turtle dudes who make funny noises, and randomly fought some space-samurai (this show is very Japan-coded; Thrawn even calls Ahsoka a ronin). It’s like a Star Wars greatest hits collection without the best songs. The effects looked great, and things went pew pew, but the heart was gone. The lightsabers didn’t even swish anymore.
Huyang (David Tennant) didn’t start a story with “a long time ago in a galaxy far far away” because that’s how stories should start—it was for the nerds. Thrawn wasn’t here because he’s the natural choice for a villain, nor were the Witches of Dathomir; they’re just popular parts of the now-defunct Extended Universe. This is what Star Wars is now: It’s Anakin (Hayden Christensen) coming back, and Mandalorians all over the shop; it’s a lot of unoriginality, of reference, of not being able to let go.
Which is great for superfans entrenched hopelessly in the past. But fan service is not a nourishing narrative device. It’s like the cherry on top of a cupcake: a little treat that’s nice in small doses. Too many make for a terrible cupcake. Unfortunately, like so many of Disney+’s series, Ahsoka was underbaked, and covering it with cherries can’t hide the lack of substance underneath. As Ahsoka ambled—appallingly slow—into the start of Loki, it’s doomed to be forgotten as just one more spoke in Disney’s ever-turning wheel of diminishing returns.
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