"That boy is dangerous." — Yoda, in The Phantom Menace

"He's more machine than man, twisted and evil." — Obi Wan Kenobi in Return of the Jedi

How did a precocious, generous and cute little boy turn into the greatest villain in the galaxy? That's the question George Lucas begins to answer in Episode I: The Phantom Menace, which opened yesterday. In The Phantom Menace, two Jedi knights, Qui-Gon Jinn (Liam Neeson) and his apprentice Obi Wan Kenobi (Ewen McGregor) are sent to the planet Naboo to protect its people from The Trade Federation. In the process of protecting the Naboo queen, Amidala (Natalie Portman), they land on Tatooine, where they meet a young slave boy named Anakin Skywalker (Jake Lloyd).

Despite having been enslaved all his life and never knowing his father, the young Skywalker is generous and good-natured. He's also precocious. As Qui-Gon tells Anakin's mother "there is something very special about this boy," and "the Force is very strong with him." He procures young Skywalker's freedom. (I won't tell you how. Let's just say Lucas knows his Cecile B. DeMille.) He presents him to the Jedi Council, where he says that he believes that Anakin is "the Chosen One," the fulfillment of a prophecy about "one who will bring balance to the Force." However, some members of the Council, most notably Yoda, aren't convinced that making Anakin a Jedi is a good idea. They sense the fear and anger within him. As Yoda tell the others, "that boy is dangerous ... his future is uncertain." That's an understatement!

While The Phantom Menace isn't quite the technological leap that the original Star Wars was, it's still remarkable. Lucas reportedly insisted that any theater wishing to show the movie would have to be equipped with a sound system that could do justice to the soundtrack. I'm glad he did. I've never heard any movie that sounded this good. The soundtrack literally transports you to other worlds: underwater, the desert, a huge metropolis. You can close the entries for "Best Sound." The same is true for the visual effects. A lot of the movie was done on computer. Yet, you would be hard-pressed to tell where the computer-generated images end and where the real-life actors begin. It's that seamless. Unfortunately, this seamlessness encouraged Lucas to inflict a computer-generated character named Jar Jar Binks on the audience. I agree with the critics who found this amphibian annoying.

What I disagree with are those who found the movie "mindless" or lacking a story. There's definitely a story here — but not the one Star Wars fans might have expected. Lucas isn't adding to the Star Wars myth, he's explaining it. He's taking characters we already know and telling us why they became who they are. In this sense, watching The Phantom Menace reminded me of watching, of all things, Titanic. In both instances, you know how the stories are going to end. This knowledge, which is what dramatists call "irony," makes viewing the characters go about their lives especially excruciating. Every moment of happiness is overshadowed by the heartache you know is going to follow. You know that sweet little boy is going to go bad. You know that strong young Queen, who already is displaying great affection toward Anakin, will die young — her heart broken by that same Anakin. What can I say? I care about the characters, and that's the most important part in judging a story.

It's because I care about the characters that I wish Lucas had been more careful with the spiritual world of The Phantom Menace. It's true Lucas has expressed amazement at the thought that anyone would take Star Wars' religious elements seriously. But that's being disingenuous. Lucas placed these religious elements at the heart of the story. The story doesn't work without them, so it's fair to ask: Do the religious elements of The Phantom Menace make sense? In a word, no. By "sense," I don't mean whether the spiritual world that The Phantom Menace inhabits is consistent with my particular religious views. What matters is whether it's consistent with its own views. It isn't.

The spiritual world of The Phantom Menace lacks a personal deity — an intelligent deity who cares about people and directs events on their behalf. What it does have is an "energy field created by all living things," the Force. This is more consistent with the idea of the Atman, or "The One" from Buddhism. No problem. If Lucas wants to ground Star Wars' spirituality in this eastern concept, that's his business. Just be consistent. But he isn't. Lucas' world works as if it does have a personal deity. This is clearly evident in Lucas' treatment of Anakin Skywalker. We are told that young Anakin Skywalker is the "one who will bring balance to the Force" — a prophecy about his role in the cosmic drama Lucas has created. (It's also the plot element that makes the entire Star Wars saga possible.) Qui-Gon tells the Jedi Council that his meeting young Anakin "is the will of the Force." Since when did an impersonal "energy field created by all living things," have a will? When did it obtain the power to plan? Not only does an impersonal force lack the kind of foreknowledge necessary to prophesy about one who will bring balance to it; it isn't even aware of its need for balance.

And, speaking of balance, The Phantom Menace is filled with foreboding about Skywalker's fear — a fear we know will eventually lead him to the Dark Side. Yoda is constantly commenting about how fearful Anakin is — something that being enslaved might do to you. But, Yoda shouldn't be concerned. If Skywalker's role is to bring balance to the Force, his fear is precisely what's needed. Of course, the entire idea of "balance" should have been the first thing to be deleted from the story line. When you compare the actions of Obi Wan, Yoda and Qui Gon to the actions of Lord Palpatine (who will later become the Emperor), Darth Maul and Darth Vader, why would you want "balance?"

Lucas wants balance because The Phantom Menace succumbs to what I call "The Wachowski Syndrome," the attempt to create a cinematic spirituality by combining elements from incompatible religious traditions. In The Matrix, the Wachowski brothers combined Zen Buddhism with a Christian hero to create a spirituality that didn't make sense. Lucas has done the same. His religious smorgasbord includes the eastern concept of Yin and Yang — the idea that everything includes its opposite — and a central character who is heavily indebted to Christianity. How heavily indebted? Roger Ebert, who isn't known for filtering his movie reviews through a Christian worldview sieve, sees the Christian themes. He compares Qui-Gon Jinn to John the Baptist. He writes that Qui recognizes that "he is destined to prepare [the way for Anakin]," and, get this, "that [Anakin] must be about his father's business."

This eclecticism is the product of Lucas' own ideas about religion. As Lucas told Time magazine, "one religion is as good as another" and religion is little more than a "container for faith," which itself is little more than a feeling. That's why Lucas feels free to mix and match religious elements. While mixing and matching may work at The Gap, it doesn't work with religion. Each religious tradition has a particular worldview. These worldviews shape not only the teachings of these faiths, but the stories they tell as well. You can't plug an element from one tradition into a setting derived from another and expect the story to make sense. That's where The Phantom Menace falls flat for me.

This theological inconsistency doesn't ruin the film. It's simply a reminder of why people should take their cues about the meaning of life from sources other than popular entertainment. Lucas has obviously spent a lot of time thinking about how this latest installment of the Star Wars saga should look and sound — to good effect. Now, if he had only put a fraction of the effort to the ideas contained in the movie. But, then again, as he told Time, that's not what movies are for. And it's why, after seeing The Phantom Menace on Wednesday, I'll be in church on Sunday.