“Dang it, Cody!”
I think I even said his name out loud.
I set my phone facedown in disgust and stared at it. After fuming over the spoiler for a few seconds, I picked it back up and reread his Facebook post: “Man, everyone seems to be really mad that Han Solo dies.”
It was 2015, and for several days I’d almost entirely disengaged from the internet. I’d been careful to avoid clicking on stories about The Force Awakens, dutifully scrolling past any post with a graphic or a link, and for the most part people who’d seen the movie were being very discreet. And yet, one of my good friends had just reinforced a universal truth: The internet sucks.
“Just kidding. I haven’t even seen it,” he also said. Too late; the well had been poisoned and I knew in my heart that it was true. I would have to wait another three weeks to see the movie and confirm what I already knew: He was right, Han Solo died. And if it isn’t clear from my tone here, I still haven’t fully forgiven him. You know you deserve it!
When Avengers: Infinity War neared its release date, I made a point of sending my friend a GIF of Captain America punching a heavy bag off its chain:
“Just a little reminder of how some of us feel about spoilers,” I said.
He must have learned his lesson because I don’t recall him spoiling any movie since then, although he did mention something about Luke before The Last Jedi, but I don’t hold that against him because I wish I had heeded the warnings at the time. That was how I used to feel about spoilers, but not anymore.
“Bring them on,” I now say. And it’s a change that has freed my soul. Blame it on The Last Jedi.
I was skeptical of the The Last Jedi the moment I saw the trailer. Luke didn’t sound like Luke, but more than that, none of what I’d been wanting to see for thirty years was anywhere in the trailer. My Oh crap! radar was beeping but I figured I’d give it the benefit of the doubt. I avoided spoilers, but based on the almost universal reactions from my friends who are Star Wars superfans, my worst fears seemed to be playing out. “Wait till you see it,” they said. “Then let me know what you think.”
But after I saw it I didn’t want to talk. I was angry, disappointed, and wished someone had told me not to waste my money.
Which brings us to The Rise of Skywalker.
I haven’t seen it, and I don’t plan to — at least, not for $12.00 a head. I’ll wait till it comes out on Redbox for $1.75. I’ll take my kids to the sofa and either be pleasantly surprised, or glad we saved some money. Because I already know what happens; I already know all the spoilers.
With this movie — unlike with The Last Jedi — there will be no buyer’s remorse. It reminds me of the old days of music buying when you would fall in love with a single on the radio, run down to Sam Goody, and drop $15 on the CD only to discover that the rest of the album was garbage. We don’t do that anymore with music. No, nowadays we sample every song on iTunes or Amazon, or listen to the entire album on the artist’s YouTube page. Why shouldn’t we know what we’re buying when it comes to movies as well?
A few weeks ago I heard the internet trashing the latest Terminator movie. Being a fan, I watched the spoiler reviews to see what the issues were. The criticism was interesting, but overall, unfounded. I went into the theater knowing what to expect and as a result, I enjoyed the movie, probably more so for having a chance to think about the plot points and the criticism.
So embrace the spoilers I say, and know what you’re getting yourself into.
Treat it like a trip to the doctor’s office: It’s a checkup, nothing more. If everything looks good, go about your business with confidence and joyful expectation of what’s to come. But if something looks off and the doctor needs to do a colonoscopy, at least you’ll have a chance to prepare yourself in advance.
From what I’ve heard via the spoilers, I’m ready for the worst. And based on the near-universal opinions I’m getting from friends in the know, it might be a good idea to just wait out the The Rise of Skywalker, and see if the pain goes away on its own.