Last night, the inner child in me was finally marched outside with a sandbag over his head, kicked into a kneeling position above a ditch running with filthy water and the putrescent excreta of a kibbutz full of paedophiles, then shot in the back of the head before being pushed into the detritus of lost dreams. The trigger was pulled by none other than George Lucas. I remember the first (ie original) 3 Star Wars films. They were awesome - and I mean that in the way Shakespeare would use the word, not Paris Hilton. At each one I sat in the cinema with my jaw on my chest, a tub of popcorn lay untouched in my lap and a slowly deflating coke clenched, neglected, in my hand. The first person I ever mourned was Ben Kenobi, the first woman I ever loved was Leia. I, at every firefight, ducked, weaved and returned fire from behind the row in front. I was there - and when the film ended I stayed there. My home was the millenium falcon, the park a distant forest moon and King Alfreds playschool, winchester, a galaxy far, far away. During that trilogy I learned that those who don't share my colouring or language can be valient brothers in arms (Chewbacca and the Ewoks) I leant that fat people are evil (jabba the hut), that tall men who breathe heavily and claim to be your father should be fought off, especially on the way back from school. Most of all, I learned that it is wrong to bone your sister, even if she is cute. As I grew older, my initial hero-worship of Luke Skywalker faded, as I realised we was a bit of a gimp. I looked to the funny, courageous, self-serving and womanising Han Solo as a role model - after all, he's the only one who got any action the entire time. Princess leia in a gold bikini taught me what womanhood should be. In short, it was the legend in which I grew up. Then the latest 3 films prolapsed from the gang-raped arrse of hollywood. Notwithstanding the jamaican aliens and boy-band reject Darth Vader, I have come to realise that Star Wars was in all probability written by a retarded brillo pad. I was bored last night and rented Star Wars 3 - Revenge of the Tellytubbys. Words cannot describe how bad that film is. Ewan McGregor should stop it, right now. trainspotting was Ok, Life less Ordinary was ok in a "I'm 20, drunk and I really want to put my willy in Cameron Diaz's mouth" sort of way. He was OK in Blackhawk down, but in fairness all he had to do was get shot at and shout alot, the best things about Moulin Rouge was Kylie as a green fairy and the fact that it introduced me a touching Elton John song that I can drunkenly sing to wronged girlfriends by way of reconcilliation. He didn't deserve to snog Scarlett johansen in Barney The Dinosaurs remake of "Blade Runner": "The Island" - Bill Murray did and I certainly do, but that feckless wnaker should wind his neck in. His rendition of Obi Wan Kenobi - remember, the first person I cared about to die violently - was terrible. That man is not fit to play mandy dingle in emmerdale farm. Then there's Natalie Portman. Star Wars is proof that she will never be any better, nor sexier, than she was in Leon. Her coming of age was the most eagerly awaited event in modern history, and she fluffed it by playing annoying wenches who need to be punched in the bum. Luckily, my alarm went off at 2100 to remind me that the Last Tommy was on. For an hour I watched a powerful story quietly told. Once the tear in the corner of my right eye had dried up, I put on the last 30 minutes of Lucas's mid-life abortion. By 2230 I had run out of expletives and things to throw at my TV. What a terrible, terrible mess of twisted, ignorant dogma and jingoistic posturing hollywood has become. U571, Pearl Harbour, Kingdom of Heaven, Arthur and pretty much every other movie since, what? 9-11? were the CGI equivalent of the Council of Nicaea, I can live with that - but these last 3 star wars films were like George Lucas jumped back in time to when I was 7, touched me in my special place and told me it was 'our little secret.'