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HOLLYWOOD — When the invites came in for the world premiere of Solo: A Star Wars Storyon May 10, the date was curious enough to raise the eyebrows of a Wookiee.
What? The galaxy's greatest scoundrel didn't deserve a weekend-level rager too? Was this a subtle sign that Lucasfilm was embarrassed by the Young Han Solo flick, which infamously changed directors midstream, and was trying to brush it under the red carpet? Would Hollywood Boulevard not shut down for Star Wars this time? The longer the details were delayed, the more suspect it seemed.
But by Thursday morning, reports came in of traffic being stopped by the arrival of a giant vehicle that seemed to arrive suddenly out of the sunlight. Passers-by were heard to exclaim: "What a piece of junk!"
That giant Millennial Falcon was the first sign that the Solo premiere was going to be big and brash, and subtle as a ton of intergalactic bricks — just the way Han and Lando would like it.
Disney had made some special modifications, too. For prior premieres on the Boulevard, security was obnoxiously tight, with metal detectors, bomb-sniffing dogs and long lines blocking the streets. For Solo they'd called off the dogs and cleared the sidewalks. Will Call was now a speedy service inside the tent. It was as streamlined a people-moving process as any Disneyland ride.
IMAGE: KEVIN WINTER/GETTY IMAGES
If anything, the process was too efficient. We were allowed to linger for a photo or two by the feet of the giant Falcon as they steamed with dry ice, take a selfie by the giant blow-up movie posters, admire a LEGO version of the Falcon cockpit constructed from 202,000 bricks. And then, we were gently ushered into the Dolby Theater (the one from the Oscars) to eat popcorn from giant Solo-themed tubs and spend an hour watching a livestream from the red carpet that was now behind us.
The movie's celebs arrived to the carefully-controlled carnival atmosphere created by superfans standing on bleachers to either side. It was infectious: even George Lucas, who was last seen here in 2015 at the Force Awakens premiere (but who happens to be a good friend of Solo director Ron Howard) could be seen to crack a smile.
Inside the Dolby, showtime was signaled by the arrival of Emilia Clarke's stunning red gown. Then George Lucas was ushered the wrong way (so much for the people-moving!) and had to take an accidental victory lap round the front of the house as the applause and cheers for Solo's creator reached a crescendo.
It was the closest thing we got to an official recognition of his presence, and indeed it was the closest anyone got to the stage. Unusually for these affairs, there was no speech by Disney CEO Bob Iger or Lucasfilm President Kathleen Kennedy speech thanking the cast and crew.
Should we have a bad feeling about this, I wondered?
IMAGE: KEVIN WINTER/GETTY IMAGES
Then some familiar blue text appeared on screen — A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away— followed by some unfamiliar blue text. Two hours and sixteen minutes later we filed out, mouths agape. Reviews are officially embargoed until Tuesday, but you need only glance at the social media reactions to realize that no, Star Wars fans should not have a bad feeling about this.
Afterwards we were ushered into a giant party room where the tables glowed red and cape-covered costumes stood in perspex cases, each with its own guard.
And here was the next unusual thing: this was the first Star Wars premiere to have no VIP section. (After what we'd just seen, mud-covered adventures in the blue-collar galaxy, a velvet rope would have seemed all kinds of wrong). Disney execs had reserved tables, but in general the hoi polloi mingled with the hoity-toity. You almost couldn't tell the cosplayers from the celebrities.
Meanwhile, literally the world's richest man could be found briefly at the bar introducing himself: "hi, I'm Jeff."
The tri-tip was good, the beer and whiskey flowed, and Woody Harrelson was still propped up on a stool when Dolby staff started kicking us out after midnight.
Friday morning hangovers be damned — Solo deserved no less than a cantina-style rager.
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