A Galaxy Far, Far Away

Everything changed on May 25, 1977. To the untrained eye, it was just another endless day in what seemed like a year that threatened to drag on forever. In the Netherlands, two days prior, a group of Moluccan terrorists seized control of a train and a school in the Netherlands, holding more than 100 children hostage. Two months prior, KLM Flight 4805 and Pan Am Flight 1736 collided mid-air, killing 583 people in a horrific accident at the Tenerife airport in the Canary Islands; at the time, it was the deadliest accident in aviation history. In Dover, Massachusetts, residents reported seeing sights of an eerie monster dubbed the Dover Demon. On television, viewers were made to wrestle with their own demons as British journalist David Frost reopened old wounds with former President Richard Nixon in a four-night interview series. In short, the country — and even the world — felt as though it could use a new hope. On that Memorial Day weekend, that was exactly what they got, as a little-known sci-fi film called Star Wars opened in theaters and changed the course of cultural history.

The lights in the theaters faded to black as the reel-to-reel roared to life. After the classic Chuck Jones cartoon short Duck Dodgers in the 24 ½th Century played — something on which George Lucas insisted — the Fox fanfare filled the theater with its indelible drum roll and bright, piercing horns, heralding the arrival of something new. (In fact, this fanfare, originally created in 1933 by Alfred Newman, had fallen out of use by the time of Star Wars' premiere; it was another relic that Lucas insisted on reviving and appending to his baby.) Yet the fanfare was merely a preamble, a triumphant crescendo paving the way for 10 simple words in an icy blue font that would burn their way into the wrinkles of our brains: "A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away ..."

This was the first indication that audience members weren't in for another run-of-the-mill sci-fi affair; these words had a fairy tale quality to them. That's because this wasn't "sci-fi" per se — it was space fantasy, a clever amalgamation of multiple genres to make an elemental tale of good and evil, light and dark, all set against a backdrop of the infinite. Of course, this thought barely had time to register for most viewers because suddenly the massive, yellow Star Wars logo filled the frame, accompanied by the thunderous arrival of John Williams' opening theme. Then, came the opening crawl, the sprawling wall of slowly scrolling text that crept up from the bottom of the screen, flying off into oblivion. (Note: the title Episode IV: A New Hope would not appear in the opening credits until the film's re-release in 1981.)

On its first day, the film opened in just 32 theaters across the country, and was set to open in 11 more over the coming days. There had only been one trailer for the film that had come out the previous Christmas, which promptly disappeared until, like Jesus, it returned for Easter. In spite of what seemed like a relative non-presence, the film had record-breaking ticket sales, grossing $255,000 on opening day. By the end of the weekend, it had grossed $2.5 million in ticket sales, technically placing it behind Smokey and the Bandit, which grossed $2.7 million across 386 screens. The numbers don't lie, though. A new king had been crowned.

The film became an instant cultural phenomenon. It spread like wildfire, all in an era before texting, Twitter, and Internet message boards. "On opening day I was on the East Coast and I did the morning-show circuit — Good Morning America," producer Gary Kurtz recalled in an interview. "In the afternoon I did a radio call-in show in Washington and this guy, this caller, was really enthusiastic and talking about the movie in really deep detail. I said, 'You know a lot abut the film.' He said, 'Yeah, yeah, I've seen it four times already.' And that was opening day. I knew something was happening." In fact, it is largely due to the popularity of Star Wars...