If you remember the heady days of 1999, when we were all trying to find some reason to not feel cheated by “The Phantom Menace”, one common justification was “Well, the original movies were for kids, so adult fans shouldn’t be upset just because the new ones are too.”

This didn’t really convince anyone, but at least the two movies that followed were a little better.

A decade after “Revenge of the Sith”, we got “The Force Awakens”, which went a long way towards washing the taste of the prequels out of our collective mouths, and then “Rogue One”, which showed that you could take a classic war movie, put a Star Wars skin on it, and have it turn out pretty well.

I keep collecting these silly IMAX tickets.  I can’t help it.

Still, I went into The Last Jedi this weekend with a little trepidation.  Carrie Fisher’s death last year hit everyone pretty hard, The Force Awakens hadn’t really done much to establish Kylo as a villain to be particularly concerned about, and, well, there were the Porgs.

I have a soft spot for Ewoks, sure, but “cute” has never been a strong point of the Star Wars universe.

What I got was a movie for anyone who was ten years old or younger when they saw Star Wars in the theater, and who is now on the far side of forty and wondering what the hell happened.  It’s the cinematic equivalent of the moment when you find yourself listening to Touch of Grey and it changes from a kind of catchy tune to a song you have a Profound Personal Connection with.

Put shortly, this movie hit me deep in the feels.

I may even buy a small stuffed Porg.  Damnit.