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order to defend the aristocratic rights of another.
    Imagine Achilles refusing to accept his ordained destiny, taking up his sword and hunting down the Fates, demanding that they give him both a long life and a glorious one! Picture Odysseus telling both Agamemnon and Poseidon to go chase themselves, then heading off to join Dae dalus in a garage start-up company, mass-producing both wheeled and winged horses, so mortals could swoop about the land and air, like gods-the way common folk do nowadays, so unaware what they are part of. A marvel of collaborative technological progress.

    Even if their start-up fails and jealous Olympians crush Odysseus/ DaedalusCorp, what a tale it would be!
    Can this attitude work in stories? Consider those lowbrow but way fun television series Hercules, Buffy and Xena. Though they wore all the trappings of fantasy-swords and magical spells-each episode told a morality tale that was fiercely pro-democracy, egalitarian, hubristic and rambunctiously antiaristocratic. (In contrast, Star Wars, for all of its laser furniture, appears to defend every mythological aspect of feudalism.)
    This new storytelling style was rarely seen till a few generations ago, when aristocrats lost some of their power to punish irreverence. And even now, the new perspective remains shaky. The older notion of punishable "hubris" still pervades a wide range of literature and film, from highbrow to low. From the works of Michael Crichton to those of Margaret Atwood, how many dramas reflexively depict scientists as "mad"? How few depict change in a positive light, or show public institutions functioning well enough to bother fixing them?
    No wonder George Lucas openly yearns for the pomp of mighty kings over the drab accountability of republics. Many share his belief that things might be a whole lot more vivid without all the endless, dreary argument and negotiating that make up such a large part of modern life. Even millions of voters have taken to supporting authoritarians, who seek power free of accountability. Aristocrats who say "trust me."
    The old yearning is still strong.
    For someone to take command. A leader.
    THE SHIFTY NOTION OF REBELLION
    Ah, but the Star Wars series didn't begin obsessed with leaders. It started as a story about rebels, bravely taking on an empire!
    I cannot repeat enough times that I had no particular trouble with the original Star Wars movie-since relabeled A New Hope. Lightweight and a bit silly, it nevertheless oozed charm, adventure and good-hearted egalitarian fun. The villain, with a name like "invader," wore a Nazi-style helmet, commanded "stormtroopers" and torture-interrogated princesses. He throttled brave rebel captains with his bare hands and helped blow up planets. Clearly this film played into the greatest American mythos-in fact, the most stunning propaganda campaign of all time-

    -suspicion of authority.
    No, your eyes do not deceive you. Just pause and think about it.
    Arguably, the most persistent and incessant propaganda campaign, appearing in countless American movies, novels, myths and TV shows, preaches a message quite opposite to the one we associate with Joseph Campbell. A singular and unswerving theme, so persistent and ubiquitous that most people hardly notice or mention it. And yet, I defy you to name even half a dozen popular movies that don't utilize its appeal.
    Yes, that theme is suspicion of authority-often accompanied by its junior sidekick tolerance. Indeed, watch the heroes of nearly every modern film. Don't most of them bond with the viewer by sticking it to some authority figure, often in the first few minutes?
    Oh, you do hear some messages of conformity and intolerance, but these fill the mouths of moustache-twirling villains, clearly inviting us to rebel contrary to everything they say. Submission to gray tribal normality is portrayed as one of the most contemptible things an individual can do-a message quite opposite to what was pushed in most other