Waititi joins a long list of movie-makers who were expected to bring a new direction to the franchise, before the studio appeared to get cold feet

Movie-making these days is a very expensive endeavour. In 1977, George Lucas’s Star Wars cost $11m to make, which would be approximately $60m in today’s money, and has since amassed $775m at the global box office, including rereleases. Fast forward to 2026 and the most recent film in the long-running space saga, The Mandalorian and Grogu, cost a reported $165m and brought in $346m worldwide. If there was ever a Hollywood gold rush, the mines ran dry long ago.

Perhaps this is one of the reasons why Disney-owned Lucasfilm seems to be so terrified of making new Star Wars movies. Since 2019’s The Rise of Skywalker, only one Star Wars film, the aforementioned Mando and Grogu movie, has actually made it into cinemas. But that has not stopped the studio announcing a small armada of other projects – sometimes via press release, more often at various high-profile celebrations, conferences or other corporate jamborees – that have so far failed to reach multiplexes.

Star Wars has embraced the magic of puppetry since the 70s, but Trekkers have been starved of any muppet action … until now. The creators of Strange New Worlds talk about boldly sewing where no one has sewn before

It’s life, Jim – but very much not as we know it.

In fact, when it comes to the latest episode of Star Trek: Strange New Worlds, the life forms in question are less flesh-and-blood and more fabric-and-felt – as the series becomes the latest sci-fi show to embrace the magic of puppetry.

Is the promotion to the big screen of Star Wars’ breakout Disney+ show just a delightful distraction – or exactly what the franchise needs?
• This article contains spoilers for Star Wars: The Mandalorian and Grogu

Star Wars, with its fondness for grand emotional crescendos, mythic reversals and violent turns of fate, is perhaps cinema’s purest example of space opera. Even the oft-derided prequels, those overheated tales of democracy collapsing, forbidden love and angst-ridden space monks, are intensely Wagnerian. The Mandalorian and Grogu, despite being a warm, funny, rollicking tale of outer rim adventures, ingenious aliens and surprisingly touching surrogate fatherhood, is not really on that scale. Which is probably why it’s getting such a lukewarm reaction from critics.

This is a movie that zips along pleasantly, offers up plenty of cute “Baby Yoda” moments, delivers more than enough badass Mando action sequences, and even quietly reimagines what some of its most infamous alien creatures are capable of as a species. It is not so much space opera as cosmic picaresque, wandering frontier serial, intergalactic side-quest cinema. And that’s just not what we’re used to after the best part of 50 years of Star Wars on the big screen. Here’s what makes this new adventure so different from what came before.

Film starring Pedro Pascal next to ‘Baby Yoda’ took $165m globally on opening weekend, failing to surpass the opening of 2018 flop Solo

The Mandalorian and Grogu may have blasted into first place at the box office – but its launch was far, far away from impressive, having the lowest opening weekend for a Star Wars film since Disney took over the franchise.

The film, which stars Pedro Pascal as the titular helmeted warrior who travels the galaxy with a tiny companion better known as “Baby Yoda”, made $102m at the domestic box office (US and Canada) over the US’s four-day Memorial day weekend, contributing to a total $165m global box office.

As a standalone, the new adventure is perfectly fine matinee fodder – but the galaxy is now so congested that we seem doomed to shiny retreads of the same old story

When Disney bought Lucasfilm for roughly $4bn in 2012, it must have felt like an obvious piece of business: who wouldn’t throw wads of cash at a saga boasting an entire galaxy in a box? For a while, it seemed too good to be true. The Force Awakens made more than $2bn worldwide. Rogue One did more than $1bn. The Last Jedi conjured up more than $1.3bn, even while triggering a culture war so radioactive it could power the Death Star. Most of the fandom hated The Rise of Skywalker, but that most execrable of movies still earned Disney more than $1bn.

Then came Disney+, the perfect delivery system. No more waiting years between films: just hang around for a few months and something else would pop up on the conveyor belt. Andor, The Book of Boba Fett, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Ahsoka, The Mandalorian. Plot holes were filled, animated side characters got their magnum opus, and we all learned far more about the middle-management structure of galactic fascism than we had ever imagined possible. So why are we, almost 14 years on from that monumental shift in the Star Wars power structure, reading yet another slew of critical notices declaring that the saga has run its course? The Mandalorian and Grogu, at time of writing, has a rating of 61% on Rotten Tomatoes, pushing it just into the “fresh” category. The positives, broadly speaking, are that it is charming, brisk, visually polished and has Baby Yoda, a character precision-engineered for adorability. On the negative side, critics have complained the film feels thin, formulaic and weirdly televisual, less a grand restoration of Star Wars on the big screen than three Disney+ episodes.

The badass bounty hunter and his little green friend take on the Empire and Jabba the Hutt’s family in this solid enough addition to the ever-expanding universe

Here is a non-canonical, or semi-canonical tale – maybe the distinction is beginning to blur – from the Star Wars universe, serving up some entertaining but very familiar Star Wars narrative tropes on a spectacular Imax scale. And if you thought it was possible to end a movie like this without a climactic aerial combat scene involving X-wing fighters, think again. It is developed from the Disney+ streaming TV series The Mandalorian and set in the timeframe just after Star Wars: Episode VI – Return of the Jedi, in which holdout warlords from the defeated Empire are plotting a return against the New Republic.

Pedro Pascal plays the Mandalorian, a badass freebooting bounty hunter not unlike Han Solo, only he has on his shoulder Grogu, his “ward”. (That quaint Victorian term is revived here for the first time since the days of Dick Grayson and Bruce Wayne.) Grogu is the Yoda-species infant with nascent telekinetic powers. As for the Mandalorian, he has a voice like Clint Eastwood’s man with no name, and in fact he’s the guy with no face; he hardly ever removes his helmet – apart from in one key scene – despite the fact that it must surely restrict his visual field. And he must surely remove it occasionally to eat and drink and trim his moustache. Body-double actors Lateef Crowder and Brendan Wayne variously play the helmeted Mandalorian striding around, giving director Jon Favreau and Pascal exceptional leeway with the filming and voice-recording schedule. The Mandalorian is a vivid symbol of the importance of genre IP over old-fashioned star presence and the obvious comparison with Dave Prowse body-doubling Darth Vader is disconcerting.

The long-suffering saga has been kept alive this decade by TV alone – but even that will perish if the new movie fails to extend its universe

Star Wars has always been big on prophecy. Yoda peers into the future like Nostradamus with messed-up syntax, the Emperor cackles that everything is proceeding exactly as he has foreseen, Darth Vader breathes doom through the front grille of his shiny death helmet. And yet not even the most omniscient of Jedi could have predicted that the franchise responsible for practically inventing the modern Hollywood blockbuster would end up as a TV-centric operation with only occasional forays on to the big screen. Which is why it comes as a genuine shock to realise that, ahead of the release of new movie The Mandalorian and Grogu later this month, it has been more than six years since Star Wars last hit the multiplex.

Then again, perhaps the real humdinger is that it hasn’t been longer. The most recent Disney Star Wars film, JJ Abrams’ The Rise of Skywalker, did not so much conclude the long-running space saga as destroy several decades of perfectly serviceable mythology and ruin all sense of congruence with previous films. It was frantic, weirdly apologetic (about previous instalment The Last Jedi) and overstuffed with dodgy fan service. It was essentially a $590m act of narrative panic.