George, who had just recovered from an illness, pushed himself forward.
At sixteen, he finally had his own car. Just as George became completely absorbed in racing, a car accident changed his outlook on life. The accident happened just days before his high school graduation; George suffered pulmonary arrest, but unexpectedly survived.
After recovering, George planned to devote himself to writing. Around that time, a childhood friend—also a racer—encouraged him to apply to the film school at the University of Southern California. There, he could not only continue studying writing, but also keep "playing" with photography, a skill he had become highly proficient in through racing. George applied, and to his great surprise, he was accepted.
Photography?
It sounded good.
The following summer, he would be heading to Los Angeles.
For now, he decided to go to the movies. Christmas was peak season for blockbusters, and films were generally quite good during that time.
He bought a ticket.
It was Wasteland.
The initial investment of one hundred million dollars had shocked many people—especially because it had come from a young woman.
However, when Cleopatra suddenly appeared, everyone's attention shifted.
Cleopatra was excellent—one could even call it a classic—but it felt somewhat out of place, too much like an art film and lacking exciting moments. It could only be considered an artistic classic, not a commercial one.
Because of Cleopatra's failure, many investors were terrified, and numerous large-budget film projects were canceled.
Meanwhile, Wasteland was about to be released.
That woman named Katherine Edson was truly extraordinary.
Regardless of the film's quality, George decided it was worth seeing. After all, a three-hour movie was extremely rare in the history of cinema.
In fact, many people were eagerly anticipating Wasteland as well.
After all, the failure of Cleopatra had been disastrous. If Wasteland failed too, all big-budget films planned for the next ten years would likely be scrapped.
He bought a ticket and entered the panoramic theater.
Soon, the movie began.
"War… war never changes."
An aged voice-over—distant, yet heavy.
But the screen remained completely black.
Then, a gentle guitar melody began to play.
<-free at—free at—free—free at—last…
"Free at Last."
As the song started, the screen slowly brightened.
George vaguely remembered hearing this song before.
His seat wasn't great; it was near the aisle, and in front of him were seats reserved for Black patrons. In many places at the time, Black and white audiences were still separated, so Black seating was often "reserved" in less desirable locations.
When they heard the song, they were confused at first, then broke into murmurs, and finally fell silent, leaving George puzzled.
Then suddenly, he remembered.
Martin Luther King Jr. had ended his August 23 speech with this very song.
In the distance, something like the rising sun appeared.
Then the camera slowly moved closer and downward.
A hat appeared on the screen.
The camera continued to lower.
The full figure of a man appeared.
A man playing music.
He was sitting on a wrecked blue car, with the vast desert stretching endlessly behind him.
A gust of wind swept through, lifting waves of yellow sand.
Sean Connery.
He sat with his back to the rising sun, strumming his guitar, his gaze steady and profound.
Freedom, at last—freedom.
As the old Black spiritual accompanied by guitar came to an end, Sean Connery's expression suddenly sharpened. He pulled a rifle from its sling.
Then he crouched beside the car, using it as cover.
He skillfully chambered a round and suddenly rose to his feet.
At that moment, the camera focused on the muzzle.
Time slowed.
"Bang!"
The bullet, accompanied by a flash of light, burst from the barrel.
Amazingly, the camera rotated 360 degrees around the bullet, following it as it pierced the head of a distant monster.
A spray of crimson liquid burst forth, yet it wasn't nauseating—it felt like a naturally formed work of art.
There was no background music. The film simply presented its story in a restrained, narrative style.
White, Black, and Asian characters appeared.
The scenes were astonishingly realistic—even the monsters were flawless.
It felt like a faithful depiction of humanity's future, merely transported through time.
Everyone was completely captivated by the film.
George was utterly immersed. Despite the poor viewing angle and the Black man seated beside him, he was fully drawn in.
It felt as though nothing in the world was more beautiful.
The entire world seemed to vanish, leaving only the scene before his eyes.
Then suddenly, the screen went dark and the lights came on.
"Hey, what's going on?"
According to theater rules, if a movie was too long, there had to be a fifteen-minute intermission so people could use the restroom.
"Hey! Keep going!"
"You can't do this! Hey—keep playing it!"
More and more people shouted, unable to bear being dragged back into reality.
George joined in the shouting.
This was outrageous! How could such a visual feast—such an immersive film—suddenly have an intermission?
A movie like this should be shown straight through so the audience could experience it in full!
The theater staff were baffled, but in the end, they decided to "give in" and immediately continue with the second half.
At the end of the film, Sean Connery left the scheming "Man-A" behind and walked away from the audience.
George thought the movie should have ended there—but it didn't.
In the final scene, Sean Connery walked through the desert. The shot lasted ninety seconds. Then he crossed a broken bridge and gazed into the distance.
At that moment, the camera followed his line of sight, rushing rapidly across the desert, toward the rising sun…
And then it ended.
No music. No producer credits. As the image froze on the newly risen sun, everything came to an end.
The film had begun without a title or logo, and it ended just as abruptly—but it felt exactly right.
Only then did George realize that many people had stood up and were lining up for the restroom. He also realized he desperately needed to pee—after all, he'd been holding it for three hours.
Finally, it was his turn, and he felt much better. Strangely enough, he hadn't felt it at all while watching the movie…
He washed his face and looked at himself in the mirror.
"George… George Lucas. This is the kind of movie you're going to make. This is the path you're going to walk."