It was a day not unlike any other during the summer of 1977. Thirty-one years ago, and yet I can still recall that day’s events as vividly as one may fondly recollect a first kiss. I sat in a McDonald’s with my dad, relishing (no pun intended) a burger and fries, during which my dad announced exuberantly that, afterward, we were “going to see the robots.”

I don’t even think I knew what a robot was at that time, but it hardly mattered. The prospect of seeing one sounded inextricably kick ass. So when we were seated in a movie theater, and the lights dimmed, and we were greeted with the words, “A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away,” I had no idea my childhood (and indeed, my entire life for that matter) was on the precipice of a remarkably immutable turn.

I wasn’t even quite four years old, and yet I can remember seeing Star Wars for the first time, including the commonplace events surrounding it, as though they were distilled images protruding from the ceiling of my own mind’s art gallery. Yes, I can still place myself in that seat and see, for the first time, Darth Vader fashioning his indelible entrance; the cinnamon bun-quaffed Princess Leia emerging from the shadows, blaster in tow; and even C-3PO giving R2-D2 a swift kick in his chrome derriere on Tattoine.

A powerful movie-going experience can have that kind of impact, particularly during childhood when the foundation for imagination and creativity are inviolably established.  Star Wars was “that” kind of experience for many of my generation, as was Jaws (the first culturally significant “event” film) two years prior, and Raiders of the Lost Ark four years later. Now, several decades (and many nerdy wardrobes) later, as a proudly geeky “kidult,” I sense that level of summer movie excitement insinuating itself into the multiplexes once more, albeit with a foreboding of anticlimactic effect.

The summer movie event season exploded early last month, promising a catalog of more highly anticipated films than, arguably, any other summer in recent memory has offered. And yet, despite the fact that the market shall be so highly saturated with product during the summer of ’08 (and I’m giddily awaiting them all just as much as the next movie dork), I know in my heart of hearts that there won’t be a single Wars, Jaws, or Raiders among them.

There certainly hasn’t been one so far, and that includes one of the more likely candidates, which, ironically was the long, long awaited sequel to the last title listed above. For the young movie fan receiving his or her first introduction to the Indiana Jones universe, I think I can safely speak for all who had the immense pleasure of seeing the fedora-wearing whip cracker with a proclivity for wisecracks on the big screen in 1981 that Crystal Skull ain’t gonna inspire a whole lot of playground re-enactments.

George Lucas defiantly promulgated to Entertainment Weekly before the film’s release that he already knew fans of the franchise were more than likely apt to be disappointed because they had already written their own version of the story in their own minds. “It’s not that story,” he said. “So they’re going to be very disappointed.”

Well, gee golly gosh, Mr. Lucas. You’re right! And shame on us sanctimonious fans for utilizing the power of our own imaginations—of which you aided in the cultivation, I might add—and hoping and praying that after 19 stinking years you and Speilberg would actually deliver an installment worthy of the Indiana Jones canon. We’ve been anxiously awaiting a redemptive effort from you guys after the deplorable Temple of Doom and the lackluster, seemingly elegiac Last Crusade, and instead, you serve us an incomprehensible turkey with been-there-done-that CGI, an egregiously underused Karen Allen (seriously, why was she even in the movie if all she had to do was grunt, “Get your grubby hands off me!” a few times and drive a truck? Nice Valentine to the original fan base, you drill rods, you.), and … aliens? Aliens!!!

I dunno. Perhaps my expectations are just exceedingly high. The paradigm of pop culture may never witness another seismic shift that Star Wars, Jaws, and Raiders of the Lost Ark produced. And perhaps, that’s actually how it should be. We wait and we hope. After all, if we have nothing to look forward to during summer movie time, what’s the point of even going?

Todd Guill enjoyed Star Wars so much that, ever since seeing it, he occasionally emulates that experience by doing some performing. You can see him, if you want, on stage this weekend and next in “Lilly’s Purple Plastic Purse” at Virginia Tech as part of the Summer Arts Festival. More shameless self-promotions to follow … .