I would have been eight or nine when I saw Star Wars at the cinema. It was the last movie my family ever attended together. After that, it was kid or kids with mum or dad, but never all of us, ever again.
We kids were excited. We argued about what the promos meant. We were suitably alarmed by the dark helmeted, deep-voiced scary guy, who we thought was the titular ‘Star Wars’. No, it didn’t make sense, but we were kids in single digits. In the 70s. We’d only just got colour television and we weren’t even allowed to watch Star Trek because it was too grown up.
Needless to say, we loved Star Wars. We clamoured to see it again, we got Star Wars action figures for Christmas (well, everyone else did; no Leia, so I missed out) and we role played it endlessly with various groups of friends. We used yellow Mattel race tracks for light sabers, leaping on couches, racing up stairs and jumping out from around corners. We did a lot of shouting.