I’m almost done reading the Walter Isaacson’s Steve Jobs biography, but I’ve fallen into “the biography trap”: I never finish them. Seriously, I get 3/4s of the way into a biography, and then it gets dark and the hero contracts syphilis or inoperable cancer, or gets roped into a duel with some local yahoo, or beats the British or something. I stick a bookmark in and never open the book again.
But my life isn’t lacking for analysis of Steve Jobs. Every writer and “thought leader” in the free world has been writing about Steve Jobs as a business icon, an iconoclast, a model of uncompromising passion. My favorite bit of analysis is Daring Fireball’s recap of Malcolm Gladwell’s recap of Isaacson’s book. Go check it out, it’s great.
So I was camped out on the couch for a few hours this weekend, nursing a cracked rib from the Turkey Bowl and watching the Star Wars prequels on TV. And man…I knew they were bad, but every time I watch them I’m stunned anew by their badness. They. Are. Terrible. You knew that. They’re as bad as the originals are good.
And I thought of the narrative that we use to explain the dreadfulness of those prequels: George Lucas had total creative control, and he just wasn’t up to the task. He didn’t have the taste or the skill to fix a stupid script, plodding story, sub-par effects, and terrible acting performances.
I’m not sure I completely buy that narrative, but it’s useful as a counter to the Steve Jobs hero worship we’re engaging in right now. Few executives enjoy absolute power the way Jobs and Lucas have. Absolute power can once in a while lead to an iPhone. More likely, it leads to “The Phantom Menace.”