Disney has been churning out new Star Wars spin-offs with the giddy recklessness of 20th-century Germany launching new world wars: each endeavor seems more catastrophic and damaging to its reputation than the last.

Created by TV filmmaker Leslye Headland, known for her work on Sleeping with Other People (2015) and Russian Doll (2019), Acolyte feels like Star Wars reimagined by those who harbor a profound disdain for the original saga and its protagonists.

The new series revolves around estranged twin sisters Mae and Osha (played by Amandla Stenberg). As unveiled in the opening prelude, Acolyte takes place a century prior to George Lucas’s Phantom Menace prequel and aims to animate the emergence of the dreaded “Dark Side.”

However, despite the potential such a brooding premise offers, the resulting series is instead an unwatchable conduit for political posturing; it presents an incoherent plot driven by clumsy and cartoonish dialogue. LGBT activist Headland, when asked in an interview if Acolyte was “the gayest installment of the franchise,” responded with, “I think that Star Wars is so gay already.” Rife with its novice cast of copy-pasted “Strong Female Protagonists” and a lesbian space witch commune, Acolyte borders on self-parody.

Every Star Wars saga needs its Obi-Wan, a seasoned Jedi, to shepherd the fledgling protagonist into the mysteries of the Force. Acolyte casts Squid Game’s Lee Jung-jae as Master Sol. Little is known about him, aside from his subordination to another archetypal Strong Female Protagonist, whose primary function seems to be belittling and chastising Sol for every decision he makes. It appears the Jedi School of Business Administration has become so enamored with its DEI initiatives that it has neglected the fundamentals of leadership.

The intended audience and overarching purpose of the series remain enigmatic. It exists within the Star Wars universe but refuses to play by its established rules and axioms: An early scene in the first episode features Carrie-Anne Moss — among the few serious actors in the cast — as a Jedi named Indara. She is seen lounging in a bar with friends when Mae appears, challenging her to a duel over some unresolved past grievance. When Indara declines, Mae proceeds to massacre Indara’s ostensibly innocent companions. Indara reluctantly engages the assailant only after witnessing the slaughter; protecting the peace was supposed to be the whole raison d’être of the Jedi Order.

The series is bereft of logical characters who evolve and make coherent decisions. Events unfold capriciously because the writers decide it will be convenient for the plot. Jedis can sense danger and disturbances with the Force — until the narrative decides they don’t need to anymore.

As the story progresses, Jedi Sol is dispatched to arrest Osha after witnesses identify her as the assassin from the earlier bar scene. Skeptical about her involvement, someone suggests that her twin sister Mae could be the real culprit. This leads to the following Oscar-worthy dialogue:

Master Sol: “Mae is dead; I saw her die.”
[Precisely two minutes later]
Osha: “Mae’s alive.”
Master Sol (nodding): “I believe you.”

I am increasingly convinced that Andor, a far superior spin-off from Tony Gilroy, the creator of Rogue One, was written, filmed, produced, and released on Disney+ entirely by accident; in fact, Disney executives would have done everything in their power to stop the filming had they known about it.

Acolyte’s dogged desecration of Jedi lore persists into the third episode, which finally offers some backstory on its characters, exploring their childhood and upbringing on a remote planet in a lesbian witch commune. They practice a form of religion, some offshoot of the Force, chanting ludicrous incantations such as, “The power of ONE, The power of TWO, The power of MANY!”

It is here that a cadre of Jedi, including a younger Carrie-Anne Moss and Master Sol, appear uninvited to accost the witches for having children in their midst. For reasons unexplained, they intend to abduct the children and recruit them into their ranks.

In one scene, Sol hands one of the prepubescent twins his lightsaber, nonchalantly remarking, “Look, it’s shiny,” apparently indifferent to the risk of the child inadvertently blowing a hole through her face with a laser sword. Regrettably there is no National Lightsaber Association advocacy group to preach such safety measures in the Star Wars universe.

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The creators of Acolyte are obsessed with righting the perceived sins of the past. Not enough women in the original? Cast them all as women now. Not enough diversity in the original? Cast everyone as a different race as if they’re collectible Pokémon and include completely superfluous dialogue about gender-neutral pronouns (something to look forward to in episode four). 

Acolyte is not art; it is agitation without purpose, trying to tear down the original without creating something of its own.

Harry Khachatrian (@Harry1T6) is a film critic for the Washington Examiner’s Beltway Confidential blog and a computer engineer in Toronto, pursuing his MBA.