Revenge of the Sith at 20: An anniversary review of the darkest Star Wars chapter

Revisiting Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith 20 years later doesn’t make it hurt less. It hurts even more because now, we know. We know what it means to break slowly. We know what it means to lose someone before they’re truly gone.

This is not a film that hits softly. It drowns us, rips us open and shatters us. And when you revisit it with a different soul, a different weight on your chest, it’s like the tragedy waited for you to grow up just so it could cut deeper.

The first seeds of darkness were planted long before Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith

"There are heroes on both sides. Evil is everywhere." — Opening crawl, Revenge of the Sith

Anakin’s descent didn’t begin on Mustafar but on the desert sands of Tatooine, when grief and rage led him to massacre an entire village after his mother’s death. This was a secret he only ever shared with Padmé, a confession soaked in guilt, sorrow and self-loathing. No Jedi Council ever knew. No master ever guided him through the pain.

And without healing, the wound festered and grew into fear, anger and a desperate need to control what he loved, no matter the cost.

By the time Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith opens, Anakin is already standing on the edge. All it takes is one more nightmare and one more manipulation for him to fall.

The anatomy of a fall: how fear and love led Anakin to darkness

Anakin Skywalker didn’t fall out of ambition but out of fear.

He had already lost once, when his mother died in his arms after years of dreams that he couldn’t stop. Now, when visions of Padmé’s death haunt his sleep, he refuses to be powerless again.

Palpatine preys on and nurtures Anakin's fears. He promises impossible salvation in exchange for absolute loyalty. And Anakin, like the tragic heroes of Greek tragedy, accepts the offer, desperate to save the only person who makes the galaxy bearable. His fall isn't driven by greed or hatred alone. It’s a fall born of love, corrupted, twisted, weaponized until it becomes indistinguishable from hate. That’s what makes it so painful. So human.

Anakin doesn't see himself becoming Vader. He sees himself fighting to prevent loss, and in doing so, he loses everything.

The slow collapse of hope

Meanwhile, the Republic rots from within. Every frame drips with inevitable decay: friendships strained, alliances breaking, shadows growing.

Even in the chaos of war, you can feel it. The silence before the scream. The quiet before the storm.

And then comes the moment that guts you:

"So this is how liberty dies. With thunderous applause."

Padmé Amidala’s whisper in the Senate chambers doesn’t echo across the galaxy. It gets swallowed. Celebrated. Because, by the time the darkness becomes visible, it’s already too late.

The final battles in Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith - When everything breaks at once

The galaxy doesn’t end with a scream. It concludes with two duels playing out like mirrors: one between brothers, the other between withering ideas.

Obi-Wan confronts Anakin not as a Jedi against a Sith but as someone observing a loved one fade. The real pain is in every word, every plea. Obi-Wan still hopes there’s a way back. But Anakin, no, Vader, believes he’s finally strong, finally in control.

Meanwhile, Yoda confronts Palpatine in the Senate chamber, the heart of a Republic that no longer exists. It’s a fight soaked in irony: the most powerful Jedi facing the evil that grew unnoticed in plain sight.

Neither battle can be won. Not because of strength or skill, but because the damage was done long before the sabers were drawn. These aren’t fights for victory. They’re the aftermath of everything already lost. And as red and blue lights blur into chaos, so does the line between what was and what’s left behind.

When even the wise must fall

The fall of the Jedi isn’t sealed with the clash of sabers, but with Yoda’s quiet retreat.

"Into exile I must go. Failed I have."

It’s not just the defeat of a warrior but the unraveling of a belief system. For centuries, Yoda had been the symbol of wisdom, of calm, of balance. But now? Now he sees it clearly. The Jedi Order didn’t just lose. It had lost its way long before this war ever began.

Yoda doesn't run. He mourns.

His exile is an admission that the galaxy needs something the Jedi could no longer offer. And maybe, in silence, something better can be born.

The high ground and the lowest point

It ends with a jump. A mistake. A final burst of pride.

Anakin, already consumed by darkness, tries to outmatch Obi-Wan one last time. But he fails. In a single, swift move, Obi-Wan severs his legs and arm, leaving him broken and burning at the edge of the lava.

And yet, even in agony, Anakin screams,

"I hate you."

He’s not asking for help. He’s rejecting it and choosing to die with his anger rather than be saved by love.

Obi-Wan doesn’t strike again. He can’t. All he can do is weep with no visible tears, voice cracking under the weight of every lost hope.

"You were the chosen one. It was said that you would destroy the Sith, not join them. Bring balance to the Force, not leave it in darkness."

This isn’t victory. It’s loss made visible.

Anakin doesn't die when the flames reach him but when Obi-Wan walks away.

The birth of hope and the death of love

Padmé doesn’t die because her body fails. She dies because her heart can’t bear the weight of what’s been lost.

The medics say,

"She’s lost the will to live."

And it’s true.

The man she loved is gone. Her world has crumbled, and even though her children are being born, she knows she won’t live to raise them. As she gives birth to Luke and Leia, her voice is barely a whisper:

"There’s good in him. I know there is."

It’s not a plea. It’s a prophecy. A quiet faith that the story isn’t over yet.

Padmé dies as Anakin is sealed in the armor. One life consumed by fire, the other by silence.

In the ashes of their love, two stars are born, the last hope of a galaxy slipping into shadow.

The cost of becoming Vader: when love becomes a weapon

Padmé wasn't choked to death by Anakin. But that moment, the dread in her eyes, the sorrow in her words, shattered something that could never be fixed. She survived the violence. What she couldn’t survive was the grief.

When Palpatine tells Vader,

"It seems in your anger, you killed her,"

he twists the knife deeper.

It’s not a fact. It’s a trap. Because it doesn’t matter if it’s true. What matters is that Anakin believes it. And that’s when he screams.

"NOOOOO!"

Mocked for years, that cry is easy to laugh at, until you remember what it really means. It’s not just rage. It’s the sound of someone realizing they sacrificed everything and still failed. It’s the sound of a man who thought he was saving the one he loved, only to become the reason she’s gone.

What survives after everything ends

The galaxy doesn’t find peace. It finds silence.

Luke is taken to Tatooine, to the same desert where Anakin’s first wounds began. Leia is sent to Alderaan, a planet doomed to die. The children are hidden, not celebrated, their existence a secret kept beneath the wreckage of what once was.

Obi-Wan walks into the desert with nothing but guilt and the weight of a promise.

Yoda retreats to the swamps of Dagobah, exiled and alone.

And above it all, the newly-forged Darth Vader stands beside the Emperor, watching the construction of a weapon that will define the next era: the Death Star.

There are no parades. No celebration. Just shadows.

And yet, even in all that darkness, a spark remains.

Because Padmé was right.

There is good in him.

And the Force, for all its chaos and cruelty, is never truly finished with anyone.

Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith doesn’t just end a trilogy. It births the myth. It leaves us broken, breathless, and waiting.

For now, finally, we understand what must be done for hope to return.

Rate with a touch of flair: 5 out of five sparks of rebellion hiddenin plain sight.