In Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker (2019), space is more than just a backdrop—it's a silent witness to the ruins of ideology, emotion, and legacy. Each set is charged with history and intention, reflecting the characters' inner states and the franchise’s closing arc. This post examines three of the most thematically loaded environments: Exegol, Kylo Ren's star destroyer, and the Resistance base.
Exegol – The Temple of Specters
Exegol is not merely dark—it's ritually dark. The soundscape crackles with thunder, echoing like a broken amplifier in a void. From a theatrical lens, Exegol resembles an off-stage realm, where ancient scripts are rehearsed over and over. The Sith cultists remain faceless, voiceless, yet ever-present, like ghosts trapped in the scaffolding of a long-dead empire.
Palpatine is the ultimate director, hidden in the rigging above the proscenium, orchestrating shadows as if cueing the climax of an unfinished tragedy. There is no warmth, no visible source of life—only suspended machinery, resurrection tanks, and bone-like thrones. Every inch is designed to strip characters of agency, placing them inside a mythic cycle.
Kylo Ren’s Star Destroyer – The Theater of Control
The destroyer's interior is drenched in clinical brutality. Red light pours across gunmetal surfaces, not just for mood, but to project control. Unlike Darth Vader’s destroyers, which were militaristic, Kylo’s is psychological. The narrow corridors, lack of visual depth, and mirrored symmetry create a sensation of interior suffocation.
This ship is Kylo’s performance space. His movements through it mirror a solo actor wandering backstage—isolated, unrehearsed, increasingly fragmented. Even scenes of violence occur in low, reverberating silence, as if the ship itself resents emotion.
Resistance Base – The Breathing Space
그림 – Makeshift interior filled with scattered supplies and human warmthContrast arrives in the form of the Resistance base, a living, breathing space made from broken components. It’s disorganized but honest—like an actor's greenroom mid-performance. Cables tangle, makeshift maps hang from unpainted walls, and communication devices buzz with urgency rather than design.
From a stage design perspective, this is intentional chaos. These spaces foster emotional resonance not through polish but through vulnerability. There’s a sense of trust in the clutter—a reminder that what’s real isn’t sleek, but scarred, patched, and still working.
Conclusion – Memory as Architecture
The Rise of Skywalker doesn't build new spaces; it revisits haunted ones. Every location is an echo chamber of prior wars and beliefs. Through these sets, the film suggests that history is never silent—it is embedded in walls, resurrected by lightning, and whispered in every corridor. For a scenographer, this is a final act shaped by memory, not structure.
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