Rogue One is two films, made for two distinct audiences. The first is unlike any Star Wars movie I've seen, a sort of pocket-universe combat picture that hangs heavy with imperial oppression and desperate heroes. The filmmakers camouflage their story in soot and sadness, making familiar elements easier to digest as they trickle in. Yes, Jyn (Felicity Jones) is another barren-planet orphan who finds herself fighting the Empire, but she lacks Rey's optimism and Luke's sense of galactic justice. Compelling stuff. The second Rogue One is a long, dispiriting fan-service loop of gratuitous cameos and marble-mouthed exposition that climaxes in a clumsy retread of the Battle of Endor. Last year's Episode VII waded into this pool, but promised an expansion of the mythos. Here, Disney/Lucasfilm walk that promise back, reducing the once groundbreaking series to a calendar-based motion product with goals no more ambitious than those of the Saw franchise.