The first 30 seconds of Star Wars tell us everything we need to know about the fight against fascism.

A small rebel ship flees an oppressively large enemy force that overtakes the screen for so long it almost feels comical. But watch any fascist propaganda and you'll see that excess is the point. Fascism smothers freedom by its totality.

Until now, the iconic franchise has only flirted with the larger context of its galactic civil war. In Andor's second season, it finally dives into it and allows us to see life on the ground level under the heel of fascist ideology. The result is an important and subversive genre masterpiece about the fight for freedom. In just twelve episodes, it recaptures the voice of the downtrodden originally set forth by George Lucas in his Vietnam allegory that was A New Hope.

The first season of Andor was about the embers that spark rebellion. In it, we met Cassian Andor, an unscrupulous thief with no allegiances who, by witnessing the cruelty of colonialist rule, finds the strength to fight his oppressors.

Season 2 picks up a year later. Cassian is even deeper into the resistance. He's hardened, weary, and terrified of losing himself in the carnage like Luthen (Stellan Skarsgård) and Saw Gerrera (Forest Whitaker). As the grip of the Empire grows stronger, word trickles down the wire of something happening in Ghorman, a wealthy liberal city of artists and free thinkers, and Cassian is sent to aid the local militia.

The season is split between three episode arcs, each covering pivotal moments in the years leading up to the Battle of Yavin. Those who saw Rogue One know how Cassian's story ends. Every step leading to it is weighed down by a sense of tragedy. Every victory rings just a little hollow until we understand that it was never about the singular people in the first place.

So, for large swaths of the season, Cassian remains on the sidelines. Yet he's always there, either spoken of or notable in his absence. It's Diego Luna's captivating performance that holds the sprawling epic together.

Which isn't to say others aren't equally strong. The underground resistance on Ghorman comes closest to The Battle of Algiers, which Andor referenced heavily in season 1. Jean Pierre Melville's masterpiece, The Army of Shadows, is another influence in the depiction of merciless choices for the greater good.

Meanwhile, Mon Mothma (Genevieve O'Reilly) and Kleya Marki (Elizabeth Dulau) walk on a tightrope behind enemy lines, echoing the tragic overtures of Bob Fosse's Cabaret as they watch Rome burn around them. Marki pushes for accelerationism while Mothma struggles to accept that to pursue freedom and justice means leaving her family behind. O'Reilly's performance as a politician losing trust in the system and friends is heartbreaking, while Dulau emerges as the heart of the series in a singularly breathtaking episode centered around her character.

There's a level of meticulous monotony that makes Andor such an intense series. Any minute could be someone's last, yet nobody knows if something momentous has occurred yet. We never know when history is made. It takes decades to see where the wave rolled back.

The series doesn’t offer respite even when it comes to the villains. Where Star Wars originally presented them as one-dimensional monsters, Andor’s most horrendous antagonists are ordinary people – some of whom are victims of the system themselves.

In an early sequence, we see the beginnings of the Death Star and how a project of its scale could operate within the system. Ben Mendelsohn returns as Orson Krennic, one of the heads of the program. He's a remarkable villain because Mendelsohn knows how to lean into his faults. Krennic is a weak man's fantasy of strength. A middle-manager given the power to destroy, and he clings to the opportunity like a lifeline.

Andor’s depiction comes directly from the Wannsee Conference, where high-ranking Nazi officers decided the logistics and totality of the Final Solution, otherwise known as The Holocaust. It's banal and almost comical in its routine, yet because we know its implications, it chills us to be bone.

Andor isn’t the story of chosen heroes and villains, it’s a story of how some of the greatest horrors are committed by nameless and faceless people working within a system that rewards their vilest instincts.

It is also a depiction of how these systems are put in place to control people from cradle to the grave. Dedra Meero (a tremendous Denise Gough) is a cold, uncaring fascist, who was raised by the empire. Everything she’s known from childhood onward is systemic imperialism. To question it would be to question her very being. One of Andor’s great triumphs is that it shows us how easily fascism is normalized, and how it takes generations to break free.

Similarly, Cyril Karn (Kyle Soller) is a product of a system that idolizes productive cogs above humans. He's the kind of easily swayed child who today would be a huge fan of toxic masculinity sold through podcasts. Even his love for Dedra feels like a result of having someone tell him what to do. It would be tragic if his actions weren't so reprehensible.

The strength of Andor, for me, is how despite this nuance, this isn't a series that sits on the fence. You won't find spineless both-sides-matter simpering here. Instead, it firmly declares a side and sticks by it, even as it acknowledges the cost of freedom.

Originally, Andor was meant to run for five seasons. Logistics and money whittled that down to just two. The twelve episodes can barely contain the vast story. You can see where it resorts to shorthand to make a point. I wish it had more room to breathe. Surely audiences would tune in for a few more years?

There's a scene halfway through the season that feels like a false note. Cassian meets a woman claiming to hold a connection with The Force. She's not a Jedi, but she sees the tapestry clearer than others. They lock eyes, and she proclaims Cassian as Someone Important. A person with a destiny. Cassian rejects the idea, but the seed is planted.

For me, it feels like a cheat. It is vital that Cassian, like all others, makes the decision to fight for themselves. Implying that it would always happen robs him, and us, of important agency. It says the collective banding together for an ideal is less valuable than one man set forth by the universe.

On the other hand, Andor is made with such skill and precision that its length also works as a strength. By the end, I was exhausted and sad. It felt like I had seen only a piece of a larger puzzle, where not all the sacrifices were worth it. Knowing where the story goes next makes the series that much more meaningful and poignant.

It says that even in triumph, fascism is so insidious it can survive by finding another form. Complacency allows it to fester and eventually return.

If Andor feels timely, it's only because the fight against fascism is timeless.