The Acolyte has become one of the most controversial Star Wars projects since The Last Jedi. Longtime fans have criticized its stiff acting, disregard for established lore, and, perhaps most notably, its embrace of moral relativism—a concept that runs counter to Star Wars‘ traditional battle between good and evil.
While the debate over moral relativism in Star Wars is nothing new, this show takes it a step further in a way that few are discussing. Whether intentional or not, The Acolyte leans heavily into a pro-suicide message.
Let’s break down why this is a major issue.
Torbin Was a Victim, Not a Perpetrator
In Episode 2 of The Acolyte, we see Jedi Knight Torbin after spending 10 years in a Force-meditated shield, completely impervious to Mae’s weapons. However, when Mae offers him a vial of poison—claiming it as a means of atonement for his past crimes—he shockingly accepts, taking his own life. The scene is framed as though he is consumed by guilt over the Jedi’s actions against the witches of Brendok. But when you take a closer look at the full picture, this moment becomes far more disturbing—especially when viewed from the Jedi’s perspective.
Episodes 3 and 7 reveal the Jedi’s mission to Brendok, where they seek a vergence in the Force—information that is deliberately withheld from them for weeks. When the Jedi attempt to test the twin girls for their Force potential, their leader, Mother Aniseya, forcibly possesses Torbin’s mind as leverage to force them to leave. In Episode 7, from the Jedi’s point of view, we get a chilling glimpse into Torbin’s experience. Aniseya twists his mind, manipulating him into believing his natural emotions are being repressed, ultimately commanding him to kneel in a way that carries unsettling, deeply suggestive overtones.
His response? “I want to go home.” A clear indicator that he was deeply disturbed by the encounter—but this moment is never properly addressed. If you thought Anakin’s awkward flirting with Padmé was creepy, what Aniseya does here crosses into outright grooming. There’s no sugarcoating it: Torbin’s mind was violated in a sexual way, and yet the show refuses to acknowledge the full implications of this.
The Acolyte Frames Torbin’s Death as Justified
What makes this even worse is how The Acolyte presents Torbin’s suicide. The show frames his death as deserved—as though his guilt over the Jedi mission justifies his choice to end his life. But when you examine what actually happened, this perspective completely falls apart.
- Torbin didn’t commit any direct wrongdoing—he simply followed the mission as ordered.
- He was mind-controlled and violated by Aniseya.
- He was later attacked and had his face torn by a possessed Wookiee.
- Even his own master Indara doesn’t console him, which shows how unjedi like these characters are.
And yet, we are somehow supposed to see Mae—the person who gaslit a sexual assault victim into suicide—as sympathetic? The writing expects us to align with her need for revenge, despite her actively encouraging a man, who had already been mentally and emotionally shattered, to take his own life. There is nothing morally gray about this—it’s outright horrifying.
The Acolyte’s Moral Ambiguity Is Deeply Flawed
The show attempts to present a morally ambiguous narrative, but it is undeniably biased in favor of the witches—despite the fact that they escalated the situation beyond reason. Instead of exploring Torbin’s trauma in a meaningful way, his suffering is treated as a plot device and then discarded. If The Acolyte had the courage to fully confront these themes in a nuanced, thoughtful manner, it could have added depth to the story. Instead, it sends a disturbingly careless message about trauma.
This writing isn’t just bad—it’s irresponsible.
Sol’s Final Words and The Acolyte’s Troubling Message
If it were just Torbin’s suicide, maybe it could have been dismissed as a one-off tragedy. But Sol’s death at Osha’s hands cements a disturbing pattern. When Osha fully embraces the dark side and force-chokes Sol, his final words—“It’s okay.”—feel oddly out of place. Why would he say this? The only plausible explanation is that he wanted to die, believing himself guilty of some unseen crime.
But what crime? Sol’s only mistake was misreading the situation. Aniseya could have simply told him she was letting Osha go, instead of turning into a giant ghost monster and escalating everything. That’s the biggest flaw in this entire conflict—it feels painfully forced. The Jedi weren’t the aggressors here; the witches pushed the situation to a breaking point.
And the message this sends? That good people deserve to die for making a mistake. That’s not just unsettling—it’s not Star Wars.
Maybe this wasn’t intentional. Maybe we’re reading too much into it. However, this fits into an unsettling trend in modern media, especially under Disney’s leadership.
Reverse Sexism?
It’s not just the flawed message—it’s the execution. The portrayal of male characters in The Acolyte is deeply questionable. Torbin and Sol are the only significant male protagonists, and both are either broken, doomed, or dismissed. We once criticized the original trilogy for its lack of female characters, but this modern reversal is just as destructive. Alienating your core audience—historically young men—isn’t just bad faith; it’s bad business.
Star Wars has always had universal appeal, but let’s be honest—the franchise has traditionally resonated most with male audiences. Yet now, under the guidance of corporate activists chasing trends over story, traditional male heroes are being sidelined. And instead of crafting compelling, well-rounded new characters, the solution seems to be tearing down the old ones.
Is this really the future of Star Wars?
Off on a Tangent—But an Important One
The scenes involving Torbin and Sol in The Acolyte reflect a much larger problem—not just within Star Wars, but in the broader cultural and political climate.
A major issue today, one that is too often ignored, is the mental health crisis among young men. Many are struggling with loneliness, fewer friendships, and a growing sense of isolation. As a result, they turn to media as a way to escape. Entertainment has long been a powerful tool—not just for understanding reality, but for providing moments of relief from it. Star Wars was once one of the great escapist franchises, offering adventure, heroism, and hope. But not anymore.
Instead, modern political trends have led companies to sideline and shame men rather than inspire them. Yes, toxic masculinity exists, but the answer isn’t to tear down male role models—it’s to create better ones. Yet nothing Kathleen Kennedy, Leslye Headland, or Rian Johnson has done offers young men a positive vision of themselves.
And here’s the real problem: this kind of reactionary storytelling fuels backlash. When people feel alienated, they push back—hard. This is how we end up with figures like Trump (yes, I went there). We’re now in a moment where even genuine diversity is being discouraged because of this reinforced belief that everything woke must be destroyed, no matter how destructive this is. The Anti-woke backlash we have now, to the point where unashamed fascists are being put in power, would not have been as powerful if people like Kennedy and Headland weren’t so exclusive and sidelining their male audience.
Look at what Star Wars has done to its legacy characters. Han Solo was killed off in the most arbitrary way possible. Luke Skywalker—who should have been a wise, experienced mentor—was reduced to a bitter, broken hermit who abandoned everything he once stood for. And why? To make way for new characters like Rey, who skipped the trials and growth that made the original heroes compelling in the first place.
This kind of activism-driven storytelling is harming cinema. Instead of crafting layered narratives that make audiences think about society’s flaws, modern films simply lecture them. It’s no longer about telling great stories—it’s about pushing a message, whether it fits the story or not.
A Dangerous Message
To put it simply, Torbin and Sol’s death scenes were just poorly written—with an unhealthy and troubling message. But you know what this is all part of a larger trend. The fact that Disney greenlit something so obviously problematic is concerning.
Going out of their way to force sympathy on objectively evil people. They did it with Reva in Kenobi, they did it with Barris Offee in Tales of the Empire, and they did it with Mae here. Characters who commit objectively evil crimes, take no responsibility for their actions and are quickly forgiven/dismissed because of they suddenly have a moment of mercy with no believable transition. And it’s also telling that all this treatment is being done to their female villains
One of Star Wars’ core themes has always been redemption—the idea that anyone can make the choice to change. We know the Emperor was beyond saving, but Luke gave Vader every chance to turn back. The Acolyte, however, rejects this fundamental idea of redemption. It doesn’t offer second chances; it’s mean-spirited and vindictive as if the showrunner was using Star Wars to project a personal grudge rather than tell a compelling story.
At its worst, The Acolyte implies that good people don’t deserve redemption and that their mistakes define them forever. It’s a bleak, misguided message that completely misunderstands what makes Star Wars resonate with audiences. The way these themes were handled wasn’t just bad storytelling—it was on the level of 13 Reasons Why in terms of botched morals.
In the end, The Acolyte didn’t just fail as a show—it failed the very spirit of Star Wars.
