A long time ago in a Central American city far, far away… there was a 450kg, 2.3m-tall replica of Star Wars character R2D2. Or, as the Guatemalans call him, Arturo!
For all the intergalactic helper robots out there, “Beep bloop blop bleep boop!”
The plucky droid lives on the dark side of the Zona Portales shopping centre in the northeast of Guatemala City. Standing atop a scale replica of the Millennium Falcon, Artuo welcomes budding Jedis to wage war on the evil Galactic Empire… and snag some bargains while they’re at it!
Just be warned that Artuo’s located in a busy spot by the main road with lots of traffic going past – mostly To-Yodas.
Humorous, I am!
Artuo was built by Guatemala’s very own Óscar Porras – who also made El Quetzal, which can be found in the same precinct. The droid took ‘Óssie’ two months to build from scrap metal, car parts and old kitchen utensils.
Use the forks, Ossie!
“Everything is used and that is what gives the sculpture his character,” Óssie gloated, whist fiddling with his lightsaber. “I like being involved in these projects because they become an opportunity for my work to be exhibited and appreciated in public places.”
Óssie was assisted by the dynamic duo of Hugo and Percy García, who are widely regarded as Guatemala’s answer to Han Solo and Chewbacca.
I won’t tell you who looks like Hollywood hunk Harrison Ford, and who resembles an eight-foot-tall monkey thing – that would be a wookiee mistake!
Beep, Boop, Bloop
It is a dark time in the Bardot household. Bigs is staring mournfully over the streets of Guatemala, when Bigella stumbles out of the bathroom slathered head-to-toe in gold paint and walking as though someone tied her shoelaces together.
“This is madness!” Bigella pipes up, then notices Bigs’ confused expression. “It’s a line from Star Wars. I’m B-3P0!”
“Star Wars sucks,” Bigs sneers, dipping his trilby hat.
“How rude!” B-3P0 shrugs. “Only Parts I through III and VI through IX, Rogue Squadron, that weird Han Solo movie, the Clone Wars tv show and whatever the hell The Acolyte was are rubbish. The others are actually pretty good!”
“The Mandalorian was fantastic.”
“Well, Pedro Pascal…”
“Yes, Pedro Pascal,” Bigs harrumphs, making a mental note to ‘accidentally’ delete Pedro’s number from B-3P0’s phone.
Silence falls over the room as as they watch the Death Star dip languidly behind Volcán de Agua.
“Oh my goodness!” B-3P0 continues. “There’s a Big R2D2 not far from here, I do believe we should go see it.”
“How big?” the young padawan asks suspiciously.
“As tall as a fully-gown tauntaun, sir. Plus, they sell boba tea nearby.”
“Don’t you mean…” Bigs grins, before pausing for dramatic effect, “Boba Fett?”
“Bigs,” the golden goddess chuckles. “I don’t know where you learned to communicate, but you have the most peculiar dialect.”
Bleep, Beep, Bloop… Bazinga!
“Bigs, the possibility of successfully navigating the serpentine streets of Guatemala City is approximately three thousand seven hundred and twenty to one!” B-3P0 frets as the two zoom through the citadel in their very own X-wing, which looks suspiciously like a 2016 Kia Picanto with a few bits of cardboard taped to it.
“Never tell me the odds!” Bigs sneers, climbing the curb and nearly taking out a shoe-shiner hairy enough to make an Ewok blush.
And then, rising above them like a dilapidated Death Star, is Zona Portales. The natives mill about, most looking like they’d just wandered in from the deserts of Tatooine, with a few Jabba the Hutts here and there.
“Bigs, do you mind if I take off this gold paint before we get out of the car… I mean the X-wing?” B-3P0 wheezes. “I’m pretty sure I’m getting blood poisoning.”
“Sure,” Bigs chuckles. “There’s a Princess Leia slave outfit in the boot you can wear.”
The two climb out of the spaceship and, pushing through the crowds of dirty, unwashed beggars and dirtier, unwashedier Star Wars, fans descend upon Arturo.
“A perfect gumbo of futuristic kitsch and rustic swagger, Arturo walks (or should that be rolls?) the fine line between capitalist realism and bespoke whimsy, but offers an experience that’s just so quintessentially Guatemalan,” B-3P0… erm, Bigella, theorises.
“If he was any more Chapin,” Bigs cheers, “you’d expect the Pollo Campero chicken to pop out of his metallic head!”
Bloop, Bloop, Beep, Beep Episode IV: The Boop Awakens
Our heroes have just finished taking some super-cute photos with Arturo when a local tough guy, green of face and bugging-out of eyes, swaggers over and taps Bigs on the shoulder.
“Oota-goota, Bigs?” he leers, the stench of Gallo beer and Tortrix heavy on his breath.
“Use your big boy words, Greedo,” Bigs chirps.
“Sorry Bigs!” the little guy splutters, his emerald cheeks turning crimson. “Going somewhere?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I was just going to grab a bite to eat from the expansive food court.
“You weren’t going to leave without taking a selfie with your biggest fan – me! – and the Arturo statue, were you?”
“Over my dead body!”
“Thanks, Bigs. I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time.”
“Yes, I bet you have,” Bigs swoons, snuggling in for a happy snap with his pea-green admirer.
For decades to follow, hardcore Land of the Bigs fans shall argue over who smiled first. Some say Bigs. Others swear it was Greedo.
Somewhere, in the darkness, a loon calls on the lake.
