Dancing stormtroopers on the Donny & Marie TV variety show (September Club/Giant Pictures)

Snappy and entertaining, Jeremy Coon and Steve Kozak’s documentary traces the origins and aftermath of The Star Wars Holiday Special, CBS’s misguided and ill-fated two-hour variety show which aired the week before Thanksgiving 1978. Infamously disowned by George Lucas, the quality of this zany, often bizarre show has been derided and lambasted by many, while it also became a part of Star Wars lore among fans. Because it never aired again, it “became a currency of sorts in geek culture,” as Kevin Smith notes—bootleg copies now exist online. Some, such as Jon Favreau, creator of the acclaimed The Mandalorian series, view it as canon, others treat it as a disposable embarrassment.

Star Wars was not predicted to be the wildfire smash it became. Publicist Charles Lippincott cleverly reached out to Star Trek, science-fiction, and comic book fans to generate interest before its 1977 release. (A photo of an early Comic-Con shows how quaint and small scale that event once was.) It became a phenomenon while corporations scrambled to keep up with a way to tie-in to its success. However, toy companies couldn’t create and manufacture toys until a year later. The holiday special’s premiere was created in part to cannily coincide with the seasonal release of new merchandise.

The special reflects the twilight of the era’s glitzy, silly, and innocuous variety television programs, and when Star Wars was a single film before becoming a heavily controlled and corporatized franchise. Much of the documentary covers the special’s puzzling creation and production. Scenes of Chewbacca’s Wookie family in their green-carpeted tree house are surreal, including a Wookie grandfather’s virtual reality tryst with a sensual, crystal-sequined Diahann Carroll. In other skits, Art Carney, Harvey Korman, and Bea Arthur, of all people, figure as well. Arthur sings a jaunty bar tune over a synthy, slowed-down version of “Cantina Band,” while serenading a giant rat from the B-movie Food of the Gods. An animated section is wedged in as well, one of the few aspects that fans widely regard fondly.

Young director David Acomba clashed with the old-school writing team of Ken and Mitzie Welch, who also penned the songs. He ultimately left in mid-production (he pointedly did not want to talk about his participation in the show). This is one of the more dramatic incidents in the documentary, besides the story about fetching every candle in every candle store in Hollywood on the last day of shooting to decorate the empty set of the over-budgeted program’s final scene.

The jocular Bruce Vilanch, who co-wrote the show, guides us through much of the backstory. A longtime comedy writer, he seems to be bemused rather than ashamed of the production, which feels like the right tone. He is a refreshing presence, as the documentary is sometimes a bit too heavy on inevitable comedic stabs by commentators who were not involved, including Taran Killam and the late Gilbert Gottfried. Another charming presence is Bob Mackie, who designed the special’s costumes. He describes bringing bright colors to Star Wars’ neutral palate and getting Korman into interstellar drag.

I am not sure how much new information is divulged here for hardcore fans, but A Disturbance in the Force is a pleasant watch at 85-minutes about an era when IPs were not so rigidly managed.