Darth Vader's
Yelp Reviews

Death Star, Sector 7-G • 1 star

I have crushed rebel alliances. I have ended planets. I have stared into the void of space and felt nothing. And yet, somehow, the meatloaf in this cafeteria has managed to inflict upon me a suffering I did not know was possible. It is grey. Not a dignified grey, like my Star Destroyer. A sad grey. The grey of defeat. The grey of a food item that has given up on itself. I asked the cafeteria worker if the meatloaf was supposed to taste like recycled insulation foam. He said it was "Chef's Special." I Force-choked him. Not because I was angry, but because I genuinely believed he was trying to assassinate me. The pudding was also subpar. The only thing this cafeteria excels at is making me reconsider whether destroying Alderaan was truly the worst thing that happened this fiscal quarter.

Bespin, Outer Rim Territories • 2 stars

The view from Cloud City is, I will admit, adequate. Floating above an endless expanse of orange clouds does create a certain ambiance that I, as a Dark Lord, can appreciate. However, the hospitality leaves much to be desired. I arrived for a quiet dinner with some associates, froze one of my dinner guests in carbonite as a perfectly reasonable business decision, and the host — Lando something — had the audacity to complain. Complained! As though I hadn't just demonstrated an innovative approach to conflict resolution. The dining room itself was passable, though the table was set for a trap, which I found gauche. I am the one who sets traps. The wine list was acceptable. I had a Bespin Burgundy that paired well with betrayal. Two stars because the carbonite freezing chamber worked flawlessly, which suggests they maintain their industrial equipment better than their customer service.

Mustafar, Outer Rim • 0 stars

Zero stars. Negative stars if the platform allowed it. I would give this planet negative stars the way I give my former master negative limbs. The listing said "waterfront property with dramatic views." It is LAVA. The waterfront is LAVA. I lost three limbs here and caught on fire, and somehow the real estate agent had the gall to call it a "fixer-upper with character." Character? I will tell you what has character: my full-body life-support suit that I now require because someone sold me beachfront property ON AN ACTIVE VOLCANIC HELLSCAPE. The HOA fees are also unreasonable. What exactly am I paying for? Lava maintenance? The lava maintains itself. It is lava. Do not buy property on Mustafar. Do not visit Mustafar. Do not even think about Mustafar. I am thinking about it right now and my respiratory system is making that angry wheezing sound.

Dagobah, Sluis Sector • 1 star

I sent a probe droid to review this location because I refuse to personally visit a swamp planet. The tour guide was apparently a small green creature who speaks backwards and lives in a mud hut. The brochure promised "mystical encounters and spiritual awakening." My probe droid reported that it encountered a snake, sank into a bog, and was hit with a stick by the aforementioned small green creature. The "tour" consists of walking through identical-looking swamps while being lectured about "the living Force" by someone who cooks stew over an open flame in what appears to be a war crime against cuisine. There are no gift shops. There is no parking. There is no reason to go to Dagobah. The entire planet smells like wet Wookiee, and I say that as someone whose breathing apparatus filters 97% of ambient odors. One star because at least the planet is remote enough that no one can hear you scream about the mosquitoes.

Mos Eisley, Tatooine • 1 star

You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy, and I say that as someone who regularly attends Imperial Senate meetings. The drinks are watered down. The band knows exactly one song, which they play on an infinite loop like some kind of jizz-wailer purgatory. Someone got their arm cut off during my appetizer course and nobody even paused their conversation. I suppose I should not judge — I have removed limbs in dining establishments myself — but at least when I do it, I have the courtesy to use the Force, which is much tidier than a lightsaber. The bartender refused to serve droids, which is discriminatory, and I say that as someone who is approximately 60% machine at this point. The restrooms are unspeakable. I have seen the inside of a sarlacc pit, and I would sooner use that as a lavatory.

Kamino, Wild Space • 4 stars

Finally, a business that understands quality control. The Kaminoans run a tight operation: clean facilities, professional staff, and they produced millions of genetically identical soldiers with remarkable consistency. I appreciate a workforce that does not talk back, does not ask for vacation days, and looks exactly the same so I do not have to remember names. Four stars instead of five because the clones occasionally develop "personalities" and "independent thought," which I find to be a manufacturing defect. I specifically ordered soldiers, not individuals with hopes and dreams. The gift shop sells miniature clone helmets, which I found charming. The cafeteria here is significantly better than the Death Star's, though that is an extraordinarily low bar. It rains constantly on Kamino, which suits my aesthetic perfectly. Bring an umbrella.

Tatooine, Dune Sea • 1 star

The proprietor is an enormous slug who laughs at his own jokes, employs a sadistic protocol droid as a translator, and keeps a rancor in his basement like some kind of exotic pet hoarder. The entertainment was subpar — a Twi'lek dancer fell into the rancor pit mid-performance, which I admit does add an element of surprise to dinner theater, but is ultimately a health code violation. The pit in the floor is a liability nightmare. No guard rails. No warning signs. Just a hole that leads to a monster. My legal team would have a field day. The throne room smells of old Hutt, which is exactly as unpleasant as it sounds. Jabba himself ate a live frog during our meeting, which I found unprofessional. I have breathing apparatus and even I could smell this place through it. The valet parking was handled by Jawas, and I am fairly certain they stole my hubcaps.

Forest Moon of Endor • 2 stars

The brochure described this as a "rustic woodland retreat." What it failed to mention is that the woods are infested with small bear-like creatures who build elaborate tree houses and worship golden droids as deities. I was attempting to enjoy a quiet meditation on the dark side of the Force when I was pelted with rocks by a creature that came up to my knee. These "Ewoks" are a menace. They set traps everywhere — logs, nets, tripwires — like a Home Alone sequel directed by a war criminal. The Lodge itself was a repurposed Imperial shield generator bunker, which I appreciated architecturally, but the concierge was a rebel commando who seemed very uncomfortable with my reservation. Two stars because the forest is genuinely beautiful at sunset, and I am not so consumed by darkness that I cannot appreciate good natural lighting. The continental breakfast was adequate.

Death Star II, Endor Orbit • 5 stars

Five stars. Impeccable. The throne room aboard the second Death Star represents the pinnacle of interior design: minimalist, dramatic, and featuring a window with a view of an ongoing space battle, which is the ultimate screensaver. The Emperor's throne swivels a full 360 degrees, which shows an attention to ergonomic detail that I wish more villains would adopt. The lighting is perfect — just enough ambient glow to be menacing without being so dark that you trip over your cape. The stairs leading to the throne are the ideal number of steps: enough to be imposing, not so many that you arrive winded. My only note is that the guard rails around the reactor shaft are, once again, inadequate. Someone could fall down that thing. Someone did fall down that thing. It was my boss. Five stars regardless because the acoustics are unmatched. When the Emperor cackles, it reverberates beautifully. Truly a space designed for evil.

Departing Scarif, Destination Unknown • 1 star

I boarded this vessel with a simple request: hand over the stolen Death Star plans. A perfectly reasonable ask. The captain — one "Captain Antilles" — was evasive about the itinerary, the passenger manifest, and frankly everything else I asked about. He claimed this was a "diplomatic mission to Alderaan," which is the space equivalent of telling a traffic officer you were "just going the speed limit." The hallways are far too narrow for a person of my stature and respiratory equipment. I had to Force-choke my way through the corridors, which is exhausting and frankly a cardio workout I did not sign up for. The escape pods were launched without authorization, which is a safety violation. One star. The ship was clean, I will grant them that, but it was clean in the way that a crime scene is clean — suspiciously so. Would not cruise again.

Hoth, Anoat Sector • 1 star

I have been to the dark side of the Force. I have endured the agony of lava burns across 90% of my body. I have listened to Admiral Ozzel speak. And yet, nothing — NOTHING — prepared me for the sheer miserable cold of this so-called "Ice Hotel." Everything is ice. The walls are ice. The bed is ice. The complimentary mint on the pillow is frozen solid. I attempted to use the in-room heating and was told "we don't have heating, sir, it's an ice hotel." The concierge was a tauntaun. Not a person riding a tauntaun. The actual concierge was a tauntaun. It smelled terrible on the outside and, I am told, worse on the inside. The rebels had set up some kind of base here, which tells you everything about the clientele: people who have given up on comfort entirely. My suit's heating system was working overtime. One star because the ice sculptures were admittedly impressive.

Cloud City, Bespin • 3 stars

Three stars. The meal itself was actually quite promising — a Tibanna gas-seared nerf steak with a Cloud City reduction that showed real culinary ambition. The sommelier recommended a wine that paired beautifully with the main course. The table setting was elegant, the lighting atmospheric. And then my son showed up. Again. Every time I try to have a civilized meal in this city, my son appears with a lightsaber and an attitude. He cut off my hand, which — and I cannot stress this enough — is very difficult to do when you are a cyborg and most of your hand is already mechanical. The waiter handled the disruption professionally, offering to box up my entree while I dangled my child over a bottomless shaft. I appreciate that level of service. The dessert menu was never presented due to the family emergency. Three stars: excellent food, poor timing, and I really wish my children would call ahead before dropping in.