In a galaxy that so often orbits around grand mythologies and legendary heroes, Star Wars: Tales of the Underworld dares to shift the focus. Instead of lightsabers and legacies, it zeroes in on the lives lived in the shadows — the bounty hunters, the assassins, the forgotten Jedi, and the exiled. And in doing so, it may be one of the most thematically rich additions to the Star Wars canon in years.
Asajj Ventress and Cort in Lucasfilm’s STAR WARS: TALES OF THE UNDERWORLD. Photo courtesy of Lucasfilm. © 2025 Lucasfilm Ltd. All Rights Reserved.
Created by Dave Filoni, the six-episode animated anthology reimagines the world of Star Wars through the eyes of those who usually serve as supporting players in someone else’s story. This time, they’re center stage — flawed, fractured, and, in many cases, searching for something as elusive as a place to belong. Like Andor, this isn’t about prophecy or space operatics. It’s about the cost of survival. The quiet war between what we are and what we want to be.
At the heart of the series is the return of Asajj Ventress, resurrected through Nightsister magick in a bold narrative choice that could have easily felt like fan service. But in the hands of Filoni and the team, her return is not a gimmick — it’s a meditation. What happens when someone gets a second chance not just at life, but at identity?
Ventress, once a Sith assassin and outcast, is reborn on Dathomir in a world that no longer knows what to do with her. And neither does she. Her arc, which threads through several episodes, finds her reluctantly drawn into the life of Lyco Strata, a Padawan on the run in the wake of Order 66. What starts as convenience — helping him for survival — becomes something deeper: mentorship, even kinship. It’s a reminder that redemption isn’t cinematic; it’s a slow, agonizing, deeply human thing.
She’s still fierce. Still dangerous. But Tales of the Underworld finally gives her room to feel. To choose peace without forgetting her scars. It’s a moving, emotionally precise evolution that honors her past while reimagining her future.
Asajj Ventress (voiced by Nika Futterman) in Lucasfilm’s STAR WARS: TALES OF THE UNDERWORLD. Photo courtesy of Lucasfilm. © 2025 Lucasfilm Ltd. All Rights Reserved.
While Ventress moves toward the light, Cad Bane drifts into something darker — or maybe just more honest. The famed bounty hunter, known for his icy precision and blue-skinned swagger, is given surprising emotional depth here. Across his arc, Bane is forced to reckon with who he’s become: not a man of principle, not even really a villain — just a survivor in a galaxy that pays better when you stop asking questions.
One episode in particular, which reunites him with a former friend turned local sheriff, feels like a Western slowed to a heartbeat. It’s not a redemption arc, and that’s what makes it work. Bane doesn’t change. But he hesitates. And in a universe where hesitation can get you killed, that brief pause feels seismic. He’s not softened, but he’s studied — a case study in what happens when belief gives way to bargaining.
Newcomer Lyco Strata, the fugitive Jedi Padawan who bridges the show’s two major arcs, could have easily been a stock character — young, Force-sensitive, a stand-in for youthful optimism. But instead, Lyco becomes the beating heart of Tales of the Underworld. He’s not powerful. He’s not always brave. But he believes. And in this dark corner of the galaxy, belief — in the Force, in people, in redemption — is a dangerous thing.
His connection with Ventress gives her a new lens through which to see the world. His quiet courage, and the trauma he carries in silence, push against the galaxy’s cynicism. It’s a performance (animated or not) that feels emotionally lived in, and it anchors the show’s moral center without ever tipping into sentimentality.
Visually, the series continues Lucasfilm Animation’s ascent. It doesn’t have the scale of Clone Wars or Rebels, but it doesn’t need it. The palette is earthier, colder — blues, greys, reds. The shadows aren’t just aesthetic; they’re thematic. Every frame reinforces the idea that this is a galaxy that turns its back on people like Ventress and Bane until it needs them again.
The action, when it happens, is visceral and tightly choreographed. But this isn’t a series interested in spectacle for spectacle’s sake. Like Andor, much of the tension is built through conversation, through stillness. There’s meaning in the silences here — in what’s unsaid, in what’s withheld.
Perhaps what Tales of the Underworld does best is allow its characters to change without betraying who they are. Ventress isn’t softened. Bane isn’t suddenly noble. Lyco isn’t a chosen one. Instead, the show asks more complex questions, questions Star Wars often has time for. But here, they’re the entire point.
Tales of the Underworld is Star Wars storytelling at its most intimate and psychologically rich. It doesn’t seek to redefine the galaxy, but to better understand the people who live in its margins. And in doing so, it finds emotional textures the franchise too often misses.
By focusing on characters like Asajj Ventress and Cad Bane — deeply flawed, quietly tragic, and rarely given the narrative room to breathe — the series becomes something more than a side story. It becomes essential.
For longtime fans, it offers resolution and evolution. For new viewers, it offers a doorway into the raw emotional core of Star Wars — one where redemption isn’t granted by prophecy, but earned through pain, choice, and quiet acts of courage.
