@Scepticalscribe Kudos for awarding the student a first for his essay that referenced popular culture.
But not knowing who Darth Vader was in the late 80s? Oh dear,
@Scepticalscribe. Oh dear.
(shakes head disappointedly)
Well,
@Obi Wan Kenobi - I hate to have to break it to you but that is not all I didn't know in popular culture. I was one of those kids who was born middle aged, and was utterly impervious to popular culture, entirely oblivious to it, in fact.
In the late 70s - while I was still at school - I had been sent to France to stay for around six weeks with a fabulously cultured and entirely wonderful (I'm still in touch with them, and we are still friends) French family (who lived, and still live, in the centre of Paris) for the purposes of immersing myself in French culture and improving my French language skills.
They took me to Versailles one lovely day, and, as we were about to depart, a convoy of cars screeched to a halt in the forecourt - which was where we just happened to be standing - at the very front of the palace of Versailles.
The first of the cars was an open topped sports car, and a dark haired individual leapt from it, but in a manner which suggested that he rather hoped that the pursuing pack were paying close attention. Photographers spilled from the following cars, and the dark-haired gentleman struck a nonchalant pose or two as they snapped pictures of him.
My French hosts were as bewildered as I was. They counted René Clair and Gerard Phillippe (and their families) as friends, and the grandfather of the family, - who was still alive, and still broadcasting and publishing at that time - was a pretty well known cinema writer and a founding member of the Cannes Film Festival, serving on the jury, who had been very friendly with Marc Chagall.
In French, we wondered - with other French people who also stood there with that peculiarly French air of silent detachment to observe this spectacle - and it was rather loud - who the preening gentleman was and what this was all about. One of the other French individuals observing this commotion shrugged, and said that they thought it might be the man who had starred in Saturday Night Fever.
Needless to say, I hadn't seen the movie, but a name surfaced in my memory, and I simply said 'quelle vanité' to the gentleman in question - who heard me, we were standing close enough for that - and we then took our leave, and thought nothing further of it.
It was only when I returned to school, some days later, and related this tale, that I realised that my classmates were close to lynching me. They were horrified - a surprising number of them were deeply in the throes of teenage passion for the gentleman in question - something I only learned then - and they couldn't believe that the rotten luck of the universe could have contrived an entirely accidental and unexpected encounter between the one person in the class who was guaranteed not only not to know - but not to even care - who John Travolta was at that time.