I Don’t Love Spock
By Mattew Continetti
National Review
Published
March 7, 2015
“I loved Spock,” said President Obama, reacting to the death of actor Leonard Nimoy. Why? Because Spock reminds him of himself. The galaxy’s most famous Vulcan, the president wrote, was “Cool, logical, big-eared, and level headed, the center of Star Trek’s optimistic, inclusive vision of humanity’s future.” Just like you know whom.
The president is not the only writer who has drawn comparisons between himself and Spock. I am also a Star Trek fan, but I admit I was somewhat confused by my rather apathetic reaction to Nimoy’s death. And as I thought more about the president’s statement, I realized he identifies with the very aspects of the Spock character that most annoy me. I don’t love Spock at all.
Not only do Spock’s peacenik inclinations routinely land the Enterprise and the Federation into trouble, his “logic” and “level head” mask an arrogant emotional basket case. Unlike the superhuman android Data, a loyal officer whose deepest longing is to be human, Spock spends most of his life as a freelancing diplomat eager to negotiate with the worst enemies of Starfleet. He’s the opposite of a role model: a cautionary tale.
Spock cares only for himself. He returns to the Enterprise in Star Trek: The Motion Picture (1979) only because he believes the superior intelligence of V’ger might help him finally purge all human elements from his soul. True, he sacrifices himself for the good of the ship in Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan (1982), but Spock’s renunciation of self is not as total as we are led to believe. He knows he has a fallback position. He knocks out McCoy and without the doctor’s consent transfers part of his consciousness to his old friend.
The crew then spends the following two movies breaking countless regulations to bring Spock back to life. They steal the Enterprise, illegally pilot it out of Space Dock, trespass on the Genesis planet, blow up the Enterprise, hijack a bird-of-prey and kill its entire crew, take the stolen Klingon vessel to Vulcan, and return to Earth despite a travel ban imposed by the president of the Federation at the beginning of Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home (1986). Illustrating the absurdly liberal future envisioned by Gene Rodenberry, where there is no money or human want or, apparently, rule of law, despite all of these crimes Kirk and Spock and company are rewarded with a brand new ship at the end of the fourth film.
Spock is the reason Sybok captures this just-off-the-assembly-line Enterprise in Star Trek V: The Final Frontier (1989) and comes very close to delivering it to an insane, frightening god entity that sounds like Orson Welles. Most damning to his reputation, however, has got to be the mess Spock creates in Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country (1991). Unbeknownst to his best friend, Spock has taken up secret negotiations with the Federation’s mortal enemy, the Klingon Empire, to dismantle the neutral zone and end the military dimension of Starfleet. Then Spock decides the best person to accompany the Klingon high chancellor to a galactic peace conference is Kirk, whom the Klingon’s despise (in the words of the great John Schuck: “There shall be no peace as long as Kirk lives!”) and who hates them in return. What a brilliant idea.
Furthermore, Spock volunteers Kirk for the job without the captain’s permission. His decision thoughtlessly plays into the hands of the interstellar conspiracy to foment war between the Federation and the Klingons, because the plot’s leaders see Kirk as the perfect fall guy for the assassination of Chancellor Gorkon.
Spock’s ethnocentrism, combined with “illogical” romantic attraction, leads him to promote one of the conspirators, Lieutenant Valeris, to a bridge position wherefrom she manipulates the investigation into Gorkon’s death, conceals evidence, and murders two co-conspirators. Some judge of character, that Spock.
Then, when Kirk surrenders himself to General Chang, Spock plants a ridiculously conspicuous Viridian Patch on Kirk’s shoulder so he can trace the captain’s whereabouts. But he has no need to track Kirk because the captain’s trial is broadcast across the quadrant and the Klingon judge says specifically where Kirk and McCoy will be imprisoned.
A routine planetary scan of Rura Penthe would have alerted the Enterprise the moment Kirk emerged from the energy shield. Was Spock hoping the Klingons would see the patch and murder him and McCoy for attempting to escape? We’ll never know.
Kirk eventually figures out the murder mystery and once again saves civilization. But Spock’s colossal blunder does not stop him from disappearing from the Federation decades later and turning up on Romulus, where he begins unauthorized negotiations with yet another illiberal adversary of the Federation. This time he has befriended Romulan Senator Pardek, with whom he hopes to arrange for the unification of the Vulcan and Romulan peoples.
But of course Pardek is playing Spock for a fool. Reunification is a guise for an audacious Romulan invasion of Vulcan that draws inspiration from the Soviet taking of Iceland in Red Storm Rising (1986). It is only because the Enterprise-D has been sent to the neutral zone, and Captain Picard and Lieutenant Commander Data have been dispatched to Romulus to locate and secure Spock, that the plot against the Federation is revealed before it’s too late.
I also find it noteworthy that Commander Sela and Proconsul Neral believe there is a chance that Spock will actively cooperate with their plan evidence that the ambassador’s loyalties aren’t clear even to the Romulans. What’s more, despite inadvertently starting yet another war, Spock insists he remain on the home world of the most aggressive and conniving galactic power. In a massive (but unusual) lapse in judgment, Picard agrees.
Amazingly, though, such disastrous negotiations with Klingons and Romulans aren’t even the worst things Spock does. If we accept Star Trek (2009) as canon then the “cool” and “level-headed” Spock is responsible for the destruction not only of his home world and the death of 6 billion Vulcans but of the entire Star Trek timeline that audiences have loved for almost 50 years. As usual, evil happens because Spock is too idealistic, too in thrall to a value-neutral conception of science, to consider the unintended consequences of his actions.
The 2009 movie has a backstory that is complicated and silly, and I am too tired to recount it in detail so you can read a synopsis here. Nevertheless, Star Trek is an enjoyable picture that is revealing of Spock’s awfulness. It shows how Spock (played by Zachary Quinto) is tormented, physically and mentally, by the fact that his mother is human, how Mr. Logic is actually a boiling kettle of fury, resentment, passion, and ambition. Spock is a jerk to his girlfriend Uhura (Zoe Saldana), who is way out of his league. He almost kills Kirk (Chris Pine). He is so overcome with emotion he relieves himself from duty in the middle of a huge crisis.
Spock is rude to his father. “I never knew what Spock was doing,” Sarek (Mark Lenard) tells Picard in “Unification 1.” “When he was a boy, he would disappear for days into the mountains. I would ask him where he had gone, what he had done; he’d refuse to tell me. I forbade him to go; he ignored me.” Spock and Sarek fight constantly throughout the Trek continuity, despite Sarek’s offering his son countless diplomatic opportunities that Spock invariably messes up. Then Spock ignores his father for years as Sarek suffers from Bendai Syndrome and dies.
And Obama likes this selfish jerk? The coolness the president so appreciates in Spock is a thin veneer over a remarkably arrogant and off-putting detachment from human suffering. Dr. McCoy, played by the charming DeForest Kelley, bitingly exposed this truth about Spock’s nature again and again. Discussing the Genesis Project in Wrath of Khan, for example, Spock lectures McCoy, “Really, Dr. McCoy. You must learn to govern your passions. They will be your undoing. Logic suggests ”
But McCoy won’t hear it and he’s right. “Logic? My God, the man’s talking about logic; we’re taking about universal Armageddon!”
All Spock can do is pretentiously raise his famous eyebrow.
Spock is ashamed of his humanity. He flees it. In Star Trek VI Kirk tells Spock, “Everyone’s human.” Spock says he finds that sentiment offensive.
My favorite scene in “Unification 2”: Spock and Data are alone, collaborating on a technical project. Spock muses on the Vulcan aspects of Captain Picard, which Data finds curious because Picard has been a model for his emulation of humanity. Spock can’t understand why Data would want to be more human. “You have an efficient intellect, superior physical skills, no emotional impediments,” he says. “There are Vulcans who aspire all their lives to achieve what you’ve been given by design.”
“You are half human?” Data asks.
“Yes,” Spock says.
“Yet you have chosen a Vulcan way of life?”
“I have,” Spock says.
“In effect,” says Data, “you have abandoned what I have sought all my life.”
The two look at each other in silence.
It’s in this scene where Data’s superiority to Spock is most apparent. Data not only has the mental and physical edge over practically everyone, he is curious and earnest and humane, while Spock is moody, flip, detached, and self-consciously superior. Data wants to fit in, while Spock displaces his anxieties over his bicultural heritage onto his family and work relationships. Data’s words and actions are the result of blind unerring computation, while Spock is a creature of inner conflict and envies his famous and high achieving father. I’d pick Data over Spock for my first officer any day.
What Leonard Nimoy’s death revealed is that there is a sizable portion of Trek fans, and of nerds in general, that identifies with Spock’s neuroses, his hang-ups, his self-loathing, that are attracted to the cold soulless abstractions through which he views life, who believe in the naοve and ineffective diplomacy in which he so thoughtlessly and recklessly and harmfully engages. I can’t help but find this revelation disturbing. One of those fans happens to be the president of the United States who, like Spock, has derided the notion of helping to end the slaughter of the Syrian Civil War as illogical while giving up leverage in his negotiations with Iran. It will take America some time to recover from the legacy of our Spock-loving president though probably not as long as it will take my friends to stop laughing at me for writing this column.
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Beam 'em off
By
Thomas Conner
Chicago
Sun-Times
Published
May 12, 2005
When "Star Trek: Enterprise" debuted
four years ago as the fifth prime-time incarnation of the venerable
sci-fi franchise, trouble was evident in the first few minutes:
The opening theme was a Diane Warren song.
The blockbuster songwriter—who's penned
huge hits for Celene Dion, Whitney Houston, Mariah Carey, Michael
Botlon, even (shudder) Milli Vanilli—wrote "Faith of the
Heart," which plays over the opening credits along with images
of humankind's various achievements in exploration, from the H.M.S.
Enterprise to the international space station to the starship
Enterprise. The lyrics are typical Warren treacle, full of
horrid cliches and vague hopes, promising "a change in the
wind" and a chorus questioning "where my heart will take
me," whatever that means.
And that's exactly what doomed "Enterprise"
three seasons earlier than its "Trek" predecessors ("The
Next Generation," "Voyager" and "Deep Space
Nine"): We were never offered anything for our hearts—or
even our heads—to have faith in.
That shortcoming remains crystalline-entity
clear in the series finale of UPN's "Enterprise," airing
in a two-part episode beginning at 8 p.m. Friday on WPWR-Channel
50. While other "Trek" franchises have ended with poignant,
grand gestures, "Enterprise" wraps up with a whimper as
one character—resurrected from another series—attempts
to rediscover his own "faith of the heart."
Recognizing that none of the characters
in "Enterprise" were ever interesting enough to carry
such a weighty episode on their own (a fault of the show's indecisive
writing, not of the actors' genuinely engaging performances), franchise
curators Rick Berman and Brannon Braga jettison their creation by
bringing back a couple of reliable "Trek" heavyweights.
The "Enterprise" finale focuses on a dilemma faced by
Cmdr. William Riker (the stalwart and sensitive Jonathan Frakes)
during a particular episode of "The Next Generation."
As he struggles with a decision—he's questioning who to place
his faith in—he seeks the usually useless counsel of Troi (Marina
Sirtis) and uses the holodeck (a virtual-reality playpen that's
been indispensable throughout the franchise) to investigate what
happened when the first Enterprise crew wrapped up its service.
Premise was brotherhood
In typical time-bending fashion, this last
"Enterprise" event takes place six years in the future,
as Earth prepares to join 18 other planets in an alliance called
the United Federation of Planets. This Space Age telescoping of
the United Nations was series creator Gene Rodenberry's institutionalized
notion of universal (literally) brotherhood. It was the source of
the core values for each series, namely the "prime directive"
(basically: don't speak to another species unless spoken to). "Enterprise"
was supposed to be laying the foundation for that great achievement,
making a case for how and why humanity established itself as the
hub of intergalactic peace and harmony.
Four years of "Enterprise," however,
have only shown us a bunch of sleekly uniformed humans covering
their own butts. Midway through the series, the story line suddenly
shifted radically, a painfully obvious reaction to plummeting ratings
and UPN execs crying, "Give us an enemy! We need a Borg! Pander!
Pander!" (This was also about the time they added rock guitars
to Warren's opening theme, giving a mild edge to the sappy tune.)
In the first season, there was a nebulous,
uncertain threat from a time-traveling shadow figure with a spooky
deep voice who only appeared occasionally; by the third season the
time-traveling was completely abandoned (whither the Suliban?) for
a protracted battle against a faraway species called the Xindi who
were—for some reason, never quite clear—building a Death
Star-type weapon, which they intended to schlepp halfway across
the galaxy in order to obliterate Earth. An entire season-and-a-half
was wasted on this save-the-planet cliche, the conclusion of which
was almost entirely implied—and then the Xindi were never mentioned
again. It's as if Mr. Nielsen himself were producing the scripts.
They're only human
Mixed in there was the occasional comic
relief (John Billingsley as Dr. Phlox has been an underappreciated
treasure) and the inevitable, laughably subdued sexual tension (Braga's
trademark distracting influence). We humans bickered with the Vulcans,
debated with the Xindi and argued with the Andorians. Our motives
always seemed more selfish than selfless.
So it's no surprise that this finale fast-forwards
several years to the historic moment of unity. We're to assume that
eventually the Enterprise crew tapped into some altruism and leadership,
and that humanity became worthy of founding the grand and glorious
Federation.
Add to this failure the natural incongruity
of a prequel made more than 30 years and countless special-effects
advancements after its origin, and it's really no wonder the audience
boldly went. George Lucas has struggled with this same quandary
in his "Star Wars" prequels. It's asking a lot of any
audience to look at the stunning effects of recent "Star Trek"
and "Star Wars" productions and reconcile them with the
cardboard sets and bad blue screens of the originals. Really, I
mean, look at that fancy, techno-savvy bridge on "Enterprise"—they
went from that to the featureless set James T. Kirk stalked in the
'60s?
That's a lot of disbelief to suspend.
"Enterprise" tries to be arch
with several in-jokes throughout this episode—"Here's
to the next generation," Capt. Archer (Scott Bakula) salutes
over a glass of scotch—but even those can't overcome the purely
pointless plot. The Andorian Shran returns (he's not dead, after
all, but don't expect a satisfying explanation), and he needs the
crew's help to save his daughter, who's been kidnapped by . . .
no one in particular. So that's the last mission of the first starship
Enterprise: getting all Kojak on some nameless space thugs.
One of the Enterprise crew dies, too—in the most anticlimactic
and dramatically pointless death in the history of the franchise.
It's a deflation of, not a triumphant conclusion
to, the series and the bandwagon—for a while, anyway. In the
end, of course, Riker learns to have faith in the right person (we've
already seen it play out in "The Next Generation"), but
the first Enterprise crew scatters with little evidence of
where their hearts will take them. So much for boldness in going.
|
| You probably missed it: The
Chicago Tribune has reported that Kate Mulgrew feels “bored”
with the title role in the Star Trek series “Voyager.”
We’ll skip the obvious discussion of
who bores whom more. Let’s just do it. Let’s tell Kate,
as Odo recently said, “You’re outta here!”
Once we decide to call Captain Kathryn Janeway
history, we’ve opened the wormhole to some very interesting
possibilities—and not just for “Voyager.” I see the
episodes unfolding as follows.
EPISODE I: EAR WHACKS
First order of business: How to dispatch
Janeway? Well, each of the other three series has, at some point,
killed its captain. So let’s explore this option with “Voyager.”
But who does it? Yet another menacing but
badly-barbered alien? I think not; let’s give the Delta forces
of evil a Voyager-vanquishing break. Have the sin come from within.
At first scan, Paris seems the obvious murderer.
Janeway just busted him to ensign, then made him spend a month in
solitary. But he seems too easy. We need a more complex act of vengeance,
a deeper sense of wrongs righted.
I’ve got just the man—uh, I mean
humanoid: Tuvok.
Consider: Just after they got lost in space,
Janeway told her pointy pal—in that cow-eyed, dopey-grinned
way that Mulgrew enacts deep sincerity—that she trusts no one
more. Not two seasons later, she sez the same thing to Chakotay.
Just like that. First she seems practically pokin’ the Vulcan,
then she leaves him sulkin’.
Not that our dark prince of logic would
ever sulk. In fact, after it becomes obvious that Janeway has coldly
and inexplicably dumped Tuvok, he seems completely unaffected. I
find this, um, fascinating. And begging for a resolution that the
Tuvok character, as written, has no ability to bring.
No problem. We have the evil parallel universe,
where any of our nicey-nice characters can behave as sadistically
as we like. Once we have the captain there, we need only assign
the job.
So we have Janeway somehow ending up in
that other place, where we find a Tuvok not cool and accepting,
but cruel and seething. He mistakes “our” Janeway for
his own captain, and offs her by mistake. End of episode.
EPISODE II: ASSIMIL-KATE
Ha! At the start of this one, we find that
Janeway fooled us all. The parallel-universe Tuvok actually killed
his own captain, with whom our clever Kathy switched places at the
last minute. Now, back in our own universe, we get to get rid of
her again. Don’t you enjoy this?
So do we kill her a second time? Not so
fast. Let’s consider where other crew members—for example,
Seska and Kes—have ended up: Not dead, but out of the reach
of Voyager.
Who, in all the Delta Quadrant, best has
the power to take a starship captain where no one has gone before?
Q? Nah . . . let’s talk Borg.
Producer Rick Verman and company could easily
overdo Borg themes on “Voyager,” seeing as the Borg live
in the Delta Quadrant. But too much Borg bores, so Verman has used
them with restraint. Yet he manages to thrust them into our faces
every week—with Seven of Nine.
To tumescent male viewers, Seven seems a
replicant of the first Enterprise’s on-board sexpot,
Yeoman Rand. But Seven has a whole ’nother role: that of a
permanent “red alert,” reminding us of the constant Borg
threat in Delta-land.
Unfortunately, whenever “Voyager”
has blundered into the Borg, Seven of Nine has tipped us off right
away: Her nano-alarms act up (“I am experiencing an unusual
sensation”) and before you can futilely resist, a cube appears
on the tube.
This episode will work differently. Sure,
Janeway gets assimilated—let me state that up front. This time,
though, Voyager will have mysterious trouble for the entire
60 minutes, and we won’t know who to blame until the last scene,
a shocker—wherein we see Janeway writing her Borg signature.
That scene includes one more thing: an implication
that we’ll never see Janeway again.
EPISODES III - ?: STARS RISING
With Janeway gone, Voyager finally
starts running some hot plasma. Everyone gets a refreshing change
of role.
First, Chakotay as acting captain. Verman
and company long ago wasted this character’s real depth: that
of a high-ranking and dedicated Starfleet officer not just disenchanted,
but so sickened by official policy that he’d turned renegade.
Since Season One, we’ve seen pitifully little evidence of such
fire in Chakotay’s belly. But now that he doesn’t have
to play first cabin boy, we get us one bitchin’ injun.
Everyone else also get new, interesting
dynamics. Like Tuvok. His character seemed stuck in a transporter
beam, he’d faded so badly. Now, he struts as first officer,
butting up against Captain Chakotay: ice on wry.
Now Torres can bring on the Klingon she’s
hidden so much of late—but not the petty, I-despise-you fluff
they have her throw at Seven of Nine. No. Let’s have her question
the judgment of the captain, her former Maquis buddy, while invoking
platitudes about honor. And what about Ensign Harry Kim, who
seems these days to run half the ship? Now they can promote him
to lieutenant—if not higher, for chrissake.
All that should last us at least a half-dozen
episodes, a whole season if you want. But, as Vic Fontaine would
say: You ain’t seen nothin’, pally.
EPISODE NEXT: HUGS, NOT SLUGS
As we’ve disposed of Janeway (and
while we’ve at it, maybe that vapid Talaxian as well), we’ve
room for a new character.
Did I say “new?” How about “previously
owned?”
I know that you, like me, want the Trek
universe to connect to itself. We don’t, for example, object
when Worf shows up in “The Next Generation” movies not
once, but twice, with no solid explanation.
That means we can have anyone we want. Who
would you love to see again, each week, as captain of a Federation
starship? Think about it. Does your pulse quicken? Does your head
spin? Well, forget it. They can’t afford to pay him for both
a series and motion pictures, and besides, they don’t want
to mess with the movie time-line.
But we may still avail ourselves of someone
universally loved, and whose return could help Verman and company
reverse a terrible mistake: Jadzia Dax.
Don’t fret over how she comes back
from Sto-Vo-Kor. As in its fellow faith, Christianity, Trek requires
no one to stay dead. And as for the plot that gets Jadzia onto V’ger
(never mind into the Delta Quadrant) . . . well, any of us could
write it in stasis.
Remember how much fun we had seeing the
human Torres separated from her Klingon side? For Jadzia, we likewise
get to explore the possibilities of a symbiont-free host: Doesn’t
she still have the memories of past lives? But less of the confidence?
And imagine her as captain! OK, I admit
that we’d need a somewhat contrived story. But forget about
how it happens. Remember, instead, how much you like the idea of
a woman in command of V’ger. Now we finally have the
chance to see it done right.
But why Dax? Well, how often has watching
Terry Farrell disappointed you? Now, apply that same question to
Kate Mulgrew. You get the picture.
EPISODE LAST, AND STAR TREK X: THE WRATH
OF KATH
Years have now passed. The time has arrived
for another installment from Picard and friends. Time also for the
last episode of “Voyager.” We have here a cosmic convergence
of which only fools wouldn’t take advantage.
By now, the crew of Voyager have
jumped, slipped, and limped almost all the way to the Alpha Quadrant.
What better Starfleet ship to make “first contact” with
them than the Enterprise? And what if, at the same time,
a Borg cube shows up—with you-know-who on board?
The possibilities seem dizzying. One scenario:
When Picard sees the nanoprobe-soaked Janeway, he relates to her
as no one else can—so he goes full red alert, desperately trying
to free Janeway from her cyber-captors.
But, at the last minute, he can save her
only by sacrificing Voyager. What does he do? (I know what
I’d do.)
And the coolest touch: This tenth movie,
starring “The Next Generation” cast, acts as part two
of the final “Voyager” episode, or vice versa. It would
boldly go where Trek has not gone before.
CAPTAIN’S EPILOGUE
Make no mistake: “Voyager” suffers
from much more than the presence of Janeway. How do I know? When
it falls, I cry out. “No!” I shriek when the Doctor changes
moods without changing inflection. It seems like he’s become
one-dimensional.
In fact, something on board V’ger
keeps doing that to crew members. First it struck Janeway. Then
Chakotay. Torres. Tuvok. Paris. Who to blame? An unrecognized intruder?
An insidious entity that’s hidden on board for dozens of star
dates, maybe for whole seasons, turning our main characters’
personalities into so much phage?
Or perhaps “Voyager” suffers from
nothing more than the inattention of main producer Rick Verman.
Maybe “Deep Space Nine” and the movies overwhelm him.
So he’s delegated “Voyager” to simpletons who can’t
connect each character’s present behavior to their past. How,
then, can I blame one character, or the actor who portrays her,
for the spasms of an entire series?
Real simple. You can’t ignore the precedent.
The precedent blasts theta radiation at your main sensor array.
And the precedent has three names: Shatner, Stewart, and Brooks.
When we look back at the particular Starfleet command of each, we
feel a real leader. Each has held his own particular kick-butt seat
in Starfleet. (Though only Stewart showed he could last in the long
stretch.)
Not Mulgrew. Sometimes she startles us with
sharp captain scenes. For the most part, however, her Janeway serves
not as a solid front piece, but as nothing more than a chipped-deuterium
saucer-section ornament.
So eject Mulgrew and her insipid Janeway.
This would take the inertial dampers off-line and give “Voyager”
the vigorous shaking it needs. And if you say I demand change solely
for its own sake, well . . . I can respond only by recalling the
words of Gene Roddenberry: “It’s harder to create situations
of high jeopardy among familiar surroundings.”
Copyright © 1999 by Dave Glowacz
Sponsored by COSMOS (Concerned Sentients want Mulgrew Out of Star
Trek).
You may excerpt or copy any parts of this essay without permission.
The author wrote this essay entirely (except for the quotations)
in the English variant E-Prime.
BACK
TO TOP
CORE BREACHED: WHY “TREK” HAS LOST ITS DRIVE
(Published October 2003, after
Star Trek: Enterprise’s third season)
It
was very disappointing. The reason for it is very hard to put a
finger on.
-Rick Verman, on the failure of “Star Trek: Nemesis”
In
the “Star Trek” episode “The Deadly Years,”
when Kirk’s rapid aging makes him unfit for command, the central
chair gets taken by the unseasoned Commodore Stocker. Stocker immediately
plunges the Enterprise into the Neutral Zone—thereby
getting surrounded by ornery Romulans from whom escape seems impossible.
Presumably
Stocker, on his way to command Starbase 10, had proved himself well
enough to reach both his rank and his assignment. But the axiom
of 20th-Century management guru Peter Drucker—that every manager
eventually gets promoted to a level at which they become incompetent—apparently
still holds in the 23rd Century.
And,
judging from the latest Trek movie and series, the 21st Century
as well.
Writer's
block
The
Trek franchise has done a commendable job of letting its actors
stretch—and not just in their roles. Jonathan Frakes, LaVar
Burton, and Roxanne Dawson have turned out to perform as competent
directors of Trek episodes, with Frakes even proving himself on
the big screen.
But
letting series actors write Trek results in blech. For example,
“The Final Frontier,” the only one of the first nine Trek
movies written by an actor, William Shatner, turned out as arguably
the worst (“Shoot him, Spock!”) of the bunch.
For
this reason you can count on the fingers of one hand (even an Excalbian’s)
the Trek episodes written by series actors.
Which
brings us to the regrettable origin of “Star Trek: Nemesis.”
Franchise
dictator Rick Verman could have hired the tremendously talented
writing team of Judith and Garfield Reeves-Stevens, who have written
amazing Trek novels. It appears, however, he didn’t even bother
to look. (Another of the handful of competent Trek book writers,
J.M. Dillard, wrote in the introduction to her novelization of “Star
Trek: First Contact,” that Verman and Brannon Braga “don’t
know me.”)
Instead,
Verman relied on the ol’ boy (or ol’ ‘droid) network:
Brent Spiner has dinner with a popular screenplay writer, and faster
than you can get infected by nanoprobes, the hack has written a
bomb.
This
story demonstrates Verman’s complacence at the success of the
franchise—echoed, perhaps, by a movie critic, who wrote of
“Nemesis” that regardless of the movie’s content,
“Star Trek” fans have decided in advance whether or not
they’ll see it.
Now
what?
Chicago
Tribune TV reporter Allan Johnson found a Trekker, Michael Cornett,
who also happens to work as professor of communications at Loyola
University, to mouth the tired theory that, after over 700 Trek
episodes, it “would be a real challenge to come up with something
new.”
We
heard this tripe as far back as the fourth season of “The Next
Generation.” Cornett and his ilk might as well declare that
no one could any longer write original science fiction. So how is
it that new, entertaining SF comes out year after year? Simple:
New writers, new ideas.
New
writers have kept every Trek series fresh. But new writers seem
in short supply for “Enterprise,” whose first two seasons
have seen episode after derivative episode written by the dozy duo,
Verman and Braga.
So
why can’t “Enterprise” attract good writing?
Looks
like arrogance. The attitude seems, “Nobody knows this stuff
as well as we do. The rabble who constantly send us letters should,
as Bill Shatner said on ‘Saturday Night Live,’ get a life.”
The result: Stay-at-home house-marms Verman and Braga kept writing
the same “defeat the nasty aliens who don’t want us here”
pap. And, demonstrating that in-breeding begets stupidity, Scott
Bakula has said: “Our mission was a peaceful exploration. Well,
that's great, but I don't know that you can build that kind of TV
series in this day and age for a long period of time. So I think
what you're going to see is a different kind of energy come into
the show that's going to give it a little more weight."
“Enterprise”
has shown us plenty of the “different kind of energy”—different
from “peaceful exploration”—of which Bakula speaks.
Charge those weapons, Cap’n Rick. We need another weighty episode.
The
Return of “Star Trek”
Most
of my fellow Trekkers had expressed varying levels of disgust at
“Enterprise’s” first two seasons—and, if they
represent Trekkers everywhere, the poor ratings must’ve shook
up the isolated outpost that Verman and Braga had built for themselves.
So
how did they react?
We
all saw and heard it on the season three premiere: The transwarp-enhanced
theme music, introducing us to the new name of the series—“Star
Trek: Enterprise.” I confess: It gave me the old tingle, the
very physical thrill I get when watching the TOS and DS9 introductions.
The
new name and music, however, could easily have turned out really
lame, a desperate act by foolish hue-mahns.
But
evidently the ratings had put V&B on Reed alert. Not only did
they put out a distress signal on all channels, but they seem to
have put up a cargo bay-full of gold-pressed latinum to boot: Season
three has brought us writing and directing by a slew of proven Trek
veterans, and some excellent new talent as well.
This
new energy made for a quantum singularity that caused episode after
episode of “Enterprise” to shape-shift into a familiar
form, and we call it: “Star Trek.”
But
ambitious missions inevitably encounter spatial distortions, and
in this respect Verman and Braga make for their own worst enemies:
They just can’t keep their contaminating claws off of ST:E.
And
what happens? Watch season three episode #75, “Countdown”.
ST:E had a slew of fine writers and directors build an interesting
and cohesive Xindi story arc spanning a half-dozen episodes—only
to have the control twins step in and write a sloppy, foolish, and,
yes, illogical two-part cap that reminds us of . . . well, the first
two seasons. It makes you want to put these two space cadets out
the nearest airlock—with no EV suits. (“The dogs! They
show no honor!”)
The
Final Frontier
In
Isaac Asimov’s famous Foundation series of sci-fi novels,
so-called psychohistorians discovered the mathematics behind the
behavior of large masses of people in the course of many years:
Populations living through millennia had statistical predictability,
so scientists could somewhat reliably guess the future.
So
it goes with Trek. Though critics lament that 700-plus episodes
make it hard to do new stuff, this rich future history confers the
benefit of perspective. We have seen Trek lose its helm control
before, and often (see “Janeway
Out”). But, 700 episodes later, an inevitability has emerged:
Trek not only survives, it flourishes. If you keep your faith in
Trek, as you might with an organized religion, Trek will reward
you.
Sure,
it screws up. But what do you expect? With Trek, after all, we have
a merely human enterprise.
Copyright © 2003 by Dave Glowacz
You may excerpt or copy any parts of this essay without permission.
The author wrote this essay entirely (except for the quotations)
in the English variant E-Prime.
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