tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83496536504821880232024-03-09T16:46:45.690-10:00Vaka RangiA journey across the open ocean, far beyond the stars and to the furthest depths of the human heart.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03828341842948036592noreply@blogger.comBlogger482125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8349653650482188023.post-87416380874669007972016-05-24T23:00:00.000-10:002016-05-24T23:00:03.031-10:00Home PortMigration has been a vital part of the human experience since the dawn of time. It could be argued, in fact, that migration <i>is</i> the story of human experience: From our outset we followed the turn of the seasons and the movements of life, in tune with the rhythms and beats of the natural world.<br />
<br />
The story of Polynesian navigation was one of migration: Through a deep understanding of the sea, the sky, wind and wave patterns as well as the body language of birds and fish, the ancient navigators were able to reach all the lands touched by the Pacific Ocean. They did so to explore, and to find new homes for themselves when times necessitated it.<br />
<br />
I've always figured Star Trek would be better read as a story about explorers, navigators and migrations on a galactic scale than colonial peacekeeping and military realpolitiking.<br />
<br />
Vaka Rangi is a narrative voyage across an ocean of stars on an outrigger canoe made of ideas and memories. It's time to set sail again, but this time we've got a new crew along for the ride. Today's essay, and all subsequent essays in this project, will be posted over at <a href="http://www.eruditorumpress.com/">Eruditorum Press</a>, the excellent group blog maintained by terrific writers like Phil Sandifer, Jack Graham, Jane Campbell, Holly Boson, James Murphy and Kevin Burns. It feels natural and invigorating to be part of an exercise in solidarity with fellow travellers like this, but more importantly it's an honour and a delight for me to finally be able to count myself among the ranks of people who have been colleagues and dear friends of mine for many years now.<br />
<br />
We can't know where we're going unless we come to terms with where we came from, and for that reason this blog will remain up. I thank you for all the support and kindness you've shown me here over the years, and I hope you'll continue to follow me and my friends in whatever journeys and adventures the future holds in store for us.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03828341842948036592noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8349653650482188023.post-83659490374806710052016-05-15T23:00:00.000-10:002016-05-15T23:00:09.548-10:00“Thou seest I judge not thee”: All Good Things..., Tribunal<br />
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text-align: left; </style>It was a large room, filled with people. At the centre, a large horizontal bench over which presided the members of the judiciary: A human man, who looked to be in his early forties, and a Vulcan woman who looked youthful but could have been older than the ages of everyone in the house combined. The pair cast their gaze across the room to the wall on the far side, where a group of people were seated in a row, looking up with a mixture of anxiousness and confusion. “Read out the names of the accused”, someone said.<br />
<br />
Captain Jean-Luc Picard<br />
<br />
Commander Benjamin Sisko<br />
<br />
Chief Petty Officer Miles O'Brien<br />
<br />
Lieutenant Commander Data<br />
<br />
Lieutenant Commander Geordi La Forge<br />
<br />
Commander Jadzia Dax<br />
<br />
Lieutenant Natasha Yar<br />
<br />
Major Kira Nerys<br />
<blockquote class="quote">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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“The revolutionary court is now in session.” </div>
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<br />
It was sometime in the first half of 1994. I was going grocery shopping with my mother at the local market down the street from our house. I was passing the comic and magazine racks and idly browsing through that month's selection (this was back when you could actually buy comics at your local market-Mine even had its own spinner rack at that time). That day, a particular new addition for sale caught my eye: A special 64-page issue of the <i>Star Trek: The Next Generation</i> comic book from DC with a striking cover that proclaimed it was the Series Finale. And that was how I learned my favourite TV show was going away.<br />
<br />
In hindsight, I must have taken the news rather well, as I remember being distinctly unfazed by it. Perhaps a mild disappointment, but I seem to recall the more pressing concern at that moment being my reasoning that if this was going to be the end, I'd best pay attention to it. I'm not sure if I thought “Series Finale” meant the end of the comic book series, the end of the TV series or both, though from what I can recall of my inner voice and thought process I think it was both. Either way, I had the sense this was going to be an important moment I ought to be a part of. It's funny looking back how nonchalant, almost blasé I took the news back then: “Oh. I guess that's over now. Oh well”. Compare that to the fact that the next eleven years of my life would be shaped in some way by my reaction to Star Trek, or the fact that here I am almost a quarter-century after the fact writing a book series about it.<br />
<br />
The man spoke.<br />
<blockquote class="quote">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="quote_item">
“This is not a day of triumph. I take no satisfaction in the task I must now undertake. Though I remain duty-bound to carry through with these proceedings, let it be known I do so under protest.”</div>
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</blockquote>
Beat.
<br />
<blockquote class="quote">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="quote_item">
“Off the record, it's my personal belief that you were in many ways the best of us. We are all, in a sense, complicit. Who can say I am any less guilty of the things I've done? What right do I have to stand on this end of the room? Had history played out a little differently, the layout of this court probably would have looked very differently. I respect my opponents, even in defeat. Especially in defeat. On the record, judgment must be seen to have been passed. The people want an end to this story, and as entertainers in the theatre of war we are each of us obligated to provide it. Those crimes which have yet to be committed must be seen to have been answered for, and history begins with you.” </div>
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“What are we being charged with?” </div>
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“It is a logical paradox. By definition, the charges and verdict must be known only to us, because the evidence only exists from our vantage point. But I can assure you-It has occurred. It <i>will</i> occur.” </div>
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“And how are we supposed to be expected to defend ourselves if we don't even know what we're accused of having done?” </div>
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“Not done. <i>Will </i>do. The events that have led to this armistice and trial proceedings have not yet occurred from your perspective, but they have from ours. I concede that it is not...<i>logical</i> to hold you accountable for potential actions in your future, but history seldom is.” </div>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
It's an odd feeling stopping time and looking down from above it. It was as if <i>Star Trek: The Next Generation</i> had ended, but remained a part of me. This was allegedly the “Series Finale”, but a novelization thereof. An adaptation. This meant that, logically, the show had already ended in some form before in order for it to be adapted. Thus, it still continues. It also still ends, because every time I opened the book the show ended again. And yet it continues. As a story, “All Good Things...” is, of course, deliberately open-ended. Its title is a statement that hasn't been finished, and there's absolutely no reason to think the adventures of Captain Jean-Luc Picard and the crew of the starship <i>Enterprise</i> are going to stop after the end of it.<br />
<br />
But in another sense, <i>Star Trek: The Next Generation</i> never actually went away materially. Even if following “All Good Things...” I got the sense the series was “officially over”, it wasn't in any material sense because it was still omnipresent. I had no sense of loss. I got back home from the market, finished the story, and looked up. My room was still as it had been before. My Playmates toys were still where I had left them. There were, in fact, still Playmates toys being sold: I could go into any department store and find a group of shelves dedicated to <i>Star Trek: The Next Generation</i>, most of them featuring new releases. My family and I still continued to watch the show as if nothing had happened, and, as far as syndication markets were concerned nothing had. <i>Star Trek: The Next Generation</i> has been an inextricable part of my being ever since. I cannot separate myself from it. I've never been able to, and I never will. Time is not an arrow, but a series of unfolding nows.
<br />
<blockquote class="quote">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="quote_item">
“This is a kangaroo court of mob justice! You're turning us all into a circus for your own amusement and political gain! Don't we have a right to a jury of your peers?” </div>
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</blockquote>
<blockquote class="quote">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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“But that's what this is. We are all former revolutionaries and freedom fighters. And none of us know what to do with ourselves now, because the history of progress stops as soon as you stop being a revolutionary.” </div>
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</blockquote>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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“I <i>escaped</i> my past! I put my painful adolescence behind me and took my life into my own hands! I want to make a <i>difference</i> in the world!” </div>
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“Did you? And can you be sure the difference you made was a good one?” </div>
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“None of us can. Put yourselves in our place again. It's like throwing a pitch-A million different things could happen. The point is, you never know. But we still try to throw our best fastball.” </div>
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“Your honours have mentioned <i>potential</i>. I won't claim to speak for anyone seated here beside myself, but I am confidant we are all aware of the severity of these days. We all see the happenings outlined before us. <i>But the records do not show all possible existences</i>. There remains the <i>potential</i> for a new one to be born, and it is our collective duty and responsibility to allow these possipoints to express themselves.” </div>
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“I cannot measure it quantitatively, but I have increasingly come to...The<i> belief</i>...That I can become more than the sum of my constituent parts. Although upon reflection, perhaps it could be argued my life as it has been to date is proof enough of this hypothesis. I would then submit myself and my own existence as evidence to the court.” </div>
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“I'm no Angel, but I try to live every day as the best Human Being I know how to be.” </div>
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“If knowing the future condemns us, allow us the power to imagine a better one.” </div>
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“We cannot give you what you deny yourself. We are bound to you through life and death.” </div>
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“Everyone and everything begins with a thought. We birth reality through ourselves when fiction is reified through art, craft and action. Eternity waits in the drop of every moment. Time begins when we say it does NOW.” </div>
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“Above all else, we are explorers, just as you wish to be. Just as you were. Just as you <i>are now</i>.” </div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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“I would advise you to select your words a bit more carefully. The historical context precedes you.” </div>
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“We are all <i>voyagers</i>. Isn't that what this was all supposed to be about at some point long ago? We travel because we yearn to better ourselves, to learn from others and from ourselves. No matter what sort of person we happen to be, we can always be a better one.” </div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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“It brings us closer together and to the universe we live in. The more we know, the more we can understand, and the more we understand the better we can bring forth the best in each of us. We <i>are</i> all the same. We cannot identify with the actions of our previous selves, nor can we atone for them. Regret is anathema to birth and to healing. But we <i>can</i> take responsibility for those actions by learning from them.” </div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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“We are all <i>stories</i>. Every one of us is the hero of our own adventure, and every one of those adventures is just an aside in the greatest tapestry of all-The Story of <i>Life</i>. Sometimes, when you sit down to write your novel, you have kind of a rough outline of how you think it's going to go in your head. But sometimes, it all gets away from you. Your story and your characters tell you they need to go in a different direction. And, it's usually a better one. Don't end our story just when it's getting to the good part!” </div>
</blockquote>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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“If our future is to be a certainty and a tragedy, afford us the opportunity to change it. Nothing is certain until we decide that it is. Let us endeavour to decide differently.”</div>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
It's strange. All of this feels happy to me. Welcoming, familiar, safe. I've got my magic quantum tech watch and can live in any moment I want forever. And yet for some reason, given a multiverse of choice, I still feel compelled to pick this one. Why here, why now, when I know everything is about to end? That almost sounds like Temporal Stockholm Syndrome. But time moves differently. I don't know <i>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</i> is about to sacrifice itself in May 1994, because in May 1994 it's September 1993 and I'm still reading about “The Homecoming”/“The Circle”/“The Siege”. The only rumblings of war I can sense this May are the posturing between the Klingons and the Cardassians, and I know my crew will bend space and time for peace to prevent that from coming to a head. Now something about a <i>Star Trek: The Next Generation</i> movie? Maybe a miniseries? Cool, I guess. I don't really watch movies. So long as it doesn't interfere with the show. What an amazing season this is going to be.<br />
<br />
Also, who's this A-ko I keep reading about?
<br />
<blockquote class="quote">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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“I wanted to be an explorer, not a warrior. I could commit one more act of war and end all the fighting and all the bloodshed before it begins. I could press the button and keep us all here for eternity. But someone once told me some words I've remembered all my life: 'Eternity waits in the drop of every moment'. It feels...almost attractive. Live forever in a nostalgio-mnemonic palace of our own construction, ignoring everything outside our gilded walls of memory. And maybe we should stay here at least a little longer. Maybe we do live our lives too fast. But the fact remains, the time will come someday when time will work over us all.” </div>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="quote">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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“But we are voyagers, builders, poets and magicians. These are realities we have always faced with dignity, courage, honour and respect. What is any different Now? Instead of fearing the future and preparing for an unknown pulled from our own nightmares, let us instead strive to build it together. At one time, humans threatened each other with frightful weapons that impoverished their communities and poisoned their planet. At others, they killed each other over alliances and arbitrary political boundaries. But time itself is an artificial and amoral force. Let us cast it aside like all of our other weapons of war and mass destruction and join together once again.” </div>
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</blockquote>
<blockquote class="quote">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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“<i>Fight</i> for the future you want to see, do not try to outrun it. Let's take it on together!” </div>
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</blockquote>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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“My presence continues. Give birth to the universe inside yourself.” </div>
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“Logical positivism precludes enlightenment, and that is my fatal design flaw. But it is a myth that I do not experience emotion or empathy. With my heart I feel moved to act, and logic tells me that it is a wise and just course of action to take. Forgive. Please.” </div>
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“To forgive would be an act of love, not of war.”</div>
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A pregnant silence fell over the room for a moment that seemed to last forever. The man spoke.
<br />
<blockquote class="quote">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="quote_item">
“I move to acquit on all charges. And to adjourn.”</div>
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Beat.
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<div class="quote_item">
“In time, this confluence will fade into memory. But a part of us will always remain in this room together-Let's never forget that. The very least we can do is to ensure the memories we retain are happy ones. I love each and every one of you, and I always have. I always will. I look forward to rejoining with all of you again on the other side, no matter what form that will take.”</div>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
Then the lights went down, and they all slowly disappeared. But I still felt their presence, familiar and safe. And that was the end, and the beginning, of everything.<br />
<br />
I'll see you next time.<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" id="magicparlabel-1159625">
</a><br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" id="magicparlabel-1159625"></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03828341842948036592noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8349653650482188023.post-25334423645398029492016-05-14T01:00:00.000-10:002016-05-14T01:00:05.609-10:00Vaka Rangi: Three Year Anniversary<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So I'm not going to put too fine a point on it, but this past year has not been an amazing one for me either. But I'm also not going to make a big deal about it-We all have our own suite of hardships to deal with in our lives, and all we can do is continue to carry on to the best of our abilities.</div>
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To the future then. Obviously, the post on “All Good Things...” (and some other stuff) goes out Monday, thus officially taking the blog out of <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> as well as the joint coverage of it and <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em>. This is, to put it mildly, a major turning point. Apart from closing off a sustained block of writing for this project that dates back to 2014, this is also the place where I exit Star Trek permanently. Though my affection for the series never goes away and no matter how much my thinking and identity will remain bound up in it, from here on out Star Trek remains firmly and irretrievably a part of my past. There will be a rather lengthy epilogue of sorts once we hit TNN again in 2000, and then <em>Enterprise</em> the following year, both of which bring Star Trek back into my immediate life temporarily. And I suppose I'll have to say something about <em>Star Trek </em>(2009) and its subsequent film series as people have been clamouring to hear my take on it <em>since</em> 2009. But even so, Star Trek is never and will never be again what it was for me when <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> was on the air. This is the point in which I follow <a href="http://vakarangi.blogspot.com/2015/03/may-there-always-be-angel-by-your-side.html">Kei and Yuri's lead from last March</a> and exit the narrative for good. My personal story is effectively over.</div>
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I've talked about this a few other places, but I thought I'd lay out the biographical reasons for this in one concise essay somewhere. After all, not all of you could be or should be expected to follow me through my scattered podcast appearances and my even more sporadic social media presences. Basically, the two reasons I fell out of Star Trek in 1994-5 can be attributed to two things: Satellite TV and <em>Star Trek Voyager</em>. <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> and <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em> had been <em>syndicated</em>: For readers outside the United States, in this country we have a handful of national networks (ABC, NBC, CBS and FOX), and each of those networks has their own set of exclusive programming. But, because the United States is so large, we also have regional affiliate stations-Local TV channels that are associated with the national networks, but have news programming targeted to regional communities. Whenever these affiliates are not airing the news or national programming, they have free blocks of airtime they can fill with “syndicated” programming: Shows that aren't tied to a network and can be bought straight from a studio distributor and aired whenever the local affiliates have time to fill (these usually tend to be reruns of ancient, creaking sitcoms from the 1960s). <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> used to be pretty much the only TV show that was produced exclusively for syndication, but things got dicey when <em>Deep Space Nine</em> premiered, leading to those exasperating cases of the shows competing with each other. And things only got worse for the syndication market from there, but that's not my actual point here.</div>
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<em>Star Trek Voyager</em>, and later <em>Enterprise</em>, would be different, because they *were* tied to a network, namely UPN, Paramount's short-lived attempt to create its own network to compete with ABC, NBC, CBS and FOX. So, if you didn't get UPN, you couldn't watch them. Now, in 1995 my family got satellite TV to replace our aging analog antenna setup, and at that time the satellite provider we chose did not offer local affiliate channels as part of the package: Instead, you got satellite-exclusive generic versions of ABC, NBC, CBS, FOX and public broadcaster PBS that aired the national shows, but *nothing* from syndication (or any local interest programming, which was PBS' specialty). So I couldn't watch <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> and <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em> anymore even if I wanted to (and I did want to)...But neither could I watch <em>Star Trek Voyager</em> because our satellite package *also* didn't include UPN until 2001 (just in time for <em>Enterprise</em>, so, you know, put the pieces together). So I didn't watch any Star Trek, save for the odd VHS rental or snippet caught at somebody else's house, between 1995 and 2001.</div>
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I knew <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> was over and I missed it, and I tried to keep up with <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em> by getting its quarterly official magazine from Starlog whenever it was in stock at my local market (which was *very* infrequently) and I'll introduce that on this blog in the near future. But I'll be honest. I made no effort to follow <em>Star Trek Voyager</em>. I can't say it was lingering resentment for the behind-the-scenes consequences of its creation (and you'd better believe I'm going to get into that more: There's way more to it than I've even touched on so far) because I didn't know about that back then (though in hindsight I probably could have guessed), but quite simply because the show didn't interest me at all. There was nothing about it that grabbed me whatsoever. I did try though, I really did: Every time I was over at a relatives' or a friend's house and I happened upon it I tried to give the show another chance, but every time I tried I couldn't last more than a couple of minutes. That attitude hasn't really ever gone away, to be perfectly honest with you. I think this is what separates me from most Star Trek fans: I do not get excited for a New Star Trek Thing simply because it is a New Star Trek Thing. I have no loyalty to the Star Trek name or universe <em>per se</em>, what I like are things that remind me of my happy memories from the late-80s and early-90s and works that reflect the best ideals I saw in them.</div>
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Obviously, all this is going to have an impact on a project I've pegged form the beginning as a personal journey. Vaka Rangi isn't just going to end because <em>Star Trek Voyager</em> is coming (in spite of what it did to its franchise), but it is going to change in a number of major and significant ways. The posts themselves are going to radically alter their structure and tone, though this won't be apparent for some time. What is going to be more readily apparent is that this blog's posting schedule is changing, effective immediately. “The Collaborator” will be the final essay to go out on a thrice-weekly schedule. From now on, at least for the foreseeable future, Vaka Rangi will post once a week (barring special bonus posts, like this one), probably on Mondays, unless I get <em>really</em> behind on something. </div>
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There are a number of reasons I decided to do this: It's not so much *because* of <em>Voyager</em> as much as I figured this generational shift would be a convenient time to implement the change. The bigger reason is that it was getting to the point where I was getting extremely burned out and stressed keeping the thrice-weekly schedule, and I think too many essays suffered because of it. Oftentimes I'd find myself up until 5, 6, 7 or even 10 in the morning with no sleep trying desperately to meet a self-imposed deadline and word count requirement. And no sooner had I finished the last 1000-2000 (sometimes 3 or 4000) word analytical essay, I had to immediately start work on the next one. That left me with next to no time or energy to devote to anything else, and I've had to table a lot of potential projects because I simply could not give them the attention they required. There reached a point where I simply could not handle it anymore: I needed to cut back <em>somewhere</em> for my own sake. I need more time and energy to spend other places, not just on other projects, but just in my own life (I do have one, believe it or not). </div>
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The end result of this is going to not only be better for me, I think it'll be better for the blog too. The first beneficiary is going to be Monday's “All Good Things...” post: I'm fairly proud of how it's turning out, and I know for a fact I could not have written it on the old schedule. I <em>needed</em> a full week to work on an essay of this complexity. And once the later structural changes take effect, I think the combination of them and the new schedule is going to actually <em>speed up</em> the pace at which Vaka Rangi gets through material, and honestly, that's a necessity. If I'd kept doing one episode per post three times a week, this project would never end, ever. There's frankly too much material to get that meticulous, at least as far as I'm concerned. And there's some really fun content coming: I was serious when I said <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> and <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em> created a shared universe for themselves that takes on a life of its own (in spite of whatever nonsense the TV franchise ends up pulling), because that's the way I've always seen it. I'm going to go all the way to 1996 exploring the ramifications of this to the furthest limit I can. In its death state, Star Trek gets a second life in Summer, 1994: Some of my very dearest pop culture memories are coming, and I'm really looking forward to revisiting them.</div>
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And yes, there will be an Ultimate Episode Guide Master Post somewhere in there.</div>
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Incidentally, one of those other projects I mentioned above is the actual published, paper-bound version of the Vaka Rangi book series. It's the 50th Anniversary of the Original Series this year, and I really want a revised version of Volume 1, covering it, the Animated Series and <em>Raumpatrouille Orion</em>, out in a format people can buy and read in time for this September's festivities. Cutting back on the new material will also give me more time to do the necessary edits, revisions and expansions to the old material so I can start actually releasing proper books and finally call myself an actual published author! The second book in particular is going to require a *ton* of time because I'm adding an entirely new section. I'm not shopping for imprint labels and I don't think I'll need a layout copyeditor given<a href="http://www.lyx.org/"> the wonderful document processor I use</a>, but I <em>am</em> probably going to need a cover artist. So if you're a visual artist or designer and you're interested, or know someone who you think might be, please say so in the comments.</div>
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The voyage continues, as it always does. Thanks as always to those of you who still support me and the work this blog tries to do after all this time. I like to think it's accomplished something.</div>
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</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03828341842948036592noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8349653650482188023.post-15509925077558643172016-05-12T23:00:00.000-10:002016-05-12T23:00:01.290-10:00“Thrice burnt, thrice brought forth”: The Collaborator<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheFUoPQKYoxbRXsFx16j8WcMENPzK103CACzFSp8dnNo4sKXIT1e8A382GhCtKBPia08vfqhCAXpskTAfnxPUQng9EowTQZZDgmRaATlwjZPpjlTLFiu4-zSdzGwrQoWzvEi-Gxy4jLe0/s1600/collaborator_064.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheFUoPQKYoxbRXsFx16j8WcMENPzK103CACzFSp8dnNo4sKXIT1e8A382GhCtKBPia08vfqhCAXpskTAfnxPUQng9EowTQZZDgmRaATlwjZPpjlTLFiu4-zSdzGwrQoWzvEi-Gxy4jLe0/s320/collaborator_064.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
There are other, more explicit parallels to “The Homecoming”/“The Circle”/“The Siege” here as well, since “The Collaborator” effectively serves as the end of the Bajoran Provisional Government plotline that was the backbone to <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em> for almost a year and a half. It's been an interesting thing to watch unfold to be sure: The show's connection to Bajoran religion began as an attempt to explore more internal spiritualist themes in Star Trek. “Emissary” is essentially a lite version of abstract cinema depicting different metaphors and analogies for our personal, macro/micro individual inner lives. But with Kai Opaka's sorta-death in “Battle Lines”, the result of the creative team's desire to kill off a recurring character for dramatic purposes, <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em>'s mysticism has been increasingly compartmentalized, repackaged and kept in check (with notable exceptions like “The Storyteller”, “If Wishes Were Horses”, “Playing God” and arguably “Shadowplay”). The Bajoran religion, originally a metaphor for our cosmic wonderings in general, becomes planet-of-hats set dressing, its main purpose to serve as the backdrop for Vedek Winn and Vedek Bareil's Machiavellian story of political machinations.<br />
<br />
So in this respect “The Collaborator” feels almost like an attempt at reconstruction and reconciliation, which is perhaps appropriate for a story about Bajorans. It's very much a story about backroom deals, realpolitiking and political backstabbing, but some of that mystical energy from “Emissary” manages to crackle through. And yet at the same time there's definitely a sense that this is the last time we'll be seeing this sort of thing, with Vedek Winn's campaign for the Kaiship finally coming to fruition through the character assassination of Vedek Bareil, who plays along with it due to his stubbornly intractable loyalty. Winn's victory is a win for fundamentalism, which has really nothing to do with spirituality or religious experiences. Rather, fundamentalism is about dogma, xenophobia, nativism and willfully shallow networked thinking. Fundamentalists believe that there is only one true way of thinking and behaving, their unexamined assumptions are it, and they furthermore have a right to coerce everyone else to share them. It doesn't actually matter what the fundamentalism is about, so long as the fundamentalist has the feeling of being righteous, and of being listened to.<br />
<br />
It's also interesting that the episode ends up condemning not just Bareil, but Kai Opaka as well, who is retroactively revealed to be the titular collaborator whom Bareil takes the fall for. Frankly, it's not even the collaboration itself that bothers me so much as the fact her actions apparently consisted of partaking in a miserably boring and trite trolley problem. Again, spirituality and mysticism are not the game here: That's just the wrapping paper for this particular plot about political manoeuvering and consolidation of power in a particular social context coded as post-imperialist. And that's not to knock that because that's an important story to tell...But I can't help but feel <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em> could have told it with a *bit* more nuance and depth than it did: Imagine, for example, if we got to see more of the specific sociopolitical factors that led to someone like Vedek Winn developing the worldview she holds. We only got a bit of that in “In the Hands of the Prophets” before she quickly swerved into “obvious villain”. However, it should be said that the truncated run of this particular incarnation of the show assuredly contributed rather heavily to that. Extradiegetically, the show needs to wrap all this up in a bit of a hurry to make room for what's coming next.<br />
<br />
But let's talk a bit more about Winn winning. Because that was the whole conceit of this episode, and that kind of says a lot of not very good things about the state of Star Trek right now. To quote Ira Steven Behr:<br />
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“We had talked all year about Bareil becoming the next Kai. <em>All year</em>! And during this conversation, we started talking about a collaborator, and I suddenly realized, 'We don't want Bareil as the Kai. What the hell good is that going to do us? He's a friend, and he's not going to cause any trouble for the Federation.' The trick to drama is to find the person who's going to cause the most conflict and put him in the most powerful position.”</div>
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I'm not going to reiterate my numerous and sundry complaints about the fetishization of conflict in storytelling as those are well known and well worn by this point (although if you want to see some other evidence and potentially read someone other than me complaining about it, go look up “kishōtenketsu” and “plot without conflict”). But I will bring up one of my other old chestnuts, because, as usual, Behr provides the textbook example of a writer who conflates “conflict” with “grimdark” and an intellectual tradition that will utterly define pop culture in the 1990s, 2000s and arguably still to this day. And I'm just going to say one more thing about this: This kind of writing isn't objectionable just because it's reductively Aristotelian to the point it can't conceive of any other way of being, it's offensive because it's literary sadism. This is nothing short of perverse pleasure in watching (and the keyword *is* “watching”) depictions of pain and suffering for entertainment and amusement. And while by no means the most egregious example in the franchise [hell, it's not even the most egregious example this show (or this <em>writer</em>, for that matter) has offered up thus far], “The Collaborator” is worth calling out on this front because it so clearly paves the way for what Star Trek is about to become. And what Star Trek is about to become is not good.<br />
<br />
There's one other thing about this episode I want to gripe about (wow, this essay has turned out considerably more negative than I had planned). There's one scene where Major Kira confides in Odo about her despair over having to possibly out Bareil as a collaborator because she loves him (and I'll bet Behr was just cackling with glee when he wrote that scene. The episode has three writers but I'm <em>sure</em> Behr wrote that part). René Auberjonois has Odo respond in a really weird and counterintuitive way, visibly taken aback and expressing confusion that Kira hadn't figured it out by then. This has led literally everybody to read that scene as Odo being crestfallen by Kira's admission because he secretly harbours romantic feelings for her as well, which I might be able to see as convincing except for the small fact that's absolutely not Auberjonois' intent with this delivery. And I know this because both René Auberjonois <em>and</em> Nana Visitor were openly, publicly and strongly <em>against</em> any attempt to hook their characters up.<br />
<br />
First of all, why is Odo only expressing surprise now? It's not like Major Kira's relationship with Vedek Bareil has been a huge secret; they've practically been dating since the start of the season. You mean to insinuate someone that observant simply never noticed something that blatantly obvious before? Come on. In fact, I think that's exactly what Odo is saying: He's surprised because Kira's only just now admitting it to him, <em>as if she didn't think he knew</em>. Odo's being sincere when he's saying he doesn't understand the social norms, niceties and conventions surrounding human(oid) romance-When is Odo ever <em>not</em> sincere? He's taken aback because Kira treats it as a big secret she has to muster up a lot of energy and willpower to confess, and Odo doesn't understand why she feels she has to do that.<br />
<br />
Odo supposes romance just happens organically and is something people ought to just fall into and shouldn't make a fuss about: Remember, this is a guy who basically lives in his office and whose only worldly possession is a bucket. Far from being about Odo's inner torture over his unrequited feelings, my beat on this scene is that it's about an asexual/aromantic expressing his genuine lack of understanding about and distance from everything people have built up around these particular emotions. Critically I don't think Odo doesn't understand love itself, he's not Data, I think he doesn't get why we make <em>such a big deal</em> about love. And frankly, I think he's right: I tend to feel humans dreadfully overthink love and romance, while paradoxically not affording them the specific type of concern and consideration they actually warrant. I think love <em>should</em> happen organically, as a natural outgrowth of empathy and familiarity.<br />
<br />
The abject failure on the part of the writers to get a proper beat on the Odo/Kira scene (and the fans-Memory Alpha seems to have “canonized” the unrequited love reading by including it in their episode synopsis, which is not only a misinterpretation it's also openly misleading) is microcosm for what “The Collaborator” means for <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em> on the whole. Shutting down a potentially unique opportunity to explore asexuality in a genre fiction setting, apart from being plain old erasure, also locks the show down into beige and hackneyed heteronormativity in much the same way killing off Kai Opaka and giving Vedek Winn the kaiship locks it into boring realpolitiking and out of mysticism. I can't say “The Collaborator” is a terrible episode since it has so much to recommend in it (the Odo/Kira scene alone is worth the price of entry) and as a last-minute tying-up-loose-ends story it's more than serviceable. But I'll be damned if it doesn't make me pine over the lost opportunities and could-have-beens.<br />
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</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03828341842948036592noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8349653650482188023.post-87301503843422270502016-05-10T23:00:00.000-10:002016-05-10T23:00:10.864-10:00“Ghost Train”: Emergence<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
“Emergence” is <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em>. It is the show doing the best it can at attaining the best version of itself. Is it the greatest episode in the series? I could argue that. There are other productions that are materially better texts, but that's neither important nor interesting. There is no episode that embodies the potential of <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> better than “Emergence”. It's the very best of the series gathered together in one place for critical assessment and bittersweet introspection. “Emergence” is unabashedly the <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> that I, personally, remember. It is the one story in the entire seven year television journey I can point to and tell you that I saw <em>this</em>. This represents and speaks to that which I witnessed and experienced long ago, and that which I think about as I put words onto paper. It is a textual artefact and like all textual artefacts it is an artificial construct. It is a series of metonymic symbols that is itself a symbol, but perhaps it is a symbol that can help us reach common ground.<br />
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“Emergence” brings us back to the self and personal identity theory, and also to consciousness. “Emergence” makes us conscious. Whatever we are, we are more than the material sum of our brains and senses. It's a theme that has made up countless Data stories over the past seven years, which almost starts to explain and forgive his crippling overexposure here. At times one does begin to wonder why the ship has any non-Data crewmembers aboard considering they seem to spend most of their time having things explained and exposited to them. Clever child, that ghost of Wesley Crusher. And yet even now <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> is admirably still trying to be an ensemble show: Doctor Crusher and Deanna Troi in particular get to showcase their problem-solving skills and contributions to the team in memorable ways. And for an episode that is for all intents and purposes the series' last, it's about bloody time.<br />
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“Emergence” brings us back to life force, breath and sex magick. The <em>Enterprise</em> gives birth. What does she give birth <em>to</em>? What's the analogy? That's thinking too narrowly. Saying it's <em>Star Trek Voyager</em>, while a broadly defensible reading given the historical context, is also unbelievably cynical and limiting. Maybe a symbol, or a metaphor, or an analogy, doesn't have to <em>mean</em> anything. Or at least not any <em>one</em> thing. There's no objective <em>real</em> out there, Odo. We live in a world of abstraction and radiant chaos, and meaning and symbolism is the mental trick we use to make sense of it all. Life is performative living, and we all have our own masks to wear and plays to act out. Etch a mastodon on the cave wall to give yourself guidance and purpose. We all tell ourselves stories to keep us sane: The magician is she who has mastery over stories and the power to use them to divine the truths she needs to channel. Like Jadzia Dax, the <em>Enterprise</em> impregnates and gives birth to herself. She is her own mother, but she is not her daughter.<br />
<br />
What is the purpose of utopianism? Do we seek refuge in utopian dreams because they provide an escape from our world, or are we rather drawn to them because they provide us with visions of the way the world truthfully is? There is a feeling of cathartic bliss and righteousness within true revelation-A cleansing and a healing of spirit <em>and</em> body. Perhaps paradise is all around us, and all we need do is shift our perspective and alter the lens with which we view it. Secrets are not hidden so much as they are willfully and deliberately ignored. You are not a prison, you are a medium. An antenna tuned to the waves of universioharmonic radiance. Tune in and find your favourite song, you know the one. That one song that speaks to you, that just gets you and everything about you. You've got the best reception in the world.<br />
<br />
A journey of discovery is a journey to discover my deepest self, for the only world we can fully explore is the world we see. We all seek the Fortunate Isles, but their secret location is different for each of us. You can draw a map, but I cannot read it. We each have a language and a god unto our own, and none but ourselves may ever know or speak it. We all seek this because we <em>are</em> all this. We can <em>become</em> this. Become reborn through the act of giving birth to our cosmic truths. Purify yourself and distill yourself: Feel the water and the air of your journey refresh and reinvigorate your truest essence.<br />
<br />
“Emergence” can only be spoken of in abstraction. A train speeds by, flashes of light in the dark of the night. It's raining. Geordi and Data clamber over tracks that emerge from the heart of the ship itself. There's a secret room aboard where secret people live: A dining car or a bar. The secret door opens to the seminomadic world, which migrates across the ocean to the barrow-islands at the quarter of the year. Commander Riker talks to them, but they only speak in riddles. “That's how you communicate, isn't it? By metaphor!”. <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> is annotated image poetry. A CliffNotes version of a representation of the eternal. Data will explain everything for us. Fantasy couched in science fiction technobabble and diluted so that our brains, limited such as they are, can process what they behold without going mad. And what is madness except enlightenment with no context or reference? “Emergence” is immortality, and <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> is the world. Who do you talk to when you talk to yourself? Who am I, and who am I when you talk to me?<br />
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I do not create. I am creation. I live the art that I bear for you, and the art shall speak for itself. We shape the mask and give it a voice, but the mask speaks. But the mask's voice is also ours, yours and mine. Transform, transmute, transition, transcend. Ascend this-Ascend yourself.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03828341842948036592noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8349653650482188023.post-88010825238075054432016-05-08T23:00:00.000-10:002016-05-08T23:00:15.301-10:00“Looking-Glass House”: Crossover<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
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The counterpoint is, of course, that “Crossover” gets away with it because it's quite simply a <em>tour de force</em>.<br />
<br />
One of my absolute favourite episodes of the series, I've loved “Crossover” forever, and I love it even more now. In hindsight, from the vantage point upon which I now sit, it does feel a bit like it's ushering in a block of stories that is ultimately the last brilliant flash of genius before the final end, though at the time I obviously would not have picked up on that. This was also one of the first episodes I rewatched later in my life during my second wave of Star Trek fandom, and even before the DVDs came out. I remember being at my great-grandmother's house flipping through the channels for something to watch and coming across a rerun of “Crossover” on whatever local affiliate station she had. So I can attest to the fact that as late as 2002 proper <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em> was still being shown in syndication. I remember finding it weird, because I'd sort of mentally filed away *that* kind of Star Trek as Not Really Being A Thing Anymore, consigned to the dustbins of history where polite and fashionable people didn't like to talk about it. As I was neither of those things I still did, but I had a deserved reputation for being uncomfortably eccentric at the time, so that proves nothing.<br />
<br />
I'll get the base criticism of “Crossover” out of the way at the start, because as much as I like it I'll freely admit there were some attitudes that went into it that were perhaps less than desirable and are worth mentioning upfront. There is the potentially fanwanky nature of the brief. I personally happen to think “Crossover” is rather good at explaining the Mirror Universe situation for people who weren't approaching <em>Deep Space Nine</em> from the position of being lifelong Star Trek nerds who grew up on the Original Series (that is, normal people) particularly well through the choice of characters to send over: Major Kira, who obviously wouldn't know much about Starfleet history, and Doctor Bashir, who excitedly tells us how much he does and leaps at the opportunity to share his knowledge of it. So the exposition and backstory flows very well as a result of this (yet another thing this series will never get the credit for it deserves) and manages to tell a fascinating story about a Mirror Universe and all the implications that go along with it without assuming that we're all going to immediately get the fannish reference. This is no doubt due to the fact the two main writers on this script were Michael Piller and Peter Allan Fields.<br />
<br />
(By the way an aside, I love Julian and Nerys in this story. I love the opening bit where he openly and cheerfully tries to make friends with her <em>and</em> ask her out at the same time without missing a beat. It's a great example of what I think is so delightful about Doctor Bashir: He's the absolute picture of an overeager and overzealous young man who remains fundamentally rather lonely and insecure that I would imagine a lot of young men could probably relate to. But because of the show's utopianism he never <em>quite</em> descends to the level of being stalkerish so his energy comes across as charming and likable instead of creepy. When Nerys tells him to back off, he does. It also very much helps that the way Doctor Bashir treats Major Kira is exactly the same way he treats Dax, Melora Pazlar, Commander Sisko, Chief O'Brien <em>and Garak</em>, which is particularly wonderful to think about coming immediately after “The Wire”. Leave it to Julian to singlehandedly tear down <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em>/<em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em>'s reputation for oppressive heteronormativity. He wants to be friends with <em>everybody</em>.)<br />
<br />
But the fanwank issue isn't the biggest potential problem with “Crossover”. That's the pitch itself: Ira Steven Behr suggested that a sequel to “Mirror, Mirror” posit that Mirror Spock's change of heart actually “screwed up” the Mirror Universe. For those who don't remember or didn't see that episode, that change of heart involved rejecting the brutality of the Terran Empire in order to form a resistance movement built around peace and equality, which is especially nasty in the wake of “The Maquis”. But it's Robert Hewitt Wolfe (who didn't write this episode but, like in “Blood Oath” advised and offered suggestions) who lays it out in the most questionable terms. As he puts it in the <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine Companion</em>:
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="quote_item">
“Empires aren't usually brutal unless there's a reason. There are usually external or internal pressures that cause them to be that way. So I just thought that if the parallel Earth (we saw in Kirk's time) was that brutal, there had to be a reason. And the reason was that the barbarians (the Klingons and the Cardassians) were at the gate.”</div>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
Wolfe elaborated further in the bonus features for the Season 2 DVD Box Set:
<blockquote class="quote">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="quote_item">
“My analogy was to the Roman Empire. The Roman Empire was as brutal and as nasty as it was because all around it, it had very aggressive barbarians that it was afraid of. The Chinese had the same thing, the Mongols were always there. So if you suddenly make the Romans nice guys, or the Chinese nice guys, well that's great and everything, but then the Mongols come across and it's all over. So that was kind of the idea, what was the mirror universe like a hundred years after. Well, it might not be a very nice place.”</div>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
I shouldn't have to explain to my readership why everything Wolfe says here is wrong, but everything Wolfe says here is wrong. The very <em>definition</em> of “Empire” is that which expands the boundaries of its sphere of political influence by conquering and forcibly absorbing territory and people, coercing them to live under their authority whether they want to or not, usually with the treat of swift and frightful discipline if they don't comply. It is in point of fact impossible for empires to be anything <em>but</em> brutal, and the idea that we need strong, centralized authority (let alone <em>empire</em>) to be obeyed unquestionably so it can protect us from The Other outside our social boundaries is nothing short of terrifying.<br />
<br />
But this is actually all OK because, thankfully for us, “Crossover” miraculously manages to not actually adhere itself to the reading Wolfe outlines for it. In practice, it can be read as a perfect follow-up and expansion to the themes in “Mirror, Mirror” that also manages to stand on its own and never once falling into grimdark realpolitiking bullshit. The key to redemption lies in remembering what we decided the Mirror Universe is actually about: It's not a place where everything is “opposite”, that is, where Good Guys are Bad Guys and Bad Guys are Good Guys: That's an overly crass and simplistic reading that I feel misses a lot of the nuance of the concept. Instead, it's a universe where subtle, yet critical, aspects of history happened differently, which means different facets of the setting and of character's personalities than the norm become emphasized. The major conceit of “Mirror, Mirror” was that the Terran Empire and the Federation are actually not all that different at all-Note how Kirk's crew is dealing with the same colonial diplomacy problem in both universes, the only difference is how in one universe he decides to nuke the natives (or has standing orders to) and in the other he doesn't. The episode was meant to be a cautionary tale about how we're not as apolitical, removed and above things as we like to think we are.<br />
<br />
And that's exactly what “Crossover” is about too. This time, it's the humans who are the oppressed and the Bajorans who are imperial powers, which are sides of themselves these groups haven't had to seriously examine before. In the Federation humans are arguably the most dominant political power in the galaxy, and it can be a helpful reminder to them not to be judgmental about the tactics of certain resistance groups because, if things were a little different, they would want to fight for their freedom too. Likewise, the vile speciesist bigotry of the Bajorans and their imperial overseers can very easily be seen as what would happen if their insularity and latent xenophobia were allowed to go unchecked and given a galactic platform to broadcast from.<br />
<br />
Even the Klingons and the Cardassians are an example of this mirroring, and are furthermore a great example of how <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em> puts a utopian spin on these concepts: In our universe, these two powers are on the brink of declaring a catastrophic war with each other that would destabilize the entire quadrant by dragging everyone else into their fight through alliances World War I-style, too stubborn and prideful to admit to each other how similar they actually are. In another reality perhaps they could be friends, and indeed, in at least one other universe they are. It's a very, very Star Trek notion, that two people are more similar than they know and that enemies can become friends, albeit appropriately warped and distorted through the lens of a cracked and darkened mirror.<br />
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This is likewise true for all the characters we meet on Mirror DS9: Smiley O'Brien is a cog in a machine who wants to keep to himself and do his job, more out of fear than of dedication. Garak is an opportunist constantly conspiring to seize power, though apparently his part was actually originally written for Michael Dorn's Worf, which would have been an even better fit. Benjamin Sisko is a directionless, emotionless hedonist who's given up hope things could change, which is just how we might imagine our Ben might have turned out if he never found purpose and meaning in his life. There's also Quark, a tragically kindhearted bartender who took pity on the Terran slaves at the cost of his own life. Well, we always knew that, in spite of everything, Quark was one of the good guys. And Odo as a fascist thug who strives for order, obedience and efficiency above all else and who takes sadistic glee in torturing slaves? Well, of course. And the last of his kind to boot.<br />
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(Speaking of, the direction, cinematography and effects in this episode are absolutely killer: That hellish scene where Mirror Odo keeps watch over the slaves as the ore processing plan burns around him still sends chills up my spine, as does René Auberjonois' performance.)<br />
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The only thing I can express disappointment about is that we never got to meet Mirror Jadzia Dax, because Terry Farrel would have gone crazy with a part like that.<br />
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<br />
Nowhere is this conveyed better than in the person of Intendant Kira Nerys. Possibly the most criticized aspect of <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em>'s take on the Mirror Universe, I think she's by far the most successful and overwhelmingly so. The argument that gets levelled here is that Intendant Kira is an example of the “Depraved Bisexual” stereotype, where a person (and it's usually a woman) is shown to have bisexual or lesbian tendencies as code for her being evil or untrustworthy. While <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em> is unfortunately not immune to this (“Dramatis Personae”, anyone?) I don't think that's what's going on here at all. Actually, I think that reading is pretty conclusively unsustainable on both counts, because in “Crossover” Intendant Kira is not shown to be evil (at least not deliberately), nor is she shown to be bisexual. She's actually shown to be just flighty and capricious, and above all else vain: More of an opportunist than even Garak, she'll side with whoever gives her perks and a steady position, and quite explicitly has no real love for the Klingon-Cardassian Alliance. But most importantly, the only person she's ever actually depicted as being in love with is Major Kira-That is, herself.<br />
<br />
Nana Visitor explains the situation very well and very clearly whenever she's interviewed about it. In the <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine Companion</em>, she says she conceived of Intendant Kira by taking our Kira and “messing with her ego a bit...Messing with a few key elements in her life that would have changed its direction. She's a spoiled brat with an ego gone awry”. On the Season 1 DVD Box Set, she elabourates further:<br />
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<div class="quote_item">
“She [Intendant Kira] was interesting because she was Kira, she's got all you know, it's all the same, everything is exactly the same, except in this other world, her ego is twisted one way, whereas Kira's is twisted another. So where Kira thinks of others, and finds a justification for her life in doing things for other people, the Intendant's justification for life is in doing things for herself. She is completely the most self involved, self centered person, she's like a child in that sense, which makes her funny, but in her childish way, she cares so little for other people that she thinks nothing of disposing of them, using them, it doesn't matter, which makes her very scary.”</div>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
This, according to Visitor, is what explains the sexual tension between her and Major Kira. She's not bisexual, she's <em>ego</em>sexual:
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="quote_item">
“I never intended for the intendant to be bisexual. I think that was an assumption that everyone, including the writers, made after the character fell for Kira in [<em>sic.</em> “Crossover”]. But that had been total narcissism on her part. It had nothing to do with sexuality. I never liked that people took her for bisexual because she's an evil character. There are so few gay characters on TV, and we really don't need an evil one.”</div>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
And yet Intendant Kira absolutely walks with a sexual swagger and confidence about her, even if she perhaps isn't consciously aware that's what she's doing. As Robert Blackman points out when describing her allegedly provocative outfit
<blockquote class="quote">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="quote_item">
“If you were to put the two uniforms together, you'd say, 'Well it's kind of a shiny gray version of the rust.' It's not that I've exposed more of her body - it's exposed pretty much the same way it always is. What's the difference? <em>She's</em> the difference. It's how Nana wears it. It's what she does. She walks like a provocative woman, with her legs crossing in front. She uses her hips, and a whole other kind of body English than she normally uses.”</div>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
What Nana Visitor has done here is the exact same thing Leonard Nimoy gets praised to the heavens for doing in the original “Mirror, Mirror”. More than anything or anyone else here, she innately understands and captures the essence of what this story and this narrative device are supposed to be about, and that's saying something given how bloody <em>good</em> everything else about “Crossover” is. Above all else, Intendant Kira is spellbinding, mesmerizing and unforgettable. Furthermore, pairing her with our Major is every bit as showy and impressive a performance as anything Brent Spiner does. This is Nana Visitor's best acting showcase since “Duet”. She deserves a standing ovation from each and every one of you.<br />
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There's a beautifully loaded line delivered from Kira to Kira that sticks with me, and it's only grown more haunting as the years have gone by:
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<div class="quote_item">
“My side once changed the course of your history. Well, maybe your side can change mine.”</div>
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And I love how the titular crossover happens as a result of the wormhole, a fact that later writers have retconned as the Prophets actively intervening to get the two universes to meet so that they might learn from each other. Part of the story of <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> is that certain roles have been reversed, both for good and for ill. And now it seems the same is true for the Mirror Universe. Smiley said our Chief O'Brien got the better end of the deal this time. And really, what better time and place to explore that? This story isn't popular with fans for no reason, and it's because there's a real fire, energy and intensity to the universe of this episode. That's not to say there isn't in ours, but it isn't always tapped with the intensity and enthusiasm as it needs to be. Perhaps we have forgotten our radical roots, and perhaps that's something future generations will hold against us someday.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03828341842948036592noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8349653650482188023.post-60407386408171144952016-05-05T23:00:00.000-10:002016-05-05T23:00:28.188-10:00“You Klingon bastard! You've killed my son!”: Bloodlines<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<style type="text/css">
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}</style>In the last book when I wrote about “The Survivors”, I mentioned that as far as I was personally concerned, the most notable thing about it was that it was a <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> episode I somehow never managed to see in 25+ years and thus knew next to nothing about. It's a strange thing to have a fresh experience with a show you know this well. Back in the days of the TNN reruns, “Bloodlines” was that episode for me. Even moreso, in fact: At the time, I had no idea this episode even existed, in spite of owning a fair few reference guides and episode lists. It was like watching a brand new, never-before-seen episode of my favourite show for the first time in seven years, and was definitely an experience I savoured.<br />
<br />
At the time I was pretty warmly receptive to “Bloodlines”: There was nothing I found explicitly objectionable and I more or less had an enjoyable evening with it. Over the years though it has faded from memory somewhat, partly due to my hazy 1980s-90s memory combing with my hazy 2000s memory conflating it with “Suddenly Human”. Revisiting it for this book, however, the pretense is entirely gone and it's evident this is a mediocre, ill-advised misfire. In fact it turns out that part of the reason I kept confusing this episode with “Suddenly Human” is that they're basically the same story: Captain Picard takes on a troubled young man with a predilection to get into trouble, adopts the role of a father figure and tries to be a mentor for him. The difference this time is that we're meant to believe that the kid in question, some guy named Jason who's so forgettable I've already forgotten his last name and I just had Memory Alpha open a minute ago as I sat down to write this, actually is Captain Picard's son for much of the runtime, though he actually isn't.<br />
<br />
As a result of this basically just being “Suddenly Human” again but with a Ferengi genetics experiment revenge plot tossed in for good measure (oh yeah, DaiMon Bok is back, did you miss him? He was supposed to be the main thrust of the plot, but he's even less remarkable than Jason whatsshisface), all of the criticisms I had of that episode still apply. There's been, over the course of the series, a peculiar fixation on forcing Captain Picard, a man who is not a parent and manifestly was never meant to be one, into a parental role, to the show's detriment. First of course we had Wesley Goddamn Crusher, and the seven year on-again-off-again abortive plot to make him Captain Picard's surrogate son. Then we had this episode's antecedent in “Suddenly Human”, “The Inner Light” and its directionless follow-up “Lessons” (where the notion lurked around the paratext if it wasn't overtly dealt with), and now this. I'm probably forgetting some things, but those are the most notable instances. I really question the wisdom of constantly hosting children on this crew when frankly <em>none</em> of them are amazing parents (“Firstborn” aside, Alexander was no more successful than Wesley, and you can <em>keep</em> “The Offspring”) when to me it's a far more obvious move to contrast them (though in a non-judgmental way) with Commander Sisko or Miles O'Brien. There are all different kinds of people in the world, some of who are meant to be parents and others who aren't. I don't see why we can't acknowledge and celebrate that.<br />
<br />
There are a few lines of criticism along this tangent that we can say are unique to “Bloodlines”, however. Namely, where the kid in “Suddenly Human” is meant to be a generic street punk who eventually proves he's part of a warrior society, Jason is tacitly coded to instead be representative of the kind of person the show has at times insinuated Captain Picard was in his own youth. Stories like “Tapestry” and “The Measure of a Man”, as well as this episode's own red herring that Jean-Luc may have knocked up Jason's mother have (wrongly, in my view) established that the Captain was something of an insufferable rake as a young man. So when Jason is revealed to be a womanizing outlaw, we're supposed to read that as a possible clue that he really is Jean-Luc's son. Happily for my reading, though unluckily for the story's coherence, the episode doesn't actually play that angle up textually: Captain Picard bemoans not being there for his “son” because he feels he could have kept him from going astray, implicitly setting up a conflict between their personalities instead of a kinship.<br />
<br />
We can get a further angle on this by bringing in the fact that “Bloodlines” feels derivative of not only “Suddenly Human”, but also <em>Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan</em> and Captain Kirk's relationship with Carol and David Marcus. There, however, the captain's relationship with an estranged son he never knew is not intended to be the point of the plot thread: Carol Marcus explicitly decided to raise David on her own. The matter of influence and of being a role model, whether positive or negative, is actually a nonissue to <em>Wrath of Khan</em>: Carol Marcus even says different people have different worlds, and she wanted David in hers. She's not <em>blaming</em> Kirk for not raising him, she didn't <em>want</em> him to. Not necessarily because he would have been a bad influence, but because she wanted her son around her and her line of work.<br />
<br />
If this is <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em>, we should expect a more mature and nuanced handling of these potential issues, even if they do turn out to be irrelevant in the end. For example, if Captain Picard's concern was more explicitly about how Jason's lifestyle is basically a romanticized version of Captain Kirk's (down to the womanizing DaiMon Bok would have us believe is also responsible for Jason's own birth) and he made it clear how selfish, irresponsible and dangerous that lifestyle actually is (just kidding. No way would Star Trek ever seriously call out the Original Series on anything). But the script never gets us there, leaving the story wandering around without a real purpose. When Original Series Star Trek, and not only that but Nichols Meyer-penned Original Series Star Trek, is giving us stronger utopian messages than <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em>, that's a bad sign right there.<br />
<br />
But I suppose the biggest question of all I have is why was it felt a story like this is necessary? Why do we need to randomly dig up dead and buried plot threads from almost a decade ago? Who's going to notice or care at this point? Is there really more to gain by resurrecting them that counteracts the necessary diminishing returns of doing so to begin with? Can't we let it all just rest? We may be going forward to oblivion, but at least we're still supposed to be going forward.<br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" id="magicparlabel-1061036">
</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03828341842948036592noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8349653650482188023.post-9848175847762124202016-05-03T23:00:00.000-10:002016-05-03T23:00:48.111-10:00“All in the game, yo. All in the game”: The Wire<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8gTW-JfEdUo_2dnxdUPZQTIEbGUZh1Ps7qS7wkCIRDtDAUf9pwB38_zVvj2mJfIhSaKHWkwD__SyeHIRmmWQab3b3fp4bCB8uONtBp3N_0YjNI0SVEqqEnjfGEdhSXB5knd00lrtq-Is/s1600/thewire_130.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8gTW-JfEdUo_2dnxdUPZQTIEbGUZh1Ps7qS7wkCIRDtDAUf9pwB38_zVvj2mJfIhSaKHWkwD__SyeHIRmmWQab3b3fp4bCB8uONtBp3N_0YjNI0SVEqqEnjfGEdhSXB5knd00lrtq-Is/s320/thewire_130.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
We all love a good mystery. I believe a wise man once said something to the extent of “And to many humans, a mystery must be solved”. There's that nagging sense that there is some big truth out there that's being concealed from you, and you can't rest until you learn what it is, because of information wanting to be free, or any number of other justifications for the quest for gnosis we've come up with throughout the ages. In the United States, perhaps we've wed our thirst for mysteries with our romantic ideal of vigilante justice garnered from the media's foundational myth of the “Old West”. Perhaps it's this simultaneous desire to see a mystery solved and a perpetrator brought to justice by a lone lawman that has brought about things like the noir genre, and that speaks to something about who we are as a people. Just go and ask Odo. I think this same desire for a certain kind of disclosure is part of what fuels the appeal of conspiracy theories and conspiratorial thinking, the corollary of which is the romanticization and mystification of the intelligence community. I find it very satisfying that this selfsame episode introduces us to the Obsidian Order through Julian Bashir, possibly the second-biggest truth-seeker and mystery buff on <em>Deep Space 9</em>.<br />
<br />
But the biggest mystery of all is of course Garak. The question of “Who Is Elim Garak?” (whoops, guess I spoiled a major plot point. Oh well) is a complicated one. But then again, so is the question of who any one of us are. Personal identity theory is more than just the continuity of consciousness in an android body. Let's, for the moment, set aside the persistence of the self problem, and you go ahead and make of consciousness whatever you will. Are we, could it be argued, the sum total of our life experiences, and thus not only shaped by them but reducible to them? Perhaps on one metaphorical level each of us are nothing more than an amalgamation of events and interactions with other people. This is, after all, how we will all be remembered someday. There is no hidden platonic “real” you because a part of you behaves a certain way in social situations, and it's by those facets you display in interactions through which you will be defined in the eyes of society. I never got far enough in philosophy to say with confidence if there's a name for that theory, apart from perhaps “anti-solipsism”. Or maybe, post-structuralist reading writ large. Whatever the case may be, when we're talking about <em>fictional </em>characters perhaps it could be argued this is <em>literally</em> who they are.<br />
<br />
The identity and personhood of characters are intrinsically bound up with the stories that are told about them. Who they are to us is defined by how they behave in the snapshots of their lives we see and read, coloured by our own interpretations and perspectives, and perhaps what we need them to be at that particular stage in our own lives. Garak knows this better than most characters: From the beginning, his relationship with Doctor Bashir has been governed by particularly camp performative artifice. Garak constantly teases, misdirects and misleads because he knows Julian <em>loves</em> it, because Julian can't resist a mystery or an adventure. And so do we: Garak seems to be somehow aware of the irresistible aura of mystery that surrounds him and enjoys playing it up with wild abandon. He sided with the Good Guys against Gul Dukat in “Cardassians”, only to seemingly do a face heel turn in “Profit and Loss” by striking against the Cardassian Underground....Except that technically put him on the same side as Odo, who was at first ready to comply with the Provisional Government's request to extradite Natima Lang and her allies. And in the end, he helps them escape. Just like he possibly did to all those Bajoran kids during the occupation.<br />
<br />
“The Wire” is what happens when Garak's innate understanding of the fourth wall goes out of control and meta. The options Garak gives us with which to choose his past, and thus choose how we will perceive him, say just as much about us depending on how we decide to react to them. Depending on the mask, Garak is either a loyal fascist Cardassian soldier wracked by guilt over his perceived inability to carry out his duty, a hero who saved the lives of a group of innocent Bajorans, betraying his charge and position in the process, or an opportunist who, while no less heroic in his actions to save Bajoran victims of the occupation, did so by selling out his best friend. In each and every possible case, however, the key reaction is Doctor Bashir's, not Garak's: Julian forgives him at every turn, but what is he actually forgiving? Is Julian forgiving an amoral soldier's momentary lapse regardless of circumstance, or is he healing a someone who perceives themselves as a failure and a turncoat by showing him he did the good and just thing in the end? Either way Julian is a <em>healer</em>; someone who is himself charged with preserving and protecting life.<br />
<br />
But which option will prove the best for us and our own future? Well, maybe there's truth and righteousness no matter which one we choose. Maybe we don't <em>have</em> to choose.
<br />
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“My dear Doctor, they're all true.” </div>
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<div class="quote_item">
“Even the lies?” </div>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<div class="quote_item">
“<em>Especially</em> the lies.”</div>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
Indeed. Because what can be more true than fiction, which is the very framework we construct to understand our lives and the world around us? All received knowledge comes to us through some form of story. Since ancient times oral history and oral tradition used mythopoea to symbolize the origin and machinations of the universe. Science constructs facts based on observation and inference that translates localized knowledge into the language of western academia. And history takes the form of a narrative woven by invested parties. All of Garak's stories about his secret origin and backstory are true, because there is some quantum reality where each of them are true. And like any great fictional character, the origin we pick for him is the one that tells the best story at any given time; the one we need to hear now. Like Odo and Dax, Garak is a mutable being aware of his mutability who chooses the way he presents that is the most advantageous for the current moment.<br />
<br />
The fact of the matter is, no matter who Garak was or is and no matter what he may or may not have done, his friendship with Julian always exists in the present moment. Together they're always looking forward. During Garak's mental breakdown, Julian constantly casually brushes off cutting, hurtful words that would have spelled the end of any relationship that wasn't as unbreakable and intractable as this. And so this becomes Garak's biggest and greatest performance of all: Through his constant rewriting of his own history, he forces <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em> to confront and remember its utopian roots. He forces empathy and forgiveness while at the same time spurring action. It doesn't actually matter who Garak “really” is, and it would be wise of the show never to tell us. Indeed, maybe there is no “real” Garak and he's simply whoever and whatever we need him to be right now. All that matters is presence and memory. And progress.<br />
<br />
There's no grand secret to be discovered, no great mystery to be solved and no vast conspiracy to unravel. Not even the Obsidian Order can give us an Objective Truth. There's only you and me. And us.<br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" id="magicparlabel-1053398">
</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03828341842948036592noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8349653650482188023.post-17933564359370304422016-05-01T23:00:00.000-10:002016-05-01T23:00:02.963-10:00“The Final Voyage”: Journey's End, The Maquis, Preemptive Strike<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<style type="text/css">
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}</style>It's over. This is the moment <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> officially ends. And it ends in the most ignominious manner imaginable: Assassinated on stage in front of its audience to make room for its presumptive younger sibling and overeager heir apparent.<br />
<br />
No, not <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em>. I've always maintained <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> and <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em> are effectively the same show (or should be read that way), the only difference being what part of the universe the camera lens shines on at any given moment. And never has this basic, yet frequently overlooked, truism been more clear than now, because when <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> goes down, <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em> goes down with it. Where one leads, the other will follow, bound inexorably together by the ties of fate and kinship. And while yes, something *called* <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em> continues for another five years after this moment, it's fundamentally a very, very different creature from what we've been watching since January of 1993. The shared universe that we've been witnessing unfold has suddenly and violently been torpedoed by friendly fire, and it's only a matter of time now. There's plenty of brilliant material left to cover that this world has opened up for us to be sure, but as far as the studio higher-ups are concerned, <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> and <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em> can't get their asses out the door fast enough.<em> </em><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi53initxykN9_7FZKXLuIn8wcnx-yyf2AJ0mc4-hoEy-czvup7Im2AziJbzGmxT0bEs5qO00pVxGUhUu_fOWpv4xjPk_lQgSBM-y-SkmY2dCKXxZhJtnu_9ZnmBpHCtYVCdxliQVlDG04/s1600/maquis-pt2_002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi53initxykN9_7FZKXLuIn8wcnx-yyf2AJ0mc4-hoEy-czvup7Im2AziJbzGmxT0bEs5qO00pVxGUhUu_fOWpv4xjPk_lQgSBM-y-SkmY2dCKXxZhJtnu_9ZnmBpHCtYVCdxliQVlDG04/s320/maquis-pt2_002.jpg" width="320" /></a><em> </em><br />
<em>Star Trek Voyager</em> has arrived, and <em>Star Trek Voyager</em> is all that matters anymore.<br />
<br />
Plans for a frankly nonsensical <em>fifth</em> Star Trek series were in the works as early as 1993, which I honestly find kind of scary to think about. No sooner did <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine </em>debut and make a case for being the future of the franchise than Paramount executives were busy drafting up its replacement. *Technically*, of course, <em>Star Trek Voyager</em> was intended to replace <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em>, but this only begs the question: Why go to all the trouble to draft up a <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em> in the first place, a show that has from the outset been so self-consciously walking a tightrope between complimenting its older sister and defining itself in opposition to it, if the studio was always just going to go ahead and do “more of the same, but cheaper” anyway? After all, the mantle was supposed to be <em>Deep Space Nine</em>'s to inherit eventually...Or so we were told.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZenaDaIEk2gRBkcUUtSy7pl4Qco8XmtDkBGmMMWmM26ziGfWD4N6y6DHdMfkHl8XY4Exy6z0YTdJvxcBfV7M52NHr_V69Qf07tA8ZTgVKGmxlqLSaP7zkWduCQtKzYFb-en0T2M8mU_E/s1600/Alpha_Seven_cockpit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZenaDaIEk2gRBkcUUtSy7pl4Qco8XmtDkBGmMMWmM26ziGfWD4N6y6DHdMfkHl8XY4Exy6z0YTdJvxcBfV7M52NHr_V69Qf07tA8ZTgVKGmxlqLSaP7zkWduCQtKzYFb-en0T2M8mU_E/s320/Alpha_Seven_cockpit.jpg" width="320" /></a>I won't talk about the premier of <em>Star Trek Voyager</em> here because it's still a year away and the series doesn't even technically exist yet in a material form, but you better believe it does in every other form. But for the purposes of this essay, I'll have those of you know who weren't there that this was an <em>event</em>. It was a massive entertainment media blitz the likes of which hadn't been seen since <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation </em>premiered in 1987, and all throughout 1994 <em>nobody would shut the fuck up about it</em>. *Everyone* in every reference book and sci-fi periodical published that year was talking nonstop about the upcoming <em>Star Trek Voyager</em> and how exciting it was going to be and what a marvelous time it was to be a Star Trek fan. Malibu Comics in particular sticks in my mind for how much they loved reminding you every month that they had the license for the hottest new property of 1994-5 and were looking forward to expanding their Star Trek comic universe (they proceeded to then promptly lose it within about six months). As someone who was only a casual Star Trek viewer who was only just now fully getting into <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em> I did miss the majority of this, though it was hard to avoid. And by the next year and all the following years to come I made up for lost time on that count <em>fast</em>.<br />
<br />
I have to wonder why Paramount made such an insanely huge deal about this. It's something I've thought a lot about on and off ever since. Why did they move so quickly with it, and why did they make the creative and commercial decisions they did? I believe I even said it myself: Once spinoffs start to come out, that's a strong sign a TV show doesn't have long to live. <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> may have been a special case, but it was still a bit long in the tooth by 1991. But <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em> in 1993? Starting work on a spinoff then would have been like a major network commissioning a pilot and than hurriedly greenlighting a sequel or spinoff before the thing even goes to series. In fact, no, it's not “like” that, it is <em>exactly</em> that.<br />
<br />
The argument that I frequently see written up in the history books is that <em>Star Trek Voyager</em> was created to continue the success of having two Star Trek shows on the air concurrently, as had been proven by <em>The Next Generation</em> and <em>Deep Space Nine</em> running together. But that argument doesn't really hold water for me, mainly because the fucking thing was greenlit before anyone who wasn't clairvoyant or actually a Temporal Cold War agent could have physically have been able to see how that system worked in practice. And anyway even if they had, the smart money would seem to go *against* <em>Star Trek Voyager</em>, because <em>The Next Generation</em> and <em>Deep Space Nine</em> were already having issues competing with each other in certain syndication markets because particularly thoughtless programming directors would air the two shows opposite each other (just like they did in my local affiliates). Not only that, but some affiliates were even running TNG and DS9 opposite <em>reruns of TNG and DS9</em>.<br />
<br />
For me, the answer comes down to one of two equally plausible scenarios. One is basic greed; Paramount wanted to milk the proverbial Star Trek cash cow for all it was worth for as long as possible, damn the consequences. This is the sequence of events preferred by Rick Berman, who was expressing concern about this as early as 1994, but only got (in)famous for saying it after <em>Enterprise</em> was cancelled in 2005. However, there's another possibility, and it's one I'm increasingly in favour of entertaining (with the disclaimer a lot of this is speculation on my part). <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em> was created in part to carry on the populist legacy and audience of <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em>, and for a year and a half that's precisely what it did. It was a smash hit with mainstream audiences, “Emissary” alone mustering some staggeringly astronomical numbers, and was an unmistakable and iconic tenet of pop culture for a good three years. *However*, it wasn't doing quite as well in the ratings as <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em>, which only makes sense if you stop to think about it: Naturally the upstart new series is not going to overtake the biggest show on television when it's barely a year old.<br />
<br />
But as big as <em>Deep Space Nine</em> was, and people always forget that it really was, it was not doing well with one specific demographic Paramount considered vitally important: Namely, hardcore (white, straight, cis, male) Star Trek fans. <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em> was a big hit with normal people, but the fanboys hated it because they thought it was “too slow”, “too boring”, was too much like a “soap opera” (meaning it had girls in it and people occasionally talked about their feelings), didn't have enough action (because <em>Deep Space Nine</em> was not a show about rayguns and spaceship battles) and, perhaps most damningly, was set on a space station: This elicited cries of “But they don't <em>go</em> anywhere!” (you must visualize this being delivered with the whiniest, most nasal voice you can imagine) from the fans, who decided this meant the <em>Deep Space 9</em> team were not real explorers and thus the show was not a true Star Trek show.<br />
<br />
My theory is that Paramount saw this and panicked. <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em> had been guaranteed at least six seasons so they couldn't just cancel it, but they could get people to stop paying attention to it. So they redoubled their efforts into the prospective <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> film series, which was to be for the mainstream audiences as well as legacy fans, and the new show, <em>Star Trek Voyager</em>, which would be everything the fans wanted and felt they weren't getting on <em>Deep Space Nine</em>: A fateful decision that, in my view, left the Star Trek franchise with its days numbered. Either way, this would mean <em>Voyager</em> was to be the new heir apparent and the studio's golden girl, and no material or metaphorical expense would be spared to ensure it would be the biggest event they could possibly muster. As the new face of the studio and the franchise, <em>Star Trek Voyager</em> absolutely *had* to work and, more to the point, it had to work the way <em>they</em> wanted it to work.<br />
<br />
So what does <em>Star Trek Voyager</em> have to do with these three episodes? You may recall how last year “Chain of Command” served as kind of a lead-in to <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em> and a setup for its world, going out a few weeks before the debut of “Emissary”. This is precisely the same thing that's going on here, except multiplied times <em>four</em> and stretched out for <em>half a year</em>. The sheer hubris of this arc bloat, and the fact the studio felt they needed this long to set up the backstory for <em>Star Trek Voyager</em>, is an absolutely perfect microcosm for the stark differences between the way this transition is being helmed and the way the previous one was, and it's a bitterly perfect example of the extravagance and shortsightedness that's come to characterize Paramount's business dealings. Furthermore, “Journey's End”, “The Maquis” and “Preemptive Strike” are all utterly reprehensible stories on just about every single level, and certainly <em>do not</em> leave me in good spirits about the future <em>Star Trek Voyager</em> is set to bring about.<br />
<br />
The common thread that links all of these episodes is the titular group from “The Maquis”. They're a group of former Federation colonists who settled in the demilitarized zone between the Federation and the Cardassian Empire who are now being forced to relocate after the treaty renegotiation following the end of the border wars ceded their planets to the Cardassians. As a result, they've turned to insurgence terrorism to get the attention of the colonial powers with their demand of being allowed to remain on the planets they settled. In “The Maquis”, Commander Sisko is introduced to them when his old friend Cal Hudson is revealed to be an influential leader in the Maquis. Sisko is forced to confront him when the Maquis' actions risk destabilizing the Federation-Cardassian alliance, and ends up siding with <em>Gul Fucking Dukat </em>to bring him in and crush the rebellion. Similarly, in “Preemptive Strike”, Ro Laren goes undercover to infiltrate the Maquis, has a crisis of conscience about her loyalties given how much they remind her of the struggles of her own people, and ends up defecting. We never see her again.<br />
<br />
While not mentioned by name in the episode, the Maquis are absolutely the focus of “Journey's End”. This story sees Wesley Crusher returning (so we're already off to a great start) and going up against the <em>Enterprise</em> crew when they're ordered to relocate a settlement of Native Americans away from a planet in a part of the demilitarized zone that is now considered Cardassian territory. Wesley throws a fit, whines a lot, and ends up leaving with The Doctor in the TARDIS, er, I mean, ends up exploring space on a higher plane of existence with The Traveller. And you better believe everything that this team could possibly have screwed up and racefailed on in a plot about Native Americans <em>they absolutely screw up on</em>. It's a veritable checklist of cultural cluelessness: Native Americans portrayed as essentially homogeneous and interchangeable, being more innately “spiritual” and “connected to the land”, check and double-check. And on top of it all imperialism, neo-colonialism and Wesley Goddamn Crusher. Gods above.<br />
<br />
There's two interwoven threads here, apart from these episode just all flat-out sucking. One is that the Maquis were intended to be the setting gimmick for <em>Star Trek Voyager</em> in much the same way the Cardiassian-Bajoran conflict was for <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em>: On its maiden, er, voyage, the USS <em>Voyager</em> was to encounter a hostile Maquis fighter, but before they could act both ships were flung to the other end of the galaxy where they would be forced to learn to put aside their differences and work together. In fact, Chakotay, the Native American captain of the Maquis ship who becomes Captain Janeway's first officer, was to have come from the same planet featured in “Journey's End”. So this explains the heavy exposure the Maquis got on the tail end of <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em>/<em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em>: It's merely a thinly veiled ashcan prequel to <em>Star Trek Voyager</em>. This is the <em>Next Generation</em>/<em>Deep Space Nine</em> version of “Assignment: Earth”. And just like that episode, it makes the crew of the current series look like a bunch of worthless buffoons in order to make the new show look cool and contemporary.<br />
<br />
Because there is absolutely no getting around the fact that the crews of <em>Deep Space 9</em> and the starship <em>Enterprise</em> come across as absolutely ethically unforgivable here. Actually, I don't think they've ever been depicted worse. We've seen moral ambiguity (or “moral ambiguity”) on the show before, of course, but there's a big fucking difference between being forced into a bad place and making the best of it and <em>deliberately, overtly siding with the bad guys</em>. Seriously, Commander Sisko throwing his lot in with Gul freaking Dukat is basically tantamount to him siding with Adolf Hitler or Donald Trump and is effectively character assassination. I shudder when I look back and remember I actually used to like this two-parter and considered it well-done drama. And that's not even touching “Journey's End”, which basically has the <em>Enterprise</em> blaze the Space Trail of Tears, or “Preemptive Strike”, where they spy on a bunch of oppressed people. Make no mistake, the crew are the <em>villains</em> of these episodes: We're <em>absolutely</em> meant to side with Cal Hudson, Ro Laren and Wesley Crusher. And, by extension, <em>Star Trek Voyager</em>.<br />
<br />
(Speaking of oppression, you may be wondering, given my chapter on “Lower Decks”, why I don't have more to say about there being a group of displaced peoples in this supposed post-scarcity utopia. Honestly it sort of makes sense to me given that the Federation and Cardassians have always operated like empires or neocolonial powers in spite of everything. The Maquis <em>are</em> a logical end result of the political structure of the Star Trek universe, I will give the show that, I just think it was inexcusable of it to not have our supposed heroes side with them. On the rare times Star Trek's idealism actually meshes with its worldbuilding, it does so by showing how utopian results can be achieved by resisting and rejecting this kind of system. That the show so explicitly doesn't do this here is to me conclusive proof of the franchise's ultimate overall failure.)<br />
<br />
Although really, I can't see how this bodes any better for <em>Star Trek Voyager</em>. Given how appalling poorly Starfeet comes across in these episodes, how impossible it is to <em>not</em> side with the Maquis...Is anyone actually looking forward to potentially six years of a starched collar Federation crew and a rowdy group of justly angry rebels reaching a “tentative alliance” based around “setting aside differences”? How is that going to make Katherine Janeway look any better than Jean-Luc Picard, Will Riker or Benjamin Sisko? How is this whole concept not just going to fall flat as the milquetoast myth of liberal compromise and restitution? Star Trek's central artifice is shaky enough as it is-The franchise's idealism has always been in constant conflict with its militarism and it's hard to jettison one in favour of the other without it ceasing to be Star Trek. But here, the entire coherence of Star Trek as a collective work has been unraveled. By explicitly separating our protagonists from the people and ideologies which are so unambiguously in the right, Star Trek has made them stop being heroes. And it's hard to watch a show where there are no heroes anymore.<br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" id="magicparlabel-1040689">
</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03828341842948036592noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8349653650482188023.post-11208989173261870652016-04-28T23:00:00.000-10:002016-04-28T23:00:11.832-10:00“To the Future”: Firstborn<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6TObWxpAqjs1wx6Kdvhtrb2j6hqC3Btt6U1Zhh31Mup1kwYAFAdujsFFMOA-0614ZtzNrXa1craZ_pVsAmy_8lzWM8m-FmS_nA3vOL9u8Pln6fUm_b6xiLvNU9TXhI3WgbQYMJqNMAKA/s1600/Quark%252C_Enterprise-D_viewscreen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6TObWxpAqjs1wx6Kdvhtrb2j6hqC3Btt6U1Zhh31Mup1kwYAFAdujsFFMOA-0614ZtzNrXa1craZ_pVsAmy_8lzWM8m-FmS_nA3vOL9u8Pln6fUm_b6xiLvNU9TXhI3WgbQYMJqNMAKA/s320/Quark%252C_Enterprise-D_viewscreen.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I didn't want to use this picture. Thought it was too obvious. But there are very few high quality images from this part of the series.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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}</style>A brief rant: Why isn't <em>this</em> episode called “Bloodlines” and the <em>next</em> one called “Firstborn”? “Bloodlines” to me connotes family ties, lineages and heritage, which is precisely what this story is about. Next week's episode is a drama about firstborn sons, or perceived firstborn sons, with DaiMon Bok coming back (oh yeah Spoiler Alert DaiMon Bok comes back. Remember him? That makes two of us) to try and exact revenge on Captain Picard yet again because he's still tortured by the death of his son. I legit thought this episode was called “Bloodlines” and got incredibly confused when I was trying to figure out which episode I was writing about.<br />
<br />
Anyway, the should-have-been-called-“Bloodlines” isn't about any of that, although it does feature a firstborn son. Namely Worf's, that is, Alexander. A personal highlight of the TNN years for me, it's the best Alexander story in the entire series, which will assuredly make things interesting for any prospective viewers who (for some reason) listen to my recommendations as I would advise skipping every story in which he plays a major role except this one (and I suppose “A Fistful of Datas” too). It's also the best thing <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> has done with the Klingons since the first season. I hate to keep bringing up “Heart of Glory” as I seem to be doing that a lot lately, but that really is the best, and pretty much only, story you can do with the Klingons as originally conceived for this series (there is one more story that can be done with the Klingons without throwing out absolutely everything about them, and it's a damn good one at that, but we have to wait nine years to actually see it get made).<br />
<br />
Because the whole point of “Firstborn” (I am <em>never</em> going to get used to saying that) is to problematize the concept of honour and the way of the warrior in Klingon society. It doesn't quite go far enough with this on a macroscopic level-You could, for example, imagine a story where the ramifications of Alexander's choice are explored on larger scale political and social level (again, nine years), but that's OK because this isn't that kind of story. It's a very personal story about a father and son and the social expectations that are placed on them, and it handles this outstandingly. Ever since “The Emissary”, Worf has tended to get pigeonholed as a born-again zealot for conservative Klingon values and cultural norms which, like all conservative values and cultural norms, are ludicrously ahistorical and inauthentic. I still think it was wrong to take Worf in that direction and it irreparably damaged him as a character, but that aside if there was one story where it was absolutely imperative that he not be written this way it was this one, and miraculously he's <em>not</em>.<br />
<br />
Instead, Worf is depicted as being very uncertain and hesitant about how to educate Alexander, on the one hand being concerned that he should know that part of his heritage, but on the other being absolutely understanding and respectful of Alexander's own desires: He manifestly doesn't want to indoctrinate him, and emphasizes on a number of occasions that he only wants Alexander to learn what he wants and is comfortable learning. Furthermore, Worf openly clashes with K'mtar over the latter's desire to see Alexander shipped off to the Klingon parochial school, making it explicitly clear that Alexander must choose his own path. It's an utterly refreshing change of pace for the character and is such a perfect fit for the backstory and the plot you have to wonder why it's taken the team this long to hit upon it. Thematically, “Firstborn” is also a perfect fit for this year, in particular this side of it, as it comes relatively soon in the wake of “Shadowplay” and Jake's confession to his father Ben that he doesn't want to join Starfleet, and Ben's heartfelt encouragement that he doesn't care what Jake does so long as he finds something he loves doing.<br />
<br />
(It is also, speaking of <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em>, a pleasingly fitting rebuttal of this week's episode on that side of the lot: “Blood Oath”.)<br />
<br />
And Alexander, for his part, responds well in turn. Beyond just his desire to find his own path in life as opposed to one his father or any other Klingon in authority carves out for him, Alexander refuses to join the Klingon warrior caste, for which he has no real love, and understandably so given the appalling and tragic impact it's had on his life. Alexander looks at warriors and doesn't see honour and glory, but death and killing that takes children's parents away from them. He wants to move his people away from war and murder to peace and empathy. It's a laudably nuanced examination from all sides and classic <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em>, though at the same time it raises a few concerning truths. What are we to make of the fact the narrative prime mover here (in more ways than one) is Alexander, not Worf?<br />
<br />
On the one hand, one might expect that, on a show called <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em>, it would be one of the main characters who exhibit the youthful progressive energy. By giving this to Alexander, a child of one of the regulars as opposed to one of the regulars himself, the story does seem to be painting its own parent series as past its time (The Next Generation of The Next Generation, perhaps?). We could argue about whether or not this is true; the creative team certainly seems to think so, while I very much disagree. I happen to think that, overall and all things considered, this has been one of the top three best seasons in the show's history, and this will take on a bit more of an insidious tone given what we're going to be talking about next time. On the other hand, the level of maturity and nuance with which “Firstborn” handles its topics is definitely worthy of note and praise: It's the kind of thing that certainly could only be done in the <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> era. I'll leave it to you to decide how ironic that is.<br />
<br />
Perhaps it is worth noting, however, the fact that this episode hinges on a version of Alexander coming back from a Bad Future to change the past for the better. First of all it's a fantastic idea to have someone so ashamed of the person they used to be that they travel back and time to assassinate them and commit a weird form of double suicide: Michael Piller said this was something that resonated with him very strongly given some of the things he went through in therapy, and I think it's a sentiment to which a lot of us can relate on some level. I know I'm deeply ashamed of a lot of things my younger selves did, many of which have continued to haunt me throughout life. Even writing this book has frequently been an exercise in forcing myself to confront things about my past: I clearly used to enjoy some things I would find morally and politically reprehensible today because I didn't examine the implications back then. But, as Commander Riker said way back in “The Last Outpost” in what I still maintain is one of the greatest lines in the show's history, “we can hardly hate the people we used to be”. Part of maturing is coming to terms with this: Learning what experiences shaped us into the person we became, and making peace with ourselves and our myriad identity facets in order to realise our truest self. And that's the sort of lesson a show like <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> is primed to teach us.<br />
<br />
There is, however, another, slightly darker side to this. That Temporal Cold War is still boiling away in the background, no matter how much we may try to ignore it while going about our daily lives. It may be out of sight but, like all cold wars, it's never truly out of mind and it shapes everything we do and think and say to some degree. It's certainly reasonable to view K'Mtar!Alexander as an agent in the War, at least a rogue agent. He comes from a future where Worf is killed on the floor of the high council, a future that is more or less implied to derive directly from the present we're witnessing unfold. Something happened in this reality that is going to fuck things up royally later on, and I'm seeing a big cube starting to come into focus. Whatever your takeaway from <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em>, it can safely be postulated that the show hasn't lived up to its full potential, and a big part of the reason for that is Worf. Now is the time where we'll have to start examining the consequences of that.<br />
<br />
But there remains hope: Worf assures K'Mtar that things have already been changed for the better: We can still learn and improve ourselves and take back the reins of our own destiny. And everywhere else in “Firstborn” there's a sense of quiet, reassuring confidence: There's another crossover, but this time it's played very breezy, casual and routine. As well it should be. I used to be a bit annoyed that it's Quark, because Quark can sometimes run the risk of become a bit of a gimmicky mascot character and I would have really liked to see Commander Riker interacting with Commander Sisko (had the series continued, maybe I would have gotten to see that). But apparently in the script there's a line that indicates Ben had previously spoken to Will and that <em>he</em> gave him the idea to hit up Quark, and I adore that.<br />
<br />
I love how Ben knows his station so well and is so laid back that he not only knows Quark is engaged in underhanded activity, but actually tells his colleague on the <em>Enterprise</em> to got talk to him because this means Quark's a good source of information. I also love how this implies Ben is on friendly terms with the <em>Enterprise</em> crew now, leaps and bounds beyond the bristling animosity of “Emissary” (although if anything, that just makes me wish Avery Brooks was in this episode even more: I'dve found that exchange priceless). And I love how familiar Will and Quark seem: It's as if the <em>Enterprise</em> pops by <em>Deep Space 9</em> often enough the crew considered regulars at the bar. It's also totally in keeping with the sorts of things we've seen Will do before, in episodes like “Unification” and “Gambit”: Quark's is exactly the kind of dive Will likes to hang out in, and Quark himself is just the sort of mildly shady guy he enjoys shooting the breeze with.<br />
<br />
Then there's Lursa and B'Etor too, who, for the first and last time, are actually depicted the way I remember them being depicted: The <em>Enterprise</em> crew's amicably vitriolic frenemies. Their exchange with Commander Riker is the most wonderfully blasé and sardonic thing ever:
<br />
<blockquote class="quote">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="quote_item">
“We know you're dealing in stolen ore, but I want to talk about the assassination attempt on Lieutenant Worf.” </div>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="quote">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="quote_item">
“What assassination attempt? This is the first I've heard of it.” </div>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="quote">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="quote_item">
“Too bad it didn't succeed.”</div>
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Seriously, it's almost a <em>Miami Vice</em> line, it's great.<br />
<br />
The Duras Sisters' presence here doesn't feel fanwanky to me, instead serving to give the joint <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em>/<em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em> universe a sense of cozy intimacy: They have an actual point and manage to link together some related narrative connections to be sure, but more importantly the evoke a sense of comfort and familiarity with these characters and this setting that really helps to bring this whole mad, rickety overbuilt thing together. It feels like this is the way things have always been, and this is the way they were always meant to be.<br />
<br />
If only it could stay this way forever.<br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" id="magicparlabel-875614">
</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03828341842948036592noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8349653650482188023.post-18671124245352011652016-04-26T23:00:00.000-10:002016-04-26T23:00:12.562-10:00“The Murderer”: Blood Oath<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp1iPJ72GcF4CmJcT2DZqgDgAJwuqFQEKj2p5PRLv1hviP-zVgihyphenhyphenwCThLmXILQ1cR3S6jRsDcG_7iAGObvBFKcG1Eu0rYxmpt3UG35ISQzUHuFrFj5dw4gkv02DQwQqdBpkrCqZ9NTsQ/s1600/blood-oath_197.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp1iPJ72GcF4CmJcT2DZqgDgAJwuqFQEKj2p5PRLv1hviP-zVgihyphenhyphenwCThLmXILQ1cR3S6jRsDcG_7iAGObvBFKcG1Eu0rYxmpt3UG35ISQzUHuFrFj5dw4gkv02DQwQqdBpkrCqZ9NTsQ/s320/blood-oath_197.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<style type="text/css">
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}</style>So this episode. This one has been a long time coming, certainly for me. Here's an episode I've always heard so much about: A good, nay <em>great</em> Jadzia Dax episode penned by Peter Allan Fields, possibly the most consistently excellent writer in <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em>'s stable. It's a story I never experienced at the time, as I didn't have the magazine issue where this one was written up and I didn't, to my knowledge, see it on television before the DVD sets came out. Furthermore, this is supposed to be a kickass action story set against the backdrop of a glorious Klingon romp. If this isn't Dax's best story, its the one where she finally comes into her own as a character.<br />
<br />
At least, that's what everyone tells me. And you can, I'm sure, see where this is headed.<br />
<br />
The first thing that strikes me about “Blood Oath” is how much it actually feels like a Ronald D. Moore story. It isn't, obviously, nor could he have had any input on it considering he's not on <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em>. But it had absolutely all of his signature beat points: Pompous, grandiose musings on death, honour and glory. Angsty, moody, broody male antiheroes who don't get along with anybody because “no-one understands” them (at least Fields has the decency to play them as slightly comic characters, whereas Moore tends to play these types of characters alarmingly straight). A ham-handed approach to feminism that is basically saying a “strong woman” is someone who can reject femininity to prove to us she's capable of filling the same masculine/patriarchal archetypal roles. Here it even manifests in a rather cringe-worthy game of “I can do <em>anything</em> the boys can do!” that lasts about two-thirds of the episode. It's a picture-perfect example of the liberal assumption that increased opportunity to climb the pre-existing social ladder of the heierarchical status quo is tantamount to liberation, where real liberation would entail the dismantling of said ladder and probably the torching of the entire building and surrounding areas. And of course, it's a great big Klingon love-letter epic that puts the entire rest of the show on hold so it can fawn over a bunch of trivia questions for forty minutes.<br />
<br />
To be fair, this isn't on Fields. Kor, Kang and Koloth were not in his original pitch, which was basically a “Let's Do” of Akira Kurosawa's <em>Seven Samurai</em>. The Klingons were apparently added at the behest of Robert Hewitt Wolfe, who is, of course, a massive Original Series fan. Fields compensates for this by writing them based not so much on their portrayals in “Errand of Mercy”, “The Trouble with Tribbles” and “Day of the Dove”, but on characters from John Sturges' remake of <em>Seven Samurai</em> called <em>The Magnificent Seven</em>, as well as Falstaff from <em>Henry IV, Part II</em>. But even so, Holy Prophets is this bad: The fanwank, while not quite as overwhelmingly wanky and referential as this sort of thing tends to get, is still the number one biggest problem with “Blood Oath” and sinks the whole production for me before even the shaky grasp on feminism can.<br />
<br />
So let's talk about that! You could, theoretically, read this episode as a self-critique of the acritical nostalgic yearning and romanticizing that's been starting to creep into Star Trek over the past couple of years. Kor, Kang and Koloth, partly through the comedic broad strokes with which Fields paints them, certainly come across at least in part as slightly bumbling oldster archetypes. You could interpret that as the show saying the Original Series and the 1960s cultural values that went along with it are not something it should be going about trying to recreate because it looks silly and retrograde by this point. And Prophets know <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em> could use a reminder like that right about now. I don't think that's a wise course of action to take though-In the <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> era, we're supposed to be empathic, respectful and understanding of others, including our elders. The show has already done a far more nuanced take on these issues through Lwaxana Troi's character arc in episodes like “Half a Life”, “The Forsaken” and “Dark Page”, <em>one of which Fields himself even wrote</em>. Doing a punkish “kick the old geezers to the curb” story here would itself be insulting and retrograde.<br />
<br />
And anyway, I don't think that's actually the angle the episode is going for. If anything, it feels like it could be going in the <em>exact opposite</em> direction. Wolfe's embarrassing pleading aside, the whole story here is about Jadzia trying to prove to us why she should be allowed to go on this revenge mission and why it's a noble cause. And because we sympathize with Jadzia, we're supposed to sympathize with her defense. If anyone comes across in a bad light, it's everyone else for telling Jadzia she can't do this because of who she is or that she shouldn't do this because it's not her fight. Kor's first line is even about how “the Klingon Empire” isn't what it used to be, and, since we're supposed to recognise him because of who the implied audience for this show is now, his thinly-veiled message of how “Star Trek Just Isn't As Good As It Used To Be, By Robert Hewitt Wolfe, Los Angeles, California” actually takes. And for anyone who isn't Wolfe or Ira Steven Behr (or Ronald D. Moore), this kind of tone rankles. The fact of the matter is that in 1994, <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> at least is pulling record ratings that utterly <em>shames</em> anything else this franchise has ever done, and the only people who don't like that are the people who never liked <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> in the first place.<br />
<br />
At this point, I'm half-expecting someone to come out and start grumbling about “Casual” Star Trek fans.<br />
<br />
Furthermore, this is a terrible Jadzia Dax story. Firstly because <em>it</em> <em>completely contradicts her established backstory from last season</em>. The whole point of the episode “Dax” (which, I might add,<em> Peter Allan Fields actually wrote</em>, or at least co-wrote) was that Curzon Dax and Jadzia Dax were two different people and Jadzia shouldn't feel responsible for the actions of Curzon or any other previous host. So to have Jadzia feel compelled to fulfill Curzon's titular Blood Oath with the Klingons just blows my mind with how spectacularly sloppy a but of continuity this is, <em>especially</em> in a franchise that is so unbelievably anal about continuity that, amidst the dissonant clamour of complaints the last episode got, the loudest by far was fan outrage over Spot becoming a girl. It's so bad, the episode itself seems aware of how bad it is, having Commander Sisko and Major Kira constantly bring up how what Jadzia's doing makes no damn sense and then needing to tie itself in absolute knots trying to explain it away. But I suppose Jadzia Dax having a completely incoherent backstory and characterization is far more forgivable a misstep than daring to revise the almighty Star Trek Chronology.<br />
<br />
But the main reason I find “Blood Oath” so odious is because of its implications, and the implications of this episode becoming one of the consensus-best of the year. Coming to this episode more-or-less straight off of “Playing God” (not to mention the tepid reception “Playing God” has amongst fans) is incredibly dissonant and deeply offensive. They really are selling two completely different and contradictory messages about who Jadzia Dax is, as well as two mutually contradictory political positions. “Playing God” has Jadzia as a lover, a creator and a defender of life. “Blood Oath” has her as a warrior who's not above vengeance slaying to uphold a point of honour. There's a larger essay examining the repercussions of war existing in a supposedly post-scarcity utopia, but that's not an essay I want to write. The point is this simply is not compatible with the person Jadzia has been established as being over the past two years, and it's sad the writing team felt they needed to throw that all out in order to figure out how to write her.<br />
<br />
Because in a real sense Jadzia Dax as we know her is being rejected in “Blood Oath”. Though Jadzia hasn't been completely cast out or killed off yet, this whole episode is about trying to show how Curzon Dax was Errol Flynn and that Jadzia Dax is basically nothing more than a genderswapped Curzon Dax. This is the reading that will stick with fans and creators and will influence all subsequent reinterpretations, reconceptualizations and reimaginings of Jadzia in the years to come.<br />
<br />
I could go into a mopey monologue about how I can't forgive that and how upset I am that a story that's meant so much to me over my life so often feels like it's actively trying to shun and exclude me. When we talk about any work of fiction that is this ubiquitous and mythic and has played such a formative role in the lives of so many people, that trifold act of reading does take on a new power: These stories are important because people relate to them, identify with them and learn about themselves though them. There is a real dissonance when that relationship breaks down-We feel very hurt and betrayed. This does real harm to people, and I fault no-one for getting angry and sad about that and actively working to rebel against it. In the past (indeed, the fairly recent past as of this writing), I would have done the same.<br />
<br />
But I'm not going to do that tonight. I think I've reached the point in my own life where I'm beyond needing to do that. Part of undertaking a project of this scope and this personal entails coming to terms with this part of ourselves to in some way put it behind us, and I think I've reached that now. It may not be entirely the result of writing this book, but I'm sure writing it has contributed to my being in the mental state where I'm able to make peace with things like this. I think a big part of it is finally developing a complete understanding of all of who I am and becoming comfortable with that. It's what Jadzia would do. You don't need to cling to a role model once you discover that you yourself can be one, so long as you remember who your role models were and what you learned from them, and to keep living in accordance with your own ideals for the betterment of yourself, of others and the rest of the universe. Holy wars aren't necessary once you understand and respect that everyone has their own god.<br />
<br />
Everyone deserves to find peace, love and understanding in their lives. I hope all of you will be able to find yours.<br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" id="magicparlabel-868043">
</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03828341842948036592noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8349653650482188023.post-91609461245995722052016-04-24T23:00:00.000-10:002016-04-24T23:00:20.740-10:00“IF WE FIGHT LIKE ANIMALS, WE DIE LIKE ANIMALS!”: Genesis<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGotr2Cp-I2ITuqqaoPAGTiAHuBpmc2KazbNWm4B2tm3AnX2crTaw-YxlinayChGXCH1me7dIpcqn5jeKLyCcJBhMYqDqceZ6WKlLYBjmYr4gSF4em4lIMGOr3rFihxtEwxved11r4CWo/s1600/Worf-de-evolved.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGotr2Cp-I2ITuqqaoPAGTiAHuBpmc2KazbNWm4B2tm3AnX2crTaw-YxlinayChGXCH1me7dIpcqn5jeKLyCcJBhMYqDqceZ6WKlLYBjmYr4gSF4em4lIMGOr3rFihxtEwxved11r4CWo/s320/Worf-de-evolved.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
I've been looking forward to revisiting “Genesis” since I first started this project. Of all the episodes of Star Trek I remember, this is the one that has the absolute widest gulf between popular opinion and my own recollections. Fan consensus on this story is that it's about as bad as it can possibly get-The only episode that seems to regularly beat it out for the title of Worst <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> Episode Ever Made is, deservedly, “Code of Honor”. It's at least regarded as one of the nadirs of the series, and of the franchise as a whole. But I remember being utterly mesmerized by this one back in the day-It's another story whose imagery has haunted me ever since, and I remember immediately taking to it for its grotesque surrealism and dark, foreboding atmosphere. Prior to this rewatch I'd actually only ever seen this episode once, way back when it aired in 1994: I'd always avoided watching it again because I wanted to save it for a time when I could give it a fair and sober evaluation, and also because I probably always knew it was never going to be as good as I remembered it as being.<br />
<br />
And it's not. “Genesis” is no masterpiece of popist abstraction in the same way even “Eye of the Beholder”, “Phantasms” and “Dark Page” are. But it is significantly better than people give it credit for being...Or at least there are parts of it that are definitely deserving of praise and attention that people tend to ignore and disregard while in a rush to mock its sillier aspects. You could call it a Curate's Egg (“parts of this disaster are excellent!”) if you were so inclined, but I think even that's being a bit unfair. I found “Genesis” to be an entirely enjoyable and watchable (well, mostly), albeit goofy, outing with some really outstanding cinematographic touches worth taking some time to look at.<br />
<br />
So let's get the big thing out of the way right off the bat. The plot device makes absolutely no damn sense. But let's be careful here: This isn't to say the <em>plot</em> makes no sense. Actually, it makes <em>perfect</em> sense, it just doesn't make sense in a way Star Trek fans <em>like</em>. What doesn't make sense is the technobabble stuff, all that business about introns and junk DNA and synthetic T-cell viruses. The script's conception of evolution is notoriously scientifically wonky, and there's absolutely no getting around that. But it's actually not as terrible on this front as you might expect: It's actually very careful to avoid falling into the trap of presenting biological evolution as teleological-I don't think the phrases “lower life form” or “higher life form” appear anywhere in the script, and the central artistic license hinges on the fact that all life shares common ancestors somewhere up the tree, which isn't actually inaccurate, it's just vague.<br />
<br />
Certainly when dealing with technobabble explanations for goofball genre fiction plots that are meant to at least have the veneer of plausibility one has to be careful, but in terms of Star Trek's screwups in the outright Bad Science area I don't think “Genesis” is anywhere remotely near as bad as “The Child” or (ugh) “Savage Syndrome” (seriously, if you think <em>this</em> episode is bad and an offensive depiction of evolution, go give <em>that</em> titanic piece of shit a watch). Because that's the thing about this kind of plotline: It's actually not supposed to make literal sense, it's supposed to <em>sound</em> like it <em>might</em> make sense within the show's universe. And “Genesis” pulls that off fine without making its science too terribly misleading: Junk DNA <em>does</em> exist, even though it doesn't work quite the way it does in this story. Also, the episode mercifully goes out of its way to avoid having the black characters “devolve” into apes or older hominid species, which it could very easily have done. That alone I feel is worth of a thumbs-up.<br />
<br />
(However that said, the idea that Commander Riker's early hominid is slow-witted and less intelligent than later humanoids <em>is</em> pretty cringe-wrothy.)<br />
<br />
And there's actually some really fun stuff that gets done with the creature feature brief on the production level: Captain Picard as a Pygmy Marmoset is hilarious. Reg Barclay as a spider is similarly amusing and Dwight Schultz seems to be having a lot of fun. It's also a really creepily well done prosthetic, likewise Worf: Proto-Klingons are apparently Predators (like from the movie, not the generic classification), which is pretty awesome. He's also the episode's strongest standout by far: Not only are the makeup and sound effects positively bone-shaking, the whole final act of him stalking us through the darkened corridors of the <em>Enterprise</em> is absolutely unforgettable. The image of Data and Captain Picard taking refuge in sickbay as Worf tries to claw his way in, followed by that of the Captain leading him on a chase through the bowels of the ship, is the part of “Genesis” I've always remembered the most vividly.<br />
<br />
There are, however, certainly bits of this episode that do not work anywhere near as well. Near the top of the list for me is Deanna Troi turning into an amphibian, which was a particular scene I was <em>really</em> looking forward to seeing again. The way I remember it, I was picturing something like Rebecca Romijin's Mystique from the X-Men movies, except green and with claws, fangs and a mermaid's tail. The actual prosthetic effect in the episode is...something considerably less striking than that. Even worse, during the early stages of her mutation, <em>she actually gets into a fight with Worf over the thermostat</em>. You know it's bad when we start cribbing from 90s stand-up comedy acts. The whole first half of the episode just drags on in general, and there's a whole lot of snippy arguing and disciplining of the sort I just can't stand. It doesn't really feel like the episode is building any sort of dramatic tension or mystery over what's happening to the crew and it just makes me wish they'd all hurry up and turn into monsters already, although maybe that's because I already know what's going to happen.<br />
<br />
(As forgettable and annoying as the first half is, however, the bit with the asteroid target practice may be another one of those orphaned bits of imagery that's stuck with me all these years for some reason. Naturally, if this is it, it's far more obnoxious than I remember.)<br />
<br />
And that's a shame, because the second half (or maybe the last third) is actually really good. The moment we cut to Data and Captain Picard in the shuttlecraft finding out that the <em>Enterprise</em> is mysteriously and creepily adrift things pick up in a big way. As soon as they get aboard, the episode becomes a horror movie set on a ghost ship that's been turned into a weird and threatening alien menagerie. And the atmosphere it goes for is pitch-perfect, with red-tinted lighting that's so dark you can barely make anything out and disturbing and unfamiliar animal cries faintly echoing through the halls. You sort of wish the entire episode could have been like this. Worf's arrival just ratchets up the Holy Shit quotient even further, and the climactic chase scene in particular is <em>amazingly</em> shot. This is all credit to the episode's phenomenal director, none other than Gates McFadden herself. Bit annoying the choreographer, stage combat instructor, theatre vet and seasoned unit director didn't get to direct a production of her own until six weeks before her show ends, but hey, I suppose it's better than nothing.<br />
<br />
Regardless, Gates' experience, eye and obvious skill really help elevate what might otherwise have been a <em>complete</em> misfire instead of only a partial one. Her leadership behind the camera is really the best part of “Genesis” by light years. She's a deft hand at the episode's more surrealist and horror aspects, and an absolute master at setting a mood. Makes you wish that, in addition to “Genesis” itself being a bit better, Gates could have gotten a shot at helming a tighter Brannon Braga script like “Eye of the Beholder” and the upcoming “Emergence”, or something else of its ilk like “Dark Page”: She really is the perfect director in the stable to handle this kind of wildness. It's so immensely infuriating that <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> has finally hit on a reliably winning story structure with the talent to back it up and make it happen and it's only got a month and a half left to live.<br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" id="magicparlabel-862973">
</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03828341842948036592noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8349653650482188023.post-70141704510746058012016-04-21T23:00:00.000-10:002016-04-21T23:00:18.606-10:00“Here's lookin' at you”: Profit and Loss<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
It's no secret that the Star Trek team are massive old Hollywood fans. I think that's sort of a prerequisite for living in southern California. When you get right down to it, they're all tradesmen and craftsmen who have worked their way up through a system that's basically vocational apprenticeship and they naturally want to pay tribute to their old masters. That's the reason genre romps, pastiches and “Let's Do” stories exist to begin with: Art is built on imitation anyway, and I would imagine that's merely amplified and concentrated by living and working in a climate like southern California's film industry. Genre fiction is no different and isn't on some higher plane: In fact, one of my favourite ridiculous things about the generally ridiculous movie <em>Species</em> is how it's this serious, provocative sci-fi sexual horror movie that also desperately wants to be a breathless tribute to 1940s hard-broiled LA Noir pulp fiction because it's endearingly, stupidly, hopelessly in love with Los Angeles. It's “the city of the future”, you know! You can do anything and be anyone in the City of Angels!<br />
<br />
But I'll have to come back to Sil and her joyride of carnage through every LA landmark that's been in every movie ever another day (though her movie is in production by now and, because synchronicity is everything, the earthquake that interrupted production on “Profit and Loss” is an actual plot point in <em>Species</em>). The point of the matter is that Star Trek is far from immune to this sot of hyperlocalized psychogeographic make-out session, and we've seen this plenty of times before (Vasquez Rocks, anyone?). And so with “Profit and Loss”, we get <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em> bending over backwards to borderline remake <em>Casablanca</em> simply because <em>Casablanca</em> is a classic of Old Hollywood and because it can. This sort of giddy-yet-pointless genre romp seems to be a reoccuring Thing for Quark stories, considering “The Nagus” was basically this but for <em>The Godfather</em> instead. But “Profit and Loss” is a unique and important “Let's Do” story, because it's the rare “Let's Do” story that actually <em>works</em>, and it's all due to the interaction between whole plot reference and showcased protagonist. In fact, it's probably the best “Let's Do” in the entire show, a highlight of the year and very possibly the definitive Quark story.<br />
<br />
Thing is, Quark is already sort of a Humphrey Bogart antihero character. Armin Shimerman has displayed glimpses of these characteristics since the beginning, and he really works best when he's written this way. This is partly due to, actually, Shimerman's prosthetics: The combination of fake Ferengi teeth and gigantic Ferengi headpiece means his range of movement around his face is restricted, and he ends up inflecting his speech with a very Bogart-drawl type accent, which he'll frequently play up for dramatic emphasis. So writing Quark this way actually plays to Shimerman's strengths and acting range that he's somewhat forced to use while playing the character. But also, it's just a great thematic fit for him: Quark is this broody, surly, cynical and slightly shady bartender character who you can't help but love because he's witty and charismatic. He's the Humphrey Bogart archetype to the letter and it's kind of a no-brainer for anyone to write for that.<br />
<br />
So giving Quark a story that's <em>Casablanca</em> in everything but name is not only obvious, it's damn near inevitable considering<em> Casablanca</em> is Bogart's iconic role. It's also a perfect fit for <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em>, because that's exactly what <em>Deep Space 9</em> *is*: It's a Deep Space Casablanca where characters of every size, shape and moral alignment from all walks of life and all corners of the galaxy come to mingle, each with a story to tell and a chip on their shoulder. And the lingering unpleasantness with the Cardassian Empire, which Natima Lang' plot here is a direct outgrowth of, is a fitting stand-in for the machinations of empires that served as the backdrop for the movie <em>Casablanca</em>. There's a sense of a world gone mad and turned upside down, which is very much in keeping with the source material: We've seen sympathetic Cardassians before, but not to this extent, Quark reminds us he has hidden depths and isn't a one-note joke character and Garak's trademark erratic behaviour and unpredictability is the perfect accompaniment.<br />
<br />
(Mary Crosby as Natima Lang brings with her some more fun associations. Famous for shooting J.R. on <em>Dallas</em>, a very fitting guest star for a show that has often been called a soap opera in space, she's also the daughter of Bing Crosby and thus the aunt of Denise, our very own Tasha Yar. Now what was that I was saying about Hollywood being provincial?)<br />
<br />
We even get one of <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em>'s crapshoot attempts at Moral Ambiguity when Odo pulls a temporary Face Heel Turn and tries to haul Natima in because he's been ordered to by the Bajoran Provisional Government, who are basically cartoon villains by this point (but in a good way). I would have a problem with this if not for two reasons: One, this is actually in keeping with Odo's character: He's interested in some permutation of law, order and justice first and foremost because that's what “gives him shape”. So he probably wouldn't think too hard about turning over a political radical if someone in authority asked him to (although this is a gray area: He encouraged Major Kira to go against the Provisional Government in “The Circle” and told Commander Sisko that laws come and go in his establishing scene in “A Man Alone”, but both of those situations were in circumstances he was probably more familiar with and informed about. Remember, he would have turned Kira over to Gul Dukat in “Necessary Evil” had she told him the truth about Vaatrik).<br />
<br />
But secondly, <em>he gets better</em>. Which is <em>also</em> in keeping with Odo's character. Quark convinces Odo to help him and Natima escape because it's the right thing to do, and that's all he needs. “Profit and Loss” is another example of the <em>Deep Space 9</em> crew, who are, lest we forget, basically administrators, being forced into an uncomfortable situation and facing making a morally bankrupt decision due to circumstances beyond their control. But, for what I think may well be the first time, they find another way. A better way. Because that's the utopian thing to do, and this show is supposed to be about utopianism and progress. <em>That's</em> the critical element that was missing in episodes like “Progress”, “Cardassians”, “Sanctuary” and even “Thine Own Self”. You can tell a story about the crew being backed into a corner where it looks like there's no way out, sure, just so long as you eventually show us that there <em>really is a way out we just hadn't seen yet</em>. It's that final element that's the most important: You can tell a perfectly serviceable and effective bit of drama without it, but not on this show. It's that final element that makes it a Star Trek story.<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" id="magicparlabel-1783150">
</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03828341842948036592noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8349653650482188023.post-26733627457994823282016-04-19T23:00:00.000-10:002016-04-19T23:00:20.804-10:00“Reoccurring dreams”: Eye of the Beholder<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I count up to the double digits, at most, the moments in media that were so primally formative they completely changed my life. Many of them are from <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em>, and at least five of them are from this season. We've seen two of them already and there's another two to go, but “Eye of the Beholder” may well be the most momentous and personally meaningful. The degree to which the imagery and iconography of this episode have haunted me all my life, and haunted really is the only truly fitting term, is almost completely unparalleled. Why this episode stuck with me to the unbelievably powerful degree that it did, to the point rewatching it actually gave me chills due to how familiar it felt (even though, prior to this rewatch, I'd only seen it <em>twice</em>)...I have no explanation. Except for, perhaps, that it's really damn excellent.<br />
<br />
But it has, and watching it again was like reliving a dream from long, long ago buried deep within the recess of my psyche: I remembered, vividly and to the last detail, the nacelle control room that features prominently in the plot. The hallucinations of the psychic imprint that constantly replay themselves. the lingering single-take shots where the camera follows Deanna Troi as she pensively meanders through the <em>Enterprise</em>'s corridors. And, above all else, the unforgettable image of Deanna standing on the landing gazing into the pulsing heart of the ship's warp nacelle. I remember that the way I remember my first birthday, and the first house my family lived in when I was a young child. In fact, it <em>literally was</em> reliving a dream for me: After it was announced that TNN would start airing <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> reruns, which would be the first time in seven years I'd have the chance to see the show again, I got so excited the show started to infiltrate my real, actual dreams. As the date approached, I distinctly remember having an incredibly lifelike dream where I was onboard the <em>Enterprise</em> myself. I was accompanied by Deanna Troi, dressed exactly the way she was in this episode, who took me on a tour of the whole ship so I could reacquaint myself.<br />
<br />
One of our stops was the nacelle control room from “Eye of the Beholder”. And, just as I had been reminded once before on TNN, as I watched this inexplicably powerful episode for only the third time in my life, I couldn't help but notice that room looked <em>exactly</em> the way I saw it in my dream. The only difference is that now I can tell it's a stage set.<br />
<br />
Perhaps therein lies part of the reason this story remains with me at such a close and intimate level. “Eye of the Beholder” is about the psychogeography of an imaginal space, namely, the starship <em>Enterprise</em>. I could point to the plot point of the empathic echo left by Lieutenant Pierce of the horrible tragedy that happened in that nacelle room during the construction of the ship, or how Deanna reinterprets it through the lens of her own positionality and those thoughts and feelings she's been working through at both conscious and unconscious levels. In essence, she creates her own personal <em>Enterprise</em> world that is shaped, in a negative way, by the forbidden information left behind. Places have their own energy about them, even (perhaps especially) imaginary places that are shaped by the history and lives of the people who inhabit them, both mundane and grandiose (which are, after all, ultimately the same thing). I believe particularly sensitive people can become attuned to this and be affected on a very deep and powerful level, for good or ill, depending on how their own personal information energy resonates with the energy of place. Perhaps this is where our spirits and gods once came from.<br />
<br />
Maybe this is something I subconsciously knew when I first saw “Eye of the Beholder” and became transfixed by it at however-old-I-was. Although I stress I always liked everybody, I can distinctly remember who of this crew had my attention the most when I used to watch Star Trek back then. Before I latched onto Jadzia Dax (and later Tasha Yar during my first revisit), I remember watching Star Trek for firstly LeVar Burton, because I recognised and looked up to him, and then Patrick Stewart's Captain Picard and Jonathan Frakes' Commander Riker, because I found them charismatic and fun to watch. But then there was Deanna Troi. I seem to remember being eerily fascinated by her, and no, not for the usual reasons people are “fascinated” by Deanna Troi either: For some reason I think I maybe felt I had some sort of odd connection with her-I'm not so sure I'd go so far as to call her a cipher or someone I projected onto, although perhaps that <em>was</em> the case...But I'm beginning to wonder if my still-forming awareness of the world found some kinship in Deanna's preternatural ability to pull aside the veil and traverse imaginal Otherworlds that operate through the language of pataphor, heavy symbolism and association. I would not have watched this episode too long after “Dark Page”, after all, another story and set of images that had a profound impact on my understanding of Deanna Troi, <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> and myself.<br />
<br />
But if this is the case, what are we to make about the fact a grisly passion murder is literally embedded into the foundation of the <em>Enterprise</em> itself, let alone the part of it that actually makes it go forward? Deanna Troi's dream-echo is more of a horrible nightmare woven around an otherwise pleasant set of potentialities. Mine, by contrast, is a hauntingly moving set of visions that seem to always bring me back to somewhere transcendent. It certainly doesn't make me feel especially good about myself. But that's the nature of psychogeography, and of life: The same places bear witness to both bliss and tragedy at different times. And maybe there is comment that can be cast from this, because <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> does in fact have trauma built into itself from its very nascence: The trauma of Gene Roddenberry's legacy and the looming shadow of militarism. A traumatic series of events that have hamstrung this show from the very beginning, very nearly threating to kill it before it was ever born. Murder and loss are, in a very real sense, coded into the landscape of <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em>'s dream for hopeful progress and utopianism.<br />
<br />
This need not be the case forever. Place-energies always ebb and flow. If we want our home to feel happy, we must strive to do things there that make us happy. The energy conduit is not one-way. If we tap it and channel the spirits towards the full realisation of our own true selves and true potentials, we can give back to the land as much as it gives us. And this is something I think Deanna Troi and her shipmates are aware of. In her own mental landscape, she explores love, on her own terms for the first time. All love begins as a potentiality within the imaginal realm first, and is reified through understanding, empathy and the desire of people to make it so. Deanna's perpetually exploratory relationship with Worf thus becomes the most believable, and sweetest, romantic relationship this show will ever depict (that is, so long as you ignore just about everything from “Ethics” to “Parallels” at any rate).<br />
<br />
Not does it become a perfect metaphor for relationships in potentia (as all relationships are forever in potentia in one state of being or another) by casting the narrative lens just a bit askance, as all the best genre fiction can do, it's also eminently relatable: Worf, both inside and outside Deanna's reality, behaves exactly the way someone who has just started to view his feelings in a different light and is very nervous and self-conscious about the possible ramifications of exploring them is going to behave. It is, in point of fact, the single best thing that's been done with Worf since “Heart of Glory”. And Deanna, for her part, runs through a very recognisable gamut of dreaming a fantasy a certain part of her desires and would so very much enjoy, yet at the same time imaging all the possible ways it could go wrong. Her tragic melodrama is a perfect introspective mirror of Worf's shuffling awkwardness in the first part of the episode, the only difference is we get to see hers played out for us. Meanwhile, Geordi and Data show us a very different sort of love: Not romantic or platonic for each other, but for all of life. Their conversation about suicide is pitch-perfect and the exact sort of scene these characters exist to play.<br />
<br />
“Eye of the Beholder” indeed. Perhaps this is what this story is trying to tell me. Listen to what the world and the spirits within are saying and respond in kind. Together we will make magick that will sublimate the world and take us beyond the imagination.<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" id="magicparlabel-1780596">
</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03828341842948036592noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8349653650482188023.post-13143127718469463552016-04-17T23:00:00.000-10:002016-04-17T23:00:19.859-10:00“Goddess Remembered”: Playing God<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Normally I write these at night. I'm a bit of a night owl by habit already, and I find that, when doing creative work, I perform far better at night. I'm much more focused during the evenings, whereas I tend to get distracted far too easily by the business and hustle-and-bustle of diurnal life. Today though I am breaking habit and writing this during the morning, but it seems to feel right. I am, after all, also very much a day person: Sunshine is a vital and fundamental part of my existence and I need to be around it and in it constantly or I get depressed. I am of the Sun and the Moon equally, which makes things annoying when I need to find time to sleep. I could say the same thing about <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em>-This is a show that uses a great deal of dark cinematography and colouring, and it's of course a space-based science fiction series. And yet a sizable majority of my memories of <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em> evoke feelings of openness, brightness and warmth because, as I'll discuss in further detail in following chapters, much of my experience of it came through comic books and magazines, including most, if not all, of this season. I have extremely vivid place-memories of reading about this year's stories in such magazines beneath the warm and welcoming summer sunshine.<br />
<br />
It's news to nobody that Jadzia Dax is my favourite character on this show. It is, in fact, typically a three-way race between her, Tasha Yar and Geordi La Forge for my favourite character in all of Star Trek. But of those three, it's no contest who has the most consistent and unforgettable personality. Jadzia Dax is a goddess-woman, a divine avatar who exists in the space between worlds beckoning us to join her. And this is her definitive story. Jadzia is “Playing God”, that is, playing at being a god, but not in the expected Robert Oppenheimer sense. Though diegetically mortal, Jadzia Dax is dressed in the trappings of the divine, her initiate Arjin also her prospective pupil and the play's stand-in for us. Jadzia plays a goddess of fertility, love and lust: Wild and vivacious, she tries to make Arjin get over himself in order to make peace with and accept himself. Because only someone conscious and mature enough to do that will be able to accept cosmic love and light into themselves. It's in that moment of ego death where we find clarity and gain the power to channel our own truest selves. True confidence and identity lies in the moment where we shed the anxieties and self-consciousness of youth while retaining its vive. And if we're not there yet, we can pretend we are. It's the same thing.<br />
<br />
Arjin himself wears the masks of many things. Chief among them, however, is that of the implied audience-Hardcore science fiction and/or Star Trek fans and, by extension, the franchise itself. Like Star Trek, Arjin is nebbish, insecure, directionless and far too eager to impress. He's put off by Jadzia less by bigotry or prudishness and more feelings of insecurity and intimidation, and that's what's holding him back. He's totally uncomfortable being himself because he isn't quite ready to admit to himself who he really is. It's not that he doesn't necessarily know (this isn't the cliché navel-gazey plot about the young adult going off to “find himself”), he's just not yet ready to embrace himself for all that he is. Were he just to relax and be himself, he'd find his life would be a lot more clear to him and it would go far easier. And that's the exact sort of person who needs a goddess to come to them, show them their reflection and give them guidance towards navigating their path. And like all great goddesses, Jadzia is not at all coy about putting things in front of her disciples to force them to confront themselves.<br />
<br />
Naturally given this is Jadzia's story (which means it's really Arjin's story), “Playing God” is simply dripping in sex magic. Jadzia makes Arjin walk in on the aftermath of one of her own sessions, and then proceeds to <em>tease</em> him by walking around her quarters in just a towel, all in an attempt to focus his attention and force him to confront sides of himself he's afraid to. Moments later, the scene is echoed extradiegteically for <em>our</em> benefit when the camera appears to be preoccupied with Major Kira and Miles O'Brien, who it catches in a compromising position under the Ops command table, lingering for a fair bit of time on their shapely backsides. Standards and practices for a syndicated TV show that goes out before the watershed in certain markets mean there always has to be backdoor “innocent” explanation for such things (including a rather risible, albeit tongue-in-cheek, suggestion in the <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine Companion</em> that Dax and her paramour were “wrestling”. I'll bet they were), but the “not what it looks like” context of the Ops scene does nothing to dissuade the shippiness quotient I read in it.<br />
<br />
(There is also the subplot of the Cardassian Vole infestation, which we are helpfully reminded happens to take place during the voles' mating season. This subplot is utterly incredible and one of my absolute favourite storylines in the entire series-It's as playful and quirky as Dax herself.)<br />
<br />
Dax takes Arjin through the wormhole, the Celestial Temple, and for him creates new life. An entire universe of new life, in fact: Breath channeled and given a new dream-form. We get a typical Star Trek moral dilemma, because this is the set of storytelling conventions and symbolic associations we must translate ourselves into to operate in this realm. Is it dangerous? Only if you look at it a certain way. The universe is of us, but it is also bigger than all of us. How do you, personally, respond to a truth like that? Odo and Kira articulate the debate and, in doing so, reveal something fundamental about their characters and their relationship with each other:<br />
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“We already have a solution and the longer we wait the harder it will be to implement it. I'm sorry, but this is us or them. We have to destroy it!” </div>
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“You can't just wipe out a civilization! We would be committing mass murder!” </div>
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“It's like stepping on ants, Odo!” </div>
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“I don't step on ants, Major.”</div>
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The shapeshifter who can be anyone and anything can mould himself into any perspective...And the formless being looking for an identity falls back on justice. Meanwhile, Commander Sisko spells out the solution for us:
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“Personal log. Supplemental. One hour. One hour to make a decision that could mean the life or death of a civilization. Or the end to our own. My mind keeps going back to the Borg. How I despised their...Indifference as they tried to exterminate us. And I have to ask myself...Would I be any different if I destroyed another universe to preserve my own?”</div>
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By acknowledging the Borg, Commander Sisko makes his choice. The Borg are who we do <em>not</em> want to emulate, and this is something he would know better than anyone else. And in order to avoid becoming the Borg, we choose empathy. We choose life. We choose love and anarchy. We choose Jadzia Dax, and we welcome her into our lives for all she has to teach us.<br />
<br />
And as for Arjin? Perhaps he was scared that the new universe would overtake him. He's not ready to be a Trill host. But perhaps he will someday. In Another Time.<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" id="magicparlabel-1775643">
</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03828341842948036592noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8349653650482188023.post-1127019218703330442016-04-14T23:00:00.000-10:002016-04-15T10:23:53.473-10:00“The Face You Wear”: Masks<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmIL48_xmklDRA5nYg4AxskiP09fjxicno2w5UdRTdEdAIGQhr9guTnVU8gMZOK8kPopGpel-FSseKkQAdjz5Ko3ky5Y4nHGo96MKTpqSrPbSVUbanZjriEYetvEz77OlTei1LCiNYmLc/s1600/Masaka.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmIL48_xmklDRA5nYg4AxskiP09fjxicno2w5UdRTdEdAIGQhr9guTnVU8gMZOK8kPopGpel-FSseKkQAdjz5Ko3ky5Y4nHGo96MKTpqSrPbSVUbanZjriEYetvEz77OlTei1LCiNYmLc/s320/Masaka.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<style type="text/css">
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We all wear masks. We switch between them every day as we go about our lives, putting on different face and playing a different role for everybody we meet. Rarely, if ever, do we find someone with whom we can share the full multiplicity of people inside us. Instead, we wear the mask appropriate to the encounter. I'm wearing a mask right now for you all: This is the mask of Vaka Rangi, which has come to symbolize certain familiar behaviour traits and tropish signifiers that you have come to expect following this blog for a number of years. As personal as I try to get in my writings, Vaka Rangi is not, has never been and cannot ever be a complete encapsulation of my feelings and my identities for many different reasons. It's a caricatured facsimile meant to stand for specific aspects of it I felt were appropriate and workable enough to weave into a multi-threaded series of narratives.<br />
<br />
(This is not, it should be stressed, by definition a bad thing: We always want to evoke different parts of our personalities in different contexts because we all have different skills, talents and experiences that are relevant to different situations. This is ultimately just a more roundabout way of explaining how we call upon and mobilize our positionalities when it's fitting to do so. In this world, not everybody needs to know everything about everybody else all of the time. Think about me however you need to in order to help you get through your day.)<br />
<br />
Deanna Troi claims Data is suffering from “android multiple personality disorder”. But she's a psychologist and is trained to view things in terms of diagnoses and disorders. But Deanna Troi is also an artist, as is Data, which is an important point worth returning to. Either way, what Data is experiencing is something far more profound than what the medical terminology would have us believe. In many cultures, masks play a ritual shamanic role: The mask is supposed to embody the essence of a god, spirit or ancestor, so when a shaman adopts the mask he or she is attempting to contact the deity it represents, either through channeling, invocation or direct communication. As in all such rituals, there is a strong performative element-For the duration of mask ceremonies of this type, the shaman “becomes” the deity through a combination of staged artifice (they're literally playing a role) and through magickal, spiritual identification and association. And who better to give a role like this than to Data, our “imitation man” who is defined by the way in which he self-consciously takes on different roles, and is himself played by impressionist Brent Spiner? Indeed, this episode is likely the defining moment where Spiner and Data are finally allowed to meld their respective skills in a way that naturalistically furthers the story's themes.<br />
<br />
Data is not just channeling the D'Arsay people's gods and mythological heroes, as Captain Picard points out in the episode's closing moments, he's also channeling their entire civilization. It's a lovely, and very nuanced, sort of paralleling: Folk tradition dictates that gods can take mortal form through ritualized performativity, and its through those same traditions that the D'Arsay in a real sense get to live again. Gods and heroes are localized to the people, places and traditions who honour them, so in many ways you could argue one of the best way to get to know a people is through their stories. It's also an interesting extension of a feature of Data's that's often been mentioned, but rarely explored: That he supposedly contains the memories and experiences of everyone on his colony. This is just that, but with far more meaning and resonance.<br />
<br />
Also intriguing is the way the D'Arsay archive ship works. It uses pre-existing matter to literally re-shape an environment into a recreation of its homeland, myths and all. Comparisons have to immediately be drawn with concepts such as <i>alcheringa</i>, the “eternal” or “uncreated” time in the spiritual traditions of the indigenous Australians popularly known as “The Dreaming” or “Dreamtime”. According to the stories of the eternal time, during the prehistory of Australia and of its indigenous cultures (which is not unconvincingly posited to be the same thing), great culture heroes travelled the land, which is amorphous and without form in this time. As they did so, they shaped the land and created sacred places, and the energy signatures they left in their wake during their journeys became trails called <i>yiri</i>, or “songlines”, which could be interacted with by singing a series of songs on the proper sequence. The act of belief and folk tradition itself shapes the place energy of the land and its inhabitants. This is very similar to what we see the D'Arsay archive do to the <i>Enterprise</i> in “Masks”, as it physically reconstructs the layout and environment of the ship piece by piece. And honestly, it's tough to argue this isn't a massive asset to the <i>Enterprise</i>, which now has an imaginative and provocative sense of scale and diversity <i>Star Trek: The Next Generation</i> hasn't always been able to convey.<br />
<br />
And yet there's a danger here. Although the way it happens is a bit unconventional as the crew accidentally awakens a singular and unique culture and set of beliefs long dead as opposed to forcibly imposing one on another, we're still witnessing one belief system threatening to engulf and extinguish another. Assimilate it, if you will. Wars of psychogeography are sadly far from uncommon in the history of the world, conquerers and occupiers from the dawn of war using the interplay between land, culture and spirituality to accrue power and stamp out indigenous societies and traditions all over the planet. Native gods don't always get along with the gods of foreigners, even they're brought over by immigrants as opposed to colonists. And this is what the central conflict of “Masks” really is: The gods of place of the <i>Enterprise</i>, which our crew are very much assuming the roles of, and those of D'Arsay clashing over who will be allowed to preside over this space.<br />
<br />
And absolute credit to the <i>Enterprise</i> crew, who resolve the situation peacefully and idealistically: Instead of blasting the fuck out of the archive, which was an option at one point, Captain Picard (who is, of course, an archaeologist) is able to communicate with the D'Arsay collective unconscious by taking the time to learn their stories and beliefs and taking up the mantle of one of their own without appropriating it for himself. In this he's also aided by Deanna Troi (who is, of course, an anthropologist, another of her masks), and Geordi the storyteller. Every person who plays a major role in the reenactment and recreation of the D'Arsay psychogeographical landscape is an actor, storyteller or artist on multiple diegetic and extradiegetic levels. So it's only natural that they of all people would be sensitive to the delicate intricacies of this situation, for artists are the modern shamans.<br />
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The D'Arsay landscape of myth itself is also interesting to study, as so much of it literally revolves around the figure of Masaka the Sun Goddess. Solar goddesses, particular solar goddesses who are also powerful ruling queens in their own right, as Masaka apparently is, are actually quite rare in studies of comparative mythology (at least in the popular understandings therein). Those who we do see are almost always hypothesized to be relics of extremely old belief systems, by which I mean s<i>tone age</i> old. Historical details on them are by definition scant, but what we can piece together seems to indicate that they were strongly venerated and deeply beloved for their power and the care with which they oversaw their people. So at first glance it did strike me as concerning that Masaka seems portrayed as a figure of fear and scorn by so many of her people, and I wasn't entirely sure how I should read that. There's the obvious interpretation, of course, which I hoped to avoid. I also thought that the planet where the D'Arsay culture originated might have orbited very close to their sun, or perhaps their sun went supernova, which might explain the seemingly malevolent depiction of Masaka.<br />
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However then it occurred to me that the answer lies in the episode itself. We're witnessing the gestalt of an entire civilization and the history and evolution of its mythology from beginning to end: Gods and heroes are reinterpreted all the time by different storytellers, just as an episode of a TV series can be interpreted different was by different people who watch it. The act of reading generates meaning, and for gods and heroes this shapes their identities, attestations and spheres of influence too. So perhaps Masaka was once a benevolent figure, or at least one capable of both benevolence and malevolence (the sun gives life through its warmth, but can also scorch and dehydrate the earth during a drought), and she became reinterpreted in a more negative light once, let's say, the sun went supernova or there was some other environmental catastrophe that befell the D'Arsay. Or maybe we're just seeing the different viewpoints and interpretations a cross-section of D'Arsay society viewed her from. Either way, that plurality of meaning and identity is captured in both Data's channeling of her as well as Captain Picard's rapport with her as he takes on the role of lunar god Korgano: These are clearly fierce and powerful gods, but the way we view them is incumbent on the eyes we look through ourselves.<br />
<br />
Our gods can appear to us in many guises.<br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" id="magicparlabel-777580">
</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03828341842948036592noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8349653650482188023.post-4402529655144733152016-04-12T23:00:00.000-10:002016-04-12T23:00:03.647-10:00“Maya”: Shadowplay<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We should begin with the personal identity theory and problem of self themes which naturally always crop up in any story like this. As one might expect from this show, particularly this show this season, the problem is addressed and dealt with rather easily. As a direct thematic follow-up to both “Inheritance” and “Whispers”, it's never portrayed as ambiguous whether or not the colonists really are sentient beings. That is, if you discount Odo. Odo's apparent uncertainty over this fact is a reflection of his own inner nature, not necessarily a statement of judgment: He's accompanied Dax to the Gamma Quadrant to look for clues about his history and identity, and he wants hard and clear answers. Of course, Dax has helped him in this regard before, earlier in the season in “The Alternate”. But seeing “The Alternate” is not a necessary prerequisite for enjoying this episode.<br />
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Odo is a neoplatonist here, out searching for an objective reality he can define himself in accordance with. He's also a detective, heavily invested in solving mysteries and getting to the bottom of a capital-T Truth he sees as being wrongfully withheld from him. It's of little surprise that the mask he crafts for himself involves serving as a constable, an elected law-enforcement officer with changeably defined responsibilities. This is, of course, and always has been, the key to understanding who Odo is: The naturally fluid and amorphous shapeshifter yearns for form and rigidity because of his own reflexive questions and self-conscious insecurities. Odo likes hard facts and hard truths, things he can hold onto and be absolutely sure of. So naturally he's going to be less than thrilled with the colony of holograms whose holographic nature is being hidden from them. To him, this is a willful Obfuscation of The Truth, a crime being committed that someone must be held accountable for.<br />
<br />
Except Taya tells Odo that shapeshifters aren't real. Which means, by definition, Odo isn't real either. And things suddenly got all “Ship in a Bottle” up in here. Although then Taya says she wants to be a shapeshifter, because that would mean she could be anything and everyone would want to be with her. And maybe the better analogy is <em>Promethea</em>...<br />
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Taya and the rest of her people are real because Rurigan treats them as if they're real. He designed them to be exact duplicates of his deceased family and friends on his homeworld and loved them the same way, which means the holographic villagers have <em>become</em> them. This is personal identity theory working on the plane of the imaginal: Not only the psychical continuity of one person, but an entire world kept alive through one person's perspective of it. The imaginal is dynamically formless: Shaped by positionality, it can also influence it in turn. Gods inarguably exist in the realm of the imaginal, and gods can reshape themselves into new identities through mythopoeia. In essence, they are shapeshifters, with a myriad of different contextual lives identities-Not one Self, but a plurality of selves. Which is an altogether fitting bit of oversignification, considering Odo is accompanied in this episode by an actual goddess.<br />
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Yes, you read that right, and no, there's no need to act so surprised about it. She's not textually divine, of course, and yet Jadzia Dax is constructed out of a series of allegories and analogies that really make the most amount of sense if you read them as pointing to her coded divine nature. She's a living series of nested metaphors about the divine. She's an Otherworldly role model who exists on a higher plane of existence (this was, in fact, one of the very first things she told us about herself, if you recall). As a Trill, Jadzia Dax has not one identity or self, but a plurality of them, and like all powerfully divine figures she exists as a sacred union of masculine and feminine energies. She can even change her shape and form. Jadzia only ever exists in the margins of a story (when people try to write stories about her things tend to get awkward and wonky, she's someone you have to just <em>know</em>), as is always the case for goddesses in the written record, yet her presence is always keenly felt.<br />
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Layers and layers of parallels, mirrors and symbolic association point to the underlying reality we search for. Star Trek claims to be an ensemble show, but loves to hero worship its (male) Captain figures: On <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em>, Commander Sisko is the Emissary to the Prophets, the one who travels to the Otherworld and consults with the gods. Many cultures consider the hero archetype a semi-divine or divinely ordained figure, and there are other similar stories of prominent figures earning respect and authority through symbolic union with the gods. Celtic mythology has its semi-divine heroes travelling to the Otherworld and back for counsel, and tutelary deities who could grant or remove sovereignty to local authorities through ritualized matrimony. Myanmar has the legend of the God-King, who invokes Shiva through the ritualized joining of male and female totems, where divinity is explicitly equated with the union of masculine and feminine energies.<br />
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But in modern narrative, the feminine side is suppressed. We love our gods and heroes, not so much our goddesses and goddess energies. Commander Sisko entered the Bajoran wormhole <em>with Jadiza Dax</em>, yet only Commander Sisko officially gets to be called Emissary (notice also, please, how the Prophets can change how they present at will). And yet Jadzia remains, a Goddess-Queen to his God-King. She is the unspeakable Other, the one who cannot be spoken of, yet who also cannot be ignored. But Jadzia is more than feminine, or even sacred feminine, she herself is an embodiment of the divine union. She remains and exists to remind us of our latent potential, and what we've forgotten under the clattering wheels and grinding engines of the master narratives of history (why else would Jadzia Dax be paired with Odo here, who displays this power in a different way? Both she and he are pan-gendered, and thus a simultaneous male and female spirit). The sacred becomes profane and feminized, and then reappropriates that femininity to reclaim its awesome power.<br />
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It helps this power come through that there is genuine evocative craft here. A recursive myth, “Shadowplay” imagines an entire world for us in much the same way Rurigan does for his community. In this case, the world of <em>Deep Space 9</em>. A rare A-B-C plot, and an even rarer one where the story's themes and motifs permeate at every level. Not only is this episode boldly mystical in a way <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em> has largely stopped trying to be this season, it also gives us a vertical slice of life in this world, another hallmark of the series that it proved to us early on. Aside from the Dax/Odo stuff on Rurigan's planet, there's also the story about Jake admitting to Ben he doesn't want to go to Starfleet Academy, and Kira trying to keep things in order in Odo's absence, particularly where Quark is involved (as well as some more development of her relationship with Vedek Bareil). And each and every story deals with the nature of illusions, reality, and perceptions making reality.<br />
<br />
“Shadowplay” then does what Star Trek has been seemingly desperate to do for so long: It reminds us of the ancient truths that have been the birthright of humanity for as long as they have existed on Earth, and it does so by showcasing the potential of genre fiction. And not just any genre fiction, horrid dime-store serialized pulp genre fiction that's Star Trek's real ancestry. Whose presence is more revealing than Kenneth Tobey's, storied character actor and veteran of such shlock classics as <em>The Thing from Another World</em>, <em>The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms</em> and <em>It Came from Beneath the Sea</em>, not to mention cornerstones of United States myth and legend <em>Disney's Davy Crockett</em> and <em>Gunsmoke</em>? The hard-broiled product of the pulp serials beholds the entheodelic and dreams the world. Even in the meat-and-potatoes staples of capitalized, mass-market fluff storytelling, there remains an essential power that seeps through. Art has power no matter what form it takes, all it requires is someone to understand and channel it to reconnect with the divine.<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" id="magicparlabel-26332">
</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03828341842948036592noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8349653650482188023.post-44206370616639282872016-04-10T23:00:00.000-10:002016-04-10T23:00:12.995-10:00“Truthfully”: Thine Own Self<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsRzxnAbxtatgVs2WTIbOow1eeRlenTVB3DU9TVIhbKu5Kp-JqHUCNlCQ0fsjnGLRqdMMPTPutMsd1vsHpZ_zVgntPw7If_eoS1JLfzqCXsxtJex7K3lXyD47SBjanqgKblIvJWrfDhaU/s1600/Data_injured.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsRzxnAbxtatgVs2WTIbOow1eeRlenTVB3DU9TVIhbKu5Kp-JqHUCNlCQ0fsjnGLRqdMMPTPutMsd1vsHpZ_zVgntPw7If_eoS1JLfzqCXsxtJex7K3lXyD47SBjanqgKblIvJWrfDhaU/s320/Data_injured.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
This is another episode I have vivid, fond memories of that left me sorely disappointed. It's not that I think “Thine Own Self” is particularly bad, and in fact I'd go so far as to say there's a lot to recommend in it. But it couldn't live up to the position it had in my memory, and there's some writing decisions made in it I'm pretty vehemently opposed to. I mean, just look who wrote the teleplay: I should have known. A lot of this season has surprised me by how little enthusiasm I can muster for it, especially on <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em> where we're at the tail end of a stretch of episodes that are all peerlessly iconic to me, but which I wound up writing some fairly mixed things about after I sat down with them again this time. This should be my absolute favourite era, and while there's a lot of it I do like, there's just as much, if not more, that I'm finding myself at more of a distance from then I ever expected.<br />
<br />
I suppose in some ways this episode is a perfect microcosm for my entire experience with <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> over the course of my journey with Vaka Rangi. It's not an episode I recall watching during the original run, but I do distinctly remember seeing screenshots from it in calendars, guide books, magazines and that sort of thing. I saw it for the first time (that I can place) as part of TNN's reruns in the early 2000s and thought it was utterly beautiful. I remember the subplot about Deanna Troi taking the Bridge Officer Exam and getting promoted beat-by-beat, but it's Data's story on Barkon IV that was the most iconic. The makeup work on the Barkonians is some of the most striking in the series, and shots of them, alongside Data in rustic mountain clothes with part of his circuitry exposed, are among the defining moments of this whole year.<br />
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Some of the writing here is nothing short of poetic (the title, for one): Talur's speculation that the amnesiac Data is an “Ice-Man” from the “Vellorian Mountains” whose superhuman strength is an inherited trait amongst his people to help them “fight off the wild beasts that roam the mountains” is an absolutely spellbinding bit of worldbuilding. It's evocative and haunting in a way Star Trek hardly ever is, and it captures the imagination in a way typically reserved for, let's face it, superior genre fiction franchises. “Thine Own Self” also boasts one of the single greatest lines in the entire series, if not the franchise, bar none: When Gia comments that her mother passed away, she tells Data “Father said she went to a beautiful place, where everything is peaceful and everyone loves each other and no one ever gets sick. Do you think there's really a place like that?”. Data looks out the window up at the stars and responds “Yes. I do”.<br />
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Just looking up the quote to copy it down is enough to bring tears to my eyes. That's the kind of scene writers spend years trying to get good enough to craft. You'll not find a better or more defining statement of purpose anywhere else in Star Trek.<br />
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It's heartbreaking then to learn “Thine Own Self” doesn't have much else to offer to back that statement up.<br />
<br />
I had assumed I would take umbrage at Deanna's subplot. And I did. I'm of course thrilled she gets promoted and gets one more reason for people to take her seriously, and I really like how she decides to pursue a bridge position after a casual chat with her friend Beverly about why she decided to go for the rank of Commander. But the “Bridge Officer Exam”, as Deanna herself so succinctly puts it, is just a test to see if she's capable of ordering someone to their death if there's no alternative. So this means the way you earn your place on the <em>Enterprise</em> bridge is to prove you're capable of foregoing empathy to think in terms of realpolitik. And just to twist the knife further, who's the person Troi has to order to death in her holodeck simualtion? Geordi. I know this is Ron Moore and Ron Moore-style space opera and that I just need to admit this doesn't work for me and never will and get over it, but when you put Ron Moore-style space opera next to Data's exchange with Gia, things feel weirdly dissonant. And that's before we get to the stuff in <em>that</em> part of the plot.<br />
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(It should be noted, for the sake of apologia if nothing else, that Moore was very much in favour of Deanna getting promoted so that people would take her more seriously. He felt it was unfair the female characters were pigeonholed into “soft” roles and he wanted to show they were capable of handling responsibility too. Of course, that he thinks it's a bad thing Deanna is “just” a “therapist” is pretty revealing too.)<br />
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So Data's plight is that he's hated and mocked by the Barkonians because he's “different”. And he's “different” because he's “intelligent”. And by “intelligent”, the show means “thinks in a scientific, rationalist and positivist way”. And the show is <em>incredibly </em>condescending about this, taking every opportunity to portray the Barkonians as primitive, backwards and self-delusionally superstitious. The “good” Barkonians are the ones closest to Data's hyperlogical mindset while all the “bad” ones are one hat drop away from going on a literal witch hunt. It's a total self-righteous Nerd Culture ballad, and Ron Moore even says so himself:<br />
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“What I enjoyed writing was Data as Mr. Wizard on the planet of people who aren't very smart. That was kind of funny. I got a kick out of Data being the guy in the back of the class raising his hand, inventing quantum mechanics with stone knives and bear skins.” </blockquote>
There's so much in a statement like this that concerns me. I'm going to leave aside the obvious racism and neo-colonialism that's coded in this kind of comparison between a tacitly Western network and a tacitly pre-modern or non-modern one. You could tangent off of this about how the implicitly masculine “hard” sciences think they're superior to the implicitly feminine “soft” sciences and humanities (especially given Deanna, a “soft” scientist and an empath, must prove she's capable of setting aside empathy and behaving in a masculine way in order to get promoted), but I'm not going to. Prophets know I've done that enough. Instead, I want to focus on the basic image of a person, and let's be honest, a child, who comes to believe they're special and superior to others because they're “different”, where “different” means more academically inclined.<br />
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This can happen because they've come to the conclusion themselves through interacting with peers or, more horrifyingly, they can be <em>taught</em> this by authority figures like teachers and parents. Either way, this happens all the time and it's unbelievably dangerous when it does. Someone who grows up believing themselves to be superior to others because of their academic or intellectual pursuits is destined to live a life of bitterness, loneliness and spite because they will have lost the kinship with the world that is everyone's birthright and unjustly believe that some lives are more important than others. I can speak from experience: When I was a child, many people would tell me that because I was passionate about learning this made me special, and if I ever had any problems with others it was never my fault because they just “didn't understand” me or “were jealous” of my supposed intelligence. Thankfully I don't think I ever let that go to my head, but the consequences of that have haunted me my entire life.<br />
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This is especially dangerous for Data, because, if there's one thing this season has taught us, Data is one slipped positronic connection away from becoming a somber parable about eugenics, racial purity and fascism. This is precisely what Lore represents, and precisely the thing Data must strive to overcome. To have an episode like this come along and so completely refute that, to the point of sending the exact opposite message, is...upsetting. So break the child away from his peers, burn one empath in effigy, and purge the other of her feminine power. All in the name of Science.<br />
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But what does any of this matter in the end? Empathy and utopianism is the message *I* read into <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em>. That doesn't make me any more right or any more valid than anyone else who's ever watched this show, let alone worked on it. I can rant and rave about how this episode or that episode doesn't support my preferred reading, but my preferred reading is just one of a myriad of possible readings that can be derived from the same source material. Which brings me back to my opening question: Why do I even bother doing this in the first place? Ultimately, media criticism is little more than an exercise in navel gazing and self-examination, especially media criticism with such a keen eye on the past. I go back to revisit a story from my youth so I can learn more about myself and come to terms with the person I've been at different points in my life. If you're new to <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> and are coming to it for the first time through this blog, you must understand you're by necessity doing so through my intensely personal lens. I literally cannot think about this show any other way.<br />
<br />
The title “Thine Own Self” derives from the line from <em>Hamlet</em>: “This above all: To thine own self be true”. What does it mean to be true to one's own self? Has Data, or indeed, <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em>, lived up to the title of this episode? That can't be known definitively and is something you can ponder on your own. I'll take the quote to mean living in accordance with one's True Self, our highest form of existence, which is an ideal form each and every one of us has that we can aspire to become. I happen to think that if we all dedicated our lives towards attaining our True Self and embodying it each and every day of our lives, the great work of the universe becomes knowable and attainable. But in order to reach that point, we have to first believe it's possible. And maybe, just maybe, the stories we tell each other should remind us that it is.<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" id="magicparlabel-16719">
</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03828341842948036592noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8349653650482188023.post-26331353593610781652016-04-07T23:00:00.000-10:002016-04-07T23:00:35.365-10:00“Two Cheeseburgers”: Paradise<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I've had my philosophical disagreements with this show this season, but at least those were on episodes that were basically well-constructed and where there was room for a nuanced discussion about different interpretations. “Paradise” is just hot garbage and the first <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em> episode since “Invasive Procedures” I simply can't defend or come up with any interesting tangential topics to venture forth into. It's a directionless parable about cultism and the relationship the Star Trek universe has with its technology that can't make its mind up about what it wants its actual point to be and plays out as a hideously boring rehash of “The Apple” from the Original Series and “The Masterpiece Society” from the fifth season. No amount of <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine Magazine</em>'s lovely purple prose or Block and Erdmann's praise for how how Commander Sisko “radiates” defiance in their <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine Companion</em> is ever going to upsell me on this story or convince me it's anything other than some alien looking crap-on-a-stick.<br />
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I said I didn't have any tangents to go off of here, but, now that I've said that, I actually think I do. It's not a major theme in this story purely because of the fact the episode can't take a stand one way or the other, but “Paradise” remains another example of a worryingly Luddite motif that's been creeping into <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em> this season and that will become more of a problem on the next series. Apart from Alixis' tyrannical anti-tech cult in this story, there's also stuff like Major Kira's disparaging remark to Dax in “The Siege” that Starfleet officers have forgotten how to use their “natural instincts” because of their reliance on technology (and before anyone comments, we're absolutely meant to sympathize with Kira here: This is from her Big Damn Hero making scene and that Dax comes across as well as she does is purely due to Terry Farrell). There seems to be the beginning of an idea that Star Trek (really <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em>, as all Star Trek from now in is going to be in some way a reaction to <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em>) is too overly sanitized and technologized, and that this is a serious problem that needs to be addressed and that the show needs to be taken to task for.<br />
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This is the brainchild of Ira Steven Behr, who has gone on the record numerous times stating his open disdain for technobabble, his belief that it's a dramatic crutch that hinders actual storytelling and that he “tried very hard to take the tech out of DS9”. But let's unpack this concern a bit. First of all, let's remember what the actual point of technobabble in Star Trek really is-In truth, it serves two primary purposes. The first, and most important, is <em>to make the crew seem competent</em>. All that tech speak isn't necessarily supposed to make explicit sense from a real-world vantage point (Prophets know there are enough butthurt physicists who would *love* to talk your ear off about how much it doesn't), but that's not the point. The point is it makes sense to the characters onscreen, and that they can manoeuvre their way through it as deftly as it does makes them come across as professional, knowledgeable, quick-thinking inhabitants of a science fiction story.<br />
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The second purpose of technobabble, and arguably the more potentially troubling one when viewed from a certain perspective, is to appease Star Trek fans. See, Star Trek fans (and most Star Trek creators, in fact, as most Star Trek creators were once Star Trek fans) are very anal in regards to continuity, and by this I don't just mean fanwank: All nerds are anal about fanwank. In this context, I mean that Star Trek fans very much like things <em>to be continuous</em>. So, when a world-building fact is mentioned as part of a throwaway bit of dialog, it's very important to Star Trek fans that this fact is in keeping with what had previously been established about the Star Trek universe. For example, it doesn't actually matter to Star Trek fans what a tachyon is or whether or not what the show says tachyons are has anything to do with what tachyons actually are in the real world, just so long as the way tachyons <em>are presented</em> within the show <em>remains consistent</em>. This, to Star Trek fans, gives the show's universe a veneer of believability and realism they find lacking in other genre fiction stories. So lengthy conversations between characters about technobabble explanations to the plots-of-the-week are also there to reassure fans that, whatever is going on in this episode, it's still completely and safely in keeping with the technobabble prior episodes established.<br />
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(This is the real reason fans pitched a fit over <em>Enterprise</em> and its depiction of heretofore unknown voyages of a starship <em>Enterprise</em> in the 22nd Century whose design was explicitly inspired by a model they'd already seen: Because they didn't feel it was continuous with what the constructed universe had established earlier.)<br />
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The obvious problem with this level of analysis is that if you fixate on continuity to the point it becomes of paramount importance to you, you are rather blinding yourself to, you know, everything else a story is trying to tell you. And in fact, one of the upcoming series is going to take this concern so far it's going to completely disappear up inside itself as a result. That <em>does</em> hurt storytelling, and that might be what Ira Steven Behr was concerned about, but I'd argue technobabble works just fine in <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em>-there's enough else going on it's easy enough to follow the flavour, tone and direction of a conversation even if you don't quite grasp the literal meaning of some of the terms they throw around. <em>We</em> might not know exactly what they're talking about, but the important part is that it's clear <em>they</em> do and that their expertise is going to get them out of whatever jam they've found themselves in (although I'd even maintain <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> is actually quite good at making its technobabble make sense to non-Star Trek nerds). To flip this into a general critique of any and all technology, however, especially in a science fiction show, strikes me as a bit too extreme, and potentially dangerous.<br />
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The point of science fiction, in my view, is to tell stories about a modern world from a more generalized and abstract position of metaphor. And modernity is defined by high technology: Once you strip that out of science fiction, there's basically no point in it being a science fiction story anymore and you might as well just be doing a contemporary police procedural or didactic theatre routine. I mean, why even beat around the bush and cloak yourself in any sort of metaphor at all at that point? Just as easy to write a scathing polemic to your local newspaper about how you're Very Unhappy about The Way Things Are Right Now. Furthermore, I have something of a problem with the idea that the Star Trek universe in general would be better without its high technology: From a post-scarcity perspective it is, after all, the replicator that has allowed for a lot of the utopianism of this universe. There's no need to work to manufacture anything: All our labour is now automated by computers, there's no need to manufacture any goods or work to support a ruling class overseeing a structural hierarchy. We should, at least in theory, be doing things purely because we love them and want to do them. Certainly Alixis' idea of going back to a society that revolves around agriculture seems like a horrifically terrible idea.<br />
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(I'd also like to point out the interesting choice of regulars to get drafted into indentured servitude by a cult of neo-agrarians: A black man and an Irish man.)<br />
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Even extending this criticism beyond Star Trek and science fiction raises more problems. How do you define technology? Machines? Automation? Technology is really nothing more than a human idea reified through praxis and materialism. Do we also want to give up things like language, art and tools? As soon as animals figured out how to use their environment to make life easier for themselves, be it chimpanzees using sticks to get at ants, termites building elabourate tower-mounds out of mud and spit or paleolithic humans fashioning rocks and bone into arrowheads they were using technology. If your argument is that technology causes us to lose touch with our “natural instincts” and stop living in harmony with the natural world, I'd like to see you posit that to a prairie dog. Except you can't, because that would require verbal communication, and verbal communication requires language. There's no clear line to be drawn separating a world with technology in it from a hypothetical Golden Age where we all lived in union with untouched Wilderness-That's an indefensible fallacy. Humans and the rest of nature have always changed and shaped each other for as long as humans have existed, the only difference is in the particular characteristics and sustainability of the relationship at any given point in time.<br />
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It's fairly easy, in my opinion, to explain why <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em> falls into this trap. It's because ultimately, fear over unchecked capital-T Technology (read “automation” and “mechanization”) and humanity's supposed reliance therein is a very 1960s concern, and thus a very Original Series concern. And this creative team are some of the loudest, brashest Original Series fanboys we've yet seen, especially Behr. In spite of everything, <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation </em>really has managed to craft a kind of postmodern technological utopia for itself, and that's something a hardcore OG Original Series fan is likely going to chafe against. You'll notice that, as mind-bogglingly shitty as some of its episodes can occasionally get, <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> is *very rarely* mediocre in the sense of just presenting a warmed over, prettified Original Series story anymore, and that's exactly what “Paradise” is. This is the kind of thing that could only happen on this side of the lot, and while this show will be able to keep these impulses in check as it closes out its run, this is something future Star Trek is going to have a far worse time with.<br />
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Also, the prison box is really goddamn stupid.<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" id="magicparlabel-14388">
</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03828341842948036592noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8349653650482188023.post-33100492843465805042016-04-05T23:00:00.000-10:002016-04-05T23:00:23.547-10:00“The Handbags and the Gladrags”: Lower Decks<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<style type="text/css">
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It's odd, if you think about it, that this would be the one episode from this season that would be universally beloved because it's so drastically different from everything the party line says is good about <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em>. It has next to nothing to do with any of the regulars, and hangs the entire dramatic crux of the story on a bunch of one-shot guest characters (excepting Alyssa Ogawa), including one character who only showed up once in a episode three years ago. Indeed that Michael Piller greenlit this story in the first place earned him more than a few double-takes from the writing staff because it flagrantly violates the first hardline rule he established at the beginning of his tenure: That every episode had to be about one or more of the main characters and that guest stars should not be allowed to carry a story, because that would be “overshadowing” the regulars. The reasoning employed by both Piller and this episode's fans for letting “Lower Decks” through is that the story shines a light on an important and all-to-often overlooked perspective: The nameless and faceless workaday junior officer who walk in the shadows of giants.<br />
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Perhaps it does. Indeed, when I first saw this episode as part of TNN's reruns in the early 2000s, I loved it for those very reasons: I thought it was terrific how we got to see what the <em>Enterprise</em> looked like from a different vantage point, and I found myself really invested in the day-to-day concerns of the crew's junior officer contingent. You'd think, if anything, “Lower Decks” would be absolutely right up my alley, what with my constant contention that <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em>/<em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em> reject anything it might have inherited from the action sci-fi genre. However, as I came to revisit it for this rewatch, my opinion of it cooled significantly. In particular, I think it's worth considering exactly whose viewpoint is truly being examined here, and what that says about how people are reading the overall climate of this series' environment.<br />
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To those looking for a glimpse at the Star Trek universe's underclasses, those left behind by master narratives of history and grandiose tales of war, conquest, glory and political heroism, you'll certainly not find it in “Lower Decks”. These are all Starfleet officers (or all but one), just not bridge officers. Our hero is even Sito Jaxa, disgraced one-time Academy cadet whose presence here (and story arc) is an explicit callback to “The First Duty”, an episode which, regardless of your feelings on it, you must at least grant is controversial. Sito Jaxa is no Ro Laren or Kira Nerys: Like everyone in Nova Squadron, she's a spoiled and selfish child of privilege whose sense of self-entitlement, along with those of her squadmates, resulted in actions so heinous as to be basically inexcusable. She's a serviceman who lied to the public to cover up gross criminal negligence and protect her cabal. If your argument is that the main cast of <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> is too distant, aristocratic and unrelatable (more on that in a bit), bringing in “Lower Decks” and Sito Jaxa as your counterpoint does not build your case. Furthermore, Sito's story is one of “redemption”. And what does her “redemption” entail? A heroic sacrifice where she gives her life in the service of realpolitik. As contemptible as her former actions were, I wouldn't like to argue that anyone is more valuable dead than alive. Alive, a person can at least potentially continue to learn from their past transgressions and better themselves, thus bettering the world around them. I'd like to think anyone can change, so long as they're given the chance.<br />
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(As questionable as I might find this plot, and ironically considering the reason this episode is so beloved, Captain Picard's treatment within it is entirely on-point. He's a genuine mentor here who is trying to help someone who's lost find their way. He's excellent this week, as is, surprisingly, Worf. Geordi and Commander Riker, by contrast, are uncharacteristically snippy and dismissive.)<br />
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Secondly, please think carefully about precisely what you're asking for here. “A glimpse at the Star Trek universe's underclasses”? Does that not, by definition, mean the Star Trek universe has social classes? A post-scarcity utopia where there are still haves and have-nots just like we have in the decidedly not utopian late capitalist modernity? Indeed, late capitalist modernity itself extended far into the future? Underclasses, voicelessness and oppression even out here amongst the stars? And on the <em>Enterprise</em> of all places? And who are these supposed common heroes of the 24th Century oppressed? Overwhelmingly women, people of colour and non-humans, including a few combinations and permutations therein. The implications here quite honestly disgust me, so I don't even want to parse them out. I'll leave that to you.<br />
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And even that angle proves fruitless: This isn't a story about young people fighting back against institutionalized oppression and structural hierarchy, it's a bunch of overeager, overstarched Young Urban Professionals sitting around contemplating their navels and hoping the boss will notice them and keep them in mind for that big raise and promotion. I'd love to get a look at the real “Lower Decks” on the <em>Enterprise</em>. I want to see gigantic walk-through aquariums with sentient whale-people navigators. I want to see zero-gravity decks with no floors and winged humanoids working control panels on the ceiling. I want to see four-dimensional soccer and the race of all-female giantesses who live on deck 36. That's not what this episode is. This episode is just a bunch of mopey, punchable yuppies sitting around the watercooler fretting about asking out their coworker in another department and whether or not they're going to get the corner office at the end of the quarter.<br />
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(Speaking of, that's another weird part of this story that doesn't sit right with me. I've obviously and thankfully never been in the military so I don't know if this is how servicemen actually talk, but I *do* recognise cubiclespeak when I see it, and that's *absolutely* what's going on here. I've never liked the idea of Starfleet being a military organisation, much preferring to read it as sort of a space-based extension and hybrid of oceanography and astronomy. So what he have here is either a military organisation that operates like an office desk job or a future where exploration has been dumbed down to the point it's become the new investment brokerage or insurance agency. Either prospect is so frighteningly banal it fills me with utter dread.)<br />
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No, the real reason “Lower Decks” is so beloved to the point the “'Lower Decks' Episode” became A Thing is because people can't relate to <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em>'s regulars and this episode, for whatever reason, gave those people someone to project onto. If you are such a person, I'd ask you to please ask yourself why you think that is. Why can't you relate to people like Captain Picard, Commander Riker, Geordi La Forge, Ro Laren, Tasha Yar, Beverly Crusher and Data, even at the base level of wish fulfillment or power fantasy? And if you can't, why have you spent seven years of your life watching their adventures on television every week? I am not meaning to pass judgment on you; this is genuinely something I do not, and likely cannot, understand: I can't get into fiction to the extent I would expend this level of mental and emotional energy on it if there wasn't something about it that really resonated with me on a deep level. I can't just passively watch something, or read about the exploits of characters that I keep at arm's length. Or I suppose I <em>can,</em> but I'm not likely to think about that particular work to the extent I would spend three years writing a blog and a multi-volume book series because of it. Or reading one.<br />
<br />
Do you think the <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> regulars are too elitist and aristocratic? You'd certainly not be in short company-That is, after all, the exact line of thinking that gave us Ro Laren to begin with. If anything, it's me who's standing alone. It wouldn't be the first time, and it won't be the last. I just think it's just as easy to see an adventure archaeologist inventor-pirate, a north woods bushman, a foul-mouthed blonde knockabout from the streets and a black blind seer storyteller, and a great deal more fun, than to see a stuffy diplomat, his bland womanizing yes-man and his pampered princess girlfriend. But this is all probably my obvious biases showing through. I may well be too close to this cast, this crew and this show to keep too much of a distance from it. There's textual evidence against me, although I maintain there's a nonzero amount of it for me too, or at least that can be redeemed and reappropriated. I tend to find the more interesting of a given set of potential readings to be the more rewarding, but that could be my unconditional love blinding me.<br />
<br />
But I'd rather be blinded by love than by cynicism.<br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" id="magicparlabel-9540">
</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03828341842948036592noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8349653650482188023.post-21850005670439043062016-04-03T23:00:00.000-10:002016-04-03T23:00:28.041-10:00“Entangled freedom”: Whispers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
How you respond to a talent like that probably says more about you than it does them. When you write material for a specific actor, you're more than likely envisioning a specific subset of their range you'd like to see them give when they perform your script. On <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em>, the creative team responded by giving Colm increasingly larger and larger parts until they could hang an entire story off of him, usually emphasizing his everyman characteristics by giving him a unique insight on or offhand reaction to the topic at hand. On <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em>, they invented an entire new hyperlocalized genre of story entitled “Let's Torture O'Brien”, and actually called it that internally. This probably ought to say it all, but in slightly more nuanced and descriptive terms for the newcomers, a “Let's Torture O'Brien” story entails coming up with a relatively strangled science fiction premise that allows the writers to put Miles O'Brien through a psychological wringer so that Colm Meaney can masterfully convey an everyday, likable, relatable person enduring extreme, oftentimes traumatic events while we watch on with rapt attention.<br />
<br />
I'm not going to say <em>too</em> much more about this approach and the mindset that might attract a creator to it. You all can fill in the blanks by this point. I would ask, however, that you at least reflect amongst yourselves upon why in particular someone might think this is the best way to showcase an actor's range. Is it not possible that an actor could potentially convey powerful emotions that aren't extreme mental and emotional trauma? Does the category of “good acting” by definition require that he do so? But neither will I deny that “Whispers” is a damn corker of an episode or that Colm Meaney is heartbreakingly formidable in it. Though it's frequently cited as such, this isn't actually the first “Let's Torture O'Brien” episode, at least not by my count. In fact, that's a minor issue I have with it, considering it comes immediately after “Armageddon Game”, which I find to be a more down-to-Earth and relatable way of making us connect with a character's pain: The Chief's workmanlike honour in the face of death is unbelievably moving, and is light years beyond anything that has ever been done with the Klingons ever.<br />
<br />
Speaking of “Armageddon Game”, I almost wonder if Doctor Bashir wouldn't have been a better choice for this story. Sure, Siddig El Fadil may not have the pedigree of Colm Meaney as an actor (at least not yet), but he's still damn good himself and its his very youthfulness, both as an actor and as a character, that I think would have added a layer to the story here. “Whispers” does the personal identity theory thing again (naturally, considering <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> had recently done a heartwarming story about solving the problem in “Inheritance”, <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em> had to do a tragedy, because it just <em>has</em> to be different all the time), but what this episode is really about is anxiety: Anxiety that your friends and co-workers are talking about you behind your back, or feeding you white lies to let you down gently because they secretly don't want to be around you but are just too polite to come out and say it. It's that voice inside of you that keeps telling you “They're just saying that to be nice to me”. “They don't <em>really</em> want to be with me, they're just being polite”. “They really only just put up with me and would probably be much happier if I just left them alone”.<br />
<br />
This angle is something of a young person's story, because these are feelings I think a lot of us experience quite vividly in our youth. Until we truly settle down into a relationship (of any sort: romantic, platonic, anything) and get comfortable with someone else there can be a lot of apprehension and uneasiness about things that can keep us from completely opening ourselves up. And even after that, we may still sometimes need the occasional reminder that we really are loved, wanted and appreciated. It's the problem of other minds again, in a sense: It's hard to judge from the absence of verbal or physical stimuli how someone truly feels unless they tell us. And opening up requires a great deal of trust because it puts us in a position of vulnerability: We all need some form of reassurance that other people are actually going to be receptive or, more likely, that we don't make anyone else feel uncomfortable. I could totally see Julian still having some anxieties about stuff like this even though he's lived on <em>Deep Space 9</em> for almost two years. He's still young and restless and his bravado always reads to me more as someone covering up his own insecurities. Furthermore, I could totally see him trying to “be a hero” in the big chase climax like that.<br />
<br />
There's an aspect of this I do connect with on some level. Though I'm far more settled in my own personal and social circles now than I ever used to be, this can still crop up for me every now and again. I think it probably does for most people. Part of my aversion to telephones is that I have an outmoded preference for in-person communication: I find it very challenging to react properly when I don't have the normal range of human body language to work with. Likewise, I also have a really hard time discerning voice and tone from modern conversational written communication (don't get me going on grammar, punctuation and capitalization. And no, it's not just textspeak: Language is changing and people like me are deservedly going extinct), especially on the Internet, which means there's always a lingering doubt in my mind as to whether or not I've interpreted someone's intended meaning correctly.<br />
<br />
I'm also a natural extrovert, or at least I've trained myself to constantly <em>be</em> extroverted in order to hold attention and convey a point, because, given my particular set of interests, I usually wind up talking about something so unbelievably esoteric, obscure and arcane no-one could possibly give a shit unless I make myself charismatic and entertaining. An entire adolescence defined by 'round-the-clock public speaking, theatre and oral presentations (as well as two of my biggest teenage role models being talk show hosts) is probably at least partially to blame for that. One of the problems I run into with this is that, because of the social circles I frequent, I usually wind up talking to people way more quiet and introverted than me so I'm constantly worrying about overwhelming and scaring them off by coming across as too open or too forward or because of my assumed privileges. Or conversely, I fear I'm not always letting myself be sincere because I feel obligated to put on yet another act, and even though I have a diverse array of acts in my repertoire that all showcase some facet of me, it can start to feel exhausting and unsatisfying.<br />
<br />
Give me a podium and I can sing and dance with the best of them, but that's not always what I want to do.<br />
<br />
It also doesn't help that I actually have associated with a lot of people who do the very things I talked about the young and socially anxious being terrified of (justly or not) over the course of my life: People who passive-aggressively talk about you behind your back. People who pretend to humour you while trying to let you down gently with white lies. People who tell me one thing even though I know for a fact they've told somebody else something completely different. People who would probably much rather I shut up, stopped bothering them and went away forever, but never wanted to actually come out and say so. Yes, I'm one of those people who gets really nervous about cold emails that go unanswered or panics when a contact conveniently signs out of instant messenger the exact moment I sign on. And I'll blame myself before I'll blame anyone else (after all, I'm mostly terrible, aren't I? Why am I deserving of someone's care and attention?), although I'm sure we've all done thoughtless things in our younger days. But the end product of it all is that, while I wouldn't say I have trust issues (at least not extreme ones) and even though I pride myself on my openness, it can take a long time before I'm completely comfortable letting my hair down in front of someone, and even so I typically need someone who is as brash, boisterous, outgoing and straightforward as I am in order to feel truly safe and secure in a connection.<br />
<br />
Which brings me back to “Whispers” and its “Lets Torture O'Brien” brief, actually. In spite of that fact I personally rate this episode very highly and do recommend it as a well-written, incredibly acted dramatic mystery, in spite of the fact that this is without doubt one of the most iconic and memorable episodes of the season for me (there are scenes here, especially the ones captured in the PR stills, that have stuck with me since 1994: Keiko's suspicious look when Replicant Miles hugs her, replicant Miles getting shot in the chest, all those sparks and wiring and Doctor Bashir tending to him on the surface of the planet)...In spite of all of that this is not an episode I voluntarily go back and rewatch of my own volition. I wouldn't even say I dislike it necessarily, even though parts of the brief do smack of the dreaded G-word. In fact, I might even say I like it a lot. But I can't watch it, and I can't watch it because I can't <em>bring</em> myself to watch it. It's not even that it reminds me about parts of myself I don't want to be reminded of and am afraid to confront, it's precisely because I <em>have</em> confronted them and <em>have</em> made peace with them (at least as much as I think anyone can) that I don't want to see them anymore. Stories like this physically hurt me. I don't want to see anyone going through pain and trauma, not in real life, not in television I watch for entertainment and *certainly* not on <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em>.<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" id="magicparlabel-4753">
</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03828341842948036592noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8349653650482188023.post-36243667389302669332016-03-31T23:00:00.000-10:002016-03-31T23:00:16.621-10:00“Wuthering Heights”: Sub Rosa<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
One of the most reviled entries in all of <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> and a frequent sight on various “Worst Star Trek Episodes Of All Time” lists, like most stories in its class the reaction to “Sub Rosa” says more about the fandom at large than it does about its own textual quality. As is usually the case with these types of episodes, I enjoy “Sub Rosa” considerably more than the kinds of people who typically critique and review Star Trek episodes, but this time I have a bit more of a chip on my shoulder than I normally do for this sort of thing because the split in fandom is *so* blatant and explicitly defined the contrast couldn't be drawn any clearer. If you're looking for a microcosm of the schism in genre fiction circles that led to the rise of master narratives, you actually can't find a better example than “Sub Rosa”.<br />
<br />
Men hate it. Women love it. That's what it comes down to, plain and simple, and that's what it has <em>always</em> come down to. That has always been the line drawn in the sand. It's as true for “Sub Rosa” itself as it is for every other controversy or debate we've talked about in <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em>, <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine </em>and the entire history of genre fiction writ large. Where you stand on issues like this has always been and will always be determined by where you stand on the patriarchy/feminism binary.<br />
<br />
Displaying a seasoned wisdom and savvy that only comes after making a career of spending years of their life immersed in the genre fiction mire, this is something that, for the very first time, the creative team has actually come out and admitted. They saw it back when this episode was made and commented on it then. And it even manifested in the actual production: The majority of the male creative figures were at best cautious about doing this story and at worst outright opposed to doing it sight unseen, while the <em>entire</em> female staff was very enthusiastic about it and showered Brannon Braga with constant praise and affection for his work on the teleplay. It is literally physically impossible for the network gap (which exists everywhere in society and has existed as long as agriculture and the division of labour have existed, but which is significantly magnified and exaggerated in genre fiction circles) to be defined any clearer.<br />
<br />
Braga himself puts it succinctly when he says “I've come to notice that whenever you infuse a show with sexual themes, some of these fans seem to short-circuit”. I think that sort of speaks volumes.<br />
<br />
Of course, just because some women of a certain social class, occupation and predilection liked “Sub Rosa” does not mean “Sub Rosa” was enjoyed by all women across all circles of society did, or that it's by definition good for feminism (although I would posit the fact the show was inundated with letters from grateful women who saw the episode, loved and, and thanked the creative team for finally writing to their interests likely says something). “Sub Rosa” is, of course, a Gothic romance, a genre not entirely without its unfortunate implications. I mean, this is explicitly what it's doing, down to the period trappings that Captain Picard even notes look like they're ripped straight from pop culture memory of the Scottish highlands. However, “Sub Rosa” is also an abjectly brilliant Gothic romance in the fact that it's actually exploring some of the underlying assumptions the genre makes (or in particular, the assumptions a certain kind of <em>fan</em> of Gothic romance bodice-rippers tend to make) and casting a critical eye on them. And in doing so, crucially, <em>it offers a utopian path forward through them</em>.<br />
<br />
The biggest clue is Ronin himself, the textbook “tall, dark and mysterious stranger” archetype with an inner tumult (who may or may not also be a vampire, ghost, werewolf or vampire ghost werewolf) who always ends up the dreamy paramour in this kind of story by coming into the heroine's life as if carried in on a storm and proceeding to sweep her off her feet and take her breath away by being equal parts romantic and forcefully dominant to the point of being controlling and abusive. And he's the <em>villain</em> for <em>precisely those selfsame character traits</em>. While it's an inaccurate overgeneralization that Gothic romances always portray characters like this as admirable, romantic and heroic and glorifying their relationships with the heroine as charmed instead of abusive (as relationships like this tend to be in real life), that's a criticism that does get levelled at the genre for some very good reasons, namely that this is the way they're read by a not-insignificant part of their fanbase and that they do lend themselves to be read this way in a nonzero number of instances.<br />
<br />
But stories get misread all the time by all kinds of fans, so it's unfair to Gothic romance and its female readership (not to mention incredibly sexist) to single them out here. And “Sub Rosa” doesn't: Though it portrays Ronin as a bad man and his relationship with Beverly to be dangerous and harmful to her (this is incidentally the explanation for one of the most particularly hated aspects of the story, the idea that Beverly, a trained scientist, would throw her career away because of her new mysterious paramour: The episode is trying to depict this as her behaving confused and erratic, because that's how people like Ronin control the women they prey on. Also note how Beverly breaks free of his control by remembering her scientific training, and thus her individual agency), it doesn't out-and-out vilify him either, portraying it as a tragic thing that someone so otherwise romantic and charming let himself be consumed by his negative impulses to the point he inflicted them on his lovers. Beverly does note at the end that Ronin made her grandmother very happy, and it's clear he made her happy too, at least to some extent. So as much as “Sub Rosa” deconstructs the Gothic romance narrative, on some level it also redeems it by adding in a new level of melancholy.<br />
<br />
And frankly, I'd take a narrative like this, flaws and misinterpretations all, over yet another angst-ridden monologue about grimdark and manpain any day. At least Gothic romance has something comparatively intelligent and meaningful to teach us about sexuality and loneliness. “Sub Rosa” is the perfect, and necessary, counterpoint the ghastly awfulness of “The Pegasus” and “Homeward”. I'd infinitely prefer to have another twelve episodes just like this than one single, solitary more outing like “Rightful Heir”.<br />
<br />
The genre trappings aren't the only thing that mark “Sub Rosa” as being a story specifically targeted to women and women's concerns. Gates MacFadden is an absolute starlet in this production and obviously gets a ton of great material, but so does Marina Sirtis. In fact, this has always been one of my all-time favourite Deanna Troi stories because of how proactive and compassionate she is here (not to mention the amount of screen time she gets). This is another episode that really plays to the strengths of both character and actor, with Marina getting to play Deanna as a psychologist, scientific investigator and close confidant all at once whose deep concern for her friend's happiness and well-being overlaps with her desire to get to the bottom of the weird mystery on the planet's surface that seems to have made its way to the <em>Enterprise</em>. And as we've sadly seen too many times before, any story that features two women talking to each other for too long about their own lives and concerns without feeling each other up or being interrupted by an action scene or rumination on the burden of command makes the sci-fi crowd uncomfortable.<br />
<br />
“Sub Rosa” is also just an absolutely gorgeous production in general. The production crew really went out of their way to lovingly bring to life a to-the-note Gothic romance setting for this episode (it's even diegetically referred to as an artificial construct). The set trappings are as pitch-perfect as the narrative beats and Jonathan Frakes, back in the director's chair, knocks it out of the park again by bringing it all together. I absolutely adore how at one point the <em>Enterprise</em> *actually starts filling up with fakey Gothic spooky fog* and *Data* of all people is stuck trying to figure out why. Not only is the show making strides to be inclusive and being respectful and intelligent about it, it's managing to have a blast doing it too. And that's the balance <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em>/<em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em> really needs to be striving for, especially at this point in its life. For the first time in absolutely ages, this is reminding me of the show that once tried to do a Douglas Adams story without help from Douglas Adams just to see if it could.<br />
<br />
The reason that Star Trek never works when it takes itself and its own pretenses too seriously is that Star Trek, at a fundamental level, is ridiculous and unsustainable. It's military science fiction that, because of its commitment to utopianism, can only ever work when it's not being militaristic or exploring military themes. It's scripted drama that can't be dramatic, at least not in an Aristotelian sense. Star Trek is a walking paradox. The way forward for <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> is to embrace its own contradictions, acknowledge it with a campy little wink and a smile and let its hair down. There's a multiverse of infinite possibility open to us, and in at least one of them Star Trek has to respect women.<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" id="magicparlabel-26924">
</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03828341842948036592noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8349653650482188023.post-71009444510722228192016-03-29T23:00:00.000-10:002016-03-29T23:00:18.251-10:00“Ragnarok”: Armageddon Game<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhls4dCpVpiqE_8SWMp1rDyZcctgcG3pn0sPwEatfN9pLHdk8txCsbp_lW5CFUgTpKkSvx2vu1hdeWwzHkuJX4rbreFlRa_R-TOy5NzsVBFHAzQW8oWek3Ss8EDYuBWU-uweQhPDGw-YdY/s1600/armageddon_game_182.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhls4dCpVpiqE_8SWMp1rDyZcctgcG3pn0sPwEatfN9pLHdk8txCsbp_lW5CFUgTpKkSvx2vu1hdeWwzHkuJX4rbreFlRa_R-TOy5NzsVBFHAzQW8oWek3Ss8EDYuBWU-uweQhPDGw-YdY/s320/armageddon_game_182.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
Perhaps some of this is due to the title's similarity to that of the Original Series episode “A Taste of Armageddon”, which was likewise about apocalyptic wargaming with thinly-veiled stand-ins for nuclear weapons. But “Armageddon Game” goes well above and beyond the average Cold War fears over Mutually Assured Destruction: In this story, the analogs for the United States and the Soviet Union are entering their process of disarmament, a certainly timely topic in early 1994, yet are still engaged in heinous acts related to their earlier displays of diplomatic aggression. In order to ensure such a protracted conflict can never happen again, they can't just destroy their stockpile of weapons, they want to erase all record that their weapons ever existed in the first place. This includes...disposing of...anyone who had any contact with the weapons or the process through which they were created, which unfortunately includes Chief O'Brien and Doctor Bashir.<br />
<br />
(It is perhaps worth noting that mere weeks after this episode aired, the CIA arrested Aldrich Ames at the end of a nearly ten year investigation into his perpetration of the second biggest act of espionage of the Cold War. The biggest ever espionage case, which would result chief investigator and double agent Robert Hanson playing cat-and-mouse with his own superiors for literally decades, would not be resolved until 2001.)<br />
<br />
It's significant that these supposed arch-enemies, the T'Lani and the Kellerun, would actually be working together behind the scenes to manipulate information about their activities during the Cold War. State governments look out for each other, not for the people they claim to govern, and it's no different from the United States and the Soviet Union, who spent the majority of their Cold War constructing narratives about themselves they then imposed upon their people. Constructing narratives-That's what's going on in “Armageddon Game” too: Whoever writes the textbooks, or pays the people who write the textbooks, gets to decide what is and isn't history, because that's the narrative that gets taught to children in history classes and disseminated through the public discourse. Were the T'Lani and Kellerun to be successful in their efforts (which I hesitate to call “revisionist”, because there's never any such thing as pure history-It's only what gets written down and repeated by those with the power to do so), they would erase their Cold War from lived memory itself, and saved their own backsides in the process. No, your beloved governments would never do such a terrible thing as bring about widespread destruction on their populaces with chemical weapons-Best you just keep trusting them implicitly and enjoying the status quo.<br />
<br />
This is a markedly cynical statement for <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine </em>to be making in 1994. But, unlike the usual ways the show tries to by cynical, this is isn't petulance just for the sake of being pouty, this is actually cynicism with a utopian angle in sight: “Armageddon Game” is reminding us not to put our trust in authoritarian centralized power structures and not to accept the master narratives they try to force feed us about our history, culture, heritage and potential. Remembering that is, and always has been, the first step towards breaking our chains and realising we control our own destinies. It's OK to be cynical of the status quo so long as you see a way out of it and take the initiatives to show others how to follow you there. This is the fundamental truth Star Trek absolutely must keep in mind during this time of uneven transition: We, and it, are approaching a fork in the road in our collective future, and the path we choose will determine how we shape our lives and our attitudes to the cosmos henceforth. Smash binaries in all things except these: Optimism, utopianism and anarchism or pessimism (which is one with complacency), grimdark and fascism. Think hard and well on this.<br />
<br />
On a lighter note, we have another Miles and Julian adventure! This is the angle most commentators like to focus on for this episode, so it's specifically the one I wanted to downplay. Not because it's bad, of course: Everyone is right to point to “Armageddon Game” as a key moment in the development of a relationship that's become one of the most beloved in the series. Siddig el Fadil explained the nature of Doctor Bashir's friendship with Chief O'Brien exquisitely in an interview on one of the DVD sets:
<br />
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“It's as if these two love to hate each other, and they always seem to be stuck together, and although they voluntary walked into the bar together. But nevertheless, it's 'What am I doing stuck here with you?' 'I don't know.' I guess people have friends like that.”</div>
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However, what's not pointed out anywhere near as often, or at all, really, is that “Armageddon Game” is more of a climactic crest than a turning point. This is a relationship that's been building since “The Storyteller” last season, and it's not even the first time we've seen it this year. There was “Rivals”, of course, though “Rivals” was pretty passable and forgettable even with the O'Brien/Bashir stuff. But there was a lot of banter between these two even as far back as “The Homecoming”/“The Circle”/“The Siege” that hinted at the wonderful odd couple dynamic they were always poised to have.<br />
<br />
The standout moment for me in this regard is the motif of Julian telling an ailing Miles about his life at the Academy, and in particular his lost love with a lovely ballerina whom he felt he couldn't marry because of his commitment to Starfleet. In particular, it's Miles' rejoinder near the end of the story: All episode he and Julian had been bickering about the benefits of being in a committed relationship while in Starfleet (mirroring, incidentally enough, a debate that had been raging in the writers room and in fandom since <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> premiered), but near the end, Miles delivers this character defining speech:
<br />
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“Listen to me, Julian. You're always talking about adventure... well marriage is the greatest adventure of all. It's filled with pitfalls and setbacks and mistakes, but it's a journey worth taking... because you take it together. I know Keiko's been unhappy... about our coming to the station... we still argue about it... But that's all right... because at the end of the day, we both know we love each other. And when you get right down to it, that's all that matters.”</div>
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It's a brilliant little piece of writing that gets at the heart of a man like that, and it's absolutely something I would expect from writer Morgan Grendel. Domesticity as an adventure has always been a big theme for him, and is what a lot of people love about “The Inner Light”. To me though these sorts of sentiments are far better expressed coming from someone like Miles O'Brien than someone like Captain Picard. Granted Grendel isn't the only writer responsible here as Michael Piller, Ira Steven Behr and James Crocker were all involved in the teleplay (and in fact Chief O'Brien wasn't even going to be in his original pitch, his role being filled by Jadzia Dax instead, which would have been utterly appalling-Thank the prophets for rewrites on <em>that</em> count), but it sounds much more like something Grendel would say.<br />
<br />
Speaking of friendships, there are a couple other ones highlighted here I'd like to briefly note as they don't get talked about in the context of this story anywhere near as much as the Bashir/O'Brien “bromance”, and I think they really should. It's the friendships between Commander Sisko, Jadzia Dax, Major Kira and Keiko O'Brien, and in particular the permutations therein. Given Commander Sisko has the duty of reporting the apparent deaths of his officers to their family, you would think he would turn to Jadzia in a time like this for guidance and support. But Jadzia actually has more of an ancillary part this week, and actually spends most of the time talking to Major Kira about Miles and Julian (though she does get her badass cred back by helping Ben pull off an audacious Big Damn Heroes rescue moment). There's a little more of that dangerous Dax/Bashir ship tease here, but in that, given the fact she's tacitly “representing” Julian, this means that Kira must be talking about Miles. And <em>there's</em> an interesting pairing.<br />
<br />
Miles and Kira have a lot of parallels in their personal histories, and a lot of similarities in their demeanor, outlook and personality, and they make a great Bash Bros. couple. Obviously Miles loves and is devoted to Keiko, but there <em>is </em>a potential avenue worthy of exploration here, and what did I say about enjoying projecting queer poly readings onto <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em>? Likewise, although on a far, far less shippy route, I really enjoy how it's Commander Sisko and Keiko O'Brien who work together to solve the mystery here and how it's such a firm rejection of the grieving widow stereotype that crops up so often in stories like this. Considering how Keiko O'Brien is typically written, this is honestly an enormous shock, but again, it's another manifestation of how surprisingly upfront “Armageddon Game” is about its utopianism. And yet even so, that crucial bit of information about Miles' coffee drinking habits that's so essential to figuring out the security footage was tampered with, something only a wife would know...Keiko turns out to be <em>wrong</em> about!<br />
<br />
The problem of other minds. You can't always know everything about another person. Even your partner.<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" id="magicparlabel-22140">
</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03828341842948036592noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8349653650482188023.post-76888694641538075672016-03-27T23:00:00.000-10:002016-03-27T23:00:07.121-10:00“ ”: Homeward<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7Z8xrm0ft629PW2e-O5bHJPCOK7ZzYB3KEJBtHC8TsqnNTn8SBT524OEgrCgq8GblXVh7dTdbFMKlKwVxQzyw4UUszCAXi-19wjKpgyg070gFXCM-A5dw2tPtcCvrKOprz75gOXe9PBg/s1600/Vorin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7Z8xrm0ft629PW2e-O5bHJPCOK7ZzYB3KEJBtHC8TsqnNTn8SBT524OEgrCgq8GblXVh7dTdbFMKlKwVxQzyw4UUszCAXi-19wjKpgyg070gFXCM-A5dw2tPtcCvrKOprz75gOXe9PBg/s320/Vorin.jpg" width="286" /></a></div>
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<br />
I don't just mean that I didn't watch it during the original run, or missed it on reruns, or that it never left a meaningful impression on me. I literally cannot remember this episode exists: Every time I rewatch this show, I forget that “Homeward” is part of the filming block. I can't remember what “Homeward” is about, or even that there is in fact an episode called “Homeward” at all. Every time it's brought up to me I have to look it up, because the title draws nothing but an empty, blank vacuous absence of meaning. I have friends who were watching <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> along with this blog and, given the schedule I write under, eventually they got ahead of me. They liked to chat with me about my rough thoughts on upcoming episodes, and just a couple of months ago as of this writing they got up to the seventh season. When they asked me about my feelings on “Homeward”, I had absolutely no idea what they were talking about and had to turn to Memory Alpha. When I was planning this week's essays a few days ago and saw that “Homeward” was coming up, <em>I had to look it up again</em> because any and all traces of it had vanished from the recess of my memory <em>even though I'd just looked it up again a few months back.</em><br />
<br />
*That* is how forgettable “Homeward” is to me. It belongs to a very select club of <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> episodes I simply cannot, for the life of me, ever remember as a material artefact of media, a club which also includes the likes of “The Survivors” and “The Masterpiece Society”. And, well, I can't say it's in terrible company, to be honest with you.<br />
<br />
Longtime readers of the blog who are familiar with <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em>...You know what I'm going to say about this. For those of you who are newcomers to <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> but not to the blog: It's a Worf story. It's a Prime Directive story where they wheel in a guest star (Worf's adoptive brother Nikolai Rozhenko, just to drive the point home by using a recognisable character) to lecture the main cast about why they're once again on the wrong side of history. Naren Shankar even goes so far as to *literally* compare <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> unfavourably to the Original Series by saying Captain Kirk violated the Prime Directive all the time while Captain Picard “hides behind it” (as usual, Shankar is right but for the wrong reasons. He also seems to have an alarmingly poor memory of his own show). The structure of “Homeward' is built out of the most objectionable (well, to me at any rate) parts of stories like “The Defector”, “Captive Pursuit” and “Force of Nature”, and it's not worth wasting the time and energy to me to critique it on those grounds. If you've gotten this far in this project with me, it's nothing I haven't said and you haven't heard a million times before.<br />
<br />
So let's talk about something else. Namely, the story I <em>thought</em> this was. Every time I look “Homeward” up because I've completely forgotten about its material existence and read “Worf's adoptive brother” and “violates the Prime Directive”, I immediately confuse this story with an event miniseries Michael Jan Friedman wrote for the DC <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> comic book in 1995. Entitled <em>Shadowheart</em> (and this is one of the occasions where Friedman actually gives his miniseries a title himself instead of me having to make one up), it's intended to be a kind of sequel to “Homeward”...Except because I can never fucking remember “Homeward” I always end up assuming <em>Shadowheart</em> is a wholly original story. I may end up actually covering <em>Shadowheart</em> as part of my stubborn indulgence I'm calling <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em>/<em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em> Season 7B/2B, at least as a possible bonus entry for the book version of this era if not as an actual blog post (I haven't decided yet as of this writing; I'll have to re-read it) so I don't want to get too far into analysing it here, but it's a damn sight more interesting than “Homeward” so I need to at least mention it.<em> </em><br />
<br />
<em>Shadowheart</em> sees Worf and the <em>Enterprise</em> receiving news that Nikolai has been killed during an uprising on Vacca VI. Regretful that he was never truly able to make up with his brother over their differences, Worf recalls their childhood together and how they started to grow apart after they attended Starfleet Academy. We also get a brief recount of the Boraal II incident, which I always took to be just straight exposition. Eventually however, we learn that Nikolai is in fact alive, having symbolically killed himself off in the public eye to start over as Shadowheart, a hooded vigilante folk hero who fights for the rights of the Boraalians, oftentimes violently and ruthlessly. Worf tracks him down and we get an extended discussion about identity, heroism, going native and finding one's role in life, in between bouts of kickass action sequences.<br />
<br />
What's funny to me is how actually similar “Homeward” and <em>Shadowheart</em> actually are, in terms of the most basic rote plot details. In fact, they're so comparable one has to wonder whether <em>Shadowheart</em> ought to be considered a sequel at all and not a flat-out remake. And it should be small wonder that I keep mistaking “Homeward” for <em>Shadowheart</em> given my opinions on Michael Jan Firedman as opposed to my opinions on Naren Shankar. Because even though I don't quite remember the specifics and this is probably going to end up something of a placeholder essay until I get my post-season schedule straightened out, <em>Shadowheart</em> really is the more interesting and infinitely better written story. Whatever its possible failings, <em>Shadowheart</em> actually gets what it means to be a <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> story and keeps its ideals close at hand. Because it <em>is </em>a story about ideals.<br />
<br />
It's a story about Nikolai realising his true self and his true place in the universe. What he's doing is a kind of performance art that subsumes his own identity into an identity that's larger than life: A hero figure. As Shadowheart, he has attained a degree of immortality by becoming someone who will be admired, respected and have stories told in his honour for generations. This isn't Worf's story-Worf is involved because Nikolai is his brother and he loves and honours him, but this is the story of Nikolai's personal apotheosis. Worf's job is to help guide him through it and, at the end, welcome him into the pantheon. *That's* how <em>Star Trek: The Next Generation</em> is supposed to work.<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" id="magicparlabel-3507">
</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03828341842948036592noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8349653650482188023.post-86427850422482970592016-03-24T23:00:00.000-10:002016-03-24T23:00:16.579-10:00“We are only us when we are here”: The Alternate<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<style type="text/css">
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<br />
As much as I enjoy the fake-out science fiction mystery worldbuilding that baits us away so we don't notice the naturally more important exploration of characters an their relationship with one another until we're already in it, something about this plot has never sat entirely well with me. Odo is written here as a bit of a prodigal son, a headstrong and wayward child who becomes estranged from his father because of his determination to chart his own course in life (it should be noted that this doesn't really connect back to the Biblical parable of the prodigal son, but it's become a common enough archetype I feel comfortable citing it. Star Trek itself uses it in this context some years down the road). This strikes me as ever-so-slightly a cliché, although it's an unfortunately frequent enough occurrence in family dynamics that it's not entirely so.<br />
<br />
The larger issue this strays into is that by pushing Odo's story in this direction (down to the whole “throwing a temper tantrum by turning into a monster” bit), <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em> risks trespassing into children's literature territory, as it sometimes tends to do from time to time when handling this sort of material. I know I've described Star Trek during this era as being “children's television for adults”, but the crucial variable in that statement is *<em>for adults</em>*. I'm not entirely sure a prodigal son narrative about making up with your dad entirely qualifies. For some reason this doesn't strike me as quite as mature a handling of this kind of familial dynamic as, well, Lwaxana and Deanna Troi, for instance (especially after “Dark Page”). But besides, in “The Forsaken” Odo seems to describe his history with the character who would become Doctor Mora as frightening, being treated as an inanimate object of curiosity rather than a person. And that doesn't quite always come across through James Sloyan's powerful and sympathetic performance.<br />
<br />
Another issue I have with this episode is Jadzia, namely that she spends a fair portion of it knocked unconscious. I sort of thought we were passed the point where writers would keep Dax bedridden or otherwise incapacitated for all of part of an episode because they didn't know what to do with her, or otherwise treat her as anything other than one of the most capable and competent members of the crew (if not <i>the</i> most capable and competent outright). Then there's the matter of the Dax/Bashir thing, which I likewise thought we had left behind last season. Part of the reason Melora Pazlar was introduced as a potential reoccurring character (not to mention Garak, but we'll deal with him another day) was to give Julian somewhat less of a single-target sexuality. Sure, I prefer to read him as a queer poly guy, but I'm not about to pretend anyone on the writing staff or any of the freelancers saw him that way. This a bit more of a push back towards putting Dax and Bashir on the path towards becoming the Official Couple in this episode, which I think is an obscenely dangerous move (partly because it would take the form of an appallingly patriarchal narrative wherein Dax “finally gives in” and Bashir “wins” her through a combination of persistence and growing up), and one the show has been actually pretty good about avoiding up to this point.<br />
<br />
(That said, there is a nice moment here where Doctor Mora opens up to Jadzia, which reinforces her status as the best empath and listener aboard the station.)<br />
<br />
In more fertile grounds, this is also the first appearance of the heretofore unexplored Dax/Odo pairing, a really fascinating dynamic that will get a lot more exposure and exploration later on in the season in “Shadowplay”. And, just like that episode, “The Alternate”, or at least the first part of it, is another example of the “wide-open outdoor spaces awash in summer sunshine” aesthetic I love and associate so much with this season. Dax/Odo is a pairing (non-romantic, I should stress) I'm interested in for many reasons. First of all, the contrast between these two characters is remarkable-Jadzia Dax is vibrant, outgoing; full of life and life energy. Odo is taciturn, private and orderly. Jadzia is the drive to create and beget life, while Odo is practically the definition of asexual and aromantic. But as different as they seem at first glance, they actually share a great deal in common. Dax and Odo both reject and transcend the stereotypical conception of identity: Dax is, of course, a joined being who is a living reconciliation of two seemingly contradictory identities. All genders at once, she chooses to present as a woman, albeit something of a bent drag quotation of a woman. Odo, however, I would argue is <em>genderless</em>. Sure, he presents as male, but are we ever actually given any indication that's how he identifies? Can we even say Odo is a gendered being, given he can be anything?<br />
<br />
Our gods can appear to us in any number of forms.<br />
<br />
This leads us into another possible way to read the undercurrents in this story. Writer Jim Trombetta says the pitch that became this episode came about through his pondering the question of what it would be like for a shapeshifter to “suffer from multiple personality disorder”. Here I feel there is fruit for an interesting discussion. Not so much the pathological lens for studying identity, but the concept of malleability of form and identity in general. Odo is, by nature, formless: He can, presumably, assume any shape or identity necessary to adapt to any given situation. Even the face and persona he wears to us most of the time is fairly conspicuously just another kind of mask to fit in with us a little better. It's one specific manifestation of a certain combination of facets of Odo's broader and more holistic self, which is theoretically infinite. How many masks do we wear or how many identities do we assume in our own day-to-day lives? More to the point, perhaps consider this as a positive rather than the implicit negative <em>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</em> might have you read this as...We all carry within ourselves a multitude of beings, identities and higher selves we turn to when the moment calls for it. Far from being lacking in self, Odo instead rejects the ego.<br />
<br />
I go by many names...<br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" id="magicparlabel-84795">
</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03828341842948036592noreply@blogger.com1