Star Trek

I've decided not to review the upcoming latest -- and most likely final -- title in the Star Trek franchise. It wouldn't be difficult. I'm sure I'd start by making cheap jokes at J.J. Abrams's expense. After that, I'd move into some examples of how the film fails to appropriately acknowledge the themes that were so important to the series interspersed with bouts of misty-eyed nostalgia from my days as a young nerd. Finally, I'd look at the big picture, castigating Hollywood and the media in general for failing yet again to come up with anything new.

Thing is, I already wrote that, only it was about Watchmen.

So, in the spirit of that Watchmen review, I am going to eschew the obligatory evisceration of a film which will undoubtedly suck a big hairy one and instead attempt to be constructive. I shall ignore the fact that Star Trek is being put it in the hands of a talentless, self-important hack in a desperate attempt to squeeze a few more dollars out of it, and devote this week to eulogizing my beloved series by remembering the good times in a little essay I'd like to call

"Why Deep Space Nine was better than The Next Generation."

Do not take this as a condemnation of TNG. It was my introduction to the series, and I recall being mesmerized by its optimism and imagination. The thing is, Star Trek is a perfect example of just how much can be learned about a culture by observing the stories they tell. The Cold War-inspired Original Series was the adventures of a Federation at conflict with other major powers, trying to do the right thing but also fighting to survive. The Next Generation sees their transformation from a regional power to a sort of United Nations. They're the biggest kid on the block, full of good intentions and the will to spread their enlightened way of life to the rest of the galaxy.

The Berlin Wall fell before I could understand what that meant and I grew wary of the idealistic, hegemonic mentality of the post-Cold War United States as I got older. The Star Trek series from those eras shared the same attitudes, that anything was possible with a can-do spirit and the right mentality.

DS9, on the other hand, was aware that things are never that simple. It was a Star Trek show that didn't shy away from gray areas. It didn't set out to knock the Federation's high ideals, but it was willing to put them to the test. Not the aggressive rival test or the space monster test, but the moral ambiguity test.

Just look at the primary adversaries from TNG. You have the Romulans -- easily the most interesting -- they used to be Vulcans, but they rejected their logic-centered philosophy when it arose and left to start their own civilization. They have an interesting history, but they're constantly portrayed as scheming back-stabbers -- as a species. This attitude persists even into DS9, but they get somewhat more exposure there.

Then we have the Borg, an enemy with which you cannot negotiate, knows only conquest, and eradicates the free will of the vanquished. Do you see what I mean when I say TNG is afraid of moral ambiguity?

Finally, there is Q. I never liked Q. Q the omnipotent space-jerk who comes out of nowhere to pester the crew whenever the show's writers couldn't think of a good space-time anomaly that week.

While there's nothing inherently wrong with any of these individually, when you add them together and account for the one-shot monsters you've basically described the whole series.

Starfleet prevails, nothing changes, roll credits.

That's why DS9 is the more engaging story. The adversaries don't swarm out of Mordor. They are rational humanoid beings with recognizable emotions. TNG never really takes the time to explore the complex political and cultural terrain of the Star Trek universe, but Deep Space Nine is immersed in it. The characters find themselves in conflict with familiar faces, old allies, and even their own people.

Even the Dominion is characterized better than the major adversaries of the previous shows. The Founders are ancient and powerful, but paranoid and xenophobic, insulating themselves from the outside world with their followers. You get the impression that there exists some alien logic behind their evil.

I appreciate the work that went into adapting the Star Trek setting from TOS to TNG. The technology level increases such that we are invited to imagine a society that is no longer limited by the scarcity of resources -- a society that is forced to re-think such ingrained concepts as labor, ownership, and value. That's why it's such a shame that neither series gives us a very good impression of just what that society looks like. They tell us it's a paradise, but I always wanted to see more of it.

In TNG, confined to a single starship, it starts to feel boring and sterile. DS9, at least, has the good sense to take characters raised in the perfect world of the Federation and drop them on the edge of civilization, way out of their element. We don't get to see the society, but we do get to see its values clash with others in the cultural free-for-all of the station.

Star Trek has never been consistent, but I would like to mention that over five television series and ten films I don't think the series has fluctuated all that much -- given the expansive time frame, anyway. Look at Star Wars, that franchise shit in its own bed and slept there like it was goose down by the fourth film. Star Trek made mistakes, but they were usually creative enough to bounce back. Star Wars made mistakes and then rode that train all the way to stupid town.

So farewell, Star Trek. You will be missed. I promise to remember you the way you were when you were good, before Voyager, before the upcoming, certainly garbage film.

Captain Sisko punching Q, over and over, forever.

Dollhouse

I want to trust you again, Joss Whedon. I really do.

I'm no fan of serial fiction in general, and televised serial fiction in particular. I don't feel that the format is incapable of producing anything good, far from it. I see it as a high-risk venture. With a book or a film, the artist can present a coherent work, and say, "Here is my vision. Take it or leave it," Not so with a television show. You must please the viewers enough to keep them watching, feed the advertisers good ratings, and perform well enough to prevent the network dumping you for some dime-a-dozen reality show that might carry more market share.

Generally speaking, this is not an environment that is conducive to artistic expression. And you should know this better than anyone at this point, Joss.

I'm not saying that a shorter format is always better. I actually like the idea of taking your time with a story, slowly unraveling the mysteries while simultaneously just basking in the universe for a while. I think science fiction and fantasy are uniquely suited to the format, because if it's done right, there are hours of enjoyment to be had from just being there. When that feeling of wonder is supported by interesting characters and a compelling story, it's a beautiful thing indeed. Unfortunately, most shows just follow the same old recipe. Take a manageable number of young people, add a few apartments, sprinkle with sexual tension and boil... ad nauseam.

But that's not how you approach televised fiction, Joss. And that's why I've started Dollhouse against my better judgment.

Speaking of judgment, what the hell were you thinking going back to Fox? You already know that the average Fox viewer is an inbred, slack-jawed simpleton just looking for some titillation while NASCAR is on a commercial break, flipping back and forth compulsively, pausing only to wipe the crumbs of Cheetos and paint chips from his unkempt beard. You also know that the average Fox executive is a slimy weasel with too much hair product who has probably calculated the street value of his grandmother and wouldn't recognize a heartfelt attempt at artistic expression if it beat him to death with his own nine iron.

So what gives? You have amnesia? Are you toying with us? It is all part of an elaborate revenge scheme to get back inside their corporate headquarters so you can find the Fox exec who axed Firefly and beat him to death with his own nine iron?

Can I help?

Dollhouse is fun because it's not a wonderland based on magic or spaceships, but on the excesses of the rich and powerful. It's a cyberpunk TV show, and just typing those words in the same sentence makes me happy. I believe it's an under-utilized genre considering its potential.

For those who have not seen it, the show revolves around the titular organization, which is more or less a stable of young men and women who spend their days working out, eating right, and doing yoga in a childlike state of mind. Then, whenever one of the aforementioned rich and powerful clients needs their services, the dolls are implanted with a false personality for the duration of the job. They can be contracted for everything from a romantic encounter or a hostage situation, but they are given memories and skill set appropriate for the scenario. As soon as it's over, they return to the dollhouse, and their minds are erased.

Echo, played by Eliza Dushku, is the show's main character. She is the dollhouse's most sought-after agent, or "active" as they call them. Meanwhile, Tahmoh Penikett plays Paul Ballard, an FBI agent out to prove the dollhouse exists even though everyone thinks he's crazy. Of course, there's a big conspiracy and a mysterious and murderous "alpha doll" running around somewhere.

This is where the trouble usually starts. A series like Dollhouse needs to have a long-term plan that makes at least some sense. Unlike those shows that follow the "young people in an apartment" format, the setting is as important a feature as any character or four year long unrequited love plotline. The setting is going to evolve and change, and that's when things can go crazy.

This happens with your shows almost as a rule, Joss. Take Buffy the Vampire Slayer, for example. I liked the show, but when you look back on the major story arcs, they wouldn't fit together if it weren't for the common characters. I think the best shows have stories which rise organically out of the history, not the "monster of the season" stuff that happens in Buffy.

Do we need to sit down and re-watch season four?

Allow me to illustrate my point. Take The Wire. I think it's the best example of televised serial fiction ever and one of the reasons for this is that although each season has a different theme and an altered cast of central characters, nothing comes at you out of the blue. The events of one season lead into the events of the next. That change brings with it all new perspectives and new situations but there's a logic to the ebb and flow of the show's focus. Maybe you think that's unfair because HBO seems to give its series more leeway than the networks do. How about the much-maligned Star Trek Deep Space Nine? I set it above the rest of Trek because there is a strong sense of continuity over the course of the series that comes from the evolving political and cultural atmosphere in the galaxy. One thing leads to another, you see?

So far things do look good, Joss. As always, I find myself immediately absorbed in your world, because you set the scene so well. I also find the information dynamic fascinating. In most episodes, the key events are experienced by the dolls, while the other characters have a second-hand understanding of what has taken place. We the viewers get to keep that information, but the dolls' memories are erased (or blocked, at least) by the end. However, there are also characters with a deeper understanding of the history, and so the viewer is situated somewhere in between. It's a satisfying feeling and it can provide loads of storytelling options down the road.

It's not going to be easy, though. I'm rooting for you, but I'm not betting the farm. Even if Dollhouse does avoid problematic narrative detours, we both know it will have to survive the rigors of the major broadcast television gauntlet. Firefly is proof that you can do everything right and still fail. Lovable characters, unique concept, spaceships, gunfights, beautiful women, spaceships... Apparently the average viewer can't handle all that brainy junk. They'd rather watch insufferable people shriek at one another about their bullshit problems. I don't mean to sound too elitist, but I do have history on my side here. Your ideas deserve better than that.

I'm ready to give this another try, Joss, but remember I've had my heart broken before. We need to take it slow. I'll see you next Friday.

Battlestar Galactica, Reimagined Series

It's easy to play the curmudgeonly critic who hates everything besides sitting in a dark room staring at a blank wall. It's a simple matter to fill these commentaries with pop culture jokes and the occasional scatological wisecrack when you have little respect for the subject material. Today, however, I have to play the optimist. I'm forced to contradict my own screeds against serialized fiction and repackaging existing stories. I also have to account for the many, many mistakes made during the series because despite all of that, I still loved Battlestar Galactica.

And I like to think I hold myself to a higher standard, so I can't just say, "Yeah, it had problems, but it made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside."

I truly think Battlestar is the best science fiction television series of its generation. Now before you ask, I have not seen Stargate SG-1, Stargate Atlantis, Stargate Special Victims Unit or anything other than the original movie. I am aware that they are extremely popular among their devotees, but it's just not my flavor of Kool-Aid. And do we really need another story about humanity discovering the toys left behind by ancient, mysteriously vanished benevolent builder aliens?

Yes, yes. I was really into Firefly as well, but we can't just assume it would have continued to be great because it died so young. Come on, if it had lasted as many seasons as Angel or Buffy, that's more than enough time for it to spiral into Joss Whedon's trademark convoluted madness. They never should have trusted Fox, anyway.

Star Trek is not so cut and dry. However, the later series, which is to say, those that could more accurately be considered part of Battlestar's generation, are the weakest. Although it is tempting to take a rose-tinted look back since J. J. Abrams is poised to murder the franchise once and for all, that would not be honest.

In a way, I think Battlestar is as much a response to Star Trek as it is to its original incarnation. Star Trek attempts to imagine us at our best. Humanity is brought back from the brink of devastation by an outside force and actually learns from the experience. They try, even if they don't always succeed, to use technology and influence responsibly. They are the honorable and compassionate people we wish we could be. No matter how jaded I become as I get older, there will always be a part of me yearning for that future, impossibly bright and heartbreakingly distant.

Battlestar Galactica is about human nature as well, but it's nowhere near as confident. I'm inclined to agree that when and if we get spaceships and travel to other stars, we will still be the same violent, petty, conniving douchebags we are now.

It's part of what makes Battlestar so gripping, even when the plot has gone momentarily off the rails. The characters have emotions and motivations that we can recognize, even if their situation is extreme and unfamiliar. So often these grand space operas leave the human element behind as if only one-dimensional characters can break the speed of light. It's a spaceship than can wink out of existence and reappear light-years away, but inside it's gunmetal gray and manually operated doors that make a satisfying clank when they close. It's clear that a lot of thought went into this aspect of the show. Galactica initially escapes destruction because its systems are outdated. The characters communicate using handsets with coiled cords and garbled radio messages. They use bullets and missiles and flight suits. This aesthetic serves the show well, highlighting its unique approach. The alien and the familiar together.

In fact, when Battlestar Galactica gets it wrong, it's usually when things become a little too familiar. Science fiction is about imagining the future in order to make observations about the present, but the best SF does it with subtlety and style. Parts of the finale have this problem, but it was the New Caprica debacle that really made me cringe. They stretched and strained plotlines and characters in order to jump up and down and say, "Ooh, ooh! Look at us, We're topical!" I certainly would have advised against doing this at all, but they could have at least made their allegory a little more complex. These episodes were so bad, they had to be the result of either incompetence or contempt for their audience. Either way, they let CNN's coverage of the Iraq War write half of the scripts, and I was glad when it finally ended.

The whole exercise was pointless, anyway. They had more than enough time to address their pet theme of studying social structures in a states of extreme turmoil. This was the hook responsible for getting me on board at the outset. I found the relationship between the civilian government and the military chain of command the most compelling thing about the show. They had to gauge their commitment to their way of life next to their chances for survival. It's this kind of thinking that SF is all about. It's not just, "wouldn't it be cool if...?" but "what does this do to their society?"

It makes me wonder why the weird, not really explained, kind of tacked-on spiritual stuff needed to be there at all. They had a mostly believable "religion = science + a long time" sort of thing going on until the last season when everything went crazy and I don't think they got away with it. Characters have visions, characters disappear and reappear. Explanations were not given, but I think we all trusted that they were pending. Notoriously, the song All Along the Watchtower popped up as a plot device. It coincided with revelations about Earth and cylons and it seemed a little out there, but I assumed it would all make sense eventually. Instead, they hemmed and hawed and gave a couple of half-hearted attempts, but nothing felt convincing.

In the end, in lieu of an explanation for all that, we got a ridiculous and completely redundant scene in which some sort of higher power is mentioned by characters who may or may not exist and then... What? Roll credits? Are you kidding me?

It's clear the writers had their hands in too many pies, and I'll tell you why. The moment Laura Roslin wrote the number of survivors on the whiteboard in Colonial One, they were declaring loudly that the show was going to be about mortality. Indeed, this is a major theme throughout the show and is executed well. The few surviving humans cling to life in the black void fighting enemies who have the ability to resurrect. It was an emotional tool that I for one responded to, but it's hard to take it seriously with all the wishy-washy supernatural stuff going on as well. They tried to hedge their bets by tacking on a bunch of weird shit assuming at least some of it will end up being deep and moving.

It's a shame they felt the need to do that because all that death and danger creates some seriously tense action to go with the existentialism. Until they felt the need to undermine it in the later seasons, it was one of the show's biggest assets. There is an attack. Some escape, some stay and fight. Some lives are risked to try and save the species as a whole. When they're doing it right, it puts you on the edge of your seat because it's crystal clear just what is at stake every time they launch Vipers.

Speaking as the kind of mega-nerd who doodled space ships on his notebooks in school when he should have been paying attention, I like to think about Battlestar Galactica in terms of the titular vessel herself. She's solid, built with the understanding that she was going to get shot at. A lot. Her armor was pocked and scorched and falling off in places from all the damage she sustained, but by the end she was still intact, if just barely. The series was assaulted by ham-fisted and unnecessary allegory, a flippant and ultimately confusing approach to the supernatural, scheduling weirdness and a writer's strike, but I feel it was constructed well enough to survive.

I do not regret being on board.