From the Archive: Star Trek - The Animated Series: "Yesteryear"

The blockbuster J.J. Abrams' Star Trek film (2009) is not the first (or only...) Trek installment over the years to alter the franchise time line in some fashion (or, more accurately, create a separate or alternate time line). In fact, this kind of temporal tweaking was occurring in the series as early as 1973. September 15, 1973, to be precise.

That's the air date of story-editor D.C. Fontana's "Yesteryear." It was the second episode of Star Trek: The Animated Series broadcast on CBS in most U.S. cities, and -- not entirely unlike the popular Abrams' film -- it was heavily Spock-centric in nature.

"My ideas were these," Fontana told me in an interview for Filmfax Magazine in 2001: "Can we see Vulcan? What kind of story can I tell there? And can I involve Spock?" In answering those questions, Fontana created what is undeniably the most popular episode of the animated series, and one that is also regarded as "canon" by most Star Trek fans.

"Yesteryear" opens at the planet of the Guardian of Forever (as seen in "City on the Edge of Forever.") A group of Federation scientists stand watch at the mysterious time portal as Kirk and Spock return from a visit to Orion's past.

However, something strange has occurred in their absence. The scientists don't appear to remember Spock at all. A baffled Captain Kirk hails the Enterprise, and Scotty has no memory of the half-Vulcan science-officer either. "Something appears to have changed in the time line as we know it," Spock suggests.

Indeed, this is an accurate supposition, and the first officer of the starship Enterprise in this "new" time line is now an Andorian, Mr. Thelin. Upon returning to the starship, Spock also learns that in this universe, he died at age seven, during a dangerous Vulcan rite of "maturity" called the Kahs-wan. Equally as troubling, Spock's death at a young age caused the dissolution of Sarek and Amanda's marriage, and Amanda was subsequently killed in a shuttle accident on her way home to Earth.

Again, I thought reflexively of the 2009 Star Trek film, which also makes Amanda a casualty in an alternate time line.

Kirk and Spock soon realize that, in their original timeline, Spock must have actually traveled back in Vulcan history and saved his younger self from dying on Vulcan's Forge during the Kahs-wan, a ritual involving 10 days in the desert without food, water, or weapons.

However, when the Federation scientists "replayed" that part of Vulcan history (some twenty-to-thirty years prior...), Spock was unavailable -- in Orion's past with Kirk -- and therefore unable to return to Vulcan and save his younger self. Got that?

In hopes of restoring himself and the timeline, Spock masquerades as Sarek's (Mark Lenard's) cousin "Selik," and returns to Vulcan in the past, near the city of ShiKahr.

There, he comes to the assistance of his younger self as the seven-year old Spock and his pet sehlat, I-Chaya, are attacked by a Vulcan dragon called a le-matya. Fans of Godzilla will recognize the roar of the le-matya as being that of their favorite Toho monster, by the way...

Unfortunately, I-Chaya is poisoned by the dragon and young Spock seeks help from a local healer, braving Vulcan's Forge and thereby passing the Vulcan rite of adulthood. For his beloved pet, however, it is too late, and the healer offers Spock a choice. The sehlat's life can be prolonged for a time -- but the animal will feel terrible pain, or the healer can release the beloved pet from all his suffering...and end his life now.

Young Spock makes the decision to end his pet's suffering, and in doing so decides that the path of his own life will follow in the Vulcan way: logic and the total repression of all emotion.

When elder Spock returns to the present on the Planet of the Guardian of Forever, he informs a waiting Kirk that the timeline has indeed been altered (or a new one created...). "One small thing was changed...a pet died," Spock informs his Captain. "Times change..." he concludes later, and in a way, that could be a tag-line for the new Star Trek too.

"Yesteryear" has always been one of my favorite episodes of Star Trek: The Animated Series, in part because of the difficult but valuable message about pets, and caring for pets. When young Spock asks whether it is right to mourn the loss of his pet, his older self notes with compassion that "every life comes to an end when the time demands it," and thus there is no need to be sad about it. What is sad, Spock insists, is a life that has not been lived well.

Frankly, I'm amazed that a pet's (on-screen...) death made it past the censors and onto network television, on Saturday mornings, no less, in the 1970s.

Filmation's Lou Scheimer, producer of the Star Trek cartoon, told me in an interview in 2001 that "a pet's death had never been done on a children's program, and it was touching and provocative. Dorothy was instrumental in making it so creative."

When I interviewed Fontana, she told me that there was indeed a "worry about the death of the sehlat," but that "Gene Roddenberry told the networks" that she -- Fontana -- would "take care of it," in a way that acceptable. It was a story, that Fontana put "so much" of herself into...and it certainly shows, even today. If you've ever lost a beloved pet -- or worse, had to make the choice of life for death for a beloved pet -- you will find yourself quite moved by the last act of "Yesteryear."

Watching this episode again brought me right back to a terrible Thursday in April 2003, and the death of my first cat, Lulu. Our doctor offered us a similar choice: a short-term respite (through a difficult blood transfusion), or a merciful "passing" right there...and thus an end to suffering. We chose the latter option and it was - and remains - devastating, but I've always believed we made the right choice for her; the same choice Spock makes for his pet in this Star Trek episode. Maybe Vulcans and humans are quite alike after all...

Another intriguing aspect of "Yesteryear," especially in light of the new film, is a scene involving young Spock being bullied by other Vulcan children about his human half. Although in the cartoon (again, a Saturday morning show...) nobody calls Amanda "a whore," the insults are still pretty harsh. One child tells Spock that Sarek brought shame to Vulcan by marrying a human. Another tells Spock that he can never be a "real Vulcan." This scene -- with different costumes and sets -- is played out almost exactly -- quite faithfully, really -- in the Abrams film. (And indeed, it was a moment mentioned in passing by Amanda as early as the Fontana live-action episode "Journey to Babel.")

Another reason to admire "Yesteryear" is the scope of the story. Before Abrams' film, this cartoon segment probably represented the best view of Vulcan we were afforded in Trek history. In "Yesteryear," we see the interior of Sarek and Amanda's home, the deserts of Vulcan's Forge, and a futuristic metropolis (not to mention some hover cars). These things were possible only because of animation...a live-action series of 1973 could simply never have afforded so many varied sets, props or locations.

In light of the newest chapter of the Star Trek story, "Yesteryear" looks even more fascinating -- to a coin a phrase -- than ever. In it, we see how a time line is changed permanently (if only in regards to a pet's destiny...), get more than a passing glimpse of Vulcan, and once more delve into the difficult choices Spock made in childhood: the selection between Vulcan or human philosophy.

All in all, this may be Star Trek: The Animated Series' finest hour.

From the Archive: Report to the Transporter Room for Landing Party Duty

From the Archive: Star Trek: "The Enterprise Incident"

[John's note: Today, I continue my celebration of Star Trek's 45th birthday this week with a few episode and movie reviews from the blog archive.]

For over forty years now, Trekkers have passionately debated the third and final season of ST: TOS (Star Trek: The Original Series, for the non-Trekkers out there).

This was the spell during which the late Fred Freiberger (1915 - 2003) assumed the role of executive producer after series creator Gene Roddenberry -- the Great Bird of the Galaxy -- reduced his involvement.

A little background: Roddenberry had apparently promised NBC he would be a hands-on show-runner for the third season, but then the network pulled a fast one and re-scheduled Star Trek to the Friday night graveyard (or "death slot") at 10:00 pm. Roddenberry stepped down, and Freiberger arrived on the scene. Not everyone was a happy camper.

The general perception has long been that Star Trek took a significant downward turn in quality during Freiberger's tenure; perhaps as a result of his involvement.

Yet the ratings-troubled series had other problems to grapple with too, including a dramatic budget cut in the third season which rendered location shooting impractical except on rare occasions (such as "The Paradise Syndrome," early in the new season). According to William Shatner's Star Trek Memories, the per episode budget dropped from a high in the first season of $193,500.00 to a low at the third season of $178,500.00. (William Shatner, Chris Kreski, Harper Collins, 1993, pages 290-291).

Now intriguing, visually-exciting location work -- "planet side" action -- had been a staple of Star Trek in the first two seasons; with episodes such as "Arena," "This Side of Paradise," "The Alternative Factor," "Shore Leave," and "Friday's Child" springing to mind. But in the third season, Freiberger -- in the words of original series star, Nichelle Nichols -- suddenly became a "producer who had nothing to produce with." (Nichelle Nichols, Beyond Uhura: Star Trek and Other Memories, G.P. Putnam & Sons, New York 1994. p.189.)

So depending on mind-set, you can either appreciate Star Trek Season Three for what it is (and in some cases, by necessity what it had to be), or dislike it for the manner in which it differed from the first two seasons.

One can either laud episodes such "The Paradise Syndrome," "The Enterprise Incident," "The Tholian Web" and "All Our Yesterdays" or curse the quality of such outings as "Spock's Brain," "And the Children Shall Lead" and "The Way to Eden."

Other third season episodes remain even more controversial, both loved and despised by fans in equal measure: "Let that Be Your Last Battlefield," "The Empath," and "Spectre of the Gun." Failures, or, in some cases, almost avant-garde masterpieces?

One third season episode that holds up remarkably well today is author D.C. Fontana's "The Enterprise Incident," which first aired September 27, 1968 and featured the Enterprise's secret espionage mission inside Romulan space to recover a new and deadly cloaking device technology. This was the second broadcast installment of the last season.

When I interviewed D.C. Fontana for Filmfax Magazine, she explained in detail about the origins of this episode: "It was a reflection of the Pueblo Incident, where a ship was captured in an area of sea where it shouldn't have been. The ship claimed not to be a spy ship, but in fact it was a spy ship."

Specifically, on January 23, 1968, the U.S.S. Pueblo, a Banner-class research vessel with six officers and seventy crew men aboard, was surrounded and captured by North Korean vessels. The U.S. government insisted the ship was well within international waters, but the Democratic People's Republic of Korea countered that Pueblo was inside its territory when captured.

Classified, high-security material was eventually found aboard the Pueblo...it was on an American spy mission after all. The ship was brought back to an enemy port (the nearest U.S. naval vessel was -- ironically, the U.S.S. Enterprise -- positioned some five hundred miles south and in no position to assist...). The Pueblo crew was then processed, tortured, and eventually returned stateside. The ship itself remains in the custody of the North Koreans.

In "The Enterprise Incident," you can see many deliberate resonances of the real-life incident, which had occurred scarcely nine months before the episode was broadcast. Here, a Federation starship, NCC-1701, strays into enemy waters, metaphorically-speaking. The Romulan Commander (Joanne Linville) plans to take the Enterprise back to a Romulan port as a prize, and process the crew before eventual release. Of course, that doesn't happen.

Here, history is re-written rather dramatically. The party that is actually in the wrong (conducting the espionage in enemy territory in the name of intergalactic security,) escapes with a secret device that could alter the balance of power. In fact, the Enterprise actually gets away scot-free, with an important captive in tow: the Romulan Commander herself. In other words, Kirk and Spock are on the side of the angels, keeping the Romulan-created technology...out of Romulan hands.

In space, all warriors are cold warriors...

In "The Enterprise Incident," Kirk and Spock's secret spy mission also involves the logical half-Vulcan science officer...uh...romancing the Romulan Commander to gain her confidence.

Like the rest of us, then, the Romulans prove themselves intrigued by Vulcan morals and ethics. In this case, they make a bad mistake. The commander is manipulated by the poker-faced Spock. Specifically, he distracts her while a surgically-altered Kirk (now resembling a Romulan) makes off with the top-secret cloaking device. Scotty does a lickety-split installation, and the escape is made.

Notably, Spock re-affirms in this episode that "Vulcans are incapable of lying" and live by a code of "personal honor and integrity." The Romulan Commander naively accepts his word on these crucial matters, and pays the price for trusting Spock.

Yet, "The Enterpise Incident" works so well because the noble Spock clearly takes no satisfaction, let alone joy, in manipulating this Enemy of the Federation. In the hands of another actor, Spock might very well seem like a heel or a cad for actively encouraging the romantic inclinations of the Romulan Commander, but Leonard Nimoy plays the role sensitively; humanely. This subtle approach comes to the forefront during Spock's final conversation with the Romulan commander aboard the Enterprise, in the turbo-lift.

The Romulan commander has been tricked and disgraced. She is angry, and rightfully so, over Spock's trickery. And yet Spock doesn't hide behind orders or regulations here. Instead, he expresses, perhaps obliquely, that this has all been a rather useless and short-lived game. "Military secrets are the most fleeting of all," he acknowledges. Rather, he suggests to the Commander that it is the connection that the two of them shared that will prove more permanent, more lasting.

This is one of the reasons I love and admire Star Trek. The character of Spock -- perpetually the outsider -- gives us a good, outside perspective on ourselves and our behavior. By contrast, Kirk is the giddy American cowboy, the dashing American secret agent, the guy who is going to accomplish his mission with heroic flair and dynamic action. He is entrenched in his mission (he cannot afford otherwise), and he doesn't really look outside it at the big picture. We love and admire Kirk for this clarity of vision and purpose.

But Mr. Spock thinks more analytically, and with a deeper perspective. He weighs matters outside of petty political and military concerns. Though as a Starfleet officer he performed his duty, he intimates that in this case, that duty involved something "fleeting," hence ultimately unimportant. Rather, the bond established by the Romulan Commander and Spock suggests that these two clashing races/empires can find common ground in the future, beyond the conflict of the present.

The second-to-last time we encounter Mr. Spock in Star Trek history, he is pursuing this very cause: the re-unification of Romulus and Vulcan. I've always wondered if Spock's personal encounter with the Romulan Commander was the impetus of his decision to pursue this tough-to-negotiate peace. In some subtle way, Star Trek -- despite the presence of all kinds of alien creatures and some imperialistic tales -- has really been, sub textually, about the bonds that unite humanity. We may differ with the Soviet Union (during the Cold War) or the Taliban today, during the War on Terror, but we hope and pray that in the future what unites us all as inhabitants of the planet Earth will overcome that which today divides us. In Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country (1991), only Nixon could go to China; only Kirk could bring peace between the Klingons and The Federation. And here, way back in "The Enterprise Incident" in 1968, the seeds of peace between the Romulans and the Federation are being planted...by Spock; in his humane treatment of the Romulan Commander.

Now, Spock also manipulates the Romulan Commander very successfully and in some sense, it does play as cruel. But lest we forget, she is also manipulating him simultaneously, using what she perceives to be Spock's sense of racial superiority to harness resentment against Kirk and loyalty towards her. So they are both pawns of the mission. But I would suggest that -- all along -- Spock may have a better future in mind. He may be stealing a cloaking device and deceiving a beautiful woman in the present, but he also realizes that military secrets are fleeting and that one person can change the world; can alter the direction of the future (also a message of another Star Trek episode, "Mirror, Mirror.")

In Star Trek history, "The Enterprise Incident" may actually be one of the most significant episodes of all, especially in terms of impact on the franchise.

This episode establishes a Klingon-Romulan alliance (later shattered, with great resentment and animosity in the Next Gen era), and it introduces blue Romulan Ale, though not in name, as a "powerful recruiting inducement." The episode also establishes Spock's time in Starfleet as 18 years.

Much of the drama also hinges on the mistaken belief that "Vulcans are incapable of lying," a turn of phrase which returns in Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan (1982) and Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home (1986).

Also, although Fontana introduced Vulcan "finger-touching" as a gesture of affection in "Journey to Babel," here we see a more...erotic...application. That too returned to Star Trek, in 1984's Star Trek III: The Search for Spock. Additionally, in "The Enterprise Incident," the audience gets some significant knowledge of the Romulans, from the "Right of Statement" to the command structure inside the Empire.

And of course, "The Enterprise Incident" introduces the Vulcan Death Grip. Which, as you surely know, does not exist...

I'll go even further. I believe that "The Enterprise Incident" is very much a template for the modern Star Trek motion picture series, as it involves the Enterprise forced to take dramatic action to capture or otherwise stop a weapon of mass destruction. Here it is the Romulan Cloaking Device. But Khan had Genesis, Soran had the Ribbon -- which he wielded as a weapon, Shinzon had a tharalon device, and Nero had Red Matter.

Over the years "The Enterprise Incident" has not been without controversy, of course. Fontana told me that the "episode wasn't substantially re-written" from what she had imagined, but rather "was changed in ways that really bothered me. The relationship between Spock and the Romulan commander was somewhat different than what I had envisioned. From a production standpoint, the cloaking device was supposed to be small and easily hidden, but on the show it looked like a lamp. That didn't work for me, because they had to run around holding this large device, it was pretty obvious. More than that, the relationship between Spock and the Romulan commander wasn't what I had in mind. I wanted it to be more adversarial than it was."

Indeed, if "The Enterprise Incident" contains one weakness, it is that the Romulan Commander appears far too trusting, far too early, of Spock. Especially since she did not know he was stationed on the Enterprise and therefore could not anticipate her strategy before seeing him on the viewscreen. Of course, given a little thought, the Commander's actions might be written off as signs of a healthy, Kirk-sized ego. She believes she can appeal to Spock's ego, assuring him that he is a "superior being" and thereby offer him ample incentive to turn against the Federation. Given Kirk's irrational, arrogant behavior leading up this incident (all orchestrated, of course...) it is also easy to see why she could imagine Spock would prefer to serve her rather than the fragile, insulting Captain Kirk. Of course, that's what she's supposed to believe.

I think some fans also dislike "The Enterprise Incident" because it says, basically, that when Starfleet breaks its own laws, it is okay, because -- hey, these are the good guys.

Perhaps today, given all we've been through in the last decade, this makes the program feel a little simplistic. The (overlooked) fact of the matter is that this mission could have sparked an all-out war with the Romulans, one that could have cost millions if not billions of innocent lives across the galaxy.

And furthermore, the Romulans had not even used this cloaking device in battle yet. They had used a similar weapon in the past, on Federation border outposts ("Balance of Terror"), but still, this seems to qualify as a pre-emptive strike, right? Does Starfleet subscribe to the...Bush Doctrine?

For a second, imagine what a powerful episode this might have been had Kirk's mission failed; had he and the stalwart crew been taken hostage and interrogated back on Romulus; had the mission been exposed as a dangerous, irresponsible one; had Starfleet paid the consequences for issuing such orders. But you know -- honestly -- that sounds more like a Next Gen era story of DS9-flavored one. And if that had happened here, we might have lost the valuable message that is clear in "The Enterprise Incident:" that peace can begin in the heart of one man, or one Vulcan, as the case may be. That Spock is, for lack of a better word, emotionally affected by his contact with the Romulan commander...who, despite her manipulations, comes across as strangely vulnerable...and likable.

In closing, I submit that "The Enterprise Incident" is a worthwhile and memorable installment of Star Trek because in that last scene, Spock acknowledges something important and true. Kirk, the Romulan Commander, and Starfleet itself are all playing one dangerous move in a much larger chess-game. They are focused on that move: getting the Cloaking Device (or getting the Enterprise, contrarily). But Spock is thinking a long-term strategy, thinking several moves ahead, to something more permanent than a fleeting military secret. He was touched by his encounter with the Romulan Commander, more than he ever could have imagined.

On the other hand, you could also argue that Spock's entanglement with the Romulans, begun in earnest in this episode of the classic series, is the very thing that destroys his timeline some hundred years down the road. As the Vulcan himself might note, "fascinating..."

Also, I appreciate Leonard Nimoy's thoughtful take on this tale: "Episodes like "The Enterprise Incident" made it exciting to go to work. Like all of Dorothy's scripts, it had an edge to it, an adult level of complication, and social commentary. The characters' lives were being affected, their ethics violated, even their spirituality touched. Scripts like this added to the moral structure of the Star Trek universe." (Nimoy. I am Spock. Hyperion, 1995, page 118).

CULT TV FLASHBACK #140: Star Trek: The Next Generation: "11001001" (1987)

Although September 8th, 2011 is Star Trek's 45th anniversary, the upcoming year 2012 offers a milestone that's almost even more difficult to believe: the 25th anniversary of Star Trek: The Next Generation (1987 - 1994).  Wow...I'm really growing old, folks.

Anyway, in honor of this landmark date in Trekdom, I'll be gazing back over the next several months at TNG episodes that I remember especially fondly.  These selections won't necessarily be the familiar or expected ones ("Best of Both Worlds," "Yesterday's Enterprise,") merely installments that I feel contributed overall to the series' success and remain somewhat underrated.

And, as you may recall, I've been pretty tough on Star Trek: The Next Generation over the last few years.  Specifically, I feel that the series hasn't held up as well as the original Star Trek (1966 - 1969).  In fact, it often lacks the color, charismatic performances and powerful, clean writing that made the original Roddenberry series such an important title in television history. 

Specifically, I've often derided the writing of the Captain Picard character, who was made to surrender the Federation flagship two times in the first four episodes of the series.  I've also complained about the "tidy" story wrap-ups, which tended to rely on nonsensical techno-babble rather than the intricacies of character development and motivation.  Many Star Trek: The Next Generation stories also wasted time on the Holodeck, or featured tales that I termed "Love in Boat in Space," with crew member families coming aboard the Enterprise for a visit and, naturally, some manufactured interpersonal drama.

The stories that I remember and appreciate on The Next Generation the most, however, are those that truly took great risks with the familiar format.  And again, these aren't always the ones you might expect, or the so-called "popular" installments.  They aren't always the "epic" shows; merely segments which stretched the format and did a lot of with the characters and solid scientific concepts.  Sometimes these ambitious episodes failed (and were consequently derided), but at least it wasn't for lack of trying.

Given my general dislike of the Holodeck as a story ingredient, my first Next Generation flashback in this retrospective series may come as a surprise.  "11001001" indeed features the holodeck in a prominent role, but this tale by Maurice Hurley and Robert Lewin doesn't merely send a crew member on vacation in another time and place instead of dramatizing an important and valuable "real life" story.  

On the contrary, "11001001" is all about the human impact of the holodeck technology, particularly on the character of William T. Riker (Jonathan Frakes).

As "11001001" commences, it is stardate 41365.9, and the Enterprise D. arrives at Starbase 74 for a routine computer upgrade. 

Performing the upgrade is a team of diminutive aliens known as "Bynars" from the planet Bynaus. 

Over time, the Bynars have grown so "interconnected" with computers and computer language that their "thought patterns" have become almost binary in nature.

As the Bynars work, the Enterprise crew relaxes, off-duty.  In a nice bit of characterization, the extroverted Riker seems at loose ends without his usual crew mates to pal around with, and so spends the first portion of the episode attempting to stave off boredom by visiting Dr. Crusher (Gates McFadden) in sickbay, watching Data (Brent Spiner) and La Forge (Levar Burton) paint in the conference room, and conversing with Worf (Michael Dorn) and Yar (Denise Crosby) about a competitive game called Paresi Squares. 

There's a slightly desperate quality to Riker here, and I appreciate this peek at his human frailties.  He's not a deep thinker (like Picard), and he needs other people around him.  When Riker tells Crusher that it looks like she's "packing up" to "leave forever," there's a vulnerable side to the character exposed, and it's good to see.  Frakes does especially well with this material, and carries this portion of the episode effortlessly.

Soon, Riker happens to the holodeck, where he find more Bynars working, and they ask him to test their upgrades to the system.  Almost immediately, Riker conjures a Bourbon Street bar in New Orleans, circa 1958, and indulges in a little trombone playing. 

His audience consist of one: a sultry but engaging woman named Minuet (Carolyn McCormick).  Riker plays "The Nearness of You" for Minuet, and soon comes to realize she is anything but a cipher.  In fact, Minuet seems responsive and intelligent in a way that no computer simulation ever has.  She seems to possess life itself; sentience.

Outside the holodeck, the Bynars manufacture an emergency for the crew to disembark, leaving only Picard and Riker aboard.  They the aliens steal the Enterprise and make for their home world, where a supernova has imperiled their civilization.  An EM pulse threatens to destroy their main computer, unless the Bynars can use the Enterprise -- with its computer -- as a repository for all their culture's knowledge and information. 

Once Riker and also Picard realize that Minuet is merely a distraction, they set the Enterprise's auto destruct sequence, and reclaim the bridge.  There, they find the Bynars incapacitated and assume their mission: saving the Bynaus main computer and therefore the civilization itself.  When the crisis ends, Riker returns to the holodeck and finds Minuet gone, only a "piece" in the now-ended Bynar tactic.  When Picard notes that "some relationships just can't work," Riker responds that, nonetheless, Minuet shall be "difficult to forget."

Like the original Star Trek's "Devil in the Dark," "11001001" concerns desperation, and an alien race that is so desperate to survive that it undertakes what could be misinterpreted as hostile action; here the theft of the starship Enterprise.  An enduring element of Star Trek -- and one that I love -- is that of mercy.  The men and women of Starfleet don't greet every challenge as an existential threat, and -- if able -- will demonstrate compassion and empathy for aliens in jeopardy and danger. 

This is a facet of our culture that is nearly extinct today, and such compassion and empathy is often viewed as a sign of weakness or vulnerability, not as a strength. 

Specifically, our culture encourages us to meet violence with violence, greet aggression with aggression, and target purported enemies for payback.  A wrong is not forgiven, it is cause for attack and reprisal.

Not so in the overtly idealistic universe of Star Trek, where the Bynars -- though acting poorly -- are treated fairly, and their world is saved.

But even that re-assertion of a great moral value is not the reason I appreciate this episode, even after almost twenty-five years.  Rather, I feel that the holodeck aspects of the story work remarkably well, and point to the evolution of the EMH  character in Voyager and other holographic characters as "sentient beings."  Here, Minuet is a fully-fledged individual, and Riker falls in love with her...regardless of her nature as a program. 

I often write, with respect to Woody Allen, that the heart desires what the heart desires, and this doomed TNG love affair seems indicative of that human truth.  Riker falls hard for a hologram, even though there's no real future in such a relationship.  She can't even leave the holodeck, actually.

Yet Riker loves her.  And that's just how the human heart works.  Once more, this idea carries tremendous relevance in our culture today, especially as some extremists seek to punish homosexuals for wanting what their hearts want.  But, like Riker, that's how they are wired.  It isn't a concious choice.  Star Trek has taken a lot of hits in the media lately for not featuring a "gay" character amongst its dramatis personae, but I don't think the attack is fair, or realistic. 

In showcasing characters who brave love with holograms, androids, aliens and the like, the various and sundry Star Trek series very clearly put forward the argument that it is not right to judge others for whom they love, and for how they love.

To expect a gay character to appear in a major role in 1987 Star Trek is not, entirely...logical.   

So in episodes such as "11001001" and "The Outcast," Star Trek did the next best thing: it made a compelling argument for acceptance of "alternate" life choices.  It paved the way for tolerance and compassion about such relationships.  That's pretty damn impressive, if you ask me.

Ultimately, this idea went further in Star Trek than "11001001," but this episode lays the groundwork for the idea that holograms are people too, and also the notion that the human heart cannot, necessarily, choose who to love or not to love.

In terms of "11001001," I also appreciate the fact that the episode doesn't make the mistake of drifting into overt sentimentality or schmaltz.  Jonathan Frakes underplays his last, heartfelt line of dialogue, and rightly so.  His comment about Minuet being difficult to forget thus transmits as not some angsty, shallow admission of personal pain, but as pure statement of fact.  As such, it resonates powerfully, and I commend Frakes and director Lynch for resisting the urge to make more out of the episode's valedictory moment.  It speaks volumes as it stands.

"11001001" is also one of the few Star Trek: The Next Generation episodes in the first season that seems to showcase an authentic and light-hearted sense of camaraderie and chemistry between the new cast.  There's a delightful moment here wherein Worf intentionally misunderstands the nature of sports competition to Commander Riker:  "If winning is not important, Commander, then why keep score?"

And I also love Riker's politically incorrect jibe to Geordi and Data about a blind man teaching an android to paint.  That's a priceless joke, and too often Star Trek: The Next Generation felt staid and sedate, instead of fun.  These remarks are not merely fun, but fun in the jaunty spirit of the original series.  They evidence a joie de vivre, and make the characters seem genuinely colorful.  "11001001" also offers one of the great lines of the entire season, when Riker asks Minuet "what's a knock-out like you doing in a computer-generated gin joint like this?"

I don't want to put too fine a point on it, but there's a very...Star Trekkiness...about this brand of dialogue.  It is both serious and creeping right up to the edge of camp.  It is smart, and it is funny.  And I wish Star Trek: The Next Generation featured much more of it.  Star Trek is always at its best when its characters acknowledge the humorous aspects of their situation.  Somehow, it makes the universe seem more real.

Another ingredient that works well in "11001001" is the concept of the Binars themselves.  They make for a fascinating alien race, being so interdependent with computers, and one wishes they had returned to the series in a more dramatic capacity at some point. 

Considering the nature of the Borg (representing the blending of biological and technological components), it seems there might have been  a powerful story here to tell about the Bynars. 

Would they have considered the Borg brethren?  Would they have felt they could have changed the nature of the Borg...for the better?  And how would the Federation feel with a kind of proto-Borg culture like the Bynars within their borders?  In all, not revisiting the Bynars seems like a lost opportunity.

About my only quibble with the episode is - as usual - the writing of the Picard character.  Here, he spends the first half of the episode thanking profusely his crew for a job well done, complimenting them over very, very little.  I suppose his pervasive good cheer was an attempt to soften the stern character, but it plays as strange; like Picard has taken some brand of mood-altering drug like Prozac.  Suddenly the good captain is spouting "thank yous" and "well dones" repeatedly, as if in some kind of euphoric state.  Later in the episode, Picard also reveals his total lack of awareness of others, when he horns in on Riker and Minuet and just...won't...stop...talking.  Can't he see that they would like to be, you know, alone?   Eventually he realizes it, but only after quite a while.  Again, I'm not criticizing the dignified Patrick Stewart, only the writing of his character.

Overall, however, "11001001" is a great early episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation because it isn't just about fun and games and getting out of a pickle on the holodeck.  Instead, it's about the human problems that the technology of the holodeck creates, and how those problems emotionally impact the characters  In many ways, this episode may represent Frakes' finest acting work on the series.  Accordingly, "11001001""  is also one of the best episodes in terms of Riker's character development.  We see the extrovert growing lonely...and then answering that loneliness with a trip to the holodeck, and finding the unexpected specter of true love.

Certainly, "11001001" doesn't make any "top ten" episode lists for TNG, but that's because it isn't epic in scope (like the Borg episodes or the Klingon episode).  Instead, the episode achieves what the medium of television does best: it fosters a sense of intimacy and connection to a character.  "The Inner Life  Light" is an episode that accomplishes the same thing for Picard (and it's one of my personal favorites), but "11001001" is an early segment of The Next Generation that really hits on all thrusters. 

This episode is all about interconnectedness: interconnectedness between the Bynars, interconnectedness between the Enterprise crew members, and finally, between Riker and Minuet.  "11001001" reveals how we can succeed when we connect meaningfully to others and also, emotionally, how we can feel lost when that sense of connection disappears irrevocably.

The Cult-TV Faces of: The Doctor



Identified by Le0pard13: Dr. Zachary Smith (Jonathan Harris) in Lost in Space




Identified by Le0pard13: Dr. Leonard McCoy (DeForest Kelley), Star Trek 

  


Identified by Le0pard13: Tom Baker as The Doctor in Dr. Who.




Identified by Woodchuckgod: Harry Sullivan (Ian Marter) in Dr. Who.




Identified by R.A.M.'67: Dr. Rudy Wells (Martin E. Brooks) from The Bionic Woman.




Identified by Le0pard13: Dr. Helena Russell (Barbara Bain) from Space:1999.






Identified by Hugh: Roddy McDowall as Dr. Jonathan Willaway in The Fantastic Journey.

 


Identified by Woodchuckgod: Dr. Salik (George Murdock) from the original Battlestar Galactica.




Identified by Woodchuckgod: Dr. Elias Huer (Tim O'Connor) from Buck Rogers in the 25th Century.




Identified by Le0pard13: Dr. Beverly Crusher (Gates McFadden), from Star Trek: The Next Generation.




Identified by Le0pard13: Dr. Katherine Pulaski (Diana Muldaur) from Star Trek: The Next Generation.




Identified by Le0pard13: Dr. Joel Fleischman (Rob Morrow) in Northern Exposure.




Identified by Le0pard13: Dr. Jill Brockman (Kathy Baker) in Picket Fences.




Identified by Claudiu: Dr. Westphalen (Stephanie Beacham) from SeaQuest DSV.





Identified by Le0pard13: Dr. Dana Scully (Gillian Anderson) in The X-Files.




Identified by Woodchuckgod: Dr. Stephen Franklin (Richard Biggs) in Babylon 5.




Identified by Le0pard13: Dr. Julian Bashir (Alexander Siddig) in Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.




Identified by jdigriz: Jake Weber as Dr. Matt Crower in American Gothic.




Identified by Le0pard13: The EMH (Robert Picardo) in Star Trek: Voyager.




Identified by the Sci Fi Fanatic: Jessica Steen as Dr.Julia Heller in Earth 2 (1995).




Identified by Claudiu: Dr. Grote Maxwell (Joe Morton) from Mercy Point (1998).




Identified by Woodchuckgod: Pa'u Zotoh Zhaan (Virginia Hey) from Farscape.




Identified by Le0pard13: Dr. Phlox (John Billingsley) from Star Trek: Enterprise.




Identified by Le0pard13: Dr. Simon Tam (Sean Maher) from Firefly.




Identified by Le0pard13: Dr. Cotttle (Donnelly Rhodes) from the re-imagination of Battlestar Galactica.



CULT MOVIE REVIEW: The Matrix Reloaded (2003)

"Your life is the sum of a remainder of an unbalanced equation inherent to the programming of the Matrix.  You are an eventuality of an anomaly."

- The Architect (Helmut Bakaitis) informs Neo (Keanu Reeves) that there is no such thing as free will, in The Matrix Reloaded.

Although general audiences by-and-large rejected the film as both baffling and meandering upon its release in 2003, The Wachowski Bros.' The Matrix Reloaded nonetheless ranks in an elite and cherished group of sequels.  Bluntly-stated, it is one of those follow-ups that is equal  to (if not better) than the original.

In that select category you will also find such titles as The Godfather II, The Empire Strikes Back, Aliens, and The Road Warrior.  But The Matrix Reloaded belongs in that tally because it assiduously expands the scope of both the franchise's philosophical underpinnings and action-packed visuals.

To a nearly exponential degree, actually, in both cases.

In particular, The Matrix Reloaded examines -- from virtually all sides -- the Thomas Kempis hypothesis that "man proposes but God disposes; neither is the way of man in his own hands." 

In other words, The Matrix Reloaded diagrams, on a commendably complex level, the debate between free will, or "metaphysical libertarianism," and hard determinism. 

The equation looks something like this: Either man makes his own decisions, free of constraints, or the conditions of our life (in or out of The Matrix...) are such that there is only one possible, pre-determined outcome for all of us.  

In the text of the film itself, Neo travels "behind the curtain" of the Matrix, to "the Source" and learns that his very nature as "The One" is simply another level of machine control; another system by which machines dominate man's destiny.  

However, Neo's response to this new knowledge (and to his new nemesis, The Architect) is  revelatory.  He does not act in the pre-ordained, statistically-guaranteed fashion expected by his logical masters, but rather bucks his "explicit purpose" in life and forges an irrational choice all his own.  In doing so, Neo confirms his essential humanity; his capacity to choose hope over reason.

Virtually all of the important characters in The Matrix Reloaded are viewed through the prism of hard determinism/free will in this sequel, a fact which grants the expensive blockbuster a unique life-force and singular vision, one entirely different from that of The Matrix.  However, in firmly keeping with the tenets of the first franchise picture, the sequel finds its "solution" to the central dilemma in the tenets of Buddhism, particularly in the concept of pratitya-samutpada or "inter dependent arising." This is a concept which allows for the possibility of both free will and determinism, an algaebraic equation approaching balance, or symbiosis.

Outside the realm of philosophy, The Matrix Reloaded achieves its substantial visceral thrills by playing up the requisite "carnage candy" aspect of movie sequels, which -- according to the verbose Randy (Jamie Kennedy) in Scream 2 (1997) -- means the staging of much more elaborate sequences than seen in the first picture of a trilogy.  Here, a nearly twenty-minute battle sequence on a busy highway (inside The Matrix) outpaces even the pyrotechnics and fight choreography of the original film's climactic high rise/helicopter battle. It is a perfect fusion of choreography, suspense, digital effects and high-impact editing. 

In terms of the near-mythic Agent Smith vs. Neo sweepstakes, the Wachowskis have some wicked fun here by transforming the villainous Smith into a self-replicating program; one who can assimilate other individuals and reproduce himself by the millions, apparently.  In one amazing fight scene (hindered today only by dated CGI effects), Neo does fierce battle with a thousand versions of his committed enemy.  Like virtually every aspect of The Matrix Reloaded, this dazzling fight sequence demonstrates the Wachowski's brawny creative imagination, and their seemingly unerring capacity to go for broke both in terms of visuals and mind-bending concepts.

"We are all here to do what we are all here to do..."

It is a dark time for the last human city, Zion.  Thousands of sentinels have begun tunneling down through the Earth to begin a final assault against the metropolis, and a key human ally, the Oracle (Gloria Foster), has disappeared. 

Meanwhile, Agent Smith (Hugo Weaving) has returned to The Matrix with strange new abilities, and with a sinister plan to destroy "The One," Neo (Reeves).

While Zion masses its ships to defend Zion, Morpheus (Laurence Fishburne) takes a controversial risk to get Neo inside the Matrix and find the Oracle.  Once found, she informs Neo -- who has been suffering from prophetic dreams -- that he will soon be called upon to make a life-or-death choice regarding Trinity (Carrie-Anne Moss), and that he must "acquire" a program called "The Keymaker" in order to visit "The Source" and confront the program behind The Matrix. 

Morpheus believes that by accomplishing this mission, the war with the machines shall be ended overnight. Others, including Captain Niobe (Jada Pinkett-Smith) are not as certain.

After wresting control of the Keymaker from a hedonistic program called The Merovingian (Lambert Wilson), Neo makes it to the Source and confronts the Architect.  There, he learns that the Matrix is much older than he imagined, and that Zion has already been destroyed and repopulated five times.  

Additionally, Neo learns that "The One" is but another facet of machine domination, and that he is expected to make the same life-or-death selection that his five predecessors made...

"There are Two Doors..."

All of the philosophy, all of the tech-talk, all of the amazing action in The Matrix Reloaded comes down to an extremely simple (and brilliant) dialogue sequence.   It involves Neo entering a small room and being forced to reckon with the future itself, which is represented explicitly by two doors. 

This is, as Neo says, "the problem of choice."

If he walks through one door, the system (the Matrix) survives, and the cycle of war begins all over again...for the sixth time.  This is the very choice Neo is expected to make, and the determinist machines have always gambled correctly that "The One" would make such a choice. At this point, they are five for five.

Through the second door, however, is a chance to possibly save Trinity's life, but also the utter destruction of the human race.  By ultimately selecting this door, Neo makes the case for free will, defying the "nature of things" and even his nature as "The One," an anomaly or error inside the Matrix, but one deployed by the Machines for purposes of controlling mankind.

Neo isn't the only one countenancing the debate between metaphysical libertarianism and hard determinism in the film.  Agent Smith is now a Satan figure in some ways (assuming the Architect as the God figure of the Matrix construct).  Importantly, Smith notes: "We're not here because we're free.  We're here because we're not free.  There is no escaping reason; no defying purpose." 

Thus, he is a fallen angel rebelling against the Order of Things, or God, yet -- ironically -- still subscribing to the philosophy or belief of that very order.  He hates that Order, and yet, so much like the fallen Lucifer, still clings to it as a governing principle.

Uniquely, the heroic Morpheus also seems to believe in the determinist nature of life.  The good captain believes blindly in "the Prophecy of the One," and is unable -- until circumstances force otherwise -- to see outside that Prophecy.

Morpheus sees the divine hand of "Providence" ending the War and guiding his every move, his every action.  He sees purpose behind every eventuality, and notes that events must happen this way and couldn't happen any other way.  Free will does not enter the picture.  "There are no accidents," he meaningfully asserts.

Accordingly, Morpheus undergoes a serious spiritual crisis in the film when he learns that his beliefs are built upon shaky firmament; and that not everything occurs for a reason.   When Neo went to the Source, the war was supposed to end...but it did not. And the result is that Morpheus's faith is shaken.  Has he been duped by a system of control invisible to his eyes, outside of his detection?  And yes, this subplot may indeed be a subtle commentary about the role organized religion in our world: imposing control and standards of behavior while making promises about outcomes (and the after life...) that may have no basis in reality.

The Merovingian, a rogue computer program living inside the Matrix, is one of the film's most intriguing new characters, and he too has a unique viewpoint on the debate involving free will.

The Merovingian  is amusingly presented as a French hedonist and cynic who attempts to gain the utmost advantage from the deterministic nature of the Matrix.  The Merovingian defines himself as a "slave to causality," thus viewing the universe as a simple chain of events based on the interconnection of cause and effect.

Within that narrow viewpoint, The Merovingian carves out for himself a little fiefdom where he can, cynically, enjoy himself at the expense of others.  He can just party till the world ends (or re-boots).   Given such a philosophy, the Merovingian revels only in physical and carnal pleasures.  He knows (or believes he knows) that existence is following a pre-determined path, one unshakable and unalterable.  "Choice is an illusion," he suggests. 

Given the fact that this is so, why not enjoy himself for as long as possible, right?

Humorously, The Merivongian learns a real and painful lesson in causality (and perhaps free will as well...) from his wife, Persephone (Monica Bellucci), another rogue program featured in the film.  She is tired of her husband's atttempts to control the destiny of others (including herself), and throws a monkey wrench into his plans. 

But her point is pertinent.  Through his behavior, The Merovingian has "caused" this most unpleasant "effect."

Trinity meanwhile, is the fulcrum of Neo's prophecy, and the crux of the free will/determinism debate.  Neo has asked Trinity to remain outside of the Matrix, lest she be killed in action.  He has seen her death in his dreams, and wants to avert it.  He wants to "control" her destiny.

But Trinity "chooses" to enter the Matrix, save Neo, and ultimately face her demise,

Her action is one of choice, yet interestingly it is also pre-ordained or determined, at least from Neo's viewpoint.  He always "saw" that she would make this particular selection.  Which then raises the important question: was it her choice to begin with?  Or was her choice determined?  In answering this question and viewing Trinity's plight as being both free and determined, we begin to detect that there is a third path bridging these two philosophies.

Many Buddhists believe that human existence is neither entirely free nor entirely deterministic, but see "connections" (or networks of interaction) as the factors which can affect both.  The pratitya samutpada is a kind of middle path between free will and determinism, and it is the path, ultimately, that Neo takes in the film.  It's the path of interdependence, in a sense.   

As the movie opens, Neo feels a prisoner of his own free will, and of his esteemed reputation as "The One."  "I wish I knew what to do," he declares.  And yet, when the Architect very clearly informs Neo of his role in the Order of Things, Neo rejects "knowing" what to do out of hand, and chooses his own trajectory.  This happens because, perhaps, human beings boast a quality called "hope." 

As Morpheus notes in his speech to the assembled citizens of Zion: "we still have hope." 

Furthermore, the Architect terms hope both the human being's greatest weakness and greatest strength.  It is hope, suggests The Matrix Reloaded, which permits us to believe, perhaps, in free will, and our own importance in the order of things.  It is hope which leads Neo to reject his "purpose" as The One, to choose a different "door," and to save Trinity's life.  It is hope that allows for the possibility that life is not an either/or, binary decision, and that unforeseen outcomes unfurl from free choice beyond the sight, even, of reality's architects.

What will happen to Neo for rejecting his prescribed path?  Well, as the Oracle bluntly acknowledges "we can never see past the choices we don't understand."  

His human capacity to select an irrational path -- even at the risk of the species itself -- suggests that humans live a life of, at least, moderate free will.  It is one in keeping with pratitya-samutpada, the middle path.  Neo will save Trinity first, and then worry about the rest of the human race. 

What outcomes will grow from his choice?  What new pathways has he opened by selecting a different door this time around?

The seeds for Neo's burgeoning belief in pratitya-samutpada are planted throughout The Matrix Reloaded.  A councilor in Zion named Harmann (Anthony Zerbe) speaks to him at length of the interconnectedness between machine and man.   He notes particularly, the life-support machines of Zion: "Down here, sometimes I think about all those people still plugged into the Matrix and when I look at these machines I... I can't help thinking that in a way... we are plugged into them.."

This observation leads to a debate about control.  "What is control?" Harmann asks Neo, and in considering that interrogative, Neo begins to imagine a "middle way," a path in which the machines and humans are not necessarily enemies, but beings in symbiosis, ones who need each other.  This formulation leads the trilogy to its resolution in The Matrix Revolutions, and I'll cover this aspect of the saga in more detail next week. 

One of the most fascinating aspects of The Matrix Reloaded  remains the depiction of the "programs" who live inside the Matrix. 

The Merovingian, Persephone, the Keymaker, The Oracle, and even The Architect all seem to have picked "sides" in the war between man and machine.  Some have become man's allies, apparently, and some his dedicated enemies. 

And yet if one steps back from these perceived allegiances, one can detect how all the programs are mechanisms of "control" fulfilling their pre-ordained purpose.  The Oracle gives Neo exactly the advice he needs so as to return to the Source, "disseminate" his code, and begin the cycle of life in The Matrix all over again (for the sixth time).  On one level, the Oracles' instructions seem to help Neo and the resistance, but on another level all together she is simply fulfilling her "purpose," doing what she is meant to do in the grand scheme of control.

The Keymaker is very much of the same nature.  His purpose is to get the key to the One, so the One can reach the Source and disseminate his code (and re-boot the system of control, essentially).  Yet he too seems to be an ally, one who can help the Resistance achieve its end.  Importantly, the question becomes: who is in control?  And furthermore, how do you perceive reality?  Is the Oracle a friend, or a program asserting machine control?  Can she be both at the same time?

Essentially, what The Matrix Reload proposes is a hierarchy or system of control above and beyond the system of control represented by the Matrix itself.  There are different levels of control, all determining the shape of reality and the fate of all individuals. 

Neo was always meant to be "The One," and to challenge the machines, but the result of this challenge to machine control was always a fait accompli.   Eventually, he would succumb to a higher system of control, and re-establish the Matrix and the "way of things."  But this time around, when Neo detects the order and becomes aware of it, he makes a different choice and all bets are off. 

Again, this is a startlingly positive, humanist philosophy.  The machines can never go against order and purpose (not even the untethered Smith), but humans can do so.  Machines must fill their purpose as it is written and programmed.  Human beings -- programmed by nurture and nature -- boast the freedom to interpret their own purpose, it would seem.

If The Matrix Reloaded suffers from any particular problem in terms of structure or filmmaking, it is that the film ends with no real or powerful conclusion.  The movie just...stops. 

Although it is the second movement of a trilogy -- and, like The Empire Strikes Back, a dark one -- it nonetheless does not feel finished in a meaningful sense. 

After the high-point of the Architect sequence and the "two doors" scenario, the film drops off in interest and it feels as though we're watching a two-part episode of some old TV series, with the words "to be concluded" transmitted across the screen.   In Empire, there is a yearning for more story yet to come, but also the feeling of completeness; of a chapter of a larger work opened and closed.  For all its genius in terms of visuals and philosophy, The Matrix Reloaded doesn't get this equation right.   

I have also read complaints from viewers about the scenes set in Zion, particularly the notorious party scene.  As you may recall, this is the early sequence in which several hundred gorgeous, half-naked men and women sweat and gyrate to the beat of pounding drums.  The sequence is intercut with images of Neo and Trinity making love in their home.  I'm not certain why this sequence attracted so much negative attention, but structurally and thematically it makes an abundance of sense.  How so?  Simply on the grounds that in this war, we must know what we are fighting to preserve. 

And what is being fought for here, quite simply, is our humanity.  Our irrationality, our hope, our love...all those qualities which enable us to believe that we have free will, and can change our destiny if it is not to our liking.  This sensual, romantic montage explicitly reminds the audience of human nature, and differentiates man from the machines.  Without this scene, an essential piece of the film's human equation would be missing.

The Matrix Reloaded remains a great film, and a terrific sequel because it considers so fully those aspects of the human equation on a cerebral yet passionate level.  It asks us to question our lives, the levels of control in our lives, and our unique capacity to break out of the chains of others' expectations. 

No, we're not completely independent vessels.  We can't be, because we are connected to our physical environment and to our biological needs (food, sex, etc.). Therefore, those aspects of our lives are indeed determined, in some critical sense.  But we also needn't choose what others have chosen before us.  We need not be now what others perceive us as being...or wish us to be.

Every time we make a new choice, a new door opens.  And then another new door opens, and then another. 

The Matrix Reloaded understands the potential in the problem of choice, and to paraphrase the film, asks the audience a profound question:

 Do you know why you're here?