30 Years Ago: Chris Carter's Millennium (October 25, 1996)

Frank Black (Lance Henriksen), his wife, Catherine (Meghan Gallagher) and their daughter, Jordan (Brittany Tiplady) move into a beautiful yellow house in Seattle.  

Frank, a former FBI agent who is recovering from a nervous breakdown, is now consulting with an organization of like-minded law-enforcement officials, the Millennium Group.  He helps the Group solve cases of an especially difficult nature utilizing his gift of “insight.”  Specifically, Frank becomes “capability,” seeing what the “killer sees.”

This ability, Frank notes, is both his gift and his curse.

Frank’s unusual brand of insight is put to the test almost at once, when a peep-show stripper is murdered by a deviant, poetry-reciting killer, “The Frenchman” (Paul Dillon). Frank tracks the killer, hoping to catch him before he strikes again.

But the Frenchman -- who is punishing sins against God in what he considers a Godless time and place -- commits another sexual homicide before he can be stopped.

As the case grows more difficult, Frank is distracted when Jordan contracts an unknown malady and is rushed to a Seattle hospital…

The pilot for Millennium (1996-1999) represents, perhaps, Chris Carter’s finest writing contribution to television in the 1990s. With seemingly effortless grace and literacy, this hour-long drama sets up the three central dramatic pillars of the cult-TV series.  

These pillars are: Frank Black’s family and home life, his investigations into the most savage and monstrous of criminals, and, finally, the series’ social role as commentator on 1990s America.  All these pillars are interconnected, as you might guess.

The writing is unquestionably sharp in this pilot episode, but its edge is enhanced immeasurably by director David Nutter’s brilliant visualizations. 

Many times throughout the pilot, a central clue or connection is captured merely in terms of canny imagery, with no dialogue to support it. This visual story-telling represents one reason why Millennium endures and is so incredibly smart. Nothing is spoon-fed to us. But the clues are there for us to see, and the connections are there for us to make, just as Frank Black (Lance Henriksen) makes them.

There are two examples to consider, immediately, of this visual storytelling approach. One involves the clue, PESTE, which is written both on a casket and underneath a bridge. Frank connects the graffiti and the epitaph, but the dialogue does not. We are asked, ultimately, to make the connection alongside the investigator.

Secondly, the key climactic event of the episode involves nothing but a look -- and a momentary hesitation -- between protagonist and antagonist. Frank stumbles upon the Frenchman in police headquarters. He takes one look at him, and knows that he has found his man. Creepily, the Frenchman stares back and knows precisely whom he is facing as well.

A look passes between the two men, and then the conflict becomes physical, but again, there’s never a moment in which a character explains his thought process, or how, specifically, he knows or recognizes the identity of his opposite.  This is a powerful approach for two reasons.

First, it validates Frank’s brand of insight. 

He has been in the “head” of the Frenchman, so it makes sense that he would recognize him on sight, after a fashion. But much more frightening is the opposite recognition.  The Frenchman seems to recognize Frank not merely as an investigator, but as a kindred force or person.  He seems to understand, or believe – instinctively – that Frank sees the same things he does.  That means that Frank’s insight is right, but also that the killer possesses some level of insight as well. 

A simpler way to put this is, simply, that Frank has looked into the abyss (the Frenchman), and the abyss has peered back into him (Frank). 

Beyond these terrific visual moments, the episode is also punctuated by gruesome and shocking sights. We see the gay men cruising a park by night, and in the Frenchman’s view their eyes and mouths are sewed up. There’s a psychic jolt when these individuals loom from the darkness, their faces a mockery of what we consider a normal human visage.

Then there is the bracing moment, in the pilot’s prologue, wherein beautiful women strip and dance, only to be drenched in blood and fire.  The Frenchman says “I want to see you dance on the blood-dimmed tide,” and the episode makes that wish a reality, by adopting his (twisted and perverse) perspective. 

Much of Millennium involves what we understand to be reality (based on Frank’s view of the world), and an alternate, corrupted view of reality. That second perspective is how the killer sees the world, and Frank’s key to unlocking each mystery is to tap that horrible (but also imaginatively realized) viewpoint.  In many ways, this episode of Millennium is about the differences between realities, and the way that we all navigate them.

Consider the doomed exotic dancer, Calamity, in the teaser sequence. Before she strips for the killer, becoming his fantasy (or becoming trapped in his fantasy, perhaps), we get a harsh dose of reality. She is not the object of sexuality that customers believe she is. Instead, we see her calling her child on the telephone before starting her shift at the sex shop.  She’s a single mom trying to make a living.  Selling sex is what she does for a living, but sexual arousal is probably the furthest thing from her mind as she goes about her “work.”

The idea of image vs. reality in terms of the stripper’s world, and the killer’s world, also has one more corollary in the episode, in Frank Black himself. He has bought his family the “perfect” yellow-house, and wants to carve out a place in the world for his wife and daughter that is safe and happy.  He wants them to see only the sunshine, not the blackest night.

But Catherine -- a clinical psychologist -- knows all too well that Frank’s reality is constructed, and therefore fragile.  She tells him that he can’t protect them from the darkness.  His answer is that he wants her to pretend that he can.  In other words, he prefers, in this case, not to “see” the truth.  He constructs his reality of the yellow house and asks Catherine and Jordan to share that illusion with him, without acknowledging that it is an illusion.

Frank paints away the darkness with the yellow house, as Chris Carter told me in an interview in 2009, but he too -- like the Frenchman -- erects a world that isn’t quite real.

In terms of Frank’s family and the relationships between members, this pilot is the starting point for several story-arcs.  The first involves Catherine. She tells Frank, explicitly, that she can handle his job. What she can’t handle is him keeping secrets from her.  “I can handle imposition, Frank,” she says directly. “What I can’t handle is secrecy.”

Frank, however, is unable to be completely truthful and open with Catherine, despite her admonition that he should be.  Why?  I believe the answer is encoded in the reality he creates.  He will not be the one to shatter the sanctuary of the yellow house. If he tells Catherine everything he sees, everything he knows, she -- like him -- won’t be able to live in the world he has created.

The pilot also gives us the first instance of Jordan mysteriously falling ill or having unexplained wounds This plot device recurs on at least two other occasions in the series (“Monster” and “Borrowed Time.”) 

These dangerous events always remind Frank where his priorities should be, but also suggest that Jordan is incredibly fragile and not a “normal” child. As stories such as “Walkabout” suggest, she may possess Frank’s gift of insight…and something beyond it too.

In terms of the second dramatic pillar, Millennium’s pilot introduces to a killer who views others as sinners, and yet has sinned himself. He judges others, and condemns them to (horrible) deaths, without addressing his behavior.

The first time we see the killer in the pilot is in a rain-soaked, gray world, as he stalks it in near silhouette. 

The Frenchman is depicted under an arch, and the visual suggestion is that he is being crushed by the world; being crushed by his vision of the world, which he believes requires him to act. The world around him is dead, is slate gray, and the trees are devoid of life and color. 

He does act, to murder sinners, and Frank connects his crimes, in particular to “The Second Coming,” a 1920 poem by W.B. Yeats about, not surprisingly, apocalypse, and historical cycles. Specifically, Yeats apparently envisioned a doomsday coming roughly two thousand years after the death of Jesus Christ.

That would be right about 1996 -- the epoch of this story -- give or take a couple of years. So in some twisted way, the Frenchman is working on the assumption that he is living through Yeats’ apocalypse, which he sees as one of moral depravity. 

He talks about the “great plague in the maritime city,” and this reference may carry two meanings. The episode links the line from Yeats to AIDS, and the Frenchman’s gay victims (and also, apparent inclination).  

But given what we know of Millennium as a series, the “maritime” city of Seattle does suffer an outbreak in 1998, or a plague, in the two-part second season story “The Fourth Horseman”/”The Time is Now.’

Taken by itself, the pilot is the story of a sick serial killer who dwells in his own reality of judgment and wrath. But if we look at the series as a whole, we might even view him as one more person who seems “gifted” or “cursed” by an insight the rest of us don’t possess.  In this case, The Frenchman adopts the telltale “anticipatory anxiety” of Chris Carter’s 1990s programs, fearing that he knows what God’s judgment will be, come the turn of the century. Or, perhaps he knows what the Millennium Group is actually up to…

The third dramatic pillar I mentioned above is social commentary, and for me this is a key artistic aspect of Millennium. This episode points out the hypocrisy of those who judge others, and we certainly saw much of that in the 1990s.  But more than that, I think the episode gazes at people who walk among us and yet dwell in  their own separate realities.  Today, we are more divided, even, then we were in the 1990s.  

Frank’s answer to the anxiety he feels when reckoning with the real world is to create a sanctuary for his family. And that in a way is part of the problem. A sanctuary is a place to hide after all, not to engage the darkness.  A key aspect of Yeat’s The Second Coming is “turning inward,” and I think the episode demonstrates that in regards to both Frank and the Frenchman.  The episode encourages us to compare and contrast the two characters in terms of their world view, and their insight.

I’ve written this before, and I continue to stand by this assessment: Millennium opens with one of the five best pilots in TV history.  

One would be hard-pressed to pinpoint another premiere episode that achieves so much, so well. It is smart and literate, engrossing, and terrifying.

50 Years Ago: Land of the Lost: "Flying Dutchman" (October 23, 1976)

While it is undeniable that the third season of Land of the Lost suffers in terms of its continuity with the preceding two years’ worth of episodes, I nonetheless appreciate how the third season occasionally adapts creepy elements of world mythology to the world of Altrusia.  It’s a different take than the original vision, to be certain, but the mythology-based episodes make for intriguing adventures, at least on a few occasions.

Such is the case with “Flying Dutchman,” this week’s installment, which first aired on October 23, 1976.  

The story uses as its basis the legend of a Dutch man-of-war “ghost ship,” reported as early as the 18^th century by sailors and other travelers on the high seas.  

In some stories, the captain of the Flying Dutchman (known as Bernard Fokke) is believed to be in league with Satan himself….a devil.  In other variations of the folklore, the captain (sometimes Vander Decker) is being punished for some moral failing by this eternal life on the seas, never able to reach port again.  

The Flying Dutchman is also sometimes reported to be a pirate ship, lost off the Cape of Good Hope, and a young King George V once reported seeing the eerie vessel off the coast of Australia.

In Land of the Lost’s “Flying Dutchman,” The Marshalls discover a wrecked man-of-war in the Mist Marsh (former home of the Zarn), but the area is not referred to on-screen as such, which is disappointing. 

The Marshalls hear ghostly voices emanating from the ship’s deck, and find a lonely captain, Van Der Mere (Rex Holman) alone on board.  Although he promises to take Uncle Jack, Holly, Will and Chaka back out through the vortex by which he arrived, the captain secretly plans to leave with only Holly (Kathy Coleman) on board.  She is a dead ringer for his long-lost daughter, Wilhelmina, and he misses his child’s companionship.

Uncle Jack (Ron Harper) realizes that Van Der Mere’s ship is the legendary Dutchman and saves a drugged Holly at the last moment.  The Captain apologizes for his behavior.  “I am ashamed,” he admits. “You have my apologies…it’s so terribly lonely.”

In the episode’s final moments, the Marshalls and Chaka watch in awe as the Flying Dutchman takes to the air, and sails out of view...though how it escapes Altrusia (and the land’s one in/one out rule of entry/exit) is left unexplained.

On the plus side of the equation, “Flying Dutchman” is an episode filled with creepy imagery of the derelict ship in the Mist Marsh.  These moments are atmospheric, and a real sense of danger and terror dominates the show (at least in Saturday morning terms).  

On the down-side, this episode sees the return of the single-worst character in Land of the Lost history, the cave-man Malak (Richard Kiel).  Too much time is wasted in “Flying Dutchman” as Jack and Will negotiate with Malak for the release of Captain Van Der Mere’s nautical belongings, including a sextant and a compass.

Some viewers, I remember, found this episode sexually perverse, with an adult man professing his love for a much, much younger woman, Holly.  But the text of the episode makes it  absolutely clear that Van Der Mere’s affections are not sexual, but those of a father who misses his daughter, and can never be reunited with her so long as he is cursed to travel the endless corridors of time.  For me, the episode doesn’t play as particularly perverse, though I admit it features a scary undercurrent about children being kidnapped and swept away by dark forces.

Despite the fact that “Flying Dutchman” plays fast and loose with the established rules of Altrusia, I still feel that the episode, much like “Medusa” works as a sort of children’s horror show.  I remember that I liked this installment very much as a child, and was obsessed with the legend of the Flying Dutchman for months after viewing.  I still find the legend compelling, and accordingly, I would rate this episode of the third season pretty highly in the roster.

60 Years Ago: Star Trek: "What are Little Girls Made Of." (October 20, 1966)

Stardate 2712.4

The U.S.S Enterprise approaches the frozen world, Exo III, which was the last known location of Dr. Roger Korby (Michael Strong), a renowned scientist described as “The Pasteur of Archaeological Medicine.”

Aboard ship is Nurse Christine Chapel (Majel Roddenberry), Korby’s hopeful fiancée.

To the surprise of everyone, including Captain Kirk (William Shatner) and Mr. Spock (Leonard Nimoy), a signal from Korby is received. Miraculously, he has survived for five years on the inhospitable world.

Kirk and Chapel beam down to the planet surface and discover that Korby has discovered, in the planet’s deep caverns, the remains of an ancient Civilization -- “The Old Ones.” 

Among other achievements, these highly-advanced (but now extinct…) beings could create perfect android duplicates of human beings. Even more impressively, they could transfer consciousness from human form to mechanical form.

Kirk is concerned, however, because Korby’s androids, including Ruk (Ted Cassidy) and the lovely Andrea (Sherry Jackson) have developed signs of independent will.

Korby creates an android duplicate of Kirk to assume command of the Enterprise, planning to take his discovery of androids out to the far reaches of the galaxy, beginning at a colony, Midas 5;  a world “abundant with raw materials.”

Penned by the great Robert Bloch (1917-1994) to feature strong H.P. Lovecraft overtones (particularly in the mention of the “Old Ones,”) “What are Little Girls Made Of” makes for an effective episode of Star Trek’s (1966-1969) first season. 

Christine Chapel’s engagement to Dr. Korby provides the narrative’s emotional hook, and Ted Cassidy’s hulking Ruk supplies plenty of menace. Without exaggeration, Cassidy (1932-1979) is a huge man, and he dwarfs the other actors. He tosses William Shatner across various sets like a rag doll, and projects not just malevolence, but inhuman strength.

Meanwhile, Sherry Jackson’s Andrea proves both tragic and gorgeous, and Kirk comes off particularlytoo. Specifically, our beloved captain displays his resourcefulness -- and thorough understanding of his first officer -- by dooming his android double with a subconscious racist message (“I’m sick of your half-breed interference, Mr. Spock.”) This is the only clue the intrepid half-Vulcan requires to understand that his captain is in danger.

The quality that proves most compelling about this Star Trek episode, however -- especially in light of future “generations” -- is the anti-technology theme running through it. 

Even though Korby has transferred his human consciousness into an android body, he is still depicted as being a slave to machine nature; to programming that makes him a “monster.”  The episode’s final point is that “something doesn’t survive the process” of transferring human consciousness to a machine.

Today, that idea seems antiquated and fearful, especially as man and machine grow closer than ever to an inevitable merging.

Hopefully we won’t become the Borg.

Star Trek: The Next Generation’s “Technology Unchained” idea is not yet in full effect here, clearly, and throughout the Original Series, one can detect a certain level of wariness and concern about new technology supplanting man. 

In “Court Martial,” for example, a lawyer rails against the idea of computer testimony being utilized in a court case. 

And in “The Ultimate Computer,” a thinking computer is seen as both a job killer and a competitor for superiority. Its Achille’s Heel is the fact that it lacks a human conscience and moral barometer

The same is true here.  

No middle ground can be forged with Dr. Korby and his androids, though it would be beneficial, perhaps to do so. '=

Clearly, they can’t be allowed to assume control of a Federation Colony. But shouldn’t Federation scientists study the life-saving principles discovered by Korby’s party?  Andrea, Ruk, Brown and Korby, despite being androids, are still individuals. The episode successfully writes itself out of a nuanced solution by having all these individuals die by either attacking humans (and be phasered..) or committing suicide.  The moral debate their existence raises seems to die with them, at least so far as this episode is concerned.

I’m firmly an Original Series fan in terms of my preferences, but this blog retrospective is about an objective look back at a 50 year classic.  And objectively speaking, this is another arena in which Star Trek: The Next Generation is plainly superior in its commitment to and exploration of its creator’s humanist values. 

There, in episodes such as “11001001,” “In Theory” and “Measure of a Man,” the android Data (Brent Spiner) explores his humanity and his rights. If he had been activated in Kirk’s time -- on Stardate 2712 or thereabouts -- he likely would have been met with suspicion and fear. 

Next Gen episodes such as “Redemption” Part II display the fact that some Starfleet officers carry hostility towards artificial life into that 24th century era, but “What Are Little Girls Made Of” trades in outright paranoid possibilities; android duplicates infiltrating human populations and assuming control of them. There is no discussion of the idea that these machines have consciousness, and therefore the right to exist.

Kirk also talks about the idea that machines can’t feel love, tenderness, or sentiment here. Again, when one looks at Data, that’s a difficult argument to make. Data possesses a moral barometer (as we learn in the “Descent” two-parter), and a finely-developed sense of friendship.  He is not a loveless, unsentimental monster bent on human conquest.

I think there’s an interesting comparison to be made between Trek generations and their views of technology. The original is conservative, viewing new developments as potentially dangerous, and demanding that humans remain (as they have been) in control of their technology.  

The Next Generation is much more progressive, assuming a position of equal rights for all, and noting that whether biological or mechanical, we’re “all machines.”

In terms of production, “What are Little Girls Made Of” is a real triumph. The split-screen scenes in which the two Captain Kirks share a dinner table are virtually flawless. 

The android-making process is a little silly and fanciful, but unforgettable.  What’s with all the spinning table?  But I absolutely appreciate the horror overtones of the process. Basically, a life -- like a golem -- is created from a hunk of proto-form plastic or clay.  It lives, but it doesn’t possess a soul.

Or does it?

One area where the production falls down on the job: the hunk of cave ceiling Kirk pulls down and uses to protect himself from Ruk. I’m sure it is unintentional, but by golly it really does look like a giant phallus.  

Was nobody paying attention?  How did this make it to air?

I have written before that the original Trek is incredibly kinky, yet I don't think that this prop was intentionally made to resemble a phallus.  

In terms of deliberate kinkiness, "What Are Little Girls Made Of" has plenty to crow about, elsewhere. Andrea is, plainly, a mechanical "geisha," created to love and service Korby. Chapel pins him down on this "relationship." When he asks if she thinks he could love a machine, she replies "did you?"  

That verb tense and word choice suggests sexual intercourse, rather than emotional attachment. The point is established. She's a pleasure-bot.

Finally, the supporting cast-members don't have much to do this week, but nonetheless, Nichelle Nichols again makes the most of her limited screen-time. 

When Chapel learns that the love of her life is still alive, and that she will soon see him again, Uhura leaps up from her station on the bridge and hugs her friend. It's such a spontaneous gesture of love and support, and a testament to Uhura's humanity. 

The Korby-Chapel relationship has been resurrected in Trek history, interestingly, on Strange New Worlds, and that relationship serves as a kind of prequel to this tale. I think that story works here, in part, because it starts to prepare us for Korby's darker impulses. By the time, continuity-wise,  we get to this story, if we've watched Strange New Worlds, the relationship feels deeper and more authentic.

Deep Focus Episode 4: Friday the 13th (1980)

 

50 Years Ago: In Search of (1976-1982)

"This series presents information based in part on theory and conjecture. The producer's purpose is to suggest some possible explanations, but not necessarily the only ones, to the mysteries we will examine."

- opening narration/disclaimer from In Search of (1976-1982).

In the mid-1970's, the perplexing mysteries of the world were laid bare, dramatically, in the documentary-style, syndicated TV series, In Search of.  

This series from producer Alan Landsburg ran for six seasons, and was hosted by Star Trek's (1966-1969) Leonard Nimoy. Nimoy -- often seen on-screen in some very 1970's fashions -- expertly guided viewers through stories examining the Bermuda Triangle, Bigfoot, life after death, reincarnation, The Loch Ness Monster, the existence of Martians and much, much more. The series went in search for historic Dracula and the Lost Colony, explored the cases of individuals claiming to be psychic detectives, and even investigated the fate of the missing pilot, Amelia Earhart.

I wanted to believe.

Structurally this fifty-year old TV series cobbles together dramatic re-enactments of monster sightings with on-camera interviews of experts in various fields, and also, in some cases, it features beautiful natural photography. There's a travelogue aspect to the series. It is a way to see Greece, or Egypt, or the Pacific Northwest, for example.

In terms of dramatic re-enactments, the Bigfoot episode opens with a frightening, and well-shot dramatization of an attack on settlers by a family of Sasquatch, in an isolated log cabin. I remember seeing this creepy, unsettling sequence when the series first aired, and the POV images from the re-enactment have stayed with me to this day. In Search of is also my first memory of seeing the 1967 Patterson-Gimlin Bigfoot film. That footage is dissected in this episode, with fascinating results.

Leonard Nimoy's participation on In Search of provides one of the great strengths of the series' format as well. The actor's presence is a great coup for the produces because his persona is so inter-tangled with his most-famous rational and logical alter-ego: Mr. Spock. Thus every wild or weird theory presented on In Search of sounds tantalizingly plausible, or at leas possible. Nimoy's gravelly, intelligent voice makes every episode of the series a rich, aural delight.

Also, in fairness, In Search of garners tremendous respectability today, in our modern age of "fake news" with its many attempts to appear judicious and even-handed in its explorations. In The Loch Ness Monster episode, or example, a paleontologist notes on camera that he he believes no monster exists in the lake. He just flat out says it. Nessie doesn't exist! 

Similarly, in the episode featuring the Ogopogo Monster, a scientist notes on-screen that he finds it difficult to believe that a prehistoric monster could exist in a lake so small, and so young, geologically-speaking. 

So the episodes here may explore topics that some people consider absolute nonsense, but the way In Search of goes about its explorations suggests that it is interested in science, not phantasmagoria.

It is clear that the series wishes to foster interest in its controversial topics, but also clear that it doesn't ignore fact or evidence, to do so. One episode, about The Bermuda Triangle, opens with Nimoy's statement that mainstream science has determined there is no phenomenon impacting ships and planes in the Triangle. 

Then, however, following that disclaimer, the episode examines historical disappearances, and some first-person "encounters" int the Triangle. The creepiest (and most unforgettable) portion of the episode, however, involves a radio DJ who hosted a show on the topic of the Bermuda Triangle. During the radio show, a strange individual called in to the station, leaving a weird, inhuman-sounding message about the truth of the Triangle, and how it serves as the "aura" of our world. The actual recording is played during the episode and is so weird and unnerving that it captures the imagination, and more than that, spawns further interest in the mysteries of the world. 

In Search of''s episode about Astrology charts similarly even-handed territory. It opens with a question: "What strange influence does the moon have on the behavior of man?" Then, however, during the course of the investigation, the series finds time to feature an astronomer who says, in no uncertain terms that he feels Astrology is but an "an ancient religion" with no basis in fact. "Millions of people fall for Astrology," he says, right to the camera, "but I hope you do not." 

Again, the series is to be commended for never buying into the mysteries it investigates.

The episode "Pyramid Secrets" is also fascinating for the way it tackles the construction of Egyptian pyramids. The writing structure of the episode explores three ideas about the pyramids. One is that they are but elaborate tombs ("a central part n the quest for immortality.") The second is that they are "Earth Base One," ground zero for the colonization of Earth by ancient astronauts, and three, that the pyramids are some kind of "radio transmitter" or "energy generator." 

The more outrageous theories are debunked, however, by a scientist who says, quite simply, that mankind possessed the knowledge it needed, in antiquity, to construct the pyramids. They are, he says, a testament to man's ingenuity, not a supernatural or alien construct. Once more, the series explores theories, and, at the same time, provides a scientific explanation to counter the wilder ones. 

I would never vouch for any of these mysteries, or their wilder explanations. Like Mulder, I want to believe, but temperamentally I am more like Scully. I tend to be skeptical. For me, the great thing about In Search of is the fact that it approaches its weird mysteries with an open mind, and makes time, in virtually every episode, for scientists to make their case about why the mysteries are not valid.  

Today, In Search of has been remade twice (hosted in the early 2000's by Mitch Pileggi, and in 2019, by Zachary Quinto), but it is the original series that remains a pop culture touchstone for those of us who grew up in the 1970's. There were six seasons, In Search of books, and even a movie documentary. The third Star Trek movie was jokingly referred to as "In Search of Spock" before the official title was settled on: The Search for Spock.

My childhood self both loved and was terrified by In Search of. I felt afraid of the mysteries, as dramatized in the creepy re-enactments, but I also felt safe throughout, because Mr. Spock himself, was my guide through these tantalizing "conjectures." 

As an adult, revisiting the series has given me a newfound respect for it. I'm glad that there are so many scientists front-and-center on the series, willing to stand up and debunk the wildest, most unsubstantiated theories. And at the same time, I like that the series still spurs my imagination about things that go bump in the night, and exist outside the things dreamed of in my philosophy.

50 Years Ago: Land of the Lost: "Cornered" (October 16, 1976)

This week on Land of the Lost (1974 – 1977), the episode is titled “Cornered” and it involves a fire-breathing dinosaur, nicknamed Torchy.  This Dimetrodon-like dino arrives in the Lost City and begins spraying flame into the Sleestak tunnels.   Torchy also battles Big Alice, at least briefly.  The mighty Allosaurus turns tail and leaves her territory in a hurry rather than confront the biological flame thrower.

The Sleestak blame the Marshalls (again!) for the presence of Torchy in their valley and Enik (Walker Edmiston) demands that the humans eliminate the threat by nightfall.  As leverage, Enik offers Uncle Jack (Ron Harper) the cure to a mysterious illness that has felled Will (Wesley Eure).  

The young man was struck by Torchy’s poisonous tail and now risks falling into an eternal sleep.  Enik promises that if Torchy is dispatched by sundown, he will give the Marshalls the cure.

With Holly (Kathy Coleman) and Chaka (Philip Paley) in tow, Uncle Jack attempts to lure Torchy out of the valley, using giant coal bricks as breadcrumbs.  The mission is successful, and Will heals on his own.  

In other words, Enik was tricking them…

Although “Cornered” is perhaps not as downright, upfront awful as “Survival Kit” or “The Orb,” it’s pretty close.  

Once more, the Sleestaks are out to destroy the Marshalls, despite a past history of cooperation.  And once again, Enik lets himself be used as the Sleestak mouthpiece…as though he is just a slightly-less evil member of that race.   

It’s actually grating to watch the scenes of the Sleestak Leader ordering Enik around because these scenes forget that Enik is an evolved Altrusian from another era, not a lapdog or lackey for the barbaric Sleestak.  Why Enik allows himself to be used this way is a mystery.

Once more, in “Cornered” we get a strange reference (from Uncle Jack) to Enik’s “famous logic,” an allusion not to the real Enik, but to the “Mr. Spock Enik” that this season has introduced.

Finally, just when you think “Cornered” can’t possibly get any worse, Will wakes up and sings a syrupy song while plucking the guitar.  At this juncture, the series loses any sense of respectability and dignity, and emerges as ridiculous high-camp, going from fire-breathing dragons one minute to terrible musical-numbers the next.

Then, the episode just stops…mid-moment, as though in terminal embarrassment.   The final cut and lead-in to the end credits is jarring and sudden…but you can’t blame the editor for pulling out.

I don’t object in theory to the idea of a fire-breathing dinosaur in the Land of the Lost, but as usual, the third season writers seem to forget that the land boasts rules.  Altrusia maintains a sense of balance, and it is also closed universe.  Given these facts, where did Torchy come from?  Why hasn’t he been seen before?  I’d be perfectly happy to accept that the earthquake of “Aftershock” stirred him from a long subterranean slumber.  But no such explanation is provided.

Deep Focus Episode 3: Prometheus (2012)

 

60 Years Ago: Star Trek: "Mudd's Women" (October 13, 1966)

Stardate: 1329.1

The U.S.S. Enterprise pursues a “hazard to navigation,” a J-class cargo ship with no navigation beam.  

the small ship attempts to evade capture, and darts into a nearby asteroid belt. 

Captain Kirk (William Shatner) extends the Enterprise’s shields to protect the endangered ship -- over Scotty’s (James Doohan) objections -- burning out the starship’s lithium crystals, but managing to save the crew of the vessel.

Captain Leo Walsh (Roger C Carmel) and three unnaturally attractive human women -- Eve (Karen Steele), Magda (Susan Denberg) and Ruth (Maggie Thrett) -- beam aboard.  

Almost immediately, the presence of the gorgeous women aboard ship causes “a mysterious magnetic effect” on the male crew-members of the Enterprise.

claims that the women are the equivalent of mail-order brides, bound for Ophiuchus 3 and new husbands, but Kirk is more interested in holding Walsh for trial.

The Enterprise limps to Rigel XII, a mining planet, to acquire the much-needed and rare lithium crystals, but Leo Walsh -- really a scoundrel and lawbreaker named Harcourt Fenton Mudd -- negotiates secretly by communicator with the leader of the humans there, Childress (Gene Dynarski).

Childress will only give Kirk the much-needed crystals if he drops all charges against Mudd, and allows the women to marry the miners. 

As Captain Kirk negotiates, he learns the truth. The three women have taken an illegal medicine, the Venus Drug that creates the impression of incredible beauty.

Would I have to turn in my Star Trek fan cred if noted that I am not the world’s biggest fan of Harry Mudd, or the episodes that involve this particular character?

It’s nothing against Roger C. Carmel or his performances. I just find the character, his costume, and his flamboyant behavior a bit too reminiscent of Lost in Space-Season 2. 

He's the visitor to the ship/planet of different dress and different attitude, representing some aspect of old Earth (the pirate, or con-man).

A space-going con-man, scoundrel, of course is a popular character in science fiction productions. With names like Han Solo and Captain Mal Reynolds, the trope is well-represented in the genre. But Mudd -- with his big-sleeved blouse, large hat and twirly mustache -- seems more like a colorful cliché than a real person, let alone a real person that would be encountered by the starship Enterprise.

Especially the starship Enterprise as it is depicted in these early Trek episodes. 

These stories feature the amazing “lower deck” component I've talked about before, exploring the personalities of non-bridge crew members. These stories are a bit more humorless, and sometimes even grim. So Mudd feels piped in from another universe all-together.

Also, without treading too deeply into sexual politics and the way that they have changed in fifty years, I find it impossible to disregard the underpinnings of this story which state essentially that Mudd is both a pimp and a drug pusher.  

He’s a “man used to buying and selling people.”

I don’t mind Star Trek featuring a pimp and a drug pusher. Or prostitutes. I believe all those elements can absolutely exist in a gritty, grim (and often kinky) series. 

But I do object to the depiction of a criminal of that stature as a harmless buffoon, and charming rogue.  Mudd is trafficking in women. He's pushing illegal drugs. Those aren't funny quirks. Those aren't victim-less crimes.

I suppose my disdain for Mudd puts me in the same camp with Captain Kirk, who seems largely non-amused by the character, at least here. 

I also feel that "Mudd's Women" is terminally-conflicted between two aspects. On the "gritty" side we have miners living in a perpetual dust-bowls, desperate women willing to sell themselves to men they've never met, and a drug that, while being a "cheat," promises a temporary increase sexual attraction.

Then, on the other side, we've got big, cartoony Harry Mudd.

Also, “Mudd’s Women” feels over-the-top in the scenes involving the male crew-members lusting after Eve, Magda and Ruth. The soundtrack doesn't help.

To explain: these are men who serve with beautiful women every single day; women such as Lt. Uhura, Yeoman Rand, Nurse Christine Chapel, and Dr. Helen Noel.  

There is no reason to portray the crew as sex-starved sailors who haven’t been to port, or seen a woman, in months. It’s just silly. 

I realize the women are using the Venus Drug to seem more attractive, but even then, it's all a little nutty, especially given the stripper-styled sound-track accompanying the women everywhere they walk.

Still, some elements of "Mudd's Women" do work quite well, and add considerably to the the Trek universe. I enjoy very much the dialogue and the relationship between Kirk and Eve. She is a smart, resourceful person, but an essentially lonely one. She shares that quality in common, I believe, with Kirk. In a way they are kindred spirits: both head-strong, both determined, and both alone. Also, they are both people of real integrity.

I also admire the episode's final act set on the windswept planet, Rigel XII. The miners there live in modest buildings...or hovels. The wind never stops blowing sand against...everything. Survival is difficult, and companionship the greatest treasure of all. 

This is the real final frontier on the series, an inhospitable world being conquered, a hunk of dirt at a time, by pioneers and dreamers.  

So often -- in all iterations of Star Trek -- the captains contend with Heads of State, Ambassadors and other “formal” personalities. In “Mudd’s Women” Kirk deals with Childress, a miner who wants what he wants and isn’t intimidated by the might of a starship. That's a really nice aspect of this program, I feel.

This episode also features some great Kirk/Star Trek wisdom (with a modifier from Mudd, so as to make it less sexist.):

 “There are only two kinds of women in this universe -- or men for that matter.  Either you believe in yourself. Or you don’t.”

Wonderful frontier philosophy… and words almost on a par with Kirks advice to Charlie in “Charlie X.”

Alas, while I believe wholeheartedly in this philosophy, I don’t believe that “being high on yourself” can actually change a person’s hair-do, or add make-up to their facial features  Eve thinks she takes the Venus Drug, but she's been tricked. It’s a placebo. 

Still, she goes from un-made-up to made-up, from un-coiffed, to completely coiffed.  Silly, but I guess her self-esteem transformation gets the point across.

In terms of Star Trek's on-going growing pains, this week we get a description of Spock as part "Vulcanian" (rather than Vulcan), "lithium" (rather than Dilithium) and Uhura in a gold uniform instead of her trademark red one.