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.

30 Years Ago: The X-Files: "Home" (October 11, 1996)

“They really went caveman on him…”

-          Mulder in “Home.”

I make no bones about the fact that “Home,” written by Glen Morgan and James Wong, and directed by Kim Manners, is one of my all-time favorite episodes of The X-Files (1993 – 2002).  

This fourth season installment is ultra-violent, witty, and scary-as-hell.  “Home” is so disturbing and disgusting in fact that Fox TV only aired it once, and then banned the episode from prime-time television permanently.  

Or as Chris Carter told me during a 2009 interview: “We did an episode like "Home," and the day after we did it I was given a very stern lecture about never, ever pushing those limits again.”

Today, I remained gratified that Chris Carter pushed those limits, not just for advancing the horror genre on television, but because “Home” is still timely and brilliant meditation on the violence that can occur when times change too fast for some citizens.  

In particular, the episode concerns a throwback family, the Peacocks, who judge all outsiders as interlopers (and who use no electricity, and who raise their own food…and stock).  When the Peacocks’ long-standing way of life is threatened by the march of American modernity the family responds with murderous force in an attempt to utterly stamp out that modernity.  The Peacocks feel threatened by change they don’t understand, and respond to that change not with adaptability or humility, but with a homicidal doubling down (with a baseball bat, no less…).

“Home” is a genius episode of The X-Files for many reasons, but not the least because it explores this dynamic of progress and pushback in America.   Much of the episode concerns a nostalgic African-American sheriff, Andy Taylor (Tucker Smallwood) who longs for the days of yesteryear, when it was safe to keep his house unlocked at night.  He fears that such a world is disappearing in “Home,” but is unaware of an important irony.  He, in fact, is emblematic of the very change that so terrifies the Peacocks.  Accordingly, he is the first target of their wrath when they feel jeopardized.

“Home” succeeds for other reasons beyond the social critique.  The episode offers a twisted meditation on motherhood (and the commitment required of mothers), and is also one in which Mulder and Scully are constantly jeopardized because they can’t conceive of an enemy such as the Peacocks.  Every assumption they make in the episode is proven wrong.  They simply don’t understand the throwback nature of the family, at least until Mulder references a “nature” TV show concerning animal instinct.

Regardless of how it is interpreted, “Home” is terrifying, and among the smartest, scariest, and most subversive hours ever to air on American network television.

A dead baby, apparently inflicted with several genetic deformities, is unearthed in a shallow grave in the sleepy town of Home, PA.  

While investigating the case, Scully (Gillian Anderson) and Mulder (David Duchovny) learn that the baby was buried while still alive, and attempt to interview the residents nearest the crime scene: the Peacocks.

But the Peacocks are territorial…and terrifying. 

The family consists of three mutant brothers (Chris Nelson Norris, Adrian Hughes, John Trottier) who are not only physically-deformed and mentally-stunted, but who don’t quite feel or register pain.  And their crazy old mother (Karin Konoval) is an amputee who also happens to be the progenitor of the boys’ offspring.

After Home’s sheriff, Taylor (Tucker Smallwood) is bludgeoned to death by the Peacocks, Mulder and Scully attempt to arrest the family on their own turf, a home filled with murderous booby traps.

In addition to all its overt horror material it expertly explores, “Home” presents a clever social commentary about the way that Americans respond to progress, or to change, and how they view the past versus the present.

In my introduction above, I described the Peacocks as “throwbacks.”  Indeed, the Peacock men physically resemble our cave-men ancestors with their pronounced brows, and savage demeanor.  Mulder even specifically describes their behavior as “going caveman.”  

Outside of such physiological characteristics, the Peacocks dwell in another iteration of the “past,” in the immediate context of the post-Civil War world.  

Their ramshackle farmhouse -- with no heat and no electricity -- reflects that time period in terms of technology or lack thereof.  But beyond their home, the Peacocks’ still boast the Civil War mind-set of the Confederacy.  Specifically, they call the Civil War “The War of Northern Aggression,” in the episode’s dialogue.  This comment is a symbol of the Peacock’s intransigence.  The family never moved passed the Civil War into modern American, and have aggressively resisted modernity in all its forms ever since.

Basically, the Peacock’s have carved out a life -- on the outskirts of Home, Pennsylvania -- where they can live their lives as their ancestors lived it generations earlier.  The Peacocks have not permitted “progress” or “modernity” to take root in their traditions or family values.  Instead, they have mythologized their “way of life” as the only way to do things.  And to preserve that heritage, they have even resorted to (catastrophic…) in-breeding.  No outside contamination from modernity is permitted.  Outsides like Mulder and Scully are guilty of, in the words of Mama Peacock, “trying to change the way things are.”  Notice the certainty of that phrasing, and how it is parsed in the present tense.  These values are now and FOREVER, according to the Peacocks.

But -- and here’s where it gets really interesting -- contrast the Peacocks with Sheriff Taylor. 

He is an African-American man and accomplished professional who just a generation earlier would never have been permitted to hold the position of sheriff because of the color of his skin, and because of entrenched and institutional racism.  He has thus benefited from social progress, and more than that, excelled because of it.  His safe, mansion-like “home” has come about because of progress and modernity, not in spite of it.

And yet Taylor and his wife long aloud for a time in American history when it was “safe” to leave your front door unlocked.  This romanticized attitude is a reflection of the oft-repeated Myth of the 1950s, which is often -- without much examination -- held-up as a perfect era in American history. 

But in point of fact, the Taylors are not imperiled in “Home” by the modernity of the 1990s, but rather by the violent response to that modernity by a mindset closer to the 1890s.  The pervasive Myth of the 1950s comes up to bite the Taylors, for the Peacocks arrive to murder them in a classic 1950s “Big American car” while listening to the 1957 “Wonderful! Wonderful!” on their car radio.

It is the old force of tradition and the past, as represented by the Peacocks, which rise up to threaten the Taylors, not the forces of the millennial age.  

Thus there’s a whole subtext and tension in “Home” about the romantic illusions of the past meeting the realities of the present. This theme is timely right now, because America is currently undergoing the same crisis on a much larger scale.  The cultural battle in this country is now between those who accept modernity, and those who deny it to their dying breath. 

For some, modernity -- with its acceptance of new technology, equal rights for women, minorities and homosexuals, immigration reform, a black President, and so forth-- is a threat to the “old ways,” and one that must be met with, in the words of a failed 2012 Senate candidate, “Second Amendment remedies.”But the Peacocks showcase the ultimate fallacy of such thinking. 

For when you close out new ideas, you become trapped in a bubble of madness, never able to change, never able to evolve or grow.  Instead, you become dependent on instinctive thinking -- on “pack thinking” -- instead of rational thinking.  By rejecting modernity, the Peacocks have become practically prehistoric in nature.  As Mulder explicitly notes in the coda, “time” catches up with the family, finally.

Given this dynamic, it is not surprising that the Peacocks’ last stand in “Home” is against the Federal Government -- represented by Scully and Mulder -- that they don’t recognize or accept as having authority over them.  As we can see by the pervasive “government is the enemy” rhetoric in our national discourse today, this is the pressure still building in the body politic. 

Beyond the entrenched social critique, “Home” works splendidly as a meditation on “what a mother goes through,” in the heart-felt words of the Peacock matriarch.  Specifically, Mrs. Peacock positions herself as a woman superior in character to Agent Scully because she has learned and practiced total sacrifice…to raise and love her sons.  

Mulder confirms in this episode that this is the first time he has “ever seen” Scully “as a mother,” and that line of dialogue will have repercussions going forward on The X-Files.  Many episodes of the latter seasons see Scully wishing to broach motherhood more than anything else and, in the end -- after achieving motherhood -- being forced to forsake it.  

By series end, she has learned, indeed, “what a mother goes through” to see to a child’s health.  Of course, Scully and Mrs. Peacock see the world quite differently. They boast wildly divergent views of modernity and motherhood.  But the act of raising a child, in the end, changes both of them dramatically.  In some sense, “Home” is the beginning of this plot strand on The X-Files.

Creating a scary work of art isn’t necessarily a matter of algebraic equations, but “Home” is so terrifying, even after multiple viewings, I reckon, because of the fact that it works against our confidence in Mulder and Scully.  

In a typical X-Files episode, the audience follows step-by-step with the beloved lead characters, and their assumptions, research, and speculations almost universally turn out to be on the right track.  

Not so in “Home.”  

Here, they both guess wrong again and again.   For one thing, they first believe that the Peacock baby died from genetic deformities.  It didn’t…it died from being buried alive.   Then they believe that the Peacocks have captured an outside woman, a traveler perhaps, and are using her for breeding stock.  Again, that’s not true: there is no captive in the Peacock house.  And then they try to rescue Mrs. Peacock, before realizing that she is exactly where she wants to be; she is “home.”  

Again and again, the episode undercuts audience confidence in Mulder and Scully and their decisions so that when the final battle in the booby-trapped house occurs, viewers are thoroughly unsettled, and uncertain about how things are going to turn out. There is a moment of palpable terror here when Mulder goes down battling a Peacock brother, and Scully nearly activates an almost-invisible trip-wire.  This one is a nail biter all the way…

Finally, I love how visually gorgeous “Home” is.  It is a distinctive-looking episode of The X-Files, in part because of the exteriors shot at the Peacock estate.  Some low-angle compositions outside the farmhouse reminded me of Daniel Pearl’s cinematography in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974).  And so there’s a feeling in “Home” -- like the vibe in that the Hooper film -- of reality giving way to unending nightmare.

50 Years Ago on WPIX: Space:1999 "The AB Chrysalis" (October 10, 1976)

1296 Days after Leaving Earth Orbit

For two weeks, Earth’s errant moon has been approaching a series of cosmic explosions. The detonation recurs every twelve hours, and each time, Alpha is damaged more heavily. The next detonation will destroy the base completely.

The source of the explosions -- a planetary system ahead -- is discovered by Maya (Catherine Schell), and Commander Koenig (Martin Landau) launches a team to investigate.

The first world approached in that system is a small moon, where a series of mechanical stations exist. These stations are the energy-gathering devices for the recurring, man-made explosions. 

Koenig and Alan Carter (Nick Tate) speak with Voice Probe 248, an automaton who informs the Alphans that his makers -- who have not yet been “born” -- live in an inhospitable atmosphere of poisonous chlorine gas.  The explosions occur to protect the race during its chrysalis stage.

Koenig begs for an audience, and is told that “The Guardian,” the last of the race's current iteration, is currently outside the chrysalis stage, and still conscious on the planet.

Koenig and his team travel there, only to learn that the Guardian is senile, and unable to respond to their request to stop the next explosion. Carter accidentally breaks the atmospheric seal/glass on the Guardian’s chamber, threatening the alien’s life, and weakening their case for mercy.

Two of the life-forms -- A (Ina Skriver) and B (Sarah Douglas) -- emerge from chrysalis form, and Koenig must convince them to stop the next detonation, lest Alpha be reduced to rubble.

“The AB Chrysalis” is a weird and a wonderful episode of Space: 1999 (1975-1977), and one that demonstrates the possibilities of the Year Two format. The episode is colorful, suspenseful, and highly-imaginative.

Not only does Alpha encounter a race of immortal, chlorine “perfection seekers,” but also the architecture of their alien culture.  In this case, that includes their defensive system: a ring of high-tech mechanical stations that build up energy, and radiate explosions into space; a kind of galactic “keep away” measure.  

More impressively, the episode reveals the alien “Voice Probes,” a series of spherical machines that travel from interior system to interior system, “jumping” on to transparent rods or poles, to perform different functions.  

It is true that these probes are bouncing balls, filmed in reverse, with footage shown in slow-motion, but the concept is so creative and different from anything else in the sci-fi TV Valhalla that one cannot help but be impressed. When coupled with weird sound-effects, the depiction of the alien culture is remarkable.

In some commendable manner, the episode also closely recalls the more desperate Alphans of the first season of Space: 1999.  

Faced with imminent annihilation, Commander Koenig recognizes “desperation” as his motive, and tries everything -- including a futile show of force (with an Eagle laser) -- to save his people.  

Later, when he realizes he has no cards left to play, Koenig voices his frustration with the aliens, but in an act of defiance and pure humanity, comes to see that “hope is better than despair,” and loyalty (to his people; and they to him) is "better than logic."  It’s a great statement of philosophy, but more than that, a fine example of Koenig’s learning during the episode.  He acts rashly and violently, out of fear, until he realizes, perhaps, that if he and his people are to die, they must do so with their key human qualities -- hope and loyalty -- intact.

When Space: 1999 aired, it was often accused of being the pessimistic yang to Star Trek’s optimistic yin, and it is certainly clear why that was the case. 

But episodes such as “The AB Chrysalis” feature their own unique brand of optimism. That optimism states, simply, that man can find his best -- and be his best -- even in the face of seemingly hopeless odds.  

The Alphans possess no rule-book of principles, no fleet infrastructure, no real resources to fall back. Instead, they must rely on themselves, and each other. Nowhere in Year Two, one might argue, is that bond more apparent than in this particular installment.

There’s a wonderful moment, here, for example, near the end of the episode, when Koenig must tell Helena he has failed to stop the next detonation. And worse than failing, his Eagle does not even have enough fuel to carry him home to her; so they can die together.  The characters must say their goodbyes, essentially, over Facetime, to use modern lingo.  The characters say very little, but their expressions convey everything. It's a very human moment in a show that was accused of not having enough humanity.

“The AB Chrysalis” succeeds, too, by creating, throughout its hour, all these mini-action sequences or climaxes. 

Maya must transform into a chlorine breather to save Alan from dying of the poison. Alan must pilot the Eagle straight up -- through the equivalent of a rock shaft -- with very little maneuvering room. And Koenig interacts with devices and people that are alien beyond immediate recognition or understanding. 

The story hops from dramatic moment to dramatic moment with aplomb, and shows how an action format, handled well, could have been applied successfully to the series overall.

Not all stories in Year Two manage such a dynamic, successful mix, but “The AB Chrysalis” is smart, imaginative and emotionally engaging, as well as being splendidly-realized, action-packed, and highly creative.  

For my money, it’s one of the very best installments of the series’ second sortie.

50 Years Ago: Land of the Lost: "Medusa" (October 9, 1976)

The fifth episode of the third (and final) season of the NBC Saturday morning series highlights the mythological Medusa -- snake-haired Gorgon (sister in myth to Euryale and Stheno) -- as the villain of the week.

And indeed, if you are familiar with this bicentennial-era series, it may sound like a real stretch that the Gorgon Medusa would appear in the "closed" pocket-universe of the Land of the Lost. But 1976 was a year of significant format alterations for this series, as we've seen in the preceding weeks.

Specifically, star Spencer Milligan -- playing Dad, Rick Marshall -- left the program. On screen, Ron Harper (Planet of the Apes) took the lead as Uncle Jack, and behind the scenes, Sam Roeca, a veteran of CBS's animated Valley of the Dinosaurs, came aboard as writer and story editor. Also, writer/producer Jon Kubichan joined up.

"The first thing that Sam and I did was watch all the episodes," Kubichan reported when I interviewed him for Filmfax. "I wanted the series to be more fun, and to do something in every episode that was instructive in terms of science."

Roeca was on the same page in these desires and shared a mutual enthusiasm for mythology with Kubichan. 

Together, the new team sought to present in each third season installment "something from the past, from some literature or children's narrative."

This shift in narrative/imaginative focus resulted in a controversial third season that saw the Marshalls grapple with mythological creatures and beings such as The Flying Dutchman, a unicorn, a fire-breathing dragon, the Yeti...and Medusa.

"Medusa wound her way into the Land of the Lost because that actress is my wife," Kubichan joked with me.

"A writer that I knew came in, Greg Strangis, and came up with his story. He said, 'How'd you like to do a Medusa story?' and I thought it was a good idea. He went home, worked out a story, and I made some changes. He re-wrote a little, and that was that."

One reason that humanoid mythological creations like Medusa appeared on the show so frequently in the third season involved matters of schedule and budget. "It was very difficult to do anything with the dinosaurs," Kubichan informed me. "It took a long time to shoot that stuff, so you can't have it done in a couple of days. It takes weeks..."

In "Medusa," Holly (Kathy Coleman), Will (Wesley Eure) and Cha-Ka (Philip Paley) are busy preparing a sort of emergency canoe on the river that the Marshalls explored in first season's "Downstream." Holly boards the craft, and when a dam down-river breaks, she end ups hurtling away from the others. She is rescued by a mysterious woman named "Meddie" (Marion Thompson), and escorted to Meddie's "Garden of Eternity."

There, in the Garden, Holly sees several very life-like statues, including a statue of one Jefferson Davis Collies, the Civil War soldier that Holly encountered with her Dad and Will in the aforementioned "Downstream."

Now, this is a really splendid and entirely unexpected bit of continuity in the series; a direct reference to a program two years previous. The statue of Collies is even seen with his beloved cannon, Sarah.

After Holly learns that "Meddie" has also turned the land's resident triceratops, Spike, to stone, she begins to suspect that she's in some real trouble. Meddie attempts to entice Holly to stay in the Garden by offering her a new, beautiful dress..

Elsewhere, Uncle Jack, Will and Cha-Ka, attempt to rescue Holly from Meddie -- Medusa -- but most grapple with the Gorgon's sentient mirror (!) and the ambulatory, crushing vines that crawl all over the Garden of Eternity. In the end, Jack defeats Medusa by forcing the monster to gaze upon her own horrifying reflection...

Today, Land of the Lost's dedicated sense of creative imagination and fantasy far outstrips the production's prehistoric special effects, which have not aged gracefully. The series is still incredibly enjoyable (the effects are no worse than Dr. Who's; or Blake's 7, for instance...), but "Medusa" is nonetheless hampered by some poor visualizations. 

For instance, when "Meddie" turns into the Gorgon, it's clear that the snakes in her hair are just rubbery, inanimate, life-less things. And her gray, monstrous face make-up doesn't extend fully down her neck. In other words, you can see clearly where the make-up stops and real flesh color begin.

But again, Land of the Lost remains a really terrific Saturday morning's kid show because it is so endlessly imaginative, and because many episodes tend to concern great concepts, whether from science fiction (like time-loops, for instance) or from mythology. Greg Strangis's fantasy story is actually grounded in reality too, and has two very notable themes.

In a very real way -- and this is probably why this episode was so frightening to children at the time -- the episode concerns our childhood fear of strangers. 

Here, Holly is alone and taken in by an apparently kind adult, but one with secret motives. She tries and tries to get away, but the adult is both demanding and apparently friendly simultaneously, and, well, it's hard for kids to go against the wishes of an adult. Here, the stranger is indeed a monster, and Holly must plot her escape carefully. So the story here, in veiled terms, is -- watch out for strangers.

The other sub-text in "Medusa" surely concerns vanity. "Meddie" is ultimately undone by her narcissistic obsession with her physical beauty. According to the teleplay, it is actually "ugly" to be too concerned with one's self. As Holly notes at the end, the problem with vanity is that you might -- like Medusa -- get "trapped" by it.

As a six-year old kid, Land of the Lost's "Medusa" terrified me to my core, but it wasn't just the Gorgon's appearance and frightening ability to turn people to stone that was so powerful; it was the idea that she was a dishonest, untrustworthy adult who was planning to do monstrous things to an innocent child. 

Yikes...now that's disturbing in a real life way; a way that, well, dinosaurs or Sleestak are not.

Today, it's probably hard to conceive that an innocuous Land of the Lost from the disco decade was ever something that was legitimately "scary." But even today, you can detect how the series always attempted to ambitiously present a lot on a very small budget. 

For instance, "Medusa" features one or two very impressive high angle shots of Medusa's lair. These difficult-to-stage angles get across the atmosphere of danger and dread in a powerful way. A kid's show in a hurry likely wouldn't have found the time to pick out the right angle in moments like these, but Land of the Lost remains powerful (especially to the young-at-heart...) because its stories were conveyed with care both on the page and on the stage.

"Medusa" is a strong entry for the third season, which has been some rough sailing thus far.  It's imaginative and scary, even if certain questions about it persist.  Like, for instance how did Medusa get into the Land of the Lost, and how has she so long eluded the notice of the Marshalls (or the Sleestak, for that matter?)

60 Years Ago: Star Trek: "The Enemy Within" (October 6, 1966)

Stardate: 1672.1

The U.S.S. Enterprise crew conducts a “specimen gathering mission” on the surface of planet Alfa 177. The inhospitable planet turns deadly at night, when the temperature drops to “120 below zero.”

A crewman, Fisher, beams up to the Enterprise after taking a fall. Unfortunately, the technician’s uniform is contaminated with a strange metallic ore, and the ore damages the ship’s transporter.

When Captain Kirk (William Shatner) beams up to the ship, the damaged device splits him into two individuals. One is savage and avaricious. The other is weak and diffident.  The violent, “dark” Captain Kirk assaults Yeoman Janice Rand (Grace Lee Whitney) and demands Saurian brandy from Bones (De Forest Kelley), while the other must cope with his dwindling ability to command a starship.

Meanwhile, Mr. Sulu (George Takei) and his landing party on Alfa 177 must remain the night on the frozen world, pending the repair of the transporter.

While Kirk is disgusted by the sight and thought of a vicious, barbaric double, Mr. Spock sees an opportunity for study, to understand the qualities that make a person a great commander…

Penned by the great Richard Matheson (1926-2013), “The Enemy Within” is a classic episode of Star Trek (1966-1969). Matheson’s teleplay examines -- through the use of a transporter malfunction -- the dual nature of humanity.  

Inspired in art by the story of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Matheson has penned a story about Captain Kirk which reminds the audience that strength, leadership, decisiveness, even, may stem from a negative or dark part of the psyche.  This is a powerful revelation, and Kirk’s final, sad musing that he has “seen a part of” himself “that no man should ever see” is powerful, even haunting.

“The Enemy Within” has for a long time been esteemed as a great episode of Star Trek, but I wonder, after my recent viewing, if it hasn’t aged poorly to some degree. 

For example, Spock’s joke to Yeoman Rand at the end of the episode (about the evil, assaulting Kirk having some interesting qualities) is in bad taste and insensitive, for example. What a terrible thing to say to someone who has suffered an assault from someone she cares for. Knowing what Whitney suffered on the set of Star Trek makes the remark even worse.

Furthermore, the last act is drawn out, with the two Kirks being forced to embrace each other at great length, and with great emotionality.

Much worse, in my estimation, “The Enemy Within” is an absolute mess from a visual standpoint. The editing is sloppy in some crucial instances.  

For example, early in the episode, Kirk’s uniform is missing an insignia.  In the very next scene, it has returned to its proper placement. 

And in the episodes final confrontation, the bridge’s view-screen is a big white board…with no image projected upon it in post-production. This really sticks out. It’s not like we’ve ever seen the screen in “off” mode before.

Then, of course, there are all the compositions that have been printed in reverse, meaning that haircuts are parted on the wrong side and insignias appear placed the wrong side.

In toto, this is a sloppy episode of Star Trek from a visual standpoint, and the mistakes are jarring, repetitive, and frequent. The alien dog with the antennae and electronic bark is also one of the sillier aliens to make an appearance on the program.

If I were William Shatner, I would certainly have cause for complaint about the production values, editing, and shooting of this story. 

After all, he delivers not one but two phenomenal performances in this episode, and his efforts are under-cut frequently by the pervasive mistakes. When he takes center stage, however, Shatner is indeed a commanding presence.  His “dark” Kirk is a ferocious, feral presence.

Even the threat of the week -- crew members trapped on a frozen planet -- doesn’t hold up well today because in 2016 we all know that the Enterprise houses shuttlecrafts.  They should be used to rescue Sulu and his cohorts, but of course, in terms of production, a shuttle didn’t yet exist, either practically or in the imagination of the writers and producers.  

But looking back, it’s a glaring omission, and adds to the sense that the episode is sloppy, or ill-considered.

The qualities that make “The Enemy Within” stand out involve the clever observations about human nature, particularly from Spock. 

Although I believe it is a mistake that he would note his “alien” rather than Vulcan half, specifically, his point is nonetheless well-taken.  He has two sides fighting a war inside of him, every single day. 

But Spock’s observation that what makes a man a leader is “his negative side,” properly controlled, is unforgettable. That’s a pretty daring observation for a young TV show, and one in the mainstream.  

It says, essentially, we derive or power and strength from dark or negative impulses. We aren’t altruistic beings. We don’t seek power for noble reasons.  But, if even tempered, we can still do good things with that power.

In terms of overall structure -- as I wrote about in regards to “Where No Man Has Gone Before” two weeks ago -- it is good to have McCoy arguing the other side of the debate.  He doesn’t see a dark side or a negative side here. “It’s not really ugly, it’s human,” he says, and that’s a good point too.

“The Enemy Within” is an important episode to Star Trek not merely for its dissection of Kirk’s leadership, but because it gives us a number of important series firsts. This is the first episode in which Spock uses the famous Vulcan nerve pinch.  It is also the first time we hear McCoy say his immortal line, “He’s dead Jim.”  We saw some of Engineering in “The Naked Time,” but this is the first episode that features an extended sequence set there, if memory serves.

I’ve always loved and admired “The Enemy Within,” but this time, while I watched, I wondered if time had finally passed it by. There is a legitimately great episode of Voyager (1995-2001), for example, called “Tuvix,” wherein Captain Janeway (Kate Mulgrew) must examine the moral case for separating two life forms who have been blended by transporter (Tuvok and Nuvix).  

That episode works on a stronger, more advanced philosophical level, and has fewer unforced visual errors. 

Of course, at the same time, I’ll be the first to admit that “Tuvix” couldn’t exist had “The Enemy Within” not arrived first.

For me, the reason to watch this episode remains William Shatner’s gonzo, totally-committed performance. Also, I love the Rand/Kirk scenes.  That is a fascinating relationship that I wished had been given the opportunity to develop more fully.