60 Years Ago: Star Trek: "The Corbomite Maneuver" (November 10, 1966)

Stardate 1512.2

On the third day of a star mapping mission in previously uncharted space, The U.S.S. Enterprise is blocked by a cube: a border marker, apparently, left behind by some unknown alien race.  

Captain Kirk (William Shatner) is forced to destroy the cube when it emits dangerous levels of radiation and threatens the lives of his crew and the safety of the ship.

Before long, however, the powerful force behind that cube arrives to confront the Enterprise. Commanded by the fearsome Balok (Ted Cassidy) is a colossal vessel -- the Fesarius – hailing from a society called The First Federation. 

Balok threatens to destroy the Enterprise for trespassing in restricted space. No escape is possible. No plea is acceptable, he says.

On the bridge of the Enterprise, Balok’s uncompromising behavior rattles the nerves of a young navigator, Bailey (Anthony Call), and stymies Kirk’s attempts at diplomacy. There seems to be no way to escape destruction, at least until Mr. Spock (Leonard Nimoy) off-handedly mentions chess.

Inspired, Kirk realizes he is playing the wrong game with this opponent. He adopts a different game -- poker -- and then, with the straightest of poker faces, attempts to bluff Balok.

This ploy succeeds, and opens up a channel of communication between the Enterprise an Balok.

Some months back, I was asked by a reader here on the blog to pick just one episode that I felt could represent the totality of the Star Trek (1966-1969) experience.

I selected “The Corbomite Maneuver.”  

Without a doubt, this is one of the greatest episodes of the series -- one of the ten best -- and an installment that delivers drama, suspense, and most importantly, a distinctive and uplifting philosophical world view.

First of all, “The Corbomite Maneuver” presents the idea that the greatest enemy in space is not alien races, but fear itself.  In other words, human psychology.  The problem is how we respond to that which we don't fully comprehend or know.

“The greatest danger facing us is ourselves,” Kirk announces to the crew in this episode. He then discusses “an irrational fear of the unknown,” and notes that there is actually no such thing as the unknown, rather merely “things temporarily hidden, temporarily not understood.”

This is a remarkable monologue, and a perfect distillation of Star Trek philosophy. 

The men and women of the 23^rd century and aboard the Enterprise are equipped to handle new frontiers, new civilizations. And what is unknown or seems different, in due time, becomes understood, explainable. They are explorers who -- if they can conquer their own demons -- are ready to meet the universe.

This is a great affirmation of mankind, and our potential. Star Trek shows us who we can aspire to be, if we put anger and fear behind us.

Kirk’s assertion of this philosophy is developed in the episode on an individual basis too; by Bailey, the young navigator who finds it difficult to control his fear, his emotions when Balok threatens the Enterprise. 

Bailey is young, and inexperienced, and unlike the senior crew has not yet learned how to manage his fear. He is well-trained, responsible, and capable...but personally, he grapples with the unknown.

At the end of the episode, Kirk notes that he “owes” Bailey a look at “the face of the unknown” and it’s a remarkable moment. Kirk has taken him under his wing, and shows Bailey that as captain he does not just mouth a philosophy of exploration, peace and understanding…he practices it. He lives it.

In my opinion, this quality is what makes Kirk (and certainly Kirk of the first season) an extraordinary captain and role model.

The very idea of fear is reinforced in the episode through the character of Balok as well.  

He has constructed a menacing puppet (replete with menacing voice…) as his “alter ego.” This is the face he shows the world...the universe.

Balok is so fearful of alien contact that might go wrong, that the very face he puts on is one of sheer terror.  At the end of the episode, Balok declares it "was a pleasure” testing the Enterprise and her captain (a common Roddenberry theme, actually), but it is clear that the First Federation (Balok's governing entity) operates from a position of fear, hiding behind technology and masks to suss out the characteristics of other races. Given their diminutive personal stature, this is perhaps an understandable philosophy too.  They present as terrifying, lest they be seen as weak.

The first episode of Star Trek filmed following the second pilot, “The Corbomite Maneuver” also establishes a long-lived Kirk/Spock character dynamic. Specifically, Spock makes an observation or analysis about a current situation or dilemma, and that remark inspires Kirk to concoct a brilliant, but spontaneous strategy for success. 

Here, Spock is reminded of chess, noting that Kirk and Balok keep making effective counter-moves.  That notation gives Kirk the inspiration of a different game, poker…and bluffing.  

As late as The Wrath of Khan (1982), and Spock’s observation of Khan’s “pattern” indicating “two dimensional thinking,” we see this character dynamic re-asserted.  Spock observe and assesses; Kirk synthesizes that work into purposeful, life-saving action. One man is all about knowledge and information. The other man is all about improvising survival from that analysis.

There are so many grounds upon which one can commend “The Corbomite Maneuver.” It is excellent entertainment, first off, with a surprising ending.

More trenchantly -- and like other early episodes of the series (namely “The Man Trap,” “Charlie X” and “The Naked Time,”)  -- this episode creates the impression of real people functioning on a real vessel. 

I termed this the “the lower decks” paradigm in my reviews of those episodes. Here, for instance, we see Yeoman Rand bringing Kirk dinner (while he gripes about a diet), and meet a young surrogate for the audience: Bailey.  

Bailey, like the audience, doesn’t quite know the ropes. This episode is his journey. In a way, he is really the central character of this work of art. No, he’s not a captain, a CMO or exec.  He’s just a kid promoted to a job of great responsibility. But importantly, he is a individual who has no practical way of grappling with his fear. When Kirk mentors him, he is really mentoring us too.

I also find this episode exceptionally tense, and, indeed, a template, perhaps, for many of the most challenging an remarkable episodes of Star Trek.  

Much time is spent on the bridge, as strategy is discussed and executed, and there are no planets to visit. 

Think about how much Star Trek: The Motion Picture (1979) resembles this story type. The crew --from their workaday control room -- grapples with alien contact.  In the midst of an emergency, the crew must face their fear of the unknown, and puzzle out the rationale behind an intelligence beyond human experience.

And of course, the answer in both cases is not violence. It is not hostility. It is not to kill that which is different.  

Instead, an episode such as “The Corbomite Maneuver” suggests that we can control all those impulses and meet the unknown with the best angels of our nature.  Bailey sees the face of the unknown, and fear disappears.

Put aside your fear, says Star Trek, and that which is dark an mysterious, becomes illuminated and known.

60 Years Ago: Star Trek: "Dagger of the Mind" (November 3, 1966)

Stardate: 2715.1

On a routine mission beaming down supplies to the penal colony on Tantalus V, the Enterprise becomes embroiled in an unexpected crisis.

A mad-man, Simon Van Gelder (Morgan Woodward) -- formerly a doctor at the facility -- has smuggled himself aboard the starship during the cargo transfer, thus escaping the penal colony’s security force field.

Van Gelder is captured quickly, but the incident requires Captain Kirk (William Shatner) to conduct an investigation of the colony. He is sheepish about doing so, because he deeply respects the director of the Tantalus Colony: Dr. Tristan Adams (James Gregory), and his life’s work.

In particular, Adams has “revolutionized and humanized” the treatment of prisoners in the Federation, transforming prisons into “clean, decent hospitals for sick minds.”

While Mr. Spock attempts the Vulcan mind-meld on Van Gelder, to learn what happened to him on Tantalus.

Meanwhile, Kirk and ship’s psychiatrist, Dr. Helen Noel (Marianna Hill), beam down to the facility for an extended tour.

There, they learn from Adams that he has been experimenting with a rehabilitation beam -- “a neural neutralizer” that is supposed to help “incorrigibles.”

In fact, as Captain Kirk learns the hard way, the neural neutralizer is a method of control, and even torture.

The creative template for “Dagger of the Mind,” is rather obviously, and disappointingly, an installment from two weeks back: “What are Little Girls Made Of.”  

Consider: in both narratives, Kirk beams down to an isolated planetary location with a beautiful female medical practitioner at his side, and is experimented upon there by a deeply-respected individual who is using new technology to bend others to his will.  Kirk's idealism is shattered as he realizes that his idol is no paragon at all.

In “What are Little Girls Made Of,” Kirk and Nurse Christine Chapel visit the treacherous caves of Exo III, where the “Pasteur of Archaeological Medicine,” Dr. Roger Korby, is working on a plan to have androids infiltrate the highest levels of the Federation. Korby experiments on Kirk, making an android duplicate.  Fortunately, Kirk is able -- from the planet surface -- to send a message to Spock, so that the half-Vulcan first officer can intervene and save the day.

In “Dagger of the Mind,” Kirk and Dr. Helen Noel beam down to a penal colony protected by a force field, where a great humanitarian, Dr. Tristan Adams is controlling minds using the neural neutralizer. Kirk is forced to submit to the device. Meanwhile, on board the Enterprise, Spock uses the Vulcan mind-meld to determine what is happening on the surface, intervenes, and saves the day.

Sound familiar?

In both cases, deeply respected professional men go off the rails, and become monsters. Yet “What Are Little Girls Made Of” is a much superior episode because Korby possesses a reason to go off the rails. His consciousness has been transferred to an android body and his “humanity” didn’t survive the transfer.  He is no longer himself, and the message that viewers glean is that man is not meant for immortality, or mechanical bodies  Something vital -- something compassionate and beautiful -- is sacrificed.

There is a reason, or motivation, in other words for Korby's anti-social behavior. We pity him, because we understand he is not really evil, and not really,  even, at fault.

And Dr. Adams in "Dagger of the Mind?" 

There is no reason or motivation even suggested in the episode that such a deeply-respected humanist would change his nature, jeopardize and his reputation and life’s work, to act as the monster we encounter.  

His plan doesn’t even make sense, when one considers it. 

Dr Adams is going to experiment on Kirk and torture Kirk, a starship captain? 

Well, Dr. Noel will be able to testify what happened to him, even if Kirk can’t.  Or is Adams planning on keeping her prisoner...an act which would the Enterprise would surely respond to. 

If not, let’s assume Adams takes the extra step and tortures and plays with Noel’s memory too.  If this is his plan, he’s still taking an enormous risk that the Enterprise crew will discover the truth.  After all, even while in orbit of Tantalus for just a few hours, the crew has determined the identity and history of Van Gelder.  

Why on Earth would Adams not believe that the crew, especially with a Vulcan involved, could not discover what happened to its beloved captain?

The truth would come out, sooner rather than later.

More so, it simply isn’t clear what Adams has to gain by torturing people, particularly a starship captain. There is no plan in place here to take the neutralizer out into the universe and turn people into zombies, so it is difficult to understand, exactly what Adams’ agenda really is, besides being purely and simply evil.

Even assuming Adams is purely and simply evil -- that he has cracked under the pressure of his difficult vocation -- why would he torture and abuse his biggest fan? 

Captain Kirk treats him with tremendous deference and respect. He's looking for a reason, any reason, to exonerate a man he admires. And so what does Adams do?  He makes a friend and a supporter into an enemy.  

Instead of torturing Kirk under the neural neutralizer, Adams could have stuck with his story that the device is a failure, and the room is closed down.  He would simply not use it again, until Kirk left. Then, with the Enterprise long gone and the investigation closed, he could resume torturing the inmates at his leisure.

The character’s lack of real motivation makes Adams a poor guest start, and a poor villain.  Usually on Star Trek, when a character commits what is considered an evil act, his or her motives are examined. The agenda is understood, even if we don’t agree with it.  “Dagger of the Mind” fails that benchmark rather egregiously. Even assuming Adams is purely and simply nuts, his behavior makes no sense. It’s silly and self-destructive.

So not only is "Dagger of the Mind" structurally a rehash of “What are Little Girls Made Of,” it is an inferior one, in terms of the details.  

In a three week period, essentially, Star Trek has twice proposed that great, respected leaders in their field actually possess feet of clay, and can be transformed into monsters by their quest to push the limits of science. 

Again -- and I make no moral judgment or political preference about this -- the message is undoubtedly conservative in nature.  It is better not to broach a new frontier -- like the creation of androids or an experimental beam -- because doing so will make slaves or inferiors of the human race. 

Progress, in both cases, is arrested so that the status quo remains in effect.  I find it odd not that Star Trek would (wisely) question the pace of new technological development or the impact it might have on humanity, but that it would repeat this same idea over three episodes in three weeks.  "Miri" had the same theme of over-reaching scientists causing havoc.

If scientists are such dangerous, irresponsible folk, how did the Federation ever get to this point of space exploration? Isn't some advancement good?  Doesn't it sometimes improve the human condition?

I guess I'm saying it would be nice to see a little variation in the messaging. Let's have some conservative wisdom, but let's also talk about pushing boundaries too, occasionally.  Fortunately, next week's episode ("The Corbomite Maneuver") adopts that approach so Star Trek's message doesn't feel so consistently in favor of the status quo.

Sadly, “Dagger of the Mind’ is not made any more effective through its visualization. 

If you were Dr. Adams, hoping to keep your real work a secret, would you house your prisoners in a room with a giant vent shaft leading right to the power generator controls that feed into your security field?  

Again, you can’t assume there’s nowhere else to house Kirk and Noel, because this is a penal colony, presumably with housing units (cells?) for all the inmates.

But let's assume, for argument’s sake, that there is no other room to use but the one with the biggest vent shaft opening in cult-TV history.  

Would you not attempt to seal it off so your prisoners can’t use it?

I mean, it’s not like a starship captain and his psychiatrist aren’t going to notice a gigantic vent shaft right there, at eye level, in their quarters.

Although “Dagger of the Mind” makes no sense from a story or character perspective, and opts for easy ways out, in terms of narrative solutions (see: the giant vent shaft), it nonetheless does boast some strengths that should be note.

I like the idea, for instance of the “Devil’s Island” setting; a realm reachable only by elevator, and once a shield is de-activated.  In concept (but not design; again see: vent shaft) Tantalus should be an inescapable prison.  It is always fascinating to have characters cut off from the power and technology of the Enterprise, forced to manage their own escape.

Also, I admire the performances of Morgan Woodward and Marianna Hill. Both Van Gelder and Helen Noel are welcome additions to the Star Trek universe. Van Gelder must overcome his own mental demons to help the Enterprise crew, and Noel is truly ‘tantalizing,’ a gorgeous and smart love interest for Kirk.

Most notably, “Dagger of the Mind” introduces the Vulcan mind-meld to Star Trek, and for that development the episode deserves, certainly, to be remembered and lauded. Star Trek’s first season is such a great time of invention, especially for Vulcan culture, given that we see the nerve pinch in “The Enemy Within” and the mind-meld here.

It’s just a shame that Spock’s ability to mind-fuse with other beings is featured in a rehash story notably lacking in any other brand of invention.  

Also, it's intriguing to note how the concept of the Vulcan mind-meld being a very private, intimate matter falls by the wayside in franchise history. By the time of Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country (1991), Spock performs, without hesitation, a mind-meld on Valeris (Kim Cattrall) in front of the entire bridge crew!

60 Years Ago: Batman:"Hot off the Griddle/The Cat and the Fiddle"

The second season two-part Batman story "Hot off the Griddle"/"The Cat and the Fiddle" -- which aired in September of 1966 -- reveals the pop-art comic-book series in all its counter-culture, colorful 1960s glory. 

The story involves Catwoman, a criminal played by the sexiest woman of the 1960s, Julie Newmar, stealing a variety of "cat"-themed objects before Batman (Adam West) and Robin (Burt Ward) set a trap for her at Gotham's Museum of Natural History.

Catwoman double crosses the Caped Crusaders and then, using Cat Darts, poisons the heroes and and places the unconscious Dynamic Duo on giant hibachi ovens(!), under over-sized magnifying glasses...where they will be burned to a crisp. 

A combination of calculus and happenstance (a convenient solar eclipse) help Batman and Robin escape this danger from the "Hateful Hussy." 

It is in this sequence that, in a self-reflexive joke, Robin asks Batman why these cliffhanging traps always threaten them, but never seem to succeed. 

An in-joke about the structure of the series ("same Bat-time; same Bat-station" and all...), this comment acknowledges the absurdity of the format and even of television as an art form to an extent. But Batman -- about to break the fourth wall -- comments that he and his ward keep surviving because...they have "pure hearts." 

This episode is filled with small, delicious moments just like that, which parody the form, and will likely infuriate the modern-minded who want their costumed heroes served up with ABSOLUTE SERIOUSNESS. 

For instance, on his way to stop Catwoman at the Gotham State Building, Batman pauses to pay the parking meter. "Good citizenship, you know," he says. 

At another point, Batman looks skyward to see what Catwoman is doing on the roof of the building and his cohorts ask (of the criminals): "Are they birds? Are they planes?..." 

Again, supremely silly, but that was mission assignment for 1966. And don't even get me started on the visual pun about "turning the tables" on Catwoman at her "front" restaurant, The Pink Sandbox.

A generation -- my generation -- grew up with Adam West's Batman and Burt Ward's Robin. As youngsters, the "camp" aspects of the show didn't really register for us, and the series was merely a great adventure featuring noble heroes, colorful villains and the most awesome set of gadgets and vehicles anyone had ever seen on television. 

But as adults, we found that this Batman -- played for laughs -- was worth a second look because the series is clever, irreverent, witty and utterly ridiculous. 

Again, these aren't the virtues of today. Still, you can enjoy this program thoroughly if only you remember it is a product of the 1960s and not the 21st century.

Ultimately, there may be as many interpretations of Batman as there have been of Hamlet (or in terms of genre: Dracula). 

We had pure, straight-faced innocence in the form of Robert Lowery and Johnny Duncan's 1943 Batman. 

We had colorful, over-the-top camp in the Adam West version of the 1960s. 

We had an "Outsider" vision of Batman in a rotting, post-Reagan urban blight; from Tim Burton's 1989 feature. 

We even had a fetishist interpretation in Schumacher's 1995 and 1997 franchise entires (Batman Forever and Batman and Robin).  We even have the Age of the Ultra-Real with The Dark Knight Trilogy. 

The characters, situations and locations remain the same, but with each new writer, each new director, each new lead actor, the interpretation of this legend evolves. In sixty years, I wonder how the Bat-fans of that time will gaze upon Nolan's work?

60 Years Ago: The Green Hornet: "The Silent Gun" (September 9, 1966)

In the fall of 1966, all the major American TV networks sought to duplicate the success of ABC’s superhero phenomenon, Batman (1966 – 1968).  So along came such campy efforts as Captain Nice and Mr. Terrific.  

But ABC-TV itself adopted a different strategy, and aired The Green Hornet, a superhero series with no camp touches whatsoever. 

William Dozier, who also produced Batman was adamant, in fact, about not imitating the tongue-in-cheek Batman style. “This is a much straighter show. It’s not a pop show,” he asserted. “The only thing about Batman we want to imitate is its success.” (Newsweek, July 18, 1966).

Van Williams was cast as publisher by day/vigilante by night Britt Reid, and a pre-stardom Bruce Lee played his loyal companion and crime-fighting partner, Kato.  

With their own distinctive car -- the magnificent Black Beauty -- these heroes evaded law enforcement and fought to a standstill the dark forces of many a criminal organization. And again, unlike Batman, the villains on The Green Hornet were all based reality. They were thugs and mobsters, not strangely-dressed clowns or buffoons.

Writing in SFTV #1 in December of 1984, TV historian and scholar James Van Hise wrote that the series featuring The Green Hornet proved itself “something very special…” and represented “one of the few times a character was transferred faithfully from one medium to another and with exciting results.”  

I would tend to agree. Alas, The Green Hornet was canceled after just one season of twenty six episodes, and most long-time fans agree that the 2011. Seth Rogen Green Hornet movie failed to live up to the promise demonstrated by the 1966 series.

The first episode of The Green Hornet, “The Silent Gun,” aired on September 9, 1966 -- just one day after the debut of Star Trek (1966 – 1969) -- and concerns a new weapon being used by criminals: A gun that makes no sound when it fires, and no light flash, either. The weapon was developed by the O.S.S. during the Second World War, but the plans have been revived by a local gunsmith.

The Green Hornet and Kato investigate the case, interfering in criminal operations. Before long, the Green Hornet is selected as the next target of the silent gun, but that’s exactly how the superhero wants it...

Today, it’s intriguing (and indeed, rewarding) to watch these nearly fifty-year old The Green Hornet episodes and note that they reflect not where the superhero trend was at that time (see: Batman), but where it stands today: with a focus on hard-action, and a kind of grim fatalism. 

The Green Hornet goes about his task here without humor, and treads into some moral gray areas. For example, in “The Silent Gun,” he pretends to be a criminal himself, and make deals with other underworld figures. He’s not afraid to get his hands dirty to bring the criminals to justice. That seems like a very modern, very 21st century concept.

Also, in a bow to reality, this costumed crusader only goes out at night, and is often cloaked by the darkness.  Adding to the sense of  ubiquitous darkness, the first scene of the episode (and of the series itself) is set at a funeral.  And then, a murder occurs at a funeral.  

You just don't get much grimmer than that.

In “The Silent Gun,” The Green Hornet goes up against a thug called Carley (Lloyd Bochner) and, again, the villain is a realistic figure, not one based in fantasy. The episode culminates with some real violence as villains tumble downstairs, or otherwise get beat up.  One thug gets a blast from a steam pipe to the face.

I wonder if the violence quotient is one reason why the show didn’t pick-up the same following as Batman did.  There’s a feeling in “The Silent Gun” of real life consequences for bad behavior, and action that isn’t candy-coated or cartoonish.  There are no ZAPP or BIFF balloons here, for certain.

Even supporting characters are treated with shades of gray in “The Silent Gun.” One woman wants two-thousand dollars to tell her story about a murder that was committed.  If she’s going to talk, she wants money...she seeks a reward. The Green Hornet disabuses her of that notion by, basically, showing up at a pre-arranged meeting and bullying her into doing the right thing, at least from a psychological perspective. 

The Green Hornet is a grounded series that was created in a time when audiences wanted something more fanciful.  

  

60 Years Ago: The Time Tunnel: "Rendezvous with Yesterday"

"Two American scientists are lost in the swirling maze of past and future ages, during the first experiments on America's greatest and most secret project...the Time Tunnel..."

-opening narration to Irwin Allen's temporal opus, The Time Tunnel (1966-1967)

Love him or hate him, it's fair to state that producer Irwin Allen boasted a unique and distinctive take on science fiction television throughout the 1960s. His genre programs are undeniably kiddie-oriented, but they also reflect (in an almost reflexive, unthinking way...) a major philosophical conflict of the epoch.

In particular, Allen's adventurous cathode ray tube fantasies straddled the line between almost hysterical "techno-phobia" -- the fear that new inventions (like nuclear weapons or computers) would annihilate us outright, or at least put us out of work -- and, oppositely, the age's burgeoning Camelot/Kennedy-style "can do" optimism. This was, after all, the dawning of the Apollo Age; a period in which America's space program would achieve what was once believed impossible: a trip to the moon.
If you gaze across the wide array of Allen's TV programming from this age, you can detect how this unusual conflict plays out in various forms and colors. In Lost in Space (1965-1968), the future man of 1997 was able to reach the stars in advanced spaceships (such as the Jupiter 2) and build robots with human personality and individuality, but the first space flight also became hopelessly and irrevocably lost in the stars.

In Land of the Giants (1968 - 1970), the same conflict between techno-phobia and techno confidence was also present. In that series, man has developed (by the far-flung year of 1983...) high-tech "sub-orbital" spaceships like The Spindrift...but it still plows through a storm and ends up marooned on a planet of giants.

And in The Time Tunnel (1966-1967) -- which has aptly been described as "Lost in Time" -- mankind has developed the technology to conduct time travel at a top-secret facility (a huge subterranean complex in the Arizona desert...). 

But the behemoth, when activated, almost immediately misplaces two scientists (Dr. Doug Phillips and Dr. Tony Newman) in the corridors of time. 

Permanently.

On one hand: technological achievement and advancement. 

On the other, technological terror plus error. 

What these Irwin Allen speculative programs seem to tell us, I suppose, is that humans boast the intellect and skill to create amazing devices; but not the wisdom, perhaps, to adequately control them.

Of all Allen's storied sci-fi series, The Time Tunnel was perhaps the least successful on its original sortie. It aired for just a single season of 30 hour-long episodes on ABC. Broadcast from September 9, 1966 to April 7, 1967, the series involved the aforementioned scientists -- Newman (James Darren) and Phillips (Robert Colbert) -- tumbling (literally...) through various historical (and future!) time periods, a circumstance which enabled the series to frequently re-use footage and costumes from such films as Titanic (1953), The Buccaneer (1958) and Khartoum (1966).

Despite this crafty, cost-saving measure, the Time Tunnel pilot was still one of the most expensive ever produced at the time, costing a then-whopping $500,000 dollars. You can readily observe where all the considerable expense went in the pilot episode: there are some amazing matte-paintings of the Time Tunnel complex. The whole facility looks like it was outsourced to Krell construction workers. 

Also, the Time Tunnel control room set is vast and impressive: a testament to 1960s-style futurism. There are banks of giant computers with lots of blinking lights, reel-to-reel tapes, and that massive, whirly-gig tunnel itself taking center stage. The visual effects are opulent too, particularly views of the lead actors somersaulting through a moving, glittering temporal vortex.

The Time Tunnel's first episode, "Rendezvous with Yesterday" (written by Harold Jack Bloom and directed by Irwin Allen), features guest star Gary Merrill as Senator Clark, a budget-obsessed politician who visits Project Tic-Toc (location of the Time Tunnel device...) in the Arizona desert. The colossal underground complex, which houses over 12,000 technicians and stretches over 800 floors, has already cost the U.S. government a whopping 7.5 billion dollars. This is simply unacceptable!

"Is time travel worth it?" Senator Clark asks pointedly.

The response from Dr. Phillips is that time travel is "potentially the most valuable treasure man will ever find."

Still, the impatient senator isn't convinced that time travel is a worthwhile endeavor, and he demands a demonstration of the not-yet-operational time tunnel. Scientist Tony Newman impulsively complies and -- without permission or preparation -- jumps through the machine.

The result? Lots of smoke and explosions. And then Tony lands on the HMS Titanic on April 13, 1912, just hours before the "unsinkable" liner is destined to strike an iceberg and go to a watery grave.

Unfortunately, the techs at Project Tic-Toc, including the lovely Dr. Ann McGregor (a woefully underutilized Lee Meriwether), can't return Tony to the present. Not even with their high-tech "location probes" or other tools. They are able, however, to visualize Tony's chronological location with a "tele screen." And, as a last resort, the technicians can also yank Tony out of one time period and into to another random one...and hope they get lucky.

It's sort of...a temporal crap shoot.

Back aboard the Titanic, Newman realizes immediately attempts to change the time line by warning the ship's captain, a regal Michael Rennie, of the impending disaster. The captain doesn't believe Newman's stories and voices a variation of a line oft-repeated on this series; something along the lines of: "you don't expect me to believe that wild story, do you?"

One might also note, at this juncture, that Tony seems to have no preparation or schooling whatsoever for the event of actual "time displacement." He's one of the key designers/inventors of the time tunnel juggernaut and yet he has no plan, no philosophy, no agenda whatsoever about dealing with the temporally-challenged natives of other time periods. Apparently on instinct, he simply warns people about the future and is immediately incarcerated or beaten-up for his trouble (another tiresome convention that is repeated throughout the series).

Now, my point here is simply this: whether or not time can actually be altered, why does Tony want to change the flow of time at all? 

Was the time tunnel constructed so that the American government can interfere in the past? 

I mean, if the captain of the Titanic had actually listened to Tony's warning and averted the nautical disaster, some several hundred additional souls would have survived the maiden voyage and thereby altered Tony's entire time-line (since he is born in 1938, after the Titanic accident).

Let me make this even more basic: what if one of those "new" Titanic survivors caused a car accident that killed Tony's Mom before she gave birth to him? See my point?

Besides wanting personally to survive the Titanic disaster (and I don't blame him for that...), what could possibly motivate Tony to reveal the details of the future to the denizens of 1912? 

When Doug returns to the past next, he mindlessly adopts the same plan. He even brings a newspaper from the day after the disaster to convince the Captain of Tony's veracity. I mean...jeez, what's the end game here? Saving the Titanic? Changing the course of 20th century history? Altering the time line? What?

Closely examined, the motives of the characters in this story make no sense. By my reckoning, Tony and Doug should be focused on one thing: keeping a low profile and escaping the disaster. They don't need to be sounding alarm bells, and they sure as hell don't need to commandeer the Titanic's radio room! One might expect more dispassion and weighing of variables here. Especially from two genius scientists, right?

It occurs to me while watching The Time Tunnel that the series would have been much more interesting if in stories like "Rendezvous with Yesterday," the heroes had to preserve the flow of time as they had already experienced it. Wouldn't it have been more interesting if Tony and Doug landed on the deck of the Titanic and realized it wasn't going to sink at all? That they had to aim it at an iceberg themselves, to ensure that their histories remained sacrosanct? I realize there would be moral questions there, but they'd still be "heroes" in the conventional TV sense, since they'd be preserving our chronology.

Oh wait, this was the premise for Voyagers! (1980)...

Anyway, I'm not trying to be dismissive of The Time Tunnel. It is what it is: a product of the time period from which it arose (the 1960s), and for a very specific audience (children). It's harmless escapist fantasy, nothing more...and if you saw it as a child, I'm sure you would get a nostalgic rush watching it. 

That established, it's not a very smart series by today's standard (and remember, Star Trek was a smart series, and it also aired in 1966). Oh, there's definitely an occasional moment of real drama here, such as the instance in "Rendezvous with Yesterday" when Doug and Tony must inform the captain of the Titanic that he is destined to die that very night. However, for the most part, time travel mysteries and human emotions are curtailed, slighted, or outright ignored in favor of James Bond-ian fisticuffs and action. It's all cowboys, Indians, soldiers, spies, aliens, and disasters. Color! Action! But not much real characterization or drama.

During the over-two-dozen episodes of The Time Tunnel, Tony and Doug visited the "Crack of Doom" (don't laugh...), the volcanic eruption at Krakatoa on August 27, 1883. They went to Pearl Harbor on December 6, 1941 (but didn't encounter the U.S.S. Nimitz there....) They experienced the French Revolution first hand ("Reign of Terror), averted the (first) assassination attempt on Abraham Lincoln ("The Death Trap") in 1861, witnessed D-Day ("Invasion") at Normandy, met General Custer ("Massacre"), Billy the Kid ("Billy the Kid") and...Robin Hood ("The Revenge of Robin Hood.")

Yes, before watching The Time Tunnel, I too always thought Robin Hood was a mythical hero, not a historical one, but who's counting? Doctor Who played with this very idea recently, too.  Another episode "One Way to the Moon," landed our wayward heroes on a rocket ship in flight, one bound for Mars...with a saboteur aboard.

As the series wore on, The Time Tunnel increasingly lapsed into empty-headed, monotonous phantasmagoria. The final episode, "Town of Terror" was set in the future year of 1978 and involved strange aliens with tin-foil faces and black capes who, for some unfathomable reason, are referred to as "androids"(!). 

These fishy-looking invaders have taken over the idyllic town of Cliffport, Maine (population 700), where they begin sucking all the oxygen from the Earth. Tony and Doug land in the town and put a stop to the plan, but not before an alien saboteur gets to Project Tic-Toc and starts sucking the air out of the room there too. It takes an inordinate amount of time for the brilliant project scientist, Dr. Swain -- gasping for air -- to realize the oxygen is being depleted.

The last moments of the series are actually the most interesting, at least from a certain perspective. Following the landing in Cliffport, Doug and Phillip are shunted back in time again...to the Titanic. 

Now, on one hand, this return to the beginning was no doubt a lead-in to summer reruns of the first season. However, considering that there was no second season of The Time Tunnel, viewers might interpret this twist of fate to mean that our heroes were not merely stuck in time, but trapped in a loop too. 

Alas, we may never know...

Again, I don't want to rain on anyone's parade here -- and all sci-fi TV has its fans and adherents -- but The Time Tunnel is sometimes difficult to take seriously. The lead characters - Doug and Tony - are about as cardboard as could be, not to mention the most physically fit and physically skilled "scientists" of all-time. Some of the technobabble on the series is inconsistent too. Sometimes the scientists in the tunnel control room can talk directly with the time travelers on a microphone, and sometimes the men can't hear them.

And you have to wonder, too, why are the time tunnel techies always rolling the dice and scrambling these unlucky guys from one time period to another? 

I'll tell you what...if I came from 1968 and ended up in 1978 (as Tony and Doug did in both "One Way to The Moon" and "Town of Terror"), you know what? I'd just call it a day. 

I'd rather live ten years in the future,than risk ending up in 1184 BC ("Revenge of the Gods"), or 1215 AD ("The Revenge of Robin Hood.")

Close enough for government work, and all.