Cult-TV Theme Watch: The Bible and Other Holy Texts

A Bible is a holy book, or a collection of canonical writings considered sacred.  Throughout cult-television history, both fictional bibles and the authentic Christian Bible have appeared frequently in many notable productions

Fictional Bibles have often appeared primarily on programming involving alien cultures on other worlds. 

For instance, in the original Star Trek (1966 – 1969), Kirk and Spock twice encountered planets where the culture’s Bible or “holy words” were familiar to denizens of Earth. 

In “A Piece of the Action,” Captain Kirk (William Shatner) had to correct the damage done after a previous starship had left behind on an impressionable planet the book titled “Chicago Mobs of the Twenties.”  The humanoid inhabitants of the planet took the book seriously, and modeled their entire culture on 20^th century gangsters and the material in the monograph.  In other words, they mistakenly took the book literally.  “A Piece of the Action” is a funny episode, but also a social critique of religion, and the danger of relying too heavily on any single book or set of ideas from that book. 

In “The Omega Glory,” Kirk and Spock happened upon a planet that paralleled Earth’s development, and met a group of primitives called “Yangs” who worshiped a duplicate of the United States’ Constitution. Dramatically, Kirk read the Constitution’s preamble to the Yangs, who had mangled the language and lost the meaning of the words over time.

In Star Trek: Deep Space Nine (1993 – 1999), the Ferengi Bible was introduced, a Holy book about unfettered capitalism called “The Rules of Acquisition.”

More recent TV series have also introduced fictional Bibles. 

The remade Battlestar Galactica (2003 – 2008) featured “The book of Pythia,” for instance. 

And  on True Blood (2008 – 2014), the Vampire Bible is revealed, as well as its deity: the blood-thirsty Lilith.  The book plays like a wicked inversion of the Christian Bible, at least based on the passages audiences have been privy to thus far. 

Many science fiction series have also featured quotations from Scripture, or references to the authentic Christian Bible.  Chris Carter series such as The X-Files (1993 – 2002) and Millennium (1996 – 1999) are rife with Scriptural allusions, for instance.  In The X-Files episode, “3,” for instance, a vampire references John 52:54.  And in Millennium’s “The Curse of Frank Black,” Frank (Lance Henriksen) suddenly comes to understand the importance – and relevance in his life -- of Acts: 26:8.

The Bible also played a vital role in V: The Final Battle (1984).  There, a Catholic Priest presented the alien Diana (Jane Badler) with a copy of the Bible to help foster brotherhood between humans and Visitors.  Diana was so moved by the writings in the Bible that she murdered the priest and incinerated the Holy Book with her laser gun.  Diana didn’t like that the Bible made her feel so-called “weak” emotions such as love and fellowship.  So she destroyed that which she felt compromised her mission, even while acknowledging the power of the Bible’s message.

In Firefly’s “Jaynestown,” River Tam (Summer Glau) borrows Shepherd Book’s (Ron Glass) Bible and begins to write notes in its margins and even rip out pages.  She does so, she says, because the text is “broken” and she can fix it.  Book reminds her with irritation that “you don’t fix The Bible.”

In season three of The Walking Dead, the kindly physician and elder, Hershel Greene (Scott Wilson) is seen on several occasions to draw strength from reading his Bible.  In the final episodes of the year, he leaves behind his Bible at the prison for the Governor to find, along with a pertinent passage highlighted John: 5:29.

The Cult-TV Faces of: The Bible and other Holy Texts

Identified by SGB: Star Trek: "A Piece of the Action."

Identified by SGB: Star Trek: "The Omega Glory."

Not Identified: The Bionic Woman: Tomorrow is Doomsday

Not Identified: V: The Final Battle

Identified by SGB: The X-Files: "3"

Identified by Ponch: Babylon 5.

Identified by Mr. C: Millennium "The Curse of Frank Black"

Not Identified: Deep Space Nine (The Rules of Acquisition)

Identified by Ponch: Firefly: "Jaynestown."

Identified by Chris G: Battlestar Galactica (Re-imagination)

Not Identified: True Blood

Identified by SGB: The Walking Dead: "Welcome to the Tombs"

Television and Cinema Verities #94

"I was one of the optimist bunch, and I'm on record predicting, "This thing is going to make more money than 'Planet of the Apes.' " I said, "There's no way this will fail" — because it's got a sense of humor. It's the key element that most science-fiction films don't have, which is a sort of arch sense of humor."

- Mark Hamill, recalls his (accurate) belief -- not shared at the time of production -- that Star Wars (1977) was going to hit, and hit big.  From an interview with Jake Coyle at The Seattle Times in 2005.

Cult-TV Blogging: Firefly: "Our Mrs. Reynolds" (October 25, 2002)

Captain Reynolds (Nathan Fillion) and the crew of the Serenity stop a group of bandits on a backwater world, and later celebrate their victory with the happy locals.

When the ship returns to space, however, Mal discovers a lovely stowaway aboard named Saffron (Christina Hendricks).

 Saffron reveals that by her laws, she and Mal were wed the night before.  But Mal -- who was drunk -- refuses to accept the custom of the Triumph Settlers (as they are known).  Instead, he promises to start Saffron off on a new life on another world.

In the meantime, Saffron cooks Mal a meal, offers to wash his feet, and even suggests sharing a marital bed with him.  Her willingness to “serve” Mal rankles Zoe (Gina Torres), and compels Jayne (Adam Baldwin) to make Mal an offer for her.  At Shepherd Book’s (Ron Glass) urging, however, Mal remains a gentleman.

But when Saffron shows up in his quarters and attempts a seduction, Mal succumbs to just one kiss.

That kiss, as it turns out, comes from narcotic lipstick, and Saffron finally reveals her true colors.  She’s actually working with a group of nearby space pirates, and planning to lure the Serenity into a trap, a giant electric net that will kill the crew while keeping the vessel intact for salvage…

“Our Mrs. Reynolds” is the Firefly (2002) episode that really cements the magic of the Joss Whedon series, at least for me.  The narrative is extremely simple -- a visitor who turns out to be treacherous turncoat -- but the (overwhelming) sense of fun and joy emerges from the established crew’s interaction with that “guest” character, and with each other.

In this case, Christina Hendricks (Mad Men) proves an absolute show-stealer as Saffron, creating a character who, single-handedly, manages to fool just about the entirety of Serenity’s crew.  Saffron is a charismatic, compelling character, and one who approaches each established personality on Serenity where they are the weakest.

 As such -- and in a universe that also includes the Alliance and Reavers -- she makes for the most fascinating and watchable villain thus far.

In fact, watching “Our Mrs. Reynolds,” I was reminded of one of the reasons why I carry such an abiding love for the original Star Trek (1966 – 1969).  The stories were often great on that series, it is true, but the non-great stories were often carried by incredibly amusing and emotional moments between Kirk, Spock, and McCoy.  I believe this observation is true of all series that become pop-culture phenomena, whether we are talking about Trek, or The X-Files.  There are going to be weak stories, eventually, but watching good actors play compelling characters lifts those stories.

As if by osmosis, Firefly seems to understand that principle.  As I said, the story here is simple -- a con-woman attempts to trap Serenity by fooling its crew as to her real nature -- but the episode has wicked fun with the dramatis personae.  It exposes them, their fantasies, and their weaknesses with utter mercilessness.

For instance, Jayne is willing to give up Vera -- his beloved gun -- for Saffron. Zoe and Wash face tension over Saffron’s cooking, and coddling of Mal.  Shepherd Book gets to play the scold.  Even the wise and insightful Inara is nearly taken in before realizing the depths of Saffron’s capacity to trick.   Indeed, Saffron succeeds as much as she does because each character sees in her something that he or she needs or wants. 

Book wants to protect an innocent.

Wash longs for -- for at least a moment -- a more “traditional” wife, and Mal desires --deeply -- a woman who can see his nobility of spirit.  Saffron is able to, moment-to-moment, satisfy each of those fantasies, and pool the wool over each man’s eyes.

Another thing worth noting: There is no overt nudity or sex in “Our Mrs. Reynolds,” but damn if this isn’t a really sexy episode, as Saffron executes her seduction of Mal.  The key to getting him to kiss her, it turns out isn’t physical, but mental.  Saffron “plays” on the captain’s need to be seen as good and righteous.  That’s the turn on that he can’t refuse.

Finally, the episode’s final delightful joke is that Mal believes that Inara kissed Saffron, when in fact the companion kissed him when he was incapacitated.  For all his wheeling-and-dealing, and speech-making, Mal remains, in the end, his own worst enemy.

The formula for “Our Mrs. Reynolds” is repeated, in some ways, in another great episode, “Objects in Space.”  In both shows, a charismatic outsider comes in to test the main characters, with unpredictable results, and a great sense of humor.

I’ll be honest: “Our Mrs. Reynolds” is the episode of the series that got me hooked on Firefly. 

I’d been watching since the beginning, but this episode -- so playfully, so fun, and so sexy -- made me realize how much I love these characters and their universe. That reckoning about the characters comes with the knowledge that, in some sense, narrative isn’t as important as seeing these characters interact. 

These are characters I could watch feuding, fighting, and beating the bad guys in almost any kind of story…

Next week: “Jaynestown.”

Saturday Morning Cult-TV Blogging: Return to the Planet of the Apes (1975): "Lagoon of Peril" (September 20, 1975)

In this week’s episode of the Saturday morning animated series Return to the Planet of the Apes, the Ape war machine (under Urko’s command), ramps-up for the “all-out” destruction of the humanoids. 

The ape media doesn’t help quell this strategy for genocide, and reports an invasion of the planet of the apes by intelligent “aliens” -- really the human astronauts, Bill and Jeff. A kind of mass panic spreads through the simian capital, and now Zaius must agree to go with Urko to the Forbidden Zone to discern the truth.  He’s not very happy about that.  And yes, this aspect of the story very much mirrors events depicted in Beneath the Planet of the Apes (1970).

The astronauts, meanwhile, return to the lagoon in the Forbidden Zone where their capsule originally went down.  They attempt to dive to the bottom of the body of water, and salvage the equipment they need, including their laser drill.  Unfortunately, their time is short.  Urko’s army is on the march, and if his soldiers see the astronaut’s spaceship, the apes will commit genocide for certain. The astronauts must self-destruct their ship and let no sign remain, lest the apes learn the truth.

There’s a bit of narrative muddle in “Lagoon of Peril” that deserves mentioning.

The Ape City prepares to go to all-out war to eliminate any intelligent humanoids. Yet when the Ape army is confronted with the illusions of the Under Dwellers in the Forbidden Zone – including a floating skull that belches fire -- they dismiss these phantasms as being the work of the Under Dwellers.  So the apes accept the presence of Under Dwellers nearby, but not the possibility of intelligent humans?  They’ll settle for having illusion-creating mutants as neighbors, but not one or two normal humans?

I don’t really understand the thinking there, I confess.  It seems to me that the Under Dwellers provide the very proof the Apes seek of an intelligent (and hostile) “humanoid” country near their borders.  They should be Urko’s target.

Like last week’s show, there is an outbreak of out-and-out fantasy here, in “Lagoon of Peril,” as Bill and Jeff’s attempt to retrieve the laser drill is impeded by a giant, squawking sea dragon. 

Nova calls the beast “Ohoya,” but any way you slice it, the monster is a fanciful creation, and one that doesn’t seem entirely at home (like the giant sewer spider last week) in the hard science-fiction Apes saga.  Both the spider and the sea monster seem like flagrant instances of hedging bets on the part of the producer, to make certain that their series appeals to younger children.  Talking apes and discussions of morality are nice, but there’s nothing like squawking sea monster to hold the attention, right?

“Lagoon of Peril” ends with the apes convinced that their borders are safe, though again, how the apes came to this conclusion – especially after enduring the hostile visions of the Under Dwellers – is a bit of a mystery.

Next week: “Terror at Ice Mountain”

Saturday Morning Cult-TV Blogging: Land of the Lost 1991: "The Crystal"

In “The Crystal,” the fifth episode of the 1991 Land of the Lost remake, Shung and his Sleestak cohorts manage to lose his prized crystal sword (seen for the first time in “Shung the Terrible.”)

The weapon unexpectedly comes into Annie Porter’s possession, and she decides to use it to get back at Kevin for his bad treatment of her.  Unfortunately, every time Annie uses the alien crystal, she seems to lose a bit more of her humanity, becoming more and more unforgiving, and more and more cruel to boot.

Mr. Porter, Kevin and Shung himself attempt to get the dark crystal out of Annie’s possession, but she becomes fiercely protective of it.  Finally, Mr. Porter convinces her that the crystal is “evil” and “wrong,” and that she will end up like Shung if she continues to use it.  Annie willingly gives it up, ashamed of her behavior…

Driven by a strong moral and thematic through-line, “The Crystal” is another decent (if not inspired) episode of Land of the Lost (1991 – 1992).  In some sense, the episode is a thinly-veiled remake of an original series episode called “Scarab,” which saw Chaka (Philip Paley) bitten by a golden insect, and transformed into a hostile, deceitful creature.  Shung’s crystal here has roughly the same effect on Annie, and it’s up to her loving family (which includes Stink and Tasha) to bring her back into the fold.

Visually, “The Crystal” is a strong episode, and possession of the sword begins to transform cute little Annie into something not-so-cute.  She stops wearing her glasses, and we see dark circles under her eyes. Her hair grows more wild, and her acts of evil seem to become easier and easier for the youngster to parse.  Annie’s mental degeneration is matched, then, by her physical one.

I also like the implications inherent in “The Crystal.”  If Shung has been in possession of this weapon for a long time, has it totally devoured his soul too?  Is he such a rotten bastard because he owns this crystal weapon?   If he were separated it from any length of time, would he become more humane?

Certainly, that’s one possible reading of the context of this episode.  And “The Crystal’s” end -- in which sword knowingly seeks out Shung again—absolutely suggests that the Sleestak is not in control.  Rather, the crystal dominates his actions.

I know I complained a lot about Shung and the Sleestak a couple weeks back when I reviewed “Shung the Terrible,” but I can’t object to their use here.  They support the story-line ably, and the notion of Shung as victim of the crystal actually deepens a character that I assumed to be one-dimensional.  At least the 1990s Land of the Lost seems to be deploying the Sleestak sparingly, rather than making them the center of attention.  So far…

As my friend and regular reader SGB pointed out a few weeks ago, Land of the Lost is indeed made for children, and in some ways, the 1991 variation on the franchise is much more childish than the 1970s version.   “The Crystal” is a highly-didactic show that sends a good message to kids about the allure of evil, and the dangers to oneself from that allure.

In other words, “The Crystal” lives up to the best tradition of the original Sid and Marty Krofft Land of the Lost. It doesn’t talk down to kids.

Next week: “Wild Thing.”

Cult-TV Flashback: Farscape: "Different Destinations"

The Sci-Fi Channel series Farscape (1999 - 2003) remains one of the finest space adventure TV programs of recent decades, and the third season episode "...Different Destinations," which aired originally on April 13, 2001, is a good example of why that's so abundantly the case.

It's a time travel story -- a relative rarity on Farscape -- but much like so many series installments, "...Different Destinations" is absolutely unconventional in terms of genre TV tropes.  It's also cutthroat in nature, uncompromising in vision, and beautifully, emotionally depicted.

In the Farscape canon, "...Different Destinations" is apparently a stand-alone episode, one outside of the big story arc and larger narrative concerns, and yet -- despite the superficial "throwaway" status of the show -- it's an absolute gut-punch to John Crichton, Aeryn Sun and indeed, to the audience itself.

In "...Different Destinations," the living ship Moya delivers her rag-tag crew of bickering fugitives to a planet that houses an historical "Peace Memorial." Down on the planet surface five hundred years earlier, thirty Peacekeeper soldiers defended a band of innocent nurses and children from the Venek Horde, a barbarous army renowned for being "bloodthirsty and almost impossible to control." The last stand was inside an isolated mountaintop monastery.

According to Aeryn Sun (Claudia Black), a Peacekeeper herself, a heroic officer, Dacon (Dan Spielman)brokered a peace deal that saved the lives of the nurses and the young ones, but only at the cost of his own life. As Crichton (Ben Browder) describes Dacon, he's "Davy Crockett at the Alamo." Jool (Tammy McIntosh) contrarily argues that the story is militaristic propaganda, designed to prop up loyalty and patriotism.

Thanks to a pair of alien "tourist" goggles available at the cloisters, Crichton and the others can actually view the planet's final, historical battle unfold.

But something goes awry when the enigmatic Stark (Paul Goddard) views the events of the distant past.

When Stark watches, he somehow creates a "tear" in the fabric of time and space; a tear that transports Aeryn, John, Jool, D'Argo (Anthony Simcoe) and himself back in time to the very day of the conflict.

Now trapped in the turbulent past, the shipmates debate the "elasticity of time" and whether or not it is a "brittle framework."

In other words, they wonder if their presence at the battle can change the course of history, and thus affect the future itself; the very "future" they dwell in. There's even a little arrogance in a conversation between Aeryn and John early on, as they wonder if there's a way they might actually "improve" the future.

This being Farscape and not Star Trek, no such improvement occurs. Not by a long shot. Quite the opposite in fact.

What "...Different Destinations" actually depicts is a kind of royal screw-up on the part of the Moya's argumentative crew. For instance, when Aeryn sees that Dacon is just a rookie -- and a cook, no less -- she does everything she can to shield the young man from his grim but pre-ordained fate. And unbeknownst to the others, John strikes a secret deal with the Venek General, one that ends in disaster when the general is murdered on the monastery ramparts by a nurse.

History recorded the military leader as a reasonable man who worked with Dacon to subdue the blood lust of the Horde. Now that he's gone, there's absolutely no buffer between the nurses and the violent warriors at the gates.

John notes after the death of the Venek leader: "I'm in a hell of a slump here.  Everything I do just makes things worse." 

Exactly. 

Before long, John is actually seeking the advice of the Scorpius implant in his head (Wayne Pygram).  That's how desperate he becomes to find a way out of this complicated temporal puzzle.

Meanwhile, D'Argo eschews the complexity of time travel theories and befriends one of the children in the monastery.

He informs her that the only way to make herself immortal is to be remembered. She takes his words to heart, and carves her name - Centrina -- into the walls of the fortress.

As a long night progresses, John and Aeryn make every attempt to right the time line in the absence of a key player, the Venek General. They even offer up Dacon. But this time when he dies, there's still no peace.  Now Aeryn feels even worse.  In this reality, Dacon died for nothing.

Back on Moya, Chiana, Pilot and Rygel watch in horror as the planet they orbit keeps changing.  The once-beautiful world becomes a burned out cinder and then, finally, disappears all together...totally annihilated in a conflict of hate and violence.

Down on the surface, with the Veneks swarming the monastery, the crew of Moya has no option left but to use their advanced pulse pistol weaponry and fight the conquering horde to a standstill. Making like an army, John, Aeryn and D'Argo fight for their lives and for the lives of the innocent. Then they escape through another "time tear" and return to the present in full belief that their combat efforts have made a truce possible.

But when they view the events of history through the tourist goggles, the time travelers learn a hard truth:  The Venek mob murdered all the nurses and children.  They were angry because they refused to give up the location of the Peacekeeper named...Crichton.

"I screwed up," a mourning John admits.

Crichton may have screwed up, but Farscape certainly didn't, and "...Different Destinations" is an absolutely inventive hour of action and science fiction, one that remembers that people (even astronauts; even aliens...) are flawed and don't always make the right choices.  Even more so, the right choice in the moment may not be the right choice, historically-speaking.

John and Aeryn, in particular, face the ramifications of their interference.  Both young Dacon and the unlucky nurses die horrible deaths, and there's no sense of "heroism" or "glory" to be found anywhere.  

It's a decidedly unromantic, unglamorous view of war, and the episode ultimately confirms Jool's point about propaganda.  Aeryn realizes she's been living with a lie since childhood. 

But this Farscape episode remains a remarkable one because it's just so far astray of audience expectations.  In a latter generation of Star Trek, for instance, the men and women of Starfleet would have certainly repaired the time line and rescued the innocent nurses and children.  And there's almost zero chance they would have held the day by employing their advanced weaponry against primitives. 

But in Steve Worland's "...Different Destinations," there are no higher rules (like Starfleet regulations) to contend with, and furthermore no unity whatsoever amongst the time-traveling participants about how to proceed.   It's trial and error all the way, and John and Aeryn argue vociferously about what should be done.

Interestingly, D'Argo -- often a sort of father figure, given the loss of his son in the series -- befriends Centrina and sees immediately the human cost of failure.  While Aeryn and John talk tactics, he discusses mortality, memory and loss.  It's a potent contrast to the behavior of Crichton and Sun.  They're struggling on concepts: how do we fix this; how do we repair that.  But D'Argo looks at something else: at youth and innocence, and the death of both.  The final moment of this subplot, with D'Argo discovering Centrina's names carved in the monastery wall, is downright haunting.

I admire how "...Different Destinations" is gleefully politically incorrect in terms of genre standards.  The heroes fail egregiously.  The innocent die...horribly.  Standard methods of success (attempting to maintain the timeline; adhering to accepted time travel philosophy) prove counterproductive.   Most importantly, the temptation to "re-boot" the time line and tie everything up with a nice, neat ribbon is avoided. What we have instead then is a series interested in examining cliches and carving out new...and uncharted territory.

Economically shot -- almost entirely on one set, the monastery courtyard -- "...Different Destinations" is impressive in just about every way one can tally.   In particular, it very adroitly utilizes its pop culture references (a mainstay of Farscape), with John finally alluding to the last stand of Tony Montana (Al Pacino) in Brian De Palma's Scarface (1983).

There, Tony -- a gangster and thug -- fought impossible odds and lost, destroyed by his enemies but also by his own self-destructive nature. 

It's extremely interesting, then, that in this episode John goes from referencing Davy Crockett at the Alamo -- an example of great heroism in a last stand -- to Tony Montana, a man who has isolated himself through his bad behavior and went out not in a blaze of glory, but infamy.   The siege situation on the planet has descended from one of heroic last stand, then, to a purposeless battle to the death.  Again, this is a very unromantic, unglamorous view of war, and more trenchantly, of heroes.

What are the reasons for the crew's egregious failure in this episode?  Well, Stark says it well: "...different beliefs...different destinations."  John believes in one thing; Aeryn another, and they don't really work together until it is far too late.  Their different beliefs have created successively -- as we see from Moya's observation deck -- different destinations.  And all those destinations are increasingly horrible.   

In short, this is a story in which our heroes stumble into a tough situation...and make it infinitely worse through their involvement.

That's the kind of thing that didn't often happen to Captain Picard...

Cult-TV Flashback: Farscape: "The Way We Weren't"

Back in the day, I actually had the honor of writing original short stories for The Official Farscape Magazine (particularly "Make a Wish" and "That Old Voodoo" back in 2002)  and one of my greatest career disappointments remains the fact that Farscape was unceremoniously canceled just as the possibility arose that I might get to pen an epic series novel based on a proposal I wrote for Tor called "Dominar." 

Bummer.

Although the Henson/O'Bannon series is widely commented on and praised for the colorful, original and utterly wonderful presentation of aliens and other-worldly environments -- I just watched an episode called "Home on the Remains"  that took place entirely inside the carcass of a giant space creature -- Farscape nonetheless appears to  reach its apex of quality when focusing front-and-center on its very conflicted and very flawed dramatis personae.

Case in point is the jaw-dropping, heart-breaking "The Way We Weren't," a grim if thoroughly involving episode from Farscape's second season, which originally aired on the Sci-Fi Channel in April of 2000. 

"The Way We Weren't" moves with a relentless sense of urgency, pace and inevitability, and spares the main characters (and thus the viewer) no pain whatsoever.  There are no lengthy excursions to other worlds in this particular story; and no "new" alien creations, either.  Instead, the sharp focus is on...the intimate; on inner space, if you will.

In fact, this particular installment points to the reason I deeply admire Farscape so much, even on a second viewing a decade later.  The overall stance/philosophy here is realistic rather than overtly operatic, idealistic, or heroic. 

This creative approach boasts two distinct advantages. 

One: the sense of realism in terms of character interaction and history grounds the far-out proceedings.  Farscape is visually dazzling in a fashion that few science fiction series have ever achieved (Space: 1999 is another notable example of such an achievement), and if the characters in Farscape were all perfect, idealized beings (as is the case on TNG, for instance...), there would be nothing to hold onto; no way to identify with the adventures or their participants.  The colorful world of Farscape and its inhabitants would seem remote.

And two: the realistic, fully-dimensional approach to the colorful characters makes their eventual bonding and infrequent unions of purpose and mission seem all the more grand and inspiring. 

The main characters on Farscape are exiles, thieves, cheats, a fish-out-of-water, and even an ex-fascist.  When this motley crew gets it together and somehow beats the Powers that Be, you not only sigh with relief, you actually cheer.  

In short, the series' writers keep setting the main characters at each other's throats, separated by their divisions and differences, experiencing set-backs and then -- at just the right time -- they bring everyone back together.  It can be quite rousing, even rather emotional at times. 

Farscape brilliantly mastered this particular narrative structure.

But getting to specifics, in the second season's "The Way We Weren't," Chiana (Gigi Edgley) unexpectedly discovers a shocking video recording.  It depicts the brutal murder of Moya's first pilot by Peacekeepers...under the direction of draconian Captain Crais (Lani Tupu). 

This is a double shock, actually, because no one aboard the bio-ship even knew that Moya's current Pilot was not her first. 

Aeryn participates in the brutal murder of a Pilot.

The next surprise is that one of the Peacekeeper soldiers carrying out the brutal blaster massacre is none other than current Moya resident, Aeryn Sun (Claudia Black).  

Pilot and Aeryn have long since learned to get along, and even bonded, so this recording could be a huge problem.

And of course, it is.  As usual, Rygel makes trouble for his shipmates and sees to it that Pilot gets his hands (claws?) on the violent recording. 

Angry, Pilot promptly demands that Aeryn leave Moya permanently.  She is no longer welcome. 

The scenes involving Pilot's out-of-control rage and Aeryn's deep, sincere regret are incredibly raw and incredibly powerful in "The Way We Weren't.   You will swear, countenancing Pilot's unrestrained grief and rage, that this is a real alien being and not an accomplished special effect; not a "muppet."

Reluctantly, Aeryn agrees to depart from Moya, and no one seems eager to keep her around.  Only John (Ben Browder) is at all sympathetic

Still Aeryn asks for forgiveness from Pilot and Moya.  Importantly, she doesn't try to evade responsibility for her act of murder, she simply states that she is "no longer" the "same person" she was when she pulled that trigger so long ago.   To the others aboard Moya, this hardly seems like an excuse, given Aeryn's culpability. 

This dynamic amongst the crew (D'Argo, Chiana, Zahn, and Rygel)  powerfully illuminates an important issue in modern American culture vis-a-vis crime and punishment.  When a person has committed a crime, but changed in the years since that crime...do we punish that person for his or her initial deed, or honor the redemption?  When pronouncing punishment, do we consider good deeds or positive "change" as mitigating factors? 

Aeryn has no right to ask for mercy and understanding, especially seeing how -- in the episode's flashbacks -- she also callously betrays the man she loves, a Peacekeeper officer with deep feelings for her.  And yet Aeryn is right...she isn't the same person anymore. We've seen her save her ship-mates and Moya herself on more than one occasion.

Pilot wants to "see the stars."  Maybe too much.

"The Way We Weren't" is downright fascinating in its depiction of Aeryn during her Peacekeeper past, and in terms of revealing how limited a person she once was in terms of her connections to others, her aspirations, even in the simple terms of her imagination.

But then, commendably, the story goes one better and reveals, also via flashback, Pilot's original connection with Moya too.   

Shockingly, even this kindly creature -- a veritable rock of stability on the Leviathan since the series' premiere-- boasts a personal history that he is ashamed of too...and also keeping secrets about. 

Specifically, Pilot was never approved to be "joined" with Moya (or any Leviathan), and so teamed with the Peacekeepers to link with Moya outside of the hierarchy of his people and his laws.   Pilot was impatient.  He wanted to "see the stars" and he didn't want to wait. 

That burning desire,that impatience, led Pilot to commit a grievous error...a crime.

In this way, Pilot is as much responsible for the first pilot's death as is Aeryn...and he knows it.  The knowledge of this guilt, the memory of this betrayal, nearly destroys Pilot, in fact.  In an agonizing moment, he literally rips himself out of his piloting console, a suicidal act which immobilizes Moya, but also -- ironically -- frees Pilot of the pain he has always felt because of his actions, and also because of his "artificial" joining to the Leviathan.

In "The Way We Weren't," Aeryn's and Pilot's personal stories mirror and parallel one another in unqieu artistic fashion.  Aeryn once committed a betrayal against her lover to get what she wanted (an assignment flying prowlers, for heaven's sake), and Pilot essentially did the same thing.  He let himself be manipulated by Crais and the Peacekeepers so that he could achieve his dream of joining with a Leviathan.  He was a willing pawn.

As John Crichton notes in the episode, everyone has secrets in their past; secrets that they don't want exposed, and "The Way We Weren't" is a beautiful and edgy excavation of Aeryn and Pilot's deepest, darkest skeletons.  

The episode works so well because it never candy coats what these characters did in the past.  It never makes excuses for their mistakes and behavior.  It just reveals that Pilot and Aeryn have made mistakes, and that, today, they truly are different people.  That's a lot like real life, no?

"The Way We Weren't" also features several stand-out scenes and visualizations.  The flashback moments are rendered in a kind of bleached-out, de-saturated palette, which lends a deeper feeling of "colorlessness" to the milieu of the Peacekeepers; who all march in lock-step and don't deviate from rigid behavior and personal emotional repression. 

It's a world without real love -- as Aeryn describes it to John -- and in one of the episode's most interesting scenes, Aeryn leverages what authentically seems like true love for a simple job transfer.  This is an unheroic, unflattering view of Aeryn. She was once so limited, so parochial, she didn't even know how to value love -- the human (okay, Sebacean...) connection -- over an assignment she liked.  You feel pity for her.

The second scene from the episode that I find deeply affecting finds Aeryn's lover, Valerek, visiting Pilot on what I assume is Pilot's home world.  Pilot is ensconced in a planetary surface of heavy mist...as though sitting in a swamp or a bog.  High above him, the black, clear sky is filled with bright stars.  A shooting star even races by overhead.  In this moment, you can understand the young Pilot's yearning and impatience to be free. 

To escape from the restraining fog below and touch those distant constellations above... 

If you're a fan of space adventures, or even just science fiction in general, you've likely felt this simple tug before: to leave behind the mundane environment of terra firma and touch the magic and mystery of the stars. 

I admire how this scene looks; and especially how it plays.  And again, I must state how endearing, how emotionally-resonant the performance by Pilot (voiced by Lani Tupu) truly is in this moment.  You look at those big expressive, alien eyes and you don't see a technician's carefully calibrated creation; you see a fully-realized alien being longing for an escape from his earthbound existence.

Without ever being preachy or pushing hard some kind of overt "moral" message, "The Way We Weren't" engenders real viewer sympathy for Aeryn and Pilot through these two powerful sequences. 

With Aeryn for following her ambition instead of her heart. 

And with Pilot for letting his impatience to achieve a dream get the better of him. 

But the important thing to consider is this simple fact: the mistakes these aliens make are easily ones we could see ourselves making.  Following orders we shouldn't have followed. Or skipping a crucial step to get ahead of someone else.

Once more, the point is that in a heightened world of lasers, starbursts, alien wizards, monsters, and incredible fantasy, Farscape gives us a peek at recognizable, flawed individuals.   So we identify with them.   We like them; even when they make poor choices.  Rygel is actually my favorite character on the program, and I think the series' realistic approach is another reason why. He's such a thorn-in-the-side and a royal (literally...) pain-in-the-ass, but Rygel's motives (if not stomachs) are entirely human.

Pilot is lowered into Moya's command console...for the first time.

"The Way We Weren't" dispatches with larger  Farscape story arc concerns like Scorpius's pursuit, blossoming romances, and the desperation for provisions. 

It simply and elegantly reveals characters who have made terrible mistakes and, who -- more than anything, --wish they hadn't.

In this episode, Aeryn and Pilot both get second chances.  Aeryn gets to stay aboard Moya, and Pilot -- putting all the years of pain and guilt aside -- finally achieves his dream: a natural joining with the Leviathan he clearly loves.

It's silly to write this, but this Farscape denouement may just bring a tear to your eye.  We all hope for forgiveness.  So we relate.