Bread and Circuses

CLAUDIUS: Which world do you prefer? 

What is the cost of peace?

The superior contents of the episode "Bread and Circuses" have woven their way into the DNA of the entire Star Trek series — from its patently archetypal character depictions and rollicking adventure to its speculative ideology and biting satirical edge.

A Starfleet dropout happens upon an Earth-like planet on which Rome never fell, defying the Prime Directive to become to become its ruler.

When the Enterprise crew comes searching for his lost crew, they discover a world that has existed without war for over four centuries. But at what cost does this peace exist? The answer, so often echoed through Earth’s own history, is freedom.

MERIK: This is an ordered world, Jim, a conservative world based on time-honored Roman strengths and virtues.

It is made clear by the new leader and his controlling consul that this stability can be "contaminated" by "dangerous ideas". Spock logically admires this systemic avoidance of the carnage humans suffered across their three world wars. McCoy naturally counters by indicating the culture’s current reliance on slavery, gladiatorial games, and despotism. When queried which of these world’s Kirk finds preferable, he offers his oath as his world. A champion of ideals over the stark dialectic of these parallel worlds, synthesizing the logic of Spock and the passion of McCoy into an active dedication to duty and service.

The previously intimated "prime directive of non-interference" is defined for the first time as the now-iconic "Prime Directive", and is detailed thus:

No identification of self or mission. No interference with the social development of said planet. No references to space, or the fact that there are other worlds, or more advanced civilizations.

Kirk is forced into one of his signature no-win scenarios: he could use his formidably advanced firepower to free himself and his away team, but doing so would undeniably go against the Prime Directive — a principle which he refuses to compromise, despite the interloper having thoroughly broken it upon his arrival and rise to ruler. The conflict between survival of self and survival of the ideals he holds true makes for compelling drama.

The captain elects to put himself into the games rather than sacrifice his crew or the Prime Directive. The sequence of broadcast combat is imbued with just enough camp to exploit the playful fun of the core concept without compromising the drama. A perfect balance, unique to the tonal identity of Star Trek.

A throwaway piece of dialogue is elevated to modern-day precience when it is implied that the home viewing audience will “Name The Winner!”, a harbinger of interactive media that inspires more questions within the functional context of the episode than its casual flavor likely intended. (The implication of any kind of public vote regarding performance would seem to be at odds with the explicitly lethal competition.)

In the arena, Spock and McCoy are pitted against Flavius and Achilles. The situational dynamics of this confrontation, and their ensuing imprisonment, are perfectly designed to test each of Trek's Triumvirate. Spock’s Vulcan training serves him well, and he easily dispatches his opponent. McCoy struggles to compete as a comparatively evolved Earther thrust into regressive combat. Kirk, their leader, is forced to watch as his embodied yin and yang are tested against the frailties from which his species long ago escaped.

In a delightful surprise, this arena confrontation contains some of the best combat staging of the series, including judicious use of hand-held cameras. It also presents theatrical flourishes of topical media satire with the reluctant Flavious being whipped and threatened, if he "lowers network ratings," they'll, "do a special" on him.

CLAUDIUS: We believe men should fight their own battles. Only the weak will die. 

Claudius’ unique brand of Darwinism prioritizes the individual. One-on-one, strength in isolation. This continues to establish their singular despotism against the emerging ideological disruption of the Sun Brotherhood.

Prior to their scheduled execution, imprisonment gives McCoy an incisive observation of Spock:

McCOY: Do you know why you're not afraid to die, Spock? You're more afraid of living. Each day you stay alive is just one more day you might slip and let your human half peek out. That's it, isn't it? Insecurity. Why, you wouldn't know what to do with a genuine, warm, decent feeling.

The dedicated actions of the captain are proven to have taken root as the new ruler earns a last-moment redemption by calling the Enterprise to beam up Kirk and company before being stabbed by his consul. A tragic and decisive end for a man who was kicked out of Starfleet after a single moment of indecision in a psycho-simulator test.

The day is won in spectacular fashion as they beam out amid a hail of machine gun fire. True to its establish tonal spectrum, the crew’s own episode of bread and circuses culminates in a delicious bit of wordplay:

SPOCK: I wish we could have examined that belief of his more closely. It seems illogical for a sun worshiper to develop a philosophy of total brotherhood. Sun worship is usually a primitive superstition religion. 

UHURA: I'm afraid you have it all wrong, Mister Spock, all of you. I've been monitoring some of their old-style radio waves, the empire spokesman trying to ridicule their religion. But he couldn't. Don't you understand? It's not the sun up in the sky. It's the Son of God. 

KIRK: Caesar and Christ. They had them both. And the word is spreading only now.

Regardless of the relative degree of historicity of these figures, the crew is acknowledging the ideological shift which preceded their own utopia: the shedding of tyrannical elitism in favor of universal egalitarianism.

FLAVIUS: The Message of the Sun, that all men are brothers, was kept from us. Perhaps I'm a fool to believe it. It does often seem that man must fight to live. 

KIRK: You go on believing it, Flavius. All men ARE brothers.

For the crew, it becomes a reaffirming testament to the concept of the still-shaky Prime Directive: that though the development of this parallel Earth found itself on an alternate timescale, the ideals that form the bedrock of their socialist future are inevitable developments which come into being regardless of their intervention. The ideals of the Federation are so strong, they require no proselytism.

It does not concern the specific appearance of a literal man or the vagaries of their worship, but rather the power of an idea to spread and overtake injustice. It persists, escaping the dogma of its historical expression and evolving into a secular ethos by reaching back to its reasoned source.

The distinction between seeing life as a zero-sum game, a dog-eat-dog, every-man-for-himself arena, and seeing it as a community of “brotherhood” where everyone lifts each other up, with shared victories and shared struggle. Must we capitulate to our most barbaric tendencies, or can we join together in the dream of transcending them?

This is the ambition that lies at the heart of this Federation of interstellar travellers, and of Star Trek itself.

MCCOY: A philosophy of total love and total brotherhood. 

SPOCK: It will replace their imperial Rome, but it will happen in their twentieth century. 

KIRK: Wouldn't it be something to watch, to be a part of? To see it happen all over again ...

The Trouble with Tribbles

“Too much of anything, Lieutenant, even love, isn't necessarily a good thing.”

Both the Federation and the Klingon Empire lay claim to a disputed system, Sherman’s Planet. A previously-established peace treaty exists between the two, enforced by the godlike Organians introduced in Errand of Mercy. Within the diegetic terms of this agreement can be found the thematic premise of this particular story: one side or the other must prove it can develop the planet most efficiently.

“Though the Klingons are brutal and aggressive, they are most efficient.” 

As Kirk so plainly observes, the Klingon’s represent an imposed, militant efficiency. In a fundamentally opposed counter-example, the iconic Tribble creatures encountered in the course of their investigation represent a purely biological, reproductive efficiency. In classic Star Trek form -- the macro reflected in the micro character triumvirate of Kirk, Spock, and McCoy -- our heroes must come to represent a balanced reconciliation of two extremes. In this case, those extremes are expressed through unchecked efficiency. From the mouth of the nefarious Captain Koloth himself, in direct contrast to the reproductive prowess of the Tribbles:

“We Klingons are not as luxury-minded as you Earthers. We do not equip our ships with, how shall I say it, non-essentials.” 

Punctuating his misogynistic implication with an unmistakable hour-glass gesture, Koloth’s point is clear: Klingon’s do not allow for the “luxury” of female officers as a reproductive distraction. This distinction broadens the thematic structure to allow for an interpretive exploration beyond the instigating “efficiency,” into the fertile mythological territory of base humanity versus imposed ideology.

As always, the Enterprise crew must function as a balancing force to reconcile these two pairs of opposites. Alone, each is doomed to perpetual conflict. With the intervention of our heroes, through the intersecting movements of plot and character, what thematic statement can ultimately be derived from the payoff to this setup?

"I see no practical use for them."

The answer lies in the form another question: what was it that lead to the Klingon infiltration of Starfleet’s efforts? What values were capitalized on by the enemy to assimilate into our heroes’ ranks? The eagerness to develop Sherman’s Planet, just as in the galactic prospector Cyrano Jones’ exploitation of the Tribble’s from their natural environment, casts the amusingly titled Federation Undersecretary for Agricultural Development, Nilz Baris, as an inept representative colonial bureaucracy.

It is only in through the humanist makeup of the Enterprise’s crew that these paradigms can be broken, and the truth revealed. How, exactly? Well, were it not for the loving curiosity of the decidedly female Lieutenant Uhura, the Tribbles would not have propagated to the attention of Captain Kirk, who leverages his newfound knowledge of the creatures alongside his formidable powers of observation to expose the underlying threat which faces them.

Against the Klingon’s militant efficiency and the Tribbles’ reproductive efficiency, our heroes emerge as a “luxurious” and diverse balance of integrated humanity and ideological efficiency.

The self-proclaimed conceit of the episode’s author David Gerrold is the classic “unexpected threat” personified by the Tribbles themselves, and appropriately used as a tool to expose the true antagonistic force: a Klingon double-agent. This turn of dramatic irony is satisfactorily rendered, if not thematically less ripe than the aforementioned subtext. This subtext can likely be attributed to the guiding hand of producer Gene Coon, who was responsible for the teleplay’s final revision.

Dramatically structured as a relatively light whodunnit, and popularly considered to be an example of Star Trek’s lighter fare, it is particularly impressive that this episode can sustain such nuanced exploration. It is a testament to the potential of this landmark series, which happens celebrate its 50th anniversary today.

May the next fifty continue to be just as ... untroubled.

I, Mudd

An android, disguised as a Starfleet officer, takes control of the Enterprise and reunites its crew with an old friend ... everyone's favorite space pirate, Harcourt Fenton Mudd!

In a classic tribal plot, Mudd is now the imprisoned ruler of this planet of artificial beings, whose only purpose is to serve him. Having outlived the species that created them as servants, the near-immortal androids seek knowledge of humanity so that they may better serve.  Seeking escape, Mudd has summoned Kirk and his crew to replace him.

Even a secondary explanation, such as Mudd's presence on the planet, is infused with fascinating and evocative thematic undercurrents. In this case, he was "pirating" stolen intellectual property, a subject more timely now than could ever have been in the time of its conception. Rightly so, as any modern exploration would necessitate more than a passing mention, as it is here.

Mudd proves a legitimate, succinct threat; his plan playing into both thematic substance as well as dynamic plotting. An always entertaining performance is backed by a thoroughly enjoyable structure. The setups and payoffs on every level are both textually effective and dramatically compelling. Humor and suspense cascade into each other in a seemingly effortless balance that defies standard camp.

The episode's concept is brimming with potent thematic conflicts. A "race" of beings with rigidly mechanical minds represent a causal, base logic. Connected to a central complex, they act as a passive-aggressive precursor to the ever popular Borg enemy. The themes they carry in opposition to the main crew are just as strong. They "understand to serve." Service leads to dependency, and in this way they are able to overtake worlds. They may offer eternal life, but it's still a cage. An artificial paradise of the nearly-eternal, removed from the human framework of time.    

Freedom-loving Kirk is able to ultimately defeat their threat using his patented talking-to-death technique. Unlike other uses, however, this episode finds a more dynamic approach, enlisting the entire crew to perform contradictory loops of logic. It's a nonsensical ballet, hilariously incorporating the now well-established character personaes of the imprisoned crew.

As in the best of Trek, Kirk further defines humanity in opposition to the thematic makeup of the antagonists: the androids have no concept of play. (An essentially human attribute.) Within their strictly deterministic understanding, duplicity and illogical behavior does not compute. Further, in their service they seek purpose. A purposeless act cannot be reconciled. As in the highest philosophical drama, the conflict here is choice and choicelessness. Base, purposefully dictated action vs. playfully nonsensical free will.

As to the parade of lovely female servants Mudd creates to service his every desire?

"I am not programmed to respond in that area."

The Deadly Years

An away-team discovers a station of researchers afflicted by a condition which rapidly ages them to death by natural causes. The exploration of "old age" in the external conflict of this episode acts as a spiritual precursor to the internal conflicts portrayed later in the Star Trek feature films. 

On the base level of technical execution, the limited makeup capabilities of the time are paired with varyingly convincing performances from the main cast, and an inappropriately placed romance subplot may elicit giggles. Thankfully, restrictions of time or budget do not doom this episode to the fate of the worst. 

The concept is loaded with the inherent terror of psychological deterioration. However, the broader thematic implications of the internal conflict of coming to terms the aging process are left relatively untouched. While these would be deeply explored in the cinematic realm with the Star Trek films, here it is strictly a dramatic conflict of the plot's novel conceit. 

While the experience of lesser premises might suffer from lack of deeper theme exploration, the structural execution here is thorough and sufficiently effective. In characterization, however, little of what has thus far defined these characters in the series seems to survive their afflictions, creating a sort of dramatic barrier that makes them difficult to accept as the crew we love; Kirk in particular. 

This distinct lack of connection with their un-radiated selves places the affliction more in the realm of possession or madness when performed. While still dynamic, this choice of tone seems unbefitting of the problem's core attributes. 

The only glimpse of Kirk as we know him comes when he elects to take the first dose of an experimental remedy that could kill if not heal. It's a terrific, almost reverse-werewolf, devolution back to his younger self, who storms the bridge just in time to assume command during a Romulan attack! 

It's a classically Kirk moment, showing up the top brass of Starfleet while single-handedly saving the day. It's a tight if not shallow bit of adventure plotting with a fantastical challenge-of-the-week, which falls just short of true Trek greatness. "The Deadly Years" has aged relatively well. 

Mirror, Mirror

In an inexplicably fan-favorite romp, the Kirk-enlightens-savages trope is turned on its head, with the savages being alternate-universe Pirate versions of the Enterprise crew.

Schlocky though the concept may be, it is introduced in as compelling a way as could be hoped for. Amidst dilithium crystal negotiations with a society dedicated to total peace, a shaky bit of sci-fi maneuvering finds the good Captain facing his barbaric shadows. The very conflict he faces ideologically is reflected back in the main conceit of the episode.

Unfortunately, any thematic ambitions are restricted to the fringes of this setup. Indeed, it can hardly be praised as an admirable framing device, as the instigating conflict of the peace-lover's negotiations are never returned to or resolved! In the purest instance of concept overshadowing content, the drama quickly devolves into barest needs of the plot. 

Arbitrary ticking-clocks abound, a conceptually disproportionate amount of screen time is dedicated to Kirk's fish-out-of-water romance with Marlena Moreau. In light of her brief payoff tag at the end of the episode, the entire relationship plays like an eleventh-hour attempt to wrap the episode up and tie the multi-universe experience together. Likewise, Uhura's seductive distraction of scarred mirror-Sulu turns only on the heels of the plot's needs: returning home.

In an episode almost entirely absent of true, earned conflict, one notable exception rises to the top: Kirk and McCoy elect to endanger themselves for the sake of making the ethical decision by saving the nefarious mirror-Spock's life. This brief moment goes a long way to deliver on the promise of this episode's setup. In the same way he would rather walk away from the negotiations than resort to violence in his own reality, Kirk would risk his escape -- to that same reality -- in order to make the right choice in this one. 

In an otherwise well-produced and solidly performed outing, the show has hit a comfortable stride. Though restricted to a limited execution, its ambitions to dramatically explore the darkness innate in every living soul resonated sufficiently with audiences to cement "Mirror, Mirror" as one of the more iconic installments in the show's run.

Just as Kirk reaches for the morally superior position at the expense of his own well being, often the lofty ambitions of Star Trek's thematic scope lie beyond its own ability to portray them. 

The Apple

In a story not unfamiliar to Star Trek, a superior intelligence (or in this case, unseen technology) plays god to an unsuspecting tribe of primitive humanoids. The titular "Apple" references the conceptual clothing of this society: Genesis. 

This Space-Eden uses all its biblical imagery to flesh out the aesthetic experience -- including the serpent's visage for the ruling deity -- retaining very little of the thematic substance. The parallel reference with the most dramatic promise lies in Kirk's own struggle to blindly follow his own orders, as the natives follow theirs, at the expense of his crew. This conflict, however, is relegated to two mentions in dialogue.

There is a compelling conceit hidden at this episode's heart, justifying its Biblical namesake. The primitive society in question is completely stagnate. They neither age nor progress. Nor do they love. Their freedom compromised by blind faith. They are removed from time in an artificial Eden as the mythological Adam and Eve's experience references the essential human condition in the realm of space and time. Life, love, growth, and freedom stem from the inherent pairs of opposites accepted with the bite of the fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. Ought we offer that bite to those in an Eden of artifice, as Kirk and Co. ultimately do?

Unfortunately for the overall strength of the episode, these themes are pushed aside as set dressing when Kirk, speaking for the storytellers, brashly states:

"I think this philosophical argument can wait until our ship's out of danger."

Where stronger Star Trek might use this conceptual base to explore and further define the depths of humanity's core attributes, here it is given only the faintest connective importance to the other elements of the episode. Namely, an ultimately unexplained and thematically irrelevant threat to our hero's starship.

As artificially created as the Eden depicted, the tension of the orbiting Enterprise's imminent peril is an inappropriately executed contrivance. So too is the superficial reuse of the Amok Time musical theme to represent the "tribal" society. Both play on more effective prior use.

Aside from the canonically interesting early-mentions of the Prime Directive and Saucer-Separation, as well as several comedic moments spawning from the now well-established character types, there is little true drama or theme to be gleaned from the dull, unpolished shine of "The Apple."

The Changeling

The generally perplexing decision to alter the production order of episodes for broadcast is rarely as justified as it is considering The Changeling following The Wolf in the Fold. Both episodes have central concepts so divorced from the characters that interact with them, you'd be hard pressed to find connective tissue enough to call them Star Trek. 

Even the most casual observer could cull more dramatic character juxtaposition than this episode does for itself. Centering on a logic-obsessed alien probe, comparison to Spock's own cold logic is played as little more than a joke.  

An offense even more startlingly similar to the prior episode comes in an unexpected blast of misogyny. Whereas "Wolf", at very least, grounded the perspective in the context of the story (however misguided), here it comes spouted full-force from the supposed beacon of logic:

"That unit is a woman."

"A mass of conflicting impulses."

What follows is a shockingly unjustified and unresolved story decision to wipe Uhura's memory, requiring her to relearn basic knowledge and function. While this was likely a tool to enhance the probe's menace and dramatic weight, it feels incredibly unearned when at the heart of its drama lies absolutely no conflict on the character level, yet the result of the conflict has immense repercussions on a main character. As such, the subplot plays entirely unbalanced.

Similarly, the device used by Kirk (yet again) to reason the robot into self-destruction is the result of a plot element seemingly inserted for the sole purpose of being used for conflict resolution. While pitting logic against itself could be the impetus of a thematic statement, it rests here on an innocuous detail, unconnected from the remainder of the episode's conflict. There is a general sense of disconnectedness and dramatic detachment that permeates the entire episode. Like an unintended compartmentalization of all its beats.

Adding insult to injury, the namesake of this episode bears only a passing connection to its content. Any depth of comparison between the evoked myth and the drama on display falls apart with head-scratching rapidity. Did a previous draft of this teleplay more solidly earn it's title? In the probe Nomad's own words:

"The creation of perfection is no error."

Perhaps, but the creation of this episode probably was. 

The Wolf in the Fold

The Enterprise is possessed by Jack the Ripper.

That's right. The Enterprise's computer is taken over by an advanced, non-corporeal alien being responsible for the historical murders of Jack the Ripper. Some may consider this a "spoiler", as the ultimate reveal comes as the second-act plot point launching into act three. Here I will attempt to explain that voicing the ludicrous concept at this episode's heart spoils it no more than it spoils itself.

There can be an innocent, whimsical joy about many of the less-than-serious Star Trek installments. Here, any joys to be taken are undercut either by expositionally waterlogged techo-babble or its direct opposite: situationally inappropriate stabs at humor. It's as if the mediated approach was thrown out the window, taking itself simultaneously too seriously and not seriously enough.

With an added element of retrospective hilarity, the man first possessed by the entity (and, inexplicably, the voice of the entity post-possession) is played by the man who voiced Piglet in Winnie the Pooh. So, now, here is what the modern analyst (or even casual viewer) is left with: An exposition-heavy depiction of Jack the Ripper -- an alien that sounds like Piglet -- possessing a spaceship after framing a Scotsman for the murder of women, targeted only because it has an appetite for fear (And "women are more easily and more deeply terrified," says Spock.) causing the crew to dope themselves up with a happy hypo-spray so that there will be no fear for it to feed on.

Thus is described what is perhaps the most absurd premise for an episode yet encountered. What should have been a joyously campy romp betrays itself with an extensive and vain attempt to legitimately ground itself as a science-fiction concept. Its execution robs the modern viewer of even the sarcastic appreciation afforded with other conceits nearly as outrageously presented in Star Trek's muddled logbook.

It will surprise no one to learn that the teleplay for this episode was adapted by the author of an entirely unrelated short story published in 1943. It has received criticism for its misogynistic sexism, but this artifact of the times pales in comparison to its true crime: it is one of the worst episodes of one of the best television shows of all time. An embarrassing stain on the hull of the Enterprise. 

The Doomsday Machine

"They say there's no devil, Jim, but there is. 
Right out of hell, I saw it!"

The crew encounters a decimated ship, eerily similar in design to the Enterprise, floating helplessly in the wake of a planet killer. Its captain, maddened after the death of his crew, takes control of the Enterprise when Kirk is trapped on the ghost ship.

If that sounds exciting, well, that's because it is. "The Doomsday Machine" is one of the most notable entries in Star Trek's illustrious logbook, and it earns its place solely through the exemplary dramatization of its situational tension. From the tantalizing setup of a dead vessel to the frustrations of inter-military conflict as the mad commodore wrestles command from Spock, this episode is a fine-tuned machine of drama and production value.

In the way of subtextual complexity or interpretable theme, however, this episode is its own Doomsday Machine. As with many of the best of Trek, here the limits of the hour-long format are felt as the machinations of the plot consume most of the runtime. Thankfully, the story gifted is an excellent one, superbly executed in both direction as well as a virtuoso performance by the week's guest star.

In light of the relative excellence of all presented elements, the deficiencies in other areas hardly register as such. Upon reflection, however, one's mind can't help but wander to the potentially striking narrative juxtapositions that could have been made given its own feature. If any concept were deserving of the luxury of a two-parter, this would certainly be it.

Kirk's relation to Decker, their diverging approaches, the weight of responsibility, the toll of command, and the virtue of self-sacrifice; all seem to naturally imply themselves through the brilliance of the established story, but are hardly explored. Passing mentions in dialogue tease our minds and beg the question:

Will the Doomsday Machine have its day?

Amok Time

The triumvirate's relationship is tested when the unique alien biology associated with Spock's ancestry sends him spiraling into a destructive, quasi-pubescent madness lest he is reunited with his home planet.

"Returning to The Source" is a classic mythological motif representative of thematic conflicts beyond the raw science fiction conceit on display here. While biologically interesting, and precedented with a cunning display of techno-babble (salmon's natal homing), the true core of this concept is its thematic focus on the nature of Spock's (and by extent, all Vulcans') internal conflict:

The extremity of his dedication to logic and reason must come with a cost. Reproductive necessity escapses no one, though we may wish to think it does when considering those steely-exteriored, Spock-like figures in our own lives. Vulcan is an entire society extrapolated of the unbalanced attitudes present in our own.

The barbaric nature of the Vulcan rituals depicted calls to mind images of familiarly anachronistic traditions kept alive in our own society. Traditions also birthed by an imbalanced reconciliation of our base humanity. The extremes of Vulcan's ritual answers to base questions of existence mirror our own historical barbarism and presently clinging traditions.

This is dramatically presented in contrast to the comparatively balanced (read: superior) approach of the Federation. Specific note is made of the Vulcan leader's lone reputation for denying a seat on the council. On the macro, this universe-building definition of conflict appropriately reflects the micro drama of the character conflict. It's what this episode is known for: Kirk vs. Spock.

But what, exactly, does the movement of the story say in the way of theme? What is it that breaks Spock from his impassioned blood rage? The exposing of this ritual madness to that very presence of an outsider. Through the contrast, a mutual understanding is born. This is directly in line with the very core of the Kirk/Spock/McCoy dynamic: the reconciliation of opposites. Just as Kirk is Action tempered by Logic (Spock) and Passion (McCoy.)

The inherent balance of Spock's own "outsider" status on Vulcan -- as a legendary officer of the Federation -- and a particularly illogical (and therefore distinctly non-Vulcan) conclusion brings Spock to a level of understanding that allows him to transcend the conflict both internally and externally:

You may find that having is not so pleasing a thing as wanting. This is not logical, but it is often true.

One can't help but feel the entire motivation for the situation's creation was to put our leads at odds. However, the exceptional dramatizing of a multi-level conflict and resolution alone justifies its existence. Its effectiveness is undeniable considering the ensuing reputation and cultural impact. (Who can forget that music?!)

On the surface, we're given a story about the experience of seeking out "new life"  and the exoticism of foreign culture. The stakes are raised by supporting universal conflict and represented theme. For that, "Amok Time" has earned its place next to the greatest episodes in Star Trek's history.

Who Mourns for Adonais?

Verbose, isn't he?

A Kirk quote from this episode almost inspires me to rename this blog "Olympian Generalities." The following should explain why I was convinced otherwise.

This is a mildly interesting episode whose core argument is weak and biased, covered up by an unflatteringly dated camp that leaves little beyond nostalgia to appreciate. The characters seem unfamiliarly written and strange; the plot, contradictory and muddled.

My instinct tells me this concept could have once been an examination of mythology's place in modern life, or the anachronistic effects of god/religion on modern man. Unfortunately, through whatever misfortunes of the production process -- be they self-censorship or studio inflicted -- little beyond hints remain.

At very least the crew is given the appropriately Trek-related central conceit: optimism. The antagonist is assigned a very jaded, un-optimistic point of view. Unfortunately this conflict is scarcely exploited to its dramatic potential.

Man thinks he's progressed, but he's merely forgotten the things that gave life meaning.

The climatic revelation of Apollo plays on the disappointing surface-level concept of Gods having no place in life, leaving our crew only to ponder the ramifications of loosing the true inspiration for thousands of years of human life. With such a fascinating set up, more universal concepts than were ultimately used suggest themselves to no inclusion or expounding.

Like many Trek ventures, this episode flirts with huge concepts without delivering to the level that the franchise is associated with and revered for. Setting it apart, still, is the fact that such thematic content was attempted in the first place.

We shall not debate, mortal.

Friday's Child

"Analysis, Gentlemen?"

This is quintessential Trek. Klingon agents beat the Enterprise to a planet with which our crew had planned to negotiate a mining agreement. The society they face is one in which the strong violently rule at the expense of the weak, and women are reduced to reproductive necessity.

"Is it not best to have two who bargain for the same goods?"

The leader of this society, predisposed to relations with the Federation, finds opposition among his ranks in an elitist who thusly challenges the leader to combat. This society hold combat "more pleasurable than love." This challenger, Maab, defeats the leader, Akaar, becoming leader himself.

In his total dedication to competition, be it physical in his combat or economical in his negotiations, Maab represents a certain unyielding absolutism. Whereas the previous leader may have been open to dealing with the more honorable group, this man is willing to accept any offer that is most beneficial, even if from the ruthless Klingons.

"He laid his hands on me, it is my right to see him die."

Maab orders the death of Akaar's pregnant widow, Eleen. Kirk's common swooning effect on female guest stars is turned on its head this week, as she orders his death at his slightest touch. In fact, though, the most fascinating and thematically revealing relationship in the episode is that of Eleen and McCoy, who takes her on as an unwilling patient as her delivery approaches.

"You said you were prepared to die, does that mean you prefer to die?"

"To live is always desirable."

On the run from the conflict-ridden township, McCoy attempts to care for Eleen and in doing so touches her pregnant belly. In what is initially a comic scene, she slaps him for doing so. Several times she protests with slaps before McCoy slaps her once back. It is this act that defines her ensuing affection for the good doctor, and evolution as a character.

His slap of violence shows her an equality in HER terms -- that of a society built on violence -- where usually she is subservient. In this demonstration McCoy is quickly able to juxtapose the inherent inequities of her upbringing. An upbringing which cruelly conditions women to have no connection with their progeny and full ownership given to the men after birth.

McCoy treats her as men treat each other in her society, allowing her grow as a character, transcending her previously defeatist expectations. (Wanting the death of her own child in light of her husband's death.)

"How'd you arrange to touch her Bones, give her a happy pill?"

"No, Right Cross."

The business with the societal conflict and Klingon presence are wrapped up nicely in the episode's sufficiently exciting climax. With the ultimate demise of Maab, reign is given to Eleen, who will act as leader until her newborn son (the rightful heir) comes of age. The Enterprise crew (owing most credit to McCoy's contributions on behalf of humanity) restored peace and equality to another self-endangering alien society.

Metamorphosis

The superior-being-encounter scenario is dealt with in a most unique fashion in this episode. Much like the previous (and many before) the Enterprise crew encounters a non-corporeal alien who helps to dramatically define aspects of humanity by juxtaposition.

This episode deals with the experiential necessity of humanity in a much more concise and legitimate fashion than "Catspaw" had brushed the subject. Kirk, Spock, and McCoy are transporting a disease-stricken female space-commissioner when they are intercepted by a small panetiod emanating a strange energy.

It is revealed that this energy is a being called "The Companion" that has preserved 150 year lost space traveler Zefram Cochrane and captured our crew to keep him company. While Kirk initially attempts to brutally overload this being's energy in order to escape -- a catastrophic failure -- McCoy suggests a more diplomatic approach using a modified universal translator to communicate with the being.

Kirk attempts to reason with the being, telling it that the commissioner will die if it does not let them go. The companion's dedication to Cochrane (and it's female voice) make apparent a love connection between the now century-plus companions.

The thematic interest emerges when Kirk's negotiations with the being continue to fail. Here is a creature that has no body, and has established a relationship with a living man. Knowing only this form of singular existence, "she" does whatever is necessary to preserve the Cochrane's life and happiness.

Our species can only survive if we have obstacles to overcome. You take away all obstacles. Without them to strengthen us, we will weaken and die.

Kirk drops this doozy on her to little avail. It is not until she assumes the body of the dying commissioner (saving her life in the process) that she is able to comprehend the need of the crew. I found this materialization or merging to be the most compelling aspect of the episode, and find myself wishing it had appeared earlier than the third act, so as to be explored with more depth than it was afforded. She allows them to leave, and in a touching moment, Cochrane elects to stay with her.

While this is a fairly compelling piece of character drama, I'm curious as to why this being based on isolated intellect was never dramatically juxtaposed with Spock. It seems like a natural enough connection, considering what Spock has represented in previous Trek outings. Here Spock is rather pushed into the shadows, with Kirk and McCoy in the fore. Perhaps the writer felt that the most beneficial connection to be made was with the most passionate Human characters, and that inclusion of Spock might require further narrative-crippling definition of the Companion creature.

As it stands, the story is quaint and moderately thought provoking, handling the human themes with tremendously more ease than the campier Trek installments like last week's "Catspaw." It expounds on it's own thematic content in the episode's dialog, leaving little implication to extrapolate on the viewer's part. Not to say that is a necessary quality in a Trek episode, but as this is a critical analysis blog, I find it leaves me with little to add beyond a hearty recommendation.

Catspaw

A disembodied message shepherded by the death of a nameless crewmember forebodes a CURSE on the Enterprise.

Kirk beams down -- with Spock and McCoy flanking him in the iconic configuration -- to the planet-of-the-week for the purpose of investigating the disappearance of Scotty and Sulu. They quickly come upon the first of several traditional "Halloween" tropes in the form of three warning witches (ala Macbeth.) The episode to this point seems to take on an almost aimless structure with vague mysteries for the sole purpose of portraying a mood rather than any sort of conceptual complexity.

After being imprisoned in the picturesque dungeon, they come across possessed versions ofScotty and Sulu. Thankfully Kirk wastes no time in acknowleding the illusory nature of his surroundings. He is taken to Korob, the leader of this place, who questions Kirk's insitance on questioning that which is presented to him, rather than simply accepting it.

"You are the different one, Mister Spock. You do not think like the others. There are no colours to your patterns of logic. There's only black and white."

I applaud the writer for peppering a conceptually mediocre episode with insightful bits of dialogue that go beyond any such aspirations of the plot. They help to make palatable that which could have been relegated to a true guilty-pleasure of an episode.

It is revealed that Korob (inexperienced with humans) is testing our intrepid trifecta in some way. The nature of these tests is pushed to the wayside when we are introduced to Korob'ssultry assistant, Sylvia. There is a vain (but understandable) attempt to shroud the pulp nature of this episode's goings-on with references to the equivlent "Magic" in earth's mythology. This is attempt is trasnparent, however, as the actions of the plot never transcend those same instances of "Magic" in our familiar mythology. Calling it their "science" does little to better it.

"You seem to do with your mind what we do with tools."

Spock deduces that Korob has tapped into the subconcious of the crew accidentally in an attempt to create an environment they would accept. A fallout between Slyvia and Korob reveals that they are in fact superior beings new to the realm of sensations. Unfortunatley, her reaction to this new existence is more perverese than her collegue's.

Slyvia wishes to join with Kirk and fill in the gaps of her knowledge on the sensation of Power by combining their minds. She tempts him with her own knowledge of things beyond his wildest dreams. Kirk, in the only measurable act of heroism contained here, uses her for information on the device (a magic wand) that allows them to maintain their corporeal form and hold them captive.

Had this not been the third or forth time the concept of superior-beings-meddling-with-the-silly-humans had been presented, its light brushes with the subject might hold more value. However, the superior and more in-depth handling in previous episodes renders the viewer searching for other points of interest to identify with in the character or plot content.

The only faint idea that could be associated exclusively with this episode is through Sylvia's need for humanity's own dreams and ambition. Her "superior" intellect still knows nothing of true existence, as she lacks the experience of being alive. Also, the revelation of the creature's true forms, rather than the vibrant light orbs of episodes past, are helpless bugs. They die without the control of their illusion when reality is forced upon them by Kirk.

Interpretively, this can be seen as broaching themes of experiential (a posteriori) knowledge vs. inherent (a priori) knowledge. By these terms, Trek comes down firmly on the side of a posteriori knowledge, which of itself doesn't mesh with the more reconciliatory idealogies presented in previous Trek outings. (Not to mention Spock's strictly logical rationalist presence.) Considering the surrounding events of the episode, this interpretation is a strech at best, culled from bits of stray dialogue more likely present to lend credibitlity rather than imply a thematic statement.

Even though this episode's air date was pushed back to coincide with Halloween, it was the first produced of the second season. I find myself wondering if it is mere coincidence that, by production order, the season begins and ends with episodes featuring a black cat with a bejewledcollar and silent intellect. Forgive the aside, but it was such a peculiar observation, I couldn't help but include it. Perhaps also an effort to add weight or connectivity to an episode that is, by most measures, completely disposable.

To that end, this episode also birthed one of my favorite buttons that I wear on my jacket to this day: the image of Spock chained up in the dungeon with the words "Hang In There!" above him is worth only slightly less than the episode itself.

Operation: Annihilate!

This cheesy Trek may be repulsively silly at first, but reveals a surprisingly sensitive, character-based climax.

The episode suffers from its conflict-of-the-week being almost entirely disparate from its dramatic heart. This creates a very unbalanced narrative structure that pushes all of the meat to the last half of act three. The majority of the episode concerns itself with the mystery of the flying-scabs-that-latch-onto-people's-backs-and-make-them-crazy.

The scabs aren't really scabs, of course, but enlarged single cells of a greater organism from another galaxy. They're going from system to system, using the bodies of unsuspecting humans to do their bidding or perish. Mr. Spock is attacked and is only able to fight back through use of his advanced Vulcan mental discipline. This character struggle seems misused for the visceral display of Spock's attempt to take over the bridge rather than a legitimate opportunity to display Leonard Nimoy's acting ability.

The use of Kirk's brother Sam as cannon fodder for these creatures in the opening of the episode seems forced. Even worse, it's used to surprisingly little effect. While Kirk may initially voice concern for the solving of this issue to save his nephew, he quickly acknowledges the larger implication of saving the entire planet below. The dramatic struggle for his character fizzles with little effect on the story proper.

The depiction of the Kirk-Spock-McCoy relationship towards the end of the episode is spot on but brief. Reduced to a single conference room sequence, we see Spock and McCoy present two entirely unsatisfying options to Kirk as to how the situation might be remedies. Kirk refuses to accept either and demands a third option. Simple, brief, I wish there was more of it. It was the only drama that was really founded in the story this episode contained.

The other standout piece of conflict belongs to McCoy, and has no intrinsic relation to the story. It could have been placed in any episode. When testing ways to defeat the creature, McCoy uses Spock as a test subject before preliminary results had been viewed. This oversight causes Spock to be blinded. The way in which his guilt is depicted dramatically through the final scenes is so sensitively done it betrays the sloppiness the permeates the entire episode leading up to it.

Spock's blindness was temporary (No!), ending the episode on a sweet note between them on the bridge. One of the few times McCoy lets slip a compliment to the Vulcan first officer is a delight to behold.

"Please don't tell Spock I said he was the fleet's best first officer."
"Why, thank you, Dr. McCoy."
"You've been so concerned about his Vulcan eyes, Doctor, you forgot about his Vulcan ears."

The City on the Edge of Forever

The City on the Edge of Forever is one of the most beloved episodes of Star Trek. Its emphasis on character drama allowed it to move beyond normal viewer's interest and into the mainstream consciousness.

There is a single science fiction conceit in the entire episode: The Guardian of Forever. This time portal is used as merely the springboard for dealing with a character story with a great depth of feeling. One I feel may be almost too ambitious for an hour long television show.

Kirk must enter the time portal to repair errors to history created by a crazy drugged up doctor McCoy. (The Doctor accidentally injecting himself is a thrilling Trek teaser if there ever was one.) The plot follows that in order for history to be restored, Kirk must allow the death of a woman he has unfortunately fell in love with.

The ill-fated romance is a fantastic concept for drama, however the time it is afforded in this episode to be introduced, come to fruition, and act as a dramatic payoff is severely limited. Much of the relationship is relegated to informational dialogue ("I'm in love with Edith Keeler") rather than being narratively shown.

While the climatic payoff is ultimately successful, one could imagine a more effective third act in which everything was earned by naturally unfolding introduction in the prior two acts. This led to a particularly annoying contrivance in the personality of the Edith Keeler character. She is given a penchant for astonishingly accurate insight regard the future our lead character's come from.

I can understand the desire on behalf of the writers to create reasons the characters would be attracted to each other, but this one feels too explicitly convenient. Especially considering that her character is strong enough to survive without this invention. Her optimism alone (which is rooted in the plot via her importance to future history) would be more than enough to attract the attention of our dear Captain. Doubly so when cast against the bleak backdrop of the depression.

Again, this is all a byproduct of having more narrative needs than a single hour can adequately support. It is only natural that the slack be cut in one place or other. It's a great episode when the only sin it commits is over ambition.

Errand of Mercy

This episode brings up an interesting point, which itself precludes me from a completely traditional analysis of the episode. It is a great episode of Star Trek. The drama is potent, the structure is satisfactory, and the performances enjoyable.

However, this episode heightens an aspect of Star Trek that has been detectable but not obvious in previous episodes. It is almost entirely dialogue based. This is not a complaint of any kind. Dialogue based storytelling is just as valid as any other, but my analysis thus far has been placing Star Trek up against every other form narrative storytelling. While I maintain that this approach is valid and fair, the analysis I offer is rendered fairly useless if the episode itself expounds upon its own thematic content.

While the dialogue of past episodes has touched upon theme, I've always felt enough was implied that could benefit from a dissection here on the blog. For the first time, I feel as if the episode sums itself up fairly well. Now, this does not preclude me from offering criticism of how I perceive the effectiveness of the episode, but I've always tried to keep this sort of commentary to a minimum. (And, really, my only question after watching the episode deals with the seemingly omnipotent race depicted in the episode. If they will not tolerate conflict, and have the power to stop it on a galaxy-wide scale ... how can the show continue?)

This line of thinking led me to a revelation regarding audience perception of the new Star Trek film. Always looking at Trek (the series and film) analytically, this difference alluded me. Trek fans seem to be used to perceiving the stories of Trek in a dialogue-based fashion. Their pallet has been taught, over decades of series, to derive thematic content through almost exclusively textual means. Clearly there are diversions, but on the whole, most Trek installments expound on the theme in some form of dialogue acknowledgment.

I finally understand why detractors of the new, 2009, Star Trek film claim that it doesn't deal with "issues." (The themes that are integral to Star Trek's success.) It simply doesn't deal with them in the way they are accustomed. There's very little (read: almost none) recap or blatant explanation of theme in the movie. It is a purely cinematic experience. It is visual storytelling. The character's arcs, while not mentioned outright, are implied through the actions of the characters in the face of the opposition depicted. It is the choices made by the filmmakers out of which a theme can be derived, not dialogue.

This fundamental storytelling difference is alienating certain viewers, and delighting others. It doesn't boil down to the presence of action, or the recasting of actors, because beyond all that, the "drama-and-character-that-converge-to-imply-theme" of Trek is still there.

The Devil in the Dark

While this episode may not depict any monumental development or integration of character, I am happy to say it is not a regression. The forms of our crew, so well defined in the prior episodes, carry over strongly into this discovery-based adventure.

The exploratory nature of this episode is classic Trek. The crew is pitted against a life form that couldn't be more molecularity different from traditional life. This silicon based "Horta" creature is attacking workers in a mining facility that supports scores of planets with necessary minerals. The conflict is high as the Horta steals an integral piece of the facilities life support. A time-based enhancer of tension though it may be, it allows for an escalation of conflict that necessitates the intervention of our heroes. An instigating event that is the first clue on the path of discovery.

Here Kirk continues his role as moderator. Whereas the miners would be perfectly content destroying the creature they don't understand, Kirk is able to negotiate a treaty with the Horta. (With the help of a mind-melding Mr. Spock, of course.) It is this continuation of the theme of unity and reconciliation that makes the episode uniquely Trek, elevating it beyond the simple discovery of the unknown. It is the furthering of relations, communication, and understanding that take center stage. Through Kirk's uniquely arrived at conclusion, the facility is now able to produce record minerals with the cooperation of the Horta. (Which, as it turns out, was a mother protecting her children.)

Messages of tolerance of this type will not end with this episode, and become a staple of what defines Trek in the minds of so many. Thanks to such vividly drawn characters, we are able to be continually reminded of what they represent in the face of our own conflicts that often mirror the outrageous space-age adventure depicted in Star Trek.

This Side of Paradise

As if in answer to the previous episode, again Trek expounds upon the topic of ambition. Whereas then we were dealing with an opposition of unhealthy ambition, here we encounter an equally threatening lack of ambition: total contentment. It is this mature theme of moving past the duality of extremes that permeates this episode, and manages to also comment upon the main character's relationship.

The Enterprise crew comes in contact with what amounts to a commune of space druggies. The small clan of travelers are hyped-up on a spore-induced drug that grants them complete harmony, free of want and need. Thankfully, the implications of the anti-drug message are never exploited in any way beyond legitimate dramatic and thematic ends. I found myself dreading the setup, and then delighted that the obvious path was not taken.

When the crew gets subjected to the effects of the spores one-by-one, Kirk is able to observe enough to derive it's failing: Man was not meant for paradise. There is a brief allusion to Eden, a brush with biblical subtext. While the relative snub may seem like further evidence of the often postulated atheistic viewpoint of Star Trek, I rather see this as a balanced acknowledgment of the universal philosophy depicted by the tale of Adam and Eve. As this is a subject hardly exclusive to any one religion, it is not dwelled upon. Rather, it is integrated in plot and character based fashion.

Plot wise, Kirk is able to defeat the spore's extremism by canceling it out with equally extreme rage. The drama is plotted beautifully, as Kirk is forced to enrage Spock. Even beyond this, our favorite Vulcan is treated to an extra dose of attention this episode. Running into an old acquaintance with feelings for him, Spock's internal conflict is brought to the fore. While some may deride Spock's intoxicated enjoyment as silly, I find it tragically telling of his character and paramount in establishing him even further as an evolving person.

"If there are self-made purgatories, then we all have to live in them."

That being said, his position in the "holy trinity" is not compromised. In fact, this episode acts as a pivotal installment in defining how Kirk, Spock, and McCoy relate. Ambition can only be realized through moderated action. Informed by the extremes that live within us (Spock/McCoy), yes, but acting only through careful reconciliation of the two. (Kirk) What better way to illustrate this than by dramatically showing the drearily unambitious consequences of excess?

McCoy: "That's the second time man's been thrown out of paradise."
Kirk: "No, this time we walked out on our own."

Space Seed

It is my opinion that Star Trek truly hit its stride with this episode. There's a certain effortlessness about the crew's relationship. The familiarity is infectious, and the audience can't help but sense it. It is with this confidence that the episode is able to achieve an even greater balance of plot and theme integration.

The crew encounters a group of genetically enhanced men from Earth's past lead by a tyrant called Khan. The episode's central drama centers around the connection between him and the Enterprise's Historian McGivers. Her obsession with the past is exploited by Khan to take over the ship. The only perceivable failing of this episode is that there is no discernible arc for her character. While in a moment of conscience she helps save Captain Kirk, she still ultimately chooses exile with Khan at the episode's end.

In fact, no part of this episode displays any form of arc, be it character or thematically based. While the content of the theme and conflict displayed may be interesting (it IS interesting: unhealthy ambition for human advancement vs. the natural ambitions of the Enterprise Crew) there is no inherent revelation or shift of development that results in a thematic conclusion. It is simply an acknowledgment of these two party's incompatibility that resolves what's presented as the dramatic conclusion. I can't help but feel that if the resolution came through significant developments of character or theme, the payoff would have been more effective.

Nevertheless, the conflict depicted is iconic and poignant. I take no issue with this. Seeing the Enterprise pitted against such an unhealthy ambition really helps define their mission for the audience. It is always when such extreme opposition is depicted that true colors can be revealed. This episode showcases the prime essence of Trek, even if it is wrapped in an slightly underdeveloped narrative.