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.