Enterprise Flashback: E²

Star Trek as a franchise has run for so long that you can't fault it too much for recycling similar plots across its many different series. After all, you can retell stories to some extent, since it's often the characters that make the difference. But since character is a chronic deficiency for Star Trek: Enterprise, I felt the episode "E²" fell short of the Deep Space Nine episode it most resembled.

The Enterprise encounters a copy of itself which traveled back in time more than a century. Populated by descendants of the crew we know, they have roamed the Expanse for generations, waiting for the moment they'll catch up with the "present," where they might help their ancestors in their mission to save Earth.

I understand the appeal of a good, old-fashioned time paradox for a science fiction storyteller. I get why Star Trek: Enterprise would want to throw a stand-alone curve ball just as it pulls up on the end of the highly serialized season three. What I don't get is why the writers would attempt to repackage one of the best Deep Space Nine episodes, "Children of Time," without having anything truly novel to contribute. That episode was built around the same premise of Our Heroes meeting their time paradox descendants, but it more deeply explored everyone's personal reactions to that. The commitment seemed deeper, with the Deep Space Nine crew bonding much more with their descendants than anyone seems to here. And crucially, Odo's priorities in that story made for a weightier ending.

There is at least one unique story line that Enterprise highlights in its version of the premise -- the relationship between Trip and T'Pol. An old T'Pol is still alive aboard the duplicate Enterprise (a fact I wouldn't have revealed right away), and she advises her younger self to embrace her emotions and pursue the relationship. The advice comes right as younger T'Pol has decided to pull away from Trip, and is a fun way of swinging to "will they" in long-running "will they, won't they?" between the two.

But then I think the writers make a mistake in understanding what's interesting about this whole concept. Just because Trip and T'Pol's relationship is central, the script makes their son Lorian a central character. The episode cares a lot about his redemption -- how he failed at a chance to end the Xindi threat, and will go to any lengths not to fail again. It's a choice part for guest actor David Andrews, and he plays it well -- but I really don't feel why I'm supposed to care. We don't actually know Lorian, and he will (spoiler, I suppose) cease to exist by the end of the episode. So I can't invest much in his redemption while potential plot threads about the Enterprise crew get short shrift.

We get one scene in which Travis Mayweather and Hoshi Sato speak briefly about what they've learned of their descendants, but it barely gets into why he wants to know so much and she doesn't. Reed is the writers' punching bag yet again, as we learn he has no descendants -- though instead of actually exploring the emotions of that, it's played for a laugh. The implications of Phlox's polyamory barely gets a mention, and we don't explore Captain Archer's feelings at all. Does he regret any actions he took that might have caused this whole mess? Does the loss of his own father factor at all into the way he approaches his descendants? Wouldn't it be nice to explore any of that?

They might have had time to do that, had the writers not felt the need to keep the Xindi threat current. This episode serves up more than one scene of classic villain monologuing between Xindi characters, as they argue about the evidence Enterprise gave them in the last episode. It hardly seems necessary to me; if you're going to have a story diversion, then embrace the diversion, and don't tread water with these extraneous scenes.

Other observations:

• With Spock looming large over the portrayal of any half-human, half-Vulcan character, this episode charts another course. Lorian embraces emotion rather than rejects it, and seems to have found an effective balance. 

• Time travel rules in stories can never be airtight, but things feel especially porous here. When the two Enterprises fight each other, wouldn't any damage to the one in the present threaten the existence of the one from the past? And while T'Pol does ask how can they remember the other Enterprise once it ceases to exist, hanging a lantern on it doesn't answer the question.

• Speaking of that battle -- Archer gets the upper hand by using the transporter to beam critical equipment off the past Enterprise to hamper its operation. Seems like this should be a go-to strategy in any ship battle, once the shields are down.

• BIG SPOILER FOR THE ENTERPRISE SERIES FINALE. Lorian reveals that his father Trip died when he was young. The writers seem to have a thing with killing Trip off for an emotional pop.

The story threads about Trip and T'Pol do work here. But I feel the phantom limbs of all the other character stories they might have explored, were they not overly focused on Lorian's arc, or Xindi bickering. I give "E²" a B-.

Derry Girls (and Boys)

The start of this week brought us the end of the new TV series It: Welcome to Derry. (At least, the end of season one, of a possible three.) The prequel series takes the "a monster comes once every 27 years" premise baked into the two It movies and jumps back into the 1960s -- a different group of kids must face the terrifying force that hunts the town of Derry, Maine. Meanwhile, the general of a nearby military base seems to be aware of the evil creature, and is going to great lengths to track it down.

Welcome to Derry is a more complicated show than you might expect, and my feelings about it are equally complicated. The "prequel problem" looms large over the story: you know exactly where the story is heading. And yet arguably that isn't so big a deal? The horror genre isn't necessarily one to surprise its audience with unpredictable endings, especially not once a film becomes a franchise. The thrill of watching is to feel your skin crawl with well-executed suspense, get surprised by a perfectly-timed jump scare, or to recoil from a grisly visual. Put simply, horror is often about the journey more than the destination, so knowing the ending -- in this case, that the monster is going to live to fight another day -- might not be a dealbreaker.

Still, Welcome to Derry tries to replace the surprise it can't give you in the end with a number of other surprises along the way -- often zigging whenever you expect it to zag. Episode one delivers a truly shocking subversion of audience expectations. Other "twists," like the decision to withhold the appearance of Pennywise the Dancing Clown until deep into the season, feel less successful to me. Regardless, there are enough thrills in each episode to pull a horror fan along.

Three aspects of the show are especially well executed. Foremost is another round of superb casting. It's hard enough for a movie that calls for one important young character to find the right child actor. The 2017 It movie caught lightning in a bottle by casting multiple excellent child actors. Welcome to Derry pulls off this magic trick once again -- though the evidence would suggest that a large part of the credit should go to director Andy Muschietti, who helmed both movies and half of this show's eight episodes. He clearly knows how to capture great performances from young actors, and it's good that this prequel story plays to that strength.

Another highlight of Welcome to Derry is a particular event that happens deep into the story. It's been a long time since I read the original Stephen King novel It. I'd forgotten (though online fans are there to remind you), that three "interludes" in the book tell short stories of things that happened the last three times that this monster emerged from hibernation. The show runners of Welcome to Derry have said they hope for a three-season run in which those three events each anchor one season. In this first season, that event is a powerful reminder of an often-forgotten theme of King's book: that the evil people do can be just as terrible as that of an imagined monster. If the writers were secretly building their entire season to one pivotal sequence, they certainly nailed it when they get there; the events of the penultimate episode, "The Black Spot," are haunting in a way that has nothing to do with the supernatural.

Finally, speaking of Stephen King, Welcome to Derry delights in sprinkling references to the writer's other works. From playful mentions of Shawshank prison to taking a character from another novel and making him a major player here, Welcome to Derry is full of fun Easter eggs. And I'd wager, being only a casual fan of Stephen King, that plenty of other connections slipped by me without notice. 

But eventually, that "prequel problem" is going to rear its ugly head. The show contorts mightily to convince you that you don't actually know how this story might end... and that it doesn't matter if you do. But despite a final episode with a big showdown on an epic scale... the ending of Welcome to Derry is a bit unsatisfying. How could it not be, when it has to tee up both the movies it spawned from and potential future seasons of the show?

Still, I feel like knowing that is just part of the contract of sitting down with Welcome to Derry in the first place. So in the end, and overall, I felt I'd been entertained and rewarded for my time. I give the show a B+. I suspect most people who would like it are already well aware of it -- but for what it's worth, I'll give a gentle nudge to any people out there sitting on the fence.

Dead Letter

After enjoying the two previous Knives Out movies, there was no way I'd miss out on the third Benoit Blanc mystery from Rian Johnson, Wake Up Dead Man.

Catholic priest Father Jud is sent to a small town, where the local preacher, Monsignor Wicks, leads his flock in a stern, Old Testament style. Wicks constant needling of Jud fosters animus between them... so when Wicks is murdered, Jud seems the obvious suspect. But the odd "locked room mystery" circumstances of the death attract the interest of detective Benoit Blanc, who discovers motives for murder all throughout the congregation.

Rian Johnson has been on quite a mystery tour of late, not only with Knives Out, but with the superb television series Poker Face. Wake Up Dead Man is the first Benoit Blanc movie to arrive after Poker Face, so it's possible that the way I received this new movie has been altered by the experience of 22 episodes with Natasha Lyonne. I do feel there are three key ingredients in the Knives Out recipe: a twisty murder plot, a large ensemble cast of big actors there to play, and a dash of social commentary. The ingredients are all there in Wake Up Dead Man, but I feel like the measurements have been substantially tweaked.

Knives Out was woven through with "upstairs-downstairs" commentary about class and means. Glass Onion turned up the heat on the rich even more. But Wake Up Dead Man is (almost) mainly about its religiously-themed message. It has a lot of ground to cover about organized religion vs. faith, the kind of people who wield religion for their own personal aggrandizement, and in particular how these issues intersect with Catholicism. The subject is ripe for a takedown, and I have no problem with this franchise putting another lever of power in the spotlight with this movie.

But I think it comes at the expense of that second aspect of the Knives Out formula: the ensemble cast of big actors. Oh, they're here, to be sure: Josh O'Connor is far more the lead than Daniel Craig, and he's surrounded and supported by Glenn Close, Josh Brolin, Mila Kunis, Jeremy Renner, Kerry Washington, Andrew Scott, Cailee Spaeny, Thomas Haden Church, and Jeffrey Wright. But where the first two Knives Out movies were full of fun characters I could see actors lining up to portray, I just don't feel there's much juice to be squeezed from most of the people in this story. Where Knives Out and Glass Onion seemed to offer everyone at least one moment to chew the scenery, Wake Up Dead Man feels almost disinterested in developing many of its characters -- to a degree where people seem like suspects only because they're portrayed by someone famous.

The effort that might have been spent on characterization goes instead to developing the mystery. Wake Up Dead Man has by far the most convoluted plot of the three Benoit Blanc mysteries. To explain how would probably give too much away -- and such pains were taken to hide the truth that I'd feel monstrous to spoil it. I'll just say that you'll probably enjoy the movie more if you don't expend much mental effort trying to solve "whodunnit" and just go along for the ride.

All of that probably sounds like I didn't enjoy Wake Up Dead Man very much -- but that's not at all the case. Really, it's that the prior two movies set a rather high bar for entertainment, and I feel that you really have to get into the weeds to differentiate and rank them. This movie has plenty of laugh out loud moments, a few triumphant monologues, some wonderful visual imagery, and an especially great performance from Josh O'Connor. It's enjoyable. I just enjoyed it less than Knives Out or Glass Onion. And it's possible, if I'd not been hearing about critics praising this as possibly the best Knives Out movie, that coming without heightened expectations wouldn't have soured the experience at all.

As it stands, I give Wake Up Dead Man a B. It's well worth watching, especially if you've liked either of the previous movies. But if you've heard any of the hype, maybe tamp it down a bit.

Star Trek Flashback: The Menagerie, Parts I and II

Halfway through the first season of the original Star Trek, the production found itself over budget, behind schedule, and in serious danger of failing to meet its network order. A clever solution was found. Gathering dust on the shelf was "The Cage," the original series pilot, unable to be shown due to its almost completely different cast of characters. But if that episode could somehow be packaged inside a "modern" episode, the footage could be saved. Thus was born Star Trek's only two-part episode, "The Menagerie."

Enterprise is summoned to a starbase by celebrated captain Christopher Pike, only to discover such a summons would have been impossible: after a horrible accident, Pike has been confined to a robotic chair and can communicate only through a blinking light. Before that mystery can be solved, a larger one appears: why has Spock mutinied?! He abducts Pike, steals the Enterprise, and locks it on course to the one planet forbidden by Starfleet: Talos IV. When Spock is put on trial, his defense revolves around the one prior journey to that planet over a decade earlier... and ultimately reveals his loyalty to his previous captain.

If you've watched "The Cage" recently (which I have), it's difficult to watch "The Menagerie" without a finger poised over the fast forward button. It truly is one new episode and one old episode shuffled together. Indeed, "Part II" has so little new footage in it that I feel it could hardly stand on its own for the sake of a separate review. So here, I'll just take on both parts, and set aside any comments that would apply only to "The Cage."

"The Menagerie" is really a clever idea, only possible because of Spock's presence in the original pilot. It comes at just the right time in season one, after we now know Spock well enough to be utterly mystified about his reasons for hijacking the ship. Kirk is emphatic: if Spock says they received a message to come visit Pike, that's what happened. McCoy is surprisingly even more certain that Spock could not be duplicitous, exposing the trust beneath their constant sparring.

It's fun for the audience to watch Spock take control of the ship. Of course, it demands his technological savvy, and a battery of faked messages he has prepared. It demands stealth (even if it strains credulity when he "sneaks" right by some technician who is looking right in his direction). It demands strength and a trademark Vulcan neck pinch (even if Spock illogically throws the guy around a bit before incapacitating him). Only Spock could carry out something this elaborate, and that only adds to the feeling that he must have a very good reason.

To jump to the end: he does. It is a great testament to Spock and his usually-repressed human half that he cares deeply enough for Captain Pike to risk his own career (and very life; I'll get to that in a moment) to give Pike a chance at happiness. It's possibly hard to square all this against the "needs of the many" Spock of later years, but it tells you just how much this relationship means. (And is one of the factors that makes spin-off Strange New Worlds such a joy to watch; it cares about establishing deep relationships like this, among all its characters.)

The extent of Pike's "locked in" state feel a bit extreme. It works well for the story, but also shows a lack of 1960s imagination; even current technology allows people similarly immobilized and confined to a wheelchair to be more communicative that this. And then there's Star Trek's penchant for over-inflating the stakes. It's not enough that going to Talos IV is dangerous, it has to be the one act in the Federation for which you can get the death penalty. (Yet also, some starbase commodore can just waive that rule if he wants to.) Also,"Part I" ends with Kirk being in hot water too, even though that plot thread isn't picked up in "Part II" at all.

A late plot twist makes no sense to me at all -- it turns out that the Commodore Mendez who accompanied Kirk to the Enterprise was never really there, but an illusion placed in everyone's minds by the Talosians. If it's possible for the Talosians to reach across light years with their powers to this extent, then they're more powerful than it's possible to contemplate. (And "General Order 7," forbidding contact with Talos IV, seems laughably moot. Maybe that's why the real Mendez can just waive it.) If the Talosians can do all this, then why does Pike have to be brought to them for them to use their mental powers to restore him to his pre-accident self?

Other observations:

• There isn't a lot of time for character beats in this episode outside of Spock's story -- but McCoy's flabbergasted reaction when Spock surrenders to him is a good one. 

• When footage from "The Cage" plays in such close proximity to new footage, you can't help but compare all the changes to production that are "similar, but different": uniforms, colors on the sets, lightning changes, and more. 

• They really shouldn't have left in the shot where Spock smiles at the noise-making plants on Talos. It's just not consistent with the character he became. 

• It's some kind of film "Inception" when the people at the trial are watching a TV of Talosians watching TV of Pike on the planet surface. (Add it us watching it on our TVs for yet another layer.) 

• Part II opens with a kind of "previously on" package that isn't actually a "previously on" package, as Kirk, Spock, and Mendez pose theatrically and Kirk narrates via log entry what happened last episode.

• Part II has such a low budget that a line of dialogue explains Spock's trial will be a "closed hearing" -- covering why the people who attended in Part I (like Scotty and McCoy) aren't around anymore. 

• Most of the new footage in Part II is useless interjections that just restate the plot of "The Cage" as we're watching it. But I had to laugh at the shot that follows the line about human males being unable to resists Orion women: a shot of Captain Kirk.

• One shot they do cut from "The Cage" is the moment when Vina is given the illusion of her own Christopher Pike. Cleverly, this lets them use the footage later as though it's the real Pike now on the surface of Talos IV.

If I were making recommendations for someone watching the original Star Trek, I'd actually suggest they skip "The Cage," so they could come to "The Menagerie" as audiences in the 1960s did: seeing it as two new episodes of television. It's basically impossible for me to see it that way. So rather than grade "The Menagerie, Part II" as some bottom-feeding "Shades of Gray"-type flashback episode with little new footage (and most of what's there not making any sense), I'll give it an "N/A" -- and grade the whole of "The Menagerie" a B-.

We've All Been Robbed

I'm not the sort of person who is usually moved deeply by the death of a famous person. But yesterday's news about the death of Rob Reiner and his wife Michele hit differently. It was the kind of news you feel like you couldn't possibly have heard correctly the first time -- and that's before you get into the horrible circumstances, that the two were murdered in their home. But that awful end is hardly necessary for Rob Reiner's passing to feel like a major loss.

It can be difficult for a generation to know how much of its own pop culture has currency to other generations, but Rob Reiner's work spanned a few. In particular, if you ask the average movie fan in their 40s or 50s what their favorite movie is, there is a significant chance you're going to get as the answer either the Reiner-directed The Princess Bride or This Is Spinal Tap. (You could go deep on what the preference between the two says about a person, but that's a topic for a less sad day.) Both loom large in 1980s pop culture, and both have continued to play well to new audiences years later.

But Reiner wouldn't have needed either towering achievement on his resume to be a notable director. Writer Stephen King has found a few go-to collaborators in his career, but Reiner was one of the first: in directing both Stand by Me and Misery, he showed a mastery of two strikingly different tones in King's catalog. Without Reiner, we certainly would never have had The West Wing, since Reiner's direction of A Few Good Man and The American President are what built the audience for Aaron Sorkin's dense, often-imitated writing.

And for "often-imitated," look no further than the foundational rom-com When Harry Met Sally...

Those are just the highlights of Reiner's directing career. As a producer, he was a founder of Castle Rock Entertainment, which gave us City Slickers, The Shawshank Redemption, Before Sunrise (and its sequels), The Green Mile, Miss Congeniality, and many, many more. Oh, and a little television show called Seinfeld.

Then there's Reiner's acting career. He was convinced that playing Meathead on All in the Family would be the first line of his eventual obituary, though he went on to put in memorable appearances in plenty of movies (directed by others and himself).

Reiner's death feels like a big one because it's kind of impossible to imagine anyone who is even vaguely aware of film and television of the last several decades who doesn't know any of his work. What I can imagine is a lot of fans firing up one (or more) of his movies this week.

Enterprise Flashback: The Forgotten

With "The Forgotten," I feel that Star Trek: Enterprise had backed itself into a narrative corner. It did the best it could in the situation, but the results are still something of a "filler" episode near the end of the season-long story arc.

Captain Archer must explain to Degra everything they've learned in the Expanse, and convince him that the long-term plans of the Sphere Builders will be as devastating to the Xindi as everyone else. Meanwhile, Trip struggles to write a letter to the parents of a crew member who was killed in the recent attack by the reptilian Xindi, and T'Pol continues to struggle with emotion after her use of trellium.

In so many stories, there comes a point where one character has to recount information to another that the audience/reader/listener already knows. A book will often dispatch this with a short sentence: "Jane explained everything to Bob." A movie or television show will often cut away to a scene in a secondary plot. That is the situation where Star Trek: Enterprise finds itself here between Archer and Degra. And yet, persuading a long-time nemesis to actually switch to your side is not the sort of story development that should happen entirely off-screen. So we have to see Archer's attempts to persuade... even if that means walking the audience through back story it already knows.

On the plus side, we are talking about 19 prior episodes of season three -- and if you watched it week-to-week at the time, it unfolded over more than half a year. The audience itself could probably use more of a refresher than a brief "previously on" package can deliver at the start of the episode. On the other hand, this won't be the last "re-cap" of the season; if Archer is successful, all he will get is Degra's promise to take him before the Xindi council... where he will have to explain all of this yet again.

So what this episode really needs is a B-story. Better yet, an A-story that can take up more screen time than what's essentially going to be a massive exposition dump. The writers of Enterprise were smart enough to know this, and also clever enough to seize an opportunity that Star Trek rarely takes: mourning the death of a "redshirt." Thus, after "Damage" (an episode that uncharacteristically shows Star Trek dealing with the physical aftermath of a battle) we now get this episode (which will uncharacteristically deal with the emotional aftermath).

"The Forgotten" opens with a speech from Archer at a memorial service for 18 fallen crew members, and transitions from there into Trip's episode-long struggle to write a letter to the family of one of them, crewman Taylor. It's soon established how little sleep Trip has gotten in recent days, teeing up that he begins to imagine seeing and talking to Taylor. That leads to a strong scene, exploring Trip's guilt as he imagines all the things Taylor would say if she were really there. And the subtext behind it all is well-conceived: that what Trip is really struggling with is not having properly mourned the death of his own sister.

Unfortunately, this scene (and the story line as a whole) is compromised in two ways. First, the sudden concern over crewman Taylor seems hollow; we never met her before she was killed, and it's hard to retrofit emotion onto someone we don't really know. Second, the "previously on" package at the top of the episode gives the game away by reminding us of the death of Trip's sister. We know the whole time what's really got Trip so worked up. So even as the episode takes care to slowly expose the truth through Trip' clashes with Degra and conversations with T'Pol, we know where it's all headed. And when it does get there, and we hear the letter Trip finally writes Taylor's family? It's good for the story, as we can tell he's finally coming to terms with his own loss. But it doesn't feel like it would be much comfort to Taylor's family; it's all about Trip!

Of course, Star Trek: Enterprise has always been on its strongest footing when in action-adventure mode. An episode about exposition and feelings alone isn't going to cut it. So we do get two separate calamities to deal with. First is a plasma leak exploding on the outside of the ship, requiring a spacewalk to repair. The CG figures walking along the hull don't look entirely convincing, but the sequence is otherwise well-realized with good sets and clever lighting effects. Then, a reptilian Xindi ship arrives, and Degra is forced to firmly choose sides and attack his own people. It's unfortunate that the moment Archer finally does persuade Degra is kept off-screen for suspense, but the action that follows plays well.

Other observations:

• Family Guy creator and massive Star Trek fan Seth MacFarlane makes a brief cameo appearance. (With just one line of dialogue, I think?) This didn't scratch the itch. Not only will he appear one more time on Star Trek, but he would go on to create and star in his own Star Trek homage, The Orville.

• The writers never tire of making Reed look terrible. Sure, he lays his life on the line to try to save the day in this episode... but that comes after he can't even do something as simple as open a panel. (I know, it's heat-warped, and that's not his fault. But could they not once have Trip fail to do something?)

• For all the scenes in Trip's story line that are meant to stir emotions, I find the most effective moment to be when T'Pol confesses her envy of humans: they can give in to emotions without being overwhelmed as Vulcans are.

This episode's heart is in the right place, but there's no way around the burdensome exposition it's saddled with. And Enterprise is hard-pressed to excel at character-based drama when it has done so little to build audience empathy for its characters over three seasons. I give "The Forgotten" a B-.

Star Trek Flashback: The Corbomite Maneuver

"The Corbomite Maneuver" is a pivotal episode for the original Star Trek, showcasing exactly the kind of captain that James T. Kirk can be. And fittingly, it was the first regular episode of the series ever produced following its two pilots. Unfortunately, because of the extreme number of visual effects it called for (and the impossible production schedule), it wasn't finished to air on television until the tenth episode.

The Enterprise ventures into an alien civilization's space, and is forced to destroy a threatening probe in self-defense. This in turn summons a massive spaceship whose captain, Balok, threatens to destroy Enterprise. Kirk tries a desperate deception to save his ship... and that turns out to be just one test he faces.

You can imagine how things might have gone with the original Star Trek writers. They've finally begun the series, and now behold, "here's the kind of story we'll get to tell every week!" Then immediately, they discover that it's completely impossible to tell this kind of story every week on a 1966 television budget. But at least this episode does exist as a monument to what might have been, walking so that modern Star Trek with its extensive CG and sets with AR walls could run. (Plus, the "re-mastered" version of it stays largely faithful to the original vision, though with added interactive light from the alien spacecraft reflecting off the Enterprise hull.)

Episode director Joseph Sargent is extremely ambitious with the camera in this episode -- as though he's trying to find new camera angles for a show that's been around for 50 episodes already. Look for an eye-catching crane shot in the opening scene that tracks from Spock's panel to the helm, and a later sequence that follows behind Kirk as he steps out of the turbolift onto the bridge. There's also extensive lightning tricks used on the bridge to imply the spinning Q-bert cube on the viewscreen without having to show it as often. This sort of time-consuming stagecraft would also prove to be too much for a show that needed to produce a staggering 29 episodes in its first season, and became quite rare after this.

Star Trek is still finding its way at this point. The Enterprise is very much a military ship. Leaders bark orders (and then Spock tells someone off a minute later for raising their voice). We also seem a long way from deciding who the important secondary characters aboard this ship will be. As much as this episode is about Kirk's ingenuity and ability to bluff, it's equally an episode about Lieutenant Bailey. McCoy and Kirk argue about whether he was promoted too early. He has a complete meltdown on the bridge, but then is given the most unearned of second chances, an opportunity to become a diplomatic envoy -- complete with the implication that he'll one day come back to the Enterprise. It might have been nice to give that story line to someone we'd eventually come to love. (Yet at the same time, I don't think I would have liked the show making such a Malcolm Reed out of a main character and then expecting us to like them later.)

But neither is this episode striking a completely different tone than what would emerge. "The Corbomite Maneuver" is foundational Captain Kirk, showcasing the improvisational command style that would last all the way through the Star Trek movies two decades later. Spock is already a clear fast friend with Kirk, playfully asking why he bothers to seek opinions when he's made up his mind. McCoy's first appearance (in filming order) also strongly establishes that character, as he wields his medical authority over Kirk perhaps too zealously, and grouses about what duties are not in his purview (though he hasn't quite got the "I'm a doctor, not..." formulation yet).

The ending is also classic Star Trek, through and through. The implacable enemy we've faced is revealed to be benevolent and friendly. Driving home this message is an iconic puppet and a very young Clint Howard (collecting his first of multiple Star Trek series). The casting of a child is great fun -- even if there is bit of unintentional comedy in the fact that he wants nothing more than to take the landing party on a tour of his ship. (It gives big "wanna come to my room and see my toys?" energy.)

Other observations:

• After his physical, Kirk just takes off walking around the ship shirtless and sweaty. And while there is then a moment about him deciding he has time to change... he knows what he's doing.  

• This "First Federation" seems like the Borg in reverse or something. First, they show up with a tiny cube. Later, they arrive in a giant sphere. 

• Spock makes the odd observation that the stern, unyielding Balok reminds him of his father -- planting an early seed for the character of Sarek that would eventually appear.

• What a weird, of-the-time episode this is for Yeoman Rand. Kirk complains about having been assigned a female yeoman (of all things!). But then she comes through in a crisis later... by showing up on the bridge with fresh coffee she brewed with a phaser after the power went out.

"The Corbomite Maneuever" manages to find a lot about Star Trek that in retrospect feels essential to the franchise. But it also focuses too much on the minor (and annoying) character of Bailey, and feels quite slowly paced at times. Overall, I give it a B-.

Enterprise Flashback: Damage

When I last left season three of Star Trek: Enterprise, the ship had been thrashed in a battle with the Xindi. So we now rejoin our heroes with the appropriately titled "Damage."

With the Enterprise in dire need of repair, the crew is lucky to encounter another alien ship that's been damaged by anomalies in the Expanse. But hopes for a mutually beneficial trade are quickly dashed; the component Enterprise needs most is one that the alien captain is unwilling to give up. Archer must decide: to continue his vital mission to save Earth, is he willing to raid the aliens and take what they need by force? Meanwhile, we learn the reason behind T'Pol's increasingly emotional state.

From here through the rest of the season, the series really takes advantage of the fact that its visual effects are achieved through CG and not practical models. The damage inflicted on the Enterprise by the Xindi is extreme -- beyond what you could have done to a physical model on a television budget. The chewed-up exterior of ship is matched by extensive distressing of the sets. (Because the plan is to live for many episodes in this damaged state, the cost to distress the sets -- and eventually restore them -- can be spread across many episodes.)

It has to look this desperate. AND we have to have the ticking clock of Enterprise needing to make a rendezvous with Xindi allies in three days. Only then can we maybe get on board with Archer embracing a piratical plan to steal what they need. Maybe. Deep Space Nine got this dark on occasion (once resulting in one of its best episodes). But I feel the success there stemmed from how much Deep Space Nine cared about its characters and made us care. Enterprise has been far less intentional (or successful) in that regard, so I have a hard time mustering feelings for Archer's dark turn here.

But the episode tries to get us there. Archer seeks moral council with Phlox before starting down his dark path. T'Pol protests strenuously. Trip tries to tell him he's doing the right thing. And cleverly, a recognizable Star Trek actor (Casey Biggs) is cast as the alien captain, perhaps giving the sense that Archer has to do this to someone we know. Yet despite all of this, I feel like "dark Archer" is getting tiresome. I appreciate that this season has walked him gradually down this path, so that the decision here doesn't come from nowhere. Yet also, the decision here doesn't feel much farther over the line. I'm ready to see Archer struggle not to talk himself into another bad thing, but to talk himself into doing the right thing again, despite risks or costs.

I don't get any more satisfaction from the T'Pol subplot. We learn that she's become addicted to injecting herself with microdoses of trellium. Drug addiction feels like one of the go-to plot lines for a televised drama of this era, and sure, telling that story with a Vulcan character seems like an appealing novelty. Yet it also essentially undermines any character development we've seen from T'Pol this season, telling us that her emotional growth has come as a side effect of drug addition. At best, this is saying that her personal change was unintentional. At worst, there's a complicated message about drugs and self-help that I think Enterprise as a series is uninterested and incapable of exploring with any nuance.

Other observations:

• T'Pol's nightmare is packed with everything the writers could dream up -- a steamy shower scene for the commercials, and a good old fashioned jump scare for the lolz.

• Archer asks Reed to prepare the boarding party that will ransack the alien ship. Isn't this sort of personal combat planning exactly the reason the MACOs are here? 

• We're still at it with the dull villain monologuing at the Xindi council. Now they are joined by a Sphere Builder to give everyone something new to argue about.

While I appreciate the lasting consequences of Enterprise's recent space battle, I don't think this episode does nearly as good a job wrestling with the consequences of Archer's decisions. For that, and undermining T'Pol's character growth at the same time, I give "Damage" a C+.

Lightning Strikes

Recently, I've been seeing a lot of praise for the Netflix mini-series Death by Lightning. The subject matter sounded intriguing, the cast was appealing, and at just four one-hour episodes, it seemed an easily digestible bit of entertainment. So I decided to give it a try.

Death by Lightning is the story of U.S. President James Garfield and the man who assassinated him, Charles Guiteau. As it chronicles the unlikely circumstances that swept Garfield into office -- and the challenges he faced once he got there -- it follows Guiteau hopping from one swindle to another, culminating in a deception on himself that led to his fateful decision. Highlighted throughout all of this is the fact that all this history, and these two men, are largely forgotten.

I don't know how most people engage with stories based on true events, but I often grow compelled to do my own minor research. Sometimes, the "truth" seems so strange that I seek a second source to confirm it isn't "fiction." Sometimes, I want more parts of the story to flesh out what I'm experiencing. Death by Lightning spurred both of these instincts in me.

Unsurprisingly, it turns out that events here are considerably compressed. You don't have to dig very deep to learn all sorts of details about Garfield's presidency -- things that seem very relevant to his presidency -- that don't get much (or any) time in the show. Perhaps also unsurprisingly, it turns out that the reality of this show is a heightened one. The story is shaded for the sake of entertainment, making Garfield's rise seem more "out of nowhere" than it actually was, muting the possibility of mental illness in Guiteau, and making more generic adversaries out of the politicians in their orbit.

While the tone of Death by Lightning probably makes for better television, it also leaves me wondering exactly what the message is? Is it trying to say that people will always be corrupted by the lure of fame? Is this offered as an allegory for our present political moment, as if to say that things have always been heated, that it has "been ever thus?" Is it trying to suggest that our current moment isn't so dire, because no one will remember it in a century? None of those possibilities feel good to me; they're shallow, easy, or discomforting. (Or all of the above.) And none of those points is offered with much clarity.

But... it did make me start dipping into the actual history. This show is said to be based on a book by Candice Millard. I have found myself wondering if I should seek out that book for a more complete picture. In any case, if this adaptation is offered up purely as entertainment, the cast must be commended. The show features Michael Shannon as Garfield, Matthew Macfadyen as Guiteau, plus Betty Gilpin, Shea Whigham, Bradley Whitford, Nick Offerman, and other recognizable faces in its sweeping cast. If the "message" is less ambitious, something limited like "bring forgotten history to light," then Death by Lightning seems far more successful.

In all, I give the mini-series a B-. It's probably not for everyone... but if you would call yourself a political or historical junkie -- yet like me, were not too familiar with this story -- then it might be worth your time.

Star Trek Flashback: Dagger of the Mind

Prison systems are a ripe subject for science fiction. On the one hand, it doesn't take much of a turn of the dial on reality to concoct some horrific allegorical scenario. On the other hand, a desire for some humane, technological solution can lead to fanciful wishing for another way. At some intersection of both these approaches sits the classic Star Trek episode "Dagger of the Mind."

When an escapee from the Tantalus Penal Colony stows away on Enterprise, it creates an emergency aboard the ship. But once he's captured and is revealed to be a doctor, not a prisoner, questions ensue. Kirk beams down to investigate the cutting edge mental reprogramming treatment being used by the head of the colony, Dr. Adams. And soon, he may become the next victim.

To watch this episode, you may first have to silence your juvenile reaction to the repeated use of words like "penal" and "penology." (Or maybe you're just naturally more mature.) Once I did that, I found myself not quite sure of the message this episode conveys.

To be sure, Dr. Adams is presented as a terrible villain, using his device to erase memories and program thoughts as he hides beneath a smiling facade. To me, he reads rather like a #MeToo perpetrator. Kirk initially defends him (despite never having met him), citing his reputation as evidence he couldn't possibly be doing anything wrong. Adams just can't help himself; even as an investigation closes on him, he offends again. And he never argues about the good he's doing, or the greater good that might come of it. He just meddles with minds because he can. The problem in my comparison is that you want a fictional villain to have more of a motive than "it makes him feel powerful." We never get that about Dr. Adams. Nor do we get any sense that he had good intentions in the beginning before going astray. In fact, the story seems to presume there can be no good intentions here.

In the end, when the victimized Dr. Van Gelder is put in charge of the colony, his first act is to destroy the mental reprogramming device that caused all this trouble. And while mental reprogramming against someone's will does seem like a form of torture (that's what A Clockwork Orange was all about), the episode doesn't engage at all with the potential voluntary uses. You can stop well short of "make it so someone can't say their own name without feeling blinding pain," and still have plenty of room to debate where the ethical line might be between applications like "sincere efforts at self-help," "curing someone of an addiction," or just "remembering to take the garbage out every Monday night." Sure, I suppose a one-hour episode of 1960s television probably isn't the venue to get into all of that. (And yet it kind of is, when it makes room for a Spock/McCoy debate about emotion leading to violence.) I guess at the bottom of it all, I'm bothered that a sci-fi show that's thrilling its audience with the wonders of faster-than-light travel and teleportation feels there's a technology with no noble applications.

So, maybe it's best not to dig that deeply, and stay closer to the surface level. In that sense, it's an interesting episode for McCoy -- who can just tell something is off even if he can't put his finger on what. (But also, he's all about messing with Kirk, assigning to the landing party someone he seems to know has a history with the captain.) It's a big episode for Spock, who performs the series' first mind meld -- though the technique hasn't quite settled into what it would eventually look like. And it's a big episode for Kirk, who is... for reasons?... able to resist the effects of the evil mind machine to some extent. (Maybe it just takes several sessions?)

Other observations:

• These early episodes highlight the differences between the original series and The Next Generation. The vibe is much more militaristic here, with barked orders, talk of what's required in log entries, and loads of background actors filling implied positions on a cramped-feeling ship. 

• Kirk had a fling at a Christmas party with someone named Dr. Noel? A bit on the nose, isn't it?

• It's dumb for the security guard on the bridge to stand with his back to the turbolift door. Sure enough, when Dr. Van Gelder bursts onto the bridge, he gets the jump on the guard.

• The music certainly wants the audience to be suspicious long before Kirk is, serving arch stings whenever someone in the colony flatly recites something they've been programmed to say.

I feel like "Dagger of the Mind" takes too long to spring its trap, especially when the audience knows something is wrong. That and a muddled message make it a weaker installment in my book. I give it a C+.

Lace Up These Boots

This week's contribution to the pop culture zeitgeist is the final season of Stranger Things. (Most of it, anyway.) But I must honor this blog's tradition and write about Netflix's buzzy show from one or two cycles ago: Boots.

Set in the 1990s, Boots centers on young Cameron Cope. When his friend Ray enlists in the Marines, Cameron joins him -- even though both are aware that Cameron being gay would end his military career before it even begins, if people knew. Over the course of eight episodes, the two endure boot camp, each confronting their own inner demons as they meet a colorful cast of recruits and drill instructors.

Boots is based on the memoir by the real life Cope (Greg Cope White), The Pink Marine. But without having read that book, my assumption is that it's merely a touchstone for TV show and not a road map. For one thing, Cope White's actual enlistment took place in 1979, a time even more hostile to a closeted gay recruit. For another, Boots may be centered on his story, but it's far from fixated.

I started the series wondering if this boot camp show would be too gay to attract a wider audience, and quickly found myself wondering if the show would actually be too much of a boot camp cliche to retain my attention. But this is a smart show, well aware of the existence of Full Metal Jacket. It knows that it's audience knows all the tropes it might depict -- but it has eight episodes (rather than half a movie). That's plenty of time to develop other characters and make us care about them.

That's exactly what Boots does, and exactly why it works. We get to know two feuding brothers who've enlisted together, a criminal grasping at military service to avoid prison, a young man struggling to compartmentalize his feelings about family back home, a live wire oddball who might just be crazy, and many more. And that's just among the recruits. We also spend time with Cope's mother back home as she struggles to understand why her son has enlisted, with the drill instructors and their lives outside training, and with the captain of the base who must navigate the pressure of being one of the few women in such a position.

Very deftly, Boots manages to show, not tell, that being gay in a military that's institutionally hostile to that is just one struggle -- not the only struggle a person might have. And it doesn't minimize that as it showcases other problems. The show also manages to balance comedy and drama well, with plenty of charming and silly moments to juxtapose against the very serious topics it also touches upon.

The effective cast includes star Miles Heizer as Cope, Ana Ayora as Captain Fajardo, Liam Oh as Ray McAffey, Cedrick Cooper as Staff Sergeant McKinnon, and Vera Farmiga as Barbara Cope. And Max Parker seemed to get a brief bump online for his portrayal of Sergeant Sullivan. (Might he be "the next big thing?" Stay tuned.)

Boots was surely named for its setting at boot camp -- and by the end of the eight-episodes, we're done with that. Will we get a second, less-fittingly titled season? Hard to say. There is talk. The show felt like a satisfyingly contained one-off to me... but the final minutes of the last episode certainly tee up a possible first duty assignment for some of the characters. But if eight episodes of Boots is all there ever is, it's well worth watching. I give the show a B+.

Star Trek Flashback: Miri

The imagination of the Star Trek writers far exceeded what a 1960s television budget could put in front of the camera, and so various cheats were used to help stretch the budget. One of the more ridiculous the show ever employed was in the episode "Miri."

The Enterprise explores a planet where only children have survived a horrific plague that wiped out the adult population. With the landing party themselves now infected, and no access to the Enterprise after the game-playing children stole their communicators, only a few days remain to discover a cure.

I left out of my little recap any mention of how this episode opens: when the Enterprise finds this alien world, they discover it to be an exact copy of Earth, right down to the continental formations. I omitted this because it ends up having absolutely no bearing on the plot. Nor is any attempt at an explanation ever offered. That's because surely such a provocative story element wasn't actually part of the original idea; instead, it was wedged in at the end to justify how the entire episode could be shot on the standing city sets of the studio lot -- without altering the building appearances, scattered props, or English writing.

It's nearly impossible to ignore the fact that this episode casually discards the most interesting aspect of the story. Yet ignore it I must to get on with the rest of the review. But before that, I will at least acknowledge that, having stuck this "devil's bargain" to be able to film on existing sets, "Miri" absolutely makes the most of those sets. We get sweeping overhead shots of the outdoors, the interiors of multiple buildings... generally, a massive scope to this mission that very few Star Trek episodes could really touch until the "volume" technology of modern day allowed sets to incorporate CG directly on the filming stage.

What we get is the first genuinely strong showing for the character of Dr. McCoy. Not only is he able to cure this alien plague and save the day, he tosses off the sort of trademark quips along the way that we'd come to know him for. (When tasked with making a vaccine, he tells Kirk: "Is that all captain? We have five days you know.") McCoy is also ultimately willing to test that vaccine on himself when it appears someone will have to be the guinea pig. Plus, his verbal jousting with Spock feels genuinely playful in this episode -- not as harsh as the "this is actually racist, right?" tone that sneaks into some other episodes.

Unfortunately, the rest of the episode now stands as a rather uncomfortable artifact of its time. If this episode were made today, you'd hope that Kirk would attempt to gently-but-firmly shut down Miri's adolescent crush on him, rather than smile creepily at her and call her pretty. (Her reaction to being "spurned" could still lead to Miri's double-cross, as the story demands.) If made today, you certainly wouldn't see Yeoman Rand breaking down about how the legs she's desperately been trying to get Kirk to notice are now marred with plague marks.

Maybe the modern version would take a little more time to explore the question of how the "Onlies" of this planet could live 300 years and still behave as they do -- is the child brain truly incapable of any "grown-up" thinking? (On this planet, at least?) And maybe we could button up some of the plot holes. Why does Yeoman Rand go on this mission? (It's not like she goes whenever the captain does.) Why does her abduction by the Onlies take place off-screen? Why does the Enterprise not try to do anything after not hearing from their landing party for days?

Other observations:

• Today, we take for granted that the core original crew was Kirk, Spock, McCoy, Scotty, Sulu, Uhura, and Chekov. But there are other minor characters repeating too -- like Farrell, who has inexplicably moved from the helm in a previous episode to the communications station in this one. If that guy had popped, maybe today we'd know "Jim Goodwin" as well as we know "George Takei."

• This is a major episode for musical score. Several themes make a first appearance that would get tracked in for all sorts of later episodes and situations.

• Michael J. Pollard, who plays Jahn, is one of the most familiar-looking "that guy"s you'll find in Star Trek. His list of credits is a mile long, but I know him best from his appearance in Bill Murray's Scrooged.

• Classic Star Trek has a tendency to ratchet up the jeopardy with a bit too much hyperbole. Here, it's mentioned that the children on the planet -- who have lived for centuries -- are going to run out of food in a few months. As if the plague that will eventually kill them all isn't enough.

• Spock's musing that McCoy may have created a "beaker full of death" gives us a great band name.

• In a reminder of just how many details about Star Trek weren't set in place from the beginning, Kirk says at the end of the episode that he has contacted "Space Central" -- what presumably became "Starfleet Command," once all the trappings of the universe were locked in place.

Because this is an early milestone episode for McCoy, there are elements of this episode I truly like. But with so much of the rest of it evoking an eye roll or a cringe, I think "Miri" caps out at a C+. 

Enterprise Flashback: Azati Prime

Amid season three of Star Trek: Enterprise, it's been many episodes since our heroes learned the location of the Xindi weapon. Now they have finally arrived there, in the appropriately titled "Azari Prime."

Captain Archer plans to take a commandeered Xindi shuttle to infiltrate a construction facility and destroy the Xindi weapon -- despite a warning from time traveler Daniels. When Archer is captured, he must convince the Xindi that the true threat is the race of sphere builders. But factions are splintering in the Xindi council, and the reptilians are about to launch an attack on Enterprise.

We're now deep enough in Enterprise's season three story arc that no recap of an episode can make any sense without some added context -- which is ironic, as this episode begins Netflix-style, with no "previously on" package to orient the audience. Another interesting dichotomy here is that this presents as one of the most action-oriented episodes in a while... but then a very Star Trek ideal of pursuing a diplomatic solution emerges mid-episode.

Before we get there, though, we have to deal with a really obstinate and annoying Archer. He's bound and determined to fly a suicide mission to punish himself for recent, morally questionable decisions -- despite multiple characters telling him he's the least expendable member of the ship's crew. There's a saying that goes something like, "I can't be making decisions that are that bad, because no one has showed up from the future to stop me." Well here, someone shows up from the future to stop Archer, and he goes through with his bad plan anyway.

Daniels probably knew this? (Let's say he did.) And so he's uncharacteristically helpful, actually giving Archer physical proof of this whole time travel thing... which ultimately opens up that diplomatic option when it's found by Degra and other sympathetic Xindi. This is not only a nice re-introduction of Star Trek ideals of diplomacy into what's been a rather Star Wars-like story, but it hopefully means we won't see many more of the repetitive "exposition delivered by way of bickering villains" scenes we've been getting all season long (including in the first half of this episode).

That said, if Star Trek is going to be more action-oriented, this episode is a great example of how to do it. The final act, in which reptilian Xindi attack the Enterprise, is very well done. We see huge explosions on the sets, tons of debris and damage, and a classic "man on fire" stunt. In space, we see a large whole ripped in the ship, with victims steaming out into the void. Good pacing and amazing visual effects for the time are put to work for this serialized story that doesn't have to reset at the end. Enterprise takes a beating. 

But we do get a few quieter character moments along the way as well. Archer makes sure his dog will be cared for and says goodbye to his crew. An emotional T'Pol grieves for his loss, and has to be pushed by Trip to take charge. T'Pol also then walks right up to the brink of sacrificing herself too, before the action begins. If the show had built more close relationships to leverage than just among the trio of Archer, Trip, and T'Pol, there might be even more emotion to these scenes... but the episode does at least use what it can.

Other observations:

• I like that the episode makes time to show us that you don't just get into a strange craft and fly it; you have to work out the controls first.

• More effective visual effects are used to show the Xindi shuttle diving under the ocean surface and finding the submerged base.

• Archer has a particularly tailored taunt for the reptilian Xindi: that on his world, a comet destroyed the dinosaurs.

I do like the Star Trek-themed turn toward diplomacy that this episode represents in the Xindi story arc. But also, this episode plays so much like a conventional two-part cliffhanger (ending with the ship in specific jeopardy) that it's hard not to compare it to past, great Star Trek two-parters. Overall, I give "Azati Prime" a B.

Synchronized Codenames

One of the most successful board games of the past decade is Codenames, the word association game by Vlaada Chvátil. It has kept hobby gamers entertained while spreading well beyond that market. It's a party game that takes almost any number of players. And it's spawned many follow-ups, both official Codenames games and games inspired by it, each with some twist on the original to help it stand out.

Alibis is one of these. Players cooperate as investigators trying to identify the culprit responsible for a crime. Mug shots of the suspects are arrayed in the center of the table, and a word card is dealt onto each one. Then each player is dealt two cards with numbers indicating two of those suspects. Each player's job is to write down a one word clue that connects the two words on their suspects.

Once everyone is ready, clues are revealed and players use a dry erase board to indicate which two suspects/words they think each of their fellow players is pointing to. By process of elimination, ONE suspect will have no clue -- the actual perpetrator of the crime. To tally up a round, you remove chips from a pool of score tokens: 1 token for each player who had any number of fellow players guess their two words correctly, plus 3 tokens for each player who successfully identifies the perpetrator. Your goal is to try to empty this pool of tokens (or come as close as you can) over the course of three rounds.

Codenames was such a runaway hit, it might be heresy to claim it had any "problems" in the design that needed to be "solved." And yet, my gamer group has long since moved on from it, for reasons more than just "new games coming along" to crowd it off the table. In no particular order:

• Because of the two team format, it doesn't do a good job accommodating an odd number of players.

• The game comes with a timer because it really does need one, and yet it feels cruel to actually use it. Coming up with good clues is hard, and everyone just kind of has to sit there and wait while you do it. But if you actually limit the time, clue givers can easily come up with nothing at all.

• Since only two players can give clues at a time, you sometimes get tired of playing the game as a group before everyone who might want to give clues gets a chance to do so.

• Loud voices on the clue guessing side can drive that process to the exclusion of others on a team.

Alibis addresses all of that. Making the game fully cooperative allows everyone to be active at the same time -- and in particular, lets them come up with clues at the same time. Not only does everyone get to participate in clue giving, but you don't feel the time spent doing that as keenly when everyone is doing it at once. Even if one or two players do take longer to concoct their clues, they're helping your team (because you're all one team), and you're more comfortable waiting for that.

On the guessing side, everyone must make their own decisions in secret, so no one can quarterback that part of the game. And the pressure to be right is reduced, since the most you can score is 1 point no matter how many people guess a clue right. The big scoring comes in guessing the culprit, which you can occasionally find your way to even if you don't pair all the right words with the right players along the way.

Alibis takes 2 to 6 players -- and while it's best with more, it works fine at any number (including odd numbers). To set up the suspects and words in a round, you simply double the number of players and add one (the one ultimately becoming the perpetrator). Plus, the game follows in a long line of "chase the best score possible" co-op games (like Hanabi, Just One, or The Mind) where coming this close spurs you to want to play again.

I will confess that Alibis hasn't caught fire in my group the way Codenames once did. Still, it's super fast to set up and explain, so I expect it will make appearances on game nights with larger groups in the coming months. I give Alibis a B+. It manages to be new and a bit nostalgic at the same time, and scratches an itch I didn't know I had. 

Star Trek Flashback: What Are Little Girls Made Of?

Star Trek: Strange New Worlds has been picking up odds and ends from the original Star Trek series, expanding on one-off elements in its semi-serialized format. One such element was Nurse Chapel's fiance, Dr. Roger Korby: a complication for Chapel and Spock's SNW relationship, but a back story originally introduced in the TOS episode "What Are Little Girls Made Of?"

The Enterprise arrives at Exo III in search of Dr. Roger Korby, the "Pasteur of archaeological medicine," whose expedition to the planet has been out of contact for five years. They find Korby, who has made a mysterious discovery he wants to share only with Captain Kirk... though his plans change upon learning his fiance, Christine Chapel, is also aboard the Enterprise. As Korby plots a secret foisting of his discovery upon the Federation, Chapel may be the only one who can make him reconsider.

Strange New Worlds had to acknowledge this original series episode somehow; how is it that Chapel had a fiance she didn't see for five years? Still, it's fascinating how such as siloed idea -- an almost tangential part of this episode -- became such a significant element on the prequel series. This episode only scratches the surface on Chapel's emotions; it's really about adventure and suspense with android brutes, bombshells, and doppelgangers.

In the way of many Star Trek episodes, there is a moral to this story, almost slipped in at the end like a pill in a dog treat. Obsession can blind someone and make them behave so strangely that they aren't even themselves anymore. (The android conceit of this story makes that quite literal.) But I'd say that's not what the episode is really remembered for by Star Trek fans. Maybe its the imposing Ruk, played with icy menace by the bass-voiced Ted Cassidy. Maybe it's Kirk's huge stride toward becoming the lothario we all know, as he literally romances his way out of trouble by kissing doubt into the android Andrea. Maybe its the unceremonious deaths of two redshirts who, for the first time, are literally wearing red shirts? Maybe it's the uncomfortably phallic stalactite Kirk tries to use as a weapon.

In any case, it seems clear that the more action-adventure elements are leading the charge in this story. And while I don't mind that in principle, I'm surprised on this re-watch to see just how often classic Star Trek was already recycling plot elements this early in its run. This is the second time that the Enterprise has dealt with a clone of Kirk. It's the second time a member of the medical staff has had compromised judgment because of a significant person from their past. Don't get me wrong; I think this episode is better than "The Man Trap" (if not as good as "The Enemy Within"), but it's weird that barely half a dozen episodes into the series, I can already find two prior episodes to compare a "new" one to.

Other observations:

• We head into the credits off of ridiculous crash zooms on the shocked faces of Our Heroes -- very much a style of the time this episode was made.

• For how fast and cheap so much of Star Trek was made, I am rather impressed by the underground cave set. There's more to it than I'd ever expect (and they cleverly film it to look like even more).

• ...but they took the money this week from the sound department, it seems. At many points through the episode, sliding doors don't make the expected Star Trek sounds. 

• The communicator is a prop that takes a beating. At two different points in the episode, Kirk's communicator (ostensibly the same one) is shown flipping open and locking in position like the cell phones it would inspire, and later with the screen bent backwards because the hinge has given out.

• The character of Andrea is definitely here to titillate. But the episode does hang a lantern on that, with Chapel calling her a "mechanical geisha." (And I guess they show is equal opportunity, showing not one but two naked Kirks strapped to a table elsewhere in the episode.)

• I noted earlier that this is the second episode in close proximity to serve us two Kirks. Also repeated is the reversing of a closeup to make the eye lines match. There, the scratches on "negative Kirk"'s face gave it away. Here, it's the green-crossed-over-blue outfit that Kirk has been made to wear; a closeup shows the colors on the opposite shoulders.

I suggested earlier that this episode falls between two earlier ones for me, and here I'll make that official: I give "What Are Little Girls Made Of?" a B-.

Enterprise Flashback: Hatchery

Enterprise has been on its way to the Xindi weapon build site for a few episodes now. But with several more episodes in season three to fill, another diversion is needed. And so we get "Hatchery."

Enterprise encounters a drifting Reptilian Xindi ship with a dead crew. But a hatchery is intact with dozens of young Xindi about to be born. Perhaps if the Enterprise can rescue them, it will help send the message that humans aren't savage threats? But Archer is irrationally consumed with this goal, influenced by an encounter in the nursery -- and soon, there's talk of mutiny. A conflict between the Starfleet crew and the MACO forces seems inevitable.

There's a particular kind of episode that most Star Trek series seem to do some variation on at some point. The captain isn't acting like themself, and the crew finds that potential mutiny is on the table. Usually, these episodes land in season one of a given Star Trek, at a time when people are still learning about the captain and no one is ready to state definitively that they're behaving strangely. But Enterprise has been effectively giving us a new captain in season three, in the form of a new, darker Archer who will go as far as he needs to to stop the Xindi. So this is as good a place as any to tell a story like this. The MACO angle is a good one to explore as well. The childish bickering between Reed and Major Hayes has been a snooze, but having effectively two crews on one ship is a ripe environment for a mutiny story.

But the recipe doesn't turn out as well as the ingredients. Archer's behavior is too extreme, relieving and confining his bridge officers left and right. The Archer of season three has been so extreme that his behavior must now be even more extreme to seem odd. Part of telling a 9/11 allegory, it seems, is to include a George W. Bush character, and since this was written mere years after 9/11 -- basically, in the immediate aftermath -- the prevailing perspective on W. is that he's "The Decider," the guy who makes decisions and then stands by them no matter how much evidence to change course is presented later. That's how they've been writing Archer in season three, and the writers seem to think they're making a heroic, wartime hero out of him in doing so.

OK, uh.... that was kind of a digression there. Bottom line: it's too easy for the audience to guess that Archer has been influenced by Xindi goo in this episode.

The ticking clock of reaching the Xindi weapon hangs over this side quest in an uncomfortably prominent way. For that matter, it's hard to imagine how they ever found this downed Xindi ship in the first place -- Enterprise should have been warping by too fast to even notice it. (And if it had been sending a distress signal, surely there would have been more concern expressed early on about another Xindi ship showing up at some point.)

The actual mutiny isn't enough of a conflict, either. All season, we've been told how much better the MACOs are supposed to be in battle situations. But they make a monumentally poor showing for themselves in not being able to hold the ship against adversaries they've actually trained with -- they should know their every move.

Other observations:

• Spacesuit costumes aren't cheap, but they still go to the trouble of giving the MACOs a distinctive one that doesn't look like the Starfleet versions.

• A dying-then-dead infant Reptilian Xindi is rendered first in CG, then becomes an interesting prop that John Billingsley has to sell.

• The characters are starting to be less hesitant to use the transporter.

"Hatchery" falls somewhat short of its interesting premise. Or perhaps it's just the familiarity of the mutiny premise that makes this take on it less compelling. Either way, I give the episode a B-.

David Kelley, I Presume

I find myself again at the cutting edge of entertainment from year-and-a-half ago: I've just finished watching the Apple TV+ series Presumed Innocent.

When junior prosecutor Carolyn Polhemus is brutally murdered, her colleague Rusty Sabich -- with whom she was having an affair -- becomes the prime suspect. As Rusty's home life fractures, his co-workers who have long held hostility for him seize the opportunity to railroad him in court. And though Rusty maintains his innocence, his cheating and hot-headedness aren't helping him come off as the "good guy."

Presumed Innocent was based on a novel by Scott Turow, and has been previously adapted in a movie starring Harrison Ford. (If you're familiar with either, they've changed up the ending this time to preserve some surprise.) But it's not that pedigree that made me curious to watch this new version. It's that spearheading this adaptation was David E. Kelley, the television writer-creator-producer behind legal shows like The Practice, Ally McBeal, and Boston Legal (plus a number of other non-legal shows less relevant to this endeavor).

Kelley's brand can be polarizing. His love of placing cartoonishly eccentric characters in serious situations just doesn't gel for some. I personally dig it, having watched every episode of every one of those past shows I mentioned. And yet, I knew that Presumed Innocent was going to be a far more serious story than even The Practice (by far the most realistic and dramatic of Kelley's legal shows). I was curious to see what he would do here, adapting someone else's work and presumably feeling too constrained to go off on his typical flights of fancy.

The results are intriguing. I think if you know what you're looking for, the signs that "this is a David E. Kelley show" are there -- perhaps once an episode, a character imagines something fleeting and strange in their head (and we often aren't meant to know it's imagined until some line is abruptly crossed). Certainly, a lot of the legal procedure we see takes considerable liberties with what's allowed in the real world -- though that's kind of what all dramatized legal stories do and not only a Kelley thing. Generally, Presumed Innocent plays it straight and gives us one court case from murder to resolution, told over eight episodes.

Because this was conceived as a limited series, adapting this one novel, there are some bigger names in the cast. Jake Gyllenhaal stars as Rusty Sabich, and is the perfect lead for the story. His career is full of movies without vanity, and here he's unafraid to present a man who actually isn't very likeable, supporting the ambiguity of the story. Peter Sarsgaard plays Tommy Molto, the guy who is emotionally out to get Rusty. He too is a great choice for this story, portraying someone irrationally (but believably) out for revenge.

But there are plenty of other less well-known performers in the cast that really build the atmosphere of the story. Oscar nominee Ruth Negga plays Barbara Sabich, and makes compelling a significant subplot about her character exploring her husband's betrayal. Bill Camp is a long-working character actor who plays Raymond Horgan, the attorney who agrees to take Rusty's case. And depending on what other shows or movies you watch, you might recognize O-T Fagbenle, Chase Infiniti, Lily Rabe, Noma Dumezweni, and more. Not everyone in the show has a lot to do, but it feels like a perfect ensemble who makes this world feel real. That said, it is a story with "no heroes," so you have to be up for something dark and brooding. This isn't uplifting television.

The show was such a hit on Apple TV+ that they renewed it for a second season... despite the fact that the story of Turow's novel has now been told. The word is that the new season will feature an entirely new cast, and will be adapted from the different book by a different author. Presumed Innocent will apparently become a sort of anthology show for as long as it lasts... and that too is an interesting proposition for David E. Kelley, who likes his own characters so much that he'll keep crossing them over and reviving them across his TV series.

I'd give Presumed Innocent a B. I admit, I didn't like it as much as Kelley's more confectionery delights -- but I still found it to be a worthwhile watch.

Star Trek Flashback: Mudd's Women

The character of Harcourt Fenton Mudd occupies a larger-than-life space in Star Trek lore: often talked about despite only two original series appearances, and brought back in more than one subsequent series. His debut came in "Mudd's Women."

Enterprise is strained to the breaking point in a rescue of freighter captain Harry Mudd and his "cargo," three conspicuously beautiful women. When the ship travels to a mining planet to replace its depleted resources, Mudd has struck first in a deal with the miners: the only trade they'll accept for their needed lithium crystals is for the three women, to take as their wives. But not all of the women feel enthusiastic about the situation... or about the secret behind their beauty.

This episode hits on a noble message in a quite ignoble way. Through the conceit of a "Venus drug" that conveys beauty -- and Kirk's cunning swap of it for a placebo -- this story culminates in the rather uplifting idea that if a person feels beautiful, then they are beautiful. And yet, the preceding hour is mostly a lewd parade of objectification.

"Mudd's Women" is so set on telling us how beautiful the titular characters are that every male character is one notch shy of "aaa-ooooooooga"-ing in their presence. (Expect Spock, who tiptoes right up to the edge of eye-rolling at everyone around him.) The women beam up in a "cover shoot" pose (and then, weirdly, are off the transporter pad in a line, then back on the pad in their tableau). Slinky music accompanies their every step. They're color-coded, upholstered Bond girls who need husbands. Not particular husbands; any will do. Needless to say, that's all pretty icky, regardless of the surprising story turn at the end.

That said, one of the three women -- Eve -- gets more characterization than you'd expect the premise to allow. When directed to flirt with Kirk for advantage, she doesn't play along. She's the one this close to rejecting the Venus drug altogether. When ostensibly paired off with one of the miners, she'll have none of it... though she is determined to earn her keep for however long she's around. Eve is a (tiny) island of feminist ideals in the deeply misogynist ocean of this episode.

But of course, most Star Trek fans don't remember "Mudd's Women" for the women, they remember it for the "Mudd." Actor Roger C. Carmel makes a meal of every scene as an almost proto-Jack Sparrow kind of character (who is even costumed not dissimilarly in a pirate shirt and bandit hat). Out of dozens of "villains" over the course of original Star Trek, he gets a return later because he's fun. He doesn't seem like a credible threat to the ship and crew (Star Trek: Discovery would retcon that), but he's also far less annoying than, say, Trelane, or other buffoonish, lighter characters the show would try.

This is still an early episode of Star Trek, and so we're still getting a number of other important milestones in this episode. McCoy expresses distrust of the transporter. Majel Barrett is heard at length as the voice of the computer. And for the first time, there's a hint that maybe there could be another "woman" in Kirk's life besides the Enterprise. (I think the absence of Yeoman Rand from this episode may have contributed to the thinking that romantic pairings for the captain were off the table with her character around.)

Other observations:

• This is one of the few very early episodes in which Uhura wears gold.

• Given the content of this episode, it's laugh out loud funny when, after rescuing the people from Mudd's ship, we hear the line: "how many did we get off?"

• Apparently, you could say "jackass" on network TV in the 1960s.

• How do just three people handle all the mining on this entire planet? Especially if what they're mining is so valuable? And how are they able to hide every last crystal from the Enterprise sensors?

"Mudd's Women" doesn't quite feel "well-intentioned," but does manage to stumble into a good place at times. And the character of Mudd himself keeps it from going completely off track. I give the episode a C.