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.

Calam Up

Previously, I've blogged about the Reckoners series by Brandon Sanderson. Steelheart and Firefight -- books one and two of a trilogy -- were fun audiobook adventures. I had a few reservations with each, but generally enjoyed their premise and narrative.

Those being: when people begin to develop superpowers in our own world, society quickly collapses. That's because the "epics" who get powers are invariably corrupted by them, turning evil. Young David Charleston has a history with one epic in particular, and his deep desire for vengeance leads him to the Reckoners, a group of humans dedicated to learning the weaknesses of epics and taking them out. Now, in book three, Calamity, the Reckoners are forced to fight one of their own who has been corrupted by powers. But David is convinced there is a way to turn epics back from the darkness. If he's right, the world will be forever changed again.

There are a couple of other Reckoners stories floating around out there, including an interstitial novella and an audiobook exclusive. But Calamity is the end of the trilogy, and as such has two almost competing goals to fulfill. First, it has to pay off the very personal conflict that the Reckoners now have with one of their own. This is by far the most interesting part of the story, with stakes built up over multiple books, characters you've come to care about, and a Return-of-the-Jedi-esque "there is still good in him" tension. This part of Calamity is quite successful. The story doesn't shy away from the corrupted former Reckoner doing some truly horrible things, making any redemption uncertain -- and bittersweet if it does come.  

But second, the book also has to bring an "end" to the larger issue of the epics in this world: how is the red comet Calamity responsible for making superheroes, and is it truly inevitable that all of them will become corrupt and evil? This is a much harder element for the story to tackle, for a number of reasons. Sanderson has wanted to keep some of the mechanics of this secret for a big third act (third book) reveal, making for a heavy freight of exposition just before the finish line. Some of the answers relate to new characters we haven't spent any time with before now, making it much harder to invest in what happens. And ultimately, how complete a resolution do any of us actually want here? Sanderson ultimately went back to his Mistborn series that started it all, writing a whole new trilogy; does he really want to foreclose any possibility of returning to this setting? All of these elusive qualities make it essentially impossible for this third book to satisfy the reader in this second aspect. It can kind of only just end abruptly, in a bit of a letdown.

Together, these two aspects of the story average out to a book I found to be the least satisfying of the trilogy, even as I acknowledge that it probably could not have gone any other way. I give Calamity a B-. It's not a steep enough drop in quality for me to regret reading the Reckoners trilogy; indeed, I think I would still recommend it overall to anyone tantalized by the premise. This is neither a perfect ending (that's really hard!) nor a... well... calamity.

Star Trek Flashback: The Enemy Within

William Shatner has a reputation for big, wild line readings -- though when you watch classic Star Trek episodes, you don't always see that on display. But just when you think every William Shatner impersonation you've ever seen might be an unfair caricature, along comes "The Enemy Within."

A malfunction in the transporter splits Captain Kirk into two halves -- one the embodiment of all "negative" emotions, and the other his opposite. As the former wreaks havoc aboard the ship, a landing party on the planet below is in a deadly position: lethal cold is coming as night falls, but they cannot be rescued until the transporter malfunction is resolved.

This episode gives us one of the more enduring internet memes from classic Star Trek (seen above), but there's really a lot more to this episode than Shatner giving us 11 out of 10 intensity as "Negative Kirk." But let's start there, because it's not like Shatner is going out on a limb in giving us this big performance. He's matching the physical appearance we get when the makeup department slathers on the eye liner, the lighting department sets up the most arch upward spotlights, and the music composer gives us brash and loud melodies that are perhaps second only to the classic Trek fight music as memorable score. It's all pretty fun, and I find that big as it is, it does work.

Still, the production is working on a shoestring budget, at a breakneck pace. So for every moment that still holds up (an effects shot of Kirk sitting near his dark half in a Sickbay bed), there are many moments that don't work so well -- awkward jump cuts to reposition William Shatner as his own duplicate, a terrible body double that looks nothing like Shatner, a flopped camera angle placing Negative Kirk's scratches on the wrong side of his face, and a poor dog wrapped up in a shag carpet to portray some sort of "alien creature."

This is one of the earliest examples of Star Trek reaching out to a noted science fiction writer to contribute a story. Richard Matheson -- perhaps best known for I Am Legend -- is credited for this story, which offers a surprisingly nuanced take on "what makes a man." The episode is as apt to use words like "negative" as "evil" in describing Kirk's dark half, and takes great pains to say that both parts must unite in whole to form a functional human being. Spock in particular is given a great monologue acknowledging his keen awareness about how two halves of a person combine to make a greater whole.

Because the episode is saying that this IS Kirk -- not a twisted version, but the actual dark essence within him as balanced by the light -- it's kind of wild that this episode comes so early in the series. Our Hero, James T. Kirk, who the audience is still learning to like, is shown (in part) in this episode to be a drunken, belligerent, attempted rapist. That the character could ever recover from this is, sure, due partly to the uncomfortably casual 60s-era depiction of the attempted rape and its aftermath... but also due to the charisma Shatner would imbue the character with in many episodes to come.

This is also an early example of one of those noted science fiction writers, having contributed to Star Trek, being unhappy with the finished product once it was rewritten for television by Gene Roddenberry. Richard Matheson reportedly hated the added jeopardy of the landing party down on the planet. And while I won't quite go so far as to say "he's right," I do agree that they ask George Takei to give a few too many versions of "gosh, I'm cold" throughout the episode. And also, once they'd add shuttlecraft to the show a few episodes after this, their lack of use here is retroactively cruel.

There are a few other elements that deflate the tension. We get another Captain's Log that gives the game away to the audience before they have a chance to learn the nature of this transporter accident. Scotty arbitrarily tells us it will take a week to fix the transporter, and then hours later (with no explanation of any breakthrough) announces it's repaired. And in this episode's "aged most horribly" moment, Spock needles Rand about the "interesting qualities" of the Evil Kirk who tried to rape her.

On the other hand, it's yet another strong episode for Rand (even if it's not great that she has to be). It's a shame that she'd be dropped from the show, because to this point, she's kind of coming off as the most interesting character after Kirk and Spock. (Yes, I'd put her in front of McCoy right now.) And speaking of Spock, he has a number of good moments giving Kirk advice on how to maintain his command presence. We also get some early Spock/McCoy banter, as each one has a moment where they can't believe they're agreeing with what the other has offered as advice.

Other observations:

• Here's the first appearance of the distinct "Saurian brandy" bottle -- actually a Dickel bottle. (I mentioned seeing one in the bourbon "library" at Bardstone.) 

• In filming order, this episode gives us the first Vulcan neck pinch. It's also McCoy's first "he's dead, Jim," improbably said about the alien dog creature.

• Sure, guys can wear makeup. In the 1960s, though, it seems odd that Captain Kirk just keeps a jar of concealer in his quarters.

"The Enemy Within" is a noteworthy episode in season one of Star Trek. I give it a B.