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+.