Convicted of espionage by an alien government, Miles O'Brien has the memories of a 20-year prison sentence implanted in his mind as punishment. Reintegrating with his regular life is harder than he wants to admit to himself, in particular because of one aspect of his "prison time" he refuses to admit to anyone -- his cellmate Ee'char.
This is one of the very best episodes of Deep Space Nine, and so it seems odd that it almost didn't happen. A pair of outside writers, Daniel Keys Moran & Lynn Barker, pitched the idea of the implanted memory of a long prison sentence during season one of the show. Show runner Michael Piller failed to see any potential in the idea; according to writer Ira Steven Behr, Piller thought that "all the drama happened in the past and there was no real ground to cover in the present." Another staff writer, Robert Hewitt Wolfe picked the idea back up again in season three and tried to lobby for it. Again, Piller shot it down. Finally, when Behr took over as show runner near the end of that year, he approved the concept for development.
That turned out to be easier said than done. In the three years since Moran and Barker had pitched, they'd quit working together as a writing team. It took weeks to track them both down to formally buy their pitch. Then there was some debate in the writers' room about how to proceed. Wolfe had fleshed out the story by adding the concept of the murdered cellmate (lifted from an abandoned script that was going to reveal Next Generation character Sito Jaxa had been captured by Cardassians). But there was fierce argument over whether Ee'char should be shown only in flashbacks or only as a present-day hallucination. (It took a while to arrive at the eventual answer: both.)
Everything finally clicked into place, and Robert Hewitt Wolfe came up with an exceptional script that really presents O'Brien's PTSD in a truthful way. O'Brien can't let go of the behaviors he's learned (squirreling away food, sleeping on the floor), nor can he easily re-embrace the things he used to enjoy (darts, kayaking) or excel at (his work). He can't help but feel inferior when he's being retrained by Jake Sisko and junior engineer Muniz. There's no one to whom he can fully reveal his memories -- not a counselor and certainly not the close friends or family he doesn't want to let down.
He also can't control or cope alone with what he's feeling; eventually, the facade cracks. He snaps at Julian, threatens Quark, and is reduced to near-begging with Captain Sisko. In an unconsidered outburst, he actually encapsulates the issue perfectly: the person he was died in that cell. Ultimately, O'Brien is driven to the brink of suicide, and the show gets to confront explicitly and directly the notion of the vaunted paragon of perfection that is Gene Roddenberry's human of the future. O'Brien feels he's nothing more than an animal, but Bashir is able to counter that an animal would feel no remorse at all, wouldn't think he deserves to die.
The performances in the episode are superlative. Colm Meaney goes through the wringer emotionally, with the added difficulty of sometimes having to act in extreme makeup to make O'Brien look old and haggard in prison. Guest star Craig Wasson is perfect as Ee'char, endlessly upbeat in the flashbacks to perfectly twist the knife on what ultimately happens, endlessly caring in the present-day hallucinations to draw O'Brien out. The climactic scene in which O'Brien nearly kills himself is masterfully played by both of them, and by Alexander Siddig, who holds tears in his eyes as he talks O'Brien back from the brink.
It's also an excellent episode for Rosalind Chao as Keiko. Her character is in pain too, the pain of being unable to help a loved one, no matter what you try, no matter how desperately you want to do something, anything. You can see Keiko try to gently push Miles back into the light so many different ways. The moment where she must draw the line, when Miles snaps at their daughter, is heartbreaking but very real.
Other observations:
- Some fans note the similarities between this episode and The Next Generation's "The Inner Light" -- both about characters burdened with decades of implanted memories. I think the similarities end there, though. If anything, "Hard Time" has more in common with the first season Voyager episode "Ex Post Facto," in which aliens punish Tom Paris for an alleged murder by forcing him to repeatedly relive the implanted memory of his victim's death. "Hard Time" is the far superior of the two.
- The episode is right to maintain focus on O'Brien and his situation the entire time. Yet there is a dangling thread: what sort of diplomatic fallout results in the alien Argathi dispensing justice unilaterally this way against a Federation citizen?
- And speaking of justice... is it? Set aside the question of whether O'Brien is guilty or not. Is this method of criminal justice actually humane? Sure, it doesn't itself inflict physical harm. But if you receive the memory of having been tortured, is that meaningfully different than having been tortured? Can the answer for one crime be to make you believe you've committed murder, a far worse crime? How many released prisoners actually do commit suicide for lack of a support system like Miles O'Brien has?
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