Captain Sisko's spirits are fading; the Dominion war continues, claiming the lives of more friends. He confesses to his visiting father than he's thinking about stepping down. Then he slips into a vivid alternate reality, an extended vision seemingly sent by the Prophets. He is Benny Russell, a science fiction writer in 1950s New York, struggling against systemic racism to publish his short story about the black captain of a space station in the distant future. Bits of his fantasy begin to intrude on his reality -- which is filled with familiar faces.
The concept of this episode first came from outside writer Marc Scott Zicree, who suggested that Jake Sisko travel back in time to meet a group of struggling 1950s writers (only to learn in the end that it was an alien simulation to extract information from him). Show runner Ira Steven Behr rejected the idea, but the 1950s sci-fi writers stayed with him, until it occurred to him to make Benjamin Sisko the protagonist, and introduce racism as a major theme. Behr found himself in the odd position of going back to Zicree, him now being the one to pitch a story idea.
After a first draft script reportedly closer to the final shooting version than any other episode in series history, next came production concerns. The writers and producers recognized their privilege (as we would understand it today), and knew this episode needed the guiding influence of someone who had experienced racism and prejudice. They were certain Avery Brooks would be an ideal choice to direct... but they were also concerned, as typically whenever a main cast member directed an episode, it was one in which their own character was lightly featured. This script would call for Brooks to be in every scene. They asked him if he'd be willing to take on the challenge, and he agreed for what he would later call "the most important moment for me in the entire seven years."
If anything, the message here resonates more clearly now than it did in 1998, when the episode first aired. Today, people have a wider understanding that "representation matters," and can better appreciate what the aspirational portrayal of a black captain in a sci-fi future means. Today, (most) people are more aware that racism is not a "solved" problem of the past, and more fully understand some of the moments portrayed in this episode: from the casual racism of allowing a black man his success (as long as he's not "in your face" about it by wanting to appear in a photo), to the more overt racism of the execution of a black man and a vicious beating of another by the police. Avery Brooks, of course, knew exactly what story he was telling in 1998, saying in one interview: "If we had changed the people's clothes, this story could be about right now." He could say the same of 2020.
The episode is at times shocking in how unflinching it is, perhaps never more so than when Jimmy actually says the n-word (which one probably would never have imagined hearing in a Star Trek episode). It's all part of making this setting feel as real as possible, and allowing all the black characters a moment to voice where they see the limitations imposed upon them. Real life black authors are named too.
You can feel Brooks' directorial hand all over the episode, and see the work of an enthusiastic production team excited to do something so different from the norm. Sets like the diner are actually built on the studio back lot rather than on a stage, allowing us to see vintage cars outside the window. Shots of the street are loaded with those cars, and dozens of period-costumed extras. Benny Russell's apartment is filled with artifacts of African culture, and he wears a kufi hat. The score slips into a film noir style, with punctuations of jazz and doo-wop, plus room for a line or two of a song by Avery Brooks. About the only moments that doesn't look or sound perfect are the stock footage bits of the New York skyline, far grainier and worn than the newly filmed material.
But Brooks' work behind the camera pales in comparison to his performance in front of it. There are great moments throughout, but the memorable centerpiece, the moment that would have won him an Emmy in a world where awards respected science fiction, is Benny's complete breakdown and literal collapse. It starts small, with Benny challenging his boss to actually give voice to the racist thoughts he's stepping gingerly around. He then explodes with a lifetime's pent-up fury. It would be over the top if it didn't also feel completely honest and lived in. It's delivered in a single, unbroken take, with the camera mere inches from his face. Everyone on set for this performance tells the same story: that it took a while for the assistant director to finally call "cut," and even once he did, Avery Brooks didn't "come out of it" for a very long time. You may find moments in Star Trek that move you more personally, but none where the actor was more dedicated to the performance.
Though this episode provides an unflinching look at a serious issue, it's not without its pleasures. The entire main cast (and many recurring guest stars) are used as a sort of repertory theater company to slip into other roles. For the audience, this is a chance to see many of them out of their usual alien makeup. For the actors, it's a chance to portray a character that may or may not have much in common with their usual character -- and showing by contrast just how much performance goes into what they normally do on the show.
Take Rene Auberjonois as editor Douglas Pabst; his voice is in a higher register (his usual one), his posture is different from Odo's, and he's the biggest villain among the main cast members. He's bickering with Armin Shimerman as usual, but the roles are reversed: Herbert Rossoff is the most enthusiastic supporter of Benny, the closest thing to a knight at his side. (Pointedly, though, he'll only go so far.) Instead of "everyman" Miles O'Brien, Colm Meaney is playing Albert Macklin (an homage to Isaac Asimov) who is so unlike the common man that he can't even order his thoughts to communicate without the intermediary of a typewriter.
Enjoy Alexander Siddig and Nana Visitor getting one episode to play a couple as they were in real life. (And note an homage in Visitor's character, "K.C. Hunter," to original Star Trek writer D.C. Fontana, a real-life woman who had to write using initials so the audience would assume she was a man.) Watch Terry Farrell ditz it up as secretary Darlene Kursky, Michael Dorn as baseball star Willie Hawkins -- smarmily hitting on a man's girlfriend right in front of him -- or Cirroc Lofton as always hustling Jimmy. Savor Aron Eisenberg as a newsie, Marc Alaimo and Jeffrey Combs as villainous cops, Brock Peters affecting the musical speech of a preacher, and J.G. Hertzler as an artist. And after a year away making The Larry Sanders Show, it's a thrill to see Penny Johnson back as Kasidy Yates and her alter ego Cassie.
Add it all up, and you have an episode regarded by fans as not just among the best of Deep Space Nine, but of the Star Trek franchise. That's an opinion shared by many who worked on the show, from writers (Ronald Moore: "I wish I was the one who wrote it!") to actors (Armin Shimerman: "It is perfect science fiction.")... to people who would join the franchise decades later (writers Michael Chabon of Star Trek: Picard and Kirsten Beyer of Star Trek: Discovery both cited it as a favorite).
The one moment I don't much care for is the final one, in which Sisko almost deliriously opines that perhaps real life is really just the dream of Benny Russell -- and his father doesn't promptly march him back down to the Infirmary for examination. This "maybe the dream is real life" ending would go on to be a trope that kept popping up in other genre TV series over the years... and even almost returned in the series finale of this one. The writers reportedly gave serious consideration to having the final moments of the Deep Space Nine be with Benny Russell -- an idea only shot down because the series was not truly stand-alone, and no one wanted to say that all of Star Trek in fact sprang from his mind. Perhaps the writers needed the character of Herbert Rossoff in the room with them to argue as he does in this episode: "Making it a dream guts the story."
Other observations:
- Casey Biggs (Damar) was meant to have been a part of this episode, but was unavailable the week it shot. The only other recurring actor that truly feels "missing" to me here is Andrew Robinson, though to be fair, the "not quite friend, not quite villain" nature of Garak would make it challenging to place him in the world of Benny Russell.
- The audience may enjoy seeing the actors without their alien makeup, but Armin Shimerman found it "slightly off-putting. I've grown accustomed to the Quark mask being a mechanism for support. That face describes who I am as an alien character. And also, while many actors worry about how they look on camera, I don't, because my face isn't on camera. So it was bizarre to be bare-faced on a Star Trek show. I never had been before."
- While the magazine the characters work for is fictitious, the rival publication mentioned, Galaxy Science Fiction, was quite real, and published work from many legends in the genre including Robert Heinlein, Ray Bradbury, and Theodore Sturgeon.
- I love the moment where a science fiction writer is dazzled by the technology of instant tea.
- Another Star Trek rarity in this episode is a quote from the Bible. When Joseph Sisko recites a verse, Benjamin notes how unusual this is.
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