TMC
05-16-2018, 03:26 PM
https://www.currentaffairs.org/2018/05/the-dismal-frontier
If you’re not a Star Trek fan, the intense affection it inspires in its enthusiasts may seem a bit baffling. Isn’t Star Trek just, like, dorks in space? What’s so charming about science geeks who wear color-coded uniforms and speak in stilted lines about stellar anomalies? The popularity of Trek has always been somewhat inexplicable. William Shatner is a terrible actor, the special effects have often been absurd, and the imagined future is an earnest, treacly one where human beings have evolved beyond capitalism and cruelty into egalitarianism, do-goodery, and wide-eyed wonder.
This last part—Trek’s utopianism—is likely the key to its continuing prominence. Modern media fandom really began with Star Trek: in the 60s and 70s, Trekkies, mostly female Trekkies, created fanzines and the first real pop culture conventions. People liked the Star Trek universe created by Gene Roddenberry so much that they wanted to live in it, or barring that, talk about it constantly with people who understood why the camaraderie of multicultural nerds in space meant so much to them. The fans fought to keep the original series from being cancelled (and failed); and yet the show remained popular in syndication, and has since spawned thirteen movies and five more TV shows: The Next Generation, Deep Space Nine, Voyager, Enterprise—and now, in 2017-2018, Discovery, a show so odd, so off-putting, so vicious and violent and militaristic that it seems like an invader from another universe entirely.
Before I delve into exactly what’s so disturbing about this new Star Trek series, it’s worth talking a little bit about the ethos that characterized the earlier shows. Previous Trek narratives, while differing from each other in setting and tone, all share a common dorky exuberance for exploration and cross-cultural understanding. While technically, yes, Starfleet has always been a military organization, its functions have tended to the diplomatic, scientific, humanitarian, and logistical. Except during relatively rare times of defensive warfare, the space station in Deep Space Nine, for example, functions more or less like an interstellar DMV, issuing permits, performing inspections, and resolving disputes. In all the various shows, crew members hang up the uniform after work and unwind with decidedly goofy side projects: science experiments, learning to paint (badly), acting in plays (badly), pretending to be James Bond in the holosuites, trying (and sometimes even liking) alien cuisine. The main characters—human and alien alike—more or less get along, learning to accept (if not always understand) each other’s cultural practices and idiosyncrasies, like the Vulcan belief in the primacy of logic, or the often bloody Klingon code of honor. Interspecies tolerance—while frequently rendered in problematic ways—is a critical component of the Star Trek philosophy. Reflecting on this underpinning ideology, and why it resonated so much with viewers, Roddenberry said:
We believed that the often ridiculed mass audience is sick of this world’s petty nationalism and all its old ways and old hatreds, and that people are not only willing but anxious to think beyond most petty beliefs that have for so long kept mankind divided…What Star Trek proves, as faulty as individual episodes could be, is that the much-maligned common man and common woman has an enormous hunger for brotherhood. They are ready for the 23rd century now, and they are light years ahead of their petty governments and their visionless leaders.
We’re not much closer to a united brotherhood of mankind than we were in the 60s, yet Star Trek remains as popular as ever. All the old Star Trek shows are available on Netflix, where The Next Generation, Voyager, and Deep Space Nine enjoy especially high viewing figures. Three movies debuted in the last ten years—and okay, maybe they were pretty stupid, and mostly consisted of Chris Pine twitching handsomely at the camera while planets blew up behind him, but as mindless action movies go, they were kind of fun.
In keeping with Trek’s enduring appeal, the new show, Discovery, was billed as a return to the old Trek universe and the old Trek thoughtfulness. (The most recent Star Trek series before Discovery—Enterprise—had been a horribly written mess, so fans were understandably eager for a smart, original show.) Showrunner Bryan Fuller, who wrote for both Deep Space Nine and Voyager, promised a show that was true to the philosophy of Star Trek, particularly its focus on diplomacy and mutual understanding. Set a decade before the original series, Discovery was supposed to chart the development of Trek’s cheery egalitarian ethos; a growth arc that couldn’t be too steep, given that Enterprise, set in the 22nd century, had already laid the foundations of a diplomatic, socialist Federation.
If you’re not a Star Trek fan, the intense affection it inspires in its enthusiasts may seem a bit baffling. Isn’t Star Trek just, like, dorks in space? What’s so charming about science geeks who wear color-coded uniforms and speak in stilted lines about stellar anomalies? The popularity of Trek has always been somewhat inexplicable. William Shatner is a terrible actor, the special effects have often been absurd, and the imagined future is an earnest, treacly one where human beings have evolved beyond capitalism and cruelty into egalitarianism, do-goodery, and wide-eyed wonder.
This last part—Trek’s utopianism—is likely the key to its continuing prominence. Modern media fandom really began with Star Trek: in the 60s and 70s, Trekkies, mostly female Trekkies, created fanzines and the first real pop culture conventions. People liked the Star Trek universe created by Gene Roddenberry so much that they wanted to live in it, or barring that, talk about it constantly with people who understood why the camaraderie of multicultural nerds in space meant so much to them. The fans fought to keep the original series from being cancelled (and failed); and yet the show remained popular in syndication, and has since spawned thirteen movies and five more TV shows: The Next Generation, Deep Space Nine, Voyager, Enterprise—and now, in 2017-2018, Discovery, a show so odd, so off-putting, so vicious and violent and militaristic that it seems like an invader from another universe entirely.
Before I delve into exactly what’s so disturbing about this new Star Trek series, it’s worth talking a little bit about the ethos that characterized the earlier shows. Previous Trek narratives, while differing from each other in setting and tone, all share a common dorky exuberance for exploration and cross-cultural understanding. While technically, yes, Starfleet has always been a military organization, its functions have tended to the diplomatic, scientific, humanitarian, and logistical. Except during relatively rare times of defensive warfare, the space station in Deep Space Nine, for example, functions more or less like an interstellar DMV, issuing permits, performing inspections, and resolving disputes. In all the various shows, crew members hang up the uniform after work and unwind with decidedly goofy side projects: science experiments, learning to paint (badly), acting in plays (badly), pretending to be James Bond in the holosuites, trying (and sometimes even liking) alien cuisine. The main characters—human and alien alike—more or less get along, learning to accept (if not always understand) each other’s cultural practices and idiosyncrasies, like the Vulcan belief in the primacy of logic, or the often bloody Klingon code of honor. Interspecies tolerance—while frequently rendered in problematic ways—is a critical component of the Star Trek philosophy. Reflecting on this underpinning ideology, and why it resonated so much with viewers, Roddenberry said:
We believed that the often ridiculed mass audience is sick of this world’s petty nationalism and all its old ways and old hatreds, and that people are not only willing but anxious to think beyond most petty beliefs that have for so long kept mankind divided…What Star Trek proves, as faulty as individual episodes could be, is that the much-maligned common man and common woman has an enormous hunger for brotherhood. They are ready for the 23rd century now, and they are light years ahead of their petty governments and their visionless leaders.
We’re not much closer to a united brotherhood of mankind than we were in the 60s, yet Star Trek remains as popular as ever. All the old Star Trek shows are available on Netflix, where The Next Generation, Voyager, and Deep Space Nine enjoy especially high viewing figures. Three movies debuted in the last ten years—and okay, maybe they were pretty stupid, and mostly consisted of Chris Pine twitching handsomely at the camera while planets blew up behind him, but as mindless action movies go, they were kind of fun.
In keeping with Trek’s enduring appeal, the new show, Discovery, was billed as a return to the old Trek universe and the old Trek thoughtfulness. (The most recent Star Trek series before Discovery—Enterprise—had been a horribly written mess, so fans were understandably eager for a smart, original show.) Showrunner Bryan Fuller, who wrote for both Deep Space Nine and Voyager, promised a show that was true to the philosophy of Star Trek, particularly its focus on diplomacy and mutual understanding. Set a decade before the original series, Discovery was supposed to chart the development of Trek’s cheery egalitarian ethos; a growth arc that couldn’t be too steep, given that Enterprise, set in the 22nd century, had already laid the foundations of a diplomatic, socialist Federation.