As Star Trek marks the 50th anniversary of its premiere just a few hours from now, it’s being lauded for more than I can recount here. So I’ve come here to talk about the thing I love most in Trek.
For me, Star Trek is the most beautiful story machine ever built.
Since springing to life in NBC’s Thursday night lineup at 8:30 on September 8, 1966 as a heady, thoughtful space adventure (as wonderfully recounted in Edward Gross’s and Mark A. Altman’s fantastic the Fifty Year Mission) , Star Trek has risen to a level in our cultural relevance very few fictions come near.
To find anything that’s lasted as long or driven as deep into our collective hearts you can find some equals, but after coming across names like Huck Finn, Dorothy Gale, Dr. Watson, Robin of Sherwood Forest, Clark Kent, Juliet of Verona and Prince Hamlet Denmark, the list is soon exhausted.
Why a show so silly and earnest at once has plucked a cord in so many of us I can’t say for sure. There are a lot of rote answers in think pieces across the net today… it’s an optimistic vision of the future in a pessimistic age… it’s a funhouse mirror for looking at current issues at the safe remove of science fiction… because every generation loves watching groups of friends go on exciting adventures… and they all hold a bit of the truth. But I think under all of that is the core truth that binds it all together.
Nowhere in western culture, from the first novels in the 1700s to Netflix’s latest, algorithm inspired 10-episode hyper-targeted mini-season, is there a better storytelling engine than Star Trek.
Everything is laid out in show’s deceptively simple 37 word mission statement, the Gettysburg Address of the nerd culture I love:
Space: the final frontier. These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise. Its ongoing mission: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no one has gone before.
And just like that, a writer can tell any story they want.
Want to tell a tense adventure story of friends battling murderous enemies? That’s the oldest type of story, after all. There’s The Original Series’ Balance of Terror , with Captain Kirk and his crew facing off against the relentless attacks of another skilled alien crew trying to kill them.
Is storytelling meant to teach and enlighten us? There’s TOS’ intense and endearingly clumsy Let That Be Your Last Battlefield. Two aliens nearly destroy the Enterprise while fighting out their racial difference, one so minor and meaningless not even Mr. Spock noticed it at first.
How about examining the painful episodes of our nation’s past. There we have the US’ Dred Scott decision refashioned with an android to find Captain Picard arguing in court for the essential rights of his android crewman, Lt. Data. That one is The Next Generation’s Measure of a Man.
What about an intimate story of a man at war with his own values, trying to uphold his highest ideals as they are threatened in the face of war? Deep Space Nine examines those terrible compromises with In the Pale Moonlight, where Captain Sisko works to draw the Romulans into siding with the Federation in a war against the Dominion, and compromises himself fatally… and maybe he’s ok with that.
How to tell the story of what it means for a whole culture to die? The Next Generation’s Inner Light achieves it in 45 minutes (without commercials). In it, a space probe forces Captain Picard live out the entire life of another man, an alien culture’s last act to let the universe to know they once lived.
Then there’s the love letter to that unique bond between parents and children with Deep Space Nine’s The Visitor. In that episode a problem with the Defiant’s warp drive (they tend to break down if you haven’t noticed) seems to kill Captain Sisko, taking him away from his son Jake just when the teenager boy needs him most. But as Jake lives on, he realizes his father is not dead, but lost in subspace (don’t sweat the details). The choices Jake makes for the chance to see his father again might just inspire you to call a parent, or visit a grave if you can’t.
And sometimes, you just want a head-trippy, kick ass science fiction adventure. Voyager’s Year of Hell two-parter is just that, with Captain Janeway and her crew fighting against genocidal alien captain whose ship wields a time machine like a weapon.
With Star Trek, there are these stories and about 720 others spread across the 30 seasons of Star Trek and it’s subsequent shows. There are more very good stories than can be listed here, and quite a few bad ones.
But for me, that’s the magic. With a canvas as flexible as Star Trek, any writer can conjure up something.
With most other fictions, from Star Wars to Law & Order, House of Cards to The Wizard of Oz, there are only a few kinds of stories you can tell in the straightjackets of those worlds.
In Star Trek, you could potentially tell a meaningful version of all the stories, and have room to tell hundreds more. Every genre fits comfortably in Star Trek.
What follows is an admittedly ridiculous list, but what other fiction can hold all these types of stories: Tragedy, Fantasy, Absurdist, Surreal, Political, Philosophical, Paranoid, Thriller, Slice of life, Family drama, Epic, Adventure, Detective, Romance, Time Travel, Horror, Comedy, War stories, Westerns, Crime, Speculative…
Her answer was musical, and for a moment I agreed. Then a story like this sprung to mind:
Captain Picard and his crew could arrive at an uncharted planet, ready to make first contact with is inhabitants. In an awkward first exchange, Picard discovers these new aliens sing every word in their language. Desperate to procure a special medicine to combat a virus ravaging a nearby human colony, he’s got to talk to them, but they despise non-singers, and are contemplating destroying the Enterprise. It’s not too hard to imagine Data searching the crew manifest and finding an ensign in engineering who can sing soprano, but doesn’t perform because of deathly stage fright… you can see where this is going.
Then we realized the probe in Star Trek 4: The Voyage Home came to Earth looking for the song of humpback whales. It came to Earth searching for life forms who sing their language. So Star Trek already did it, without even leaving Earth.
I’d bet at this point, some of you are laughing not with me, but at me. Comparing Captain Kirk and Hamlet? How can a pop show with cheap sets and a made-up spaceship really compare to Shakespeare?
For me, this has always been a choice so false it almost seems foolish. In the hands of Francis Ford Coppola, a gangster story becomes an examination of trying to keep your soul pure in a corrupt landscape. In the hands of Christopher Nolan, a 75-year-old costumed superhero and his clownish adversary became the most nuanced and urgent examination of terrorism of the last 20 years.
A good storyteller can weave together our lowest hunger for excitement and our highest need for insight in one compelling narrative.
For me, Star Trek does that best. It splits the difference between our desire to watch gaudy spectacle and our aspiration to make ourselves better by contemplating our best potential and the weaker faults we harbor which, unchecked, could undo everything we’ve built on this little planet.
You might be right in your laughter. But I don’t care. I’m willing to stake my claim and risk the scorn. After all, risk is our business.