Warning: ever so slight plot spoilers and pretty substantial meta-spoilers for the 2009 Star Trek film.
There are certain pop culture heavyweights I've never warmed to. Superman is one of them; I've never been able to cheer for the guy. I mean, for all intents and purposes, he's invincible. Part of what attracts me to a superhero in the first place is how screwed up they are (why do you think I've paged over Watchmen approx. 24 times?). Peter Parker had the angst of being young and conflicted. The X-Men had the sting of discrimination. And Clark Kent has....a fake case of astigmatism? Please. I like my fictional character fallible, screwed up and preferably in ill-advised romantic situations. I don't hold my standoffishness against these corners of pop culture. Except perhaps....in the case of Star Trek.
I've always had a complicated relationship with Star Trek. I admire much about it--it's generally been a beacon to pop culture that sci-fi can be entertaining and fulfilling. Not to mention profitable; it couldn't have been Trekkies alone that launched six television shows, one cartoon, countless merchandise and eleven feature films. So there's abstract admiration.
But I always felt there was something a little cold about the Star Trek universe, as though it was ignoring fundamental truths about human beings. Seriously--all these people, confined to one (albeit massive) ship, and NOTHING shady goes down? For realsies? No hook-ups, murders, crazy-pants or emotional breakdowns?
Granted, I'll concide that my knowledge of Star Trek is nowhere near encyclopedic (that honor goes to the Whedonverse). No, my knowledge of Star Trek isn't even comprehensive, hovering somewhere between 'informed' and 'um, what happened to that blond guy with the funny hat?' But isn't the whole point that the Federation has worked past all that silly human nonsense to build a utopia?
As tidy as that is, I've unfortunately always seen the Star Trek universe as too conveniently streamlined, freed from plausible motivation and human downfalls. It's all very elementary bad vs. good stuff, and when it comes to space operas, I guess I've been spoiled by Farscape. I realize a large chuck of this is due to creator Gene Roddenberry's contract proviso. I remember hearing about it when Enterprise first came out--that Roddenberry had it in his will somewhere that his Star Trek franchises always had to reflect a certain upstanding moral high ground (my Google-fu, however, is on vacay today and I can't find any references to this anywhere). Consequently, a lot of Star Trek canon has probably been obliged to reflect this stance, wherein problems are resolved by episode close, and there's always a morality bow to tie the lesson with.
And I think all these feelings played a big role in why I enjoyed the Star Trek reboot so very much. Aside from counting director J.J. Abrams' hilarious fixations (seriously, a big red ball, J.J.? Again?) and the dialogue (which in a Jabrams effort, you can rely on to be spot-on), I found this version of Star Trek so much more satisfying than previous incarnations. And the reason? The human beings on the U.S.S. Enterprise seemed, for the first time, like human beings.
I think my first chirp of excitement came when during Dr. 'Bone' McCoy's first lines, he mentioned not only an ex-wife, but also a messy divorce and discontent with Starfleet. It's a small thing in the moment, but in retrospect it's huge: would any previous incarnation of Star Trek have a character with such obvious loathing at his circumstances? In fact, would any previous incarnation even suggested that Starfleet protocol was somehow lame and too objective, as Kirk does repeatedly?
But Jabrams did what Jabrams does best: he created a mythology that almost automatically deepens itself with every line of dialogue (watch as Spock and Uhara's first conversation about favouritism pays off half and hour later with a romantic reveal, or see Kirk's face with almost any mention of a father). I've always thought that Jabrams' talents were better suited to the big screen, as opposed to the television career he began with. Jabrams is a short-shot; his attention span usually fizzles out in a year or two and he finds something new to tinker with. He left Felicity to play with Alias, which he subsequently abandoned to fiddle with Lost. But movies are a very logical step for him: he's a great director with a limited attention span. His passion is channeled into the production of a film and bam. Result: contained piece of Jabrams genius.
Other great amusements from the movie:
-Jabrams was ALL OVER this movie, from hiring people he's worked with before (Simon Pegg on M:I III, Rachel Nichols on Alias, Michael Giacchino on music) to his deep love of daddy issues. Jabrams isn't a hard cat to figure out, so I was almost bummed that Greg Grunberg failed to appear (famous in fandom for being Jabram's oldest friend and appearing in literally everything the director does). Then Wikipedia told me he had a voice over as Kirk's mean stepfather, aaaaaaand all was right with the world.
-As usual, I kind of tuned out during the big space battles, but that no sound thing in space? WAS AWESOME.
-I am still amused by the lens flare.
-Chris Pine reportedly based his performance on Maverick from Top Gun and Han Solo. What's that now? That's a GIANT WIN FOR LIFE.
-This film gave me a new reason to look forward to the future: apparently, EVERYONE is pretty.
-NIIIIIIMOOOOOOY. He seems at peace with his Spockness now. Is there anything this man says that doesn't sound like veteran wisdom? Seriously. Picture him saying, "I think I left my tea downstairs," and you will have a one-sentence novel on the complex fragility of time, self-awareness and the adventures of aging gracefully.
-Notice Pine's cross-legged seat at the movie's end, or the faintest Shatner-esque intonation in his voice? It was perfect there; any more and it would have been cheap and pandering. But to suggest that the James T. Kirk of Shatner only comes after assuming a role of leadership...well, that I can buy. BY THE BUCKET.
