The final voyage of the original crew and original cast.
Thursday, January 22, 2004
Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country
by William S. Kowinski
I’ve been slow to complete this essay on Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country,” because it means saying goodbye to the original crew, the original cast. Of course, movies are forever, more or less, and owning the DVD means I can revisit them at any time. But I still have to write the goodbye part, and move on.
Even though I feel great kinship with the Next Gen crew, it’s not primarily through their movies. The television episodes of the original series are indispensable--the characters were established on TV-- but for me, the original crew really blossomed in their six features plus. They acknowledged change and the aging process, and they did change. They ripened, deepened, and became legends. The way they were in the series is unforgettable, but as they are in the movies is how I remember them.
by William S. Kowinski
I’ve been slow to complete this essay on Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country,” because it means saying goodbye to the original crew, the original cast. Of course, movies are forever, more or less, and owning the DVD means I can revisit them at any time. But I still have to write the goodbye part, and move on.
Even though I feel great kinship with the Next Gen crew, it’s not primarily through their movies. The television episodes of the original series are indispensable--the characters were established on TV-- but for me, the original crew really blossomed in their six features plus. They acknowledged change and the aging process, and they did change. They ripened, deepened, and became legends. The way they were in the series is unforgettable, but as they are in the movies is how I remember them.
“Is Star Trek dying? It’s enough to make Spock laugh.”
That how my New York Times story began in August 2004, just before what would turn out to be the last season for Enterprise. It’s in fact how my telephone interview with Leonard Nimoy began. The question my editor wanted my story to ask was precisely that: is Star Trek dying? And Nimoy not only laughed---he kept on laughing. This is his complete response to that question:
“(Laughs) This is so funny…well, Star Trek has died several times, and (laugh) and come back stronger than ever. It’s hilarious. Let me go through the history very briefly, very quickly, in a nutshell. At the end of the second season we were cancelled. There was a big letter writing campaign, asking NBC to keep the show, so NBC kept the show on for one more season. Then it was cancelled again, right? Eleven years later we made a movie, and everybody said that’s the end of Star Trek. Star Trek THE Motion Picture—it’s over. Couple years later it was revived and something like ten more movies were made. [laughs] Spock died, Spock came back [laughs] It goes on and on. [laughs] I think Star Trek is ready for another reincarnation. It’s hilarious, I can’t help but laugh.”
I was reminded of this as I reviewed the history of Star Trek VI, because not only were there uncertainties between many of the movies, within the process of this one there were several births, deaths and resurrections. It almost never happened, then almost didn’t happen, then was definitively cancelled. And at the last moment, reborn. Hilarious now---hysterical then. Even for Hollywood.
The doubt started when Star Trek V: The Final Frontier became the first Trek feature to not show a profit in its first run. So Paramount, already beset with a string of expensive failures (though Star Trek V wasn’t one of the expensive ones), dawdled until it was almost too late.
But Star Trek’s 25th anniversary was coming up in 1992, and on television TNG was sparking renewed interest in all things Star Trek. At first, executive producer Harv Bennett tried to cut costs in salaries by using new actors, and at the same time play to a younger market with a movie about Kirk and Spock in their Starfleet Academy days. Everybody in the original crew plus Gene Roddenberry were against it. (Ironically, William Shatner said he proposed such a story for the next Trek TV series after Enterprise, and in 2006 it's rumored to be the premise of Star Trek XI. )
Roddenberry knew something that Bennett apparently did not appreciate: part of the magic was in the casting, and was proven in the original cast. It was one of Roddenberry’s chief talents, and in both of the shows he cast, he found an uncommon on-screen chemistry with relatively unknown actors. (There was plenty of off-screen chemistry as well, among all the TNG crew, and two factions of the original cast: the Kirk/Spock/McCoy triumverate, and the rest of the regulars.) Of all of Roddenberry’s talents, this was the spookiest. Even actors he wasn’t crazy about at first (like Patrick Stewart) turned out to be perfect.
Besides, what was the point of celebrating a quarter century of Star Trek if you ignore the people who carried it for all that time? For whatever reason, Paramount decided to gamble on one more show for the original cast, and Harv Bennett separated himself from Star Trek for the first time since Star Trek II.
With Bennett gone, Paramount went to Leonard Nimoy (the two had problems over IV, and it could be argued that Bennett did not serve Shatner’s V well as executive producer.) Nimoy came up with the basic idea for the story. The Paramount executive in charge insisted on a particular new writing team that Nimoy found to be useless, and he went to Nicholas Meyer, the writer-director of II and co-writer (with Bennett) of IV.
Together they worked out the story, and agreed that Meyer would direct and Nimoy would executive produce. But even though time was getting short to have the picture ready for the 25th anniversary, Paramount went back to the ineffectual writing team until it was clear to everyone they had nothing. Finally the writing job was given to Nick Meyer, who was under contract to Paramount already, and his assistant, Denny Martin Flinn. There was apparently further intrigue, creating tensions between Meyer and Nimoy. But finally, there was a script, just in the nick of time (all puns intended.)
And then in an amazingly short time, the film was cancelled.
Negotiations over the budget had come down to a difference of $2.5 million, but Paramount wouldn’t budge. Nick Meyer believed in the art of working with limitations, but he also knew what he absolutely needed for a Trek picture. So Paramount decided to kill the project. But then with all hope lost, something budged Paramount: the head of the studio was replaced (with the father of the Trek movie’s co-producer and second unit director!) and apparently with one phone call, Meyer got the budget he needed. So on a very short schedule, the filming of Star Trek VI began.
The rush of the schedule may have led to more mistakes in details than usual, and the budget decreed eliminating an opening sequence, of the already retired crew being rounded up for one more mission, leading to some uncertainty at the film’s beginning about how much time had elapsed between adventures (although it may also have been killed due to objections from Gene Roddenberry and Nichelle Nichols to portraying the legendary crew as bored losers in retirement in a 23rd century society as clueless and corrupt as ours.) But it could have been much worse.
This combination of a tight budget and tight schedule could have ruined the movie but it seemed to have had the opposite effect. Stylistically Star Trek VI is the most economical of the Trek films. It moves briskly and efficiently, not a moment is wasted, yet due to skillful directing and editing, the pace is not rushed and scenes are not truncated. The acting by the guest stars is excellent: bold yet also economical.
The dialogue sounds fresh and except for the quotes from Cold War and other history (not to mention Shakespeare), even improvised. Even the stagier moments towards the end of the film (the crew carefully posing around the Federation president, the final “yearbook portrait” on the bridge) work perfectly in that spirit. There were few new sets or costumes, yet the visual effects weren’t neglected, as some were on Trek V. The original crew film series went out on a winner.
That how my New York Times story began in August 2004, just before what would turn out to be the last season for Enterprise. It’s in fact how my telephone interview with Leonard Nimoy began. The question my editor wanted my story to ask was precisely that: is Star Trek dying? And Nimoy not only laughed---he kept on laughing. This is his complete response to that question:
“(Laughs) This is so funny…well, Star Trek has died several times, and (laugh) and come back stronger than ever. It’s hilarious. Let me go through the history very briefly, very quickly, in a nutshell. At the end of the second season we were cancelled. There was a big letter writing campaign, asking NBC to keep the show, so NBC kept the show on for one more season. Then it was cancelled again, right? Eleven years later we made a movie, and everybody said that’s the end of Star Trek. Star Trek THE Motion Picture—it’s over. Couple years later it was revived and something like ten more movies were made. [laughs] Spock died, Spock came back [laughs] It goes on and on. [laughs] I think Star Trek is ready for another reincarnation. It’s hilarious, I can’t help but laugh.”
I was reminded of this as I reviewed the history of Star Trek VI, because not only were there uncertainties between many of the movies, within the process of this one there were several births, deaths and resurrections. It almost never happened, then almost didn’t happen, then was definitively cancelled. And at the last moment, reborn. Hilarious now---hysterical then. Even for Hollywood.
The doubt started when Star Trek V: The Final Frontier became the first Trek feature to not show a profit in its first run. So Paramount, already beset with a string of expensive failures (though Star Trek V wasn’t one of the expensive ones), dawdled until it was almost too late.
But Star Trek’s 25th anniversary was coming up in 1992, and on television TNG was sparking renewed interest in all things Star Trek. At first, executive producer Harv Bennett tried to cut costs in salaries by using new actors, and at the same time play to a younger market with a movie about Kirk and Spock in their Starfleet Academy days. Everybody in the original crew plus Gene Roddenberry were against it. (Ironically, William Shatner said he proposed such a story for the next Trek TV series after Enterprise, and in 2006 it's rumored to be the premise of Star Trek XI. )
Roddenberry knew something that Bennett apparently did not appreciate: part of the magic was in the casting, and was proven in the original cast. It was one of Roddenberry’s chief talents, and in both of the shows he cast, he found an uncommon on-screen chemistry with relatively unknown actors. (There was plenty of off-screen chemistry as well, among all the TNG crew, and two factions of the original cast: the Kirk/Spock/McCoy triumverate, and the rest of the regulars.) Of all of Roddenberry’s talents, this was the spookiest. Even actors he wasn’t crazy about at first (like Patrick Stewart) turned out to be perfect.
Besides, what was the point of celebrating a quarter century of Star Trek if you ignore the people who carried it for all that time? For whatever reason, Paramount decided to gamble on one more show for the original cast, and Harv Bennett separated himself from Star Trek for the first time since Star Trek II.
With Bennett gone, Paramount went to Leonard Nimoy (the two had problems over IV, and it could be argued that Bennett did not serve Shatner’s V well as executive producer.) Nimoy came up with the basic idea for the story. The Paramount executive in charge insisted on a particular new writing team that Nimoy found to be useless, and he went to Nicholas Meyer, the writer-director of II and co-writer (with Bennett) of IV.
Together they worked out the story, and agreed that Meyer would direct and Nimoy would executive produce. But even though time was getting short to have the picture ready for the 25th anniversary, Paramount went back to the ineffectual writing team until it was clear to everyone they had nothing. Finally the writing job was given to Nick Meyer, who was under contract to Paramount already, and his assistant, Denny Martin Flinn. There was apparently further intrigue, creating tensions between Meyer and Nimoy. But finally, there was a script, just in the nick of time (all puns intended.)
And then in an amazingly short time, the film was cancelled.
Negotiations over the budget had come down to a difference of $2.5 million, but Paramount wouldn’t budge. Nick Meyer believed in the art of working with limitations, but he also knew what he absolutely needed for a Trek picture. So Paramount decided to kill the project. But then with all hope lost, something budged Paramount: the head of the studio was replaced (with the father of the Trek movie’s co-producer and second unit director!) and apparently with one phone call, Meyer got the budget he needed. So on a very short schedule, the filming of Star Trek VI began.
The rush of the schedule may have led to more mistakes in details than usual, and the budget decreed eliminating an opening sequence, of the already retired crew being rounded up for one more mission, leading to some uncertainty at the film’s beginning about how much time had elapsed between adventures (although it may also have been killed due to objections from Gene Roddenberry and Nichelle Nichols to portraying the legendary crew as bored losers in retirement in a 23rd century society as clueless and corrupt as ours.) But it could have been much worse.
This combination of a tight budget and tight schedule could have ruined the movie but it seemed to have had the opposite effect. Stylistically Star Trek VI is the most economical of the Trek films. It moves briskly and efficiently, not a moment is wasted, yet due to skillful directing and editing, the pace is not rushed and scenes are not truncated. The acting by the guest stars is excellent: bold yet also economical.
The dialogue sounds fresh and except for the quotes from Cold War and other history (not to mention Shakespeare), even improvised. Even the stagier moments towards the end of the film (the crew carefully posing around the Federation president, the final “yearbook portrait” on the bridge) work perfectly in that spirit. There were few new sets or costumes, yet the visual effects weren’t neglected, as some were on Trek V. The original crew film series went out on a winner.
The film opens on the starship Excelsior, Captain Sulu commanding. After years of lobbying for his character’s promotion, and even with a scene indicating it shot (by Nick Meyer) but not used for Star Trek II, George Takei wrote in his autobiography that he didn’t know about Sulu’s new status until first reading the Star Trek VI script. (He also suggests that Harv Bennett got him to sign for Star Trek V with a deal that included a raise for VI, believing that his Starfleet Academy idea would make this an empty promise. But Takei took his case to the conventions---12 in a row in three months-- and may have been instrumental in stopping Bennett’s plan. )
Excelsior is returning from a three year mission, the first indication of how much time has passed since the last adventure (based on other internal evidence, the Okudas’ timeline has it as six years later, while J.M. Dillard's novelization says ten years past.) The Excelsior is hit with an energy wave created by a mammoth explosion that has destroyed the Klingon moon Praxis, an overmined moon supplying energy to the Klingon empire. The Klingons at first deny the incident is serious and refuse Sulu’s help.
The only other familiar face on the Excelsior is Janice Rand, played by Grace Lee Whitney, now a communications officer. She and Sulu have the final exchange of the scene. “Should I report this?” she asks him. “Are you kidding?” Captain Sulu says, as only George Takei can. At last his commanding voice is given command.
Excelsior is returning from a three year mission, the first indication of how much time has passed since the last adventure (based on other internal evidence, the Okudas’ timeline has it as six years later, while J.M. Dillard's novelization says ten years past.) The Excelsior is hit with an energy wave created by a mammoth explosion that has destroyed the Klingon moon Praxis, an overmined moon supplying energy to the Klingon empire. The Klingons at first deny the incident is serious and refuse Sulu’s help.
The only other familiar face on the Excelsior is Janice Rand, played by Grace Lee Whitney, now a communications officer. She and Sulu have the final exchange of the scene. “Should I report this?” she asks him. “Are you kidding?” Captain Sulu says, as only George Takei can. At last his commanding voice is given command.
Next we see the rest of the Enterprise crew (except Spock) assemble around a conference table at Starfleet headquarters. With no Paramount sound stages available, this scene was shot at a nearby church with a not very elaborate set: just the table and an opaque screen behind the dais, surrounded by darkness. But the darkness focused the tension on the table and the emotions expressed around it, and the almost abstract quality of the set placed the story in the land of otherworldly metaphor, the Star Trek equivalent of the simple and symbolic Greek stage.
It is here that the central metaphors of the movie are introduced. Gene Coon introduced the Klingons in the original series as a stand-in for the Soviets to the Federation’s U.S. and western allies, at least as far as serving the function of setting up metaphors for the ongoing Cold War, and at times, for the ongoing Vietnam war.
In the real world of 1985, Soviet Premier Gorbachev introduced various political reforms for greater openness (known as “Glasnost”), economic reforms (“Perestroika.”) and a more conciliatory foreign policy which resulted in détente with the West.
But in the late 1980s, small nations that had been absorbed into the Soviet Union some 70 years before were clamoring for independence, and satellite nations in Eastern Europe threw out Soviet occupiers and re-established their independence. This included East Germany, which then began the process of re-uniting with West Germany. They had been divided since Germany’s defeat in World War II (accomplished by the U.S. western European allies and the allied Soviet Union), but most dramatically separated by the Berlin Wall, raised in 1961 to stop the increasing flow of refugees from East to West. In 1989, even more dramatically, the Wall came down.
It was about this time that Leonard Nimoy was asked for an approach to Star Trek VI, and knowing the original series parallel of the Klingons and the Russians, he came up with a simple but dramatic concept: the Wall comes down in outer space.
This was the idea he took to Nick Meyers, and in a celebrated and, by now, much mythologized walk on the beach, they came up with the major elements of the story. The Soviet Union’s openness to the outside world was facilitated and necessitated by the world’s worst accident in a nuclear power plant ever, at Chernobyl in 1986. Refusing to acknowledge the scope of the disaster, the Soviet leadership kept outsiders out, as had been their usual practice. But radiation began showing up in the air of nearby European countries, and combined with the monumental decontamination tasks that exceeded their resources, the Soviets finally admitted the catastrophe and invited the help of other nations, including the U.S.
So that’s how Star Trek VI begins: with the explosion on Praxis that was contaminating the Klingon home world. Like the Soviets, the Klingons had bankrupted their economy on military expenditures, and needed help to survive. The Enterprise crew listens to Captain Spock, the Federation special envoy (who opened a dialogue with the Klingon chancellor Gorkon, clearly modeled after Gorbachev, at the behest of the Vulcan ambassador: his father, Sarek, who makes a brief appearance in the film.) Spock tells them that because of the Praxis radiation, the Klingons have fifty years of life left. They need Federation help to restore their planet to livable condition.
Though two Starfleet officers speak against helping the Klingons (including Captain Kirk), Starfleet’s Commander in Chief informs them that Spock has volunteered the Enterprise to escort Gorkon’s flagship to a peace conference, because Klingons who also oppose this détente will think twice about attacking the Enterprise under Kirk’s command.
After this brief meeting, Kirk and Spock are alone. Upon reflection, this scene indicates that they have not seen each other in some time. Spock had pursued the Gorkon initiative independently, and apparently had assumed he could count on Kirk’s assent. Kirk is somewhat shocked that Spock acted---and even involved him---without talking to him about it.
It is in this scene that Spock utters the first of a number of Cold War quotes, as a reason that Kirk is the right person to carry the olive branch to the Klingons. “There is an old Vulcan proverb,” Spock says. “’Only Nixon could go to China.’” This was in fact a saying inspired by President Richard Nixon’s visits to China, which established relations between the U.S. and the Communist Chinese government for the first time. Because Nixon had been such an ardent anti-Communist (resorting to smearing his opponent as “soft on Communism” to win his first political office) and Cold War supporter, it was said that his willingness to pursue the relationship gave the gesture particular credibility. (Of course, the opposite could also be argued.)
That Spock refers to this as a Vulcan proverb was the first of a series of droll jokes, playing off the penchant of the Germans and then the Russians to claim that they had really invented whatever other countries were credited with inventing. So Chancellor Gorkon refers to reading Shakespeare in the original Klingon; Spock quotes “an ancestor of mine” stating a famous premise of Sherlock Holmes--one which Data would repeat in TNG. However, some credibility for the Vulcan proverb comment was suggested by the later Trek film, Star Trek: First Contact, and the later TV series Enterprise, which established that Vulcans were present on earth from the 22nd century. It would be possible for Vulcans to take this as a proverb for themselves, though let's face it, it's still a joke.
It is also the first of a series of quotes from contemporary and historical Cold War politics: Kirk refers to “the end of history,” which was the title of a 1989 essay (later expanded into a book) that theorized that the end of the Cold War would end history itself because one side—western liberal democracy—had triumphed. (Another dubious conclusion, but a well-known one when this movie was made.) When the Federation President says “This President is not above the law" it’s a clear reference to Nixon and Watergate of the 1970s, and even when General Chang (Christopher Plummer), acting as prosecutor in the trial of Kirk and McCoy, says “don’t wait for the translation,” it’s a reference to Adlai Stevenson saying the same thing to the Soviet UN ambassador during the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1962.
It is here that the central metaphors of the movie are introduced. Gene Coon introduced the Klingons in the original series as a stand-in for the Soviets to the Federation’s U.S. and western allies, at least as far as serving the function of setting up metaphors for the ongoing Cold War, and at times, for the ongoing Vietnam war.
In the real world of 1985, Soviet Premier Gorbachev introduced various political reforms for greater openness (known as “Glasnost”), economic reforms (“Perestroika.”) and a more conciliatory foreign policy which resulted in détente with the West.
But in the late 1980s, small nations that had been absorbed into the Soviet Union some 70 years before were clamoring for independence, and satellite nations in Eastern Europe threw out Soviet occupiers and re-established their independence. This included East Germany, which then began the process of re-uniting with West Germany. They had been divided since Germany’s defeat in World War II (accomplished by the U.S. western European allies and the allied Soviet Union), but most dramatically separated by the Berlin Wall, raised in 1961 to stop the increasing flow of refugees from East to West. In 1989, even more dramatically, the Wall came down.
It was about this time that Leonard Nimoy was asked for an approach to Star Trek VI, and knowing the original series parallel of the Klingons and the Russians, he came up with a simple but dramatic concept: the Wall comes down in outer space.
This was the idea he took to Nick Meyers, and in a celebrated and, by now, much mythologized walk on the beach, they came up with the major elements of the story. The Soviet Union’s openness to the outside world was facilitated and necessitated by the world’s worst accident in a nuclear power plant ever, at Chernobyl in 1986. Refusing to acknowledge the scope of the disaster, the Soviet leadership kept outsiders out, as had been their usual practice. But radiation began showing up in the air of nearby European countries, and combined with the monumental decontamination tasks that exceeded their resources, the Soviets finally admitted the catastrophe and invited the help of other nations, including the U.S.
So that’s how Star Trek VI begins: with the explosion on Praxis that was contaminating the Klingon home world. Like the Soviets, the Klingons had bankrupted their economy on military expenditures, and needed help to survive. The Enterprise crew listens to Captain Spock, the Federation special envoy (who opened a dialogue with the Klingon chancellor Gorkon, clearly modeled after Gorbachev, at the behest of the Vulcan ambassador: his father, Sarek, who makes a brief appearance in the film.) Spock tells them that because of the Praxis radiation, the Klingons have fifty years of life left. They need Federation help to restore their planet to livable condition.
Though two Starfleet officers speak against helping the Klingons (including Captain Kirk), Starfleet’s Commander in Chief informs them that Spock has volunteered the Enterprise to escort Gorkon’s flagship to a peace conference, because Klingons who also oppose this détente will think twice about attacking the Enterprise under Kirk’s command.
After this brief meeting, Kirk and Spock are alone. Upon reflection, this scene indicates that they have not seen each other in some time. Spock had pursued the Gorkon initiative independently, and apparently had assumed he could count on Kirk’s assent. Kirk is somewhat shocked that Spock acted---and even involved him---without talking to him about it.
It is in this scene that Spock utters the first of a number of Cold War quotes, as a reason that Kirk is the right person to carry the olive branch to the Klingons. “There is an old Vulcan proverb,” Spock says. “’Only Nixon could go to China.’” This was in fact a saying inspired by President Richard Nixon’s visits to China, which established relations between the U.S. and the Communist Chinese government for the first time. Because Nixon had been such an ardent anti-Communist (resorting to smearing his opponent as “soft on Communism” to win his first political office) and Cold War supporter, it was said that his willingness to pursue the relationship gave the gesture particular credibility. (Of course, the opposite could also be argued.)
That Spock refers to this as a Vulcan proverb was the first of a series of droll jokes, playing off the penchant of the Germans and then the Russians to claim that they had really invented whatever other countries were credited with inventing. So Chancellor Gorkon refers to reading Shakespeare in the original Klingon; Spock quotes “an ancestor of mine” stating a famous premise of Sherlock Holmes--one which Data would repeat in TNG. However, some credibility for the Vulcan proverb comment was suggested by the later Trek film, Star Trek: First Contact, and the later TV series Enterprise, which established that Vulcans were present on earth from the 22nd century. It would be possible for Vulcans to take this as a proverb for themselves, though let's face it, it's still a joke.
It is also the first of a series of quotes from contemporary and historical Cold War politics: Kirk refers to “the end of history,” which was the title of a 1989 essay (later expanded into a book) that theorized that the end of the Cold War would end history itself because one side—western liberal democracy—had triumphed. (Another dubious conclusion, but a well-known one when this movie was made.) When the Federation President says “This President is not above the law" it’s a clear reference to Nixon and Watergate of the 1970s, and even when General Chang (Christopher Plummer), acting as prosecutor in the trial of Kirk and McCoy, says “don’t wait for the translation,” it’s a reference to Adlai Stevenson saying the same thing to the Soviet UN ambassador during the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1962.
The film also includes another set of references not belonging to the Cold War but to the internal history of the U.S., reflecting a nearly universal problem on our earth: racial prejudice. These were references to attitudes and actual popular sayings (the two Enterprise crewmen exchanged several about the Klingons in a few seconds: they all look alike, they smell, and most are mentally inferior;) that white Americans applied to African Americans.
It is a striking and daring parallel to add, characteristic of Star Trek at its best in raising issues of contemporary significance with a bit more depth. At first, racial prejudice doesn’t seem to apply to the Russians, although the country is so vast that it blurs the distinctions between white European bloodlines and Asian. (Hitler considered the Slavic peoples to be inferior to his idea of Aryans; they were to be the ultimate targets of his genocide, after he worked out the mechanics against the Jews in the Holocaust.)
But its equivalent was definitely present, even as late as the 1980s, when a television commercial purporting to show a Soviet fashion show presented old, overweight women modeling baggy military garb. This was in line with Soviet stereotypes going back to the 1950s. (Of course now, sleek Russian women are among the most fashionable icons of beauty in the world.)
Relating stereotypes of Klingons to racial prejudice is fitting, not only because Klingons were always portrayed as dark-skinned, and beginning with Michael Dorn in TNG, they would often be played by African Americans) but in terms of Star Trek’s classic treatment of aliens.
The tendency to stereotype unfamiliar and “different” peoples has been present in the U.S. since Europeans confronted Native peoples, and debated whether they had souls. Part of this tendency is motivated by fear—not only fear of the unknown, but fear of a potential or actual enemy. This is clear in the stereotyping of the Russians: they were portrayed on the one hand as backward and inferior, and on the other as inhumanly strong and powerful, men with the souls and power of robots who would kill with single-minded devotion to an ideology, completely without remorse.
When Scotty says that the Klingons don't value life "the same as we do," it's a common stereotype used for Asians, particularly in the World War II/ Korea/Vietnam era, though we hear it more now regarding Arabs.
That’s pretty much how aliens were portrayed in science fiction, especially when they were clear stand-ins for the Soviet threat in the 1950s. But even before then, space aliens were differentiated from humans by portraying them as unfamiliar ethnicities and supposed inferiors. Asian aliens were particularly popular: Emperor Ming the Merciless in Flash Gordon was low-budget obvious, but pretty much the template.
Even Leonard Nimoy was cast an alien because of his “exotic” looks, i.e. his dark hair and less than leading man features. For years he joined the other dark-haired Jews playing Italian hoodlums and dark-haired Italians playing American Indian villains. That’s how far Hollywood and “popular taste” was from infinite diversity well into the 1960s.
Eventually Star Trek would add elements of Asian architectures and cultures to the Klingons, but in a much more positive fashion. In Star Trek VI, Klingon garb (at least the costumes not leftovers from the first movies) was a bit more Asian, while Michael Westmore added beards cut in English Elizabethan style, a subtle visual support to all the Shakespearian references.
It is a striking and daring parallel to add, characteristic of Star Trek at its best in raising issues of contemporary significance with a bit more depth. At first, racial prejudice doesn’t seem to apply to the Russians, although the country is so vast that it blurs the distinctions between white European bloodlines and Asian. (Hitler considered the Slavic peoples to be inferior to his idea of Aryans; they were to be the ultimate targets of his genocide, after he worked out the mechanics against the Jews in the Holocaust.)
But its equivalent was definitely present, even as late as the 1980s, when a television commercial purporting to show a Soviet fashion show presented old, overweight women modeling baggy military garb. This was in line with Soviet stereotypes going back to the 1950s. (Of course now, sleek Russian women are among the most fashionable icons of beauty in the world.)
Relating stereotypes of Klingons to racial prejudice is fitting, not only because Klingons were always portrayed as dark-skinned, and beginning with Michael Dorn in TNG, they would often be played by African Americans) but in terms of Star Trek’s classic treatment of aliens.
The tendency to stereotype unfamiliar and “different” peoples has been present in the U.S. since Europeans confronted Native peoples, and debated whether they had souls. Part of this tendency is motivated by fear—not only fear of the unknown, but fear of a potential or actual enemy. This is clear in the stereotyping of the Russians: they were portrayed on the one hand as backward and inferior, and on the other as inhumanly strong and powerful, men with the souls and power of robots who would kill with single-minded devotion to an ideology, completely without remorse.
When Scotty says that the Klingons don't value life "the same as we do," it's a common stereotype used for Asians, particularly in the World War II/ Korea/Vietnam era, though we hear it more now regarding Arabs.
That’s pretty much how aliens were portrayed in science fiction, especially when they were clear stand-ins for the Soviet threat in the 1950s. But even before then, space aliens were differentiated from humans by portraying them as unfamiliar ethnicities and supposed inferiors. Asian aliens were particularly popular: Emperor Ming the Merciless in Flash Gordon was low-budget obvious, but pretty much the template.
Even Leonard Nimoy was cast an alien because of his “exotic” looks, i.e. his dark hair and less than leading man features. For years he joined the other dark-haired Jews playing Italian hoodlums and dark-haired Italians playing American Indian villains. That’s how far Hollywood and “popular taste” was from infinite diversity well into the 1960s.
Eventually Star Trek would add elements of Asian architectures and cultures to the Klingons, but in a much more positive fashion. In Star Trek VI, Klingon garb (at least the costumes not leftovers from the first movies) was a bit more Asian, while Michael Westmore added beards cut in English Elizabethan style, a subtle visual support to all the Shakespearian references.
Racial prejudice and stereotyping became a major theme of Star Trek VI, and now that Star Trek had a 24th century model of the future, those in the Federation who were prejudiced prefigured an arc of development to Picard’s time, when the Federation and the Klingons would be allies.
The script emphasized the universal possibility of hidden prejudices in a series of ironies in comparison to our time: racism against Klingons was first expressed in this movie by Admiral Cartwright, played by an African American actor, Brock Peters, probably best known for his portrayal of the innocent man defended by Gregory Peck in To Kill A Mockingbird, who was nevertheless convicted by a racist jury. As he says in a DVD interview, director Nick Meyer intended this resonance. (Peters, who later played Captain Sisko’s father in Deep Space Nine, had also appeared in the Preminger film version of Porgy and Bess, along with a young chorus dancer, Nichelle Nichols.)
Meyer wanted to reinforce this by having Uhura respond to Kirk’s dinner invitation to the Klingons with the title of another Hollywood film, this one about an interracial couple, “Guess who’s coming to dinner.” When Nichelle Nichols refused to say it, the line was given to Chekhov, producing a different irony---a Russian prejudiced against the Star Trek stand-ins for the Russians.
It is a worthy theme and it all works for the story, but it was seriously out of character for the Enterprise crew, as Roddenberry, Nichols and William Shatner insisted. They had gotten past this in the original series. Even after the Klingon violence in Star Trek III, at the end of V, Kirk had been rescued by a Klingon ship, and they were all drinking together. Even Kirk’s bitterness over the Klingon execution of his son seems a bit much, a decade after it happened, especially since Kirk had only known he had a son for a few weeks.
But there is some attempt at internal justification: Kirk’s prejudice against Klingons, as well as Spock’s prejudice in favor of a Vulcan, are linked to their aging, to becoming rigid, and to a weariness as their careers come to their end. In the headquarters scene, the Enterprise crew enters talking about retirement. At the end of his one-on-one with Spock afterwards, Kirk complains that the crew is scheduled to stand down in three months, and that they’ve done their bit “for king and country.” One could argue that this film replaces racism with ageism, but this is a legitimate theme, and it does pay off later.
There is another factor. When Kirk says “the Klingons have never been trustworthy,” he is speaking from experience which they’ve all shared. It’s a fact of Star Trek history that Klingons have done bad things to the Federation. This is a consequence of conflict, which inspires anger, fear and suspicion, which precipitates more conflict, until two sides are locked into an automated and apparently inescapable dynamic. Eventually each side demonizes the other, and the longer the enmity, the more extreme the demonic stereotypes.
So aliens become not just unknown, they become automatically hostile and dangerous. The ultimate prejudice is expressed by Captain Kirk: “they’re animals.” Indeed, animals were the first aliens, and the relationship of the humans to animals is a rich story too complex to reference here. But what Kirk means is animals as not human—without the kind of reason, ethical feelings and soul, that define humans. It's what some Europeans said about the Native Americans they encountered. That’s the essence of prejudice and racism among humans: it denies the Others their humanity.
The script emphasized the universal possibility of hidden prejudices in a series of ironies in comparison to our time: racism against Klingons was first expressed in this movie by Admiral Cartwright, played by an African American actor, Brock Peters, probably best known for his portrayal of the innocent man defended by Gregory Peck in To Kill A Mockingbird, who was nevertheless convicted by a racist jury. As he says in a DVD interview, director Nick Meyer intended this resonance. (Peters, who later played Captain Sisko’s father in Deep Space Nine, had also appeared in the Preminger film version of Porgy and Bess, along with a young chorus dancer, Nichelle Nichols.)
Meyer wanted to reinforce this by having Uhura respond to Kirk’s dinner invitation to the Klingons with the title of another Hollywood film, this one about an interracial couple, “Guess who’s coming to dinner.” When Nichelle Nichols refused to say it, the line was given to Chekhov, producing a different irony---a Russian prejudiced against the Star Trek stand-ins for the Russians.
It is a worthy theme and it all works for the story, but it was seriously out of character for the Enterprise crew, as Roddenberry, Nichols and William Shatner insisted. They had gotten past this in the original series. Even after the Klingon violence in Star Trek III, at the end of V, Kirk had been rescued by a Klingon ship, and they were all drinking together. Even Kirk’s bitterness over the Klingon execution of his son seems a bit much, a decade after it happened, especially since Kirk had only known he had a son for a few weeks.
But there is some attempt at internal justification: Kirk’s prejudice against Klingons, as well as Spock’s prejudice in favor of a Vulcan, are linked to their aging, to becoming rigid, and to a weariness as their careers come to their end. In the headquarters scene, the Enterprise crew enters talking about retirement. At the end of his one-on-one with Spock afterwards, Kirk complains that the crew is scheduled to stand down in three months, and that they’ve done their bit “for king and country.” One could argue that this film replaces racism with ageism, but this is a legitimate theme, and it does pay off later.
There is another factor. When Kirk says “the Klingons have never been trustworthy,” he is speaking from experience which they’ve all shared. It’s a fact of Star Trek history that Klingons have done bad things to the Federation. This is a consequence of conflict, which inspires anger, fear and suspicion, which precipitates more conflict, until two sides are locked into an automated and apparently inescapable dynamic. Eventually each side demonizes the other, and the longer the enmity, the more extreme the demonic stereotypes.
So aliens become not just unknown, they become automatically hostile and dangerous. The ultimate prejudice is expressed by Captain Kirk: “they’re animals.” Indeed, animals were the first aliens, and the relationship of the humans to animals is a rich story too complex to reference here. But what Kirk means is animals as not human—without the kind of reason, ethical feelings and soul, that define humans. It's what some Europeans said about the Native Americans they encountered. That’s the essence of prejudice and racism among humans: it denies the Others their humanity.
The bridge crew arrive aboard the Enterprise to begin their mission, and they meet Valeris, the young Vulcan protégé of Spock (played by Kim Catrall.)
Every Star Trek movie truly begins when the Enterprise (or its temporary substitute) gets underway, and properly ends when the Enterprise warps off on its next adventure. It’s a challenge to vary that inaugural scene, and this time there’s a variation on the first mission of the Enterprise D, when Picard tests his new first officer with a manual saucer separation. This time, Kirk tests Valeris as a helmsman with a half-impulse speed rush for the slowly opening doors inside the space dock.
It’s a short but terrific piece of film (although Valeris pilots with what is obviously a bit of audio mixing board), with a nice rush for viewers as we speed towards the doors with the swelling “Enterprise theme” of the soundtrack score, and it’s capped by an unexpected shot: Scotty looking out from engineering, wearing a big smile. It’s a memorable send-off.
Valeris appears next in two short scenes, the first in Captain Kirk’s cabin as he dictates his personal log, venting his inability to trust and forgive the Klingons, and expressing his doubts about the mission, yet already with a degree of self-awareness: “Spock says this could be an historic occasion. I’d like to believe he is right…but how can history get past people like me?”
We see Valeris standing in the doorway, kept from closing by one of Kirk’s travel bags, as one would prop open a door with one suitcase to carry in others. Her purpose there is unclear; all she does is flatter the Captain.
Then she is in Spock’s quarters, examining a Marc Chagall painting, “The Expulsion from Paradise,” a reminder to Spock that “all things end.” She begins to express an uneasiness with the proposed treaty with the Klingons, appearing to Spock’s logic as “a kindred intellect” (though from the look she gives him on the bridge to elements of this scene, there seems to be something else going on between them, even if neither admits it.) She invokes logic but Spock unexpectedly dismisses it. In fact, he succinctly expresses the outcome of his journey from the first movie forward: “Logic is the beginning of wisdom,” he insists, “not the end.”
Then Spock names her his successor on the Enterprise. Both of these scenes advance the story slightly, but their full import will come later.
Then the Klingon dignitaries come aboard, two crewmen express their prejudices, and then the famous dinner scene, where Chancellor Gorkon (David Warner) toasts to “the undiscovered country---the future,” and General Chang (Christopher Plummer) quotes Shakespeare.
We’ve seen the Federation problem with the proposed peace as prejudice at worst and suspicion at best, like the Russian proverb, “Trust, but verify,” that President Reagan loved to quote in his meetings with Gorbachev. But what about the Klingons?
Their anxiety is they will lose their identity—not only as warriors, but as a culture. It is not an unreasonable fear--ask an American Indian, or any minority, or for that matter, a Canadian subjected to the power of American popular culture and commerce. It also has a racial component, expressed by Gorkon’s daughter who snaps at Chekov’s invocation of “inalienable human rights” with mockery: “In-alien-able? If you could hear yourselves—human rights. The very name is racist. The Federation is nothing more than a Homo Sapiens-only club.” The words combine the charge of racism with the rhetoric of feminism (“men only clubs”), spoken by a Latina actor (Rosanna DeSoto) with a Canadian accent.
Every Star Trek movie truly begins when the Enterprise (or its temporary substitute) gets underway, and properly ends when the Enterprise warps off on its next adventure. It’s a challenge to vary that inaugural scene, and this time there’s a variation on the first mission of the Enterprise D, when Picard tests his new first officer with a manual saucer separation. This time, Kirk tests Valeris as a helmsman with a half-impulse speed rush for the slowly opening doors inside the space dock.
It’s a short but terrific piece of film (although Valeris pilots with what is obviously a bit of audio mixing board), with a nice rush for viewers as we speed towards the doors with the swelling “Enterprise theme” of the soundtrack score, and it’s capped by an unexpected shot: Scotty looking out from engineering, wearing a big smile. It’s a memorable send-off.
Valeris appears next in two short scenes, the first in Captain Kirk’s cabin as he dictates his personal log, venting his inability to trust and forgive the Klingons, and expressing his doubts about the mission, yet already with a degree of self-awareness: “Spock says this could be an historic occasion. I’d like to believe he is right…but how can history get past people like me?”
We see Valeris standing in the doorway, kept from closing by one of Kirk’s travel bags, as one would prop open a door with one suitcase to carry in others. Her purpose there is unclear; all she does is flatter the Captain.
Then she is in Spock’s quarters, examining a Marc Chagall painting, “The Expulsion from Paradise,” a reminder to Spock that “all things end.” She begins to express an uneasiness with the proposed treaty with the Klingons, appearing to Spock’s logic as “a kindred intellect” (though from the look she gives him on the bridge to elements of this scene, there seems to be something else going on between them, even if neither admits it.) She invokes logic but Spock unexpectedly dismisses it. In fact, he succinctly expresses the outcome of his journey from the first movie forward: “Logic is the beginning of wisdom,” he insists, “not the end.”
Then Spock names her his successor on the Enterprise. Both of these scenes advance the story slightly, but their full import will come later.
Then the Klingon dignitaries come aboard, two crewmen express their prejudices, and then the famous dinner scene, where Chancellor Gorkon (David Warner) toasts to “the undiscovered country---the future,” and General Chang (Christopher Plummer) quotes Shakespeare.
We’ve seen the Federation problem with the proposed peace as prejudice at worst and suspicion at best, like the Russian proverb, “Trust, but verify,” that President Reagan loved to quote in his meetings with Gorbachev. But what about the Klingons?
Their anxiety is they will lose their identity—not only as warriors, but as a culture. It is not an unreasonable fear--ask an American Indian, or any minority, or for that matter, a Canadian subjected to the power of American popular culture and commerce. It also has a racial component, expressed by Gorkon’s daughter who snaps at Chekov’s invocation of “inalienable human rights” with mockery: “In-alien-able? If you could hear yourselves—human rights. The very name is racist. The Federation is nothing more than a Homo Sapiens-only club.” The words combine the charge of racism with the rhetoric of feminism (“men only clubs”), spoken by a Latina actor (Rosanna DeSoto) with a Canadian accent.
Identity is a major science fiction theme. It’s in every story of characters “taken over” by an alien presence, of every society fighting for its life against alien invasion, from the first (Wells’ The War of the Worlds) to the current TV series, Brannon Braga’s “Threshold,” where the threat is to genetically alter humans to become aliens.
Ethnic, religious, cultural and racial identity are sources of wars on earth, as part of the more obvious battles over political power, land and resources and economic dominance. Technology is a source of anxiety because it threatens human and individual identity, which is perhaps sci-fi’s earliest defining theme, in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. It’s the ultimate threat of the Borg: “you will be assimilated.” You will lose your identity, your power of decision, your self, your soul.
Yet life is change, and lifeforms incorporate change. How they do so or fail to do so is the through-line of evolution. In our world we constantly adapt to changes wrought by technology, and now some combinations of how the powers that be and the critical mass of people decide to use it. We are subject to wrenching changes caused by economic and political shifts, wars and natural disasters, or personal illnesses and accidents, economic misfortunes or fortunes, psychological and spiritual transformation.
How we negotiate change and retain identity is one of the great dramas of life. It’s like our own bodies---every cell (or nearly every cell) dies and is replaced within a seven year span. We start as babies and our size, weight and age changes throughout life. Our experiences and what we see and hear, read and create, all change us. Yet we are the same person. Or are we? Each change outside of us may suggest this doubt about what is happening inside of us.
The subject of identity is raised at the dinner and is a theme throughout this film. But the irony is that the conspiracy that’s revealed at the end, but which is shaping the events of the whole movie, unites people with different anxieties and desires into a common identity. In opposing the peace treaty, they have made their peace with each other.
Yet the identity they have forged reflects their fears rather than their hopes. When President John Kennedy made a case for peace between the U.S. and the Soviets in 1963 (in his speech at American University---a powerful document that is as relevant today) he said, “For in the final analysis our most basic common link is that we all inhabit this planet. We all breathe the same air. We all cherish our children’s future. And we are all mortal.” (In yet another Hollywood irony, these words were given to the Russian president in the movie of Tom Clancy’s The Sum of All Fears.)
This is the common identity of peace (elements expressed in the late 1980s by Sting’s world-famous song, “Russians.”) But the Starfleet officers, Klingons and Romulans who engage in their conspiracy have in common the practice and psychology of war. Their identity depends on these conflicts.
In the Star Trek universe, the question of Klingon identity becomes a major theme in stories involving Worf, mostly in TNG but also in Deep Space 9. How Worf (played by Michael Dorn) negotiates his identity---what elements of Klingon culture he accepts, and which he rejects---takes this theme further. So it’s appropriate that Michael Dorn appears in Star Trek VI as Worf’s grandfather, defending Kirk and McCoy in their trial for the murder of Gorkon.
Ethnic, religious, cultural and racial identity are sources of wars on earth, as part of the more obvious battles over political power, land and resources and economic dominance. Technology is a source of anxiety because it threatens human and individual identity, which is perhaps sci-fi’s earliest defining theme, in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. It’s the ultimate threat of the Borg: “you will be assimilated.” You will lose your identity, your power of decision, your self, your soul.
Yet life is change, and lifeforms incorporate change. How they do so or fail to do so is the through-line of evolution. In our world we constantly adapt to changes wrought by technology, and now some combinations of how the powers that be and the critical mass of people decide to use it. We are subject to wrenching changes caused by economic and political shifts, wars and natural disasters, or personal illnesses and accidents, economic misfortunes or fortunes, psychological and spiritual transformation.
How we negotiate change and retain identity is one of the great dramas of life. It’s like our own bodies---every cell (or nearly every cell) dies and is replaced within a seven year span. We start as babies and our size, weight and age changes throughout life. Our experiences and what we see and hear, read and create, all change us. Yet we are the same person. Or are we? Each change outside of us may suggest this doubt about what is happening inside of us.
The subject of identity is raised at the dinner and is a theme throughout this film. But the irony is that the conspiracy that’s revealed at the end, but which is shaping the events of the whole movie, unites people with different anxieties and desires into a common identity. In opposing the peace treaty, they have made their peace with each other.
Yet the identity they have forged reflects their fears rather than their hopes. When President John Kennedy made a case for peace between the U.S. and the Soviets in 1963 (in his speech at American University---a powerful document that is as relevant today) he said, “For in the final analysis our most basic common link is that we all inhabit this planet. We all breathe the same air. We all cherish our children’s future. And we are all mortal.” (In yet another Hollywood irony, these words were given to the Russian president in the movie of Tom Clancy’s The Sum of All Fears.)
This is the common identity of peace (elements expressed in the late 1980s by Sting’s world-famous song, “Russians.”) But the Starfleet officers, Klingons and Romulans who engage in their conspiracy have in common the practice and psychology of war. Their identity depends on these conflicts.
In the Star Trek universe, the question of Klingon identity becomes a major theme in stories involving Worf, mostly in TNG but also in Deep Space 9. How Worf (played by Michael Dorn) negotiates his identity---what elements of Klingon culture he accepts, and which he rejects---takes this theme further. So it’s appropriate that Michael Dorn appears in Star Trek VI as Worf’s grandfather, defending Kirk and McCoy in their trial for the murder of Gorkon.
Two new elements were entering visual effects at the time of Star Trek VI: the beginning of computer generated imagery (CGI) and “morphing” to show transformation. This movie made good use of both. The most impressive visual effects scene—and the one that took up most of that budget---was the assassination sequence. After the disastrous dinner party, Spock calls Kirk back to the bridge because of unusual radiation outside the Enterprise, just in time to see torpedoes hit the undefended Klingon ship, apparently launched by the Enterprise.
When artificial gravity is disrupted on the Klingon ship, Star Trek’s first zero gravity scene begins. Two assassins in spacesuits and wearing gravity boots beam in, shoot phasers and draw globules of Klingon CGI blood. It’s probably the most impressive and effective action sequences using visual effects in all the Trek movies.
The assassination horrifies Kirk. He and McCoy beam over to the Klingon ship, but not before Spock claps a conspicuous black patch on his back. It turns out to be a homing device that apparently nobody else notices. Gorkon’s last words are a plea to Kirk, “don’t let it end this way, Captain.” Chang arrests Kirk and Spock and they are placed on trial on the most elaborate set made for the movie although not much of it shows up in the film.
Before the trial, there are a couple of scenes with the Federation president that make their point, but are otherwise fairly slipshod in terms of credibility and continuity. The trial itself unleashes Christopher Plummer, and both Shatner and DeForrest Kelley also acquit themselves well (although Kirk and McCoy couldn’t possibly get acquitted.)
Kirk and Bones are taken to the penal mining colony on the ice and snow planet of Rura Penthe, where they are greeted by the warden. On the DVD commentary, Nick Meyer admits that the device of the warden getting up on a box to make his speech was stolen from the 1957 David Lean classic, “The Bridge on the River Kwai.” What he doesn’t reveal is that much of the speech itself is taken directly from the Japanese warden’s “welcome” in that film.
As Kirk and Bones meet up with a helpful alien named Martia (played beautifully by the beautiful Somali model Iman, who turned in a perfect performance in this film), Spock is busy in command of the Enterprise trying to discover how Gorkon was actually assassinated.
Spock had taken command before, but never as energetically. Leonard Nimoy often says that he was able to define Spock’s character in contrast to Shatner’s Captain Kirk. As Kirk did everything with breezy speed and energy, Nimoy could give Spock a contrasting stillness and deliberateness. But both Spock and Nimoy had had difficulty when he had to command in Kirk/Shatner’s absence. However, after his five-film journey, especially his death, rebirth and second life, he was in this film both more confident and more vulnerable. The confidence showed in his command scenes. He was frequently in motion, and his words were unhesitating. This forward momentum kept this element of the story moving at the same accelerating pace as the rest of the film.
Back in the mines, Kirk articulates his own change which began at Gorkon’s assassination. It is one of those moments of self-revelation that characterize Star Trek. Kirk has realized he is prejudiced, that he denied every individual Klingon a possibility of being judged by their own actions and qualities. “It never even occurred to me to take Gorkon at his word,” he says.
But admitting his own prejudice has revealed something else to him. He understands that it involves a fear of a future different from the reigning assumptions he knows and has learned to live by. It was his own fear of the future that gave him insight into the assassins. “Don’t be too hard on yourself,’” McCoy tells him. “We all felt exactly the same way.” “No,” Kirk. “Somebody felt a lot worse.” Some of those who feared the future even more.” They are the conspirators, and Kirk is convinced they will assassinate someone else, at the peace conference.
When artificial gravity is disrupted on the Klingon ship, Star Trek’s first zero gravity scene begins. Two assassins in spacesuits and wearing gravity boots beam in, shoot phasers and draw globules of Klingon CGI blood. It’s probably the most impressive and effective action sequences using visual effects in all the Trek movies.
The assassination horrifies Kirk. He and McCoy beam over to the Klingon ship, but not before Spock claps a conspicuous black patch on his back. It turns out to be a homing device that apparently nobody else notices. Gorkon’s last words are a plea to Kirk, “don’t let it end this way, Captain.” Chang arrests Kirk and Spock and they are placed on trial on the most elaborate set made for the movie although not much of it shows up in the film.
Before the trial, there are a couple of scenes with the Federation president that make their point, but are otherwise fairly slipshod in terms of credibility and continuity. The trial itself unleashes Christopher Plummer, and both Shatner and DeForrest Kelley also acquit themselves well (although Kirk and McCoy couldn’t possibly get acquitted.)
Kirk and Bones are taken to the penal mining colony on the ice and snow planet of Rura Penthe, where they are greeted by the warden. On the DVD commentary, Nick Meyer admits that the device of the warden getting up on a box to make his speech was stolen from the 1957 David Lean classic, “The Bridge on the River Kwai.” What he doesn’t reveal is that much of the speech itself is taken directly from the Japanese warden’s “welcome” in that film.
As Kirk and Bones meet up with a helpful alien named Martia (played beautifully by the beautiful Somali model Iman, who turned in a perfect performance in this film), Spock is busy in command of the Enterprise trying to discover how Gorkon was actually assassinated.
Spock had taken command before, but never as energetically. Leonard Nimoy often says that he was able to define Spock’s character in contrast to Shatner’s Captain Kirk. As Kirk did everything with breezy speed and energy, Nimoy could give Spock a contrasting stillness and deliberateness. But both Spock and Nimoy had had difficulty when he had to command in Kirk/Shatner’s absence. However, after his five-film journey, especially his death, rebirth and second life, he was in this film both more confident and more vulnerable. The confidence showed in his command scenes. He was frequently in motion, and his words were unhesitating. This forward momentum kept this element of the story moving at the same accelerating pace as the rest of the film.
Back in the mines, Kirk articulates his own change which began at Gorkon’s assassination. It is one of those moments of self-revelation that characterize Star Trek. Kirk has realized he is prejudiced, that he denied every individual Klingon a possibility of being judged by their own actions and qualities. “It never even occurred to me to take Gorkon at his word,” he says.
But admitting his own prejudice has revealed something else to him. He understands that it involves a fear of a future different from the reigning assumptions he knows and has learned to live by. It was his own fear of the future that gave him insight into the assassins. “Don’t be too hard on yourself,’” McCoy tells him. “We all felt exactly the same way.” “No,” Kirk. “Somebody felt a lot worse.” Some of those who feared the future even more.” They are the conspirators, and Kirk is convinced they will assassinate someone else, at the peace conference.
Martia provides them a plan for their escape, and their trek across the frozen wastes provided a brief scenic interlude, accompanied by the sweeping orchestral score. Cliff Eidelman’s music, beginning with its mood-setting portentous opening, styled after Holst’s “The Planets” and Stravinsky’s “Firebird” as suggested by Nick Meyer, was unusual for a Trek movie, but was elegant in its parts, its whole, and especially in how it matched up with the action. This scene was a conspicuous high point, as were the beginning, and as the ending would soon be.
Spock has concluded that a cloaked Klingon Bird of Prey had fired on Gorkon’s ship from beneath the Enterprise (which meant a new technology, for the series established that Klingon ships could not fire while cloaked), and because the Enterprise logs were altered to show it had fired the torpedoes, he deduced that there were conspirators aboard his ship as well.
Meanwhiel, Martia is revealed (through morphing) to be a shape-shifter--with the attendant amusement that Kirk had kissed her when she had “assumed a pleasing shape”---borrowing Biblical words about Satan. When Kirk realizes she was setting them up to be killed as escaping prisoners, she shifted into his double. It wasn’t the first time that Kirk squared off against Kirk, but this time it was played with high spirits, a kind of giddy tribute to the good feeling engendered by the original cast’s episodes and movies, that they would all be saying goodbye to shortly.
Spock rescues Kirk and McCoy just as they are about to learn who ordered them killed (also played for comedy) but Kirk has an idea who might be a conspirator aboard the Enterprise. He recalls that his personal log railing against the Klingons used against him at his trial was witnessed by Valeris. Suddenly both her flattery and her attempt to talk to Spock about her anxieties fit the pattern. They lay a trap for her, and when their suspicions are confirmed in a scene in sick bay, Spock acts with obvious anger. As she points a phaser at him, he tells her bitterly that if she’s logical she must kill him. She says she does not want to. “What you want is irrelevant,” he says. “What you have chosen is at hand.” He smacks the phaser from her hand.
Valeris explains why her course had been logical. Klingons can’t be trusted---their assassination of their own leader proved it---and the Federation risked destruction. She took Kirk’s expression of prejudice literally, not discounting for the emotional effects of grief and even weariness. Spock had counseled her to have faith in the future, but she couldn’t make that leap beyond her logic.
After Valeris refuses to name the conspirators voluntarily (She says she doesn’t remember. In a variation on byplay between them throughout the movie, Spock asks, “A lie? “A choice,” she replies), an even darker side of Spock is revealed in his forcible mind meld with Valeris, a kind of rape and a kind of torture, that elicits the names of the conspirators.
This is saved from being too much like the torture of prisoners currently a source of anguish and controversy, since it is a brief, unique method certain to extract the relevant information, and not the clumsy, prolonged, cruel and counterproductive torture that is all too common in the world today. Not only does it almost never result in useful information, but those who practice it know this. It is done out of fear, anger, malice and utter disregard for the humanity of prisoners, always regarded as aliens, as others, as less than human yet predominately dangerous.
Still, it is the darkest scene in a Star Trek movie. That it was a difficult scene for everyone is suggested by James Doohan’s account in his book. He writes that Meyer had no plan for it, and it was his suggestion for staging it with Valeris on the lower level of the bridge and everyone else above her, until Spock descends to her level for the mind meld.
Kirk learns the location of the peace conference, not from Valeris, but from Captain Sulu on the Excelsior. They agree to meet there, as Kirk suspects the Bird of Prey will be watching for the Enterprise.
Spock has concluded that a cloaked Klingon Bird of Prey had fired on Gorkon’s ship from beneath the Enterprise (which meant a new technology, for the series established that Klingon ships could not fire while cloaked), and because the Enterprise logs were altered to show it had fired the torpedoes, he deduced that there were conspirators aboard his ship as well.
Meanwhiel, Martia is revealed (through morphing) to be a shape-shifter--with the attendant amusement that Kirk had kissed her when she had “assumed a pleasing shape”---borrowing Biblical words about Satan. When Kirk realizes she was setting them up to be killed as escaping prisoners, she shifted into his double. It wasn’t the first time that Kirk squared off against Kirk, but this time it was played with high spirits, a kind of giddy tribute to the good feeling engendered by the original cast’s episodes and movies, that they would all be saying goodbye to shortly.
Spock rescues Kirk and McCoy just as they are about to learn who ordered them killed (also played for comedy) but Kirk has an idea who might be a conspirator aboard the Enterprise. He recalls that his personal log railing against the Klingons used against him at his trial was witnessed by Valeris. Suddenly both her flattery and her attempt to talk to Spock about her anxieties fit the pattern. They lay a trap for her, and when their suspicions are confirmed in a scene in sick bay, Spock acts with obvious anger. As she points a phaser at him, he tells her bitterly that if she’s logical she must kill him. She says she does not want to. “What you want is irrelevant,” he says. “What you have chosen is at hand.” He smacks the phaser from her hand.
Valeris explains why her course had been logical. Klingons can’t be trusted---their assassination of their own leader proved it---and the Federation risked destruction. She took Kirk’s expression of prejudice literally, not discounting for the emotional effects of grief and even weariness. Spock had counseled her to have faith in the future, but she couldn’t make that leap beyond her logic.
After Valeris refuses to name the conspirators voluntarily (She says she doesn’t remember. In a variation on byplay between them throughout the movie, Spock asks, “A lie? “A choice,” she replies), an even darker side of Spock is revealed in his forcible mind meld with Valeris, a kind of rape and a kind of torture, that elicits the names of the conspirators.
This is saved from being too much like the torture of prisoners currently a source of anguish and controversy, since it is a brief, unique method certain to extract the relevant information, and not the clumsy, prolonged, cruel and counterproductive torture that is all too common in the world today. Not only does it almost never result in useful information, but those who practice it know this. It is done out of fear, anger, malice and utter disregard for the humanity of prisoners, always regarded as aliens, as others, as less than human yet predominately dangerous.
Still, it is the darkest scene in a Star Trek movie. That it was a difficult scene for everyone is suggested by James Doohan’s account in his book. He writes that Meyer had no plan for it, and it was his suggestion for staging it with Valeris on the lower level of the bridge and everyone else above her, until Spock descends to her level for the mind meld.
Kirk learns the location of the peace conference, not from Valeris, but from Captain Sulu on the Excelsior. They agree to meet there, as Kirk suspects the Bird of Prey will be watching for the Enterprise.
Then comes another key scene, on several levels: a dialogue between Kirk and Spock in Spock’s cabin. It begins with Spock alone, reclined in the darkness. His anger spent, he now confronts his own feelings and their cascading results: his prejudice towards a Vulcan that kept him blinded to her villainy, supported by his pride in grooming and then naming his successor, and then his anger at her, which was an expression of his anger at himself for these previous weaknesses. And before that, his arrogance in believing he could engineer an easy peace.
He tells Kirk this. Kirk, wandering around his cabin, idly examining objects in that Kirk/Shatner way, observes that they have both been acting characteristically---and in the process he restates the essence of their contrast through all their years. “You’re a great one for logic. I’m a great one for rushing in where angels fear to trend. We’re both extremists. Reality is probably somewhere in between.”
After Spock admits his prejudice in favor of Valeris, and Kirk admits that “Gorkon had to die before I realized how prejudiced I was.” It is at this point that Spock is to speak lines that Leonard Nimoy felt were expressions of both his character to Kirk, and himself to his acting partner for all these years, and now his closest friend: William Shatner. “Is it possible that you and I have grown so old and so inflexible that we have outlived our usefulness?”
As they discuss their mistakes, Kirk refers to the difference between taking responsibility as the Captain and taking responsibility as an individual human. Spock points out, as he often did, that he is not human. But Kirk doesn’t back down this time. Though his tone is almost whimsical, he utters the line that is the most central to this story. “Spock, you want to know something? Everybody’s human.”
Spock replies, as he often did, that he finds that remark insulting. But in a scene that for Nimoy already mixed the Star Trek universe with the other one (the “real” one) on several levels, this is the essence of what links the metaphorical Star Trek story with the world it is commenting on. On the earth of Russians and Americans, Europeans and Asians, Israelis and Palestinians, Americans and Iraqis: “everybody’s human.” It’s that same point that JFK was making in 1963: the ground of peace, the basis for the conspiracy of hope.
He tells Kirk this. Kirk, wandering around his cabin, idly examining objects in that Kirk/Shatner way, observes that they have both been acting characteristically---and in the process he restates the essence of their contrast through all their years. “You’re a great one for logic. I’m a great one for rushing in where angels fear to trend. We’re both extremists. Reality is probably somewhere in between.”
After Spock admits his prejudice in favor of Valeris, and Kirk admits that “Gorkon had to die before I realized how prejudiced I was.” It is at this point that Spock is to speak lines that Leonard Nimoy felt were expressions of both his character to Kirk, and himself to his acting partner for all these years, and now his closest friend: William Shatner. “Is it possible that you and I have grown so old and so inflexible that we have outlived our usefulness?”
As they discuss their mistakes, Kirk refers to the difference between taking responsibility as the Captain and taking responsibility as an individual human. Spock points out, as he often did, that he is not human. But Kirk doesn’t back down this time. Though his tone is almost whimsical, he utters the line that is the most central to this story. “Spock, you want to know something? Everybody’s human.”
Spock replies, as he often did, that he finds that remark insulting. But in a scene that for Nimoy already mixed the Star Trek universe with the other one (the “real” one) on several levels, this is the essence of what links the metaphorical Star Trek story with the world it is commenting on. On the earth of Russians and Americans, Europeans and Asians, Israelis and Palestinians, Americans and Iraqis: “everybody’s human.” It’s that same point that JFK was making in 1963: the ground of peace, the basis for the conspiracy of hope.
The movie then goes into action mode, with a space battle pitting the Shakespeare-spouting Chang and the Enterprise, with Spock and McCoy astride a torpedo a la Dr. Strangelove, and Sulu’s Excelsior zooming in to the rescue. Notably, the solution for discovering the cloaked vessel comes from Uhura. (In the novel version, Kirk proposes it, which suggests that he did so in an earlier version of the script. If so, it’s a switch on an alleged notorious practice in original series lore—Shatner taking key lines from other actors so Kirk can say them.)
The action scenes at the peace conference lean heavily on similar scenes in the classic 1962 version of The Manchurian Candidate. The assassination attempt on the Federation president is foiled, and the conspirators exposed. But the pivot to the reconciliation depends on Rosanna DeSoto, as the new Klingon chancellor. It works magnificently because of the light in her eyes, the incline of her head and expression on her face, and especially the softness in her voice as she speaks her realization, “You have restored my father’s faith.”
“And you have restored my son’s,” Kirk says, with more emotion than literal sense. But it’s enough to elicit the applause of the delegates of many worlds, and to round out the exploits of the original Enterprise crew with a Star Trek affirmation of hope.
As a political metaphor, this movie used elements of the recent past, and prefigured others. Though nobody tried to assassinate Gorbachev, there was a military coup attempt and he disappeared for days, causing many to fear for his life. But the military couldn’t get public support and the coup failed. Shortly afterwards, the Soviet Union itself dissolved.
The action scenes at the peace conference lean heavily on similar scenes in the classic 1962 version of The Manchurian Candidate. The assassination attempt on the Federation president is foiled, and the conspirators exposed. But the pivot to the reconciliation depends on Rosanna DeSoto, as the new Klingon chancellor. It works magnificently because of the light in her eyes, the incline of her head and expression on her face, and especially the softness in her voice as she speaks her realization, “You have restored my father’s faith.”
“And you have restored my son’s,” Kirk says, with more emotion than literal sense. But it’s enough to elicit the applause of the delegates of many worlds, and to round out the exploits of the original Enterprise crew with a Star Trek affirmation of hope.
As a political metaphor, this movie used elements of the recent past, and prefigured others. Though nobody tried to assassinate Gorbachev, there was a military coup attempt and he disappeared for days, causing many to fear for his life. But the military couldn’t get public support and the coup failed. Shortly afterwards, the Soviet Union itself dissolved.
And now we’ve come to the farewells. There are two, both elegantly done. We see the Enterprise and the Excelsior return together. Captain Sulu is seen on screen with his bridge crew behind him. George Takei’s voice again gives weight to the words, “Nice to see you in action one more time, Captain Kirk. Take care.”
Although everyone knew that this would be the last original crew movie, Nichelle Nichols wrote that once again because filming had gone so well, several hints were dropped in that might enable another film, and these probably had to do with establishing Captain Sulu and the Excelsior. (Indeed, there’s been some fan agitation for such a film or series ever since.) After Sulu departs, McCoy observes that the Excelsior is a big ship. “Not so as big as its Captain, I think, “Scotty replies.
Kirk suggests it’s time they got underway, but Uhura tells him that Starfleet has ordered them back to space dock, to be decommissioned. Her voice drops on the last words---it’s the voice of doom, and a series of reaction shots shows how the finality of it is sinking in. When the film began they were all weary and ready for retirement, but this adventure renewed them, and the hope in the future it represents rekindled their enthusiasm. So might the wisdom they’ve attained.
Then in a classic Spock maneuver (a function Data would fulfill in similar moments for the TNG crew), he says that “If I were human, I believe my response would be, go to hell. If I were human.” Of course, not only is this another of the accustomed repartee of this crew, but it is a sly reference to Kirk’s earlier pronouncement that everybody’s human.
Then the last moment comes. “Course heading, Captain?” Chekov asks.
Kirk looks deep into space. The line, which Nick Meyer apparently added at the last minute, is taken from J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan. “Second star to the right, and straight on till morning.”
It’s the directions to Neverland, where boys remain boys forever, engaged in adventures. The name (which Disney changed to Never-Never-land in his animated version, familiar to the baby boomers of the initial Star Trek audience) was not yet associated with Michael Jackson and his dubious activities. It still has some odd associations, but in this context it seems something the irrespressibly boyish Kirk might say, especially when he is feeling renewed.
It is also a transformative moment, as the original crew passes into myth and legend, further symbolized by the disappearance of the Enterprise itself in the corona of a star. Not having gone anywhere in particular, the Enterprise has simply faded into everywhere.
Although everyone knew that this would be the last original crew movie, Nichelle Nichols wrote that once again because filming had gone so well, several hints were dropped in that might enable another film, and these probably had to do with establishing Captain Sulu and the Excelsior. (Indeed, there’s been some fan agitation for such a film or series ever since.) After Sulu departs, McCoy observes that the Excelsior is a big ship. “Not so as big as its Captain, I think, “Scotty replies.
Kirk suggests it’s time they got underway, but Uhura tells him that Starfleet has ordered them back to space dock, to be decommissioned. Her voice drops on the last words---it’s the voice of doom, and a series of reaction shots shows how the finality of it is sinking in. When the film began they were all weary and ready for retirement, but this adventure renewed them, and the hope in the future it represents rekindled their enthusiasm. So might the wisdom they’ve attained.
Then in a classic Spock maneuver (a function Data would fulfill in similar moments for the TNG crew), he says that “If I were human, I believe my response would be, go to hell. If I were human.” Of course, not only is this another of the accustomed repartee of this crew, but it is a sly reference to Kirk’s earlier pronouncement that everybody’s human.
Then the last moment comes. “Course heading, Captain?” Chekov asks.
Kirk looks deep into space. The line, which Nick Meyer apparently added at the last minute, is taken from J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan. “Second star to the right, and straight on till morning.”
It’s the directions to Neverland, where boys remain boys forever, engaged in adventures. The name (which Disney changed to Never-Never-land in his animated version, familiar to the baby boomers of the initial Star Trek audience) was not yet associated with Michael Jackson and his dubious activities. It still has some odd associations, but in this context it seems something the irrespressibly boyish Kirk might say, especially when he is feeling renewed.
It is also a transformative moment, as the original crew passes into myth and legend, further symbolized by the disappearance of the Enterprise itself in the corona of a star. Not having gone anywhere in particular, the Enterprise has simply faded into everywhere.
Some criticized the signatures of the actors that then appeared (they said it should have been the signatures of the characters) but that's really a lame quibble: the ending is all but perfect. This is how legends go. They don't die, they simply disappear into the region of space in our minds and hearts where all legends lie in repose, in suspended animation perhaps, but with the potential to return when needed. It's how the greatest English legend, that of King Arthur ends. And the Enterprise is doing what it exists to do: going off to explore, going off to the next adventure. It's how we would all like to end.
So before we say our farewell, let’s remember who these people are.
First, a few experiences they had in common that contributed to forging the Star Trek future. Many came with strong experience in theatre. Shatner got his first breaks playing Shakespeare. James Doohan was a highly regarded acting teacher; Joanne Woodward once remarked that he taught her all she knows. The Next Generation actors also had strong theatre credentials, and to some extent so did the following casts, but it was particularly important for the first. For the meager Original Series budget allowed for a few obligatory special effects, and not much else. As Shatner has since observed, they were essentially putting on Greek plays every week, with emphasis on character, story and especially the key questions that human beings face.
They grew up before there was television, but they had the magic of the movies. Nimoy, Shatner, Takei, all recall Saturday matinees at the local movie palace, an ornate and special world separate from their daily lives, different from any other environment where they lived, where their heroes had bright adventures ten feet tall on the big screen. This was an experience shared by young dreamers from the 1920s until at least the 1960s. These were generations---both the makers of Star Trek and its first audience---enthralled by the magic of character and story. This is worth mentioning in an era more characterized by the single-purpose, goal-driven interactive narratives of video games.
When they came together to create the crew of the Enterprise, they brought with them real life experiences that pertained to what they played, and the statements Star Trek made. None came from a wealthy background, some experienced the Depression, others a childhood of modest means and even privation. In his autobiography, Walter Koenig writes that early poverty colored his attitudes for the rest of his life.
For some, the topic of bigotry dealt with in Star Trek VI was not an abstraction, or something they simply read about. Nichelle Nichols lived through racial prejudice, and as late as 1956 when she was touring as a singer she was denied a hotel room because of her color. She also dealt with an attempted rape, and at a time when prosecutions were much less likely to be brought or to be successful, she testified against a powerful man in his own city and the jury convicted him.
As a boy, George Takei was in U.S. internment camps for Japanese Americans during World War II. Both William Shatner and Leonard Nimoy had to deal with prejudice against Jews when they were boys. In his first book, Nimoy emphasized that he could identify with the alien Spock because he'd been an alienated young man, playing alienated characters.
When their Star Trek created stories about the conduct and psychology of war and conflict, there were many who knew about them first hand. James Doohan had been among the soldiers storming the Normandy beaches on D-Day, and he was severely injured by enemy gunfire that day, with visible scars not shown on camera. Gene Roddenberry didn't just write about flying a ship, he had flown bombers in combat. He and writer/producer Gene Coon didn't write antiwar stories from theory; they had both experienced real war. Roddenberry didn't just write about grace under pressure--he survived two plane crashes and helped to rescue survivors from both.
These actors played their Star Trek characters for their seasons on television, and then in six movies through another decade. Many actors who have played the same heroic character over time have been changed by that experience. When these characters became global icons for a quarter of a century, they had enormous impact on each of the actors’ lives. But in addition to their characters, they became identified with Star Trek, and everything it meant. Some had problems with that from time to time, but in the end, they all embraced it.
It became a major part of their lives. Gene Roddenberry was often invited to speak to groups of futurists, scientists and psychologists. Real engineers consulted Doohan, and Nichols had a real role in the U.S. space program, recruiting minority participants for NASA, including several astronauts.
Leonard Nimoy participated in anti-war demonstrations while Star Trek was in its original TV run. William Shatner became an advocate for ecology. George Takei served on local government commissions and became a political player in Los Angeles. He recently made news by going public about his long-time homosexual relationship. For years, fans have agitated for a gay character to be included in a Star Trek crew. It turns out that there always was one. And befitting the 23rd century future Star Trek envisioned, nobody thought it had even to be mentioned. Takei did mention it, he said, because of his concern for contemporary bigotry against gays and Lesbians.
And of course Star Trek remained in their lives through the Star Trek conventions. Each one was touched by encounters with fans, and each of them contributed something personally to the lives of specific fans.
After resisting conventions for years, William Shatner has become a fan of them. His friendship with Leonard Nimoy has deepened over the years, as is evident in their “Mild Meld” conversation. They now do a kind of comedy improv act together at conventions, like the Scotty event in Hollywood.
Two of the fan favorites have passed away: DeForest Kelley and James Doohan. A tribute to Kelley is included in the Star Trek VI DVD—he was unique in his consistent modesty and warmth. He didn’t have an unkind word for anyone (which may be why he is the only cast member not to publish an autobiography) and he is unique in no one having a negative word to say about him.
I attended Doohan’s final convention in Los Angeles as part of my New York Times story. When I asked about him in interviews, LeVar Burton and Nicholas Meyer separately declared in the same words, “I love Jimmy Doohan!” Jonathan Frakes emailed his recollection of good times with him at conventions. When the original cast (minus Shatner and Nimoy, but with the addition of Majel Roddenberry and Grace Lee Whitney) gathered with James Doohan for their last moments onstage together, Nichelle Nichols’ affection and concern for Doohan was palpable.
The bond between fans and these legendary stars continues. George Takei brings his energy and his ability to articulate the Star Trek vision. “In a society with so much violence and stupidity,” Walter Koenig told me, “ the conventions are an oasis, where you can find some genuinely good people who believe in humanity and respect the rights of others.”
“Because the fans are loyal to Gene’s dream, “ Nichelle Nichols said to me, “we are loyal to the fans.”
So before we say our farewell, let’s remember who these people are.
First, a few experiences they had in common that contributed to forging the Star Trek future. Many came with strong experience in theatre. Shatner got his first breaks playing Shakespeare. James Doohan was a highly regarded acting teacher; Joanne Woodward once remarked that he taught her all she knows. The Next Generation actors also had strong theatre credentials, and to some extent so did the following casts, but it was particularly important for the first. For the meager Original Series budget allowed for a few obligatory special effects, and not much else. As Shatner has since observed, they were essentially putting on Greek plays every week, with emphasis on character, story and especially the key questions that human beings face.
They grew up before there was television, but they had the magic of the movies. Nimoy, Shatner, Takei, all recall Saturday matinees at the local movie palace, an ornate and special world separate from their daily lives, different from any other environment where they lived, where their heroes had bright adventures ten feet tall on the big screen. This was an experience shared by young dreamers from the 1920s until at least the 1960s. These were generations---both the makers of Star Trek and its first audience---enthralled by the magic of character and story. This is worth mentioning in an era more characterized by the single-purpose, goal-driven interactive narratives of video games.
When they came together to create the crew of the Enterprise, they brought with them real life experiences that pertained to what they played, and the statements Star Trek made. None came from a wealthy background, some experienced the Depression, others a childhood of modest means and even privation. In his autobiography, Walter Koenig writes that early poverty colored his attitudes for the rest of his life.
For some, the topic of bigotry dealt with in Star Trek VI was not an abstraction, or something they simply read about. Nichelle Nichols lived through racial prejudice, and as late as 1956 when she was touring as a singer she was denied a hotel room because of her color. She also dealt with an attempted rape, and at a time when prosecutions were much less likely to be brought or to be successful, she testified against a powerful man in his own city and the jury convicted him.
As a boy, George Takei was in U.S. internment camps for Japanese Americans during World War II. Both William Shatner and Leonard Nimoy had to deal with prejudice against Jews when they were boys. In his first book, Nimoy emphasized that he could identify with the alien Spock because he'd been an alienated young man, playing alienated characters.
When their Star Trek created stories about the conduct and psychology of war and conflict, there were many who knew about them first hand. James Doohan had been among the soldiers storming the Normandy beaches on D-Day, and he was severely injured by enemy gunfire that day, with visible scars not shown on camera. Gene Roddenberry didn't just write about flying a ship, he had flown bombers in combat. He and writer/producer Gene Coon didn't write antiwar stories from theory; they had both experienced real war. Roddenberry didn't just write about grace under pressure--he survived two plane crashes and helped to rescue survivors from both.
These actors played their Star Trek characters for their seasons on television, and then in six movies through another decade. Many actors who have played the same heroic character over time have been changed by that experience. When these characters became global icons for a quarter of a century, they had enormous impact on each of the actors’ lives. But in addition to their characters, they became identified with Star Trek, and everything it meant. Some had problems with that from time to time, but in the end, they all embraced it.
It became a major part of their lives. Gene Roddenberry was often invited to speak to groups of futurists, scientists and psychologists. Real engineers consulted Doohan, and Nichols had a real role in the U.S. space program, recruiting minority participants for NASA, including several astronauts.
Leonard Nimoy participated in anti-war demonstrations while Star Trek was in its original TV run. William Shatner became an advocate for ecology. George Takei served on local government commissions and became a political player in Los Angeles. He recently made news by going public about his long-time homosexual relationship. For years, fans have agitated for a gay character to be included in a Star Trek crew. It turns out that there always was one. And befitting the 23rd century future Star Trek envisioned, nobody thought it had even to be mentioned. Takei did mention it, he said, because of his concern for contemporary bigotry against gays and Lesbians.
And of course Star Trek remained in their lives through the Star Trek conventions. Each one was touched by encounters with fans, and each of them contributed something personally to the lives of specific fans.
After resisting conventions for years, William Shatner has become a fan of them. His friendship with Leonard Nimoy has deepened over the years, as is evident in their “Mild Meld” conversation. They now do a kind of comedy improv act together at conventions, like the Scotty event in Hollywood.
Two of the fan favorites have passed away: DeForest Kelley and James Doohan. A tribute to Kelley is included in the Star Trek VI DVD—he was unique in his consistent modesty and warmth. He didn’t have an unkind word for anyone (which may be why he is the only cast member not to publish an autobiography) and he is unique in no one having a negative word to say about him.
I attended Doohan’s final convention in Los Angeles as part of my New York Times story. When I asked about him in interviews, LeVar Burton and Nicholas Meyer separately declared in the same words, “I love Jimmy Doohan!” Jonathan Frakes emailed his recollection of good times with him at conventions. When the original cast (minus Shatner and Nimoy, but with the addition of Majel Roddenberry and Grace Lee Whitney) gathered with James Doohan for their last moments onstage together, Nichelle Nichols’ affection and concern for Doohan was palpable.
The bond between fans and these legendary stars continues. George Takei brings his energy and his ability to articulate the Star Trek vision. “In a society with so much violence and stupidity,” Walter Koenig told me, “ the conventions are an oasis, where you can find some genuinely good people who believe in humanity and respect the rights of others.”
“Because the fans are loyal to Gene’s dream, “ Nichelle Nichols said to me, “we are loyal to the fans.”
Nichelle Nichols figures in a special moment I had at the Scotty convention. Her participation in Star Trek is uniquely intriguing. Though she had a complicated relationship with GR, she has remained steadfast in her loyalty to him as Star Trek’s creator and visionary. Before Star Trek, she was a unique and highly successful dancer and singer. After Star Trek, she continued her immersion in music and added writing---several forms of nonfiction, and her science fiction novels. But for most of her time on Star Trek, the prominent role she was promised got eroded to very little.
Everyone must know the story by now of how she almost left the show after the first season, but was persuaded to remain by Martin Luther King, Jr. Like several other cast members, she did not get the kind of acting roles she otherwise might have, and certainly was capable of doing. But entertainment is a strange business, and talent is no guarantee of anything. Character, however, gives you a life.
Nichelle Nichols is universally recognized as a great lady. It is obvious seeing her. She is not at all pretentious, but she has great dignity, and kindness. Fortunately for me, I was not only to witness a demonstration of all this, but to be its beneficiary.
It was at the benefit dinner before the convention, in James Doohan’s honor. I was seated with a group of fans, including the man who won the Scotty lookalike contest, a few tables deep from the dias. But I could see Nichelle Nichols at a front table with several other people. I hadn’t spoken with her yet, but I knew she would be appearing at the convention over the weekend, and I wanted to secure a brief interview then. So I decided to introduce myself now, and let her know my intentions.
I walked past the table from behind and came around to her side, careful to let her see me approach. I intended to be very brief, so I wouldn’t interrupt her evening. I told her my name and that I was representing the New York Times, and that I wanted to introduce myself now, and would be asking for a few minutes of her time at the convention. Her response startled me.
She immediately said, “And I’d like to introduce you to someone,” and she turned to the man on her left. The man popped up from his chair, and I was even more startled to see it was Neil Armstrong, the first man to walk on the moon. She did introduce us, saying my name correctly---astonishing me, partly because few people do, and because I tended to rush through it to get to the New York Times part, and also because I hardly ever remember a stranger’s name immediately after hearing it.
I was pretty much a loss for words at that point. But I got to shake hands with Neil Armstrong. One degree of separation between me and another world. Nichelle Nichols did that for me, about half a second after seeing me for the first time. If you need a definition of graciousness, this is it.
These actors took their life experiences into a decade of change, of activism on many levels of doing, thinking and feeling. They were part of our common adventure, exploring racism and diversity, the perils and opportunities of technology, the deadly diversion of greed, and the costs of war versus the perilous building of peace. They were--and are-- part of our exploration of our time, its bearing on the future, and its insights into the human soul.
Everyone must know the story by now of how she almost left the show after the first season, but was persuaded to remain by Martin Luther King, Jr. Like several other cast members, she did not get the kind of acting roles she otherwise might have, and certainly was capable of doing. But entertainment is a strange business, and talent is no guarantee of anything. Character, however, gives you a life.
Nichelle Nichols is universally recognized as a great lady. It is obvious seeing her. She is not at all pretentious, but she has great dignity, and kindness. Fortunately for me, I was not only to witness a demonstration of all this, but to be its beneficiary.
It was at the benefit dinner before the convention, in James Doohan’s honor. I was seated with a group of fans, including the man who won the Scotty lookalike contest, a few tables deep from the dias. But I could see Nichelle Nichols at a front table with several other people. I hadn’t spoken with her yet, but I knew she would be appearing at the convention over the weekend, and I wanted to secure a brief interview then. So I decided to introduce myself now, and let her know my intentions.
I walked past the table from behind and came around to her side, careful to let her see me approach. I intended to be very brief, so I wouldn’t interrupt her evening. I told her my name and that I was representing the New York Times, and that I wanted to introduce myself now, and would be asking for a few minutes of her time at the convention. Her response startled me.
She immediately said, “And I’d like to introduce you to someone,” and she turned to the man on her left. The man popped up from his chair, and I was even more startled to see it was Neil Armstrong, the first man to walk on the moon. She did introduce us, saying my name correctly---astonishing me, partly because few people do, and because I tended to rush through it to get to the New York Times part, and also because I hardly ever remember a stranger’s name immediately after hearing it.
I was pretty much a loss for words at that point. But I got to shake hands with Neil Armstrong. One degree of separation between me and another world. Nichelle Nichols did that for me, about half a second after seeing me for the first time. If you need a definition of graciousness, this is it.
These actors took their life experiences into a decade of change, of activism on many levels of doing, thinking and feeling. They were part of our common adventure, exploring racism and diversity, the perils and opportunities of technology, the deadly diversion of greed, and the costs of war versus the perilous building of peace. They were--and are-- part of our exploration of our time, its bearing on the future, and its insights into the human soul.
Gene Roddenberry died shortly after Star Trek VI was completed, and, William Shatner says on this DVD, essentially "the Star Trek we knew died with him. Other people came and with some success carried his laurels, never to the degree of success and knowledge that Gene Roddenberry had."
Star Trek VI was the last story of the original cast, and the last Star Trek story that Gene Roddenberry saw. GR was executive producer of the first film, but the studio gave him little control over the next five, and even his influence was not always decisive. In her book, Nichelle Nichols writes that he was more involved in VI than he had been in awhile, but his strong objections to aspects of it were not heeded. Nick Meyer abruptly left one meeting with him, and while he listened to him in a second meeting, he reportedly didn’t take any of GR’s suggestions.
In a DVD interview, Star Trek VI producer Ralph Winter says he escorted GR to a private pre-release screening of the film. GR was in a wheelchair, with a blanket for warmth in the air-conditioned theatre. Winter said he left for awhile, and came back for GR at the end. He said that GR said he had enjoyed the film.
William Shatner’s Star Trek Movie Memories leaves a different impression. He claims that GR returned to his office, and called his lawyer to demand specific changes. GR died less than 48 hours later.
Everyone knew that GR wasn’t happy with elements of the script, the blatant prejudices of his 23rd century Starfleet officers, and the militaristic emphasis. But I imagine that even though parts of it made him angry, he did in fact enjoy watching it. He knew he was ill and weakening. He knew this was probably the last original cast movie. If he was left alone in that theatre, it was just him and the characters he first brought to life. He didn’t create everything about them, or every aspect of the Star Trek universe. Yet he provided the vision, incorporated the contributions of others, and when he could, kept out what didn’t fit.
He was there in the dark, as he had been so many times since his boyhood, looking up at heroes on the screen. Except these were heroes that to some significant degree came from within him, and were by now part of him. He saw them foil a plot against peace, and restore the faith of a visionary peacemaker. He saw them gather together on the bridge of the Enterprise, going off together into the corona of a star. When they looked out, they were looking at him, who brought them into the world, into the universe of story. I can’t help believing that at some moment in that dark screening room, GR and Star Trek said their goodbyes.
Star Trek VI was the last story of the original cast, and the last Star Trek story that Gene Roddenberry saw. GR was executive producer of the first film, but the studio gave him little control over the next five, and even his influence was not always decisive. In her book, Nichelle Nichols writes that he was more involved in VI than he had been in awhile, but his strong objections to aspects of it were not heeded. Nick Meyer abruptly left one meeting with him, and while he listened to him in a second meeting, he reportedly didn’t take any of GR’s suggestions.
In a DVD interview, Star Trek VI producer Ralph Winter says he escorted GR to a private pre-release screening of the film. GR was in a wheelchair, with a blanket for warmth in the air-conditioned theatre. Winter said he left for awhile, and came back for GR at the end. He said that GR said he had enjoyed the film.
William Shatner’s Star Trek Movie Memories leaves a different impression. He claims that GR returned to his office, and called his lawyer to demand specific changes. GR died less than 48 hours later.
Everyone knew that GR wasn’t happy with elements of the script, the blatant prejudices of his 23rd century Starfleet officers, and the militaristic emphasis. But I imagine that even though parts of it made him angry, he did in fact enjoy watching it. He knew he was ill and weakening. He knew this was probably the last original cast movie. If he was left alone in that theatre, it was just him and the characters he first brought to life. He didn’t create everything about them, or every aspect of the Star Trek universe. Yet he provided the vision, incorporated the contributions of others, and when he could, kept out what didn’t fit.
He was there in the dark, as he had been so many times since his boyhood, looking up at heroes on the screen. Except these were heroes that to some significant degree came from within him, and were by now part of him. He saw them foil a plot against peace, and restore the faith of a visionary peacemaker. He saw them gather together on the bridge of the Enterprise, going off together into the corona of a star. When they looked out, they were looking at him, who brought them into the world, into the universe of story. I can’t help believing that at some moment in that dark screening room, GR and Star Trek said their goodbyes.
Novelization and DVD
As she often does in her novelizations, J.M. Dillard adds some backstory that adds plausibility to on-screen events and behavior, as well as a subplot or two that gives something extra to fans without changing the on-screen story.
In Star Trek VI her fan gifts include references to the Organian peace treaty and a subplot involving Carol Marcus (Kirk's lost love and mother of the son he discovers in Star Trek II, and loses in III.) In the novel, Carol Marcus was badly injured in an earlier attack on an outpost, where phaser fire "seemed to come from nowhere"-an invisible ship. Kirk remembers this, and had told Spock, and he remembers it when the improbable idea of a cloaked ship firing from just below the Enterprise was the only not-impossible theory he had.
In the novel, Marcus awakes from her coma in time to greet Kirk when he returns. A version of the script also began with Kirk and Marcus together, but this and other preliminary scenes were dropped for time. (In the novel there's also a love interest story for the Klingon chancellor's daughter that doesn't really work.)
As usual, Dillard cleans up some implausibilities. For instance, the scene in which the bridge crew is huddled around Uhura, searching through huge books for Klingon words, trying to convince the men at the Klingon outpost monitoring ships in the sector that they are a Klingon freighter. It's a funny scene, well shot and well played, and is one of several that involve the bridge crew beyond Kirk, Spock and McCoy.
There are several mild implausibilities here: besides Nick Meyer's fondness for anachronisms and for this joke, why would the crew have old Klingon language books? The DVD adds Chekov’s off-screen voice saying that they can’t use the universal translator because it would give them away as not a Klingon ship. But when Uhura butchers the Klingon language, aren't the usually volatile Klingons suspicious? Why doesn't the Klingon outpost’s equipment recognize the Enterprise?
Except for the books, Dillard neatly solves most objections with her description of the outpost. Because it's not on the more active Romulan border, this is an old outpost that's given only obsolete equipment, and is manned by the dregs of the Empire. Moreover, it is a known smuggling route, and so the Klingons know very well that the Enterprise is lying and that they are not Klingons, but they think they're just the usual smugglers, and anyway they don't care.
As usual, the first disk of the definitive DVD has the movie and commentaries; the second has interviews and various extras. I found the audio commentary by director and co-writer Nicholas Meyer and his writing partner, Denny Martin Flinn, more annoying than useful. Meyer is well represented on the second disk, and is quite eloquent in his solo interview. But in the commentary he sounds a bit pompous at times, and Flinn too sycophantic.
Fans know what to expect from the text commentary by Michael and Denise Okuda---a bit of good-natured nitpicking amidst the observation of production details, with little gems like the motto on the dedication plaque of the Excelsior (“No matter where you go, there you are,” the essence of Zen wisdom from Buckaroo Bonzai) and that the Enterprise model in Captain Kirk’s quarters was assembled by Trek producer-writer Ron Moore, when he was twelve.
The second disk is mostly fun, and includes probably the best serious feature on any Trek film DVD, called “The Perils of Peacemaking.” It should be required viewing at the White House. Former U.S. ambassador Dennis Ross is especially eloquent on the need for diplomacy, and what makes it successful.
What separates the leaders who are prepared to make historic change, he says, is a vision of the future, and a readiness to make difficult choices. But the key to all of it is mutual understanding. And it begins with story.
“Everybody has a narrative,” Ross says. “Everybody has a story that describes how they see themselves. That frankly is the most important way to come to grips with who it is you’re dealing with. You can’t do it overnight, but you can do it if you make the effort.”
.
As she often does in her novelizations, J.M. Dillard adds some backstory that adds plausibility to on-screen events and behavior, as well as a subplot or two that gives something extra to fans without changing the on-screen story.
In Star Trek VI her fan gifts include references to the Organian peace treaty and a subplot involving Carol Marcus (Kirk's lost love and mother of the son he discovers in Star Trek II, and loses in III.) In the novel, Carol Marcus was badly injured in an earlier attack on an outpost, where phaser fire "seemed to come from nowhere"-an invisible ship. Kirk remembers this, and had told Spock, and he remembers it when the improbable idea of a cloaked ship firing from just below the Enterprise was the only not-impossible theory he had.
In the novel, Marcus awakes from her coma in time to greet Kirk when he returns. A version of the script also began with Kirk and Marcus together, but this and other preliminary scenes were dropped for time. (In the novel there's also a love interest story for the Klingon chancellor's daughter that doesn't really work.)
As usual, Dillard cleans up some implausibilities. For instance, the scene in which the bridge crew is huddled around Uhura, searching through huge books for Klingon words, trying to convince the men at the Klingon outpost monitoring ships in the sector that they are a Klingon freighter. It's a funny scene, well shot and well played, and is one of several that involve the bridge crew beyond Kirk, Spock and McCoy.
There are several mild implausibilities here: besides Nick Meyer's fondness for anachronisms and for this joke, why would the crew have old Klingon language books? The DVD adds Chekov’s off-screen voice saying that they can’t use the universal translator because it would give them away as not a Klingon ship. But when Uhura butchers the Klingon language, aren't the usually volatile Klingons suspicious? Why doesn't the Klingon outpost’s equipment recognize the Enterprise?
Except for the books, Dillard neatly solves most objections with her description of the outpost. Because it's not on the more active Romulan border, this is an old outpost that's given only obsolete equipment, and is manned by the dregs of the Empire. Moreover, it is a known smuggling route, and so the Klingons know very well that the Enterprise is lying and that they are not Klingons, but they think they're just the usual smugglers, and anyway they don't care.
As usual, the first disk of the definitive DVD has the movie and commentaries; the second has interviews and various extras. I found the audio commentary by director and co-writer Nicholas Meyer and his writing partner, Denny Martin Flinn, more annoying than useful. Meyer is well represented on the second disk, and is quite eloquent in his solo interview. But in the commentary he sounds a bit pompous at times, and Flinn too sycophantic.
Fans know what to expect from the text commentary by Michael and Denise Okuda---a bit of good-natured nitpicking amidst the observation of production details, with little gems like the motto on the dedication plaque of the Excelsior (“No matter where you go, there you are,” the essence of Zen wisdom from Buckaroo Bonzai) and that the Enterprise model in Captain Kirk’s quarters was assembled by Trek producer-writer Ron Moore, when he was twelve.
The second disk is mostly fun, and includes probably the best serious feature on any Trek film DVD, called “The Perils of Peacemaking.” It should be required viewing at the White House. Former U.S. ambassador Dennis Ross is especially eloquent on the need for diplomacy, and what makes it successful.
What separates the leaders who are prepared to make historic change, he says, is a vision of the future, and a readiness to make difficult choices. But the key to all of it is mutual understanding. And it begins with story.
“Everybody has a narrative,” Ross says. “Everybody has a story that describes how they see themselves. That frankly is the most important way to come to grips with who it is you’re dealing with. You can’t do it overnight, but you can do it if you make the effort.”
.
Considering all the misunderstandings, infighting and threats of law suits in the making of this film---even a conflict over the wording of the film’s dedication to Gene Roddenberry---it’s more than ironic that its subject is the end of enmity between warring parties and the beginning of understanding and mutual commitment to peace.
“I see we have a long way to go,” said the Lincolnesque Gorkon—Nick Meyers told David Warner to play him as if he is “the only one in the room with imagination.” How far we have to go is clear just from reading about how these first six Star Trek movies were made. According to various accounts, nearly everyone involved stabbed someone in the back at one time or another, and nearly everyone felt betrayed at some point.
Leonard Nimoy and William Shatner felt betrayed by Nick Meyer on Star Trek VI, and GR felt insulted by him. Others (and probably even some of the aforementioned) believe that Meyer saved the franchise, maybe more than once. At various times Nimoy, Nichelle Nichols, George Takei felt betrayed by Harv Bennett, who felt betrayed by some of them and many others. And some believe he saved the franchise. GR felt betrayed by nearly everyone, including those who consider themselves his staunch supporters, such as Shatner and Nimoy. And they are his staunch supporters.
People are complicated.
But that’s our adventure in the real world: to make a future possible by finding, developing and using the skills and tools to become better people in a better society. The need for that focus is Star Trek’s legacy.
As Nichelle Nichols wrote in Beyond Uhura, “One of Star Trek’s enduring qualities is that with the exception of a few great technological tricks, nothing came easy for the crew. In a world of phasers, transporters, dilithium crystals, and Dr. McCoy’s amazing arrays of instant antidotes, ultimately the outcome relied on human beings doing the right thing.”
“I see we have a long way to go,” said the Lincolnesque Gorkon—Nick Meyers told David Warner to play him as if he is “the only one in the room with imagination.” How far we have to go is clear just from reading about how these first six Star Trek movies were made. According to various accounts, nearly everyone involved stabbed someone in the back at one time or another, and nearly everyone felt betrayed at some point.
Leonard Nimoy and William Shatner felt betrayed by Nick Meyer on Star Trek VI, and GR felt insulted by him. Others (and probably even some of the aforementioned) believe that Meyer saved the franchise, maybe more than once. At various times Nimoy, Nichelle Nichols, George Takei felt betrayed by Harv Bennett, who felt betrayed by some of them and many others. And some believe he saved the franchise. GR felt betrayed by nearly everyone, including those who consider themselves his staunch supporters, such as Shatner and Nimoy. And they are his staunch supporters.
People are complicated.
But that’s our adventure in the real world: to make a future possible by finding, developing and using the skills and tools to become better people in a better society. The need for that focus is Star Trek’s legacy.
As Nichelle Nichols wrote in Beyond Uhura, “One of Star Trek’s enduring qualities is that with the exception of a few great technological tricks, nothing came easy for the crew. In a world of phasers, transporters, dilithium crystals, and Dr. McCoy’s amazing arrays of instant antidotes, ultimately the outcome relied on human beings doing the right thing.”
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