Shooting the Canon
Fervently, vigilantly, passionately, scrupulously, relentlessly and endlessly, Star Trek fans debate, defend, define, defy, attack, praise and bemoan something called “canon.”
What’s in it? What should be in it? What should be drummed out of it? How closely must the new movie adhere to it, worship it, or is it an irrelevant albatross? And by the way…what is it?
Functionally, it is Star Trek—that is, the saga, its chronology and mythology, the whole story with all its events, characters, relationships, as well as worlds, ships, species and so on, as catalogued (though partially and unofficially, sort of) in the Star Trek Encyclopedia, and interpreted on web sites like Memory Alpha and Ex Astris Scientia.
As the current Doctor (of Who, not Voyager) might define it: it’s everything that’s appeared in the TV episodes and movies. Wellll, not the animated series. Welllll, maybe some of the animated series. But not the novels. Wellllll, maybe some of the novels. And maybe not all of the movies? Anyway, it’s the Star Trek universe: the official one.
That’s the key word: official. It’s the law—which is more or less what the word “canon” means. But canon has a particular history that suggests both its importance and the fervor it inspires. For while some of the new movie’s creators refer to it in terms of the Supreme Court, canon has its deepest roots in the Roman Catholic Church, beginning back when it in some ways ruled the western world.
[continued]
Saturday, September 13, 2008
As an institution, the Catholic Church sprawled over the Roman Empire and eventually much of the world, but it had a central command and single organizational structure. There was a hierarchy: the Pope, the cardinals (their red vestments led to a certain red bird in the American Midwest being named after them), the archbishops, bishops, monsignors, etc. down to the parish priests. For all of that, you need rules. So the Church established canon law—the oldest body of law still existing. And penalties for disobeying it could be severe.
But canon was about more than bureaucratic rules. The Church was also about religious beliefs, which are in their own terms about ultimate realities: from the nature of God to the meaning of scriptures. The Pope ruled on matters of faith and morals, sometimes with the advice of Church councils, and canon law made his rulings explicit in terms of what you were to do and what you were to believe.
That was the theory, anyway. Eventually the laws declared as canon by councils, bishops and popes grew to enormous proportions, with some laws directly contradicting others. But even so, canon had consequences.
Canon law could be quite detailed, and what might strike outsiders as a minor disagreement could be condemned as heresy, punished at the very least by exile (excommunication: you got thrown out of the Church) but penalties also could include torture and being burned alive at a convention---well, they called them “Councils.”
This suggests a different edge to the many Star Trek canon debates I’ve witnessed over the years at conventions and on various web sites and boards. I was raised Catholic, so I’ve sometimes had the image in my mind of Church scholars debating the number of angels that could dance on the head of a pin. Or was that the number of decks on the Enterprise-A?.. But to be found in error meant your soul was in peril.
So now we have Star Trek canon, as defined by sermons on the Paramount and the Star Trek encyclicals—sorry, Encyclopedia. But while fan feuds over canon can appear overwrought and ridiculous at times, the sense that something important, even essential is at stake, is not really wrong.
But canon was about more than bureaucratic rules. The Church was also about religious beliefs, which are in their own terms about ultimate realities: from the nature of God to the meaning of scriptures. The Pope ruled on matters of faith and morals, sometimes with the advice of Church councils, and canon law made his rulings explicit in terms of what you were to do and what you were to believe.
That was the theory, anyway. Eventually the laws declared as canon by councils, bishops and popes grew to enormous proportions, with some laws directly contradicting others. But even so, canon had consequences.
Canon law could be quite detailed, and what might strike outsiders as a minor disagreement could be condemned as heresy, punished at the very least by exile (excommunication: you got thrown out of the Church) but penalties also could include torture and being burned alive at a convention---well, they called them “Councils.”
This suggests a different edge to the many Star Trek canon debates I’ve witnessed over the years at conventions and on various web sites and boards. I was raised Catholic, so I’ve sometimes had the image in my mind of Church scholars debating the number of angels that could dance on the head of a pin. Or was that the number of decks on the Enterprise-A?.. But to be found in error meant your soul was in peril.
So now we have Star Trek canon, as defined by sermons on the Paramount and the Star Trek encyclicals—sorry, Encyclopedia. But while fan feuds over canon can appear overwrought and ridiculous at times, the sense that something important, even essential is at stake, is not really wrong.
To have a canon, you need the authority to create one. For Star Trek, the canon began when Gene Roddenberry and the other original Star Trek creators put together the Writer’s Guide (I’m looking at its Third Revision from April 17, 1967 right now), which is also commonly--and significantly—called “the Bible.”
It describes the setting (including details of the Enterprise, etc.) and the characters (including ages, backgrounds, etc.) I presume this is done for most TV series. But because Star Trek was at that point unique—a prime time dramatic series with a science fiction premise—the Guide stresses the principle of believability. Captain Kirk has to be believable as the captain of a ship, even if that ship is in outer space.
Believability was essential, and the principle extended to two other important features of Star Trek: plausibility (a plausible even if not yet possible scientific basis for each phenomenon and piece of technology) and consistency: what is established as true in one episode (the ship’s drives, how many settings the phaser has) is true in subsequent stories.
That consistency is partly where canon comes from, and also one of its most important effects: consistency creates a universe, a ground of reality.
There’s another word that’s used to describe this consistency over time: continuity. In filmmaking, continuity usually operates within a single movie, and may mean something as simple as the guy who goes into the office building wearing a red and black tie should be seen getting into the elevator wearing that same red and black tie. But because movies are shot out of sequence (six months may have passed between shooting those two scenes), keeping track of the continuity of such details became the responsibility of a person at first called “Script Girl,” then “Continuity,” and now “Script Supervisor.”
But in the Trek canon, continuity spans episodes and even centuries. It took awhile to establish “Starfleet” and “the Federation,” but once settled, every movie and every episode of every series afterwards adhered to their basic descriptions. Then as more names were added (of people, ships, places, events) and their functions in time dramatized or talked about, the canon universe grew over space and time.
It describes the setting (including details of the Enterprise, etc.) and the characters (including ages, backgrounds, etc.) I presume this is done for most TV series. But because Star Trek was at that point unique—a prime time dramatic series with a science fiction premise—the Guide stresses the principle of believability. Captain Kirk has to be believable as the captain of a ship, even if that ship is in outer space.
Believability was essential, and the principle extended to two other important features of Star Trek: plausibility (a plausible even if not yet possible scientific basis for each phenomenon and piece of technology) and consistency: what is established as true in one episode (the ship’s drives, how many settings the phaser has) is true in subsequent stories.
That consistency is partly where canon comes from, and also one of its most important effects: consistency creates a universe, a ground of reality.
There’s another word that’s used to describe this consistency over time: continuity. In filmmaking, continuity usually operates within a single movie, and may mean something as simple as the guy who goes into the office building wearing a red and black tie should be seen getting into the elevator wearing that same red and black tie. But because movies are shot out of sequence (six months may have passed between shooting those two scenes), keeping track of the continuity of such details became the responsibility of a person at first called “Script Girl,” then “Continuity,” and now “Script Supervisor.”
But in the Trek canon, continuity spans episodes and even centuries. It took awhile to establish “Starfleet” and “the Federation,” but once settled, every movie and every episode of every series afterwards adhered to their basic descriptions. Then as more names were added (of people, ships, places, events) and their functions in time dramatized or talked about, the canon universe grew over space and time.
Star Trek writers (most recently Ron Moore) have occasionally complained about the restraints that the vast body of canon placed on their inventiveness, particularly after hundreds of stories had been told. But the other side of canon is that writers largely invented it, by using what had been established or suggested in earlier Star Trek stories as a springboard to create new stories.
Spock was established as half-human and half-alien, raised on the planet Vulcan. Theodore Sturgeon used that bit of canon to explore Vulcan culture and an aspect of Spock’s inner conflict in the classic episode, “Amok Time.” Other writers used Sturgeon’s inventions and those of other writers—as well as those of Leonard Nimoy and other actors—as starting points or important features of their new stories.
That’s a simple example. But here’s another that may be more of an issue: a first season episode, “Balance of Terror,” showed the Enterprise getting the first glimpse of an old enemy, the Romulans, and they look a lot like Vulcans. This added a subplot about race prejudice to what was basically a story about tactics of warfare (similar to the 1958 film The Enemy Below, about a U.S. destroyer and a German U-boat.)
But it also inspired a thread that ran through the rest of Star Trek about the relationship of the Vulcans and Romulans, eventually involving Spock going underground on Romulus to facilitate re-unification in two episodes of TNG. But today, there is uncertainty whether the new movie will honor this bit of canon, or for that matter, the part that says the Federation hadn’t actually seen a Romulan before the time covered in that episode.
Yet the function of that first season subplot was to generate more stories. Canon became a starting point also for those who created non-canon stories, in novels and short stories, fan fictions and independent films, comics, games and so on. It’s true that canon limited what writers could create for Star Trek. But as Star Trek director and writer Nick Meyer has said, limitations can be a spur to creativity. It may seem paradoxical but the limitations of canon had a creative role in expanding the Star Trek universe. By building new stories on prior ones, Star Trek created not only a self-consistent and believable universe, but a rich and complex alternate reality, as big as a future.
Keeping track of canon and continuity was undoubtedly a pain for writers and producers by the time of “Deep Space Nine” and “Voyager.” But it became a particular cause of apprehension among fans when Star Trek stories started going backwards with “Enterprise.” If new stories about the Star Trek past clashed with what had been established about the Star Trek future, the credibility of both sets of stories could be damaged. Causality and time line weren’t all that was called into question. The sanctity and therefore the meaning of canon was threatened.
That nervousness and even suspicion has appeared again because the new Star Trek movie is also set in a time before the original series began, but even more dangerously, features many of the same characters. A lot is at stake—maybe including everything that follows in the Star Trek saga.
Spock was established as half-human and half-alien, raised on the planet Vulcan. Theodore Sturgeon used that bit of canon to explore Vulcan culture and an aspect of Spock’s inner conflict in the classic episode, “Amok Time.” Other writers used Sturgeon’s inventions and those of other writers—as well as those of Leonard Nimoy and other actors—as starting points or important features of their new stories.
That’s a simple example. But here’s another that may be more of an issue: a first season episode, “Balance of Terror,” showed the Enterprise getting the first glimpse of an old enemy, the Romulans, and they look a lot like Vulcans. This added a subplot about race prejudice to what was basically a story about tactics of warfare (similar to the 1958 film The Enemy Below, about a U.S. destroyer and a German U-boat.)
But it also inspired a thread that ran through the rest of Star Trek about the relationship of the Vulcans and Romulans, eventually involving Spock going underground on Romulus to facilitate re-unification in two episodes of TNG. But today, there is uncertainty whether the new movie will honor this bit of canon, or for that matter, the part that says the Federation hadn’t actually seen a Romulan before the time covered in that episode.
Yet the function of that first season subplot was to generate more stories. Canon became a starting point also for those who created non-canon stories, in novels and short stories, fan fictions and independent films, comics, games and so on. It’s true that canon limited what writers could create for Star Trek. But as Star Trek director and writer Nick Meyer has said, limitations can be a spur to creativity. It may seem paradoxical but the limitations of canon had a creative role in expanding the Star Trek universe. By building new stories on prior ones, Star Trek created not only a self-consistent and believable universe, but a rich and complex alternate reality, as big as a future.
Keeping track of canon and continuity was undoubtedly a pain for writers and producers by the time of “Deep Space Nine” and “Voyager.” But it became a particular cause of apprehension among fans when Star Trek stories started going backwards with “Enterprise.” If new stories about the Star Trek past clashed with what had been established about the Star Trek future, the credibility of both sets of stories could be damaged. Causality and time line weren’t all that was called into question. The sanctity and therefore the meaning of canon was threatened.
That nervousness and even suspicion has appeared again because the new Star Trek movie is also set in a time before the original series began, but even more dangerously, features many of the same characters. A lot is at stake—maybe including everything that follows in the Star Trek saga.
More than 40 years after it began, Star Trek as we know it today is a vast and interconnected mythos, a saga of stories with generations of characters and their interwoven relationships, that together support and express particular attitudes (about the future, about storytelling, about what it means to be human) and a philosophy that Star Trek fans know and love, even if it harder to define than the consequences of a warp core breach. This is what makes Star Trek the planet’s shared story of a hopeful future, and partly why it has such devoted fans.
There are some apparent contradictions within this canon (which sometimes inspire very creative explanations) but the canon as a whole is solid enough to establish the shared Star Trek universe. Yet it wouldn’t take much for a feature film to shatter that universe. Just a few serious inconsistencies of character, story or attitude, and perhaps even of style, could separate this film from the rest of Star Trek. Which could also mean that if future Star Trek stories follow its pattern, the first 40 years of Star Trek will be a thing only of the past.
The danger is acute because familiar characters are no longer going to be played by the actors who created them and knew them completely. The presence of these actors who created the roles could largely overcome shifts or inconsistencies in storytelling (though not always, and certainly not for every fan.) Now there’s an extra step in believing in Captain Kirk: you have to believe in the new actor playing him, as well as in what he does.
Just the sight and sound of different actors playing Kirk, Spock and McCoy (however capable the new actors are) may be harder for many to accept than anyone anticipates. (Although New Voyages and other “fan” films have partly prepared the way.) The prospect of new actors playing these characters could be fueling some of the anxiety over canon.
But the biggest potential threat to canon is that the officials in charge of it are no longer the same. Until now, the Star Trek hierarchy was directly connected in one way or another to the founders, especially Gene Roddenberry. Even when his direct influence had lessened, he was always a presence to be reckoned with, and many in what became the Star Trek creative family had learned Star Trek directly from him.
But there’s a new Pope in town, and a new hierarchy, unconnected with the previous regime. Nobody knows what they’re going to do, but they are now in charge of the canon, and what they do becomes canon law.
So some fans are understandably anxious. This is really the first time that an official Trek story has been made so completely outside the original Trek family. (The exception of course is Leonard Nimoy. Even though officially he was only an actor in the film, his support and enthusiasm for the movie has probably gone a long way towards reassuring nervous fans.)
There are some apparent contradictions within this canon (which sometimes inspire very creative explanations) but the canon as a whole is solid enough to establish the shared Star Trek universe. Yet it wouldn’t take much for a feature film to shatter that universe. Just a few serious inconsistencies of character, story or attitude, and perhaps even of style, could separate this film from the rest of Star Trek. Which could also mean that if future Star Trek stories follow its pattern, the first 40 years of Star Trek will be a thing only of the past.
The danger is acute because familiar characters are no longer going to be played by the actors who created them and knew them completely. The presence of these actors who created the roles could largely overcome shifts or inconsistencies in storytelling (though not always, and certainly not for every fan.) Now there’s an extra step in believing in Captain Kirk: you have to believe in the new actor playing him, as well as in what he does.
Just the sight and sound of different actors playing Kirk, Spock and McCoy (however capable the new actors are) may be harder for many to accept than anyone anticipates. (Although New Voyages and other “fan” films have partly prepared the way.) The prospect of new actors playing these characters could be fueling some of the anxiety over canon.
But the biggest potential threat to canon is that the officials in charge of it are no longer the same. Until now, the Star Trek hierarchy was directly connected in one way or another to the founders, especially Gene Roddenberry. Even when his direct influence had lessened, he was always a presence to be reckoned with, and many in what became the Star Trek creative family had learned Star Trek directly from him.
But there’s a new Pope in town, and a new hierarchy, unconnected with the previous regime. Nobody knows what they’re going to do, but they are now in charge of the canon, and what they do becomes canon law.
So some fans are understandably anxious. This is really the first time that an official Trek story has been made so completely outside the original Trek family. (The exception of course is Leonard Nimoy. Even though officially he was only an actor in the film, his support and enthusiasm for the movie has probably gone a long way towards reassuring nervous fans.)
So to sum up the fear that lurks within the talk about canon: the new movie could use these characters, imagery and technology to re-define Star Trek in ways that essentially separate the new movie and its sequels from the Star Trek canon, which is a threat to Star Trek, both old and new. If the new movie thumbs its nose at something essential about Star Trek, it thumbs its nose at what Star Trek became over those 40 years, and the fans who love it.
The filmmakers insist they have respected canon, but the anxiety won’t be fully over until the film comes out. And fans aren’t the only ones likely to share this anxiety. Ultimately it’s Paramount that is responsible for the canon, because it owns the rights to make Star Trek movies. The studio owns a “franchise” that didn’t do so well in its last few outings, so the owners decided change was needed. But the wrong sort of change could alienate the fan base. It might even put off those with less detailed knowledge of the canon, but sense that this movie, however thrilling on its own terms, is no longer Star Trek.
It’s not like Hollywood has a sterling record in reviving a saga. For every Batman, there are many Lone Rangers and Flash Gordons. And no such saga has the elaborate and carefully created canon that Star Trek has. So despite the current happy talk, there may be some nervousness at the studio, and in other places counting on revived interest in Star Trek’s past—and the attendant merchandise—as well as new interest in the new movie.
But in some ways the stakes are highest for those for whom Star Trek means something. A concern for canon isn’t expressed only as a kind of pedantry about every inessential detail mentioned in an obscure bit of dialogue. It can also be concern for the soul of Star Trek.
P.S. R.I.P. Joan Winston, who did so much for Star Trek and its fans.
The filmmakers insist they have respected canon, but the anxiety won’t be fully over until the film comes out. And fans aren’t the only ones likely to share this anxiety. Ultimately it’s Paramount that is responsible for the canon, because it owns the rights to make Star Trek movies. The studio owns a “franchise” that didn’t do so well in its last few outings, so the owners decided change was needed. But the wrong sort of change could alienate the fan base. It might even put off those with less detailed knowledge of the canon, but sense that this movie, however thrilling on its own terms, is no longer Star Trek.
It’s not like Hollywood has a sterling record in reviving a saga. For every Batman, there are many Lone Rangers and Flash Gordons. And no such saga has the elaborate and carefully created canon that Star Trek has. So despite the current happy talk, there may be some nervousness at the studio, and in other places counting on revived interest in Star Trek’s past—and the attendant merchandise—as well as new interest in the new movie.
But in some ways the stakes are highest for those for whom Star Trek means something. A concern for canon isn’t expressed only as a kind of pedantry about every inessential detail mentioned in an obscure bit of dialogue. It can also be concern for the soul of Star Trek.
P.S. R.I.P. Joan Winston, who did so much for Star Trek and its fans.
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