The recent news about Star Wars had me wondering about J.J. Abrams, so I looked into his previous work, which of course led me to his Star Trek reboot, reminding me of the original series, a show I never took the time to watch.
When I snapped out of it, I was 4 movies deep into a Kevin Bacon marathon.
Having been raised on Star Wars, I believed that Star Trek was on the uncool side of nerdy. I didn’t know any kid who didn’t like Star Wars, so by default I was safe. To make matters worse, the Trekkies movies were as effective deterrents as terrifying anti-drug PSA’s.
This is your brain on The Original Series.
Once friends and strangers advertised Star Trek to me as the philosophical, thinking-man’s science fiction, my interest was piqued. Lo and behold, the remastered Original Series appeared on Netflix. Sure, 79 episodes would be a daunting task, but one I would gladly surmount in the name of tolerance and geeky solidarity.
But how would Star Trek introduce itself to unsuspecting audiences or, even worse, prejudiced newbies like myself? How would Gene Roddenberry sneak a progressive agenda into entertainment for viewers accustomed to Lassie and Flash Gordon?
No dangerous ideas here. Just me and Flash’s fantastic abs.
That’s what I resolved to find out, trying my best to ignore hilarious outfits and Spock’s inconsistent eyebrows. Those were expected. It was the oddly outdated value system in the pilot episode, “The Cage,” that caught me off guard. So, I present to you Six Lessons I Learned from the Star Trek Pilot.
If you wanna play with the big boys, you gotta act like one.
The crew of the U.S.S. Enterprise have just intercepted a distress signal from the planet Talos IV. Captain Christopher Pike (James T. Kirk takes command 13 years later) orders a rescue mission. As they prepare to land, he bumps into the new female yeoman. She leaves and Pike confesses to Number One, “She does a good job all right, it’s just that I can’t get used to having a woman on the bridge.” An unfortunately honest comment, except that Number One is also a woman. He double-takes, looks at her apologetically, their eyes sharing the burden of millennia of misogyny, and says, “No offense, lieutenant. You’re different of course.”
“I can fart in front of you like you’re one of the guys.”
He proceeds to tell her that, for this mission, she has to stay on the bridge, further proving that he doesn’t consider her the opposite sex, but just another male crew member. If Number One doesn’t seem womanly enough, it’s because she’s stifled her femininity to survive in this man’s world. And if the new yeoman wants to make it anywhere, she better man up and act like a man.
Pure intellect has nothing on the sweaty, brute force of a dashing captain.
The marooned crew in distress turns out to be an illusion and Pike is trapped by a race of psychic beings with highly evolved brains. Years ago Talos IV became uninhabitable, forcing the Talosians underground where their brains grew to compensate for their weakened frames. Now they capture organisms and force them to mate in order to repopulate their planet. What a compelling villain, I thought. A great opportunity for a battle of the minds, a conflict between two rational species. I’d forgotten, though, that the target audience in 1966 had entered three wars in the past two decades.
“Surrender your hearts and minds or I’ll stun you in the groin.”
Pike epitomizes American imperialism. If he could, he would blast his way out in a cloud of Agent Orange. Instead, he resorts to flailing around his cage, certain that something will cave under his diamond-cutting jaw and metal-welding blue eyes. He doesn’t even touch the beautiful minx they’ve set aside for copulation. This isn’t mellow, smarmy William Shatner. This is righteous, exemplary Jeffrey Hunter. This man played Jesus.
“My Father can’t protect you now, aliens.”
If your guns don’t work, they’re not big enough.
While Pike beats his heads against a stone wall, the crew tries essentially the same tactic to break down the trapdoor leading underground. First, Spock and two crew members fire their lasers at the door. And again. Then once more, a little longer this time, for good measure. This doesn’t work, so they reconvene on the starship to assess the situation. With everyone’s heads together, they come up with a brilliant new plan: send down a giant laser cannon and fire it at the door.
“Welp. I’m out of ideas.”
Needless to say it doesn’t work. Some say insanity is doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results. I call it perseverance.
Man’s greatest virtue is hatred.
As Pike tries to force his way out of the cage, he notices that one of his captors starts back in apparent fear. The obvious conclusion here is that Pike’s primitive, human hatred neutralizes the Talosians’ psychic powers. Totally dependent on rational thought, these puny creatures are no match for humanity’s mastery of contempt.
“Don’t move or I’ll hate your head off.”
With two damsels in tow, Pike finally escapes by way of quick reflexes, coercion, and incapacitating a frail Talosian with pure antipathy. Little did Gene Roddenberry know that Star Trek would appeal to people who’d probably identify most with the Talosians.
“Jocks like you forced us underground to cultivate our minds and Magic: The Gathering collections in peace.”
It is better to cling to delusion than to accept reality.
They’re ready to be beamed back up to the Enterprise, but the captive woman refuses to leave Talos IV. The Talosians lift the psychic illusion, revealing the beautiful woman as the deformed old hag she truly is. Pike cringes in revulsion. I almost tapped that? he thinks. She cannot return to human society, not looking like that. Before leaving, Pike takes one last look and sees the old hag, beautiful again, arm in arm with an illusion of Pike created by the Talosians.
Don’t let reality happen to you.
Bartenders are dirty old men.
“Don’t touch me.”
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