A Trek Through Time

Star Trek: The Next Generation had a style that was best nurtured as something eclectic, as scripts were often received in venal mercenary pacts from outside the writing staff. I myself felt like I was once part of this organism, then I fell out it, and then I reintegrated myself back into it. Its values favor those who are apprehended by rich, interconnected worlds, but the best of Star Trek chafes against the very grain of its stereotype. Star Trek is still sci fi and has been pigeonholed for a good reason, but these works are very human, very dramatic, and the stories have plenty of verve. Theory: sci fi writers are introspective, thoughtful, idea oriented, strapped to their own imaginations. A lot of them have trouble writing good characters. Even fewer write good dialog. They are transfixed by the universe but don't necessarily understand people, and so they write about the universe. There are numerous exceptions, but I think that there is some truth to that. And so I want to honor what I feel are the very best and most human episodes of The Next Generation in its long and treasured run.

I seldom see The Offspring crop up on many lists, but it is Patrick Stewart's favorite episode, and I share the sentiment. Jonathan Frakes's directorial debut, written by René Echevarria, finds fertile ground in the opening acts. Data has the ability to create life and yet does not understand the implications of it. The episode has excellent pacing, and there is a nice montage with a voice over from Data that is most impactful in sequence because it shows Lal trying to emulate human behavior. It's quick and orderly, and the impact would be lost if it was unabridged. In fact, the episode features a misdirection, as it spends most of its time debating the qualifications of Data as a parent and ends with Lal's inadvertent death. Admiral Haftel almost becomes the stock villain but is instead expertly used as a Trojan Horse to evoke sympathy at the end - the man who thought that Lal would be better served in a laboratory gives an almost frightening eulogy as he informs Picard that he couldn't follow the speed of Data's hands as he tries to save Lal. In a strange way Data cannot love but instead shows how much he cares, and it is enough to convince Haftel and shake him to his core.

Another underrated episode is the fourth season's The Drumhead (also directed by Frakes, written by Jeri Taylor). This episode works as a triumvirate. In the opening acts we are treated to the threat of a Romulan collaborator (a Klingon no less) linked to a larger conspiracy. Immediately the viewer is set with expectations, and for a time he's obliged; a medical technician, the diffident Simon Tarsus, is questioned in conjunction with the investigation and is revealed to have Romulan blood. The initial cover up binds it all together, never mind the fact that it was necessitated by his approval to Starfleet Academy. Worf takes on the perspective of the audience: he pushes the conspiracy angle hard before his realization that the trial has become a tragedy, then a farce. This is to mirror the emotions of the viewer. Jean Simmons gives an excellent portrayal of Rear Admiral Norah Satie, who initially establishes herself as a rational, eloquent woman. We only know who she is because of what we see of her. She is obviously an inveterate, distinguished person. Is the episode trying to say that a righteous vigilanti can appear rationale and eloquent? Or did she just go too far?

The Inner Light (which, curiously enough, was filmed almost exclusively on an indoor set) is often cited as the very best of TNG, a national prizefighter if you will. I am more agnostic here; I believe that it could be, but I'm not entirely convinced. The previous two episodes used pacing and structure to provide the dramatic hook and enhance the story. The emotional resonance of The Inner Light hinges almost completely on the premise: an alien probe from a ruined world forces Picard to relive a lifetime of events in only 25 minutes. But the episode is very honest. Picard's life on the Enterprise fades in reflection, and with that existence on the fringe, he becomes something that he would never oblige himself as a starship captain. He becomes a family man. The juxtaposition of these two realities works well. One of the final scenes featured some excellent acting from Stewart as his family and friends, timelessly preserved as their younger selves, tell him that he is burdened with carrying the weight of a long dead civilization.

A lot of reasons are given for why Tapestry succeeds: Picard relives a life he once reviled and becomes something he hates even more, context is given for his famous laugh at the edge of a knife, established in Samaritan Snare, and of course it was written by Ronald D. Moore. Beyond that, however, the first thirty minutes could have been very dry with the outcome already in place. These initial segments work for two reasons: 1) Picard's life is at stake, and at the end of the episode he would rather choose death than a safe, comfortable life, and 2) Picard hates the young man he is forced to live as, and it exacerbates the issue when Q provides commentary. Picard is given the opportunity to live his earlier days as he lives as captain of the Enterprise, which ironically ends his career before it begins. Foresight can be dangerous, and it is only through the spontaneity of life that we learn from our mistakes.

I am not going to delineate much about The Best of Both Worlds, but its strengths provide context as to why much of later Trek failed: it pushed the crew to the brink, forced them to make tough decisions, and was anything but predictable storytelling.