Blogging DS9, S1E16: "The Forsaken"

S1E16, "The Forsaken"
Or, You're Looking a Little Pale

"You are not at all what I expected." -Odo

Ugh. Lwaxana.

DS9's 16th episode is supposed to be another callback to the TNG glory days, and yet, its three story arcs almost immediately tear apart at its spaghetti-weak seams. Lwaxana Troi, the oft-appearing meddling mother of the Enterprise's Deanna Troi, arrives on Deep Space 9 under the guise of some Federation diplomatic glad-handing. A flimsy premise to be sure, but at least it's believable.

If an hour-long episode is going to successfully juggle three story arcs, though, (Bashir and the diplomats, Odo and Lwaxana, and the station's encounter with the software life form), there has to be juxtaposition or similarity that weaves the three together. One episode just does not offer enough time to give all three proper attention unless they can share (or directly oppose) thematic ground.

The immediate threat of the probe that comes through the Wormhole and affects the station's computer is wildly unconvincing. At this point in the series, the writers seemed to be approximating the Enterprise-D's ability to "run into stuff" by simply pumping it out of the Wormhole. The problem with this approach is that Picard and co. typically had a reason to run into these supernatural one-offs, and the balance between how that crew handled unexpected obstacles as well as their original missions allowed us to judge their priorities.

The problem with bringing these encounters to Sisko's crew is that it is much more difficult to read into how they juggle the unknown with their stated duties because lining the two up requires far more serendipity. While the probe poses a threat to station by affecting key systems, it only matters because Odo and Lwaxana are in the turbolift and Bashir takes the ambassadors to a particular corridor that happens to catch fire. O'Brien, Dax, and Sisko's awkward puppy analogies are cringe-worthy and uncomfortable, and it makes the whole pretense seem unnecessary. There has to be a limit to the number of "out of the Wormhole" episodes the writers can fill with, and in this case, it seems like they wasted one of those cards.

Meanwhile, we see more ego punishment for Bashir. To be fair, even at this point, DS9 has delved further into the less-than-ideal traits of its characters than TNG ever did. But the continued embarrassment the doctor is forced to endure starts to come off as hateration. Data works as the butt of jokes in TNG because he (mostly) does not possess a full range of emotions, so his victimization is limited. But Bashir, arrogant or not, is a person and the "tough shit" speech Sisko gives him seems less educational than probably intended. Sure, Bashir gets to play hero in the end, but who didn't see that coming?

The episode's main action between Odo and Lwaxana is bizarre and highly confusing. The discomfort her cougar-love engenders in the franchise's older men is a tired joke, but fine, it's what she does. The lengths the plot goes to trap the two in the turbolift are extreme, but my biggest problem is that once they are there, I never bought that there was imminent danger. Yes, Odo starts to get a little gooey, and maybe that's embarrassing, but why do we really care? Odo is more curiosity than lovable character at this point in the series, and frankly his disinterest in Lwaxana's attempts to pass the time through conversation come off as rude. Similarly, I find Lwaxana's "unremarkable" hair to be little incentive for Odo to willingly go to sleep. There's some kind of ill-conceived takeover of the station computer going on, but I'm supposed to be sweating this nonsense? The only redeeming part of the episode is that we learn a few more nuggets about Odo's back story and why he looks the way he does.

Maybe I was cranky watching this, but even my other thoughts are picky:

• Early in the turbolift ordeal, Lwaxana refers to being kidnapped by DaiMon Tog in the TNG episode "Menage a Troi." I have a feeling some people love this kind of canonical cross-series reference, but I hate it. It's fine to refer to what we have already seen in the series, even if it comes from several seasons back (e.g., TNG's "All Good Things"). But the Star Trek universe is too large to assume this kind of background, and I really think viewing of this episode after the reference would be different whether you had seen that episode or not. Good writers can generate emotions on their own; lazy ones use callbacks.
• I really thought O'Brien interpreting the computer's tone of voice was going to be some kind of joke. It wasn't.
• As the Ops staff discusses the probe, Dax throws out the always popular "What is life anyway?" theme. Star Trek writers tend to get super-preachy about this topic, but Dax's reference was as if they wanted it to be on the table just for the audience to look at. I have no idea why it was in there.
• So Ops hears there is a fire in one of the station's living areas, and the two highest-ranking officers on the station respond with fire extinguishers? 
• Lastly, this isn't really specific to this episode, but who decided on the cornflower blue turtlenecks on these uniforms. The costume folks somehow found a color that doesn't look right with any of Starfleet's departmental colors.

1.5 bars of gold-pressed latinum out of 5

Blogging DS9, S1E15: If Wishes Were Horses

S1E15, "If Wishes Were Horses"
Or, Only the Bored are Boring

"Ladies and gentleman and all androgenous creatures...  your attention please. As you have noticed we are experiencing some difficulties. I'm going to have to ask you all to please refrain from using your imaginations." -Odo

I have to make a very personal confession to preface my review of this episode: To the ten-year-old version of myself who crushed on Jadzia Dax, the payoff of her snuggling up to Bashir was wildly gratifying. Judge the fairness of this review with that in mind.

As for the 28-year-old version of myself, he was far less satisfied with this tragically cobbled mess of Star Trek templates. The episode uses one core development to link the ensemble and shows how its impacts the crew, a tactic used in many TNG episodes to varying degrees of success. What this method gains in equal exposure to the cast, it sacrifices the depth of empathy we develop in episodes where a single character's plight or aspirations are developed in full. That's not to say these ensemble episodes are without their place in the franchise (TNG's "Yesterday's Enterprise" is a great example of that place). Rather, in a space station where we are just getting to know the senior staff and focal players in any detail, their collective lack of depth at this point does not allow the story to snugly settle over their unique contours.

And that would be true of a story of any plausibility. To borrow from the quote the episode's title alludes to, a beggar-caliber story rides here. I'll stretch and accept that O'Brien's imagination created Rumpelstiltskin and Sisko's dreamt up an old baseball player, both of them for their children. But considering Bashir and Quark both imagined sex-oriented visions, wouldn't you expect the station to devolve into some massive orgy? And is Kira really so boring that her imagination can't create anything at all? And who is dreaming up emus?

By far the worst part of the episode, however, is Sisko's revelation as to how to short-circuit the expanding anomaly. In a move strangely similar to Picard's directive to think positive thoughts toward The Traveler in "Where No One Has Gone Before," in the face of collective doom, Sisko tells his operations staff that the threat is all in their heads. The franchise always faces a double-edged sword with these kinds of episodes that center around the unexplained. Whereas relations with other species can be expected to follow the pattern they do between nations here in the real world, the writers have the privilege and curse of handling unknown phenomena however they like. In the best cases, we can believe and understand when these problems are solved with 21st Century believable means (sometimes Geordi, often O'Brien). In average cases, the writers come up with pseudo-scientific mumbo jumbo (usually out of Data or Dax's mouths). And in the worst cases, they force overly simplistic solutions out of thin air.

Lastly, I need to address Buck Bokai and Sisko's love of baseball. We know from their conversation at the end of the episode that Bokai was a star from the last seasons of baseball before a lack of interest forced the end of the game (which, considering this was written in 1993 at or near baseball's apex, showed a lot of foresight). Without spoiling anything, I will tell you, dear reader, that this is not the last you will see of baseball players, baseball uniforms, or baseballs. In fact, you may have noticed Bokai left the baseball with Sisko when he disappeared.

I recognize that the writers were trying to find a modern day hook to connect this imaginary space station from four centuries in the future to the present day. And yet, it's completely unreasonable to believe even in Commander Sisko's youth that he loved a long-dead sport. It probably would only be a slightly strange quirk like Picard's oddly generic love of "archaeology" except there may or may not be a holo-game involving the main characters. It's as if the show is begging for some kind of mainstream crutch. "I'm cool too, you guys; I play the baseballs."

Other things I noticed:

• The Bashir-Dax stalkership reached HR-notifying levels in this episode. Seriously, 20 years ago, people did not get uneasy about one colleague fawning over another like this?
• I always read that actors enjoy playing possessed or otherwise altered versions of themselves as Terry Farrell did here with Bashir's imaginary Dax. And as uncomfortable as imaginary Dax felt here, I somehow felt like she was the more textured of the two portrayals. Yes, Dax is supposed to exude coolness and confidence to the brink of arrogance, but in her one turn as the star of an episode ("Dax"), she is reclusive and whiny. 
• As I've read other reviews of the series, I've found people are mostly lukewarm on Avery Brooks, as opposed to my general underwhelment. But in the scene where he bonds with Bokai, Sisko assures the slugger he was one of the best and then proceeds to attempt a wink. Now many people cannot wink with one of their eyes, and some even cannot wink with either. What Brooks executes looks more like a hard blink and surely could have stayed on the cutting room floor, yes?

2 bars of gold-pressed latinum out of 5

Blogging DS9: S1E14, "Progress"

S1E14, "Progress"
Or, Evictions and Convictions

"You have to realize something... You're on the other side now. Pretty uncomfortable, isn't it?"- Sisko

Much of DS9's first season is spent on the theme of change: The station being turned over to the Federation from the Cardassians, the Starfleet crew learning how to live and work on it, and the new relationships built by commerce through the Wormhole. But nobody sees more change than Kira Narys.

Kira suddenly finds herself in a bureaucratic position after years spent as a near anarchist, fighting the nasty Cardassian occupation. You could forgive her if the transition isn't Creamy-Jiff smooth. But in Progress, Kira finally has to confront the conflict in her personal and professional stations. No longer can she strip down to the strange peek-a-boo necklined undershirt she rocks under that major's uniform, ready to get her hands dirty to prove her street cred. No, Kira, the days ahead will be spent earning white-collar respect.

One of the season's most poignant moments comes when Sisko tells her as much. There are many times in the Star Trek franchise where commanding officers' patience toward subordinance is tough to believe, but I don't think this is one of them. Sisko knows he needs Kira if he has any chance at soldering his two crews together, and nothing would shoe her away from cooperation faster than an iron-fisted commander. I believed Sisko when he told Kira her greatest value to her beloved Bajor was as an officer, and fortunately so did she. While she protected Mullibock's dignity by humoring his stubbornness, Kira symbolically set fire to her own fight-for-the-moment stubbornness when she lit up his hut. This is a critical turning point in the major's development in the show's longer plot lines.

Meanwhile, on the station, Jake and Nog are yet again bored and mischievous, as they realize that even in the 24th century, life without money isn't much fun. The duo sequentially trade extraneous pieces until they own a devoid tract of land on Bajor that turns out to be a target for government expansion of a public work. With a little help from Uncle Quark, the boys come into their five bars of gold-pressed latinum and, presumably, the riches of fun it allows.

While Jake and Nog are often high points of the early seasons, their role in this episode seemed redundant. We have already seen how life on the frontier can be tough for citizens like Keiko and especially the station's kids. We also know Jake and Nog are bright and have potential for great things. I didn't need three steps of arbitrage to verify that.

A few other thoughts:

• As if from the horror movie text book, Kira doomed herself to an ordeal in removing Mullibock when she declared to Sisko, "I won't be long." C'mon, Kira, that never works out well.
• If I didn't know better, I would have sworn Mullibock was played by Anthony Hopkins. That's one of the cool perks of the Trek makeup: They can hide famous actors in plain sight or suggest more famous ones are in the fold.

3.5 bars of gold-pressed latinum out of 5

Blogging Trek Lit: Death in Winter (TNG 1)

A quick introduction to this series of posts: I have two distinct "first" memories of the Star Trek literature universe from childhood. I can still see and smell the tobacco-stained TNG paperbacks my dad read and piled under the nightstand next to my parents' bed. I don't remember ever seeing him reading one of these breezy adventures, nor do I remember ever picking up one of them myself. But I can still picture the cover of TNG #29, Sins of Commission, with a Ferengi Marauder flanked by Riker and Worf's renderings. I always found these covers interesting, as if I could recreate a new story based on the familiar characters and mysterious elements on each cover.

My other memory of the literature came when I was in sixth grade. For one week in March, all sixth graders in Ohio were required to take the state proficiency tests--key word, "proficiency." With the underwhelming goal of merely demonstrating proficiency, I found myself with hours of extra time to kill on the first day of testing. That night, I told my mom I would need to bring in a book to read while the required time was allowed to expire, so she took me to the bookstore. I eventually chose The Way of the Warrior, a novelization of a DS9 episode. I'm guessing I was sold by the cover art of a Klingon attack cruiser (Vor'cha class, I presume) firing on the U.S.S. Defiant.

But at some point in the past decade or two, the Star Trek franchise committed the same mistake as that of my other childhood passion, sports cards. Originally, Star Trek literature, like sports trading cards, came in a few, tidy series, rarely crossing over or complicating. Just as TOS, TNG, and DS9 ran in distinct paths, Topps, Upper Deck, and Donruss made an annual series for each sport that could realistically be completed. Eventually the industry saw opportunities to target more distinct segments in each market, and as a result, there were dozens of series that left the casual hobbyist overwhelmed.

And yet, I still love the characters and universe of Star Trek more than any other fictionalization (and probably most of the real) world. I met Jean-Luc Picard in very formative years of my life, and to this day, I find more to admire in his professionalism and personal ethics than I probably should. I cannot think of a single show I would be more excited to find more episodes of than my beloved TNG.

Therefore, I have decided to leap into the franchise's literature series, attempting to place the dizzying collection of arcs since Nemesis into some logical order. I am starting with this very helpful flowchart as my guide, and I will read and review the TNG and DS9-related post-Nemesis or "Relaunch" fiction. This will of course include the Titan series, where Commander Riker finally gets his first command.

Lastly, my reviews of the stories will assume deep knowledge of the characters. The writers of these novels assume their audience is fans, so I am reacting to each novel as if it were an episode in a series. In addition to my thoughts on the story itself, I will also try to address its context in the increasingly complex Star Trek lit universe by placing it on a growing diagram of the stories. If anyone has hesitated to pick back up with these beloved characters because the novels seem so difficult to attack in any order, I hope these posts encourage you to boldly go.

---
TNG Post-Nemesis 1, Death in Winter
Or Romulan Ails, on the Rocks


If there's one thing Michael Jan Friedman wants you to know, it's that Jean-Luc Picard is bummed. Throughout Death in Winter, from its very title to its climax, we are reminded that the old crew is no longer together to cover each others' backs. Riker and Troi have finally moved out of Picard's basement and into the U.S.S. Titan. Data, as you may recall, gave his life to save his crewmates' at the end of Nemesis. And Beverly Crusher, that ginger tease, has left Picard's Enterprise to become the head of Starfleet Medical on Earth.

And yet, the book is consistently bogged down to references to TNG episodes, as if the actual plot of this novel were an amalgamation of the Enterprise-D's greatest hits. "The Best of Both Worlds," "Chain of Command," and "Yesterday's Enterprise"--easily three of the most popular episodes in the series--are all alluded to at some point. The writers almost beg you to remember all the good times we had back when even though this novel marks a turning point in the series.

In a plot that is executed to average success, Crusher and then Picard are both forced to improvise as their undercover humanitarian missions crumble. And yet, the entire outcome hinges on Crusher identifying one of her alien cooperators by his coat in a driving snowstorm. Forget all of the rehashed allusions; if there is one TNG relic that felt most familiar, it was intergalactic deus ex machina.


I give Death in Winter something of a pass for its choppy narration, given the immense task of setting up a new canvas for future encounters from one graffitied by years of canon. The novel is clearly a new starting point for the franchise, knowing full-well that it will never again take TV or movie form. But where I cannot forgive Friedman is his conception of Jean-Leverly. In just a few horrific final pages, Friedman rewrites his hard-earned themes of change and metamorphasis with Crusher entering Picard's ready room like some bad romance novel.

I always appreciated the TV show's restraint in pairing Troi and Riker or Picard and Crusher as couples in the show's present day. Clearly either could have plausibly (and now have) happened, but the idea of two senior crew members being openly together drains credibility, especially when one is the captain. The appearance of "the boss and his woman" suggests a less professional operation, but probably more importantly, it's just not the kind of thing for which we come to Star Trek.

In all of its incarnations, the franchise is about independence and the spirit of discovery. For its various missteps early on, TNG always righted itself when it was concerned with "what's out there." As much as I love the characters, none of them really engendered my desire to see them personally gratified. For all of them, I primarily cared how they dealt with that nasty bitch called "the universe," romance be damned.

This is the novel where the reboot starts, and its most critical contributions are maintaining the commitment that certain characters really are never coming back. But it would have been nice if a grown-up story could have been told at the same time.


2.5 bars of gold-pressed latinum out of 5

Blogging DS9: S1E13, "The Storyteller"

S1E13: "The Storyteller"
Or, The Not-So-Petite Sirah

"You don't lose by saying, 'no.'"
-Varis

At various points in DS9, the overwhelmingly uninspired debate of "How do you keep a station in a fixed point interesting?" comes up. Aside from the fact that this is a blindly superficial, one-off, knee-jerk critique, "The Storyteller" demonstrates how the Deep Space Nine crew can boldly go while still boldly going nowhere.

The episode weaves together two stories of diplomatic change and uncertainty. Bashir and O'Brien find themselves in a Bajoran village at the death of the local protector, called the Sirah. Meanwhile, back on the station Sisko finds himself hosting a contentious negotiation between two peoples disputing land rights after the shifting of a river.  Of greater focus, though, is Varis, the daughter and young leader tasked with the new responsibility of protecting her people's interests.

The Bajor story arc is artfully, if not Star Trek-predictably, done. Bashir and O'Brien, representing the intellectual and mechanical expertise of Starfleet, quickly realize their book-learnin' is ill-equipped to handle the supernatural Dal'Rok that threatens the village. Other series in the franchise, and this series later down the road, spend plenty of time juggling the core quandry of a technological era: What is the role of our anecdotal culture in the face of science's mounting power. After all, let's not forget Dr. Soong's famous androids are named Data and Lore.

While the execution of the arc takes a familiar pattern of Starfleet unintentionally overstepping its boundaries only to find a local deus ex machina, the statement is clear. O'Brien, the whiz of engineering, is never comfortable in his new position of idolation, and long-term implications aside, we never believe this is a permanent solution. The final reveal that the apprentice Sirah was always intended to overcome O'Brien's initial success makes a bold statement. Our newest gadgets and wonders may serve us well at first, but in times of crisis, we will find ourselves falling back on tradition.

In the B-arc, the message of accepting great responsibilities we might not have asked for is amplified. Much like Sisko's command of a far-flung outpost turned into a powerful throne, Varis ascent to lead her people came rapidly and without training wheels. While I never quite accepted that Jake and Nog could gain access so easily to a visiting dignitary, their mischeiviousness is paid off in this episode and we get our first whiffs of the duo's significance in main stories. I really liked that Varis gave Nog a kiss of thanks but not Jake. Was she supposed to kiss the commander's son in front of him? It would have been an easy way to wrap their relationship while sacrificing credibility. And once again, a tip of the hat to young Cirroc Lofton for some really strong work.

My other thoughts:

• Either the amount of DS9 I've seen after the first season or the amount of time since I've seen these episodes has dulled my memory of just how unlikable Bashir initially was. The final scene where Bashir changes his mind about O'Brien calling him by his first name showed that the writers wanted more than cringe-worthy scenes of Bashir's self-importance. These episodes are like when you introduce a friend who kind of rubs people the wrong way. "Look, he might be kind of abrasive at first, but something eventually happens where he mellows or maybe you just get used to it. But I swear, he's not always this bad."
• Bashir and O'Brien's runabout trip down to Bajor smacked of a bad car-trip movie, where eventually the cabin would have piles of spent Big Gulps and beef jerky packages all around. Given the date of the episode, David Spade and Chris Farley might have been initially cast.
• From a pure structure standpoint, this episode had a high degree of difficulty. In the first ten minutes, three different plot arcs are introduced. The A-arc on Bajor feels like it gets full billing, and the B- and C-stories of Varis and Jake and Nog are effectively woven together. This was much harder than they made it seem.

3.5 bars of gold-pressed latinum out of 5

Blogging DS9, S1E12: "Battle Lines"

S1E12: "Battle Lines"
Or Tu-Opaka Shakur

"In the eyes of the Prophets, we are all children."
-Kai Opaka

One of the richest parts of DS9 is its willingness to address religion, a subject only sparsely touched by its predecessors. "Battle Lines," while lacking in most other ways, at least advances the moral conflicts of the Bajorans as they keep their faith in a politically tumultuous time.

The episode itself is pretty weak in terms of plot (there is no B-arc), and even the big reveal that the moon's living dead were doomed to remain isn't all that surprising or gut-wrenching. But the redeeming moments come in the interactions between Kira and Opaka. Kira is as deep a character as the show offers, and nowhere is her baggage more obvious than in the presence of her religious idol.

Kira, the devout freedom fighter, comes to realize the peace that came with the end of the Cardassian Occupation is completely foreign to her. Opaka tells Kira to face her violent nature head-on and learn how to channel it. The writing is fairly grounded and worthy of praise, and the acting is adequate to not distract from the topics the writers isolated. Nana Visitor's dramatic change from a proud fighter to a sobbing child at the Kai's feet is a little over-the-top.

It's hard for me to effectively determine whether the Kai's gravity is effectively expressed given my extended knowledge of the series. In reviewing these posts, it seems to me that 12 episodes into the series, the Kai should have been developed a little more before she is essentially killed off. Odo and others make a point of telling us how important Opaka is to the Bajorans, but being shown rather than told would have been far more effective. Without giving away too much, the Kaiship is an extremely important position to the development of DS9 in its first few seasons, and focus on Opaka's succession almost retrospectively begs for a little more on the series' first Kai.

As for the Starfleeters? Ouch. O'Brien and Dax's turn as scientific one-uppers was a snoozer. As always, they threw around pseudo-science and came up with some frontier innovation to save the day. But you already knew that would happen. Sisko and Bashir clumsily plodded around in a war zone, though maybe there is some buried humor in both of their efforts ultimately failing. On this particular moon, they were hardly Picard and Dr. Crusher.

As for some other thoughts:

• The exit from the runabout made me chuckle. So somehow Opaka was knocked out cold, but the other three were almost unharmed. And even though Kira was wounded, she was still in good enough shape to lift the Kai out of the ship. 
• Many fictional problem-solvers use the innocuous-comment-as-inspiration crutch, including Gregory House and Sherlock Holmes. But Colm Meaney may have set a record, as he was barely halfway through "needle in a haystack" before he was into the physics of his solution to find the downed runabout. Look, I'm not asking for my shows to mirror everyday life. But could we only use this trick when it's clever or interesting and can the actor at least sell the moments of inspiration between thinking of the offhand comment and final genius?

2 bars of gold-pressed latinum out of 5