I’m Alex Reed, and I’ve been a rabid Trekkie since I was seven years old. And as any lifelong Trekkie will tell you, one of life’s great joys is introducing people to Star Trek. With the release of the new series, Star Trek: Discovery, there are bound to be some newcomers tuning in to the franchise for the first time. But where to start exploring this gigantic, complex universe with over 700 TV episodes, thirteen movies, and fifty years of history? That’s what this column is for.
Every week, I’ll pick a Star Trek episode or movie that I consider essential, either because it introduces some key element of Star Trek lore, or it’s just brilliant on its own. I’ll move in chronological order of release, but beyond that, I might stop anywhere along the way. These aren’t meant to be reviews: God knows there are enough of those on the Internet. More like observations, explorations. In the spirit of Star Trek, let’s look at these TV shows and movies that have been discussed and rediscussed over the years and see what we find. I hope you enjoy the journey along with me. Let’s boldly go.
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Years ago, I was introducing a friend to Star Trek. The J.J. Abrams 2009 reboot movie had just come out, and it had piqued his interest. He’d only been familiar with Star Trek through the memes, the catchphrases assimilated from pop culture: “Beam me up, Scotty.” “He’s dead, Jim.” I showed him the original series’ second pilot episode, “Where No Man Has Gone Before.” Afterwards, I looked over and he gave a grunt of approval. “I didn’t realize Star Trek was about actual human issues.”
Star Trek has come to symbolize a set of shallow associations in pop culture: Kirk sleeps with the green chick, Spock is logical, Bones is grumpy. But when you find someone who’s genuinely “Trek-curious” and sit them down to watch the show, they lean in, listen a little harder, and get that look of understanding, of discovery. “Oh! This is about something!”
Which means that everything’s going according to plan.
Wagon Train to the Stars
Star Trek was always meant to be an experience that worked through camouflage. When series creator Gene Roddenberry was developing the concept in 1964, the TV landscape was as radically different as the surface of Deneb IV. Only three channels, with primetime dominated by westerns and cop shows, mainstream programming aimed straight at white, Christian Middle America. Says Gene Roddenberry about the television landscape of the time:
“You really couldn’t talk about anything you cared to talk about… It seemed to me that perhaps if I wanted to talk about sex, religion, politics, make some comments against Vietnam and so on, that if I had similar situations involving these subjects happening on other planets to little green people, indeed it might get by and it did.”
And that was Star Trek. A show that at first glance was about starships, lasers, and little green people. But look closely enough, and it could be about anything.
As any screenwriting pitch class will tell you, the easiest way to pitch a TV show or movie is to compare it to a previous TV show or movie, but with a twist. And so Star Trek was famously pitched to the networks as “Wagon Train to the Stars,” a catchy phrase that played off the popularity of the TV western. Wagon Train was a long-running TV show about a pioneer caravan slowly traveling west, and Star Trek would borrow the Western’s pioneer spirit, the feel of being on the edge of civilization. However, the series’ first pilot episode, “The Cage,” went a little too far over the edge.
“The Cage”
Filmed in 1964 and featuring an almost totally different cast from the series’ eventual makeup, “The Cage” is a handsomely produced sci-fi film with thoughtful themes and imaginative settings. It would also have made white Christian Middle America blush. Leonard Nimoy, one of only two cast members who would remain with the show, later pointed out that the plot of “The Cage,” in which Captain Christopher Pike is held captive by an alien race and forced through a series of illusions, is basically a succession of sexual fantasies. The aforementioned green chick makes her first appearance in an erotic dance meant to coerce Pike into fathering a race of zoo-born humans with his cellmate (seriously). There’s nothing wrong with a little sex, of course, but Gene Roddenberry was well known for his, shall we say, amorous attitude, and his sensibilities rubbed NBC executives the wrong way.
But “The Cage” also failed as a pilot for more prosaic reasons. Except for the spry, expressive Leonard Nimoy, the cast is bland and nondescript, even Jeffrey Hunter as Pike, whose take on a starship captain is serious and dour. For all its intricate writing and dazzling production values (for the time, of course), “The Cage” ended up being about the idea of Star Trek. It was not a ship and crew you wanted to spend time with every week.
In a remarkable display of faith in the Star Trek concept, however, NBC said: “Try again.” Pilots are made all the time, and the rate of culling is brutal. Perhaps a quarter ever make it to broadcast. But by throwing Star Trek a lifeline, NBC saved it from being burned off as a TV movie of the week, or shelved in a dusty vault. The show would be given another chance to retool and develop. This time, it would strike gold.
Enter Shatner and Nimoy
Star Trek’s foundation may have been excellent writing, but it took the magical chemistry between two actors to help it take flight. Subsequent iterations have amply proved that the Star Trek concept transcends any one set of characters. But in its early development, the series needed a spokesperson, an ambassador for the audience. It needed someone to light up the screen. It needed William Shatner.
Before his career-defining role as Captain James T. Kirk, before the endless seas of staccato voice parodies, William Shatner was a journeyman actor with an impressive roster of film and TV credits under his belt. He brought the essential spark to Star Trek, the life. Nimoy later remarked that without the energy and dynamism of Shatner’s performance to play off of, Spock would’ve been flat and dull. Though Shatner is restrained in Star Trek’s second pilot episode, still feeling out the role, he immediately brings a sense of energy that gives the material life.
The character of Spock was also undergoing changes. In “The Cage,” he’d been present as a background player, but his backstory was not established, and thus Nimoy plays him with a full range of emotions. In “Where No Man,” Spock is established as half-human, with a cold, implacable sense of logic. And though Nimoy is still settling into the character, and those eyebrows are a little more severe than usual, he finds the balance, especially in his later scenes with Kirk. For the first time, Shatner and Nimoy light up the screen together.
Where to begin with Star Trek?
A quick note about why I chose “Where No Man Has Gone Before” as the first subject of this column. The question of how to introduce a newcomer to Star Trek has always been tricky. J.J. Abrams’ first reboot movie is the most accessible, and its space fantasy action is a good gateway into the weightier, more thoughtful tone of the TV series. Star Trek’s first broadcast episode, “The Man Trap,” was selected by NBC because it had a monster in it (seriously), and though it makes a decent introduction, it’s not the “hookiest” episode. “The Cage,” even though it was later recut and repurposed as the two-part episode “The Menagerie,” doesn’t quite work, because it’s a totally different set of characters.
“Where No Man” isn’t perfect either. The sets and costumes are different. There’s no Bones, no Uhura, and Sulu and Scotty are peripheral. It’s serious and occasionally ponderous, whereas the show’s best episodes mixed action, comedy, and a strong theme with well-established characters. But as we’ll see, it establishes the Star Trek idea, and it’s the first time that Kirk and Spock share the screen together. If a newcomer likes “Where No Man,” then they’ll like Star Trek.
Introducing the Star Trek Idea
I wouldn’t blame modern TV viewers for being disoriented by the way Star Trek starts. The golden age of TV has conditioned viewers to expect proper introductions to characters, a sense of the cast coming together and starting their journey. But the attitude of a 1960s TV pilot was much different. Not “let’s watch how the gang gets together,” but instead, “this is what a typical episode of this series will look like.” So “Where No Man” has none of the expected introductions: no grand launching sequence of the Enterprise, no first meeting between Kirk and Spock. It just begins. The characters all know each other, and we have to get up to speed.
When the Star Trek season 3 Blu-Rays were released in 2009, they included two whopping bonus extras: original, uncut versions of “The Cage” and “Where No Man.” (For decades, the original color negative of “The Cage” was thought to be lost.) Only a minute or two of the latter was trimmed for broadcast, but those few minutes are revelatory. For the first time, I felt I was watching a proper introduction to the original Star Trek series. NBC inexplicably aired “Where No Man” as the third episode and cut this intro sequence, but with it restored, we finally have a clear explanation of the Star Trek idea, right at the start.
We fade in on a galaxy. Alexander Courage’s mysterious, moody score begins with a series of electronic pulses reminiscent of sonar pings, traveling into unexplored spaces. Kirk chimes in with narration:
“Enterprise log, Captain James Kirk commanding. We are leaving that vast cloud of stars and planets which we call our galaxy. Behind us, Earth, Mars, Venus, even our sun, are specks of dust. The question: what is out there in the black void beyond?”
The image lingers on an empty starfield, until the Enterprise, a tiny dot itself, slides in.
“Until now, our mission has been that of space law regulation, contact with Earth colonies, and investigation of alien life. But now, a new task: a probe out into where no man has gone before.”
Roddenberry would find a catchier, more succinct way to phrase it when the show’s title sequence was created. But this is the Star Trek idea. Exploring those vast spaces where no man, no one, has gone before.
“Terrible, having bad blood like that.”
Though set in the future, each incarnation of Star Trek reflects the cultural morays of when it was made. The conflict between Star Trek’s hopeful vision of the future and contemporary reality becomes clear in the next scene.
Kirk and Spock sit in a lounge playing three-dimensional chess. The dialogue establishes that Spock doesn’t feel “Earth emotions.” Kirk makes a move that catches Spock by surprise.
Kirk: “Certain you don’t know what irritation is?”
Spock: “The fact that one of my ancestors married a human female…”
Kirk: “Terrible having bad blood like that. But you may learn to enjoy it someday.”
In the final broadcast version, the last line was cut from that exchange. The omission speaks volumes.
When “Where No Man” was made, the Loving vs. Virginia Supreme Court decision that legalized interracial marriage was still two years away. Separation of the races wasn’t just an attitude; it was law. A significant portion of Americans were hostile to the idea of “racial mixing.” Yet here on TV in a prominent role was a character of mixed ancestry. Because that ancestry happened to be human and alien, it could be discussed openly, an example of Gene Roddenberry’s using sci-fi as camouflage. But someone at NBC decided this dialogue went too far in sanctioning that mixing. Suggesting that Spock would come to enjoy his mixed ancestry apparently offended the sensibilities of racists. As broadcast, Kirk’s line “terrible having bad blood like that” still plays as a joke, that the human blood is the bad blood. But without the clarifying line “you may learn to enjoy it,” it’s possible to miss the irony and read Kirk’s words literally, as a condemnation of mixed ancestry. It’s a tiny moment that passes by in seconds, but it speaks to how delicately Spock’s introduction needed to be handled in the America of 1965.
God Themes
The plot of “Where No Man” involves the Enterprise encountering an impassable energy barrier at the edge of the galaxy. In the process, two crew members, Gary Mitchell and Elizabeth Dehner, are zapped with energy and begin developing godlike powers. Kirk must decide how to handle these two demigods, while fighting his affection for Mitchell, a longtime friend.
Later in life, Gene Roddenberry would become a well-known agnostic with an aversion to organized religion. Almost as a rule, Star Trek episodes reflect secular, scientific values, and Roddenberry is reported to have told the writing staff of The Next Generation: “Every human in the 24th century is an atheist and better off for it.” But as many commentators have observed, Roddenberry was almost pathologically drawn to writing stories about gods: false gods, god images, beings with godlike powers.
“Where No Man” begins this obsession, with a willingness to play with Christian mythology that would be familiar to its audience. Late in the episode, Mitchell and Dehner create a symbolic Garden of Eden on a desolate planet, and even eat apples! One of the episode’s strongest themes, besides the obvious stated by Kirk: “absolute power corrupts absolutely,” is the danger of acquiring knowledge without the wisdom to use it well. As Mitchell’s powers grow, he becomes colder and more remote, ultimately irredeemable. But Kirk brings Dehner back from the edge by appealing to her humanity: “Hang on to being human for one minute longer,” and turning her against Mitchell. Kirk argues that Mitchell, with his “human frailties,” is incapable of handling the awesome power he’s been given, and that he and Dehner will eventually destroy each other. Star Trek always reckons with the paradox of humanity: our simultaneous weakness and greatness. In “Where No Man,” humanity’s weakness ruins our potential for godhood, and yet our greatness saves us from it.
“Walking Freezer Unit”
Roddenberry was a progressive man for his time, but he was no saint. His relations with women were complex; during the original series, he’d leave his first wife for actress Majel Barrett, but then stay with her for the rest of his life. He’d often employ the “casting couch” for female co-stars, yet he gave his secretary Dorothy Fontana the chance of a lifetime by making her Star Trek’s story editor. “Where No Man” reflects this tension in its portrayal of its female characters.
Roddenberry originally envisioned the “captain’s yeoman” as one of the series’ lead roles. Little more than the captain’s personal secretary, her main purpose was to be a beautiful woman on the bridge. The role was cast for “The Cage,” recast for “Where No Man,” recast yet again for the first season, then dropped altogether. In “Where No Man,” the woman of the week is Yeoman Smith, whose purpose in the episode is mainly to stand around and correct Kirk when he gets her name wrong. In the opening sequence (cut for the broadcast version), Mitchell literally follows her down a hallway leering, suggesting that even before getting godlike powers, he was already a creep.
Dehner receives similar Mad Men-style sexual harassment when Mitchell calls her a “walking freezer unit” (translation: “cold, hard bitch”) in earshot of everyone on the bridge. Worse, later on, she apologizes for her supposedly cold personality: “Women professionals tend to overcompensate.” But here’s where the paradox comes in. Dehner has an important role to play in the story; she makes decisions and has a strong point of view. Her humanity is ultimately what saves Kirk, when she decides to turn against Mitchell. In Kirk’s closing log, she receives his highest formal compliment: “Be it known she gave her life in the performance of her duty.” A TV episode can be both progressive and regressive at the same time: admit female crew members into the traditional sci-fi “boys’ club,” yet hold them at arms’ length. Respect their point of view, yet still treat them as objects. Early in Star Trek’s run, the series reflected a contemporary anxiety toward admitting women into the workplace.
The Galactic Barrier
So what’s up with that odd energy barrier at the edge of the galaxy anyway? What is it? Why is it there? The episode never answers the question. And remarkably, neither does the franchise.
Writer Samuel A. Peeples (the first of many writers to chafe at Roddenberry’s draconian rewrites) was inspired by the recently discovered Van Allen radiation belts around Earth. He posited that a similar energy barrier, just more massive in scale, would exist around our galaxy. But if so, why does that barrier imbue humans with godlike powers? Star Trek books and reference materials have answered this question, but unlike Star Wars, only the films and TV episodes are considered “canon.”
Without an onscreen explanation, the barrier serves a more thematic purpose. It reinforces the notion that the Enterprise crew is not prepared for what’s out there. Its presence at the edge of the galaxy seems to imply a warning: “don’t go further.” And indeed, the franchise doesn’t. The Enterprise encounters the barrier in two more episodes, and the rest of the Star Trek series never mention it, but it’s still assumed to be there. In one of its first episodes, this series about the unlimited potential of exploration puts a limit on that exploration. Even in the Star Trek universe, there are things that we frail humans shouldn’t know.
The Trek Begins
After Star Trek was picked up for its first season, Gene Roddenberry traveled to the World Science Fiction Convention in Cleveland (yes, once upon a time, there was only one sci-fi convention in the world) to build buzz among hardcore sci-fi fans. He carried a copy of “Where No Man Has Gone Before.” Composed of a few hundred die-hard devotees, these were the people who read Bradbury, Asimov, and Matheson religiously. Smart, original sci-fi was mainly the province of literature. Movies and TV shows mainly went for the cheap thrills: monsters, rockets, lasers. So when some Hollywood guy showed up with another sci-fi TV pilot, the crowd was skeptical. Allan Asherman, attendee at the convention, picks up the story of Star Trek’s first public screening (emphasis mine):
“There must have been 500 people in that audience. When the Enterprise hit the galactic barrier, 1,000 eyes opened wide. Five hundred respiratory rates accelerated with that wonderful pleasure that comes over lovers of all things when they see their favorite subject being treated well. … [Roddenberry] asked for the audience’s opinion; we gave him a standing ovation… We came close to lifting the man upon our shoulders and carrying him out of the room.”
Thus began the continuing love affair between Star Trek and its fans. For me, this middle sentence is the most important. Beneath the memes and catchphrases, Star Trek is an earnest, sincere attempt to reckon with humanity and our place in the universe. My favorite moment in “Where No Man” isn’t the action pyrotechnics or weighty philosophy; it’s a simple, human gesture. Just before the Enterprise heads into the barrier, Mitchell reaches back and Yeoman Smith takes his hand. It’s an acknowledgement of vulnerability, of one basic truth. “We’re heading into the unknown, but we’re going there together.”
Next: The series moves from exploring space to exploring its characters’ interior spaces in “The Naked Time.”