On Picard, Vashti, and a very good start

The fourth episode of Picard drops tomorrow, and on this blog, I’ve posted…nothing. I keep thinking I need to produce a definitive review, a profound expression of the regard in which I already hold this series. Clearly, that’s not happening, so I’ll just go with some (pretty nifty, I think) speculation that hit me this morning, and some random, quick-and-dirty reactions.

My speculation about “Absolute Candor” and beyond:

Here’s the official episode synopsis:

“The crew’s journey to Freecloud takes a detour when Picard orders a stop at the planet Vashti, where Picard and Raffi relocated Romulan refugees 14 years earlier. Upon arrival, Picard reunites with Elnor (Evan Evagora), a young Romulan he befriended during the relocation. Meanwhile, Narek continues his attempts to learn more about Soji while Narissa’s impatience with his lack of progress grows."

Vashti. Hmmm.

Ahasuerus sends Vashti away
by Marc Chagall

In the biblical book of Esther, Vashti was the first wife of King Ahasuerus. She was banished for refusing to obey the king's command to appear at his banquet to show off her beauty. Vashti was replaced by Esther, the secret Jew who ultimately saved her people from the genocidal Haman.

So is this story, in which the fate of the Romulans features prominently, in some way a parallel to the book of Esther, about the fate of the Jews, exiled from their homeland and living as unwelcome strangers in a hostile land? It might sound farfetched, were it not for the presence of Michael Chabon. Because if there’s one thing we know about Chabon, author of The Yiddish Policeman’s Union, it’s that he knows how to weave Jewish texts and lore into amazing speculative fiction.

According to interviews with Evan Evagora, his character, Elnor, whom we'll meet in "Absolute Candor," was raised by a sect of women known for their extreme honesty and integrity. Like Vashti, they have been forced from their home world and had to settle elsewhere. Meanwhile, Soji’s true nature is hidden, Esther-like, waiting to emerge at some key moment. If this parallel is correct, she will save an entire people. The ex-Borg? The Romulans? Both? (And wouldn't it be cool for Vashti and Esther to team up?)

So if Soji is Esther, is Narek Haman, the villain with the secret plan to destroy an entire people? Or is he Mordechai, the guy who’s going to activate Soji/Esther’s secret at the key moment to save an entire people?

Or am I crazy? I tend to pick up on Old Testament references and then carry them much farther than the writers ever do. I guess we’ll find out.

But whether any of this pans out, of this I'm certain: Ever since DS9, Star Trek has been trying to do "misfits, freethinkers, and outlaws try to change a broken system from within," but it’s never quite worked. Sometimes they couldn’t really commit to telling that story; sometimes they just failed to come up with a compelling story to tell; sometimes they got bogged down in moral grey areas. I’m thinking Picard might be the one to finally do it right.

My standing-on-one-foot review of Picard thus far: 

This is the Star Trek that Patrick Stewart has always deserved. It’s still about having a strong moral compass and the courage to act despite the odds – but without TNG's hammy acting, excruciatingly dull speechifying, pollyanish world view, and mystifying portrayal of the corporate board room as a beacon of hope for the future of humanity. More to the point, a decent actor should get to deliver dialogue that isn't cringeworthy, and Picard's is far from it.

The new characters:

I’m particularly fond of the way the new characters have been introduced, with enough clarity to feel like we can get a handle on who they are, but not so simplistically as to be 2-D caricatures.

Raffi Musiker: Like a lot of fans, I fell in love with her instantly because her flaws are so relatable. She was so right, trying so hard, and got so shafted. Now she’s damaged, and it shows. Plus she ticks my biggest box: a woman over 50 not identified or limited by her age. That said, though, I would appreciate if, now and then, Star Trek's tough women weren’t characterized as formed by trauma and in need of healing. (See: Tasha Yar, Kira Nerys, B'Elanna Torres.)

Cristóbal Rios: Coming into Picard as a Santiago Cabrera fan, Rios would have had to be a colossal disaster for me not to stan him, but I’m pleased to say that so far, he’s made it easy. Rios, having obviously been through hell, has literally compartmentalized himself, consigning his vulnerable, open, hopeful, trusting side to a virtual surrogate, and I love him all the more for it. What's not to love about the loner intellectual with a mysterious past who wants nothing more than to believe in something again?

Agnes Jurati: Picard’s answer to Discovery's Tilly. She's just so likeable. Too likeable, some might say. In fact, some seem to think Raffi’s suspicions are a tip-off that something is amiss with good ol' Agnes, but I think she’s exactly what it says on the tin: brilliant and dedicated, but naïve. She's barely entered the story when she's shaken to the core by her first killing, so either she's a great liar, or we're seeing the scales fall from her eyes. 

Soji: Right now I'm betting on this Esther thing, and I won’t be surprised if she’s part of the intrepid crew by the end of the season. Picard needs his Data. But obviously there are a lot of plot twists to get through first, and I could be dead wrong, because I usually am.

Last thing:

Much as it pains me to say it, Picard has so far proven more intriguing, thought-provoking, and just plain fun than Discovery, which has gone along by fits and starts. Discovery's moral compass in season 1 was having trouble finding north, and remained wobbly in season 2. It has great characters, but they often feel weirdly detached from their story. (Why anyone is dealing with Mirror Georgiou as anything other than an existential threat is beyond me.) Being a much bigger fan of DS9 and ENT than TNG and VOY, it feels odd to prefer Picard to Discovery, but there you have it. I suspect this has everything to do with the fact that Discovery suffered from show-runner turnover in its development, while Picard benefitted from stability and -- well, Chabon.

Who is Darius Tanz?

Darius Tanz is the protagonist of the short-lived Salvation, yet another sci fi show that deserved a longer run, or at the very least, cult-hit status. An asteroid is coming that will cause an extinction-level event on Earth. Simple premise, briskly paced, loads of suspense, cliffhangers that keep you watching. Well written and acted, with good production values and timely themes, even if the plot shovels it on a bit thick at times. Bonus: Santiago Cabrera.

Also, as it turns out, Darius Tanz is the anti-John Galt.

SPOILERS. Read on at your own risk.

Darius Tanz, handsome, brilliant radical individualist, learns that nothing matters without human connection, a lesson more EM Forster than Ayn Rand. His plan to save humanity by selecting supermen for his ark turns out to be the way of the bad guys. (Why exactly was Jillian going along with that again?) The real John Galt, Darius’ uncle, motivated by self-interest and greed, has been manipulating him all along. In fact, the great Darius turns out to have been wrong about everything. In the end, nothing he’s done over two seasons has actually changed the outcome in any way, with the possible exception of his final act, stopping Harris from launching the nukes – and one suspects that, even had they launched, the mighty Samson would still have arrived. 

Also, I may be the only person to have watched this series who likes where it ended: Our heroes confronting the universe’s next great puzzle.
Extra bonus for fans of common romantic fanfic tropes. Again, read on at your own risk.

Not only do the writers straight up use fanfic’s favorite trope to get the protagonists into bed (captured, fed disinhibiting drugs, locked in a room together), but they do it after using another favorite trope as a warm-up (sharing a hotel room with one bed), and then for good measure another one (posing undercover as a married couple, have to kiss to make it convincing), and I for one applaud every one of these bold choices.

On Picard, fan-shaming, and Aramis in Space

The premiere of Star Trek: Picard is around the corner. While most fans are going gaga about the return of Riker, Data, Seven of Nine, et al, I’m not. TNG is my least favorite Star Trek, and, while I have a healthy respect for the character of Picard, I’ve lived through enough Star Trek sequels, prequels, and reboots not to have a Pavlovian drooling response to each and every one of them.

And yet I am counting down the days to this premiere with a level of fannish excitement I haven’t felt in years. It’s a pleasant feeling, yes. But it’s a guilty pleasure, because it also triggers my fannish shame. You know what I mean: that little voice in your head that prevents you from mentioning your fandom hobby on job interviews or blind dates. Granted, culturally, this is less of a thing than it used to be. I’m old enough to remember the pre-Star Wars era, when the word Trekkie was never spoken affectionately by anyone who wasn’t one.  When I reached high school, I made a conscious vow to myself never to mention Star Trek to anyone unless they brought it up first. That little shame-voice has been with me for a long, long time.

It’s the voice that’s telling me it’s dumb to squee about…

ARAMIS IN SPACE.

That’s right. Santiago Cabrera, who played Aramis in the BBC’s The Musketeers, of which I am rather a fan, is playing Chris Rios in the latest iteration of Star Trek, a franchise of which I am a huge dork of a fan. In my head, it’s not called Picard. It’s called ARAMIS IN SPACE. (Always rendered in all caps, because that’s how you have to say it. Like Don LaFontaine.)

So now seems like a good time to interrogate that little voice. What’s with the shame? Why does this feel extra exciting, but also extra dumb?

Because conflating a character with the actor who plays them feels so…childish. Who hasn’t felt fremdschämen (an excellent German word meaning the feeling of shame for someone else who has done something embarrassing) when a fan comes to the mic at a con and asks an actor, “In season 2, episode 13, why didn’t you just reverse the polarity?” When a kid does that, it’s cute, but when an adult does it, we cringe, as though the shame of this person’s weak grasp on reality is going to rub off on us. Juvenile behavior is a big embarrassment trigger for most people, I think. We spend a lot of time and effort building adult levels of self control, and shame is the biggest weapon in that arsenal. If it weren’t, we’d all be eating candy for breakfast and playing video games in our underwear all day.

As kids, we don’t have a strong understanding of how the world works, including how movies and TV are made. (For those of us who grew up in the pre-Internet era, all the more so. At my first Star Trek convention, age 12, mid-1970s, I learned that scenes are shot out of order, retakes are common, stunt doubles do fights, and the doors on the Enterprise set don’t open by themselves or make a “whoosh” sound.) To a kid, the face a character wears IS the character. The actor wears the same face; ergo, they are the same person. Simple. Twelve-year-old me would never have imagined that, decades later, I’d embrace anyone who is not Leonard Nimoy as Spock.

 But here I am, a fan of both Zachary Quinto’s and Ethan Peck’s versions, evidence, I suppose, of a more mature understanding. As we grow up, we come to understand, intellectually, at least, that the characters we love are not entirely, or even mostly, the creations of actors, but of writers. The actor’s job is to embody someone else’s invention. We realize that good acting is vital to bringing the story to life, but that, while characterization is a collaborative effort, the essence of a character already exists on the page.

And yet…

At a con, or a red carpet, or anywhere popular entertainment is celebrated, it’s the actors who get the most exuberant reception, not the writers, directors, or even show runners. We respond viscerally to the faces of the characters we love (or love to hate). Deep down inside, each of us has a wide-eyed child who believes the person standing before us is a true hero, a foul traitor, a hilarious clown, a great lover, a tragic martyr – whatever. That’s why we whoop and holler for them, while the off-screen people who are, objectively, more responsible for the shape of our beloved stories get a more restrained reception.

Which explains why this impulse is a little embarrassing. We know these actors and their lives are nothing like the characters with whom we’re mildly obsessed. We know that the process of making the stories we love, of shooting a movie or a TV show, is nothing like living out the story. We know this person standing before us can’t fly, punch through walls, do magic, solve mysteries, destroy worlds, time travel, or for that matter, even pull off an exciting car chase. But inside each of us, there’s this little place of pure imagination where they absolutely can. It’s the place where the characters actually exist and the fiction has reality. Within that place, the real-world rule – that the one wearing a person’s face IS that person – applies. It’s not that we don’t see the boundary between reality and fantasy; it’s that we choose to immerse ourselves unreservedly in the fantasy. We allow ourselves to cross that boundary and experience the fantasy so viscerally that, when we cross back, it feels like an actual memory rather than a purely mental exercise.

Fan-shaming is largely about the perception that fandom is an indicator of arrested development – an immature understanding of, and even withdrawal from, the real world. (There are whole dissertations to be written about the gendering of that disdain, and its long history. Not for nothing were novels once seen as intellectually inferior literature that appealed mostly to women. But I digress.)  Growing up is supposed to be about leaving childish things behind, right?

Except, not really. Sure, we do have to learn to compartmentalize a bit. But what would human beings be without the power to vividly imagine things they haven’t directly experienced? How would we communicate, invent, create, empathize? And what would imagination be if we didn’t allow it the full emotional impact of real, lived events?

The Gradgrinds of this world, people of a sterile, impoverished mentality, lacking imagination, or more likely, afraid of giving voice to whatever shriveled, hardened stump of imagination they have left after a lifetime of neglect, will always be with us.

But fuck it.

I can’t wait for ARAMIS IN SPACE.

(PS -- This wonderful Rolling Stone interview with Michael Chabon, in which he talks a bit about his own experience with fan-shaming, was published a couple of days after I wrote this. I feel so validated.)