DS9: Duet and the Jewish Question

"Duet" is a brilliant episode -- DS9's first truly great one, and one of the best of any ST. ("What you call genocide, I call a day's work." That is a fantastic line by any standard.)

 But as I watched it again, I found myself wondering how it came to pass that DS9 incorporated Jewishness in such divergent and discordant ways. How in god's name did the same series morph every negative Jewish stereotype ever into the greedy, cowardly, lascivious, latinum-and-shiksa-craving Ferengi, and also transform the Holocaust into the Bajoran/Cardassian conflict? How did this crazy thing come about? Googling, I found this fascinating piece, with this insight: "To me, DS9 was largely about the Jewish diaspora. Cardassians are Nazis, Ferengis represent Jews as the world sees them (i.e., anti-Semitism), and Bajorans represent Jews as they see themselves (i.e., Israel)."

Now that has more than a soupcon of truth. But it got me thinking....

DS9 is Star Trek breaking away from Roddenberry's legendary, meshuganah commitment to a conflict-free universe. It brings back the untidiness and rough edges that make characters and situations believable and relatable. And intentionally or not -- I tend to think, mostly not -- the Jewishness of it is revealing in its messiness, too. We are outraged at the antisemitic caricature of the Ferengi, and yet somehow they refuse to be defined by our pearl-clutching. Quark just won't stay in that bottle. Armin Shimerman won't let you reduce Quark to the ugly stereotype that is so clearly his starting point. There's too much humor, exuberance, and sheer humanity about him. Who doesn't like Quark? NOBODY. Kira may embody the Jewish resistance, the Haganah, the early pioneer spirit, but she's kind of...well, dull. Quark is irrepressible. On a gut level, we know that, for all Starfleet's hoity-toity "we've evolved beyond money and materialism," and for all Bajor's spiritualism and feisty can-do attitude, you want to stick close to the guy with a backup plan. The universe could not possibly be that sincere, earnest, and perfect. The goyim and the idealists may deride the merchants, but we all know it's because they haven't figured out how not to need them.

Which is not to say that playing in the sandbox of racist stereotypes and casual bigotry is to be hand-waved. Too much about DS9's Jewishness feels accidental, like the writers didn't know how many cliches, inane conventions, and outright bigotry they were regurgitating. I will always wonder how it is that no one stood up in the writer's room and said, "Houston, we have a problem."  DS9 is a mess of contradictions that seem to have been created, at best, by shockingly unaware people. Nevertheless, that messiness somehow beats the hell out of TNG's sterile, WASPy, unconvincing niceness. They imitate, co-opt, distort, and conflate -- and it's so much better than the alternative.

One last point: As Disco's writers explore the ghosts of Star Trek past, they are clearly in the market for the aspects of the ST universe that don't quite fit the idyllic myth -- the exceptions that prove the rule. The Mercenary Outsider who doesn't buy into Starfleet's selfless altruism clearly fits that bill. Quark has a precursor: Harry Mudd. "I'm not siding with anyone. But I sure as hell understand why the Klingons pushed back. Starfleet arrogance. Have you ever bothered to look out of your spaceships down at the little guys below? If you had, you'd realize that there's a lot more of us down there than there are you up here. And we're sick and tired of getting caught in your crossfire." Without a doubt, we've not heard the last of that weltanschauung.

Ten years on, the shine is off Gene Hunt

I just woke up to the insane, egomaniacal, racist ravings of the President of the United States and realized (among other things) exactly why it's a lot harder to see the appeal of Gene Hunt in 2017 than it might have been in 2006, or to buy into the idea of now-times being enlightened but dull, while then-times were Neanderthal but exciting.

The problematic nostalgia of Gene Hunt

Halfway through season 2 of Life on Mars, I feel ambivalent. I get the appeal. I feel the love. It draws me in, and when I finish an episode, I can't start the next one fast enough. But at the same time, Gene Hunt is making me really uncomfortable. He's unapologetically flawed, yet charismatic, visceral, elemental. He's meant to have this seductive power to entice me to compromise my modern sensibilities and give in to his charms. It bothers me.

Sure, he could just be a mental construct, Sam Tyler's imagined ghost of policemen past. (Reminder: I haven't finished watching. If this becomes clear down the road, I don't yet know, and please don't tell me.)  But on a Doylist level, that doesn't matter. Whether through conscious imitation or artistic osmosis, the Gene Hunt type has infiltrated the period cop drama: the old-school boss who uses primitive, ethically dubious, but effective tough-guy methods that get results, contrasted with a younger, more enlightened protagonist who embraces modern, intellectual methods. Fred Thursday in Endeavour, vs. the young Morse; Thomas Brackenreid in Murdoch Mysteries, vs. William Murdoch; Geordie Keating in Grantchester, vs. Sidney Chambers. Yeah, the tough guys are routinely chastened, but their hearts of gold remain undiminished.

This seems to be a narrative way of having your cake and eating it, too. We self-righteously relate to the younger man, who represents a civilized approach we see as representing our contemporary values. But we vicariously thrill to the emotional power of the older character, who seems to be more in touch with his gut instincts and who acts without overthinking. His biases, which we understand to be emblematic of his times, are reduced to quaint quirks that allow us to adopt an attitude of moral superiority. Homophobia, misogyny, and racism are too easily written off because we're meant to sense some deeper moral compass that bends toward justice. The fact that the old-school mentor is inevitably characterized as more masculine than the younger, more cerebral character is also troubling. Raw masculinity is portrayed as problematic but seductive in its strength and directness, while the methods of the new man, by comparison, come off as a bit indecisive, punctilious, compromising, and weak. Sure, the new guy tends to be right a lot, but the boss's methods work often enough to remind us to respect the supposedly practical wisdom of experience.

 (Interestingly, the dynamic looks very different when the protagonist is female, as in Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries or Peggy Carter; you can't muster enough sympathy for a hypermasculine sexist pig if it's a woman who has to put up with him, I guess. Also interesting: In all four of the series mentioned above, the major female characters are linked to the younger, sensitive man. The wives of the older men are minor characters whose stories play out only in relation to their husbands -- not happily, but also not centrally to the main narrative. Gene Hunt's wife is never even seen at all, a too-convenient narrative elision.)

I'd love to see a show that tweaks this formula, possibly by providing more serious consequences for antediluvian attitudes. (Maybe Joan Thursday's story is that in Endeavour? But if so, I'm not convinced Fred gets it. And don't get me started on Margaret in Grantchester.)

More theories. They're all I've got. SPOILERS!

OK, so we take as given that Lorca intentionally brought the Discovery to another universe, for all the reasons laid out here.

1. If Lorca's place of origin is wherever the Discovery just jumped to, why assume it's the same mirror universe we've seen in Star Trek previously? Infinite permutations, the man said. If Lorca has never seemed villainously evil, perhaps it's because he's not from THAT mirror universe, but a different one. One that's less evil, but where the Klingon war has gone very, very badly. Which brings me to the next point.

2. Ever since the whole mirror-universe thing came up, I've been assuming that Lorca gets here accidentally, and that his interest in Discovery is exclusively for its ability to travel between the universes (whether because he wanted to do so, or because he wanted to prevent others from doing so). The fact that, after its last jump, Discovery is surrounded by Klingon wreckage indicates that they're having their own Klingon war over there. If Lorca's sole goal is to get back to his own universe, why does he wait this long? Or is there something else he needs to accomplish first? Like maybe finding a way to break the Klingon cloaking device and bring it back with him? So maybe that's been his mission all along -- that's why he came. That's why he needed this ship, this crew -- and Burnham. Not just for the spore drive, but for their ability to solve this specific problem. 

3. OR.....What if Lorca is NOT from the other universe? When Discovery first arrives, he seems genuinely surprised by the Klingon wreckage and genuinely interested in someone telling him where the hell they are. Maybe he's never been there before. Maybe somehow he has the coordinates, but he truly doesn't know where they'll take him or what he'll find when he gets there. But why? Why is he hell bent on going to this one spot in the multiverse? The single weirdest thing about Lorca's story is that he killed his own crew rather than let them fall into the hands of the Klingons. So what if that's a cover story for what really happened? Maybe all this is about rescuing the crew of the Buran, who aren't dead, but have somehow slipped into another universe. Maybe somehow plotting all those jumps has allowed Lorca to figure out the coordinates where his crew are. He knows that Starfleet will never let him turn all his attention to rescuing them, so he made up a cock-and-bull story as a cover while he pursued this secret agenda, because he refuses to give up on his crew. He's been on a dual mission: Win the war and rescue his crew. THIS IS OFFICIALLY MY NEW FAVORITE THEORY.

This just made the hiatus that much longer

An eagle-eyed fan found this: "Lorca totally hits an override command when he puts in the coordinates for where they are jumping to next. Seriously, this happens fast but if you go back and watch it, and pause when Lorca is punching in the coordinates you’ll glimpse a list of Spore Jumps, and then a command that says: OVERRIDE, LORCA, G. SPORE JUMP 133— UNKNOWN."

So I was right that he’s from another universe, or at the very least is aware of another universe, but wrong that he’s been trying to avoid going back. Now he’s back there, so what’s his game? I still feel he’s not just a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He did, after all, stick around long enough to basically end the Klingon war. He protected the Pahvans rather than throw them under the bus and manipulate the situation to just steal their natural transmitter. He did the right thing. But what’s his private agenda? I don’t think it’s as simple as just getting home. Maybe also rescuing his doppleganger and sending Discovery home with her “true” captain? Assuming I was wrong about that Lorca having actually died with the crew of the Buran? Because I really hope the thing about having killed his own crew isn’t true.

I'm not ashamed to admit that I really, really want Lorca -- the Lorca we've been watching -- to have an honorable reason for all the shit he's done. I suppose it's possible that he's not actually from the mirror universe, but has some good reason to want to go there -- but that seems unlikely. Still, even if his hidden agenda consists entirely of getting home, he made sure to defeat the Klingons and end the war first -- he didn't have to do that. But at this point, it seems likely that, if there is a Captain Lorca next season, it won't be this Captain Lorca, and I'm kind of bummed about that.

Into the hiatus I go

Disco’s midseason semi-finale, and a new bit of speculation I’ve seen floating around, leave me bursting with thoughts about all the clues and details that are starting to come together, and yet I feel compelled to start with the big picture, because it’s such an awesome big picture, which I don’t think people are talking about. And they should be.

The creators of this series have been telling us all along that they are dedicated to the positive vision of Star Trek. But the complexity of character and narrative, combined with the gritty subject matter of war and violence, have turned off a lot of old school Star Trek fans who think it’s too dark. Obviously, they’re entitled to think what they like about it. But that’s not what I’m seeing.

The title of this episode, “Into the Forest I Go,” begins a quote which continues, “to lose my mind and find my soul,”  widely attributed to naturalist and enlightened spirit John Muir. And that pretty much sums up every part of our story so far.

The unifying theme that's emerged over the first half of the season is anything but dark. It’s about becoming. It's about self-determination; self-realization; self…DISCOVERY. (Ha! See what I did there?) It’s about people who would seem to be one thing, but who choose to become something else. Something greater. Something better.

It’s about institutions — the Federation and Starfleet — trapped in circumstances that seem to be forcing them down a bad path, compelling them to be militaristic, defensive, paranoid about a hostile universe. But instead, they will choose something else — to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no one has gone before. (Ha! Did it again!) If we don’t actually hear those words by the end, I’ll eat my hat.

And institutions are made up of people whose journeys are microcosms of that larger one.

Michael Burnham. The first two episodes constitute a prologue in which she is trapped in the role of mutineer, which launches her on her journey of self-discovery. She is forced to redefine herself, to put aside self-recrimination, to abandon the idea that her identity was crystalized at one moment in time. She must move on.

Saru. Seemingly condemned by his very biology to a life of fear and timidity, he has chosen instead what must seem to his people to be an insane path: risk, danger, war, exploration, leadership. On Pahvan, he confronts a choice: to take the selfish route and numb his ever-present fear but contribute nothing to the larger mission, or to embrace his own nature and overcome his limitations. Only with some outside assistance does he choose the latter (Spock; “This Side of Paradise”; it’s really a beautiful version of the same story). Star Trek has a long history of giving us aliens whose characteristics reflect both the gestalt and the aspirations of our times; the Kelpiens are a brilliant addition to the line-up. (More about that here.)

Sylvia Tilly: Conventional wisdom wouldn’t cast a garrulous, nervous, socially awkward person in a leadership role (and from the 21st-century audience’s POV, a woman at that). But she’s chosen her own path. She’s going to be a captain, she’s going to figure this out, and somehow, we don’t doubt she’s going to make it. That’s why she’s the character everyone loves to love; her dedication to her self-actualization is pure, her ability to overcome obstacles is endearing, and her commitment is unwavering. We instinctively get that she is, in fact, exactly who we would want as captain.

(At this point, I feel like I ought to be able to say something about Hugh Culber’s character arc, but I can’t because there’s so little. So far he’s just a foil to Stamets, so all I’ll say is, writers, please give this character a story before he withers and dies on the vine, because Wilson Cruz deserves better.)

Now we get to the characters who are on more obscure, subversive journeys of self-realization: Lorca, Tyler, and Stamets. These are the characters who harbor secrets and about whom we’ve been teased with a lot of clues. At this point, the discussion of their arcs is all wrapped up with theories about what hasn’t yet been revealed, so from here on:

SPECULATION SPOILERS

Like the others, these three characters are tightly connected to the theme of self-determination, but with an added layer of mystery and deceit. They may not be who they say they are, or they may be turning into something they haven’t been before, but I suspect that each of their stories will hinge on one question: Who do they want to be?

Ash Tyler: The speculation here is pretty well known at this point: He’s Voq. (More here, with intriguing screen shots of Tyler’s flashback.) The common assumption, under which until now I’ve been operating as well, is that Voq was whisked off to L’Rell’s family house to be surgically altered to appear human. There, he either willingly adopted the identity of Ash Tyler or, as seems to be more likely given recent events, he had his mind altered to really believe he is Ash Tyler, and as such is a sleeper agent to be activated at some opportune moment. But the events of “Into the Forest I Go” suggest to me something else: Ash Tyler really is both Ash Tyler and also Voq. L’Rell took a real human prisoner named Ash Tyler and implanted Voq’s mind in him. She told Voq he would have to give up everything, and she didn't just mean temporarily: Voq is no more. His mind is now entirely buried within Ash Tyler’s, waiting to be awakened. Tyler’s memories of L’Rell’s sexual obsession with him are true; she loves Voq, and therefore has a pretty fucked up relationship with Tyler/Voq, which includes both torture and sex. Voq can’t be restored in his own body, and therefore Ash Tyler is her only connection to him. My prediction is that, when this all becomes clear to Tyler, he will battle the duality in his head and choose to be Ash Tyler. I also think that this will fuck him up really badly, and he’s going to need help. It’d be cool if that help comes from Admiral Cornwell, who is ALIVE! YAY!, and singularly qualified to help him. So perhaps he will not remain on Discovery and Burnham will lose her love, but not in the horrible way we thought she would.

Captain Lorca: Not only is he really determined to stay on Discovery, but he’s also been tracking the data from Stamets’ jumps really closely to figure out how the spore drive is creating access to the multiverse. After initially rejecting it, I’ve been leaning toward the Lorca-is-from-the-mirror-universe theory for awhile (ever since "Lethe," as I wrote about here, including speculation that Cornwell suspects he’s an imposter and the real Lorca actually died with the crew of the Buran). As I’ve pointed out, not everyone from the mirror universe is evil. Mirror Spock isn’t, and even more significantly, neither are the Halkans, the pacifist race who refuse to sell dilithium to the Federation (in our universe) or the Empire (in the mirror universe). In fact, while it’s been pointed out that the Pahvans in Disco are reminiscent of the Organians, a superior race that impose a peace treaty between the Klingons and the Federation in “Errand of Mercy,” in many ways they are more like the Halkans, pacifists unwilling to be caught up in someone else’s conflict in "Mirror, Mirror." Lorca is determined to defend them at all costs. What if he’s a mirror-universe guy who always secretly hated the brutality of the Empire, and who is trying to win this war for the Federation and protect the spore drive tech, not because he wants to get back to his own universe, but because he wants to make sure this universe doesn’t go down that same road? In other words, like all the others, Lorca’s arc is very much in keeping with the overarching theme; he is waging a personal battle to become who he chooses to be rather than what circumstances have made him -- to define himself on his own terms, and in so doing, to contribute to the greater good. Granted, this is all more of a stretch than Tyler; the clues aren’t as clear, and there are a whole lot of other possibilities. But I suspect we’re going to find out pretty quickly after the hiatus. At least, we’d better, because this suspense is fucking killing me.

UPDATE: An eagle-eyed fan found this: "Lorca totally hits an override command when he puts in the coordinates for where they are jumping to next. Seriously, this happens fast but if you go back and watch it, and pause when Lorca is punching in the coordinates you’ll glimpse a list of Spore Jumps, and then a command that says: OVERRIDE, LORCA, G. SPORE JUMP 133— UNKNOWN."

So I was right that he’s from another universe, or at the very least is aware of another universe, but wrong that he’s been trying to avoid going back or prevent others from there following him here. Now he’s back there, so what’s his game? I still feel he’s not just a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He did, after all, stick around long enough to basically end the Klingon war. He protected the Pahvans rather than throw them under the bus and manipulate the situation to just steal their natural transmitter, He did the right thing. But what’s his private agenda? I don’t think it’s as simple as just getting home. Maybe also rescuing his doppleganger and sending Discovery home with her “true” captain? Assuming I was wrong about that Lorca having actually died with the crew of the Buran? Because I really hope the thing about having killed his own crew isn’t true.

Lt. Stamets: This theory was new to me this morning and is already one I’m wholly committed to. This NEEDS to be true. Stamets is becoming the Traveler of TNG. It all makes sense, up to and including all that stuff Lorca says to him about being an explorer. So again, self-actualization; the process of becoming; embracing a new identity. It’s a beautiful piece of the larger theme. (Side note: It also immediately reminds me of Jack Harkness becoming the Face of Boe in Doctor Who, raising some interesting questions about casting non-hetero characters as creatures destined to transcend the limitations of human mortality and to attain the wisdom of the gods — a subject for another long post on another day.)

Only six more episodes to wrap all this up. I should mention here, I have a really shitty track record when it comes to speculation. So if even a fraction of all this comes to pass, I’ll be very pleasantly surprised.

One more thing: I think the criticism of Disco that’s most justified is that there’s a lack of cohesive world building, which leaves the audience feeling always a bit at sea. The big thematic, plot, and character arcs are there, but they feel like they’re sort of floating in a void. What’s the hierarchy on the Discovery? We know Dr. Culber, but he’s not the chief medical officer, right? Whom does he work for? Tilly is a cadet on the fleet’s prized ship. Whom does she report to? Are there other cadets? Tyler is head of security. Does he have a staff of — I dunno — security officers? Where does he work? Where does anyone work? Where is stuff in relation to other stuff — like, physically, how is this ship laid out, and how does everyone have a huge personal space with an awesome view of the stars? And what about all those characters we’ve now seen onscreen over and over again who seem really interesting, but who don’t even have names, unless you look them up online? Like, the entire bridge crew? It feels like the writers have been content to just vaguely sketch in a lot of stuff, and that’s disconcerting to the audience. I realize they have to achieve a lot in limited screen time, both in terms of story and showing off the cool fx we’re paying subscription fees for, but the nuts-and-bolts storytelling is critical. I hope we’re about to get a lot of that stuff filled in.

Let’s talk about Kelpiens

Without a doubt, Saru is one of Discovery’s breakout characters. Also without a doubt, this is due in large part to the amazing performance of Doug Jones, who imbues Saru with so much soul, dignity, and powerful poignancy that he tugs at your heartstrings every moment he’s onscreen. But there’s also something about his species. Star Trek is famous for giving us aliens who capture something about our times and embody them in a way that only sci fi can.

In the 1960s, a time of cultural upheaval, when Americans began looking at philosophies from other parts of the world for answers to our problems, we got Spock, the embodiment of the cool, emotionally subdued, exotic East. And yes, that is as problematic as it sounds. Star Trek’s reductive treatment of cultural characteristics was an inherently flawed affair, as has been much discussed over the years; it was progressive in its attempt at cultural inclusion, even as it was also offensive in its stereotypes. (And yes, I’m well aware of the Vulcans’ Jewish roots as well. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.)

And of course, there were the Klingons. Born of the Cold War, over time they morphed into the foreign threat of the day, but always with a patina of uncivilized aggression that suggests sketchy racial overtones. In Discovery, we see again the tension between this reductive approach (Disco Klingons suggest the religious animus of radical Islam) and the more progressive contemporary impulse to understand and recognize commonality with the enemy (they’re not just aggressive lunatics, they’re understandably threatened by the Federation’s inherent cultural imperialism and ham-fisted diplomacy that fails to grasp the nuances of Klingon culture).

The list goes on: the Borg, TNG's most terrifying aliens, created at a time when we began to fear that the depersonalizing effects of technology might be catastrophic; the Cardassians, a highly successful, authoritarian, hegemonic race from an era when American dominance was beginning to flag; the Xindi, a post-9/11 existential threat to Earth; the Ferengi, emblematic of the ultra-capitalist, materialistic, me-generation boom years (whose disturbing resemblance to racist caricatures of Jews has been much remarked upon); etc. All things considered, Star Trek has an impressive track record of creating carefully differentiated, meaningful alien races.

Which brings us back to Saru and the Kelpiens, a species bred as prey, attuned to threat, sensitive to the coming of death, always in fear.

Welcome to 2017, the age of American anxiety.

• Generalized anxiety; a constant companion, especially among younger people, manifesting in many ways and taking up an enormous amount of everyone's energy. It’s the hallmark of an entire generation, certainly in America, and arguably elsewhere.
• The anxiety of marginalized groups: people of color, immigrants, LGBTQ, the poor, Muslims, Jews, women, and more. All feeling constantly under attack, threatened by forces both institutional and cultural. Always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Voicing their concerns in ever greater numbers, but somehow never seeming to make a dent. 
• Political anxiety; the horrifying spectacle of an America led by an incompetent, immoral, unhinged fear-monger who scapegoats every vulnerable group and distorts reality in order to manipulate his fear-driven base. And not just in America; the spread of propaganda, doublethink, and division the world over in service of the consolidation of power in the hands of an oligarchy.
• Fear; the sense that we are not safe. Mass killers striking without warning. Gun proliferation. School lockdown drills. Data breaches and identity theft. The cognitive dissonance of security measures that are meant to keep us safe, but feel more like violations themselves. 
• Economic anxiety; a feeling of financial insecurity that haunts all but the wealthiest.
• Epistemic anxiety; the sense that we are losing our ability to function as a society because we no longer have a shared understanding of reality. My facts are not your facts; my evidence is not your evidence; my truth is not your truth.

In this age of anxiety, the Kelpiens, beings whose defining attribute is fear, which they have elevated to a superpower (not a coincidence that the same theme appears in Doctor Who just a couple of years earlier), strike a deep chord. Who among us doesn't have metaphoric threat ganglia? Once again, Star Trek aliens turn our TV screens into mirrors that reflect us: our culture, our world view, and our sense of self.

But like the Star Trek aliens who have come before, this reductive exercise isn’t without its problems. What are the implications of getting us to identify with a species whose DNA dooms them to victimization? In the time of Black Lives Matter, Dreamers, Me Too, Pride, etc. — do we really want to be summed up by an alien race that was bred as prey -- or for that matter, that was bred at all? I'm sure that’s a question destined to be much debated as Discovery consolidates its position in the Star Trek universe.

The price of peace

“Let me tell you about scared. Your heart is beating so hard, I can feel it through your hands. There's so much blood and oxygen pumping through your brain, it's like rocket fuel. Right now, you could run faster and you can fight harder, you could jump higher than ever in your life. And you're so alert, it's like you can slow down time. What's wrong with scared? Scared is a superpower. It's your superpower. There is danger is this room, and guess what? It's you! You feel it?”

Wasn’t that a beautiful moment in the Star Trek Discovery episode “Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum”? Oh wait…

Seriously, I have to believe that Kirsten Beyer took some inspiration for Saru’s story from the Doctor Who episode “Listen,” which is absolutely fine by me, as it fit perfectly, not just with Saru’s bred-as-prey, ruled-by-fear character, but also with a major Disco theme: learning to embrace your flaws, turn your weaknesses into strengths, and accept that, without the things that have hurt you, you wouldn’t be who you are. This has emerged in every single character: Burnham’s emotional repression, Tilly’s atypical social manner, Lorca’s closed-off hardness, Stamets’ pigheadedness, and Tyler’s…well, we’ll see about Tyler. At any rate, Saru’s ass just got kicked hard. Given the opportunity to just walk away from his fear, he jumped at it, and now he’s got to live with that knowledge. But presumably, also with the knowledge that he must embrace who he is, fear and all, in order to be a great Starfleet officer.

Since Disco is very much about Burnham’s journey, there’s a sense that we get all this from her POV, even when narratively we move away from her. It’s almost as though everyone else’s experiences and lessons are hers, too. As the other characters gain insight and self-awareness, so does she. We started this story watching her be completely torn down, brick by brick, and we can never escape the sense that we are watching her rebuild herself better, stronger, with greater self-awareness.

That’s the beauty of the way Disco is telling its story, starting with the Shenzhou. It takes patience to let the story unspool, but I’m finding that the rewards so far are worthwhile. The suspense of not quite knowing whether a development is good or bad, a character is trustworthy, or a choice was correct is enjoyable as long as you feel the payoff is coming. The payoff doesn’t have to be a simple answer, or the answer you were hoping for, but it does have to provide a sense of closure. So far, I’m optimistic that that’s what we’re going to get.

Also: The whole in-your-weaknesses-lies-your-strength theme? Now where would be a fascinating place to explore that? Maybe, like, an alternate universe where characteristics like empathy, compassion, and mercy are seen as weaknesses? Just saying.

Also again: L’Rell wants to get over to the Discovery awfully bad, doesn’t she? I wonder who is over there that she’s so eager to hook up with, and what they could possibly be up to, hmmm?

Which brings me to the question of the fall finale, as they’re promoting next week’s episode. They’ve set up three big reveals, and I really hope we get at least one of them. There’s Lorca and his mysterious motives (about which I’ve speculated extensively and have already been proven at least partly wrong — I, and I suspect a good chunk of the audience, want so badly to see him justify himself and emerge a sympathetic character, which is a tribute to Jason Isaacs’ charismatic portrayal — but his actions toward Cornwell remain unredeemed, and things are just not looking good on that front); Stamets and his mysterious Sporegasm®-induced, mirror-related condition; and Tyler, who’s been throwing off not-who-he-says-he-is signals right and left. The only prediction I’m willing to make at this point is that, whatever next week brings, Burnham is going to be using everything she’s learned since the Shenzhou to save the day…unless the day-saving is entirely reserved for the latter half of the season. Either way, it’s going to be a loooooong hiatus.

Disco is more TOS than TNG

Riley Silverman writes:

"For the first time, I suddenly know what it must have felt like to be someone in 1987 who saw the debut of Next Generation after a lifetime of love for the only Star Trek they’d ever known. To be like the people who were handed this strange new series with a brand new Enterprise that looked more like a space hotel than a Federation starship and told 'Nope, this is Star Trek now, deal with it.'”

A-yep.

Many TNG-era fans never really understood why TOS broke through all the pop-culture noise of its day to become a cultural touchstone, and why it didn't just attract fans, but inspired the very invention of fandom. They see TOS through the lens of later received wisdom; it was positive, uplifting, and optimistic, and TNG was its natural successor. But for its time, Star Trek was actually often edgy, though no one back then would have described it that way. In a TV landscape of Andy Griffith and My Three Sons, against a backdrop of Vietnam, the civil rights movement, and a burgeoning counterculture, Star Trek was a new voice (not a lone voice -- other shows reflected cultural change as well -- but rarely with the seriousness and philosophical bent of Star Trek). It didn't reflect a perfected humanity, but one that was a little more self-conscious about trying to do better. And context matters (you might even say it's king). What seem like hokey, milquetoast lessons about ideas like racial harmony, multiculturalism, and the responsible use of power were a lot more subversive in the 1960s and 70s. Star Trek's message wasn't consistent, and it wasn't always good drama, but it wasn't vanilla, and its early audience responded to that. When TNG came along, a lot of us wondered what the hell Roddenberry was thinking. It seemed so very vanilla by comparison: everything so clear-cut, everyone so righteous, every answer so obvious. It felt more like a corporate training film about team-building than like Star Trek. 

It was only after Roddenberry left the stage that others tried to nudge Star Trek back toward that more challenging place, to varying degrees and with varying success. But all the series from TNG on were trying to be hybrids that would not alienate that TNG base. 

Until Discovery. They really don't seem to give a shit about that base, and that's pretty gutsy. What's more, they realize that the goalpost for edgy 'n philosophical has moved considerably. A lot of the existing ST fan base seems to think that a show with a point to make about how to do right in the universe ought to be a show in which the right thing is always done. But our reality doesn't lend itself to that kind of storytelling, and frankly, that's never been the best way to make the point, anyway. 

I have little doubt that, as Discovery goes along, its POV will come more into focus. It will become a little easier to tell which way the needle of its moral compass is pointing (though I sincerely hope  they always tell the kinds of challenging stories that make demands of us).  It'll be interesting to see how much of fandom is willing to come along.

If I woke up in 1973...

I'm three episodes into Life on Mars (UK version, of course), and it's such a delight, I have absolutely no idea why I've ignored all advice to watch it until now. One thing that keeps bothering me: If I woke up in 1973, the first thing I'd do is try to find the people I know -- especially me. I'm completely unspoiled (please keep me that way!), so this could be coming, but Sam's lack of curiosity and the fact that he just keeps going to work contributes to the surrealism. I mean, I get it, policing is in his blood, but still.

As an American who was old enough to remember 1973, the whole thing feels more like an homage to Starsky and Hutch than like real life, especially in the UK, where I strongly suspect the real-life cops were even less Mod Squad than in the US. And they probably weren't total idiots on either side of the Atlantic. (I'm pretty sure "don't handle the evidence" wouldn't have been an unfamiliar concept in 1973.) The nice thing about this premise, though, is that you can give the writers all the benefit of the doubt, because anything that doesn't seem realistic could be intentional.

And anyway, who cares? John Simm and Philip Glenister.

A page ripped from the comics

If "Magic to Make the Sanest Man Go Mad" establishes anything, it's that Stamets' sporegasms give him a kind of superpower to perceive things others can't, like being trapped in a time loop. Anything else?

Well, he does have a weird, seemingly throwaway line in this episode. After colliding with Burnham and giving her a sweet hug ("Why would you apologize for a random act of physical interaction? Y'know, these are the moments that make life so gloriously unpredictable!"), he turns to Tyler and, for no apparent reason, says, "You're a very tall man." Only...he's not. Tyler is on the tall side, but he doesn't seem to tower over other men around him. Saru towers. Tyler doesn't. But Stamets thinks he does.

Klingons are pretty tall, though. Hmm.

And then Stamets follows up with this: "May I say, you're astonishingly grounded for having endured seven months of torture." It's almost as though something he sees triggers this observation about the extreme unlikelihood of Tyler's story. Hmm again.

So Stamets has a superpower. Does it let him see Tyler's secret identity? Stay tuned...