I actually wrote this before watching "Nepenthe," assuming that I could tack it on as the last two paragraphs of this week's post. It seemed unlikely that the feelings expressed below would change much over the course of one episode, however Triker-y. The feelings expressed below have not changed, however, my feelings about "Nepenthe" are strong enough to deserve their own post, so I am saying this now just to get it off my chest. Thoughts about "Nepenthe" will come once I have pulled myself back together:
When the dust settles and I am forced to realize that, in spite of all of the pretensious things that I have so far written on this blog, I actually did not enjoy Star Trek: Picard, I suspect that I will trace the moment at which my cautious optimism transformed into jaded disinterest to the moment when Jean-Luc bid adieu to the Irish Romulan family. Certainly the Irish Romulans were, like most of the characters in this series (and, if I am to be honest with myself, Star Trek writ large) hackneyed archetypes: former spies and assassins seeking refuge from their past life in idyllic seclusion, tending to the needs of another for whom they care deeply in an attempt to atone for a lifetime spent committing war crimes professionally. If one of them had declaimed "every time I think I'm out, they pull be back in," it would not have been out of place. For all that, however, they are the characters whose relationship with Jean-Luc felt the healthiest and the most genuine. There is no ham-handed flashback used to assert that these people have history with Jean-Luc. We simply see Irish Romulan straightening Jean-Luc's tie like a worried parent while her husband prepares breakfast for Jean-Luc's dog. This is to be contrasted with Elnor, who, even after an extensive pre-credit flashback of childhood hijinks and aborted fatherhood, feels the need to tell us that Jean-Luc's approbation "fills [him] with joy," for fear that we might forget that he has history with Jean-Luc. Irish Romulan's husband isn't not Alfred to Jean-Luc's Bruce Wayne, but they still feel comfortable enough to tell Jean-Luc when he is doing something stupid. This is to be contrasted with Captain Rios, who doesn't seem to be moving beyond the "I'm not in it for the revolution and I'm not in it for you" stage of the Han Solo development arc. The Irish Romulans don't appear to be as evil as Doctor Jurati. They do appear to be plot devices in the sense that they serve to give Jean-Luc easy access to Tal Shi'ar history and technology, but they also want things for themselves (for instance: life on a vineyard), or else they would have joined Jean-Luc as he tilted towards his cubical windmill. This is to be contrasted with Dahj and Soji, who simply do what they must to move the plot forward. The only other character with whom Jean-Luc has anything close to resembling a real relationship is Raffi and their relationship is decidedly not healthy. When we meet Raffi, we learn that, despite working as Admiral Picard's right hand during twilight of his career, he has not reached out to her even as her husband and son abandoned her and her life faded into a booze-filled haze of space vape. Last episode, when Jean-Luc needed a formal excuse to be granted access to the Romulan Reclamation Center, he dismissed out-of-hand Doctor Jurati's plan to use her scientific credentials, instead pressuring Raffi, who was still mourning the reaffirmation of her son's rejection, into badgering one of her few remaining friends in Starfleet to grant Jean-Luc temporary diplomatic credentials, in payment for which she was asked never to call said friend again. Jean-Luc applauded Raffi's sacrifice as Raffi slinked back into her bunk to finish of her fifth of space whiskey. A few months ago, a friend of mine asked me what defined Captain Picard as a character. I said that he was a philosopher king: he derives his authority from your realization that he is smarter, wiser, and more virtuous than you are. Apparently, if you strip away the philosopher king's access to formal structures of authority, he resorts to naked emotional manipulation to get you to do What Needs to be Done.
And so, here we are: the Next Generation, a show whose greatest strength was interplay amongst its rich ensemble, has been succeeded by a show in which an old man uses up everyone around him so that he can feel a little less guilty about that time one of his friends died in front of him. In the lead-up to Picard's premiere, there was much hand-wringing among the Trekerati about whether this would be our The Last Jedi. Would Trekkies be subjected to watching their indispensable hero laid low by the vagaries of age and the realization that the universe is too big and heavy to ride on his back alone? For the record: I enjoyed The Last Jedi. I enjoy it more every time I watch it. Luke Skywalker's response to the onset of nihilism may not have been responsible, but it evinced a very human frailty and fear, and, when it was necessary, he gave of himself one last time to help the next generation do better. Jean-Luc's response, to scream his relevance into the universe no matter the cost to those around him, is certainly another reaction to watching your life and legacy unravel around you, and maybe it's one that I should steel myself to witness. It would be easier to bear, I think, if those around him were at least aware of what was going on. Even a simple "he's Jean-Luc Picard, if he wants to go on one more mission, that's what we're going to do" would suffice, the difference being that Captain Beverly Picard, MD knew that there was a significant risk she was indulging the lunatic ravings of her ex-husband's Irumodic Syndrome, but she was willing to do it anyway because she loved him. They all -- Captain La Forge, Ret., Professor Data, Ambassador Worf, even Admiral Riker -- loved him. I'm not sure I believe that any of these people, Irish Romulans notwithstanding, love Jean-Luc, and I'm fairly certain that he doesn't love any of them. When I said I wanted a bleak Star Trek, I meant that I wanted a Star Trek in which a loyal and mutually devoted crew attempted to navigate a galaxy bent on twisting them into a reflection of its own cynicism. I did not want a Star Trek in which a group self-interested nihilists manipulated each other into having space adventures because they had nothing better to do. Before anyone accuses me of having unrealistic expectations, I would just like to point out that we are seven episodes into Picard. There are only twelve episodes of Firefly in existence. What I'm asking for is possible. The showrunners just had to want it.
When the dust settles and I am forced to realize that, in spite of all of the pretensious things that I have so far written on this blog, I actually did not enjoy Star Trek: Picard, I suspect that I will trace the moment at which my cautious optimism transformed into jaded disinterest to the moment when Jean-Luc bid adieu to the Irish Romulan family. Certainly the Irish Romulans were, like most of the characters in this series (and, if I am to be honest with myself, Star Trek writ large) hackneyed archetypes: former spies and assassins seeking refuge from their past life in idyllic seclusion, tending to the needs of another for whom they care deeply in an attempt to atone for a lifetime spent committing war crimes professionally. If one of them had declaimed "every time I think I'm out, they pull be back in," it would not have been out of place. For all that, however, they are the characters whose relationship with Jean-Luc felt the healthiest and the most genuine. There is no ham-handed flashback used to assert that these people have history with Jean-Luc. We simply see Irish Romulan straightening Jean-Luc's tie like a worried parent while her husband prepares breakfast for Jean-Luc's dog. This is to be contrasted with Elnor, who, even after an extensive pre-credit flashback of childhood hijinks and aborted fatherhood, feels the need to tell us that Jean-Luc's approbation "fills [him] with joy," for fear that we might forget that he has history with Jean-Luc. Irish Romulan's husband isn't not Alfred to Jean-Luc's Bruce Wayne, but they still feel comfortable enough to tell Jean-Luc when he is doing something stupid. This is to be contrasted with Captain Rios, who doesn't seem to be moving beyond the "I'm not in it for the revolution and I'm not in it for you" stage of the Han Solo development arc. The Irish Romulans don't appear to be as evil as Doctor Jurati. They do appear to be plot devices in the sense that they serve to give Jean-Luc easy access to Tal Shi'ar history and technology, but they also want things for themselves (for instance: life on a vineyard), or else they would have joined Jean-Luc as he tilted towards his cubical windmill. This is to be contrasted with Dahj and Soji, who simply do what they must to move the plot forward. The only other character with whom Jean-Luc has anything close to resembling a real relationship is Raffi and their relationship is decidedly not healthy. When we meet Raffi, we learn that, despite working as Admiral Picard's right hand during twilight of his career, he has not reached out to her even as her husband and son abandoned her and her life faded into a booze-filled haze of space vape. Last episode, when Jean-Luc needed a formal excuse to be granted access to the Romulan Reclamation Center, he dismissed out-of-hand Doctor Jurati's plan to use her scientific credentials, instead pressuring Raffi, who was still mourning the reaffirmation of her son's rejection, into badgering one of her few remaining friends in Starfleet to grant Jean-Luc temporary diplomatic credentials, in payment for which she was asked never to call said friend again. Jean-Luc applauded Raffi's sacrifice as Raffi slinked back into her bunk to finish of her fifth of space whiskey. A few months ago, a friend of mine asked me what defined Captain Picard as a character. I said that he was a philosopher king: he derives his authority from your realization that he is smarter, wiser, and more virtuous than you are. Apparently, if you strip away the philosopher king's access to formal structures of authority, he resorts to naked emotional manipulation to get you to do What Needs to be Done.
And so, here we are: the Next Generation, a show whose greatest strength was interplay amongst its rich ensemble, has been succeeded by a show in which an old man uses up everyone around him so that he can feel a little less guilty about that time one of his friends died in front of him. In the lead-up to Picard's premiere, there was much hand-wringing among the Trekerati about whether this would be our The Last Jedi. Would Trekkies be subjected to watching their indispensable hero laid low by the vagaries of age and the realization that the universe is too big and heavy to ride on his back alone? For the record: I enjoyed The Last Jedi. I enjoy it more every time I watch it. Luke Skywalker's response to the onset of nihilism may not have been responsible, but it evinced a very human frailty and fear, and, when it was necessary, he gave of himself one last time to help the next generation do better. Jean-Luc's response, to scream his relevance into the universe no matter the cost to those around him, is certainly another reaction to watching your life and legacy unravel around you, and maybe it's one that I should steel myself to witness. It would be easier to bear, I think, if those around him were at least aware of what was going on. Even a simple "he's Jean-Luc Picard, if he wants to go on one more mission, that's what we're going to do" would suffice, the difference being that Captain Beverly Picard, MD knew that there was a significant risk she was indulging the lunatic ravings of her ex-husband's Irumodic Syndrome, but she was willing to do it anyway because she loved him. They all -- Captain La Forge, Ret., Professor Data, Ambassador Worf, even Admiral Riker -- loved him. I'm not sure I believe that any of these people, Irish Romulans notwithstanding, love Jean-Luc, and I'm fairly certain that he doesn't love any of them. When I said I wanted a bleak Star Trek, I meant that I wanted a Star Trek in which a loyal and mutually devoted crew attempted to navigate a galaxy bent on twisting them into a reflection of its own cynicism. I did not want a Star Trek in which a group self-interested nihilists manipulated each other into having space adventures because they had nothing better to do. Before anyone accuses me of having unrealistic expectations, I would just like to point out that we are seven episodes into Picard. There are only twelve episodes of Firefly in existence. What I'm asking for is possible. The showrunners just had to want it.
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