Star Trek

Reviewed by J. Lunden on May 8, 2009

In 2005, I drove nearly 400 miles to go to one of the biggest Star Wars conventions ever held. That’s my not-so-subtle way of saying that I am a dyed-in-the-wool Star Wars fan. And, even though my Star Wars fandom has begun to ebb, I’ll probably always prefer Lucas’ space opera to Roddenberry’s analytical universe of morality plays and plodding action. That’s not to say I haven’t enjoyed Star Trek. I have. I grew up sporadically watching Patrick Stewart captain the next generation Enterprise, and I’ve enjoyed almost all of the feature films (“Khaaaaaan!”). I find Roddenberry’s vision of the future very appealing. I like the notion that progress and salvation are ultimately products of civility, equality, education, respect, and optimism. I just felt it prudent to reveal my possibly divisive loyalties at the outset, so as to avoid any unnecessary nerd skirmishes.

I like J.J. Abrams. I was a fan of his show ALIAS—though Jennifer Garner might deserve most of that credit—and I quite enjoyed his first feature, Mission: Impossible III. And I’m told that Lost, at least initially, was good. But it’s Abrams’ attitude towards his projects that I most admire. In interviews and profiles, he speaks with an uncommon frankness, and seems apt at balancing artistic integrity with commerce, all while braving the treacherous waters of studio moviemaking. Last but not least is Abrams’ uncanny understanding of cutting-edge advertising. The work he did coordinating the covert, multimedia ad campaign for Cloverfield ended up being more impressive than the film itself.

When it was announced that Abrams, a confessed “Star Wars kid,” was rebooting the Trek franchise, I sat back and waited for the storm to roll in. It got really bad when the first trailers were released. They didn’t really look like Star Trek. There wasn’t even one glimpse of Starfleet officers gathered around a table, discussing matters of diplomacy. No, this looked (gasp!) exciting. All kidding aside, I understood their concerns. No one likes having a beloved mythology tampered with, especially if they fear it’s only for the sake of meretricious box office turnaround. I won’t lie, though; after three, poorly received and much-maligned Star Wars prequels, I greatly enjoyed the legions of nervous and prematurely upset Trekkies. I guffawed a great guffaw and drank in their despair like sweet, sweet wine. But, as Abrams himself said: “There’s a reason why the franchise died.” So, in order to resuscitate it, Abrams started from scratch—literally. And the result is wonderful.

Abrams’ film is exactly what Star Trek needed: a swift kick in the ass. The film is endlessly exciting and has an infectious inertia. There are amazing space battles, one of the best shootouts since the O.K. Corral, and even the way ships blast into warp is pants-wettingly cool. It’s the most fun I’ve had in a cinema in a long while.

The script, by Transformers scribes Roberto Orci and Alex Kurtzman, is surprisingly intelligent. They have a field day with the original series’ clichés and familiarities. Some liberties have been taken, but the essential artifacts have been guarded and remain true and resonant. However, the narrative relies on an aspect that will undoubtedly split fans: time travel. Now, before you inveigh against what I consider to be a ballsy gamble by Orci and Kurtzman, allow me to offer a thought. Some will inevitably see the film’s story as a cheap contrivance, but, when you consider the freedom this concept affords and the potential violence to nostalgia that it subverts, it’s actually quite a clever maneuver.

One of the inevitabilities of rebooting such an iconic franchise is that no matter how good the new actors are, they end up walking that line between reverence and parody. (Like when lines from The Godfather are spoken by anyone other than Brando.) However, if there’s been a more perfectly cast ensemble piece in the last decade, I’m unaware of it.

As Dr. Leonard “Bones” McCoy, Karl Urban just about steals the movie. Armed with DeForest Kelly’s wonderful mannerisms, Urban invigorates one of the best and most relatable Trek characters. When he utters the “Damnit, I’m a doctor not a . . .” line, I giggled like a schoolgirl.

Zoe Saldana steps in as Uhura, the ship’s chief communications officer. Mini-skirts are still standard-issue in Starfleet, but that didn’t stop Saldana from upholding and expanding the ideals that Nichelle Nichols represented on the original show.

Zachary Quinto delves into his role as Spock headfirst. He has Leonard Nimoy’s stillness and tone, but Quinto brings new and fascinating hues to Spock’s human/Vulcan duality struggles. The character is given some surprising ground to traverse in the film, and Quinto doesn’t waste an inch of it.

Stepping into the shoes of James Tiberius Kirk is Chris Pine, a charismatic and capable actor who does the headstrong character justice. Like William Shatner before him, Pine nails down the cowboy graces of Kirk: the swagger, the grin, the wry humor, and, of course, the green women. The foundation of Kirk is all here, but Pine has refined it with a youthful exuberance. The brief scenes of Kirk’s pre-Starfleet life are exceedingly well done and offer a weight to the character that I don’t believe existed in any previous incarnation.

Rounding out the crew is John Cho as Sulu, Anton Yelchin as Chekov, Bruce Greenwood as Captain Pike, and, in another scene-stealing performance, Simon Pegg as Scotty.

These new actors embody and evolve their respective molds in exhilarating ways. They each find a solid middle ground between the familiar and the new. Seeing Kirk meet Bones for the first time gave me chills. Subtle glances between characters, nods to the people they will become, and even familiar lines spoken by unfamiliar voices seemed almost immediately comfortable and right.

As world-builder, Abrams is perfectly suited. His Star Trek strikes an attractive balance between awe-inspiring special effects and retro composition. And what a busy composition it is. Abrams imbues his frame with as much activity and energy as he can fit. Every scene is alive and furious, yet Abrams’ movement is never distracting or irritating (not even the lens flares). Abrams and cinematographer Daniel Mindel whirl the camera around the action, following it like the most engaged of observers. It whizzes down starship corridors, tremors and shakes with each photon blast, and utilizes the bizarre abstractions of zero gravity to frame exteriors from equilibrium-jarring angles. Mindel’s camera oscillates between chewing on close-ups of the cast to intimately swaying with emotional, delicate moments. It’s quite a vision.

I hope fans and neophytes alike embrace Abrams’ film. The soul of Star Trek or, if you prefer, its prime directive is very much intact here. The filmmakers are respectful in their approach to the material—but never obsequious. The film functions on its own terms, and I think this new meta-Star Trek is set for great things if the forces of nostalgic dissonance don’t impede it. Abrams’ film is nothing short of an intervention. He’s restored the sense of adventure and fun. He’s made Star Trek cool again, even sexy, while maintaining its heady science fiction heritage. I now long for the continuing voyages of the starship Enterprise—to hurry up and continue.

Perhaps the praises of a scruffy, laser-brained Star Wars fan like myself could never hope to ease the mind of an apprehensive Trekkie, but I believe this film to be an accord. After all, are we not brothers? If the oxygen reserves are depleted, do we not suffocate? If we see a pretty girl, do we not flee in terror?