John Kenneth Muir's Reflections on Cult Movies and Classic TV

50 Years Ago: Land of the Lost: "Flying Dutchman" (October 23, 1976)

2026-10-23T06:00:00.001-04:00

While it is undeniable that the third season of Land of the Lost suffers in terms of its continuity with the preceding two years’ worth of episodes, I nonetheless appreciate how the third season occasionally adapts creepy elements of world mythology to the world of Altrusia. It’s a different take than the original vision, to be certain, but the mythology-based episodes make for intriguing adventures, at least on a few occasions.

Such is the case with “Flying Dutchman,” this week’s installment, which first aired on October 23, 1976.

The story uses as its basis the legend of a Dutch man-of-war “ghost ship,” reported as early as the 18^th century by sailors and other travelers on the high seas.

In some stories, the captain of the Flying Dutchman (known as Bernard Fokke) is believed to be in league with Satan himself….a devil. In other variations of the folklore, the captain (sometimes Vander Decker) is being punished for some moral failing by this eternal life on the seas, never able to reach port again.

The Flying Dutchman is also sometimes reported to be a pirate ship, lost off the Cape of Good Hope, and a young King George V once reported seeing the eerie vessel off the coast of Australia.

In Land of the Lost’s “Flying Dutchman,” The Marshalls discover a wrecked man-of-war in the Mist Marsh (former home of the Zarn), but the area is not referred to on-screen as such, which is disappointing.

The Marshalls hear ghostly voices emanating from the ship’s deck, and find a lonely captain, Van Der Mere (Rex Holman) alone on board. Although he promises to take Uncle Jack, Holly, Will and Chaka back out through the vortex by which he arrived, the captain secretly plans to leave with only Holly (Kathy Coleman) on board. She is a dead ringer for his long-lost daughter, Wilhelmina, and he misses his child’s companionship.

Uncle Jack (Ron Harper) realizes that Van Der Mere’s ship is the legendary Dutchman and saves a drugged Holly at the last moment. The Captain apologizes for his behavior. “I am ashamed,” he admits. “You have my apologies…it’s so terribly lonely.”

In the episode’s final moments, the Marshalls and Chaka watch in awe as the Flying Dutchman takes to the air, and sails out of view...though how it escapes Altrusia (and the land’s one in/one out rule of entry/exit) is left unexplained.

On the plus side of the equation, “Flying Dutchman” is an episode filled with creepy imagery of the derelict ship in the Mist Marsh. These moments are atmospheric, and a real sense of danger and terror dominates the show (at least in Saturday morning terms).

On the down-side, this episode sees the return of the single-worst character in Land of the Lost history, the cave-man Malak (Richard Kiel). Too much time is wasted in “Flying Dutchman” as Jack and Will negotiate with Malak for the release of Captain Van Der Mere’s nautical belongings, including a sextant and a compass.

Some viewers, I remember, found this episode sexually perverse, with an adult man professing his love for a much, much younger woman, Holly. But the text of the episode makes it absolutely clear that Van Der Mere’s affections are not sexual, but those of a father who misses his daughter, and can never be reunited with her so long as he is cursed to travel the endless corridors of time. For me, the episode doesn’t play as particularly perverse, though I admit it features a scary undercurrent about children being kidnapped and swept away by dark forces.

Despite the fact that “Flying Dutchman” plays fast and loose with the established rules of Altrusia, I still feel that the episode, much like “Medusa” works as a sort of children’s horror show. I remember that I liked this installment very much as a child, and was obsessed with the legend of the Flying Dutchman for months after viewing. I still find the legend compelling, and accordingly, I would rate this episode of the third season pretty highly in the roster.

60 Years Ago: Star Trek: "What are Little Girls Made Of." (October 20, 1966)

2026-10-20T16:30:00.000-04:00

Stardate 2712.4

The U.S.S Enterprise approaches the frozen world, Exo III, which was the last known location of Dr. Roger Korby (Michael Strong), a renowned scientist described as “The Pasteur of Archaeological Medicine.”

Aboard ship is Nurse Christine Chapel (Majel Roddenberry), Korby’s hopeful fiancée.

To the surprise of everyone, including Captain Kirk (William Shatner) and Mr. Spock (Leonard Nimoy), a signal from Korby is received. Miraculously, he has survived for five years on the inhospitable world.

Kirk and Chapel beam down to the planet surface and discover that Korby has discovered, in the planet’s deep caverns, the remains of an ancient Civilization -- “The Old Ones.”

Among other achievements, these highly-advanced (but now extinct…) beings could create perfect android duplicates of human beings. Even more impressively, they could transfer consciousness from human form to mechanical form.

Kirk is concerned, however, because Korby’s androids, including Ruk (Ted Cassidy) and the lovely Andrea (Sherry Jackson) have developed signs of independent will.

Korby creates an android duplicate of Kirk to assume command of the Enterprise, planning to take his discovery of androids out to the far reaches of the galaxy, beginning at a colony, Midas 5; a world “abundant with raw materials.”

Penned by the great Robert Bloch (1917-1994) to feature strong H.P. Lovecraft overtones (particularly in the mention of the “Old Ones,”) “What are Little Girls Made Of” makes for an effective episode of Star Trek’s (1966-1969) first season.

Christine Chapel’s engagement to Dr. Korby provides the narrative’s emotional hook, and Ted Cassidy’s hulking Ruk supplies plenty of menace. Without exaggeration, Cassidy (1932-1979) is a huge man, and he dwarfs the other actors. He tosses William Shatner across various sets like a rag doll, and projects not just malevolence, but inhuman strength.

Meanwhile, Sherry Jackson’s Andrea proves both tragic and gorgeous, and Kirk comes off particularlytoo. Specifically, our beloved captain displays his resourcefulness -- and thorough understanding of his first officer -- by dooming his android double with a subconscious racist message (“I’m sick of your half-breed interference, Mr. Spock.”) This is the only clue the intrepid half-Vulcan requires to understand that his captain is in danger.

The quality that proves most compelling about this Star Trek episode, however -- especially in light of future “generations” -- is the anti-technology theme running through it.

Even though Korby has transferred his human consciousness into an android body, he is still depicted as being a slave to machine nature; to programming that makes him a “monster.” The episode’s final point is that “something doesn’t survive the process” of transferring human consciousness to a machine.

Today, that idea seems antiquated and fearful, especially as man and machine grow closer than ever to an inevitable merging.

Hopefully we won’t become the Borg.

Star Trek: The Next Generation’s “Technology Unchained” idea is not yet in full effect here, clearly, and throughout the Original Series, one can detect a certain level of wariness and concern about new technology supplanting man.

In “Court Martial,” for example, a lawyer rails against the idea of computer testimony being utilized in a court case.

And in “The Ultimate Computer,” a thinking computer is seen as both a job killer and a competitor for superiority. Its Achille’s Heel is the fact that it lacks a human conscience and moral barometer

The same is true here.

No middle ground can be forged with Dr. Korby and his androids, though it would be beneficial, perhaps to do so. '=

Clearly, they can’t be allowed to assume control of a Federation Colony. But shouldn’t Federation scientists study the life-saving principles discovered by Korby’s party? Andrea, Ruk, Brown and Korby, despite being androids, are still individuals. The episode successfully writes itself out of a nuanced solution by having all these individuals die by either attacking humans (and be phasered..) or committing suicide. The moral debate their existence raises seems to die with them, at least so far as this episode is concerned.

I’m firmly an Original Series fan in terms of my preferences, but this blog retrospective is about an objective look back at a 50 year classic. And objectively speaking, this is another arena in which Star Trek: The Next Generation is plainly superior in its commitment to and exploration of its creator’s humanist values.

There, in episodes such as “11001001,” “In Theory” and “Measure of a Man,” the android Data (Brent Spiner) explores his humanity and his rights. If he had been activated in Kirk’s time -- on Stardate 2712 or thereabouts -- he likely would have been met with suspicion and fear.

Next Gen episodes such as “Redemption” Part II display the fact that some Starfleet officers carry hostility towards artificial life into that 24th century era, but “What Are Little Girls Made Of” trades in outright paranoid possibilities; android duplicates infiltrating human populations and assuming control of them. There is no discussion of the idea that these machines have consciousness, and therefore the right to exist.

Kirk also talks about the idea that machines can’t feel love, tenderness, or sentiment here. Again, when one looks at Data, that’s a difficult argument to make. Data possesses a moral barometer (as we learn in the “Descent” two-parter), and a finely-developed sense of friendship. He is not a loveless, unsentimental monster bent on human conquest.

I think there’s an interesting comparison to be made between Trek generations and their views of technology. The original is conservative, viewing new developments as potentially dangerous, and demanding that humans remain (as they have been) in control of their technology.

The Next Generation is much more progressive, assuming a position of equal rights for all, and noting that whether biological or mechanical, we’re “all machines.”

In terms of production, “What are Little Girls Made Of” is a real triumph. The split-screen scenes in which the two Captain Kirks share a dinner table are virtually flawless.

The android-making process is a little silly and fanciful, but unforgettable. What’s with all the spinning table? But I absolutely appreciate the horror overtones of the process. Basically, a life -- like a golem -- is created from a hunk of proto-form plastic or clay. It lives, but it doesn’t possess a soul.

Or does it?

One area where the production falls down on the job: the hunk of cave ceiling Kirk pulls down and uses to protect himself from Ruk. I’m sure it is unintentional, but by golly it really does look like a giant phallus.

Was nobody paying attention? How did this make it to air?

I have written before that the original Trek is incredibly kinky, yet I don't think that this prop was intentionally made to resemble a phallus.

In terms of deliberate kinkiness, "What Are Little Girls Made Of" has plenty to crow about, elsewhere. Andrea is, plainly, a mechanical "geisha," created to love and service Korby. Chapel pins him down on this "relationship." When he asks if she thinks he could love a machine, she replies "did you?"

That verb tense and word choice suggests sexual intercourse, rather than emotional attachment. The point is established. She's a pleasure-bot.

Finally, the supporting cast-members don't have much to do this week, but nonetheless, Nichelle Nichols again makes the most of her limited screen-time.

When Chapel learns that the love of her life is still alive, and that she will soon see him again, Uhura leaps up from her station on the bridge and hugs her friend. It's such a spontaneous gesture of love and support, and a testament to Uhura's humanity.

The Korby-Chapel relationship has been resurrected in Trek history, interestingly, on Strange New Worlds, and that relationship serves as a kind of prequel to this tale. I think that story works here, in part, because it starts to prepare us for Korby's darker impulses. By the time, continuity-wise, we get to this story, if we've watched Strange New Worlds, the relationship feels deeper and more authentic.

Deep Focus Episode 4: Friday the 13th (1980)

2026-10-20T05:39:47.057-04:00

50 Years Ago: In Search of (1976-1982)

2026-10-19T06:00:00.000-04:00

"This series presents information based in part on theory and conjecture. The producer's purpose is to suggest some possible explanations, but not necessarily the only ones, to the mysteries we will examine."

- opening narration/disclaimer from In Search of (1976-1982).

In the mid-1970's, the perplexing mysteries of the world were laid bare, dramatically, in the documentary-style, syndicated TV series, In Search of.

This series from producer Alan Landsburg ran for six seasons, and was hosted by Star Trek's (1966-1969) Leonard Nimoy. Nimoy -- often seen on-screen in some very 1970's fashions -- expertly guided viewers through stories examining the Bermuda Triangle, Bigfoot, life after death, reincarnation, The Loch Ness Monster, the existence of Martians and much, much more. The series went in search for historic Dracula and the Lost Colony, explored the cases of individuals claiming to be psychic detectives, and even investigated the fate of the missing pilot, Amelia Earhart.

I wanted to believe.

Structurally this fifty-year old TV series cobbles together dramatic re-enactments of monster sightings with on-camera interviews of experts in various fields, and also, in some cases, it features beautiful natural photography. There's a travelogue aspect to the series. It is a way to see Greece, or Egypt, or the Pacific Northwest, for example.

In terms of dramatic re-enactments, the Bigfoot episode opens with a frightening, and well-shot dramatization of an attack on settlers by a family of Sasquatch, in an isolated log cabin. I remember seeing this creepy, unsettling sequence when the series first aired, and the POV images from the re-enactment have stayed with me to this day. In Search of is also my first memory of seeing the 1967 Patterson-Gimlin Bigfoot film. That footage is dissected in this episode, with fascinating results.

Leonard Nimoy's participation on In Search of provides one of the great strengths of the series' format as well. The actor's presence is a great coup for the produces because his persona is so inter-tangled with his most-famous rational and logical alter-ego: Mr. Spock. Thus every wild or weird theory presented on In Search of sounds tantalizingly plausible, or at leas possible. Nimoy's gravelly, intelligent voice makes every episode of the series a rich, aural delight.

Also, in fairness, In Search of garners tremendous respectability today, in our modern age of "fake news" with its many attempts to appear judicious and even-handed in its explorations. In The Loch Ness Monster episode, or example, a paleontologist notes on camera that he he believes no monster exists in the lake. He just flat out says it. Nessie doesn't exist!

Similarly, in the episode featuring the Ogopogo Monster, a scientist notes on-screen that he finds it difficult to believe that a prehistoric monster could exist in a lake so small, and so young, geologically-speaking.

So the episodes here may explore topics that some people consider absolute nonsense, but the way In Search of goes about its explorations suggests that it is interested in science, not phantasmagoria.

It is clear that the series wishes to foster interest in its controversial topics, but also clear that it doesn't ignore fact or evidence, to do so. One episode, about The Bermuda Triangle, opens with Nimoy's statement that mainstream science has determined there is no phenomenon impacting ships and planes in the Triangle.

Then, however, following that disclaimer, the episode examines historical disappearances, and some first-person "encounters" int the Triangle. The creepiest (and most unforgettable) portion of the episode, however, involves a radio DJ who hosted a show on the topic of the Bermuda Triangle. During the radio show, a strange individual called in to the station, leaving a weird, inhuman-sounding message about the truth of the Triangle, and how it serves as the "aura" of our world. The actual recording is played during the episode and is so weird and unnerving that it captures the imagination, and more than that, spawns further interest in the mysteries of the world.

In Search of''s episode about Astrology charts similarly even-handed territory. It opens with a question: "What strange influence does the moon have on the behavior of man?" Then, however, during the course of the investigation, the series finds time to feature an astronomer who says, in no uncertain terms that he feels Astrology is but an "an ancient religion" with no basis in fact. "Millions of people fall for Astrology," he says, right to the camera, "but I hope you do not."

Again, the series is to be commended for never buying into the mysteries it investigates.

The episode "Pyramid Secrets" is also fascinating for the way it tackles the construction of Egyptian pyramids. The writing structure of the episode explores three ideas about the pyramids. One is that they are but elaborate tombs ("a central part n the quest for immortality.") The second is that they are "Earth Base One," ground zero for the colonization of Earth by ancient astronauts, and three, that the pyramids are some kind of "radio transmitter" or "energy generator."

The more outrageous theories are debunked, however, by a scientist who says, quite simply, that mankind possessed the knowledge it needed, in antiquity, to construct the pyramids. They are, he says, a testament to man's ingenuity, not a supernatural or alien construct. Once more, the series explores theories, and, at the same time, provides a scientific explanation to counter the wilder ones.

I would never vouch for any of these mysteries, or their wilder explanations. Like Mulder, I want to believe, but temperamentally I am more like Scully. I tend to be skeptical. For me, the great thing about In Search of is the fact that it approaches its weird mysteries with an open mind, and makes time, in virtually every episode, for scientists to make their case about why the mysteries are not valid.

Today, In Search of has been remade twice (hosted in the early 2000's by Mitch Pileggi, and in 2019, by Zachary Quinto), but it is the original series that remains a pop culture touchstone for those of us who grew up in the 1970's. There were six seasons, In Search of books, and even a movie documentary. The third Star Trek movie was jokingly referred to as "In Search of Spock" before the official title was settled on: The Search for Spock.

My childhood self both loved and was terrified by In Search of. I felt afraid of the mysteries, as dramatized in the creepy re-enactments, but I also felt safe throughout, because Mr. Spock himself, was my guide through these tantalizing "conjectures."

As an adult, revisiting the series has given me a newfound respect for it. I'm glad that there are so many scientists front-and-center on the series, willing to stand up and debunk the wildest, most unsubstantiated theories. And at the same time, I like that the series still spurs my imagination about things that go bump in the night, and exist outside the things dreamed of in my philosophy.

50 Years Ago: Land of the Lost: "Cornered" (October 16, 1976)

2026-10-16T06:00:00.001-04:00

This week on Land of the Lost (1974 – 1977), the episode is titled “Cornered” and it involves a fire-breathing dinosaur, nicknamed Torchy. This Dimetrodon-like dino arrives in the Lost City and begins spraying flame into the Sleestak tunnels. Torchy also battles Big Alice, at least briefly. The mighty Allosaurus turns tail and leaves her territory in a hurry rather than confront the biological flame thrower.

The Sleestak blame the Marshalls (again!) for the presence of Torchy in their valley and Enik (Walker Edmiston) demands that the humans eliminate the threat by nightfall. As leverage, Enik offers Uncle Jack (Ron Harper) the cure to a mysterious illness that has felled Will (Wesley Eure).

The young man was struck by Torchy’s poisonous tail and now risks falling into an eternal sleep. Enik promises that if Torchy is dispatched by sundown, he will give the Marshalls the cure.

With Holly (Kathy Coleman) and Chaka (Philip Paley) in tow, Uncle Jack attempts to lure Torchy out of the valley, using giant coal bricks as breadcrumbs. The mission is successful, and Will heals on his own.

In other words, Enik was tricking them…

Although “Cornered” is perhaps not as downright, upfront awful as “Survival Kit” or “The Orb,” it’s pretty close.

Once more, the Sleestaks are out to destroy the Marshalls, despite a past history of cooperation. And once again, Enik lets himself be used as the Sleestak mouthpiece…as though he is just a slightly-less evil member of that race.

It’s actually grating to watch the scenes of the Sleestak Leader ordering Enik around because these scenes forget that Enik is an evolved Altrusian from another era, not a lapdog or lackey for the barbaric Sleestak. Why Enik allows himself to be used this way is a mystery.

Once more, in “Cornered” we get a strange reference (from Uncle Jack) to Enik’s “famous logic,” an allusion not to the real Enik, but to the “Mr. Spock Enik” that this season has introduced.

Finally, just when you think “Cornered” can’t possibly get any worse, Will wakes up and sings a syrupy song while plucking the guitar. At this juncture, the series loses any sense of respectability and dignity, and emerges as ridiculous high-camp, going from fire-breathing dragons one minute to terrible musical-numbers the next.

Then, the episode just stops…mid-moment, as though in terminal embarrassment. The final cut and lead-in to the end credits is jarring and sudden…but you can’t blame the editor for pulling out.

I don’t object in theory to the idea of a fire-breathing dinosaur in the Land of the Lost, but as usual, the third season writers seem to forget that the land boasts rules. Altrusia maintains a sense of balance, and it is also closed universe. Given these facts, where did Torchy come from? Why hasn’t he been seen before? I’d be perfectly happy to accept that the earthquake of “Aftershock” stirred him from a long subterranean slumber. But no such explanation is provided.

Deep Focus Episode 3: Prometheus (2012)

2026-10-13T06:48:32.582-04:00

60 Years Ago: Star Trek: "Mudd's Women" (October 13, 1966)

2026-10-13T06:00:00.001-04:00

Stardate: 1329.1

The U.S.S. Enterprise pursues a “hazard to navigation,” a J-class cargo ship with no navigation beam.

the small ship attempts to evade capture, and darts into a nearby asteroid belt.

Captain Kirk (William Shatner) extends the Enterprise’s shields to protect the endangered ship -- over Scotty’s (James Doohan) objections -- burning out the starship’s lithium crystals, but managing to save the crew of the vessel.

Captain Leo Walsh (Roger C Carmel) and three unnaturally attractive human women -- Eve (Karen Steele), Magda (Susan Denberg) and Ruth (Maggie Thrett) -- beam aboard.

Almost immediately, the presence of the gorgeous women aboard ship causes “a mysterious magnetic effect” on the male crew-members of the Enterprise.

claims that the women are the equivalent of mail-order brides, bound for Ophiuchus 3 and new husbands, but Kirk is more interested in holding Walsh for trial.

The Enterprise limps to Rigel XII, a mining planet, to acquire the much-needed and rare lithium crystals, but Leo Walsh -- really a scoundrel and lawbreaker named Harcourt Fenton Mudd -- negotiates secretly by communicator with the leader of the humans there, Childress (Gene Dynarski).

Childress will only give Kirk the much-needed crystals if he drops all charges against Mudd, and allows the women to marry the miners.

As Captain Kirk negotiates, he learns the truth. The three women have taken an illegal medicine, the Venus Drug that creates the impression of incredible beauty.

Would I have to turn in my Star Trek fan cred if noted that I am not the world’s biggest fan of Harry Mudd, or the episodes that involve this particular character?

It’s nothing against Roger C. Carmel or his performances. I just find the character, his costume, and his flamboyant behavior a bit too reminiscent of Lost in Space-Season 2.

He's the visitor to the ship/planet of different dress and different attitude, representing some aspect of old Earth (the pirate, or con-man).

A space-going con-man, scoundrel, of course is a popular character in science fiction productions. With names like Han Solo and Captain Mal Reynolds, the trope is well-represented in the genre. But Mudd -- with his big-sleeved blouse, large hat and twirly mustache -- seems more like a colorful cliché than a real person, let alone a real person that would be encountered by the starship Enterprise.

Especially the starship Enterprise as it is depicted in these early Trek episodes.

These stories feature the amazing “lower deck” component I've talked about before, exploring the personalities of non-bridge crew members. These stories are a bit more humorless, and sometimes even grim. So Mudd feels piped in from another universe all-together.

Also, without treading too deeply into sexual politics and the way that they have changed in fifty years, I find it impossible to disregard the underpinnings of this story which state essentially that Mudd is both a pimp and a drug pusher.

He’s a “man used to buying and selling people.”

I don’t mind Star Trek featuring a pimp and a drug pusher. Or prostitutes. I believe all those elements can absolutely exist in a gritty, grim (and often kinky) series.

But I do object to the depiction of a criminal of that stature as a harmless buffoon, and charming rogue. Mudd is trafficking in women. He's pushing illegal drugs. Those aren't funny quirks. Those aren't victim-less crimes.

I suppose my disdain for Mudd puts me in the same camp with Captain Kirk, who seems largely non-amused by the character, at least here.

I also feel that "Mudd's Women" is terminally-conflicted between two aspects. On the "gritty" side we have miners living in a perpetual dust-bowls, desperate women willing to sell themselves to men they've never met, and a drug that, while being a "cheat," promises a temporary increase sexual attraction.

Then, on the other side, we've got big, cartoony Harry Mudd.

Also, “Mudd’s Women” feels over-the-top in the scenes involving the male crew-members lusting after Eve, Magda and Ruth. The soundtrack doesn't help.

To explain: these are men who serve with beautiful women every single day; women such as Lt. Uhura, Yeoman Rand, Nurse Christine Chapel, and Dr. Helen Noel.

There is no reason to portray the crew as sex-starved sailors who haven’t been to port, or seen a woman, in months. It’s just silly.

I realize the women are using the Venus Drug to seem more attractive, but even then, it's all a little nutty, especially given the stripper-styled sound-track accompanying the women everywhere they walk.

Still, some elements of "Mudd's Women" do work quite well, and add considerably to the the Trek universe. I enjoy very much the dialogue and the relationship between Kirk and Eve. She is a smart, resourceful person, but an essentially lonely one. She shares that quality in common, I believe, with Kirk. In a way they are kindred spirits: both head-strong, both determined, and both alone. Also, they are both people of real integrity.

I also admire the episode's final act set on the windswept planet, Rigel XII. The miners there live in modest buildings...or hovels. The wind never stops blowing sand against...everything. Survival is difficult, and companionship the greatest treasure of all.

This is the real final frontier on the series, an inhospitable world being conquered, a hunk of dirt at a time, by pioneers and dreamers.

So often -- in all iterations of Star Trek -- the captains contend with Heads of State, Ambassadors and other “formal” personalities. In “Mudd’s Women” Kirk deals with Childress, a miner who wants what he wants and isn’t intimidated by the might of a starship. That's a really nice aspect of this program, I feel.

This episode also features some great Kirk/Star Trek wisdom (with a modifier from Mudd, so as to make it less sexist.):

“There are only two kinds of women in this universe -- or men for that matter. Either you believe in yourself. Or you don’t.”

Wonderful frontier philosophy… and words almost on a par with Kirks advice to Charlie in “Charlie X.”

Alas, while I believe wholeheartedly in this philosophy, I don’t believe that “being high on yourself” can actually change a person’s hair-do, or add make-up to their facial features Eve thinks she takes the Venus Drug, but she's been tricked. It’s a placebo.

Still, she goes from un-made-up to made-up, from un-coiffed, to completely coiffed. Silly, but I guess her self-esteem transformation gets the point across.

In terms of Star Trek's on-going growing pains, this week we get a description of Spock as part "Vulcanian" (rather than Vulcan), "lithium" (rather than Dilithium) and Uhura in a gold uniform instead of her trademark red one.

30 Years Ago: The X-Files: "Home" (October 11, 1996)

2026-10-11T06:00:00.001-04:00

“They really went caveman on him…”

- Mulder in “Home.”

I make no bones about the fact that “Home,” written by Glen Morgan and James Wong, and directed by Kim Manners, is one of my all-time favorite episodes of The X-Files (1993 – 2002).

This fourth season installment is ultra-violent, witty, and scary-as-hell. “Home” is so disturbing and disgusting in fact that Fox TV only aired it once, and then banned the episode from prime-time television permanently.

Or as Chris Carter told me during a 2009 interview: “We did an episode like "Home," and the day after we did it I was given a very stern lecture about never, ever pushing those limits again.”

Today, I remained gratified that Chris Carter pushed those limits, not just for advancing the horror genre on television, but because “Home” is still timely and brilliant meditation on the violence that can occur when times change too fast for some citizens.

In particular, the episode concerns a throwback family, the Peacocks, who judge all outsiders as interlopers (and who use no electricity, and who raise their own food…and stock). When the Peacocks’ long-standing way of life is threatened by the march of American modernity the family responds with murderous force in an attempt to utterly stamp out that modernity. The Peacocks feel threatened by change they don’t understand, and respond to that change not with adaptability or humility, but with a homicidal doubling down (with a baseball bat, no less…).

“Home” is a genius episode of The X-Files for many reasons, but not the least because it explores this dynamic of progress and pushback in America. Much of the episode concerns a nostalgic African-American sheriff, Andy Taylor (Tucker Smallwood) who longs for the days of yesteryear, when it was safe to keep his house unlocked at night. He fears that such a world is disappearing in “Home,” but is unaware of an important irony. He, in fact, is emblematic of the very change that so terrifies the Peacocks. Accordingly, he is the first target of their wrath when they feel jeopardized.

“Home” succeeds for other reasons beyond the social critique. The episode offers a twisted meditation on motherhood (and the commitment required of mothers), and is also one in which Mulder and Scully are constantly jeopardized because they can’t conceive of an enemy such as the Peacocks. Every assumption they make in the episode is proven wrong. They simply don’t understand the throwback nature of the family, at least until Mulder references a “nature” TV show concerning animal instinct.

Regardless of how it is interpreted, “Home” is terrifying, and among the smartest, scariest, and most subversive hours ever to air on American network television.

A dead baby, apparently inflicted with several genetic deformities, is unearthed in a shallow grave in the sleepy town of Home, PA.

While investigating the case, Scully (Gillian Anderson) and Mulder (David Duchovny) learn that the baby was buried while still alive, and attempt to interview the residents nearest the crime scene: the Peacocks.

But the Peacocks are territorial…and terrifying.

The family consists of three mutant brothers (Chris Nelson Norris, Adrian Hughes, John Trottier) who are not only physically-deformed and mentally-stunted, but who don’t quite feel or register pain. And their crazy old mother (Karin Konoval) is an amputee who also happens to be the progenitor of the boys’ offspring.

After Home’s sheriff, Taylor (Tucker Smallwood) is bludgeoned to death by the Peacocks, Mulder and Scully attempt to arrest the family on their own turf, a home filled with murderous booby traps.

In addition to all its overt horror material it expertly explores, “Home” presents a clever social commentary about the way that Americans respond to progress, or to change, and how they view the past versus the present.

In my introduction above, I described the Peacocks as “throwbacks.” Indeed, the Peacock men physically resemble our cave-men ancestors with their pronounced brows, and savage demeanor. Mulder even specifically describes their behavior as “going caveman.”

Outside of such physiological characteristics, the Peacocks dwell in another iteration of the “past,” in the immediate context of the post-Civil War world.

Their ramshackle farmhouse -- with no heat and no electricity -- reflects that time period in terms of technology or lack thereof. But beyond their home, the Peacocks’ still boast the Civil War mind-set of the Confederacy. Specifically, they call the Civil War “The War of Northern Aggression,” in the episode’s dialogue. This comment is a symbol of the Peacock’s intransigence. The family never moved passed the Civil War into modern American, and have aggressively resisted modernity in all its forms ever since.

Basically, the Peacock’s have carved out a life -- on the outskirts of Home, Pennsylvania -- where they can live their lives as their ancestors lived it generations earlier. The Peacocks have not permitted “progress” or “modernity” to take root in their traditions or family values. Instead, they have mythologized their “way of life” as the only way to do things. And to preserve that heritage, they have even resorted to (catastrophic…) in-breeding. No outside contamination from modernity is permitted. Outsides like Mulder and Scully are guilty of, in the words of Mama Peacock, “trying to change the way things are.” Notice the certainty of that phrasing, and how it is parsed in the present tense. These values are now and FOREVER, according to the Peacocks.

But -- and here’s where it gets really interesting -- contrast the Peacocks with Sheriff Taylor.

He is an African-American man and accomplished professional who just a generation earlier would never have been permitted to hold the position of sheriff because of the color of his skin, and because of entrenched and institutional racism. He has thus benefited from social progress, and more than that, excelled because of it. His safe, mansion-like “home” has come about because of progress and modernity, not in spite of it.

And yet Taylor and his wife long aloud for a time in American history when it was “safe” to leave your front door unlocked. This romanticized attitude is a reflection of the oft-repeated Myth of the 1950s, which is often -- without much examination -- held-up as a perfect era in American history.

But in point of fact, the Taylors are not imperiled in “Home” by the modernity of the 1990s, but rather by the violent response to that modernity by a mindset closer to the 1890s. The pervasive Myth of the 1950s comes up to bite the Taylors, for the Peacocks arrive to murder them in a classic 1950s “Big American car” while listening to the 1957 “Wonderful! Wonderful!” on their car radio.

It is the old force of tradition and the past, as represented by the Peacocks, which rise up to threaten the Taylors, not the forces of the millennial age.

Thus there’s a whole subtext and tension in “Home” about the romantic illusions of the past meeting the realities of the present. This theme is timely right now, because America is currently undergoing the same crisis on a much larger scale. The cultural battle in this country is now between those who accept modernity, and those who deny it to their dying breath.

For some, modernity -- with its acceptance of new technology, equal rights for women, minorities and homosexuals, immigration reform, a black President, and so forth-- is a threat to the “old ways,” and one that must be met with, in the words of a failed 2012 Senate candidate, “Second Amendment remedies.”But the Peacocks showcase the ultimate fallacy of such thinking.

For when you close out new ideas, you become trapped in a bubble of madness, never able to change, never able to evolve or grow. Instead, you become dependent on instinctive thinking -- on “pack thinking” -- instead of rational thinking. By rejecting modernity, the Peacocks have become practically prehistoric in nature. As Mulder explicitly notes in the coda, “time” catches up with the family, finally.

Given this dynamic, it is not surprising that the Peacocks’ last stand in “Home” is against the Federal Government -- represented by Scully and Mulder -- that they don’t recognize or accept as having authority over them. As we can see by the pervasive “government is the enemy” rhetoric in our national discourse today, this is the pressure still building in the body politic.

Beyond the entrenched social critique, “Home” works splendidly as a meditation on “what a mother goes through,” in the heart-felt words of the Peacock matriarch. Specifically, Mrs. Peacock positions herself as a woman superior in character to Agent Scully because she has learned and practiced total sacrifice…to raise and love her sons.

Mulder confirms in this episode that this is the first time he has “ever seen” Scully “as a mother,” and that line of dialogue will have repercussions going forward on The X-Files. Many episodes of the latter seasons see Scully wishing to broach motherhood more than anything else and, in the end -- after achieving motherhood -- being forced to forsake it.

By series end, she has learned, indeed, “what a mother goes through” to see to a child’s health. Of course, Scully and Mrs. Peacock see the world quite differently. They boast wildly divergent views of modernity and motherhood. But the act of raising a child, in the end, changes both of them dramatically. In some sense, “Home” is the beginning of this plot strand on The X-Files.

Creating a scary work of art isn’t necessarily a matter of algebraic equations, but “Home” is so terrifying, even after multiple viewings, I reckon, because of the fact that it works against our confidence in Mulder and Scully.

In a typical X-Files episode, the audience follows step-by-step with the beloved lead characters, and their assumptions, research, and speculations almost universally turn out to be on the right track.

Not so in “Home.”

Here, they both guess wrong again and again. For one thing, they first believe that the Peacock baby died from genetic deformities. It didn’t…it died from being buried alive. Then they believe that the Peacocks have captured an outside woman, a traveler perhaps, and are using her for breeding stock. Again, that’s not true: there is no captive in the Peacock house. And then they try to rescue Mrs. Peacock, before realizing that she is exactly where she wants to be; she is “home.”

Again and again, the episode undercuts audience confidence in Mulder and Scully and their decisions so that when the final battle in the booby-trapped house occurs, viewers are thoroughly unsettled, and uncertain about how things are going to turn out. There is a moment of palpable terror here when Mulder goes down battling a Peacock brother, and Scully nearly activates an almost-invisible trip-wire. This one is a nail biter all the way…

Finally, I love how visually gorgeous “Home” is. It is a distinctive-looking episode of The X-Files, in part because of the exteriors shot at the Peacock estate. Some low-angle compositions outside the farmhouse reminded me of Daniel Pearl’s cinematography in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974). And so there’s a feeling in “Home” -- like the vibe in that the Hooper film -- of reality giving way to unending nightmare.

50 Years Ago on WPIX: Space:1999 "The AB Chrysalis" (October 10, 1976)

2026-10-10T06:00:00.000-04:00

1296 Days after Leaving Earth Orbit

For two weeks, Earth’s errant moon has been approaching a series of cosmic explosions. The detonation recurs every twelve hours, and each time, Alpha is damaged more heavily. The next detonation will destroy the base completely.

The source of the explosions -- a planetary system ahead -- is discovered by Maya (Catherine Schell), and Commander Koenig (Martin Landau) launches a team to investigate.

The first world approached in that system is a small moon, where a series of mechanical stations exist. These stations are the energy-gathering devices for the recurring, man-made explosions.

Koenig and Alan Carter (Nick Tate) speak with Voice Probe 248, an automaton who informs the Alphans that his makers -- who have not yet been “born” -- live in an inhospitable atmosphere of poisonous chlorine gas. The explosions occur to protect the race during its chrysalis stage.

Koenig begs for an audience, and is told that “The Guardian,” the last of the race's current iteration, is currently outside the chrysalis stage, and still conscious on the planet.

Koenig and his team travel there, only to learn that the Guardian is senile, and unable to respond to their request to stop the next explosion. Carter accidentally breaks the atmospheric seal/glass on the Guardian’s chamber, threatening the alien’s life, and weakening their case for mercy.

Two of the life-forms -- A (Ina Skriver) and B (Sarah Douglas) -- emerge from chrysalis form, and Koenig must convince them to stop the next detonation, lest Alpha be reduced to rubble.

“The AB Chrysalis” is a weird and a wonderful episode of Space: 1999 (1975-1977), and one that demonstrates the possibilities of the Year Two format. The episode is colorful, suspenseful, and highly-imaginative.

Not only does Alpha encounter a race of immortal, chlorine “perfection seekers,” but also the architecture of their alien culture. In this case, that includes their defensive system: a ring of high-tech mechanical stations that build up energy, and radiate explosions into space; a kind of galactic “keep away” measure.

More impressively, the episode reveals the alien “Voice Probes,” a series of spherical machines that travel from interior system to interior system, “jumping” on to transparent rods or poles, to perform different functions.

It is true that these probes are bouncing balls, filmed in reverse, with footage shown in slow-motion, but the concept is so creative and different from anything else in the sci-fi TV Valhalla that one cannot help but be impressed. When coupled with weird sound-effects, the depiction of the alien culture is remarkable.

In some commendable manner, the episode also closely recalls the more desperate Alphans of the first season of Space: 1999.

Faced with imminent annihilation, Commander Koenig recognizes “desperation” as his motive, and tries everything -- including a futile show of force (with an Eagle laser) -- to save his people.

Later, when he realizes he has no cards left to play, Koenig voices his frustration with the aliens, but in an act of defiance and pure humanity, comes to see that “hope is better than despair,” and loyalty (to his people; and they to him) is "better than logic." It’s a great statement of philosophy, but more than that, a fine example of Koenig’s learning during the episode. He acts rashly and violently, out of fear, until he realizes, perhaps, that if he and his people are to die, they must do so with their key human qualities -- hope and loyalty -- intact.

When Space: 1999 aired, it was often accused of being the pessimistic yang to Star Trek’s optimistic yin, and it is certainly clear why that was the case.

But episodes such as “The AB Chrysalis” feature their own unique brand of optimism. That optimism states, simply, that man can find his best -- and be his best -- even in the face of seemingly hopeless odds.

The Alphans possess no rule-book of principles, no fleet infrastructure, no real resources to fall back. Instead, they must rely on themselves, and each other. Nowhere in Year Two, one might argue, is that bond more apparent than in this particular installment.

There’s a wonderful moment, here, for example, near the end of the episode, when Koenig must tell Helena he has failed to stop the next detonation. And worse than failing, his Eagle does not even have enough fuel to carry him home to her; so they can die together. The characters must say their goodbyes, essentially, over Facetime, to use modern lingo. The characters say very little, but their expressions convey everything. It's a very human moment in a show that was accused of not having enough humanity.

“The AB Chrysalis” succeeds, too, by creating, throughout its hour, all these mini-action sequences or climaxes.

Maya must transform into a chlorine breather to save Alan from dying of the poison. Alan must pilot the Eagle straight up -- through the equivalent of a rock shaft -- with very little maneuvering room. And Koenig interacts with devices and people that are alien beyond immediate recognition or understanding.

The story hops from dramatic moment to dramatic moment with aplomb, and shows how an action format, handled well, could have been applied successfully to the series overall.

Not all stories in Year Two manage such a dynamic, successful mix, but “The AB Chrysalis” is smart, imaginative and emotionally engaging, as well as being splendidly-realized, action-packed, and highly creative.

For my money, it’s one of the very best installments of the series’ second sortie.

50 Years Ago: Land of the Lost: "Medusa" (October 9, 1976)

2026-10-09T06:00:00.001-04:00

The fifth episode of the third (and final) season of the NBC Saturday morning series highlights the mythological Medusa -- snake-haired Gorgon (sister in myth to Euryale and Stheno) -- as the villain of the week.

And indeed, if you are familiar with this bicentennial-era series, it may sound like a real stretch that the Gorgon Medusa would appear in the "closed" pocket-universe of the Land of the Lost. But 1976 was a year of significant format alterations for this series, as we've seen in the preceding weeks.

Specifically, star Spencer Milligan -- playing Dad, Rick Marshall -- left the program. On screen, Ron Harper (Planet of the Apes) took the lead as Uncle Jack, and behind the scenes, Sam Roeca, a veteran of CBS's animated Valley of the Dinosaurs, came aboard as writer and story editor. Also, writer/producer Jon Kubichan joined up.

"The first thing that Sam and I did was watch all the episodes," Kubichan reported when I interviewed him for Filmfax. "I wanted the series to be more fun, and to do something in every episode that was instructive in terms of science."

Roeca was on the same page in these desires and shared a mutual enthusiasm for mythology with Kubichan.

Together, the new team sought to present in each third season installment "something from the past, from some literature or children's narrative."

This shift in narrative/imaginative focus resulted in a controversial third season that saw the Marshalls grapple with mythological creatures and beings such as The Flying Dutchman, a unicorn, a fire-breathing dragon, the Yeti...and Medusa.

"Medusa wound her way into the Land of the Lost because that actress is my wife," Kubichan joked with me.

"A writer that I knew came in, Greg Strangis, and came up with his story. He said, 'How'd you like to do a Medusa story?' and I thought it was a good idea. He went home, worked out a story, and I made some changes. He re-wrote a little, and that was that."

One reason that humanoid mythological creations like Medusa appeared on the show so frequently in the third season involved matters of schedule and budget. "It was very difficult to do anything with the dinosaurs," Kubichan informed me. "It took a long time to shoot that stuff, so you can't have it done in a couple of days. It takes weeks..."

In "Medusa," Holly (Kathy Coleman), Will (Wesley Eure) and Cha-Ka (Philip Paley) are busy preparing a sort of emergency canoe on the river that the Marshalls explored in first season's "Downstream." Holly boards the craft, and when a dam down-river breaks, she end ups hurtling away from the others. She is rescued by a mysterious woman named "Meddie" (Marion Thompson), and escorted to Meddie's "Garden of Eternity."

There, in the Garden, Holly sees several very life-like statues, including a statue of one Jefferson Davis Collies, the Civil War soldier that Holly encountered with her Dad and Will in the aforementioned "Downstream."

Now, this is a really splendid and entirely unexpected bit of continuity in the series; a direct reference to a program two years previous. The statue of Collies is even seen with his beloved cannon, Sarah.

After Holly learns that "Meddie" has also turned the land's resident triceratops, Spike, to stone, she begins to suspect that she's in some real trouble. Meddie attempts to entice Holly to stay in the Garden by offering her a new, beautiful dress..

Elsewhere, Uncle Jack, Will and Cha-Ka, attempt to rescue Holly from Meddie -- Medusa -- but most grapple with the Gorgon's sentient mirror (!) and the ambulatory, crushing vines that crawl all over the Garden of Eternity. In the end, Jack defeats Medusa by forcing the monster to gaze upon her own horrifying reflection...

Today, Land of the Lost's dedicated sense of creative imagination and fantasy far outstrips the production's prehistoric special effects, which have not aged gracefully. The series is still incredibly enjoyable (the effects are no worse than Dr. Who's; or Blake's 7, for instance...), but "Medusa" is nonetheless hampered by some poor visualizations.

For instance, when "Meddie" turns into the Gorgon, it's clear that the snakes in her hair are just rubbery, inanimate, life-less things. And her gray, monstrous face make-up doesn't extend fully down her neck. In other words, you can see clearly where the make-up stops and real flesh color begin.

But again, Land of the Lost remains a really terrific Saturday morning's kid show because it is so endlessly imaginative, and because many episodes tend to concern great concepts, whether from science fiction (like time-loops, for instance) or from mythology. Greg Strangis's fantasy story is actually grounded in reality too, and has two very notable themes.

In a very real way -- and this is probably why this episode was so frightening to children at the time -- the episode concerns our childhood fear of strangers.

Here, Holly is alone and taken in by an apparently kind adult, but one with secret motives. She tries and tries to get away, but the adult is both demanding and apparently friendly simultaneously, and, well, it's hard for kids to go against the wishes of an adult. Here, the stranger is indeed a monster, and Holly must plot her escape carefully. So the story here, in veiled terms, is -- watch out for strangers.

The other sub-text in "Medusa" surely concerns vanity. "Meddie" is ultimately undone by her narcissistic obsession with her physical beauty. According to the teleplay, it is actually "ugly" to be too concerned with one's self. As Holly notes at the end, the problem with vanity is that you might -- like Medusa -- get "trapped" by it.

As a six-year old kid, Land of the Lost's "Medusa" terrified me to my core, but it wasn't just the Gorgon's appearance and frightening ability to turn people to stone that was so powerful; it was the idea that she was a dishonest, untrustworthy adult who was planning to do monstrous things to an innocent child.

Yikes...now that's disturbing in a real life way; a way that, well, dinosaurs or Sleestak are not.

Today, it's probably hard to conceive that an innocuous Land of the Lost from the disco decade was ever something that was legitimately "scary." But even today, you can detect how the series always attempted to ambitiously present a lot on a very small budget.

For instance, "Medusa" features one or two very impressive high angle shots of Medusa's lair. These difficult-to-stage angles get across the atmosphere of danger and dread in a powerful way. A kid's show in a hurry likely wouldn't have found the time to pick out the right angle in moments like these, but Land of the Lost remains powerful (especially to the young-at-heart...) because its stories were conveyed with care both on the page and on the stage.

"Medusa" is a strong entry for the third season, which has been some rough sailing thus far. It's imaginative and scary, even if certain questions about it persist. Like, for instance how did Medusa get into the Land of the Lost, and how has she so long eluded the notice of the Marshalls (or the Sleestak, for that matter?)

60 Years Ago: Star Trek: "The Enemy Within" (October 6, 1966)

2026-10-06T12:00:00.000-04:00

Stardate: 1672.1

The U.S.S. Enterprise crew conducts a “specimen gathering mission” on the surface of planet Alfa 177. The inhospitable planet turns deadly at night, when the temperature drops to “120 below zero.”

A crewman, Fisher, beams up to the Enterprise after taking a fall. Unfortunately, the technician’s uniform is contaminated with a strange metallic ore, and the ore damages the ship’s transporter.

When Captain Kirk (William Shatner) beams up to the ship, the damaged device splits him into two individuals. One is savage and avaricious. The other is weak and diffident. The violent, “dark” Captain Kirk assaults Yeoman Janice Rand (Grace Lee Whitney) and demands Saurian brandy from Bones (De Forest Kelley), while the other must cope with his dwindling ability to command a starship.

Meanwhile, Mr. Sulu (George Takei) and his landing party on Alfa 177 must remain the night on the frozen world, pending the repair of the transporter.

While Kirk is disgusted by the sight and thought of a vicious, barbaric double, Mr. Spock sees an opportunity for study, to understand the qualities that make a person a great commander…

Penned by the great Richard Matheson (1926-2013), “The Enemy Within” is a classic episode of Star Trek (1966-1969). Matheson’s teleplay examines -- through the use of a transporter malfunction -- the dual nature of humanity.

Inspired in art by the story of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Matheson has penned a story about Captain Kirk which reminds the audience that strength, leadership, decisiveness, even, may stem from a negative or dark part of the psyche. This is a powerful revelation, and Kirk’s final, sad musing that he has “seen a part of” himself “that no man should ever see” is powerful, even haunting.

“The Enemy Within” has for a long time been esteemed as a great episode of Star Trek, but I wonder, after my recent viewing, if it hasn’t aged poorly to some degree.

For example, Spock’s joke to Yeoman Rand at the end of the episode (about the evil, assaulting Kirk having some interesting qualities) is in bad taste and insensitive, for example. What a terrible thing to say to someone who has suffered an assault from someone she cares for. Knowing what Whitney suffered on the set of Star Trek makes the remark even worse.

Furthermore, the last act is drawn out, with the two Kirks being forced to embrace each other at great length, and with great emotionality.

Much worse, in my estimation, “The Enemy Within” is an absolute mess from a visual standpoint. The editing is sloppy in some crucial instances.

For example, early in the episode, Kirk’s uniform is missing an insignia. In the very next scene, it has returned to its proper placement.

And in the episodes final confrontation, the bridge’s view-screen is a big white board…with no image projected upon it in post-production. This really sticks out. It’s not like we’ve ever seen the screen in “off” mode before.

Then, of course, there are all the compositions that have been printed in reverse, meaning that haircuts are parted on the wrong side and insignias appear placed the wrong side.

In toto, this is a sloppy episode of Star Trek from a visual standpoint, and the mistakes are jarring, repetitive, and frequent. The alien dog with the antennae and electronic bark is also one of the sillier aliens to make an appearance on the program.

If I were William Shatner, I would certainly have cause for complaint about the production values, editing, and shooting of this story.

After all, he delivers not one but two phenomenal performances in this episode, and his efforts are under-cut frequently by the pervasive mistakes. When he takes center stage, however, Shatner is indeed a commanding presence. His “dark” Kirk is a ferocious, feral presence.

Even the threat of the week -- crew members trapped on a frozen planet -- doesn’t hold up well today because in 2016 we all know that the Enterprise houses shuttlecrafts. They should be used to rescue Sulu and his cohorts, but of course, in terms of production, a shuttle didn’t yet exist, either practically or in the imagination of the writers and producers.

But looking back, it’s a glaring omission, and adds to the sense that the episode is sloppy, or ill-considered.

The qualities that make “The Enemy Within” stand out involve the clever observations about human nature, particularly from Spock.

Although I believe it is a mistake that he would note his “alien” rather than Vulcan half, specifically, his point is nonetheless well-taken. He has two sides fighting a war inside of him, every single day.

But Spock’s observation that what makes a man a leader is “his negative side,” properly controlled, is unforgettable. That’s a pretty daring observation for a young TV show, and one in the mainstream.

It says, essentially, we derive or power and strength from dark or negative impulses. We aren’t altruistic beings. We don’t seek power for noble reasons. But, if even tempered, we can still do good things with that power.

In terms of overall structure -- as I wrote about in regards to “Where No Man Has Gone Before” two weeks ago -- it is good to have McCoy arguing the other side of the debate. He doesn’t see a dark side or a negative side here. “It’s not really ugly, it’s human,” he says, and that’s a good point too.

“The Enemy Within” is an important episode to Star Trek not merely for its dissection of Kirk’s leadership, but because it gives us a number of important series firsts. This is the first episode in which Spock uses the famous Vulcan nerve pinch. It is also the first time we hear McCoy say his immortal line, “He’s dead Jim.” We saw some of Engineering in “The Naked Time,” but this is the first episode that features an extended sequence set there, if memory serves.

I’ve always loved and admired “The Enemy Within,” but this time, while I watched, I wondered if time had finally passed it by. There is a legitimately great episode of Voyager (1995-2001), for example, called “Tuvix,” wherein Captain Janeway (Kate Mulgrew) must examine the moral case for separating two life forms who have been blended by transporter (Tuvok and Nuvix).

That episode works on a stronger, more advanced philosophical level, and has fewer unforced visual errors.

Of course, at the same time, I’ll be the first to admit that “Tuvix” couldn’t exist had “The Enemy Within” not arrived first.

For me, the reason to watch this episode remains William Shatner’s gonzo, totally-committed performance. Also, I love the Rand/Kirk scenes. That is a fascinating relationship that I wished had been given the opportunity to develop more fully.

Deep Focus Episode #2: King Kong (1976)

2026-10-06T05:45:59.918-04:00

50 Years Ago: Land of the Lost: "Repairman" (October 2, 1976)

2026-10-02T06:00:00.001-04:00

“Repairman,” the fourth episode of Land of the Lost’s third season, shows many signs of creative growing pains, though perhaps not as many as the previous two (dreadful) entries, “Survival Kit” and “The Orb.”

In “Repairman,” the Sleestak once again hatch a strategy to eradicate the Marshalls, and once again seize upon the notion of tampering with the Sun. Using another heretofore unknown pylon -- a black one at that -- the Sleestak remove a vital “sun crystal” from the matrix table. As a consequence, solar flares erupt, threatening to burn-up and destroy all life in the Altrusian valley.

Of course, there are a couple of problems with this plan.

The Sleestak have tampered with the sun and daylight before. In fact they did so in the previous episode, “The Orb,” so you’d think they might have learned their lesson. Apparently not.

And secondly, it makes no sense that the Sleestak in the third season have become veritably obsessed with killing the Marshalls…to the exclusion of all other concerns. On more than one occasion in the previous two seasons, the Marshalls came to the Sleestaks’ aid, and yet this fact is never acknowledged. Suddenly the Sleestak are out-and-out bad guys, with little moral depth, and all they want to do is to kill the Marshalls. The important subtext of the series – of cooperating with your neighbor – for the good of the environment or planet, is utterly lost.

After the solar flares erupt, a fastidious, unflappable “dandy” type named Blandings materializes in the Land of the Lost. He reports that he is a “repairman” of sorts, and has a few short hours in which to stop the solar flares. “Duty is duty,” he notes cheerily. After Blandings returns the sun crystal back to the black pylon matrix disappears, he disappears…but not before revealing to Holly that the Marshalls will, one day, find a way home.

Again, if you’ve watched Land of the Lost, or even just kept up with my retrospectives here on the blog, you’ll realize the central problem with “Repairman.” Basically, the Land of the Lost’s environmental control mechanisms have malfunctioned many times before (in “One of Our Pylons is Missing,” “The Longest Day,” and “Blackout” to name three occasions), but never before has a repairman appeared to fix them.

Instead, The Marshalls have had to act decisively, often cooperating with Sleestak or Pakuni, to repair the damage themselves. I submit that this is a superior story paradigm, as it makes the Marshalls co-stewards of their environment.

Having a repairman show up to fix things in a jiffy isn’t nearly so dramatic a resolution, and the characters don’t seem to learn much from his presence, either. In “Repairman,” the Marshalls must rescue Blandings from Sleestaks in the Lost City’s pit (as Will had to rescue Enik and Chaka in last week’s “The Orb”), but they are bystanders to the repair process, and thus cut out of the action.

Also, Blanding’s revelation that the Marshalls will find a way home seems misplaced, given series lore. We already know that a future version of Holly has warned her that she will one day be left alone in the Land of the Lost, without her family’s companionship. We have already seen Rick Marshall leave, albeit unintentionally, thus fulfilling a part of that destiny. It seems odd that given the future we already know about, that Blandings would state something directly to the contrary.

And, finally, I must note once more that Holly (Kathy Coleman) is given virtually nothing to do in this installment. She disappears for long stretches of the tale, and is not given the opportunity to join Jack (Ron Harper) and Will (Wesley Eure) on their rescue attempt.

60 Years Ago: Star Trek:"The Naked Time" (September 29, 1966)

2026-09-29T12:01:00.000-04:00

Stardate 1704.2: The U.S.S. Enterprise (NCC-1701) orbits distant Psi 2000, an ancient world on the verge of breaking up. The crew's mission: to recover the planet-bound science team, and monitor the disintegration of the planet.

Unfortunately, the landing party (consisting of half-Vulcan science officer Spock [Leonard Nimoy] and Joe Tormolen) discovers that the entirety of the science team is dead...and dead under very odd conditions indeed.

One woman has been strangled. An engineer is dead at his post, frozen to death because life support was de-activated, and another man died in the shower fully-clothed.

Tormolen unwittingly brings this unique form of "space madness" back to the starship after removing a protective glove (to scratch his nose...), and coming into contact with a contaminated console.

This "disease" spreads rapidly aboard the Enterprise as Captain Kirk and the others see "hidden personality traits forced" into the open among their comrades.

This symptom means that Mr. Sulu (George Takei) becomes a swashbuckler.

This means that Nurse Christine Chapel (Majel Barrett) confesses her undying love to Mr. Spock.

Even the logical Mr. Spock is infected too, lamenting the fact that he could never tell his mother that he loved her. Kirk is not immune, either. He admits the personal cost he's paid to serve as captain of the Enterprise, not the least of which is his isolation from the men and women he leads.

"No beach to walk on," Kirk muses wistfully.

Soon, events spiral out of control. A contaminated Lt. Kevin Riley commandeers Engineering and shuts down the engines. This means that as the planet breaks up, the Enterprise can't escape orbit. Scotty (James Doohan) proclaims dramatically that he "can't change the laws of Physics" and re-start the engines cold.

Things look grim until Kirk snaps Spock out of his crying jag. Once rational again, Spock realizes that there is a formula for cold engine start up, one that has never been tested.

In the end, Dr. McCoy (DeForest Kelley) finds a cure for the disease, and the Enterprise barely escapes Psi 2000 as it cracks up, utilizing a dangerous new intermix formula which generates a time warp.

"The Naked Time" (By John D.F. Black and directed by Marc Daniels) is not just an exciting Star Trek story from early in the series' historic first season, but the prototype and creative wellspring for much of episodic science fiction television.

In essence, "The Naked Time" finds a useful plot device -- here an alien molecule/disease that acts on the human blood stream like alcohol intoxication -- by which the writer can excavate the hidden, buried, or repressed facets of the lead characters. This is important because there are things that characters will never realistically reveal to others, all things being equal.

All things aren't equal, here, however, and the characters reveal new, deeper shades.

Star Trek went back to this "Naked Time" well at least a few times over is three seasons, with variable results. "This Side of Paradise" employs alien spores to give Spock a love story, to great emotional effect.

Oppositely, the third season's "And the Children Shall Lead" uses Gorgon-powered evil tykes to reveal that Uhura is afraid of aging, and expose Kirk's fear -- again -- of losing command. That episode is generally considered one of the worst of the series

Star Trek: The Next Generation went boldly where the original series had gone before in a story called "The Naked Now" in 1987, which revived the threat (alien disease) to vex the crew of the Enterprise-D. Ironically, the disease there seemed to reveal less diverse behavior among the crew; basically that all the women on the ship (Crusher, Troi and Yar) were sexually-deprived. The answer to this deprivation, amazingly, was more suppression. Captain Picard opined in the episode's coda that they would make a fine crew "if" they could "avoid temptation."

Another facet of "The Naked Time" that bears repeating: technically, it's the first time travel episode on the classic series.

Spock develops a formula that sends the Enterprise back in time three days, or seventy-one hours.. In the final scene, he says to Kirk that time travel is now longer a theory but a reality. Kirk opens up the door to a whole bunch of stories by replying "we may risk it some day."

Ironically -- despite the overt set-up here -- follow-up Star Trek time travel stories utilized a different method of time travel all together: a slingshot around the sun at high warp velocities. This technique appeared in "Tomorrow is Yesterday," "Assignment: Earth" and Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home.

Focusing on the episode itself, "The Naked Time" expresses something unique and very individual about the series, and this may element prove the dividing line between adherents and detractors.

Specifically, all the havoc in the episode commences when Tormolen takes off a glove to scratch his nose, and is contaminated by the infection. Some people will complain about this plot point. They'll ask: how did a man ascend to a position of authority on board the U.S.S. Enterprise, after presumably rigorous training in Starfleet, and then turn around and do something so stupid, so thoughtless, so reckless? I sympathize with those literal-thinkers who have a problem with this.

However (and this is where I fall on the subject), the glory of the original Star Trek (and one largely sacrificed to catsuits and soap opera plotting in later generations), is the continuing recognition of mankind's foibles.

Humans do make mistakes from time-to-time, and many stories in the original Star Trek canon are possible only because humans do something wrong, or reckless, or silly. I happen to appreciate this facet of "The Naked Time" and Star Trek. I believe that even when we reach the stars, we'll still be the same flawed creatures we are today. That doesn't make us bad. As Kirk would say, it just makes us human.

What else happens in "The Naked Time"?

Well, Nurse Chapel alludes to some kinky rumors about Vulcans. "The men from Vulcan treat their women...strangely," she muses with a look that suggests she wouldn't mind playing the willing victim if Spock were her victimizer. This is another reason I love the original Star Trek series: it can be downright perverse and kinky.

We learn from Kevin Riley that there's a bowling alley on the Enterprise. That's a little strange. So TV doesn't survive past 2020 in Star Trek, according to "The Big Goodbye," but bowling thrives into the 23rd century?

Nimoy is terrific in this episode. No surprise there. He has good writing on his side, of course, but he brings a lot to the table. I love how Mr. Spock attempts to hold himself together by quoting multiplication tables. There's something very right about that: the logic of Math/Order trying to hold down the chaos of emotional distress. It doesn't work, but it's a noble attempt.

Finally, "The Naked Time" reveals another element of Star Trek that disappeared after this generation: the captain's undying love for his ship.

"Never lose you," Kirk says here, while under the influence. He's referring to the Enterprise, and talking about her like she's his lover. His passion for the ship borders on obsession. In the original series, the Enterprise was a main character, and a love for this particular ship by Kirk and others is an element that informed many of the best stories.

One might contrast this mad obsession with Captain Picard's blase, rote response at the destruction of the Enterprise D (paraphrased) in Generations: "I'm sure this won't be the last ship to carry the name Enterprise..."

Deep Focus #1: Balance of Terror/A Quality of Mercy

2026-09-29T05:52:51.886-04:00

Hello, readers. I hope you will join my friend and frequent collaborator, Tony Mercer, and me, on our new Youtube show, "Deep Focus," a wide-ranging (and lengthy!) discussion about all things film and television.

Our first episode, here, is Star Trek focused, and looks at "Balance of Terror" and the Strange New Worlds episode "A Quality of Mercy."

50 Years Ago on WPIX: Space:1999: "The Metamorph" (September 26, 1976)

2026-09-26T06:00:00.000-04:00

'In “The Metamorph,” Moonbase Alpha emerges from its second encounter with a space warp, six light years from its previous position. The lunar facility’s life support system needs repair, and requires the ore known as Titanium.

Titanium is pinpointed on the volcanic surface of a nearby planet, but an Eagle reconnaissance flight ends in terror when the ship is abducted by a strange green light. Soon, Alpha is contacted by an alien from the planet, Mentor (Brian Blessed), who claims that the pilots are safe in his custody.

Mentor and Commander Koenig (Martin Landau) arrange an orbital rendezvous, but the plan is further treachery from Mentor. He captures Koenig’s eagle and drags it down to the planet, called Psychon.

There, in a subterranean city, Mentor lives with his daughter, Maya (Catherine Schell) whom he has taught the “priceless art of molecular transformation,” and operates a biological computer called Psyche which he hopes to use to restore the planet surface to its former tranquil self.

To do so, however, he must feed Psyche living minds.

The Alphans provide him a ready supply, though Koenig refuses to cooperate. Koenig hopes to convince Maya -- who doesn’t know of Psyche’s brain draining power -- that he needs her help. But to do so, she must turn on her own father.

The first episode of Space: 1999 Year Two is colorful and bold, crisp and exciting. It also introduces a great regular character to the series: Maya of Psychon, played by Catherine Schell.

I won’t mince words about Maya or her presence on the series. I love her.

I believe Maya is a great character, in part because she is allowed to be emotional as well as competent and brilliant. After Mr. Spock, all resident aliens had to be stoic, it seems, but not Maya. She was more like an imp, a good-humored, playful, highly emotional alien.

Like all her people, Maya is incredibly intelligent, with a mind that can run circles around the most high-powered computer. As a Psychon, she is, we are told in "Seed of Destruction," "hyper sensitive to all forms of living matter." Maya is also a pacifist, deploring the violence of the planet Earth when told of it in "Rules of Luton.”

"You mean, people killed people, just because they were different. That's disgusting!"

But Maya is also one tough cookie. She regularly transforms into frightening outer space creatures to stop the monster of the week in episodes such as "The Beta Cloud" and "The Bringers of Wonder." She stands up to the Commander when she believes he is wrong ("Seed of Destruction" again), and is just as comfortable flying an Eagle or running the science station in Command Center as she is in a party dress (“One Moment of Humanity.”)

In just one season on Space: 1999, Maya did things that the other females in cult-TV history have regularly been denied the opportunity to do. She piloted spaceships, engaged in fisticuffs, provided the analytical answer to the scientific challenge of the day, and also served as the mouth-piece for the “social gadfly” commentary about the human race.

To many, she became a role model.

Consider, by 1991 and Star Trek: The Next Generation’s fourth season (and episodes such as “Q-Pid”) – and long after 1999 was canceled -- women characters were still locked in caretaker roles (Dr. Crusher and Counselor Troi), and still knocking enemies out by smashing crockery over their heads. Unlike Maya, they rarely piloted space craft, or engaged the enemy in hand-to-hand combat. Data got the science talk, and Data and Worf were the outsider commenters, leaving Troi to “sense” danger, and Crusher to mend broken bones.

"I never thought of Maya as a role model," Ms. Schell told me during our 1994 interview, "perhaps because in my life I have never been held back from doing something just because I am a woman. I'm thrilled that she is seen by many as I role model, but I didn't intend it that way. Perhaps because Maya was an alien, she was allowed to do more than 'human' women were at the time."

Whatever the reasons for Maya’s full integration into the action, I remain grateful for it. I miss Barry Morse’s Victor and Prentis Hancock’s Paul Morrow in Space:1999 Year Two, but Maya’s presence adds so much to the season.

And as all fans of the series realize, there are some big differences visually, character-wise, and conceptually between Year One and Year Two. Year One is awe-inspiring, scary and often wondrous. By comparison, Year Two tends to be colorful, and action-packed, with more humor. Year One is lugubrious and ponderous, in a remarkable way. Year Two is fast-paced and giddy.

I know fans divide on the issue of “which year is better.” I prefer Year One, but I also enjoy Year Two, and feel that Maya, in particular, is a great addition to the series, in large part because of Catherine Schell’s portrayal.

And of all the Year Two style episodes - big on action, movement, and color – “The Metamorph” may just be the best. It is big, brash, exciting, and pacey…all good qualities for a season premiere, no doubt.

Writer Johnny Byrne once told me, in an interview, how the change in formats occurred:

“During the interregnum between seasons, I wrote for Gerry Anderson. I kept busy, but people involved with the production of Space: 1999 were very twitchy. Everybody knew that the new producer, Freddie [Frieberger], was coming. He sent over a tape of comments about the series, and after hearing his remarks, I understood a second season would be a whole new ball game. I had been told I would be the story editor for the second year, but it was just a verbal agreement, and I understood it was no longer going to happen. I would continue to write episodes, but it was a very different situation.”

The shift in formats boils down to, at least in creative terms, the fact the Alphans become much more aggressive and in control over their destiny in Year Two. This shift is apparent in “The Metamorph” from the fact that the base now has laser cannons positioned around its lunar perimeter, the equivalent of phaser banks.

Similarly, the Alphans have developed “Directive 4,” a coded order which means that a dangerous planet (in this case, Psychon) is to be destroyed. In Year One, Alpha did possess nuclear charges and space mines (which it utilized in stories such as “Space Brain” and “Collision Course”) but the Alphans did not have the potential for Death Star-level destruction.

What does this shift mean, in terms of storytelling?

Well, in Year Two the Alphans operate not from a place of not-knowing about outer space, but from a position of being able to defend themselves, and hold their own against all comers. One can argue for the dramatic validity of such a change, and indeed, in some senses it is logical. The Alphans would be more prepared and defensive over time, given the nature of their odyssey. But by the same token, these changes are not explained in “The Metamorph,” or phased in “in universe. Year Two begins, and everything just seems different.

That jarring change may actually be the reason so many fans have difficulty with Year Two as opposed to Year One. It’s not that the changes are wrong-headed, so much, as they are aren’t accounted for gradually, or in terms of the characters’ actual experiences or history.

“It comes down to this,” Byrne told me. “The things that people to do prevent disaster are invariably what lead them to disaster. That’s the essence of Greek tragedy. We’ve all heard that man proposes and God disposes. That’s the theme of many Year One stories. That was lost to some extent in Year Two, although I know we both think it was also a valuable season.”

Byrne also pinpointed for me another concern, one much more having to do with a production crunch than any shift in concept. “The problem was that in Year Two our scripts were no longer consecutive, feeding into each other naturally, one after the next. Instead, there was broad commissioning of about twenty at once, and I think that led to a feeling of reduced momentum. But without Freddie, there would not have been an additional season of Space: 1999. I think I need to be clear about that. It was valuable to have those twenty-four additional shows, even if I would have preferred a different direction.”

I agree with Byrne completely on this subject. I am grateful to have Space:1999 Year Two and feel that many episodes, especially those at the start (“The Metamorph,” “The Exiles,” “Journey to Where”) and at the finish (“The Séance Spectre,” “The Immunity Syndrome,” and “The Dorcons”) were good shows.

“The Metamorph” remains tops in the revised format, though, and I remember watching it with Johnny at the Main Mission Convention in New York in 2000. We saw there, much in terms of both virtue and potential.

“I wrote the premiere episode, “The Metamorph,” and it introduced the character of Maya, the shape-shifter played by Catherine Schell,” he told me in our interview. “She wasn’t in my original script, which was called “The Biological Soul” and then “The Biological Computer.” But I saw the episode just recently in New York, and it looked absolutely wonderful. It was fast-paced, smart, interesting and I liked what was left of my main character, Mentor…that idea of flawed genius.

Byrne tallied up so many good points there. Indeed “The Metamorph” moves with such confidence and purpose, that watching it, one feels like the series revamp could have been a remarkable thing. The same atmosphere carries over to “The Exiles,” in my opinion. After that, however, the feeling of quality starts to slip, and the production rush takes over, producing some slipshod episodes. It’s not that the writing in particular gets worse in Year Two, it’s that there’s the feeling that corners are being cut, and the series creator are constantly battling not to fall behind, instead of battling to produce great new stories in this format, of which “The Metamorph” is absolutely one.

What makes it so good?

For one thing, the Alphans reach out in "The Metamorph."

Despite the fact that they have been betrayed and disappointed by aliens in the past, Koenig reaches to Maya, and makes a friend in the process.

And Maya, to her credit, realizes in "The Metamorph" that there are some virtues greater, even, than family. When she discovers the truth of Mentor's sadism and evil, she doesn't rally loyally (and mindlessly) to her father. Instead, she attempts to redress a wrong he has committed. It's not an easy choice for her, yet Maya does what is right, not what is easy. This makes her a hero.

The episode's closing scene in the Eagle, with Koenig telling Maya that "we are all aliens, until we get to know each other," is an indicator that the Alphans are still human, still willing to extend a hand of friendship. Koenig and Helena want to help Maya, despite the fact that Mentor has been their enemy. They don't let her former allegiance color their perception of her, and on the contrary, realize how much she has given up for them.

The episode also works in terms of Koenig's character, showcasing the isolation of his position. He is forced to make a terrible choice in "The Metamorph:" give up his people on Psychon, or watch Alpha be obliterated.

He attempts to turn the tables on Mentor, but for a time, his people, including Carter (Nick Tate) believe he is a coward. He silently carries that shame, rather than expose his plan to stop Mentor.

"The Metamorph" is also very exciting, from the sequence with Koenig's eagle experiencing terrible G-forces in flight, to the final confrontation in which Maya goes crazy, transforming from animal to another animal in a desperate bid to save her father from a fire.

Most importantly, "The Metamorph" sets the stage for Maya's place on Alpha. She begins the episode asking her father, Mentor, if she would make a good Alphan. She ends the story with Koenig and Helena re-assuring her that there's a place for her there.

Although fans will always have their preferences regarding Year One and Year Two, I would nonetheless declare that Maya and Catherine Schell helped to make Space:1999 Year Two exciting and memorable, "The Metamorph" is an example of a success story in Year Two, and a demonstration of the revised format's potential.

AF on Tubi! Help Us Find Our Next Tag-Line!

2026-09-25T06:16:43.319-04:00

50 Years Ago: Land of the Lost "The Orb" (September 25, 1976)

2026-09-25T06:00:00.002-04:00

The third episode of Land of the Lost’s final season, titled “The Orb,” is only a slight improvement over the disastrous second installment, “Survival Kit.”

Here, Enik (Walker Edmiston) is transformed suddenly into a clone of Mr. Spock, adopting the term “logical” no less than seven times in a twenty-two minute span. I counted, because the use of the term became so egregious after the first couple of uses.

Of course, “logic” is Spock’s buzzword, derived from his planet’s obsession with logical behavior. Why should Enik -- the resident alien of Land of the Lost -- suddenly adopt this obsession with “logical” behavior? In all of Land of the Lost history, in every Enik episode -- if you added them up -- he wouldn’t have used the word logical seven times. It’s insulting here, and even as a kid I knew that Star Trek was being ripped-off. I felt cheated, but also baffled. Enik was a well-established, well-defined character by the third-season. Why was he being re-written as a Spock clone?

In “The Orb,” the Sleestak spontaneously decide to eradicate all humans in Altrusia and believe that the key to doing so involves a mystical Sleestak orb that will plunge the world into total, permanent darkness. Unfortunately, this plan -- making it permanently night -- was also at the heart of “Blackout,” the second-to-last episode of Land of the Lost’s second season. There, the Sleestak used a secret second clock pylon to freeze time.

So…in a relatively short span, the Sleestak have forgotten they already attempted this plan...and it didn’t work the first time. Permanent midnight in Altrusia means, as that episode explained, that the moths that fertilize Sleestak will die in the cold. Permanent night is thus a death sentence not for humans, but for the Sleestak race.

Alas, there’s no sense of continuity between this installment, and “Blackout.”

In hopes of acquiring the orb, the Sleestak capture Enik and Chaka (Philip Paley) in the hopes that the Marshalls will come for them and retrieve the orb from the God in the pit. Fortunately, Will (Wesley Eure) happens into a pylon that no one has ever seen before, and it unexpectedly grants him invisibility.

Invisibility, it turns out, is quite handy in stealing the orb and releasing Chaka and Sleestak.

Long story short: the writing here is just unbelievably bad. Forget Enik’s aping of Mr. Spock. Forget the fact that the Sleestak strategy was just attempted…five episodes ago in terms of chronology.

But isn’t it awfully convenient that Will should develop the power of invisibility just when that one, specific power can solve the crisis of the day? In a sense, all of dramatic writing is about fashioning manufactured crises, but a problem arises when there is so much contrivance involved. That’s the case with “The Orb.” The contrivances stack-up.

On top of all these concerns, “The Orb” is the second episode in row in which Holly (Kathy Coleman) has virtually nothing of consequence to do. There is a case that could be made that she is the true main character of Land of the Lost, but the third season so far simply dismisses her as a little girl, and lets Will and Jack do the heavy lifting.

And in terms of Jack (Ron Harper), one can see why he proves necessary to the series in this episode. He brings a long a new influx of important equipment from matches and antibiotics to flare guns and flashlights. All those items, incidentally, make it much easier to solve the problem of the week. That established, the moments with flares lighting a dark Altrusia are memorably wrought.

I’m a long-time admirer of Land of the Lost, and not one to dismiss the third season out of hand. But between “Survival Kit” and “The Orb” one can detect that the series is on a fatal downward slide.

60 Years Ago: Star Trek: "Where No Man Has Gone Before" (September 22, 1966)

2026-09-22T06:00:00.001-04:00

Stardate: 1312.4

Under the command of James Kirk (William Shatner), the U.S.S. Enterprise probes to the very edge of the Milky Way Galaxy. The starship follows in the footsteps of the SS Valiant, which disappeared on a similar probe two centuries earlier.

A disaster recording probe from the Valiant is recovered, and it is learned from it that the ship’s captain ordered the vessel’s destruction following contact with a force field or barrier at the edge of the galaxy.

After that incident, some crew members on the Valiant developed unusual psi powers.

Recognizing that other ships will one day head this way, Kirk orders the Enterprise through the barrier at the edge of the galaxy, but the ship is damaged in the attempt, and two officers -- First Officer Gary Mitchell (Gary Lockwood) and psychiatrist Elizabeth Dehner (Sally Lockwood) -- are injured.

While repairs are effected to the Enterprise, Mitchell begins to develop frightening psionic or ESP abilities. Spock recommends marooning the evolving human at an automated lithium cracking and “galactic mining” station on lonely Delta Vega, and Kirk comes to realize he has no choice, lest he be forced to make the same decision that the Valiant’s captain did two hundred years earlier.

But Gary Mitchell has not decided yet what kind of world he can “use,” and strikes back against his old friend and shipmates…

“Where No Man Has Gone Before” is the episode that sold Star Trek (1966-1969) as a series, and therefore, the series episode that, we might fairly state, initiated a beloved franchise.

Written by Samuel Peeples, the adventurous story concerns a dear friend of Kirk’s, Gary Mitchell, who is altered by psionic powers, becoming a God-like being in the process. In very real terms, the story is an important first command test for Kirk.

Is Jim Kirk able -- despite his intense emotions -- to see this situation clearly? Is he able to safeguard his ship and put aside his friendship for Mitchell?

He has Spock to argue the logic of marooning (or killing) Mitchell, and Dehner argues the humanistic side, debating the notion that an evolved human could also be a “wonderful thing.”

Structurally, one can see (the brilliant) format of the original Star Trek forming before our eyes with this episode.

The triangle, or triumvirate, is often called, is beginning to grow apparent.

At the upper point of the triangle we have Kirk, the decision maker.

At one point below, we have the case for logic and rationality as represented by the apparently-heartless Spock.

And on the last corner, we have the emotional or human argument, urging humanity, sensitivity, sympathy and understanding.

Kirk must, throughout the course of the series, consider those often opposing philosophies, and make a choice that impacts the lives, literally, of millions. He must show the wisdom of Solomon.

I note that the triangle is forming, because it is not complete.

Although brilliantly-played by Sally Kellerman, Dr. Dehner in "Where No Man Has Gone Before" is not an appropriately grounded voice for the “emotional” arguments being presented to Kirk.

One senses that she is attracted to Gary, and taken with her ideas of “improving the line” (perfecting the human species). She is not a fair, impartial arbiter, in other words. In other episodes, of course, we have Dr. McCoy to passionately argue the humanistic side of the equation in the structural/character triangle.

“Where No Man Has Gone Before” obsesses on Kirk’s position, and dilemma.

Is it right to imprison, maroon and kill a friend who exhibits signs of becoming dangerous? Is it irresponsible not to do so, given the abilities Mitchell demonstrates?

Kirk serves as an almost Hamlet-like figure in this episode, torn between viewpoints, and unable to act until it is almost too late to do so.

We don’t often see Kirk paralyzed by his choices, but it is appropriate that he is seems so torn in this case. He risks not just losing a crew-man, but, ostensibly, his best friend on the Enterprise. He notes for example, that he has been friends with Mitchell for fifteen years, since their Academy days.

Spock’s arguments are logical, but ruthless, and that ruthlessness is a brand of noise, one might say, that jeopardizes his message. Kirk can’t countenance a brutal decision made brutally, if that makes sense. He must, as he notes in a later episode “feel his way” through the decision process.

The human side of this debate may also seem inadequate because as viewers, we clearly recognize the danger Mitchell represents. As soon as we see those (marvelously effective) silver eyes staring at us, we know that Mitchell is trouble.

We see him as a villain and a monster, rather than as merely an evolved man, and so we come to agree with Spock’s sentiment, if not the (emotionless) way he delivers his analysis. It might have been intriguing for Mitchell to go through some intermediate states of development wherein he doesn’t seem like a threat, just different.

Had we seen that progression, we might be more inclined towards Dehner’s belief that he is not dangerous, merely a new stage in human evolution.

What may be most interesting about “Where No Man Has Gone Before” -- and this fascinates me, endlessly -- is the visualization of the show's universe. We see a different set of Starfleet uniforms. e see a different communicator and a bulky phaser rifle.

We meet different crewman, like Dr. Piper and Mr. Kelso, too. There is no sign of Dr. McCoy or Lt. Uhura. Scotty wears a gold command shirt, and Mr. Sulu is a physicist who offers Captain Kirk “the mathematics” of a given situation.

The background terminology is different too. The transporter is called a “materializer” for example, and the ship’s intercom is referred to as “intercraft” communication. Similarly, when the Enterprise comes to a stop, Kirk orders the helmsman to “neutralize” warp.

Again, not a common term in the standard Trek lexicon.

Similarly, we learn that the Enterprise runs on “lithium” crystals, rather than the Dilithium Crystals of canon. Even Spock’s background seems a bit vague. He notes, while playing 3-D chess with Spock that one of his ancestors married a human female. That ancestor, of course, is his father. In the early episodes of Star Trek (such as “The Corbomite Maneuver,”) Spock refers to his parents in the past tense, though by“Journey to Babel” we see they are very much alive.

I have always rather liked the fact that “Where No Man Has Gone Before” appears to have taken place in a slightly different world than do the other episodes. Between “The Cage” and “Where No Man Has Gone Before,” we get the sense that there is a larger universe out there, one with changing fashion, changing technology, changing energy sources, even. I don’t see the changes as continuity errors, but rather as a sign that Star Trek presents a living, growing universe.

I do wonder, however, what original viewers must have thought on first run while watching this installment. Were they asking: where's McCoy? Why is Spock's shirt gold instead of blue?

Did they think that the third episode was presenting a new format/new look?

One very nice aspect of “Where No Man Has Gone Before” involves the background we get on Kirk.

Sure his gravestone -- reading “James R. Kirk” -- is wrong, but Mitchell describes our good Captain memorably as “a stack of books with legs. In his class, you either think…or sink.”

That’s a far cry from the more devil-may-care attitude that many casual fans think of when they imagine Kirk. The reboots, set in an alternate reality, change Kirk to that kind of character. He’s hardly a stack of books with legs.

William Shatner is very good in his first Star Trek appearance here, though a little too furtive and unsure for my test. That approach fits in with the story and Kirk's Hamlet-like dilemma, but may not have worked, overall for the character.

Look at Kirk on the bridge as the ship approaches the barrier for the first time. He is craning his neck, constantly looking at everyone else for reassurance, visibly worrying too much, and not demonstrating the confidence a starship captain must possess.

“Where No Man Has Gone Before” resolves in a fist-fight and with an obvious lesson -- “absolute power corrupts absolutely” -- and yet it also establishes another trademark of the series.

Kirk draws Dehner to his side of the conflict with Mitchell by appealing to her humanity and sense of duty. He reminds her that she is a psychiatrist and asks for a diagnosis of Mitchell. He asks her if she likes what she sees. A key element of Kirk’s character throughout the series is his ability to craft a persuasive argument from the two world views that inform his world (logic and emotionalism).

In terms of Star Trek's prophetic nature "Where No Man Has Gone Before" predicts that we will have electronic readers in the future so as to read books in that fashion. Yep.

Abnormal Fixation Now Streaming on TUBI

2026-09-21T06:33:23.396-04:00

Watch episode 1 now!

30 Years Ago: Dark Skies (1996)

2026-09-21T06:00:00.010-04:00

Here’s a science fiction TV effort from the 1990s that probably didn’t get the love it deserved during its original network broadcast. In fact, the expensive, highly-promoted Dark Skies suffered cancellation after a pilot and just nineteen hour-long episodes aired on NBC.

Dark Skies (1996-1997) ran during the reign of the magnificent X-Files, and – rightly or wrongly – has always been viewed by an unimpressed media in the shadow of that more popular creation; as an unworthy imitation rather than as its own individual (and original) thing.

Variety termed Dark Skies “shamelessly derivative” of the X-Files and The Invaders, while The Skeptical Enquirer dubbed the series a “clone” of Chris Carter’s series. Entertainment Weekly noted Dark Skies boasted “amazing gall” and concluded that the sci-fi proceedings -- if not laughable -- were “at least snickerable.”

The tantalizing premise of Dark Skies is that – simply stated – American history as we have learned it and experienced it is a sham. It's nothing but a carefully-constructed confabulation. Assassinations, natural disasters, presidential elections, economic upheavals and foreign wars are all merely the cover story for something else, something far more sinister.

In particular, these turbulent events are the results of the American government’s pitched battle against a malevolent extra-terrestrial alien collective consciousness known as “The Hive.”

Battling the Hive is a dedicated, secret American military organization called SHADO.

No, just kidding.

The secret organization is “Majestic 12,” led by Captain Frank Bach (the late J.T. Walsh). Bach’s agency was formed after the Roswell encounter in 1947, and on Dark Skies it was operating well into the 1960s. Like Commander Straker before him, Bach wasn’t interested in pursuing half-measures or courtesies. His mission was to save America from evil aliens. Pure and simple. This mission made him both a patriot and a zealot.

But Bach isn’t even the central figure in the series. Rather, Dark Skies focuses on two idealistic young college graduates who have come to serve in the Kennedy Administration in Washington D.C. during the Age of Camelot: John Loengard (Eric Close) and Kim Sayers (Megan Ward).

These youngsters arrive in DC full of hope and can-do optimism, planning to make their mark on the planet...and the future. They learn in short order of secret conspiracies and corruption, both alien and human. Their discovery -- their unwitting ‘awakening’ from dreamy Camelot -- echoes a very real disillusionment and disappointment that grew up in youthful America after the Kennedy assassination and led to the Vietnam War Era. Dreams die hard.

Over the course of the series, John and Kim travel across these great United States attempting to stop the grand alien invasion plan, and occasionally curb Bach’s worst civil-liberty-crushing excesses. Various Dark Skies episodes involve the Kennedy Assassination, The Warren Commission and even the Watts riot.

On their travels, John and Kim encounter famous historical figures such as Howard Hughes (“Dreamland”), Gerald Ford (“The Warren Omission”), The Beatles (“Dark Day’s Night”) Timothy Leary (“Bloodlines”) and even alien abductees Barney and Betty Hill (“The Awakening.”)

Dark Skies producer James Parriott described the series with this phrase: “Our future’s happening in our past.” I enjoyed that idea very much, and felt that the period-piece aspect of the series successfully differentiated Dark Skies from The X-Files. Also, Dark Skies featured a continuing enemy: the alien hive. The X-Files (beautifully) alternated between aliens, genetic freaks, serial killers and other antagonists. So I don’t necessarily view Dark Skies as a direct copy except in the most superficial matters. For instance, John and Kim “investigate” cases together like Mulder and Scully, and there’s an overriding conspiracy.

One other notable difference: Dark Skies never evidenced the sense of humor that The X-Files so intelligently cultivated. All in all, It was a rather…dour program.

Dark Skies also underwent an unnecessary cast shift about half-way through the run of twenty episodes. A pre-Seven-of-Nine Jeri Ryan joined the cast as Juliet Stuart -- a no-nonsense but very sexy Majestic agent -- starting in the episode "The Warren Omission." Abducted by the Hive, Kim Sayers' just....disappeared. The character was all-but-abandoned for the remainder of the program's run. She returned briefly as an alien agent, but the shift never quite felt right. The casting change simply smacked of desperation: the shuffling of deck chairs on the Titanic. Especially since there was incipient sexual tension between Loengard and Juliet. That facet of their relationship felt highly inappropriate, given the tragedy that had occurred to Kim, the love of Loengard's life.

Still, there's much to appreciate in the 30 year old Dark Skies. The idea that the sixties were so turbulent because of the Hive is one that's fun to speculate about. And also, there's a good subtext here that these alien invaders are communists. "We have no color. We have no conflict," one alien tells Loengard in an episode set in Mississippi at the height of the Civil Rights Movement. Also, the production values of Dark Skies are absolutely top-notch, and the series features the occasional harrowing horror scene (like the forced expulsion of an alien "ganglion" from a human being, during the pilot.)

Dark Skies was extremely popular in Europe in the nineties, and it developed a small but dedicated cult following here in the States. The final episode of the series, "Bloodlines" featured a voice over narration from an elderly Leongard informing viewers that the alien menace had finally been beaten. It was a stopgap measure to be certain, a stop-gap attempt to bring some closure to a series destined never to return. But still, you can't help but feel watching Dark Skies that there was a lot of life left in the premise, even with the wrong-headed cast changes.

After all, we haven't run out of interesting American history yet, have we?

50 Years Ago: Land of the Lost: "Survival Kit" (September 18, 1976)

2026-09-18T06:00:00.001-04:00

It’s very rare to come across an episode of Land of the Lost -- in any season -- that I vehemently dislike and judge almost entirely worthless.

But “Survival Kit,” the second episode in the third season catalog, certainly fits the bill.

In this story, an arrogant Cro-Magnon man, Malak (Richard Kiel), whom the Sleestak apparently revere as “The Exalted One,” seizes control of the Land of the Lost’s river and threatens to drown the denizens of the Lost City unless he is continually brought “tribute.” He also wants a slave to serve him.

The Marshalls see the Sleestak take their “survival kit,” after Uncle Jack recovers it from the Marshalls’ raft at the bottom of the lagoon and Uncle Jack realizes they must retrieve it because it contains medicine that can treat Holly (Kathy Coleman), who is suffering from a terrible fever.

Accordingly, Jack (Ron Harper), Will (Wesley Eure) and Chaka (Philip Paley) visit Malak in his stone home, a structure also never-before-seen in the Land of the Lost, and attempt to trade goods for their survival kit. Jack treats Malak’s tooth-ache and tricks him with the “magic” of a flash light before Malak acquiesces to his demands and also agrees to release control of the river. Holly is healed, and Malak is never seen nor spoken of again.

There is so much wrong with this episode, it is hard to know precisely where to start…

But first, let’s get to Malak. He is apparently a long-time denizen of the Land of the Lost, but in two seasons worth of episodes, there has been no mention of his presence. One might think his presence is important, since he -- like the Marshalls -- is a human being. At one point in the episode, Enik reveals that the Sleestak live in fear of the time when the moons align and they must give tribute Malak. So he has apparently appeared before, and regularly at that. Yet none of the Marshalls (or Chaka) have noticed Eegah hanging around? Or made note of his impressive home…which controls the river?

Then, there’s the matter of the titular survival kit. It apparently sank to the bottom of the lagoon when the Marshalls arrived in the Land of the Lost, but as you’ll remember from the opening credits of the first two seasons, the raft did not land in the lagoon. It landed on dry land. Remember the image of the family unconscious in the raft, as Grumpy’s roar awakens it?

So had did the raft -- on dry land -- sink?

And while on the topic of the survival kit, how is it that Jack recovers it from the lagoon so quickly and easily? Are we to believe that Lulu is the only critter in Land of the Lost Lagoon?

It’s hard to know which characters gets the worst of this particular story, but my vote would go to Enik (Walker Edmiston), the evolved Sleestak from Altrusia’s distant (but evolved) past. Here, he misinterprets the Library of Skulls’ wisdom and responds by, essentially, robbing the Marshalls’ temple for “tribute” items. A man who knows the great sweep of history and who can control time doors is here thus reduced to stealing crockery to appease a bully and cave-man.

By the way, the Skulls in the Library pretty much reveal that Malak is not a god, because Gods would not demand human things…like crockery. But Enik misses the clue entirely, and acts as stupidly and irrationally as his Sleestak cohorts.

This episode also reduces significantly the terror of the Sleestak, as they are held at the mercy of a giant brute in a fur loin cloth. It’s a low-point not merely for Enik, but the entire Altrusian race. I can’t believe that ten or eleven Sleestak from the Lost City couldn’t overwhelm the guy or his home.

The cheapness of “Survival Kit” is also shocking. We never even get one full-exterior shot of Malak’s home, which an is important oversight considering that last week (“After Shock”) the Marshalls and the Sleestak were fighting over the only real estate available: the Old Temple. Only here, suddenly, Malak’s got a man-cave, literally.

All of this may read like nitpicking, but the obvious conclusion about “Survival Kit” is that it is written with absolutely no regard or respect for Land of the Lost history. Malak surely would have been noticed in years past if he was there, and I can’t believe it is an established Sleestak tradition to kowtow to his demands. And we know -- from our lying eyes -- that Marshall raft never sank in the lagoon.

And worst of all, to dramatize this miserable, entirely unworthy story, Land of the Lost must make a fool of the dignified, regal Enik, and even of his menacing fellow-denizens in the Lost City, the Sleestak.

When fans claim that they dislike the series’ third season, “Survival Kit” must be a prime reason why. There’s absolutely no attention paid to series continuity, detail, or even characters. It’s a dramatic low-point for a series that had previously made it a point never to talk down to kids.

60 Years Ago: Batman:"Hot off the Griddle/The Cat and the Fiddle"

2026-09-16T06:00:00.001-04:00

The second season two-part Batman story "Hot off the Griddle"/"The Cat and the Fiddle" -- which aired in September of 1966 -- reveals the pop-art comic-book series in all its counter-culture, colorful 1960s glory.

The story involves Catwoman, a criminal played by the sexiest woman of the 1960s, Julie Newmar, stealing a variety of "cat"-themed objects before Batman (Adam West) and Robin (Burt Ward) set a trap for her at Gotham's Museum of Natural History.

Catwoman double crosses the Caped Crusaders and then, using Cat Darts, poisons the heroes and and places the unconscious Dynamic Duo on giant hibachi ovens(!), under over-sized magnifying glasses...where they will be burned to a crisp.

A combination of calculus and happenstance (a convenient solar eclipse) help Batman and Robin escape this danger from the "Hateful Hussy."

It is in this sequence that, in a self-reflexive joke, Robin asks Batman why these cliffhanging traps always threaten them, but never seem to succeed.

An in-joke about the structure of the series ("same Bat-time; same Bat-station" and all...), this comment acknowledges the absurdity of the format and even of television as an art form to an extent. But Batman -- about to break the fourth wall -- comments that he and his ward keep surviving because...they have "pure hearts."

This episode is filled with small, delicious moments just like that, which parody the form, and will likely infuriate the modern-minded who want their costumed heroes served up with ABSOLUTE SERIOUSNESS.

For instance, on his way to stop Catwoman at the Gotham State Building, Batman pauses to pay the parking meter. "Good citizenship, you know," he says.

At another point, Batman looks skyward to see what Catwoman is doing on the roof of the building and his cohorts ask (of the criminals): "Are they birds? Are they planes?..."

Again, supremely silly, but that was mission assignment for 1966. And don't even get me started on the visual pun about "turning the tables" on Catwoman at her "front" restaurant, The Pink Sandbox.

A generation -- my generation -- grew up with Adam West's Batman and Burt Ward's Robin. As youngsters, the "camp" aspects of the show didn't really register for us, and the series was merely a great adventure featuring noble heroes, colorful villains and the most awesome set of gadgets and vehicles anyone had ever seen on television.

But as adults, we found that this Batman -- played for laughs -- was worth a second look because the series is clever, irreverent, witty and utterly ridiculous.

Again, these aren't the virtues of today. Still, you can enjoy this program thoroughly if only you remember it is a product of the 1960s and not the 21st century.

Ultimately, there may be as many interpretations of Batman as there have been of Hamlet (or in terms of genre: Dracula).

We had pure, straight-faced innocence in the form of Robert Lowery and Johnny Duncan's 1943 Batman.

We had colorful, over-the-top camp in the Adam West version of the 1960s.

We had an "Outsider" vision of Batman in a rotting, post-Reagan urban blight; from Tim Burton's 1989 feature.

We even had a fetishist interpretation in Schumacher's 1995 and 1997 franchise entires (Batman Forever and Batman and Robin). We even have the Age of the Ultra-Real with The Dark Knight Trilogy.

The characters, situations and locations remain the same, but with each new writer, each new director, each new lead actor, the interpretation of this legend evolves. In sixty years, I wonder how the Bat-fans of that time will gaze upon Nolan's work?

60 Years Ago: Star Trek: "Charlie X" (September 15, 1966)

2026-09-15T06:00:00.001-04:00

Stardate: 1533.6

The U.S.S. Enterprise picks up an “unusual” passenger bound for Colony 5 from the survey ship Antares: seventeen year old Charles Evans (Robert Walker).

Charlie is the sole survivor of a spaceship crash thirteen years earlier. He survived on the planet Thasus alone, learning how to talk from the ship’s memory banks.

Mr. Spock (Leonard Nimoy), however, is suspicious of this story, and believes that Charlie must have been assisted by a legendary race of aliens -- the Thasians -- who are said to have possessed the power to “transmute” objects.

Charlie settles down on the Enterprise, but finds navigating adolescence difficult, especially because, in truth, he has indeed been gifted with the Thasians’ god-like powers.

When Charlie falls in love with Yeoman Janice Rand (Grace Lee Whitney), he gets a lesson in love and rejection that proves dangerous for the entirety of the Enterprise crew…

Without making too grand or sweeping a statement, “Charlie X” is absolutely one of the great Star Trek (1966-1969) episodes.

In part this is because the episode features a simple, elegant, emotionally-affecting storyline. In broad strokes, a teenager achieves the power of a God, but lacks the temperament or experience to use that power to help him fit in. The contradictory, confusing world of adults proves too much for Charlie and he feels that “everything” he does or says is “wrong.”

Charlie is a fascinating bundle of contradictions. He is innocent, yet awkward. He is vulnerable, and yet virtually all-powerful. He wants to be liked, and yet -- because of that desire -- often transmits as very unlikable indeed. Robert Walker achieves much in this role, capturing every facet of a tragic character. He inhabits this role, and makes Charlie a “real” teenager.

The most amazing thing about “Charlie X” is that it proves a very intense episode because of Charlie’s behavior, because of the aforementioned qualities. He is unpredictable in his responses to others. As Uhura quite aptly notes in her song about him, “we know not what he’ll do…”

For example, he gives Yeoman Rand a bottle of her favorite perfume, and the galley a supply of Thanksgiving turkeys. But when roused to anger, Charlie goes on a reign of terror. He transforms crew people into lizards, or face-less monsters.

The tension surrounding him is palpable because we can’t always guess how he will react next. More specifically, Captain Kirk keeps pushing Charlie, throughout the episode, and we wonder if -- or when -- Charlie will strike back.

As I’ve written before, Star Trek often operates on two levels. There’s the story, and then there’s the sub-text or underneath of that story. On the surface, “Charlie X” is about a castaway unable to go home because of his alien powers. The sub-text, however, is about adolescence, and the forces that make it wondrous and unbearable at the same time.

Charlie expresses the yin-yang of adolescence best. Sporting a huge crush on Rand, he can be pure and sweet in his longing. “If I had the whole universe, I’d give it to you,” he says, romantically. Seconds later, that sweetness becomes relentless ardor and Charlie describes how he feels, physically. He is “hungry…all over.”

“Charlie X” also happens to feature my favorite bit of James Kirk advice or wisdom in the entire series. The good Captain informs Charlie: “There are a million things in this universe you can have and a million things you can't have. It's no fun facing that, but that's the way things are.”

Truer words were never spoken.

And the trick of being an adult, I suppose is dedicating yourself to the pursuit of those things you believe you can have, while letting go of those you can’t, reasonably, expect to have. Charlie simply can’t understand why he can’t have whatever -- or whomever -- he desires. As Kirk also tells him, “you have to live people. You’re not alone anymore.”

It’s a great lesson for Charlie, too, because although he can apparently transform matter, he can’t change a person’s heart to be more inclined towards him.

Charlie may be God-like in his alien abilities, but like anyone with an unrequited crush, he must learn to accept rejection. His choice is to live alone like a God -- and be isolated from his own kind -- or learn to get along in a world he isn’t equipped to understand, where he can’t use his powers to get what he wants.

“Charlie X” works so well not only because of Charlie’s capricious unpredictability, but also because Charlie is not a two-dimensional “God-Monster.”

Now by comparison, Gary Mitchell (in next week’s episode, “Where No Man Has Gone Before”) is much more of that type. That particular story is valuable not because of its exploration of Gary’s character, but because of Kirk’s dilemma, being forced to strand or possibly murder a friend who has become a monster. The focus there is (appropriately) on Kirk.

Charlie is much less a monster than is Mitchell is. He is innocent; groping. He has never seen a girl before, even. He tells Dr. McCoy he wants people to like him. He doesn’t like to be laughed at, and he doesn’t like to be teased.

Who among us does not desire belonging, or fear mocking?

The image I perpetually carry with me from this episode is of Charlie walking the corridors of the Enterprise, smiling at everybody awkwardly, unaware that he is invaded the crew’s personal space. The crew tolerates him as he stands there, gleaming at them, and he just can’t understand why he is regarded as he is. He has no awareness of himself as part of a group.

If this episode reveals is, essentially, the Tragedy of Charles Evans, it is also provides a close-up look at the inherent goodness of Captain Kirk and his crew. Charlie has sent people away (the equivalent of wishing them into the cornfield), tortured crew-members, and physically injured Spock (breaking his legs) and yet, in the end, Kirk goes to bat for him with the Thasians. He offers to let Charlie stay on the Enterprise, even knowing how impossible it would be to control the young man.

Charlie has done such horrible things and yet when he is whisked off the bridge by the Thasians, the episode ends not with relief, but with a feeling of sadness. This is a perfect example of why people have loved Star Trek for fifty years. Those whom we disagree or even fight with, aren’t simply monsters or enemies to be killed, banished or gotten rid of. They are people, and they are to be treated with sympathy. After everything Rand, Kirk and the others endure, they put that selfish pain aside to help a fellow human beings.

This is a view of humanity as it can be, and as it should be. We will always run into bad people, no doubt. But if we let those bad people change who we are, we have lost ourselves.

“Charlie X” also succeeds admirably on the front I described in my review last week, of “The Man Trap.”

I called it, the “lower decks” aspect of the series. Here, we spend a lot of time with Yeoman Rand, again, performing her duties, and spending her off-duty time in the rec room. In fact, there’s a terrific scene here in which Lt. Uhura holds court there, singing a teasing song about Spock (comparing his looks to those of the Devil).

She then sings a similarly-cheeky song about Charlie, and he punishes for it, stealing her voice. It’s too bad that the inexperienced Charlie can’t read the room, or the meaning behind Uhura’s teasing. Charlie, like Spock, is a part of the Enterprise family. The song reinforces that idea of belonging. But Charlie just feels exposed, embarrassed. He can’t see that Uhura has actually made him…a brother.

In the same scene, we see Spock playing his Vulcan harp -- in the presence of other crewmen -- suggesting that he is not an outcast despite his alien nature. Other episodes (notably “Balance of Terror” and “The Galileo Seven”) suggest bigotry towards Spock among some crew-members, by contrast.

We also see for the first and only time, the ship’s gymnasium, and Rand’s quarters. These early episodes, by dividing attention between the people on the bridge and the rest of the crew, really make the Enterprise feel like a real ship, with a real group of people aboard her. The crew-members we spend time with (like poor Tina Lawton) aren’t just extras to fill up the background of shots. Indeed, we learn here that the crew still celebrates Thanksgiving, and that turkey remains the traditional meal of that holiday.

Some aspects of the episode could use some more clarification, for certain. The Antares is described as a survey vessel, a transport, and a cargo vessel across the span of the episode, for example. Those terms are not synonymous. Similarly, the idea that you can press all the controls/buttons on the bridge and therefore give Charlie more to “control” seems a little silly. Charlie, I’m certain, would simply not bother to control the systems that don’t require attention.

Terminology is also still being ironed out here. UESPA is mentioned, instead of the later Starfleet, for example.

These are small matters, however, in an episode as elegant and as heart-wrenching as this one. “Charlie X” would definitely make my top ten list for the series.

Behind the Scenes with Bubble Wrap: Abnormal Fixation Season Three

2026-09-14T09:40:28.220-04:00