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I saw a good deal of Star Trek: The Next Generation when I was younger, and there was always something about it that made it seem more distant and alien (if you'll excuse the pun) than other science fiction franchises. The fact that they'd abolished the concept of money probably had something to do with it, but eventually I realized what it was: teleportation. Most other sci-fi tropes felt like a believable extension of existing technology, but teleportation always seemed to be the thing that was far more fiction than science.
With Star Trek, director J.J. Abrams hasn't made the technology much more plausible, but the characters using it are. If the original series was about mankind's apparently utopian future, Abrams' version is about what happens when we inevitably fall short.
Set hundreds of years from now, the film opens with the appearance of a massive, foreboding ship (one appreciates that in all futuristic tales, you can always use the ship designs to determine who the bad guy is). It appears as if from nowhere, and attacks the U.S.S. Kelvin. An evacuation is ordered and a crucial sacrifice is made which saves hundreds of lives, including the life of one James T. Kirk (Chris Pine). The "T" stands for Tiberius, demonstrating that their middle name technology has progressed far beyond what we have today.
The attacking ship is a Romulan vessel commanded by Nero (Eric Bana), a suitable -- but ultimately forgettable -- villain. Why he attacks the Kelvin and where he comes from, you won't learn from me, but despite having more than enough material for a compelling foil, most of it goes unmined. Nero is aggressive, but painted shallowly, and he represents one of the film's few significant missteps.
Though the absence of an emotionally compelling villain robs the film of some tension, it makes an investment early on in establishing space itself as a threat. The universe is effectively shown to be cold, vast, and merciless, and by the time we're aboard the Enterprise, it feels more like a deathtrap than a starship.
The depth of the characters is greatly served by refusing to allow Kirk and Spock (Zachary Quinto) to dominate the cast. Bones (Karl Urban), Scotty (Simon Pegg), Uhura (Zoe Saldana), Sulu (John Cho) and Chekov (Anton Yelchin) are all given plenty to do, and the entire crew feels less obligatory than it has in the past. Their importance flows naturally from the story and -- most importantly -- their contributions amount to more than merely pushing buttons.
The most striking thing about Star Trek, though, is its embrace of basic human flaws. While previous incarnations of these characters were far from perfect, humanity as a whole had evolved beyond many of its baser instincts and imperfections. In this version, the problems have merely been transferred to another time; international intolerance has been replaced by interplanetary intolerance, and things like jealousy and ambition rear their heads at every turn. The characters are mere individuals, rather than representatives for their various groups, which gives them a vibrancy that their more archetypal predecessors could never have.
The film toys with many broad themes, including the idea of altering one's destiny. Whether the serendipity with which the storied crew comes together is a contradiction or a counterweight to this idea depends on how you look at it, as well as where the story goes from here.
Viewers may be forgiven for expecting a gritty reboot, as such cinematic do-overs have seen much success in other franchises over the last few years. But Star Trek is not particularly gritty, nor a pure reboot. A clever plot device allows the appearance of a reboot without disturbing the precious Trek canon, and while it is certainly more frantic and tumultuous than the other films in the series, it retains a surprisingly comedic tone. Perhaps, in space, it's easier to take things lightly.
With Star Trek, director J.J. Abrams hasn't made the technology much more plausible, but the characters using it are. If the original series was about mankind's apparently utopian future, Abrams' version is about what happens when we inevitably fall short.
Set hundreds of years from now, the film opens with the appearance of a massive, foreboding ship (one appreciates that in all futuristic tales, you can always use the ship designs to determine who the bad guy is). It appears as if from nowhere, and attacks the U.S.S. Kelvin. An evacuation is ordered and a crucial sacrifice is made which saves hundreds of lives, including the life of one James T. Kirk (Chris Pine). The "T" stands for Tiberius, demonstrating that their middle name technology has progressed far beyond what we have today.
The attacking ship is a Romulan vessel commanded by Nero (Eric Bana), a suitable -- but ultimately forgettable -- villain. Why he attacks the Kelvin and where he comes from, you won't learn from me, but despite having more than enough material for a compelling foil, most of it goes unmined. Nero is aggressive, but painted shallowly, and he represents one of the film's few significant missteps.
Though the absence of an emotionally compelling villain robs the film of some tension, it makes an investment early on in establishing space itself as a threat. The universe is effectively shown to be cold, vast, and merciless, and by the time we're aboard the Enterprise, it feels more like a deathtrap than a starship.
The depth of the characters is greatly served by refusing to allow Kirk and Spock (Zachary Quinto) to dominate the cast. Bones (Karl Urban), Scotty (Simon Pegg), Uhura (Zoe Saldana), Sulu (John Cho) and Chekov (Anton Yelchin) are all given plenty to do, and the entire crew feels less obligatory than it has in the past. Their importance flows naturally from the story and -- most importantly -- their contributions amount to more than merely pushing buttons.
The most striking thing about Star Trek, though, is its embrace of basic human flaws. While previous incarnations of these characters were far from perfect, humanity as a whole had evolved beyond many of its baser instincts and imperfections. In this version, the problems have merely been transferred to another time; international intolerance has been replaced by interplanetary intolerance, and things like jealousy and ambition rear their heads at every turn. The characters are mere individuals, rather than representatives for their various groups, which gives them a vibrancy that their more archetypal predecessors could never have.
The film toys with many broad themes, including the idea of altering one's destiny. Whether the serendipity with which the storied crew comes together is a contradiction or a counterweight to this idea depends on how you look at it, as well as where the story goes from here.
Viewers may be forgiven for expecting a gritty reboot, as such cinematic do-overs have seen much success in other franchises over the last few years. But Star Trek is not particularly gritty, nor a pure reboot. A clever plot device allows the appearance of a reboot without disturbing the precious Trek canon, and while it is certainly more frantic and tumultuous than the other films in the series, it retains a surprisingly comedic tone. Perhaps, in space, it's easier to take things lightly.