“Manned Moon shot? That was in the late 1960s.”
Answer is below the episode screenshot.
Kirk, describing the past that was still in everyone’s future: the show aired in 1967, and the moon landing happened in 1969. The episode is “Tomorrow is Yesterday.”
Officer no. 1: “Men weren’t intended to live this far underground. It’s just not natural.”
Officer no. 2: “And space travel is?”
Answers are below the episode screenshot.
Officer no.1 is McCoy; the other is Kirk.
“… my ancestors pioneered the American frontier.”
Answer below the episode screenshot.
Kirk, in “Spectre of the Gun”
Scene from “A Matter of Honor,” season 5, episode 4 of Columbo (airdate: February 1, 1976).
Why does Ricardo Montalban (or Ricardo Gonzalez Pedro Montalbán y Merino, to give his Mexican name in full) remain not just in our memories but also in our hearts? Most people over a certain age remember Marlon Brando, and he’s still an actor that younger people admire in some way — but I don’t know that Brando warms the cockles of anyone’s heart, particularly. I’m not trying to have a go at Brando: he was just the first actor that popped into my head as being both larger than life and rather uncuddly at the same time. You might say that this very uncuddly, non-avuncular presence was what suited him so well to play the Mafia-boss godfather, in the famous movie that only a Martian hasn’t heard of. But the thing about Ricardo Montalban is that, broad as his range was, he too was suited to his most famous roles. (If you haven’t seen him as the murderer in the classic Columbo series, please do.) And he was suited to them — indeed, ideal — because underneath the steeliness and the don’t-mess-with-Texas manliness, he had a suavity and mildness, a calm and self-possessed humanity and decency, that always shone through.
When he plays Khan in “Space Seed” (see my blog post on that episode), he brings both qualities of smooth-talking ladies’ man and el jefe to the role, integrating them so that one is part of the other. Khan doesn’t drop his guard to woo and persuade Lieutenant Marla McGivers: to the contrary, it is her awareness that he is the full Khan and nothing but the Khan that makes her hair more readily tumble to her shoulders. Being the dominator, the man who sees himself as king wherever he goes, he wants her to feel the coldness of his power at the same time as she feels the warmth of his admiration. And Khan, of course, would use the word “admiration,” spoken by Montalban as if he relished every last syllable, rather than anything so crude and ordinary as “lust.” But it’s all there, the fantasy that McGivers has hardly let herself dare to dream, in the person of this one man. The situation would be ludicrous or at best unconvincing with an actor less magnetic, less true to the part in some fundamental way, than Ricardo Montalban.
Khan as the guest of honor aboard the starship Enterprise. Khan stood up first, but Kirk doesn’t take challenges to his authority sitting down!
And yet, Khan was at root a lesser man than the man that played him as a “superman.” Khan wanted the love of McGivers, not so that he could requite it but to make his possession of her, and her surrender to him, more complete. There were plenty of men willing to obey him and live by his rules. But how much more satisfying to inspire the adoration that was not just compelled by the powers that be but instead compelled itself to worship that power — and the man that embodied it. In the end, even a tyrant with vast powers is still just another mortal. But to be fearfully, fretfully, devotedly loved as well: that is to put him on a footing with the gods.
Ricardo Montalban was no Khan, in this sense: he genuinely loved, and wanted to give as he received. And this was true from a very young age. He met his future wife, Georgiana Young, when he was only eighteen and she fifteen. They married and had four children, and the marriage ended only with her death, 63 years later. Like any big star he would have had temptations, but he was a solidly married man and nothing could change that. Beyond his marriage, he was good to other people and his comments in an interview about the tragic Hervé Villechaize exemplify that goodness. He expressed compassion for Villechaize as a man that wasn’t able to live as he wanted — but this compassion was never slighting or patronizing. Montalban, as a man that lived his manhood to its full extent, garnering wealth, status, fame, and the fondness of audiences everywhere, was no exultant and contemptuous Khan. (Remember, Khan even managed to insult Captain Kirk, on the captain’s own ship, once the mask slipped.) Montalban was a natural gentleman, a kind of modern knight, and a gracious man who wore his gifts ungaudily and with gratitude. If he was rare in his lifetime, he would be even rarer now, in an era that seems not to value such virtues very much. Indeed, we dislike even the sound of “virtue.” But Montalban was a truly virtuous man. And that’s why I miss him.
Their lives in constant danger, it’s up to Spock and Kirk to solve the mystery of the killer in the cave….
How do you deal with a mystery creature that interferes with important economic work and worse yet, kills the workers? Especially when the home territory of this creature is a cave with many tunnels and pitfalls? In an evolving hunt, Kirk and Spock each change their minds about what sort of threat they are up against, and whether to kill the creature or save it. Of course, the miners whose lives are at risk can think of only one solution….
A major theme of TOS (the original Star Trek) is that our dynamic duo of Kirk and Spock never accept that they can’t find a way out of trouble. If what is seen as “possible” won’t work, they are willing to try the impossible. In this drama, though, they have different ideas about the possible and the impossible, and the whole episode shows them trying (successfully) to influence each other’s view. Kirk is concerned about Spock’s safety, and Spock reciprocates by being just as concerned about Kirk’s. In this episode we see that the high functioning of each man is magnified when they work together — and they can’t be defeated.
Kirk tries to keep it chatty while “hosted” by his Klingon nemesis, Commander Kor. Kor is wonderfully played by Shatner’s fellow Canadian, John Colicos, who helped to create the Klingon look and contributed to the costume.
Can societies keep the peace just by wanting it, or do their enemies have a say? How can Captain Kirk and First Officer Spock hope to protect the people of planet Organia if the people themselves refuse to permit their own defense — against the ravaging, insatiable, enslaving Klingon Empire, no less? To make matters worse, the Organians themselves have isolated Kirk and Spock, preventing their escape and coordination with the Enterprise. Worse still, they effectively hand our heroes over to the tender mercies — or not — of the enemy.
The teamwork of Kirk and Spock is terrific in this episode, and it’s an interesting situation because neither of them can make use of their usual resources or advantages. Very much behind enemy lines, even the supposedly peaceful Organians barely lift a finger to help. With increasing bafflement and desperation, Kirk tries to speak the truth to the wilfully blind Organian leaders — and he does so eloquently. But the greatest enjoyment in this show comes from the interactions with our first-ever-sighted Klingon, a man that won’t free his prisoners willingly but can’t help admiring at least some of their many virtues.
The fate of the shuttle crew is in Spock’s hands….
If you’re a small vessel shipwrecked on an island, does that change the line of command at all? Should military order devolve into something more democratic? In questions of life or death, who decides? And can logic be the only true guide? Faced with a malfunctioning shuttle and cut off from contact with the Enterprise, the crew of seven aboard the Galileo will have to combat hostile aliens, as they also argue among themselves about Spock’s choices and the legitimacy of his power.
Rarely do we see Spock so dramatically challenged — first by the crisis he’s facing and then by the budding revolt against his leadership by certain members of the crew (and, for a time, McCoy is in sympathy with them). It’s a lesson for Spock about the limits of logic, but it’s also a lesson for the others, when Spock remains true to his mission and, strong under high pressure, does the most-needed thing.
Spock, under the influence of pon farr, gets more than testy with a stunned Nurse Chapel.
If you think that Vulcans are all about logic and reason, without any ungovernable natural desires, this drama will set you right. Spock can’t be frank about what’s really going on, which baffles both Kirk and McCoy as they try to probe his defenses to get to the truth. But whatever pain Spock is in, it will only get worse as he brings his nearest friends — Kirk and McCoy! — down to planet Vulcan to confront his demons at last.
Is it just coincidence that two of the best original Star Trek episodes feature serious fighting between Kirk and his second in command? I don’t think so. But important as the Kirk-Spock connection is, McCoy is no third wheel in this crisis, and we witness a kind of heroism in all three of them. Giving us a priceless glimpse of planet Vulcan and its people, as well as its customs and fearsomeness, this episode is essential viewing as a master class in storytelling.
When the Enterprise finds a sleeper ship of twentieth-century “strong men,” almost everyone assumes that their leader, Khan, has left his dreams of domination back on planet Earth. But the ship’s historian, Lt. Marla McGivers, understands otherwise. A strongman (tyrant, dictator) never willingly gives up that approach to life. And she will help him in his renewal — but what of the rest of the crew? And what happens when Captain Kirk realizes that his “guest” means to take him and the rest of the crew prisoner on their own ship?
Khan, about to prove to McGivers that he can do anything — including re-arranging her hair.
The age-old questions of politics are never far from the best Star Trek episodes, and this one in particular entertainingly explores them. Much of the crew, including McCoy and Scotty, and perhaps even (to a limited extent) Kirk himself find something grand and even admirable in Khan. Only Spock is entirely immune to Khan’s charm — and is prepared to state his arguments against Khan’s kind of rule. In reality, Kirk can only take a relaxed attitude when the idea of Khan’s power remains firmly in the past. Once it threatens the present and the future, Kirk takes off the kid gloves and goes full in for the fight…. Wonderful dialogue, great acting, and Khan was so good that we later got a splendid movie in his name (Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, 1982).
Dr. McCoy giving us some atypical fast action, as a man temporarily out of his mind.
Can a fluke of time travel make it possible for Kirk to change his entire way of life, in the arms of a great love (perhaps his greatest)? What if it can be proven that this same great love, played beautifully in all senses of the word by Joan Collins, will one day be responsible (however inadvertently) for the triumph of an evil cause? Given the two-way pull on his heart and his loyalty, what will Kirk choose to do in the end?
In this episode we get to see Dr. McCoy behaving like a lunatic, for reasons that make sense in the context, and we get to see that Spock is so brilliant, he can even forge an essential device from 1930s basic technology. Kirk as the love interest is delicious as ever. And, as mentioned, the leading lady does not leave us wanting more: say what you like about the shoestring Star Trek budgets, but they certainly knew how to feature real stars: Jill Ireland, Ricardo Montalban, and William Windom among them.
Can you really have a life worth living without making some sort of effort? Is it a paradise to have no needs and feel (artificially) jolly all the time? Kirk doesn’t think so, but when everyone else in the crew gets sucked in to the false promise of a planet they visit, it’s up to him to break the spell.
Down on the planet, Dr. McCoy acts as if he’s had one mint julep too many — but it’s the spell that’s made him giddy.
Spock has a profound romantic connection in this episode — the spell of this paradise rekindles an old flame (in the young and lovely form of Jill Ireland). How he handles the surge of emotions is interesting: we know that Spock tends to value emotion less than full humans do. Kirk is also fascinating for the way that he, alone among the Enterprise crew, recognizes the folly of yielding to the spell. Best of all is the scene in which Spock and Kirk, one under the spell and the other not, must fight it out. Some of the best moments and dialogue in Star Trek appear in this episode.
Called urgently to a space station for what seems like a very trivial reason, Kirk is confronted with various stuffed shirts and also a group of humorless Klingons, demanding their rights. The episode raises the question of what is worth taking seriously, and how should Captain Kirk treat people that mock, disobey, or otherwise undermine him? Should he lose his cool, at least for show? Or is keeping a sense of humor the better plan?
The ever-patient Captain Kirk — at least in this episode — contemplates tribbles, and wonders why they can’t behave.
The tribbles — little animate balls of fur that purr when content but squeak quite shrilly when alarmed — are great fun, and so is the reaction of various people to them. Uhura is charmed; Spock is unsurprisingly nonplussed; McCoy understands their appeal. Kirk is perhaps less than thrilled about having them appear on his lunch, but these supposedly useless and over-multiplying creatures turn out to have a certain utility after all. The Klingons in this episode come across like greasy fifties rockers, full of themselves and spoiling for a fight — yet Kirk remains above all the acrimony on the space station.
A waste of brainpower
The Romulan commander and crewman strategize about defeating the Enterprise.
A game of hide-and-seek, or cat-and-mouse, between the Enterprise and the Bird of Prey, the Romulan flagship. Which commander will out-guess the other? The suspense is great, but so are the glimpses we get into the type of societies that each starship represents.
Our first sighting of the Romulans is so intriguing: they are warlike yet strictly hierarchical, and they bear an uncanny resemblance to… Vulcans. The question arises, as in so much suspense narrative, of who one can trust, and on what basis… One crewman believes Spock to be disloyal on the basis of an accident, and because his distant ancestry is shared with the Romulans. But life does evolve, civilizations can change, and Spock’s devotion… well, you’ll have to watch the episode.
This is a spy caper with a focus on psychology: wherever there is espionage, there’s a question of who and what to trust. Does the foxy Romulan commander truly know what she thinks she knows about Spock as a Vulcan? Can she be right about some things and wrong about others? How can Spock cope with the fact that Romulans, sharing a distant ancestry with Vulcans, have an advantage in dealing with them as adversaries?
As for Kirk, what is the line between audacious leadership and reckless daring? Has he crossed that line, and how would his crew be sure about it, one way or another?
In the first place, The Enterprise Incident is a showcase of excellent acting. Shatner and Nimoy do their thing, utterly convincing us at every moment; but Joanne Linville is both slinky and formidable as the commander of a Romulan starship.
A note on fashion: Instead of dressing in weird and wonderful ways, or sporting a strange hairdo, Linville’s outfits are the sort you’d want any good excuse to wear, even in the 21st century. Then there are the sets: Star Trek never looked better.
Third, the action really moves along, a riveting mix of mystery (what’s going on?) and suspense (given what we do know, what will happen when the truth is found out?).
Finally, the Key Three of Star Trek, McCoy, Spock and Kirk, are all present and important in this episode. It’s a stellar start to the Third Season (appearing as the second episode), and a great number in the whole Star Trek oeuvre, as well.
The late and lovely Nichelle Nichols played Lt. Uhura. Her original name was Grace, but she didn’t like it, so apparently her mother gave her this name, which she happily accepted.
This is a screenshot I took, don’t know from which episode. But I LOVE the juicy, jewel-like array of knobs and controls. Buttons aglow with awesome powers. Push ’em, slide ’em — Uhura knows how to work ’em. Pretty groovy stuff.
The top guys of the Enterprise
As the Variety article itself declares, (September 23, 2023), ‘ranking the best “Star Trek” episodes is a silly thing to do.” But then they go ahead and do it anyway — 57 of them — and not even just within one particular series, but including all of them, from 1966 onward. (Note to the Variety editor: Star Trek should be italicized or capitalized as the concept name; it’s the individual episodes that take quotation marks.)
Anyway, given that I agree that ranking is generally pointless — for every nod of agreement you’ll get a howl of outrage — why do I mention this? Because ranking is good clean fun. It’s human nature to want to separate the wheat from the chaff. We like to itemize the better episodes of a series we like, the better to cherish them — and to make sure we watch them again, instead of the duds. It’s also about giving credit where it’s due. We like to praise the good stuff and reflect on why it’s good.
That said, I always resist ranking episodes of the original series (TOS), in the same way I don’t rank the songs on Elton John’s best album, Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy (from 1975). There are too many really good ones, and the good ones all work to expand our understanding and enjoyment of the show in a different way. It’s not a question of better or worse. So instead of ranking the episodes, and putting them in numerical order, I have just got my own personal group of favorites. But of course they are my faves because they’re ten of the best, greatest stories — not just in TOS, but in all of Star Trek full stop.
Over the next ten blog posts, I’ll highlight these ten best and greatest, one a day: what makes them great, what makes them distinctive. Stay tuned!
The original Star Trek is remembered and loved for its great villains and adversaries, as well as its heroes. We cherish the nameless Romulan Commanders in “Balance of Terror” and “The Enterprise Incident” (man in Season One, woman in Season Three). We enjoy the devilishly clever Klingon (the first Klingon we ever met), Commander Kor, in “Errand of Mercy.” But perhaps the most challenging adversary, who would later be the star of the second Star Trek movie, is Khan (or Khan Noonien Singh, to give him his full name). It’s partly the role. And it’s partly Ricardo Montalban.
It takes a strong presence, a willingness to embrace the scenario completely without worrying about “chewing up the scenery,” and a great physique to pull off the superior dominator role. Montalban is perfect for it. And he manages to be something else: somewhat grand in defeat, and somewhat sympathetic. Rather like the Gauls (Celts of France) as depicted in the Pergamom marbles, he may be someone that you need to vanquish, but his downfall has an element of the tragic. If only Khan could have turned his considerable capacities to better ends. But then, he wouldn’t be Khan… he would be Captain Kirk.
So I’m remembering Khan today with admiration for Montalban’s portrayal. One way to enjoy this anew is to watch deleted scenes from his first appearance in “Space Seed,” on YouTube.
McCoy gives Khan a piece of his mind, while Uhura (seated) looks on. From a deleted scene.
Emblematic image of Kirk, from the home page of Startrek.com
There need be no competition among the captains of Star Trek through the decades and the different series. But call to mind (or view an image) of Captain Pike, from the pilot episode, “The Cage,” of 1965; Captain Picard, from The Next Generation (1987-1994), and Captain James T. Kirk, in the original series (TOS), 1966-1969.
When you think of these men, what strikes you?
What strikes me without thinking much about it is how warm, gentle, and often amused Kirk’s face looks. More than either of the other men, he smiles. He smiles when he’s being sympathetic, when he’s reassuring someone, when he’s telling an enemy to “go climb a tree” (the Klingon captain Kor in “Errand of Mercy”). He smiles when he’s being romantic. And it’s an expression of his character, not an act.
Sure, the other men smile, but think of Pike, played by Jeffrey Hunter: when he’s doing the job of captain, he looks so intense, you imagine that anyone within his line of sight has suffered radiation, whether they know it yet or not. He has an almost constant Spockian upturn at the far edges of his eyebrows. He’s not a man to be messed with at any time. He’s all serious business, and he takes himself very seriously indeed.
Picard seeking the truth from Captain Riker, in “The Pegasus”
Then there is Picard, played by Patrick Stewart. His face, captivating to watch, has a suggestion of mind-reading power to it — as if he is not only listening to his interlocutor but trying to divine the truth about that person at the same time. He is slightly otherworldly.
Finally we have Kirk — and we all know who plays him! Kirk’s face so often conveys attention and focus but not eye-lacerating intensity; awareness of others but not telepathic powers of perception. Kirk in many good ways is an ordinary man — a man with ordinary capabilities so combined and well-directed as to make him extraordinary. But what perhaps stands out most in his personal demeanor is his good humor, his readiness to see the absurd for what it is and to take it in stride. Even when he is not actually smiling, that smile is just waiting, any moment now, to make an appearance. When he is quite serious, as when trying to learn what ails a desperate Spock, his face has an openness, a tenderness even, that is almost feminine in its approachability. This is partly a matter of his physical features, but not entirely.
Kirk talks privately to Spock in “Amok Time”
Pike observes and commands with dutiful sincerity; Picard watches and confronts with penetrating rigor. Kirk challenges you to persuade him, and himself has the charm to persuade. And always with that love of life shining out from his face. And that good-hearted, genuine, unbanishable smile.
Kirk and Spock hot on the case in “The Devil in the Dark”
So far on this blog, I’ve talked about Spock’s devotion to logic and McCoy’s commitment to compassion. But what about Kirk? What’s the keyword that most defines or describes what Kirk brings to the Enterprise?
We are used to complementary fictional characters coming in twos: in detective fiction, there’s Watson and Holmes, Lewis and Morse, Captain Hastings and Monsieur Poirot. (I had to be reminded in my high school French class that even though we pronounced ‘mon’ with a full nasal O vowel, ‘monsieur’ pretends there is no O there at all: m-syuh.)
But there’s a threesome in juvenile detective stories to compare our Star Trek threesome to: George (the tomboyish friend whose full name is Georgia*), Bess, and Nancy Drew.
In the stories, as I remember them, George is the athletic can-do and slightly irreverent goer; Bess is giggly, feminine, slightly plump; and Nancy is the star of the show: poised, smart, brave, conscientious, resourceful, attractive (and, presumably, perfectly proportioned). In short, George and Bess are swell pals to have around, and they each have appeal, but as a sub-teenaged girl, I didn’t want to be George, because I wanted to be polished and elegant as well as independent and self-confident. I didn’t want to be Bess, despite her niceness, since she lacked the sense of strength that George had, or the moral seriousness of Nancy, for that matter. Nice and shallow wasn’t what I aspired to be. If I wanted to be anybody, like most young readers of Nancy Drew, it was the main character. And Nancy is not quite but almost arithmetically George + Bess - George’s excess - Bess’s deficiency + Nancy’s additional virtues. Nancy is all the best of George and Bess, while not being as extreme as their most notable features: not as boyish as George, not as girly as Bess. But she is something more, besides. If they are the Bronze and Silver (you decide who is which), Nancy is the undisputed Gold.
I say this not because there is much to compare between the Nancy Drew stories and Star Trek (for one thing, the latter is enjoyable both for children and adults). But I do think there is a parallel between the Drew three and the Trek triumvirate. Nancy has a bit of George and Feminine in her but she's something more, as well. That’s how I see Kirk: a bit of the other two, toned down somewhat, and something more as well. And of course it’s Nancy and Kirk that most readers and viewers most want to be.
But back to the question I raised at the start. If George is yang and Bess is yin, then what is Nancy? Nancy is yin and yang yoked together in a pleasing way: she is a balance between the two.
Something more complex is going on in Star Trek. Something more adult.
If Spock is logic and McCoy is compassion, what does Kirk represent? I would say: spiritedness. Kirk is what the ancient Greeks called thumotic: he is the spirited man. He fights; he loves; he ventures; he argues; he feels; he is a strong actor in his own life. He rules himself. That’s what makes Kirk so distinctive. Or part of it — more later!
*Yes, Georgia not Georgina, as confirmed by George herself in The Clue in the Old Stagecoach (1960). See Girl Sleuth: Nancy Drew And The Women Who Created Her by Melanie Rehak, p. 251. An interesting book: I recommend it.
Spock and McCoy discuss the merits (or not) of tribbles.
In the first post of this new blog, I asked why McCoy accuses Spock of being unfeeling, despite all the evidence that Spock does feel quite a lot — on his own account, and on behalf of others. There are a few contributing factors to McCoy’s attitude.
In the first place, Spock himself emphasizes his logicality over all other virtues. Spock downplays his own compassion by constantly painting himself to others as the Man of Logic. And of course, that’s what he is. McCoy, being a realist, should be able to accept that fact without being annoyed by it. Yet we all know how often Spock annoys him. It seems to me that McCoy feels Spock doesn’t always have to insist on logic stripped bare of any other attributes. Spock doesn’t have to be such a purist about it. McCoy is a man of reason himself, but logic isn’t the sum total of reason; it’s only a part of it. Logic is narrower than reason. Spock narrows himself by championing logic over the broader good of reason. And that clearly annoys McCoy (even if he doesn’t put the matter the way I just have).
In ‘The Galileo Seven’,* Spock makes a point of suggesting that McCoy is giving the group extraneous commentary rather than just the plain facts. But McCoy’s ordinary language and turns of phrase are actually very economical and effective at conveying to human beings ‘the plain facts’. There is more than one way to convey facts, and there’s also a limit to the need for precision. Most people, for instance, don’t need to know that there are 23 Cumulus humilis vapour bodies within so many degrees of the horizon. They just need to know there are clouds. McCoy finds that Spock’s insistence on logic can get in the way of being usefully normal.
It’s also the case that McCoy, as the chief medical officer and man of compassion on the Enterprise, naturally feels that Spock’s vaunting of logic serves to cheapen, or to hold cheap, the value of feeling. And of course, McCoy values greatly his own capacity to be feeling. In a very real way, Spock is always declaring to McCoy and those like him: ‘I’m better than you. What I value most is better than what you value most’. No wonder McCoy is annoyed!
*Season 1, Episode 16. Airdate: January 5, 1967