Transcription
On May 23rd, 1994, Star Trek: The Next Generation aired its series finale, "All Good Things." The two-part episode featured Captain Jean-Luc Picard operating within three different points in time: the past, the present, and the future, all while attempting to solve a conundrum that would wipe out human civilization. "It's time to put an end to your trek through the stars."
Critically and commercially well-received, "All Good Things" put an end to the television series that pushed the Star Trek franchise beyond its original series and subsequent movies. But that was not the end for the crew of the Enterprise-D.
Later that same year, on November 18th, 1994, a little under six months after the series finale, Star Trek: The Next Generation had its first major motion picture, Star Trek Generations. The movie was marketed on fanservice more than being an epic adventure. The fan service in question was the meeting between Captain Picard and Captain James T. Kirk. The tagline on the poster was "Two captains. One destiny." Paramount wanted Star Trek fans excited about that. The movie itself was a material. It was the fan service that was the hook. The Next Generation gave us episodes with McCoy, Spock, and Scotty, but not Kirk. Now all those nerds on Usenet would have something to look forward to besides a lifetime of virginity.
Generations was a box office success, raking in over $118 million dollars worldwide against a $35 million dollar budget. Critical and fan response, however, was mixed. Critics were evenly divided, and Star Trek fans who bought tickets on the promise of some big team-up or battle between Picard and Kirk were disappointed to find that the two captains don't share the screen together until 1 hour and 29 minutes into the movie, and that Kirk dies less than 20 minutes later.
Trek fans were also furious about what trek fans often love to gripe about: minutia. Why does the bridge look all well-lit like a movie? Why does Captain Picard want children all of the sudden? Why does the emotion chip look slightly bigger in the movie than it did in the series? Why doesn't Captain Picard care about the Curla Nescos? Didn't anyone bother to think about the Curla Nescos? For many TNG faithful, Star Trek Generations was ruined through a combination of expectations based on marketing and the trek fans' greatest nemesis: obsessing about stuff that doesn't really matter.
It has been about 26 years since the release of the film. If we can divorce ourselves from those expectations and also divorce ourselves from the baggage of canon, is it any good? Yeah, you know, it's pretty good. It's not the best sci-fi film. It's not even the best Trek film. It's also not the best sci-fi film that deals with the same themes: mortality, our limited amount of time, and what it means to be human. And our mortality and limited amount of time that defines us as human. But it's pretty good. It features an incredible, sometimes tragic, sometimes heartwarming performance by Patrick Stewart in his most famous role, a haunting performance by screen legend and perennial antagonist Malcolm McDowell, memorable moments of both comedy and tragedy. The score is lovely, and special effects hold up to this day. Star Trek Generations on Blu-ray in 2020 is still visually impressive. There is a lot of craft and a lot of heart that went into this film. But your mileage may vary depending on your expectations, level of obsession over canon, and your degree of sentimentality.
Generations is perhaps Star Trek's most sentimental film, not necessarily its most emotional overall, but arguably its most sentimental. During a promotion ceremony, Captain Picard receives a message from Earth. His brother Robert and his nephew Rene, previously introduced in the famous TNG episode "Family," have tragically passed away in a fire, presumably at the Picard family vineyard. Picard realizes that with the passing of his nephew and his advancing age, there may be no more Picards. And though the series initially presented the captain as someone with little tolerance for children, by the time of the film, he has softened greatly on the matter. With the sudden and unexpected passing of his nephew, the closest he had to a child, Picard realizes he too wishes to be a father, but that opportunity may have passed him by.
Meanwhile, Data, after failing to understand a social situation, opts to insert an emotions chip to allow him to better understand what it is to be human. The Enterprise rescues an El-Aurian named Dr. Soran, who has been trying to re-enter an energy ribbon to another plane of reality called the Nexus. Within the Nexus, the inhabitants do not age, can presumably live forever, and bend their reality to whatever they want. Dr. Soran, whose family were taken by the Borg, has adopted a philosophy that since all life is destined to end, the matter in which one dies or how long one lives is irrelevant. Outside the Nexus, nothing matters, but within the Nexus, time, which he calls a predator, has no meaning. "The predator has no teeth." So convinced of this, Soran is willing to destroy a star, dooming millions on a nearby planet, to draw the energy ribbon to him. Captain Picard takes the opposite view, that our impermanence is part of what makes us human, and that within the Nexus, nothing matters because it isn't real.
Picard's philosophy is tested once he is drawn into the Nexus itself, as the reality manifests itself as a Christmas morning, surrounded by the children he never had. He resists the temptation to stay in the Nexus, meets Captain Kirk, who was long ago trapped within the Nexus himself, and convinces him to help him defeat Soran and prevent him from destroying the star. Data has a similar crisis of faith, as the humanity he long sought had begun to overwhelm him. His sudden cowardice nearly costing the life of his best friend, Geordi La Forge. Geordi forgives him, however, letting Data know that he could not blame him because Data was only behaving like a human. With their respective feelings on humanity further solidified and their related crises of faith resolved, Data, Picard, and the rest of the crew embark on the next stages of their lives. The Enterprise-D was lost in the conflict, but rather than mourn the loss, Picard takes it in stride, stating that unlike Dr. Soran, he believes that we should not fear change, that time is not a predator, but a companion that walks along with us on the journey.
As a movie, Generations is structured well enough. Its themes both established and explored, its plot set up and paid off. As a piece of Star Trek, it fits neatly within the overall humanist philosophy of the franchise and optimistic view of the future. So what is everyone's problem with this movie? It may have something to do with the lens in which one watches the film, figuratively speaking. I'm not talking about the aspect ratio or anything. It's a well, it's like this. Reviews of Generations that focused on the craft of the film tended to be more positive. Carrie Rickey of the Philadelphia Inquirer noted John Alonso's crystalline cinematography. Positive reviews also noted the acting, such as Stephen Hunter of the Baltimore Sun, who said, "The best thing about Star Trek Generations is Patrick Stewart as Captain Picard and the way the movie allows this powerfully charismatic Englishman to swagger the center and take command of one of America's most cherished fables." Even negative reviews, such as that of Jonathan Rosenbaum of the Chicago Reader, noted the impressive special effects. "The special effects and outer space vistas are more handsome than usual."
But many negative reviews focused on something besides this: the baggage of this being a Star Trek movie. No film critic, no human being, is an objective reviewer. There is no such thing as an objective review. Even a movie review written by an artificial intelligence would have the bias of whoever wrote the program and what that person believed was and was not important in judging a movie. There are standards in movies, but the standards are still subjectively agreed upon by individuals as what is important and unimportant. It is in no way a failing, only a fact of human nature. Professional film critics know their reviews are not truly objective because they know enough about media studies to know that's not possible. It's just that some film critics prefer not to let their personal biases be too public to protect themselves and their work. The only people who think their criticism is objective are amateur critics who wish to preserve their opinions as correct under the guise of this false objectivity.
Film analysis need not be viewed under this pretense of objectivity. Anyway, that's where film studies come in, the academic umbrella term that deals in various theoretical approaches to film. Judging a film as it relates to other films of its genre, or judging a film through a particular lens to view its artistic, cultural, economic, and political implications. Film theory is the set of scholarly approaches within film studies. Judging the movie *Thelma & Louise* exclusively through its craft might tell us that it's a suspenseful, well-acted film, at least by the subjective standards of that critic. But judging *Thelma & Louise* through feminist theory might tell us about the culture that made this movie and why their adventure might be significant when viewed through that lens.
Star Trek is often judged in academic papers and books through the lens of its economics, due to its depiction of a post-capitalist Earth. Star Trek fans sometimes view their favorite franchise not within the context of any of these academic theories, or even view the franchise as film critics often do, as a judgment on its craft. Star Trek fans often view Star Trek and judge Star Trek exclusively how it relates to Star Trek, more specifically to Star Trek canon. This is not a behavior unique to Star Trek fans, as judging an entry in a popular franchise based on how well it respects the history of the franchise itself is common among fans of Doctor Who, Star Wars, and a myriad of other franchises with interrelated television shows, movies, books, and other materials that form a narrative canon.
Judgment about the behavior of the Doctor's latest incarnation within this lens focuses less on the acting abilities and more on whether or not this behavior is substantiated by hundreds of episodes spanning half a century. Judgments about Luke Skywalker's behavior and demeanor have nothing to do with Mark Hamill's acting range and everything to do with the fact that when audiences last saw the character, he was a much younger and different character. It might seem obvious, even inevitable, that a person would change, grow, and even regress over the course of decades. But since there are no kinetic films or television series that chart this change for the character, the narrow canon lens in which Star Wars fans viewed this progression was no different to them than Luke Skywalker drastically changing his behavior and demeanor between scenes.
In fairness, the canon lens in which to view a film is no less valid than viewing a piece of media through any other academic theory. Judging a piece of media as it relates to other media within its genre is common enough and not remarkably different than judging a piece of media within its franchise. Also, since it's all admittedly subjective, what's even the problem?
Well, the canon lens is problematic, more with how it's often applied than how it might work on paper. Fans of a franchise might not use this canon lens as a supplement to judging the craft of the film, but rather might use this canon lens in place of judging the craft of a film, and with no regard to any other theory of film. In short, misapplication of this lens in which to view a piece of media tells the viewer that whether or not it fits well enough within canon is the final judgment in whether or not this piece of media is good or not. Canon becomes everything. Everything becomes canon. Fans say, "This character would never do that," after watching that character definitely doing that, because the lens in which they are viewing the media focuses on judging the present media on past media, and past media has the benefit of coming first, so the past media becomes irrefutable, and any attempt to refute it is heresy to canon, the sacred Jedi text.
Apologists for judging a piece of media as it relates to its canon compare this to the continuity within a single story: a book, an episode, a movie, etc. Without continuity or with too many holes in the plot, the story becomes less compelling, too scattershot, and that's a good point. However, there is a difference between the internal continuity of a single story and external canonical franchise continuity. The former can be largely maintained; the latter, given enough time, cannot. The longer that canon exists and the more entries within that canon, the less likely there can be a flawless continuity. There's a difference between a series of plot holes and missing pieces within a single film and something in an episode of an entry in a franchise in the year 2020 that contradicts something in an episode in 1966.
Also, not all complaints about canon are actually violations of canon, but instead are only violations of a fan's individual expectations. Luke Skywalker being different in *The Last Jedi*, for example, does not violate canon; it was just unwelcome for some fans. But many fans have come to mistakenly view their expectations as more canonical than something that actually is canonical, like the events of the film.
Star Trek fans are notorious for this kind of thinking, favoring this lens as the proper way to view Star Trek. Among these fans, continued discourse on Generations to this day is a prime example. One objection to Generations is that Captain Kirk is not treated respectfully by the film, as if he were a real person and deserving of a better send-off. Someone who does not exist does not deserve anything. So what the fans really mean is that they deserve a Captain Kirk story. And since nobody is owed something so frivolous, and there is no formal arrangement between writer Ronald D. Moore and millions of individual Star Trek fans, there is no other way of looking at it other than an unearned entitlement. As a loyal viewer, I feel they owe me. They've given you thousands of hours of entertainment for free. I mean, if anything, you owe them.
Everyone is allowed to dislike any piece of media, of course. I certainly dislike certain episodes and movies related to Star Trek. But feeling and declaring a betrayal suggests a belief in an arrangement that never existed. Part of this objection is that after Kirk dies, Picard buries him on the alien planet rather than contacting some distant relative to recover the body to bury him on Earth. Doesn't Starfleet have burial protocol and laws about contacting the next of kin? Under the canon lens, fans object because it does not comport with what they think Trek deserves or what Picard would have done, as if what he would have done is what they expect of him based on what they have observed in other episodes and cannot be violated.
Picard did not bury Kirk on the alien planet to purposefully violate Starfleet regulations that don't actually exist. Picard buried Kirk for filmmaking reasons, because the close-up of Kirk's badge, the symbol of his duty, makes sense for us to see. Because in the previous scenes, Picard convinces Kirk to resume his duties despite the latter's desire to remain in the Nexus, because before they leave the Nexus, Kirk is reminded that he strives to make a difference, and he did that, and that's why we see the badge. Then we see a rotating shot of Picard by the grave. Film is a visual medium, and a scene with Picard placing a badge on the grave as the world continues to turn around him, as life always goes on, is beautiful, and it's in keeping with the themes of the film about time and our place within time. He says nothing, but the visuals tell us everything he's feeling, and the visuals tell us everything about the themes of the film. That's just good filmmaking, at least in my opinion. Also, in my opinion, it would not be good filmmaking for Picard to contact the Enterprise, ask for Kirk's next of kin, and wait in the dirt for a few weeks for someone to pick him up.
Something happening in a film purely for filmmaking reasons does not always have to be addressed in canon. Example: any Star Trek series following the original series no longer presented planets made of cardboard and cheap sets. These new non-cardboard, non-cheap-looking planets do not have to be reconciled with canon. These new planets are a production matter, a filmmaking matter. Canon is a tool, not a trap. If it is useful, then it should be used. If it is not useful, then you don't have to step in it.
Some fans object that Picard suddenly wants to be a father, even though he begins *The Next Generation* telling Riker that he is not comfortable around children. This is not a plot hole; it's a character arc. Although not necessary to appreciate the plot of the film, the series presents Picard initially as someone with no interest in children, but later as someone who can tolerate children, such as in the aforementioned episode "Family" and another episode called "Disaster." Picard is eventually presented as someone who may even want children of his own, as hinted at in the famous episode "The Inner Light," in which Picard experiences a kind of sci-fi illusion of being a father. By the time of the movie, Picard has softened on the matter, his mind changed, but it may be too late. Frankly, even if Picard didn't change his mind about wanting children until Act 1 of *Generations*, that does not make the film bad or irreconcilable with canon. It's just the beginning of Picard's story in the movie. The implication that it's bad that Picard now wants different things is the byproduct of believing that consistency and unchanging characters is the mark of good storytelling. That's what seeing something through the canon lens does. It only exists in the minds of Star Trek fans who, instead of watching a movie as a movie, are watching an entry into something with decades of baggage attached to it.
Imagine watching *Raiders of the Lost Ark*. Imagine Indiana Jones mentioning Marion Ravenwood, and fans saying, "What? Who is this Marion Ravenwood? This is the first time she's been mentioned. How contrived!" Of course, it's the first time she's been mentioned. There needs to be a first time a character is mentioned, a first time anything is seen or referenced or made aware to the audience. But in *Generations*, when Picard acknowledges that recent events have made him reconsider wanting to be a father, fans draw on episodes of the series in which Picard has complicated feelings about children and denounce this revelation as unacceptable and not in keeping with the character. Picard outwardly acknowledging that he may want a family after all is not remarkably different from a character being introduced. It just feels different because the lens of canon is so narrow that it obscures other interpretations of the scene. Picard has tragically lost his family, and his feelings on family and what he wants from his life have now come into focus.
Another problem with how the lens of canon is applied is that the viewer sometimes claims to only be dispensing objective facts about what can be readily proven about previous entries in canon, giving the veneer of some kind of impossible objective analysis. But this ignores the subjectivity of the viewer. That the viewer is judging what they deem important in the first place. The viewer has created a set of principles that they personally care about: adherence to canon and various pre-existing entries in the franchise, and has overlaid those principles on the lens in which they are viewing the piece of media. Canon is only important if you have decided it's important. Canon is only top priority if you have decided it is top priority. Canon can just as easily be unimportant to someone else's subjective experience and judgment.
Star Trek fans who condemn an entry into its franchise for a lack of respect for canon always seem to cite the most meaningless minutia, and often cannot interpret said minutia outside of the lens of canon. Case in point: the final scene in *Generations* in which Picard picks up and sets down an artifact, the Curla Nescos. It is an artifact given to Picard by his archaeologist mentor in an episode of *The Next Generation*. The canon lens complaint about the scene is that Picard trashes the artifact that the series established meant so much to him. But that is not what happened. There is no crashing sound when Picard gently sets down the artifact. Listen. Is this it? Yes, this is the scene. The crashing sound that Trek fans hear is an example of the Mandela Effect. They have heard people endlessly going over the scene with the Curla Nescos and how Picard trashed it so many times that this crashing sound is now part of the movie for them. They've heard reviewers and nitpickers add this sound effect to their videos, and now they think this is what happened. That is not what happened. Picard picked up the artifact and set it back down without damaging it. It lasts one and a half seconds, and Trek fans still talk about this scene in forums and Facebook groups to this day.
Then they counter with, "Well, Picard should still have taken it with him. Didn't you see episode 20 of season 6, production number 402 76246?" Okay, first of all, the fact that Picard does not take it with him does not mean it won't be recovered. They are in the midst of a salvage operation. His personal effects will presumably be collected. The fact that we don't see Riker with his trombone in that scene does not mean he left it on the planet forever. It only means that in this scene, he didn't happen to collect it. Maybe some other people collected it for him. Maybe he came back. Maybe he already did it. It doesn't really matter. It only matters if you decide it's important, and people don't have to decide that with you. Second, and perhaps more importantly, that's not the point. The point is that Picard picks up this priceless artifact and sets it down because that's not what he's looking for. That's not what's important to him. He's looking for his family album. He picks up the one-of-a-kind, immeasurably valuable artifact and discards it for the moment because what matters to him is his family. The family album has more meaning to him, more significance. That's the point of the scene. The one thing Picard needs to know is safe is not an artifact; it's his cherished memories of his family. It's so obvious that that's what the movie is trying to convey, based on everything else that has happened in the movie prior to this scene. But because of the blinders of the canon lens, some Star Trek fans are instead focused on a prop that appears for less than two seconds. The movie isn't about this; it's about this. The movie is telling us through visual language what matters to Picard, completing his arc about what matters to him, and about what it means to be human.
Another bonkers complaint about this scene among Star Trek fans is that the family album is in this room and not in the room where the audience last saw it. But that is not a plot hole. At some point, Picard simply took it back to this room where he keeps some of his personal effects. We don't have to see it happen to understand that it did happen. In the beginning of the film, when Picard leaves the holodeck, we next see him on the bridge. We didn't have to watch him walk down the corridors, go into the turbolift, say "Bridge," and then see him walk out of the turbolift in order for us to understand how he got there. The same is true of the family album. Someone, presumably Picard, put it back among his belongings. Movies are not designed to behave like closed-circuit security camera footage that captures everything that happens from various angles, all played at the same time. They operate through film language, and the narrative flows through that visual language.
This could go on forever because Trekkies are very adept at nitpicking and spotting phantom plot holes that either do not exist or do not matter. Like the speed of a rocket and the distance between the planet and the star. Oh my god, who cares? It happens quickly so there isn't several minutes of Picard and Dr. Soran just staring at the sky doing nothing in complete silence while the audience waits. That wouldn't be good filmmaking, so it happens quickly. That's why it happens. Once again, for the people in the back: watching an entry in a long-running franchise with an eye toward how it relates to previously established canon is not some wrong way to watch that entry. It's merely problematic in how it's often applied.
If the thing you like about Star Trek is the philosophy, then the movie that affirms its overall humanist message is exactly the right Star Trek movie for you. If the thing you like about Star Trek is minutia, then this is the wrong Star Trek movie for you, as it spends very little time dwelling on Trek-babble and far more on abstract and emotional matters. Though admittedly, that is only my subjective opinion and experience based on the standards that I have deemed important and unimportant. Please simply bear in mind that the lens in which you are watching a piece of media and the values you have overlaid on that lens may be completely unimportant, even ludicrous, to others.
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