Reviewing Star Trek: Picard Season 2 -- Episode 3: Assimilation

 

 

I don't know if I can do this, everybody. The dumbness.... it's just so, so strong....

 

You know that famous bit from Peanuts/Charlie Brown, right? Where Lucy pulls the football away from Charlie Brown and poor Charlie goes flying in the air? So much of the fun is how you know it's going to happen, and yet you still kinda root for Charlie Brown to actually hit the darn thing. Maybe this is the time Lucy isn't an asshole! 

Watching Star Trek: Picard is, for me, my Charlie Brown moment. Except not only do I see everything coming a mile away, and the football gets pulled away every time... but it also clonks me hard on the head somehow while I'm on the ground.    

I really, really hate this show. Not only is it badly written (oh boy is it badly written), it's badly made! There are visual shots (at least in this episode) that are such glaring continuity errors... the kind that make you go "huh? Okay I guess". The only emotion I feel while watching this (beyond revulsion) is extreme laughter at the shows expense. Finding redeemable elements of it isn't scraping the bottom of the barrel, it's Barney Gumble drinking spilled beer from an ashtray.

I'd explain the plot of episode 3, except there's like maybe five minutes of actual plot here while the rest is either melodramatic bullshit or the writer's ode to Los Angeles. Fuck Los Angeles. (I've been, not a fan) and fuck Star Trek: Picard. You know this stupid show uses the song "California Dreaming" at one point? Except it's not the classic haunting Mamas and the Papas version (a great song you should be listening to instead of watching this garbage show), it's some shitty modern cover because goddamn it lets be modern! It's so cringe inducing, impressive for a show designed by professional cringe inducers. 

Sigh.

The episode that puts the "ass" in Assimilation, finds our "heroes" held at gunpoint by Seven of Nine's "husband", but of course they escape and are able to do their time travel shenanigans (actually evoking Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home in doing so. Go watch that instead, Star Trek: IV is awesome). Oh, except one of the goons fatally shoots Elrond Howard (or whatever), the Romulan ninja guy... and his death affects Raffi pretty hard in some just completely brutal scenes to have to sit through and witness. Picard tries to give the most flaccid Picard Speech of all time, but sadly it seems Patrick Stewart has wandered into a high school level production. You don't feel anything for any of these characters because the emotions you're supposed to feel keep bludgeoning you over the head to the point of viewer exhaustion. This fucking show would be bad already if it didn't insist upon itself so much... but it does. It so does and it's naked badness would be almost admirable if it also wasn't so bloody painful.      

Most of the episode's second half basically copies the Star Trek IV formula: our science fiction heroes thrown into modern times (in this case 2024 in LA) and classic fish out of water antics ensue. Thing is, Star Trek IV works so well because of how it really doesn't take itself seriously. Shatner and Nimoy's double act is so charming that you forgive the silliness of the premise, plus every other character gets a quotable moment. This show? This dumb fucking thing trying desperately to ape good vibes? These characters are so underdeveloped that these attempts at "comedy", like Raffi and Seven's scene where they're trying to get in somewhere... just come across as tedious and tired. It's a difficult dramatic line to walk when you kill off a main character and also have wacky situations in the same episode... and these writers clearly don't have the skill or the subtlety to pull it off. 

Hey, remember that scene where ICE comes in to raid the Spanish speaking hospital that Rios ends up in? Do you think there's some kind of message there? Do you? Maybe it's lost between the lines, I dunno. Even the tiny aspects of this show I find myself liking... they consistently fuck it up! Rios is an interesting character, and I like this potential subplot of him befriending this doctor... except BOOM here's another allegory! GET IT??? We don't respect your intelligence at all! Charlie Brown and the football... right in the face. 

Hey also, that whole connecting Agnes with the Borg Queen thing... meh. I was so distracted by the reality of: "Hey, aren't there only like six people on this ship? And three of them just beamed away, one just died and another is now connected to an irresistible hive mind? What if that goes wrong? Which it likely will! What if Agnes suddenly turns Borg and Picard (old man Picard) is the only person on the entire damn ship?" Ughhhhhh.... why is this so fucking dumb? Even if I didn't love Star Trek as much as I do, this would be horrible to watch. It defies any sense or logic.

Hey, remember when Picard says "Home" when Rios asks where Picard is crash landing the ship in 2024? I assumed he probably meant his vineyard in France, you know... countryside, less likely to attract attention (as a fucking spaceship crashing into our planet will probably garner). And yet... it's never referenced or acknowledged again. The fuck? Is this excessively stupid show trying to imply that Los Angeles is "home"? Starfleet headquarters is in San Francisco, you fucking idiots. This ain't some vague notion mentioned in a forgotten episode of Voyager or something... it's well established. Last I checked, San Francisco and LA are not the same place... nor are they even that close to each other. Man, this show fucking sucks. 

 

Honestly I'd talk more about the story and what actually happens in this episode, except that's easily done in a single sentence. They go back to 2024, Romulan dude dies and we're supposed to feel something, then a lot of nothing happens and Borg Queen. That's all, folks. I'm outta here. If I can gather enough constitution to watch another episode of this crap, I'll see you next time. Fuck this. Fuck everything.  

 

The Rise and Fall of Calvin Comet -- Pt. VII

    'I thought that was the end of him... sad really... but everything was such a mess... the lifestyle... the drugs... the pressure... you could see it in that Spaceport album how he'd lost control... what shit that was...'

    PART SEVEN -- Last Train Around The Sun

    The interviewer watched Will Banes carefully, scouting for any signs of emotion. Something behind the years of hardened acceptance, strained relationships, the statuesque poker face, or just a wobble within the sleek coolness to reveal a hidden true self. Nothing. Will Banes spoke his words with objective cold sincerity, a lecturer reflecting with minimal attachment upon an earlier life that was.

    'After Spaceport to Spaceport, do you know where Comet ended up?'
    'Rumours really... Slice would update me... usually drunkenly out of spite... but I heard he went back to Holland for a long while... occasionally he'd appear in a tabloid picture shitfaced... bad photo edits usually... back pages though... then nothing of him...'
    'Until.' the interviewer led on.
    'Of course... can't get out of here without that... such a tragedy... he lived a hard life that one... heavy boozer, though a lot of them smashers were... still sad it had to end that way... great man... face down in a swimming pool... bourbon bottles everywhere... he'd been depressed for a long while apparently... tried to off himself a week before... instead drowned himself in drink til death picked him up.'
    'What exactly happened after that?'
    'Few weeks after the funeral I get a call at home... it was Cal... seems Galaxy's death hit him real hard... he sounded real... engaged and lucid... like the old days... he wanted to bring everyone back together for a record... honour it to Galaxy and make one like we used to... I was onboard no question... so was Slice, Ziggy and Comet's pal Rich Rocket Hurley... we started recording some tunes Comet had bounced around in his sober moments... yeah they sure were something.'
    'The sessions went well, then.'
    'It was like the old days... but we were older and more mature in our crafts... Slice and Comet's guitars were grounded more for melody than outright spaciness... I was really into funk then so my four strings were just goin' for hooks... and Rich Rocket was real sharp... not as thunderous as Galaxy but these particular songs needed that lighter touch... I was amazed how well it flowed for us, especially with our former problems and after all that time apart... those sessions may have been the most fun I've had in a studio... until...'
    'Until?' inquired the interviewer.
    'Well... last song we had to cut... Lovebird... had to redo it cause of some background noise... Comet comes in while we're ready to go... complete mess... he'd been crystal clear the whole time before... never explains why but instead rearranges the whole song... no bass anymore... no keyboards... minimal guitar... practically does the thing by himself and doesn't say a word to any of us...'
    'Interesting, considering that "Lovebird" is such a revered song.'
    'These years later... I agree it is a great song... would've been nice to be on it though. Funny to think what the reception would be if the original version had been the way we intended... every time I talk to Ziggy he gets so mad about all the bootlegs of it floating about... don't really have an opinion either way, personally.'
    'Do you have any idea what caused this sudden change in Calvin Comet?'
    'Not a clue...' replied Will Banes.

    ***

    'Pam you've simply outdone yourself with these potatoes this year.'
    'Oh it's nothing. Thought maybe I overcooked them a bit, maybe too much garlic and pepper.'
    'Stop it Brent, stop it! You've always loved my mashed since we were kids and I cooked that one Thanksgiving. Now every dinner you mention them.'
    'I find them way too salty. Someone pass the wine.'
    'Well. Um, well I'll complement them everytime. And this time they're just super great.'
    'Well... ha! I'm glad most of you like it. Say Laur, what have you whipped up for dessert?'
    'The restaurant I work at makes a great Tiramisu. So I stole the recipe and there's a big one in the oven right now for us.'
    'I was wondering what that smell was. Huh. Next year I'm bringing my own wine, this is complete crap.'
    'It was a gift, Jenn. A friend of mine from Italy brought it and well frankly I like it. So if you're in my home the least you can do is enjoy the meal I've slaved over and we can all join in a toast.'
    'Is there a Swiss Chalet nearby? I think it might come to that.'
    'To Auntie Pamela! A far more patient host than any of us can imagine.'
    'Cheers Laurie. Come now, Steckland. Take a sip at least. Stop being so quiet! It won't bite you.'

    I'd said nothing since sitting at the table and now that someone had actually directly addressed me, my first reaction was to comply. I took a sip of this wine, a thick red pond in a tulip shaped glass, and felt an assault on my tongue. Harsh, sharp, lukewarm and unrefreshing, a flavour straight to the nostrils. I'd heard of this "wine" on many separate occasions and now finally on first try, I was completely unimpressed. Maybe if it was chilled or something. Maybe. But I've never wanted to offend Auntie Pam my entire life so I politely sipped it onward as best I could. Besides, those mashed potatoes were made of heavenly clouds, the first non-chip/candy bar/cereal food I'd eaten since I got here. 

    'Steckland! There are seconds if you want more! I'm glad I used extra potatoes this year. Dig in!'
    'Watch what you say, Pam. That boy will eat you out of house and home if you let him. That's what leeches do, they suck everything out before you notice.'
    'You're really on your game tonight, aren't you? Maybe another jug of wine will sharpen your fangs, Aunt Jennifer?'
    'Laur please don't...'
    'Great! My unmarried niece speaks up. So lady-like. Serving tables until she's seventy. Hey Laurie, where's your boyfriend tonight? Wait... have you ever had a boyfriend? Didn't think so! Why is it that boys don't want you, Laurie?'
    'Calm down Jenn...'
    'You... you useless waste of skin... you wanna know why I don't have a boyfriend? Really? That's what you want? Fine! FINE! It's because I --'
    'Laurie don't! Not here! Not like this!'

    

    Suddenly I was in a moment. I'd been deliberately avoiding moments, pushing them away for dear life. Now a moment had come, surrounded my people no less. A serious moment. Better to rise than to shrink when summoned, so I continued:

     'Aunt Jennifer, you... you witch... you suck the life out of every room! People exhale when you leave because they're glad to be rid of you! Have you ever said anything nice about anything? I bet any kind thought you'd ever have would die of loneliness! And dad, grow a fucking spine could ya? Auntie Pam, your dinner was superb and thank you.' (her husband shifted his eyes and raised a hand awkwardly as I stormed away).

    I suppose not speaking to anyone for nearly two weeks had built up some emotions in me, though I never expected to release it that way. It seemed heroic and brave at first with everyone at the table staring at me, even Aunt Jennifer was speechless for once... speechless enough to not have another drink and spit venom in my eyes at least. But the feeling dissipated fast as the remaining dinner was consumed rapidly and wordlessly once I returned, the dessert diplomatically tasted and the rest of the family scattering away from me without acknowledgement.
    There was a shovel in the yard, amidst the high snow. Not that I needed one apparently. 

    (xxxiv) -- Seven



 

The Rise and Fall of Calvin Comet -- Pt. VI

 

 

    'Ton of strain on the band, Neptune Memories was. All of them but Slice felt abandoned. Even he was rightly pissed. But what a cut, love. What a record. Before that Cal'd just been a rock n' roll star, mere flamboyance and romanticized life. After Neptune, he was a songwriter. And one of the best.'

    PART SIX -- Crashing Asteroids

    'But that was the end of the band, love. Sadly. At least in that configuration. Galaxy Dantley never played with Calvin again. Banes and him didn't speak for bout a year.'
    'Is it true that the initial bad reviews of the album were hard on Comet?' 

    Sir Ziggy fiddled with one of his many silver rings, a rare moment of not projecting himself as amicable as usual.

    'That's puttin' it lightly, love. Real lightly. Since there was never a tour, Calvin just... he disappeared for a few months. None of us knew where he was. Or what he was up to.'

    'What do you know of a woman named Sorre?'
    'You've been chattin' with Rhodes the Roadie!' Sir Ziggy laughed, joviality restored. 'You poor lad.'
    'Did you know her?' The interviewer pressed on.
    'Yeah, yeah. Course, love. Lovely girl. They was attached by the hips during those whole sessions. She was good for the atmosphere. And she knew she couldn't sing and never tried it! Sweet, sharp woman, seriously love. Lightning quick wit. She kept him in check too. Calvin. Not an easy chore. Golden Planet had been so wild, so fast, we was all used to the road lifestyle. Drinkin' and drugs, Roadie Rhodes and Calvin especially. She kept him together, at least from excessive levels. Took those photos in the inner jacket of us on 'Golden'! Least what was left of us, hmmm.'

    'When did Comet at last reappear?'
    'Must've been early '73. I'd just met my second wife. I remember he called the recording studio, Calvin did, asking for me specifically. Explains he'd been out in Holland. Clearin' his head, workin' on new songs. He was frantic and eager. He asked me to get as much of the band together as I could and in a week he'd be back. Tried my best. Two weeks later he shows. Skinny as a rail track. Think he later explained he'd been livin' off skim milk, spinach and bad habits.'

    'These must've been the Spaceport to Spaceport sessions.'
    'Infamous, love. Infamous. And just as wild as the rumours. Wilder, even. Of the original band only Slice was willin' to come back and he regretted it straight through. Since all we had were session players Calvin took it on himself to recruit a new band durin' recordings. He'd arrive late for tapings with a bunch of random lads. Claimin' he'd seen em play some show, partied with em, sayin' they'd be perfect for this song or that. Some of em could legit play, that's how we found Rich Rocket Hurley. But most were drunken, druggy amateurs just happy to be hangin' with a big rock star. What a mess. Real miracle we even finished the bloody thing.'
    'The critics weren't too kind on it either.'
    'Easily his worst effort. Sides from all them bloody bootlegs of course. Some of them songs on Spaceport still kick though. Even in the haze, Calvin could write a tune. But so little focus there. To this day I still can't listen to "Bottle Rockets to the Moon". Twelve damn minutes of half in the bag, on the slopes, hardly bein' able to play basic nonsense. Bad memories, love. Worst I'd ever seen him. Little did I know.'

    ***

    One knock on the door. My father. Ignore. Ignore. Back to sleep. Damn papers taking up most of the bed.

    Second knock on the door. Female voice. Not as stern. No shape to answer. Ignore. Back to sleep. Explain later. Maybe.

    Third knock on the door. Father again. Ignore ignore ignore ignore. One day he'll get it. Maybe.

    Fourth knock. Sister Laurie. I can tell because I probably could use a shave and a haircut. She wants to come in. First time anyone's wanted to do that since I got here. First one to call me "Steck". She asks me to come out. Apparently there are presents to be opened. 

    I explain I didn't get anyone anything this year. She insists she got me covered. I give an empty promise to come out later. Maybe. 

    A sigh. She leaves. Back to sleep. Too real, too close.

    (xxxiii) -- Six


      

Reviewing Star Trek: Picard Season 2 -- Episode 2: Penance

 

 

We're back! With another cerebral, intellectually compelling entry of Star Trek! 

Oh wait, this is Star Trek: Picard. Hang on, where's my booze...

 

Okay, before I scare the readers off with another tirade about why this show freaking stinks... I will say I enjoyed this second episode significantly more than the first. Actual character moments! Interesting scenes that approach genuine tension! Unfortunately, there are other simply terrible elements that drag everything way, way down. 

(*Spoilers ahoy!)

There's far more of a forward moving plot in "Penance" and a lot more substance to talk about, which picking up from when the Star Gazer was being taken over by the Borg Queen, begins with Picard mysteriously back in his estate. Then Q shows up. Surprise! Well, not really. Even people not paying any attention knew this show was bringing Q back. Still, it's great to see John de Lancie and Patrick Stewart together on screen again and their chemistry is the best part of anything I've seen in this series thus far. Their banter isn't as sharp as usual, what with Stewart being a bit frail to really snap back with any real vinegar. Kinda feels like Q is just bullying an elderly man at points. Also, Q keeps referencing titles of previous Star Trek episodes for some reason? "This isn't your 'Yesterday's Enterprise?'" "Ah this way, 'Into A Mirror Darkly?'" I'd argue this is some clever suggestion that Q is so omnipotent he's meta-aware of his existence beyond the Star Trek universe itself... except that would imply the people writing this show are clever and hoo boy we know that ain't true!

Basically Q has thrown Picard into some "alternate" timeline where our favourite captain is instead a blood thirsty war general that has brutalized and conquered all the known galaxy. The scene where Q shows Picard his own trophy room with the skulls of his vanquished foes is effectively visual and unsettling... though again couldn't they have thrown some unknown character in there instead of it being just Gul Dukat, Martok, Sarek? Modern Star Trek desperately bends itself so far backwards for previous references it can kiss it's own ass. 

Regardless of my quibbles, it's a good setup: Q seems somewhat unhinged, there's a mystery of what exactly his intentions in doing this are, or what past mistake Picard has to atone for (I assume the "Penance" title of the episode refers to that). Lots of potential directions here. Frankly, why wasn't this just the first episode? Why all the useless "re-unite the characters" farting around beforehand? Because the middle half of this second episode just does the exact same thing, only now in a horrible dystopia. Oooooooo!

Lets talk about this dystopia. An alternate universe where our main characters are evil versions of themselves has been done (*cough* "Mirror Mirror" *cough*) so what exactly does this one do differently? ... ... ... ... ... oh sorry I heard some crickets outside. Okay actually, while previous mirror universe episodes would portray villainous reflections of our alien main characters (Goatee Spock is a legend for a reason), this particular dystopian world instead is driven by human superiority above all. An interesting wrinkle. Sigh, and... instead of the Federation, it's called the Confederation! Get it? GET IT??? Geezus, this show is as subtle as a Klingon after a gallon of blood wine. 

Argh, so we cut to our other characters (Seven of Nine, Rios, Raffi, Romulan Ninja Guy and Agnes) who sadly don't have the gift of Q's exposition and thus are extremely confused to suddenly find themselves in this brutal and bizarre situation. Seven is the president of the Confederation, married to some generic general character who you instantly know is gonna be the one to figure out something's up (he does). She happens upon Rios and requests to speak to him, rejecting an aide who says Admiral Sisko is on the line. 

By the way as an aside, you just know the creators of this show would've loved, or at least considered some kind of Sisko cameo too (that unresolved tension with Picard! Another plot point!). Avery Brooks became a fine arts professsor and barely even associates himself with Star Trek anymore... you think he'd finally return just for a bit part on this crap show? Keep your filthy hands off Ben Sisko!    

Anyway... so we get the touching character reunion scenes... again. The Rios and Seven one works (their mutual confusion and fear, then relief recognizing each other are the same... quite touching) but the others just don't. I get how it's a Q concoction but they all just happen to find each other within like four hours? Like literally, they're scattered about the galaxy and are all back together before lunch. Stretch that out maybe a bit? Maybe some separate subplots? Character building? Nah... Picard needs his ragtag crew right away, damnit. The plot has to keep moving, light-years and sense be damned. It's this generation's "The Enterprise is the only ship in range! when they're orbiting Earth" thing. Oh and I was so hoping in vain this Agnes character would not reappear... there are few things less cringe-worthy than a obnoxious babbling comic relief character who is offensively unfunny. She sucks. This could be my least favourite character in ALL of Star Trek and this includes Wesley fucking Crusher from Season fucking 1 of Next Generation. 

Positivity time! Lets talk about my second favourite part of the episode: the Eradication Day scene. The atmosphere is genuinely terrifying: while most of this dystopia had felt overly bright and clean, here you get strong dark colours, a rabid murderous crowd, an aura of dread in a violent cruel universe beyond saving. The true naked horror of it all, for all to see. Naturally, because of course it does, the show fucks it up by constantly interrupting with stupid-ass dialogue from characters talking vaguely about their underdeveloped personal relationships while in a critical life-or-death moment... is this just a modern television/entertainment thing? Excessive witty quips in dire situations? I genuinely don't know... please, somebody help me... I've been watching Star Trek: Picard...

Hey also, in their escape Romulan ninja guy kills like three security guards. Remember in "Mirror Mirror" how McCoy actually treated and saved Goatee Spock's life at his own peril? Or Kirk not wanting mirror Chekov executed or tortured any longer despite an assassination attempt? How even in a dangerous, twisted world that is not their own universe, our heroes still fight to hold onto their morality? That is Star Trek, my friends. I'm still trying to figure out what this new, very 'not that' thing is. 

Despite the writers hijacking their own tension, I still really like this scene. Seven and Picard nervously but quietly stalling for time, their aides raising an eyebrow and then moving in when Picard dawdles in killing the Borg Queen on stage... it works! You can see on Picard's face that he won't do it, even if part of him (a tiny, tiny part) is the devil on his shoulder whispering to pull the trigger. Great ending and cliffhanger for an episode!

Oh. Right. Last second they all get beamed up (including the Borg Queen, she's the key to something something time travel something something) but then Seven's evil husband catches them, points phasers at everybody, says corny line about killing Picard and that's the end. Oh this show... even when overwhelmingly predictable you still find ways to disappoint me.

 

"Penance", while overall not good, has enough little nuggets that I'm at least now curious to see where it goes from here. Compare that to when I watched the first episode and wanted to give up after ten minutes... it's an improvement from that. The time travel stuff they suggest worries me and I really only like two and a half of these characters... the others leaving little impression and then one I actively loathe on screen (it's not the actress's fault she's written so insufferably). So that's that! Join me next time for episode 3! Oh no.... seriously where's that bourbon...       

  

The Rise and Fall of Calvin Comet -- Part V

 

    'Was a tough tour on us all, 'pecially for ol' Cal. Year and half round the world, two hundred cities. We was sick o' each other. Comet wanted ta get right back'n the studio, record something new. Tired of em old songs. Band was toast, needed a break. Not real surpis'n the way it shook out.'

    PART FIVE -- The Stars Don't Shine Every Night

    'But Calvin Comet went into the studio to record anyway. All by himself.' The interviewer continued, in hopes of keeping Rhodes quasi-conscious through inquiry.

    'Yea. All by 'imself. He hired a few in fer some session work, think I played tambourine on a couple o'dem tracks. But dat third album, "Neptune Memories", dats all him.'

    'Were there any plans for a Neptune Memories tour?' 

    'I know ol' Cal wanted ta, but was the lonely one. Neptune was recorded so quickly an' we was still all burnt from last tour. I'm an animal on da road, lemme tell ya, an even I wasn't lookin' forward'ta another go at dat point. Lucky, she talked'im outta it.'
    'She? You mean Sorre?'

    'Yea.' nodded Rhodes. 'Crazy ta think now, reviews of Neptune at'de time weren't great. Ol' Cal really believed in them songs, was dying to tour and prove em. Stressed'im, an his habits went bad. One night'e threatened ta hire a whole new band'f the Asteroids wouldn't do least three dozen shows. She straightened'im out a bit, ol Sorre. By then mighta been too late tho.'
    'Too late? How?'

    'Yea, was'n his eyes a bit, least durin' the sessions I was in. Look o' genius there like always, but somethin' else mixed'n it. Distance, ya know. After all dat craziness I'd enough. Mick Ronson'as lookin' for someone extra on road so off I went. Couple'o years doin' dat til I tried off at my film career! Well hard work'an luck landed me a starrin' role in forgotten classic Poison Bees From Under The Sea. Script coulda been better'tho, Remember tellin' my brother'at the time about...'
    'Thanks but I don't have any more questions, Mr. Rhodes.'

    

    ***

    You can see a lot of stars out here at night. So much open air, no tall buildings, minimal artificial light. A few hundred identical trees, layers of mostly untouched white snow, countless twinklers above, the closeby lake mirroring it all. It touches something I don't know where.  

    I've taken to sneaking out of the room past midnight and using a good silent hour to drift within this scene. It is so unlike the busy city I know that it fascinates me. The scenery unchanges, yet stirs the imagination anyhow. Easy to fantasize what could be, the horizon provides nothing beyond the visceral. This wild nature cannot be something it is not... but if you yell the lesson out here and nobody is around to hear it, is it really said? Madness amidst inspiring, indifferent beauty.
    It's cold. Back inside.

    
    (xxxii) -- Five
    
    

Reviewing Star Trek: Picard Season 2 -- Episode 1: The Star Gazer

 

Well... it's come to this.

 

Let me say off the bat, I'm not going to give this the benefit of the doubt. All your Next Generation nostalgia ploys bounce off my hardened skepticism regarding your choices of plot points and cameos of beloved characters, dear show. I don't like when a story thinks it's pulling a fast one on me, and so much of this oozes that particular creative vice. Just because I want to love it (as I do all things Star Trek) doesn't mean that love is instantly rewarded to the brand without question. You've gotta earn it first... 

...and this first episode of Picard certainly does not do that. 

 

(*Obviously, spoilers ahead)

 

First lemme say... gawd damn it. I'm way more frustrated than I expected after watching this. Not because I think this whole enterprise (see what I did there) is a shameless play on a character and beloved universe so treasured by fans like myself, who grew up with the sheer excellence of Star Trek: The Next Generation (although it so, so obviously is).... but because there are elements here that could actually make Picard good. There are some cool concepts in play: characters with intriguing and potential likeability and a narrative route to build a genuine bridge between the respected source material and this exciting new thing. Unfortunately they're completely bungled here by a creative team that thinks subtlety insists upon itself.

I'll be fair and say episode one has some promising moments... well, enough to convince/coerce me to actually finish the stupid episode. Now admittedly I did not watch season 1 (and frankly don't think I missed much) but! Being sorta re-introduced to these new characters... okay I'll bite. This Captain Rios fella... a cool-headed cat smoking a cigar on the bridge? Sure, charming in a dumb way but charming. Romulan ninja guy enrolling in the Academy? Predictable, but makes sense... fine cool. Raffi getting her life together and back into Starfleet? Easy dots to connect, but effectively portrayed. 

This Agnes lady drunk in a bar? Okay enough quasi-praise because she's genuinely and completely insufferable... like the writers of the show inserting themselves into the action thinking they're so clever. Didn't she betray and horribly murder someone in the first season? With no consequences? And here it's played for comedic purposes? Why is her dialogue in this scene like a bad Joss Whedon ripoff? What the fuck is this show trying to be? Have any of these people writing this ever actually watched fucking Star Trek???

I'll defend Star Trek: Beyond because it legit plays out like a story written by fans of the original show. It has some silly action scenes and isn't a perfect representation, but spiritually it felt natural and also utilized one of the greatest elements of good Trek: strong characterization with believable growth and conflict within our heroes. 'Picard' instead insists that already completely realized and so gives such minimal effort to this crucial point. Hey here's some advice for writing characters: "The trial never ends" (oh, I'll get to that later). 

Even the scenes I could tolerate were too often actors just obviously acting. I keep forgetting that's actually Seven of Nine because nothing she does remotely fits within the character we saw on Voyager for years, nor does it seem like this could be the person she eventually became. She's just "random violent hardened mercenary woman". Seven was a seriously good character on Voyager because there was so much there: a person torn between two worlds, with unique perspective and intelligence that even that flawed show realized could be explored further. Fucking depth! Layers! But here? Why is she even here? This is all so horribly, horribly contrived and it hurts my poor brain. 

Back to kindness. The stuff with Picard's mother is kinda mystically generic, but semi-interesting and well shown: it's a part of his history not previously explored at all and thus an effective mystery (though seriously, if she turns out to be the Borg Queen I retract all praise.). While none of this seems like Captain Jean-Luc f***king Picard at all, some grace can surely be allowed that perhaps he softens in the twilight of his days. 

Another positive: visually this all looks excellent... I'm good at looking past the beyond dated special effects of the late 80s-90s but an improvement is an improvement. Patrick Stewart does finally look very old and his energy isn't quite as engaging (see what I did there) but he's still a damn very solid actor. You know, even when it doesn't seem like he's playing the actual character the damn show is named after. 

Back to the long ass list of what sucks... I mean what I... ah fuck it, so much of this sucks. Even the cinematography bugged me at one point (that romantic-ish scene with Picard and his Romulan house-worker... why have multiple closeups then have a swooping long shot that slowly zooms back in? Distracting as hell). 

But the real issue is how cheap fan service is so lazily and brutally ham-fisted into this story: the Guinan cameo, the quick corny reunion of the first season cast in like fifteen seconds aboard the Star Gazer (yeah Seven's ship just happened to be there... gimme a break), or how the Borg suddenly take control of the entire Federation fleet apparently thanks to half a dozen tentacles from a single being... it all gives the impression of a bunch of ideas thrown together without narrative purpose or care regarding source material. Even isolated from source material, the story logic exceeds stupidity. "Hey audience, here's some stuff that doesn't fit together at all, but you recognize it so who cares!"

It's all a shame, because I want this to be good and it's a couple steps away from being so. Or at least, a couple steps from making enough damn sense that I don't wanna rip out my hair while watching it. The ideas are there, but without competent execution of said ideas I'm not confident this will be an enjoyable experience... nor will it live up to the many layered great moments that classic Star Trek can still boast. We'll see. I guess.  

Oh yeah... the actual episode... stuff happens. Who cares? I hated this. I'll get more in depth with the story arc of the season once more episodes come out (assuming any of this plot ends up being comprehensible). Until then, pray, for... Mojo...

 

The Rise and Fall of Calvin Comet - Pt. IV

 

    'What a life it was! Lemme tell ya! I just loaded the gear 'round, jammed wit the boys a'bit, wasn't even'n the band. Still all da fans wanted to know me. Me! Sures, got invited to all them parties, ol Comet insisted on dat. "Bring Rhodes! Let's keep this real!" But in the grand scheme of it all I was a nobody. But I was still in the grand scheme, and dat was enough to make somebody out of me.'

    PART FOUR -- Golden Years

    'Course, now I've got my own name, my own best selling book about dem good old days. Fifteen weeks atop the Bestsellin' List, don't ya know? Some folks in the biz thought I was jus' spilling the beans. Givin' away the secrets you ain't supposed to give away. But didn't hurt no one, m'I right? Sides, used dat money to fund my musical about laundry bandits... "Those Aren't My Pants"... dunno why the critics were south on it, probably cuz it was too ahead of its time, what wit the raygun scene and the choreographed singing ninjas. But I tells you---'

    'Please Mr. Rhodes, lets get back to your days with Calvin Comet.' groaned the interviewer, using his elbow to conceal a large yawn. 'Tell us about the Golden Planet tour.'
    'Hmmm yea. Always thought dat second disc was the best one. That'is Comet in full form, full power. An'the tour reflected that power, a man and band atop the whole damn world. "Falling Stars" was such'a hit think ol' Cal got tired of playin' it after the first three shows. But'e never let on. True performer, professional thru n'thru. Course, dat was the tour he met Sorre.'

    'Sorre?' asked the interviewer.

    'Yea. Sorre. She'as a photographer from Mumbai, follow'n da tour around. Jus' dark curly hair, tall, smile to move planets. Whole band was always hittin' on er, heck I probably did a few times in my more unforgivable moments. Thems hazy days. But she'd eyes only for da big cheese, ol Changeling himself. I'member first time dey met, durin' a show o'course.'
    'Please, tell us about that.'
    'Well! ol'Cal was dressed'n dis shiny gold spacesuit geddup, skintight o' course. Think'e spotted her near da stage wit'er camera. Heh, he told da band'ta jam for a bit and ol Comet invited the lady up'on stage to dance for'a bit. He was n'love wit her instantly, ya could tell. An she'd always loved him. Jus' been shy bout it. They danced and it was so beaut-ful an'obvious to anybody there. Inseparable from then on.'

    'How come nobody has ever heard of her? There are dozens of books written about--'

    'O' they kept it real secret, dey did.' Rhodes interrupted. 'Ol Cal was real private bout private affairs. Plus'e was a sex symbol. Always figured d'label wanted im to appear, ya know, available. Help sales. But'us around im, us close't the band. We all knew. Dey were so in love. Crazy bout each other.'

    The increased slurring of his voice suggested to the interviewer that it wasn't cola in the plastic bottle his guest kept swigging. 

   'How long were they together?' asked the interviewer with increased haste. 'Comet and this Sorre woman?'

    A sudden change came over his interviewee. That same plastic bottle was quickly emptied into Rhode's mouth and his eyes remained closed for a long uncomfortable moment.

 
    'I'dunno if I can talk bout that.'
    'But, you wrote a tell all book about rock star life in the 70s. You even wrote how one time you saw Mick Jagger take off his pants with a fire extinguisher and...'
    'Yea, yea. That was all stupid fun. But... talking Calvin... dunno if I can talk bout that...' 

    There was a long silence in the room. The interviewer, halfway delirious with a potential unearthed hot scoop, hid his emotion and attempted to regather his questioning. Still, lips were licked, chops were marinated.

    ***

    There are always knocks at the door. At least one every hour or so, though the frequency seems to dwindle. The first few accompanied a voice: inviting me for a walk in the snow, or to watch a movie with everybody. Now the rare knock just tortures, bombards focus with useless inquiries like if I'm cold, or if I'm coming out for dinner. Happy this door has a lock on the inside.
    Still my stomach growls at me, wondering what the hell is up. Sorry, old friend. I've neglected you lately, and now my muscles feel weak at your fury. But what is beyond that locked door cannot be worth your satisfaction. I have a cup in this room and a window with plentiful snow within arms reach. It melts quickly. It will do. The sun is coming up soon. Rest and forgetfulness will come again. 

    (xxxi) -- Four
    

    

The Rise and Fall of Calvin Comet -- Pt. III

    'Chaos. Pandemonium. Life in the fastest lane on the fastest highway. People going crazy. Losing their brains in front of you. It all happened so quick. Nobody really excepted it or knew what to do once it happened. Would I do it all again? Easily baby. We were a smash.'

    PART THREE -- The Hottest Thing In The Cosmos

 

    Sir Zigmond (Ziggy) Parker was every bit the curious character his notoriety claimed. Multiple earrings dangling from either ear, several silver rings on fingers shimmering under the lights, and sunglasses covering eyes that hadn't been seen publicly in decades. 

    'You produced the Asteroids' first album, correct?' The interviewer asked from his clipboard.

    'I produced all their albums, love. All the real ones. None of them rubbish bootlegs or demo tapes. The real McCoys.'
    'Describe what it was like during those first recordings.'
    'Hmmmm. Love to.'

    A quick flick of the wrist and Ziggy Parker had not only lit a cigarette in his own mouth, but ignited one in the mouth of the interviewer... who spat it out and as professionally as possible asked Ziggy to continue.

    'Well I'd been mostly a session keyboardist at Sterling Records. Co-produced some jazz cuts. These Comet boys came in for ten days and I happened to be their engineer. Stroke of luck that was. They were raw, man. Like the smell of a fish market. But they had a sound. An energy. A talent. You can tell, love. I've been in studios over fifty years and you can always tell. None of em knew a blasted thing about cutting an LP and the producer hired by Sterling company was a total boot licker. Tried to push them into becoming the next Rolling Stones. I knew that wasn't their sound. That was music of the past, Comet and the Asteroids was to be music of the future. Good sessions and, I got to know them. Played keyboards on "Starstruck". Yeah, that was me. Eventually I offered to produce the blasted thing. Best offer I ever made.' 

    Sir Ziggy laughed and shook his head, a gateway of forgotten treasures having revealed themselves to him once again.

    'The first album "Tomorrow's Child" was a massive hit.' Confirmed the interviewer.

    'Yes. Yes it was... though not at first. The tour is where it really got wild. At first it was supposed to be just North America and England. I wasn't even supposed to come along. Comet insisted I do. He reworked some of his songs just to get my keyboard in there. Twenty dates in we were a front page sensation. Suddenly we got rebooked on the fly into the biggest venues available. Hundreds of fans waited outside for us. At the hotel. At the gig. The afterparties. Met my first wife at one of those. And there was Calvin fucking Comet in the center of it all. He'd completely transformed from the inverted young man I'd met that first day in the studio. Now he was a star. He was free to be out there. To be his true self. The costumes became more elaborate. He became more sexual. He wore makeup. The spectacle matched the music. But the music never suffered, love. Not then. The band followed his lead. We were from outer space, love. Nobody was like us. And certainly nobody was like him.'

    ***

    The car stops. Doors open and slam. Can't pretend to be asleep any longer.

    'Steckland wake up! We're here!'
    'Slept the whole damn trip. C'mon Steck, you lazy sack of bones. Grab your things.'

    I gather my papers before my father or my sister can touch them. Without words I escape the car and enter the bitter frigid cold. The wind is a knife slicing through any protective warmth I have.

    'The house is just up here. I hope there's something warm on the stove for us.' Laurie commented, leading the way.

    I trail far behind them, my mind spinning around other things outside of this moment. Part of me walks up this driveway surrounded by snow and cold, but most of me does not.


    (xxx) -- Three   

 

The Rise and Fall of Calvin Comet -- Pt. II

 

  


    'Some nights I thought... "man, we're gonna get eaten alive"... but instead the crowd loved it... and it was all because of Cal...'


    PART TWO --- Every Star Comes From Somewhere


    'I'd just turned twenty when I first saw Comet and Slice perform... in some crud tavern on a bad street in the East Side... maybe ten people in the room but they loved it... the songs were weird but it was a weird crowd for weird times...'

    The interviewer sipped his tea and scribbled down some notes.
    

    'How did you become involved with the two of them?'
    'It was real casual at first... maybe the third time I saw them perform... after the show I introduced myself... "Will Banes!" I declared in my most sophisticated voice... they howled with laughter... I told them I was a bassist and asked if they'd want to jam sometime... innocent enough inquiry... their sound was so unique especially with Cal as a front man... but with just two guitars and nothing else it was missing something... me, as it turned out.'
    'When were you invited to join?'
    'Right away after the first jam... I'd played mostly in jazz bands so rock pop music was a little strange to me... but even back then I was skilled enough to make it work.'
    'How were the first few shows as a trio?'

    Will Banes slicked his dyed hair back and raised an eyebrow. In the breast pocket of his silk white suit he fiddled with a harmonica he always kept there.

    'They were rough... Slice and I were very different stylistically, to put it lightly... so there was a considerable adjustment period... I'm sure if bootlegs exist, the music is crude and ghastly... only Cal's stagemanship made us even slightly appealing... lord, if I could go back in time I would surely avoid those days...'
    'Tell us about Galvin Dantley joining the group.'
    'Oh Galaxy Dantley... the poor man... we'd been performing as a trio for a few months with middling success... I suggested recruiting a colleague of mine, Galaxy, to play drums and give us a more traditional setup. Both Cal and Slice were resistant, preferring our edgy "out there" experiments... but eventually I convinced them to try it out... and Galaxy was a fine drummer... he meshed with our sound instantly...'

    Will Banes pulled out a handkerchief, dabbed his lips and meticulously folded it back into the side pocket of his blazer. 

    'Now we were set... ready to explode upon the world. Every show... our audience was growing... we went from twenty people in coffeehouses and pubs... to a packed seventy in small theatres... to hundreds in auditoriums. Summer '69 we were invited to an outdoor festival in Central Park, two thousand people... Cal came out in this neon green jumpsuit... spiky bleached hair... he looked like an alien... that is the day Calvin Comet came to Earth...'

    'It wasn't long afterwards that Sterling Records signed you guys.'

    'Correct... I met one of their people during the festival... we'd had Merlon White managing us, friend of Galaxy's... nice man but completely unserious. Sterling Records wanted a five record deal and we were halfway to the moon... even though Comet had written barely enough songs for a single LP... still, that man could literally shit out a better song than half the refuse on the radio today...'

    'Let's talk about the band name a little bit.' 

    'Ha! That was the biggest issue Sterling Records had with us... they didn't much care for the "Drunks From Mars" moniker we'd performed under... Slice's invention I'm sure. Sterling wanted to make Comet the main attraction, so they suggested it be just his name... with us as just an unnamed backing band... I didn't much care for that at all. Then one night we were smoking after a rehearsal... Comet shouts out something about "Asteroids of Time" and starts up on that red guitar of his... writes the song and convinces us to meet the record company halfway... so from that point onwards we became Calvin Comet and the Asteroids of Time... and it's followed me and paid my bills ever since...' 

    ***

    I'm jolted awake by the car suddenly stopping, the papers in my lap spilling onto the backseat floor.

    'It's just a highway checkpoint.' my sister Laurie whispers back to me. 'Nothing to worry about.'

    My father grunts in the passenger seat and resumes reading his copy of MacLeans magazine. I stretch my legs as best I can, peek out the window and see only an empty highway layered with snow, surrounded by wilderness and a moonless starry sky. Laurie rolls down the driver window slightly and a rush of prickly cold air enters the car.

    'Where ya all headed tonight?'
    'Passing through Sudbury, about halfway to Sault Ste Marie.'
    'You been drinking tonight, Miss?'
    'Not a drop.'
    'All right Miss, have a safe journey. Don't be staring up to the sky too much, clear night like this you can see all the constellations. Causes more accidents than you'd think.'
    'Thanks officer.'
    'Take care now.'

    The car continues onward, the cold outside air still lingering within. My eyes droop and my vision fades, back to the warmer places where blankets shake your hand on the sidewalks.


    (xxix) -- Two

 

The Rise and Fall of Calvin Comet - Pt. I

    'Hard to say really when it all began right? I mean, hard to trace that first stroke of the Mona Lisa, er the first guitar stroke of the Beatles innit?'


    PART ONE -- Tomorrow's Child


    David "Slice" Rogers puffed his cigarette like a man unconvinced he'd live long enough to smoke another. The interviewer shifted in his chair before asking the big question:

    'Can you tell us about the first time you met Calvin Comet?'
    'Aye. Most definitely.'

    A shuffle in his seat, and Slice Rogers continued.

    'Good you asked me that. You done your research. Them other blokes of the group only met 'im once he was already Comet Superstar Man. But I knew Cal since the beginning. Course 'e was Calvin Travis back then. Think we was fourteen, school lads at whatever school we'd met. I'd only been cross the pond a few months and teased quickly for me accent. 

    'Cal was different though. Charming, kind. Those wankers made fun of me but not Cal. Not ever. Ee wanted to learn more about me, what I was into.'

    Slice pulled a metal flask from the inner pocket of his leather jacket and hovered it over a convenient coffee cup.

    'You mind?'

    The interviewer shrugged.

    The flask was emptied into the cup and the contents were even more efficiently erased by Slice's emotional gulp. He sucked his teeth, the valleys of his face deepening ever so subtly, and refocused.

    'You don't haveta mention that part.'
    'Don't worry about it. So, when did young Calvin first show interest in music?'

    'We was sixteen I wager. Lad named Lowrey scored tickets to see some band nobody'd ever heard of at a rock club across the bridge. The three of us went, underage o'course, no problem, to see these unknowns. Bloody turns out to be Velvet Underground. We was hypnotized that night, by that show, ever heard anythin like it before. Very next day, Cal rings me, wants to go to a pawnshop and buy a guitar. Never forget that day, mate... 

    'Nice of you to meet me here. I can't decide which one to get.'
    'Really mate? All look the same to me.'
    'No. It's gotta have imagination. Something really out there.'
    'Out where?'
    'There!'
    'Where?'
    'Hey Dave, check out this one. It's red.'
    'Right mate. It's definitely red.'
    'Think about it. Red is the colour of love, of fire. It's calling to me. I think this is it.'
    'It's the colour of England too, mate.'
    'How much for this?'
    'Fifteen-eighty.' -- said the store clerk.
    'I'll take it. I'm telling you, Dave, there's something special about this guitar. Like it's from another planet. I'll keep it for the rest of my life.'

     

    Slice Rogers' eyes were tearing up so he reached into another pocket of his leather jacket, found another metal flask and took a swig. He wiped his face and chuckled to himself.

    'That guitar was the Red Nova, wasn't it?' The interviewer inquired.
    'Right mate. The Nova. Acoustic six string, Scribner brand. The "A" was always a little jangly from the start. But a legend. Best sixteen dollar guitar in history, no doubt. Changed Cal it did. Changed music. Changed the world even.'
    'How soon did he start writing songs?'
    'Oh right away. Week after that Velvet concert he comes o'er to my flat, I was livin' with a bunch o' lads who I worked in a factory with. Brings the Nova wit 'im. Plays me a song ee wrote, bout a kid in space bein' born and visiting a future Earth.'
    'Tomorrow's Child.' nodded the interviewer, leaning back.
    'Aye. That's the one. Course neither of us knew, sitting that day in some sweaty Brooklyn room... we was sitting on a million dollar song. How could we?'
    

    Slice lit up another cigarette and treated it much like he'd treated the first. His eyes squinted hard so that they were hardly visible within the smoke, his long grey hair, his beard, and his scars. He chuckled again.

    'Thems was the good days, in that flat. The innocent days.'

    ***

    'Steckland! Wake up! Are you packed?'

    Only silence can comfort me. This is not silence.

    'The car is gonna be here in half an hour. Are you ready to go? Do I have to come in there?'

    He wouldn't dare.

    'I want you out here in fifteen minutes. Bring a pillow because it's a long drive!'

    My face sinks back into my bedsheets and the semi-comfort of semi-sleep welcomes me there. My one bag is already packed: just some clothes of varying cleanliness and a notebook. In fifteen minutes there will be another banging on my door to wake me up and drag me away from this singular place of comfort. Still no sadness. In a sleep filled place, fifteen minutes can last fifteen years.


     

    (xxviii) --- One