(1979)
(SPOILERS) Most of the criticisms levelled at Star Trek: The Motion Picture are
legitimate. It puts spectacle above plot, one that’s so derivative it might be classed
as the clichéd Star Trek plot. It’s bloated and slow moving. For every superior
redesign of the original series’ visuals and concepts, there’s an inferior
example. But… it’s also endlessly fascinating. It stands alone among the big
screen chapters of series as an attempted reimagining of the TV show as a grand
adult, serious-minded “experience”, taking its cues more from 2001: A Space Odyssey than Star Wars or even Close Encounters of the Third Kind (the success of which got The Motion Picture (TMP) a green light, execs sufficiently convinced that Lucas’ hit wasn’t
a one-off). It’s a film (a motion picture,
not a mere movie) that recognises the passage of time (albeit clumsily at points)
and gives a firm sense of space and place to its characters universe. It’s
hugely flawed, but it both fully understands the mythologising elements of a
show that had expired a decade earlier and yet isn’t content to rest on the
laurels of a built-in audience.
It’s been suggested that, had Phase II, the proposed TV sequel show, entered production in 1977/8
it might not have lasted more than one innings. It wasn’t sufficiently distinct
enough. That might well have been the case, since TMP’s screenplay (credited to Harold Livingstone, with story by Alan Dean Foster) is a reworking of In Thy Image, the Phase II
pilot script. It was rapidly retooled for the cinema arena in order to
capitalise on the big screen sci-fi boom. As has been widely noted, TMP’s basic plotline is very similar to
the original series episode Changeling
(one of the affectionately mocking fan titles for the movie is Where Nomad Has Gone Before, referencing
the probe in Changeling).
The merits of flawed, emotional humanity over unfeeling
logic were a lynchpin of the TV show, and at times in TMP are so overworked there’s a danger of descent into self-parody.
Conversely, there’s an admirable reliance on wordy philosophical interplay that
would be unthinkable in the current era (it was going against the flow even
then). There was absolutely no danger that Star
Trek Into Darkness would derive inspiration (if that’s what you’d want to
call it; it goes a bit beyond, really) from TMP’s
major plot points rather than The Wrath
of Khan’s. There isn’t even a proper villain in TMP, for a start. Certainly no one you could throw at a good action
sequence (it’s even a bit of a cruel trick, to open on redesigned Klingons and
a dramatic scene in which they’re pulverised, and then have no personified, meat-and-potatoes
antagonists during the next two hours plus).
And yet, The Original
Series (TOS)crew were able to deliver
an unlikely box office success again, when The
Voyage Home pretty much repeated the premise (alien probe comes to Earth
wreaking havoc, looking for a signal locked into Earth history). Positioned as
a culture clash comedy (see also the same year’s Crocodile Dundee), it also managed to sidestep the need for classic
villains. Looking at the way in which future features repeatedly tried and
failed to muster Khan-like antagonists – Picard, Nero, er, Khan – the seemingly
anti-intuitive approach might have something to it.
It’s moot how well the previously developed big screen Trek would have turned out (nixed prior
to Star Wars release, showing how
on-the-ball Paramount was about these things – and presumably still isn’t,
given how they continue to making baffling choices in respect of the
franchise). Roddenberry’s The God Thing
featured one of the show’s staple incursions of Godlike but not God antagonists
(a super computer!), and then there was Planet
of the Titans (from the screenwriters of Don’t Look Now). This featured the Titans (shades of Who Mourned for Adonis? and perhaps the Chariots of the Gods concept that
appeared in a Harlan Ellison reject script) and time travel (now the essential Trek trope, it seems).
The most intriguing part of this development was Philip
Kaufman signing on as director. His late ‘70s period saw a number of
disappointments (most frustrating being Clint getting shot of him on Outlaw Josey Wales). Kaufman wasn’t a
Trekkie, and knocked heads with Roddenberry. But he got on very well with
Leonard Nimoy; when Titans collapsed
there was a brief spell were he had a story featuring Captain Spock butting
intellects with a Klingon antagonist (in terms of classical conflict, this
sounds closer to The Wrath of Khan).
The vacillating heads of Paramount then
opted to go down the TV route, before once again reconsidering. The upside of
all this saw Kaufman going off and remaking Invasion
of the Body Snatchers, which feature Nimoy on great form as a self-help
guru playing off Spock conceptions.
This was director Robert Wise’s penultimate big screen venture. Very much a product of old Hollywood, Wise started out as an editor with RKO in the thirties. Yet wasn’t a journeyman director in the sense of reliable plodder getting the job done and moving on. One might almost call him a chameleon, proficient at any given material with an intrinsic understanding of the needs of the individual script and how to translate that visually. This was a director who could hop genres flawlessly; the man who delivered the heavily stylised West Side Story also completed the spooky The Haunting, and also gave us documentary immediacy of The Andromeda Strain (yes, he was also responsible for The Hindenburg).
One technical characteristic of his work is readily identifiable, however, Striking
use of deep focus, which he latched on to from working with Orson Welles, makes
its way into TMP by way of split
diopter lens (most elaborately found in De Palma’s movies, such as Blow Out); two objects at different
distances from the camera remain in focus while the space between them is out
of focus objects.
Until TMP came out
(I’d have been seven at the time), I wasn’t even aware of the historicity of TOS. The original had been a regular feature
of BBC1 primetime since the early ‘70s (this would carry on into the ‘80s,
before eventually docking on BBC2), and I had little sense of when it had been
made, or even that anyone had stopped making it. So TMP ice-lollies, with cards showing a refitted Enterprise, and an aging
but readily recognisable crew, came as something of a surprise. If none of the
preview materials carried the same excitement factor as Star Wars, or even pretenders such as Battlestar Galactica (the pilot released at cinemas in the UK) or The Black Hole, it still convincingly announced
the continuation and viability of the franchise.
Perhaps the most mercilessly appropriate dig at TMP was relabeling it The Motionless Picture. The film
occupies an almost perversely reactionary position to the easy thrills of the
Lucas-verse; one might consider it bloody-minded in testing the goodwill of its
prospective audience. The same year’s Alien
showed that different approaches were more than possible for successful science
fiction (it took its time to present its world, all the better to scare you
with), but TMP suffered from a lack
of finessing. It was never going to be a dynamic affair, but it got bogged down
in overlong effects sequences and an inability to cut to the, if not chase,
then amble.
That said, I’ll admit, I don’t mind most of the longueurs.
The first half really takes its time,
but ladles out a succession of entrances that pay off through the sheer
satisfaction of a crew reunited, or old favourites revisited. The Klingons come
first, and with them attention to treating this as a plausible galaxy. Besides
the ridged foreheads there are subtitles, the latter repeated for the
atmospheric cut to Spock’s home world.
This Vulcan takes its cues from Amok Time, but can spread its canvas beyond a TV studio set and
painted backdrop. The a volcanic, primordial place steeped in rites and
medieval rituals (there’s a curious dichotomy going on there; austere logic
versus the flourish of occult incantations). The effect is straight from the
cover of a pulp SF novel, with planets and moons orbiting in the near distance;
it’s closer to something one might see in the following year’s Flash Gordon than the technological
lustre elsewhere.
It’s significant that we see Spock first, recognising that
Nimoy (who wasn’t going to be in Phase II)
plays the most iconic character, even if he isn’t the nominal lead. While the sighting of Spock before eht the others makes sense thematically and structurally, arguably it
is slightly superfluous in terms of character; it reminds us of Spock’s nature,
and sets up his connection to the threat, but its importance is mostly one of
underpinning the picture. With the Klingon sequence, it serves to establish an expansive
universe with a promise of scale of adventure that is ultimately unrealised.
This Trek mostly takes place on the
bridge of the Enterprise.
In terms of Spock’s arc, though, those who (justifiably)
complain about STID starting as if
the 2009 movie had didn’t end where it did might be given pause. Should Spock
still be fretting over his human qualities all this time later? Shouldn’t he
have made peace, as he does here in a flash of revelation that serves 2-hour
shorthand rather than an on-going journey? On the one hand, this introduces the
idea that the principals have been off doing their own thing and leading their
own paths in the intervening period. On the other it smacks a little of
character subplots for the sake of star powered input. Nimoy absolutely sells
it, however, and the scene where Spock realises his own shortsightedness
through recognising the limitations of V’ger’s perception is quite lovely.
Other choices designed to beef up his purpose and narrative conflict aren’t so
surefooted.
This is most evident in the suspicion over Spock’s motives,
and that he may not have the interests of the Enterprise foremost in his Vulcan
mind (As Kirk comments, “I could never
believe that”). It’s never more than aside, fortunately (if it had been,
Spock would need considerably more justification than presented here). It also
entitles, in a story without villains, Spock to give an unsuspecting crewmember
a Vulcan grip. Occasionally, the Spock signatures feel like greatest hits
moments (“I sense… puzzlement”; while
this feeds into the Spock’s emotions /V’ger’s emotions theme, it is never much more
than reheated beans), most obviously when he attempts to mind meld with a
nebulous cloud during his spacewalk.
Yet in spite of that griping about motivation, it feels
justified, on his return, when he uses “Jim”
for the first time, accepting his human side. It’s a recognition of connection
and friendship we’ve been waiting for. There are those who suggest TMP is a rather austere, chilly vision
of Trek, which in terms of visuals it
is (the clinical rigour of Kubrick). However, it’s also features liberal doses
of humour, mostly deriving from the interplay between the holy triumvirate of
Kirk, Spock and McCoy.
Kirk’s entrance is decidedly less flashy than his once and
soon to be once more science officer, but it takes a similar opportunity to
establish the scope of this widescreen vision of Trek. A look at 23rd century Earth, complete with
shuttles zipping by the Golden Gate Bridge, is the sort of economical scene
setter TMP could have done with more
of; certainly, that’s the case a scene or two later when Kirk and Scotty enjoy
an interminable shuttle approach to the refitted Enterprise. Although, even
that isn’t that much of a chore. It
does look very nice, after all. Perhaps its just nice to revisit a movie that
isn’t rushing to the next explosion. Or perhaps it’s that visuals are so
distinctive, so handcrafted and demonstrably pre-CGI and not touched up in a
computer, that there’s a real pleasure in seeing it all there on screen. The
aimed for wonder of 2001 is never
achieved, but at points it really does
dazzle.
It may be a result of the Shat’s star wattage and input
(various of the supporting cast attested to his claiming priority on rewrites,
and certainly a moment such as the tableau where McCoy and Spock “hold him
back” from stopping Decker from merging with V’ger seems like his particular
style), or it may just be his eccentric delivery, the most arresting of any
star this side of Christopher Walken, but Kirk is a delight throughout TMP. It helps that his character is given
the only real interactive conflict in the piece, butting heads with Stephen
Collins’ Commander Decker. I’m a big fan of the Shat’s hamming, and his tickled
moments, but additionally Kirk’s sincerity throughout this is very winning; his
pleasure on seeing Spock for the first time, and his restraint when continually
provoked by Commander Decker. Some of which is deserved, of course.
Kirk: Stop… competing with me, Decker.
There’s a reiteration throughout that Kirk has been less
than scrupulous in assuming command of the Enterprise. If Decker wasn’t such a self-righteous
tool, we might be more likely to side with him against the captain. Even Bones
accuses Kirk (“You’ve used this emergency
to get the Enterprise back”). It’s a smart move, such that TMP embraces both past glories, running
a wave of nostalgia, and suggests that out heroes may be a little past it. As
such, there’s also a meta-level to the narrative; reviewers would increasingly
pick up on the aging crew aspect during the next decade, much of it waistline
and hairpiece based. Kirk is an ill-at-ease Admiral, without a single space
hour in two and a half years. He is no longer in his element. Future films will
go further in depicting Kirk as the flawed hero. It’s a persona he readily
Shatner takes to and can carry through by dint of charisma.
Its fun to see Kirk holding in (not his gut) his more
combustible side in the face of a younger imp who is more cocksure and
experienced with the new improved ship. Kirk doesn’t deny self-interests, even
though he is armed with justifiable justification (“My experience, five years out there, dealing with unknowns, like this”).
He isn’t simply noble; he has very ego-driven desires (as Decker says of his
return to captain’s chair, “I don’t think
you’re sorry, one bit”).
If one was going to cut a narratively superfluous scene, it
would be easy to lose the wormhole sequence, but it’s about the only dramatic
moment for the first hour (following the opening scene). And it’s useful for
the insight it provides into Kirk’s self-moderation, recognising the limits of
his power/knowledge and that it’s a good leader who can admit when he’s wrong.
The screenplay overplays its hand at points (Deckard’s parting shot, “As much as you wanted the Enterprise, I want
this” could be left unsaid).
Perhaps my favourite slice of Shatness is the transmission
sequence, where Kirk urges his science officer to respond to V’Ger and so
forestall destruction. His repeated pleas (“Spock…
Mr Spock… Spock”) ensure a scene that is both tense and funny, and
illustrative of Shat’s immaculate and idiosyncratic timing (witness also his
desire to speak to Spock normally; “Will
you… please… sit down”).
McCoy: Why is an object we don’t understand always
called a thing?
DeForest Kelly, according to his place in the series’
central trio, arrives a distant third. That’s after we’ve seen everyone else in
the crew, including the newbies. Kelly is an irascible joy, contrary entirely
for the sake of it (just take a position, any position, Doctor). It’s only the extent of Kirk’s earnestness
towards his shipmate that wins over the old grouch (“I need you, badly”). Maybe I’m not the most discerning Trek watcher (I like Trek, rather than love it, and that’s
pretty much based on the original line-up), but it seems to me they have the
interplay between Kirk, Spock and Bones pitch-perfect.
Occasionally, there’s a sense that the (re-) writers are
trying too hard, but that mostly comes from overworking the conclusion to give
it sufficient cosmic gravitas and ensure sure the trio are furnished with their
traditional philosophical rumination and a bit of Spock-Bones snarking. Bones
love-hate for the green-blooded Vulcan is evident from the off, his initial
inability to disguise his filial feelings (“Well,
so help me, I’m actually pleased to see you!”) quickly giving way to more
typical antagonism (“You haven’t changed
a bit. You’re just as warm and sociable as ever”). That combustibleness,
met by Spock’s neutral tones, is one of the great pleasures of their relationship.
McCoy doesn’t actually get to do a great deal of note. He
examines Ilia, tends to Spock, but his role has generally been that of
reactor/commentator while his co-leads take the lead. And what he generally
does well, he does well here.
The rest of the regulars are well known for moaning about
the size of their movie roles, although it isn’t as if they had great parts in
the series week in week out. Scotty does what he always does (“If we don’t break free in 15 seconds she’ll
break up!”), but now James Doohan has something disturbing attached to his
upper lip and a pie shop adjacent to the engine room set.
Uhura, Chekov and Sulu barely get a look in. Out of the three, only Chekov really had notable scenes in the movies (yes, I’m aware of Uhura doing a fan dance and Sulu getting the Excelsior), and all of them involve injury.
Small as his showing is here, he gets a few scraps; his grin when Ilia comes aboard indicates what a randy little Russian he is, while later he really maxes out the agony face as V’ger burns his ickle hand. He also make the most of the line “Absolutely I will not interfere” in earnestly deadpan fashion when Decker tells him not interfere with the probe.
Uhura, Chekov and Sulu barely get a look in. Out of the three, only Chekov really had notable scenes in the movies (yes, I’m aware of Uhura doing a fan dance and Sulu getting the Excelsior), and all of them involve injury.
Small as his showing is here, he gets a few scraps; his grin when Ilia comes aboard indicates what a randy little Russian he is, while later he really maxes out the agony face as V’ger burns his ickle hand. He also make the most of the line “Absolutely I will not interfere” in earnestly deadpan fashion when Decker tells him not interfere with the probe.
Kirk: … Yes it is. I stand corrected.
TMP would probably
not have featured any newbies at all, had it been planned from the outset as a
simple reunion pic, but it’s the better for not remaining static. Sure, the
status quo is conveniently returned to by the time of the last scene, but it
would beggar belief that all these characters were doing exactly the same thing
in the interim, while getting older and more seasoned at their jobs.
Where alteration from Phase
II is necessary, it even provides an interesting diversion (even as
shearable bloat). So the Phase II
Klingon science officer is conveniently disposed of in an extremely icky
transporter malfunction (it comes over as a cross between Brundlefly and Altered States).
I never liked Decker very much, but that appears to be at least partly the intent of the filmmakers. He might have been more of a contender in the face of Kirk’s challenge if he was less self-assured, more modest, and didn’t act like a petulant teenager (taking the Enterprise away from him is so unfair!)
Collins is very good; he more than holds his own opposite an
all-devouring portion of Shat ham. Unfortunately, it’s now impossible to see
the character in the quite the same way as before, informed by recent
revelations regarding Collins. I presume it was Trek that led to him being cast in Tales of the Golden Monkey, but why anyone would watch this and
think “He’d be perfect as a roguish Indiana Jones type” is anyone’s guess.
Ilia: My oath of celibacy is on record, captain.
May I assume my duties?
Lieutenant Ilia couldn’t be more different to Decker in
terms of characterisation. She’s defined by visual cues (bald female) and a one-line
info dump that informs us of her race’s sexual bounty. Curiously, given that TMP makes an effort to wash away
memories of the ‘60s sexy (and sexist) future, one of the two main new
characters is overtly sexualised; she’s given an exotic costume that renders
the space age miniskirts of TOS Trek
positively discreet. One assumes that V’ger is either incredibly kinky, or he
accessed Ilia’s memory for standard Deltan wardrobe ((I prefer the former, but
I suspect that’s not the case, as this isn’t Demon Seed).
It’s unclear whether Ilia’s hyper-sexuality means her
feelings for Decker are no more than for anyone else she might shag (taking an
oath of celibacy suggests she gets around a bit, although Persis Khambatta
suggested that sexual contact with a Deltan led to obsession and eventual madness
on the part of the human partner); intentionally or not, her presence is an
effective way of stating the free love drive of the ‘60s is over (next stop,
cyber sex). Her presence is also significant for what it says about the aging Kirk.
No longer is the Captain of the Enterprise shagging his way around the
universe, and his mere presence doesn’t take the breath away of every hot young
thing he encounters.
Ilia only really assumes a personality when V’ger, has
cloned her, however, In that form, Khambatta’s performance is highly memorable.
Really, there have been fairly few great original characters in the Star Trek movies (I mean in conception
and design, rather than performance), but the probe version of Ilia is
definitely one of them.
Because V’ger is an idea we’ve seen before, its
effectiveness is almost entirely based upon its presentation. It isn’t so much
that the idea is a bad one, but it’s so familiar. Even if you hadn’t seen Changeling, it’s unlikely that you
wouldn’t have encountered a similar idea of sentient computers and the creator
principle. It breaks down to that most versatile of Star Trek themes, most frequently reserved for machines, but also
for godlike, aloof races (here it’s a combination of the two); if only they
could perceive the wonders of fallible, fantastic, emotional humans (they’re
bestest of all), they would be complete.
Spock: V’ger has knowledge that spans this
universe, and yet, with all its pure logic, V’ger is barren, cold. No mystery,
no beauty. I should’ve known. (Spock closes his eyes.)
Kirk: Spock! What should you have known?
Spock: (Roused,
taking Kirk’s hand) Jim, this simple
feeling is beyond V’ger’s comprehension. No mercy, no hope. And Jim, no answers. It’s asking questions. Is that
all I am? Is there nothing more?
The plus side of this is that the conversations between the
crew hearken back to the sometimes-trite ruminations found in the original
series. This became something of a lost art as the big screen adventures
continued, entirely understandably given the differing agendas of movies and TV.
This approach is at is most vindicated during the above Spock scene, where he
sums up the special bond between friends. On paper, it runs the danger of being
corny, but as played between Nimoy and the Shat it reverberates with sincerity.
Kirk: A machine planet, sending a machine to Earth, looking for its creator. It’s absolutely incredible.
Why Kirk should find the notion of a machine planet etc.
incredible, given all he has seen, is questionable. Perhaps he forgets easily.
There are a few such moments where the one can hear standard lines being
slotted into place (“energy of a type
never before encountered” – why, of course it is), but there are also several
lovely little exchanges of circular logic with the probe. There’s a stalemate
between Kirk’s demands for her to remove the orbiting devices from Earth and
hers for the answer to the question of why the creator doesn’t respond. She,
who has a winning line in comparing humans to vermin (‘carbon based units infesting the Enterprise”) defines herself in
purely relative terms (“The creator is
that which created V’ger… V’ger is that which seeks the creator”).
McCoy: It learns fast, doesn’t it?
On the one hand, V’ger wields the reductive language of
scientific rationalisation, so furthering the theme of the conflict between
emotion and logic. On the other, her quest for the creator invokes the limited
terms open to many (organised) belief systems, whereby interrogation of precepts
is discouraged. Trek emphasises
humanist principles first and foremost. As such, those individuals or systems powered
by faith in another force are generally seen to be misguided or corrupt, yet
the quest for answers itself is considered profoundly noble.
As Spock says of V’Ger, comparing its development to that of a child, “It knows only that it needs, commander. But like so many of us, it does not know what”. Spock allows for “Other dimensions, higher levels of being, the existence of which cannot be proved logically”. A door is left open, which may be why Trek attracts those of apparently oppositional viewpoints.
As Spock says of V’Ger, comparing its development to that of a child, “It knows only that it needs, commander. But like so many of us, it does not know what”. Spock allows for “Other dimensions, higher levels of being, the existence of which cannot be proved logically”. A door is left open, which may be why Trek attracts those of apparently oppositional viewpoints.
The only certain creators in the Trek universe are humans themselves, be it of sentient space probes
or robot Pinocchios. But it’s a series careful not to rule out possibilities.
Apart from anything else, it would be severely limiting on a basic storytelling
front. The exposition during the final encounter with V’ger is often on the
lumpy side, over-egging the dialogue when the ideas could have been expressed
more succinctly, and rather clumsily having our heroes withdraw to a “corner”
to chat about their next move while Ilia obligingly stands by the side-lines.
Ilia: When my examination is complete, all carbon
units will be reduced to data patterns.
Bringing the romance element back round to AI erotica is
quite tidy (it means Ilia and Decker can be cleared from the decks for “true
crew” new adventures, but also ties in to the scripts themes). But having quite
such a static end scene also draws attention to shortcomings in internal logic.
If V’ger is so damn smart, why did it decide its moniker based on a bit of dirt
obscuring the Voyager VI nameplate? It’s also very fortunate how well read this
lot are concerning 20th century NASA expeditions (Decker
particularly). And what do they call
black holes in the 23rd century if it’s no longer black holes?
Decker: Lets find out.
It’s curious that Decker is so willing to pursue the
facsimile of Ilia to her ultimate destination. Does that mean he’s incredibly
shallow in his adoration for her? That he just wants some kinky robot sex? Or
that he has trouble distinguishing “reality”? No one really tries to stop him,
mostly probably because he’s a bit of a cock, but also because it gets them out
of a tight spot. It’s certainly a novel take on Roy Neary going off with the
aliens; Decker is sucked into a cosmic sex bubble, by way of Starman blowing glowing hair, such that
he looks like he picked a bad week to stop sniffing glue,
Kirk: I think we gave it the ability to create its own sense of purpose out of our human weaknesses and the drive that compels us to overcome them.
McCoy: And a lot of foolish human emotions, right Mr
Spock?
Spock: Quite true, doctor. Unfortunately, it will
have to deal with them as well.
Kirk’s speculation on the nature of V’ger as a new life form
is rather insufferable, so it’s a relief to have McCoy and Spock on hand to
start bitching at each other. Indeed, McCoy’s best line comes when Spock first
posits the idea that V’ger should be treated as a child; “Spock, this child is about to wipe out every living thing on Earth. Now
what do you suggest we do? Spank it?” Presumably Bones read about spanking
in history books, since there is surely no such thing in the 23rd
century (well, maybe Deltans enjoy it).
Although the interaction of the characters is ultimately the reason everyone’s been gathered together again for TMP,
the expense/spectacle is the most vaunted ingredient (certainly eclipsing the
plot). And much of the expense is impressive. TMP achieves a tangible environment where you can quite believe the
Enterprise is a vast star ship, not just a bridge, engine room, sickbay and a
few corridors. In contrast, the Bird of Prey interior is all used-future chic.
The filmmakers understand that evolution, raising the game, is necessary, even
if the end result it’s undoubtedly too enamoured with its bag of tricks.
While TMP is
generally seen as a bit of failure (it’s the next one that gets it right), and
there’s a profound makeover come the sequel, a number of aspects are highly influential;
the Klingons (and Vulcans), subtitled language, the warp speed visuals.
It discards TOS elements both good and bad (the communicators are missed). The general artistry on display simply hasn’t been repeated in terms of concept designs and visual effects. Much of that is down to having greats like Douglas Trumbull, John Dykstra and Syd Mead on board.
It discards TOS elements both good and bad (the communicators are missed). The general artistry on display simply hasn’t been repeated in terms of concept designs and visual effects. Much of that is down to having greats like Douglas Trumbull, John Dykstra and Syd Mead on board.
The space sequences are unparalleled, and in terms of V’Ger’s
visuals (the cloud, its world), the designs are unusual and distinct, handcrafted
rather than spawned through code (short of Darren Aronofsky making a Star Trek movie, there’s no chance of
that now). V’ger’s realm is atmospheric and uncanny, and elements come together
to suitably epic effect; the pinhead Enterprise as it sallies forth through
V’ger’s structure; the crewmembers stepping out on the ship’s saucer, as if
this is the hull of a vast submarine; the pervading rumbling sound effects and
lightning. Then there’s the lens flare when the ship leaves V’ger’s realm; it
would give JJ Abrams raptures.
Spock’s space walk is also quite marvellous. It may not turn
quite as trippy as 2001, but its suitably
unbound by the corporeal. Reflecting off his visor are images of planets,
galaxies, moons; it’s a live action cover of a ‘70s concept album, in
particular when we reach a giant representation of Ilia, her throat chakra
blazing. Everything can’t match this; the arc light probe sequence doesn’t
wholly work, but even there the luminescence carries a striking and visceral
immediacy.
Generally speaking, the costume design stinks. Wise didn’t
want the vibrant colours of the TV series, and Roddenberry, very unenvironmentally,
was into the idea of disposable clothing. So everyone wears cheap-looking tat;
muted and unflattering, it’s a style of spacewear even Space: 1999 would have consigned to the bargain bins. Robert
Fletcher struck lucky second time, with his decidedly more militaristic uniforms
for Khan.
Curious choices abound. It’s debatable whether Ilia had room
for underwear beneath that sheer dress. If she left something to the
imagination, Decker’s visible cock and balls most certainly did not. Then there
are the guards with silly shoulder pads and football helmets. Ilia also sports
a daft head band at one point and Spock is welcomed aboard in a cape – as we
know from Seinfeld, it takes some
stones to pull one of those off. When all-weather gear is required, the crew
don painters’ smocks. Rugged old Kirk is also given to wearing a space t-shirt.
The other element to note on the production side is Jerry
Goldsmith’s score. I’m aware a great many adore it, but I find it decidedly
uninspiring. It’s a pompous, self-important, joyless dirge, proud of its
achievements, and devoid of the sense of adventure and the unknown that defined
the TV theme. All these reasons are probably why it ended up reworked for Star Trek: The Next Generation. In
contrast, the driving predator-and-prey Klingon theme is quite masterful, as
are the compositions accompanying the eerie influence of V’ger (occasionally
referencing Goldsmith’s score for the same year’s Alien).
I’ve grown to like TMP
more over the passing years. I’ve always appreciated its ambition, and the
manner in which it picked up the show’s baton, but in retrospect it is even
more impressive for its lost craftsmanship. I recall also favouring the
tightened up (but paradoxically longer) Director’s Cut (only released on DVD,
as the new effects aren’t in HD) but I haven’t seen it since it came out.
TMP was incredibly
expensive, tripling its allotted budget. When it was released, in the last
month of the ‘70s, it didn’t even come close to the success of Star Wars (or even Close Encounters). But then, the franchise would only be placed in
the hands of a wunderkind (a nu-wunderkind?) with a mercurial touch 30 years
later. It represented a similar sort of financial failure to 1998’s Godzilla; in and of itself quite
successful, but so costly as to cause a rethink (or stall the property for
another 18 years). Inflation adjusted, TMP
is still the most successful of the franchise bar the reboot. It was the fifth
most popular movie in the US of 1979, beating Alien but trailing Apocalypse
Now. It also bagged three Oscar nominations effects, for Score (A Little
Romance won), Art Direction (All that Jazz took the statuette) and Visual
Effects (Alien scored). No nod for cinematography, though (The Black Hole was
nominated).
Rightly or wrongly, TMP’s
mixed reception dictated the shape of big screen Trek to come. From thence on action would dictate content. On the
rare occasions it didn’t (Insurrection),
it would be seen as a misstep, the only exception being the big screen equivalent
of The Trouble with Tribbles (ie an
all out comedy, The Voyage Home). But
Star Trek: The Motion Picture deserves
full credit as a reintroduction to the crew. It only flounders in that its big
idea isn’t up to the effort put into translation said idea to the screen. Still,
when all’s said and done, and Kirk gives his blithe instruction for where to head
next (“Out there. Thataway”) we want
to go there with him.
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