Set phasers to 'kitsch'
I was happy to see that Maxx, the local men’s channel, has started showing old episodes of Star Trek among its lineup of public service programming about cheatin’ couples, poker-playin’ Pinoys, and VIP room playahs. Yeah, the old Star Trek. Not that I was ever a huge fan, but there is something transcendent — even comforting — about the sight of old Spock, Kirk, Bones, McCoy, and of course, Lieutenant Uhuru still hurtling through space, to galaxies beyond.
Why does Star Trek transcend its obvious ‘60s origins, its clunky sets and outrageously dated fashion? For today’s generation, it helps that the movie version helmed by J.J. Abrams last year restored a certain retro hipness to the franchise, one that had been dangerously usurped by Grecian formula and bad hairpieces in recent decades. Abrams tapped into not only the loci of genuine fan appreciation but the receptors of non-fans as well, whose collective understanding of the show is summed up by “The episode where Kirk makes it with that green bitch.”
Anyway, I stumbled upon the episode called “The Way to Eden” (first aired: Feb. 21, 1969) and was immediately almost amused to death by the sight of space hippies serenading the Starship Enterprise’s crew with pukey folk music from the ‘60s. (Yes, apparently civilizations in far-flung space still dig Greenwich Village folk music à la Tim Buckley.)
The story is this: the Enterprise has come across a renegade vessel that is entering forbidden Romulan territory; they beam aboard the passengers and their leader before the ship self-destructs. The passengers include a band of humanoid hippies and their guru leader, Dr. Severin. Despite their ship blowing up, the hippies are totally chill, because they believe their spiritual guide, Severin (he of the large, incredibly fake cauliflower ears), is going to take them to Eden. The hippies are so chill, in fact, that they routinely whip out intergalactic folk instruments and start up impromptu hootenannies. Indeed, the sight of Mr. Spock joining in one of these jam sessions with a space hippie (who appears to be playing a bicycle wheel) is priceless, a YouTube classic. (Spock is the one playing the electric zither.)
But Severin, we learn, is a scientist whose research into sonic manipulation has a sinister side: he is imprisoned by the Enterprise crew until his origins can be traced, but whenever the hippies start up with the folk music, the crew members become mysteriously discom-bobulated and scarcely notice that their ship is being taken over.
The music is kitsch with a capital “K,” and rather than lulling the crew to inattention, it’s a wonder nobody sets their phasers to “Stun… with extreme prejudice.” To convey to you the utter silliness of the folk music, here’s a little ditty sung by Charles Napier, a Hollywood tough guy actor who’s been in almost every Russ Meyer movie, not to mention Silence of the Lambs, The Blues Brothers and Rambo: First Blood. He strums a weird space lyre while singing it, and wears the strangest ensemble I’ve ever encountered on Star Trek: thigh-high boots, a kind of blue tunic held together with a chain, and a matching pastel blue tattoo on his forehead. The song goes thus:
Headin’ out to Eden, no more trouble in my body or mind,
Gonna live like a king on whatever I find,
Eat all the fruit and throw away the rind,
Yay, brother…
The song is sung (through Napier’s trademark white teeth) in utter earnestness, and even today, it makes you realize that the hippies had struck a chord in popular consciousness, even getting the sci-fi treatment in Gene Roddenberry’s short-lived TV series.
But what interests me is not the kitsch factor inherent in almost every Star Trek episode; what’s cool about the episode, finally, is that it does not take cheap shots at the hippies. Spock, at one point, goes to great length to explain to the misguided hippies who have seized the ship that “We understand your ideals and accept them.” The space hippies just want freedom and peace; it’s the evil doctor (insert the name of any compromised leader you want, from Timothy Leary to Huey Newton to Robert S. MacNamara) who’s the problem.
And this is what made Star Trek transcend its own time, ultimately: like all good sci-fi, it dealt with human issues without taking easy sides. Instead, like the best work of Rod Serling and other writers of that era, it used irony to explore the human condition, not just make fun of it. (Serling, of course, wrote the script for the original Planet of the Apes movie in 1968.)
Still, there is irony: Severin, unbeknownst to the hippies, carries a lethal virus that will wipe out the destination he hopes to reach, the original planet of Eden. When they escape in a space shuttle to the planet, the first thing the ninnies do is eat the fruit off the trees — yup, it’s pure poison, thanks to Severin’s icky virus.
On a good day, in true Starfleet style, the Enterprise crew was above casting judgments on the various civilizations they encountered. Sure, they usually fell prey to human emotions, mishaps, Kirk’s overcharged libido, but they had Mr. Spock around to remind them of their mission, and their neo-Platonic ideal as leaders and scientists. You could look at Star Trek, on the other hand, as a continuation of the imperialist tendency, even a critique of the same — the Enterprise crew acting like they had the ultimate responsibility (or “white man’s burden”) of setting order to an unsettled universe. But I like to think of it as an ideal world, where, beyond all that incredibly fake plywood standing in for a “flight deck,” blinking Christmas lights standing in for “computer monitors,” and costumes that look salvaged from the polyester bins of K-Mart, there actually was a great deal of heart, and a sympathetic brain to boot.
