Exploring the Boundaries of Prequels with ‘Star Trek: Strange New Worlds’
The article ahead includes details that may spoil the plot of “Ad Astra per Aspera.”
Prequels to well-known properties, in particular, are straight-shirted, limiting their own storytelling possibilities. Dramatic license is complicated by the fact that the audience often knows where these characters (and stories) will end up. And any violence to an existing story can put viewers, who likely know what’s going on, at odds with what they’ve already seen. So far, Strange New Worlds has navigated this well, making it a virtue of its well-known conclusion.
“A Quality of Mercy” cleverly played with the fact that Pike eventually receives his near-fatal dose of radiation. The episode made the tragic nature of her character both a benefit and a burden, making it compelling in the process. By comparison, “Ad Astra per Aspera” serves as an indictment of the prequel, exposing the limits of what it says and does. While it presents a world hoping for change, long-term viewers know that optimism is misplaced.
That’s not to say the episode is bad, as it’s another confidently told, if light, story in a series that knows it’s operating in that register. It helps that Star Trek makes such good use of courtroom drama, as both are prone to the melodramatic exploration of The Big Issues(™). The subtext here is broad enough to admit of numerous readings without too much of a stretch. And there’s at least one really funny comedic moment where we see once again how much funnier Spock is when played as an owl.
Number One prepares to stand trial for fraudulently entering Starfleet despite its ban on genetic modification. He thinks about his childhood, where his parents are afraid to take him to the doctor and thus reveal his status. Captain Batel (Melanie Scrofano)—who for some reason is now a legitimate member of Starfleet—offers a plea and dishonorable dismissal, to which Number One backs down.
Refusing to passively accept his friend’s fate, Pike sets out to see Neera (Yetide Badaki), an Illyrian lawyer and former friend of Numero One, who has so far refused their pleas for help. His refusal to take no for an answer, and the lure of a high-profile case linking it to the union, is enough to convince him to sign up. What follows is a standard courtroom drama focusing on what made Number One join the organization that hates him.
We learn that Number One was inspired to join Starfleet by the apparent diversity of its crew. But it is not enough to win until Neera discovers a conflict between the covenant’s beautiful words, its goals and its laws. It’s a subtle, pointed critique of what Darren Franich called the “California Liberal Paradox” in his essay on Star Trek: Insurrection. (And Star Trek is nothing if not a creature of Californian values.) Those people, he says, may wish “everyone lives comfortably, but secretly wish most people lived comfortably somewhere else.”
However, the court finds that Number One is not guilty, and he is allowed to return to active duties on the Enterprise. In a happy meeting in the transport room, Neera says that even though the incident involved only one person, it is a “beginning”. He adds that Number One’s visibility as an Illyrian (second) starship commander will help turn people’s hearts and minds to his cause. It’s a hopeful ending, suggesting that the story of Number One will initiate a process of change and growth where these prejudices and legal barriers will eventually disappear.
The problem with that ending and how it’s portrayed is that longtime Star Trek viewers know that’s not going to happen. Any hearts and minds that would be changed in the process would be in the minority because – from this point in Trek history – things don’t change. Chronologically, we have “Space Seed,” The Wrath of Khan, “Dr. Bashir, I Assume,” and “Statistical Probabilities” as confirmations of the status quo. At least a century later, humans with genetic variants are still—in Trek’s story—unable to serve in its leading military, scientific, and research fields.
It gives the episode a tragic quality that isn’t reflected in its performance, but adds depth to dedicated viewers. Perhaps what I describe as the edge of its storytelling is a really smart commentary on how difficult it is to bend the arc of history towards justice. Actually I think I’ve just spoken for myself, this is a wonderfully incisive exploration of these issues, Bravo Dana Horgan and Valerie Weiss.
