“It’ll work.”
Seeing this movie for the first time was a serious revelation for me, and is and will remain one of my favorite in-theater experiences ever.
This film works because it looks really cool, and is confident enough to be unabashed in letting the audience know how cool it thinks it is. It’s fresh and fun. What gives it staying power and rewatchability, though, is that it is also unabashedly about things that are relatable and core to all of us as humans. It is about parents and their children. And it is about friends, and the power of friendship.
Because all of those things are true, I’m especially grateful for the first time I saw it. I went with my dad on opening weekend in 2009, and we saw it in a theater in Novato just off 101. I will never forget: as we emerged into the lobby after the movie, we both paused for a moment. We looked at each other, hesitant to say out loud what we were both thinking. After about a minute of thoughtful silence, we grudgingly nodded at each other, and agreed to walk out of the lobby.
“It’s probably better we get back anyway,” he said.
To be clear: we both were debating the value of getting tickets for the very next show. We both thought it was that good. We drove back to his house, raving about it. It’s rare I’m that struck by a movie, but I certainly was with this one.
“It is remarkably pleasing to see you again, old friend.”
There aren’t any real secrets behind this film’s brilliance. Indeed, it puts into clear relief how important fundamentals are.
First, the script is tight and efficient; the story by turns is kinetic and yet shows remarkable restraint. Look, I was born and raised on action films, and see as many as I can today. (This month, for example, I’ve seen, among other movies, the most recent installments of the Indiana Jones, Mission: Impossible, and Transformers franchises.) And I know I’m not alone in bemoaning the action genre’s recent creep towards bloat and excess. I mean, I enjoyed Dead Reckoning—a lot. But come on. Two hours and forty-three minutes? Can’t we all agree that the car chase went on just a *little* bit too long? Would it be that hard for the average viewer to find at least twenty minutes of film fat to edit out?
The thing with Star Trek is that there’s no fat to cut out. It’s smug, yes, but it’s not self-indulgent. Abrams does a masterful job of pacing here: the action scenes are frequent and exciting and not overlong; and the breath-catching moments are cleverly written and quick. I like to think of it this way: we all know and have those films that, when we come across them on television, we can’t change the channel. With this film, I can’t even think of a scene where I’d be tempted to change the channel. Every scene is either great or a quick pause between great scenes.
“Tiberius? Are you kidding me?! That’s the worst.”
And that leads me to mention the second brilliantly executed fundamental. As I imagine might be clear to consistent readers, and I know is clear to former students and those who know me, I’m a sucker for a great first scene. Along with the final scene, it’s arguably the most important in any script. And this one is in the pantheon of opening scenes. From the first seconds, it is tense and scary and leaves the audience more than a little disoriented. And from there, the stakes rise quickly and inexorably. It’s a scene that grabs you by the throat and doesn’t let go.
The scene’s ending, triggered by the reversal of George Kirk realizing he will not, in fact, be “on [his] way,” is genuinely arresting, heartbreaking. The naming of James Kirk is acutely bittersweet: it provides some sought-after orientation mere seconds before we get gut-punched.
I loved this scene when I first saw it. Soon after, I became a father; and, I have to say: every time I’ve seen it since, it just hits different. I still cry every time I see it. In fact, sometimes when I need a good cry, I’ll pull up the Youtube version. (In case you’re interested, here is a semi-redacted version.)
Of course, we don’t even understand how great this scene is, how indicative of storytelling confidence it is, until much, much later, when Old Spock finally reveals the final pieces to the puzzle. It’s just such a winner.
“I like this ship. . . . It’s exciting!”
The third fundamental this film nails is the cast. Honestly, every actor is wonderful in their role. It’s as simple and deceptively difficult as this: the crew exudes charisma and authenticity. Chris Pine just nails the legendary James T. Kirk’s charming cockiness, and is also sincere and passionate when he needs to be. (Incidentally, while I’m here I’ll also say that I loved him in Dungeons and Dragons: Honor Among Thieves, a film I recently saw on a plane ride—and loved.) Simon Pegg is nerdy and funny; his request for a towel always gets me. Zoe Saldana suffers no fools and is brilliant. Karl Urban is world-weary and caustic and deadpan. John Cho and Anton Yelchin are great. I still tear up seeing Leonard Nimoy perform.
My favorite performance, though, has to be Zachary Quinto as young Spock. He plays the half-human half-Vulcan brilliantly. You can hear both logic and emotion in every line.
Quinto’s performance in particular, and the cast’s in general, also speak to a fourth and underrated fundamental this film puts into clear relief: the value and importance of voice. Each major character has their own distinct and recognizable voice, and no character sounds the same.
“Because you needed each other.”
The fifth and final fundamental I’ll mention is the development of Spock and Kirk as foils for each other. Their tragic backstories are what give the film its emotional weight. Yes, Spock loses his mother much later in life; and yet the death of a parent drives each of them. And as importantly, the film successfully establishes both of them as brilliant and yet prone to emotion—specifically rage. That these two characters are so similar and yet so different makes them ideal complements for each other, and, yes, ideal friends. Over the course of their friendship’s arc, as they develop grudging respect and eventually affection for each other, the audience understands why these two were meant for each other, and why they end up being so good together.
“Are you out of your Vulcan mind?”
In the end, this reboot is loyal to both Star Trek’s progressive roots and its canon. It’s exultant and affirming.
See you next time, when we discuss Back to the Future (1985).