I remember, long before Star Trek Nemesis was to be released, I read somewhere that the film’s screenwriter was using Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan as his inspiration for the film. Considering that The Wrath of Khan was the best Trek film ever made, even surpassing First Contact, this was good news. After a period of time passed, I heard that the script was leaked online. I read it, and immediately concluded that the whole thing was a hoax. It had to be. The entire premise, from the villain to the finale, were some of the absolute worst ideas I had ever heard of for a film – let alone for a film from a well-established, highly successful franchise. And as promotional materials began to appear, I continued to hold out hope that, somewhere along the line, someone had made drastic script changes and, somehow, had managed to salvage a respectable outing.

Sadly, such salvation was not to be had.

The fact is, Star Trek Nemesis is an endless parade of contrivances to artificially recreate the deeply personal duel between Captain James T. Kirk and his nemesis, Khan. To do this, the film had to have a villain that could rival Picard in almost every way imaginable. But instead of going back into the vast canon of TNG episodes for that character, as The Wrath of Khan did, the film conjures up a brand new character. It’s not a bad idea except that the conjuring was the epitome of laziness and sci-fi cliché. The villain, a human by the name of Shinzon, was to be … a clone. This, coming in the same calendar year as Star Wars: Episode II – Attack of the Clones, no less.

The clone idea becomes even more preposterous when the backstory is revealed. Shinzon turns out to have been part of some bizarre Romulan scheme to replace the real Picard with a clone – as if such a scenario could ever have been plausible, considering the incredible gaps in experience between the clone and the original. And yet, the plan was not only approved, but set into motion. That the plan wasn’t followed through on had nothing to do with plausibility – it was simply jettisoned when a new Romulan administration came to power. So Shinzon was sent to the planet Remus, home to an orc-like race of sub-Romulans, called Remans, to die in slave mines. He survived, but grew to be consumed by bitter hatred. And he plans to unleash that hatred on … Earth. Why Earth and not, say, Romulus? Because he has to be Picard’s villain, that’s why.

It’s such a convoluted construct that I am simply baffled that anyone thought that this would be viable on screen. It isn’t. In fact Shinzon, who happens to be younger, but inexplicably more bald than Picard, is not only a bad contrivance, he’s a walking cliché of a bad guy. Somehow the caricature worked for Khan – most likely because his mania was much more plausible – but it’s utterly ridiculous from Shinzon. Added to the bad history and bad writing, the performance is just as atrocious. Shinzon never comes across as anything other than a raving lunatic. Who wears shoulder pads.

It’s all unfortunate because the clone happens to represent an important archetype: The Shadow. For Picard to confront his dark self (literally) could be the basis for a very compelling story. Indeed, the film is at its most engaging when Shinzon and Picard spar over their “mirror” images of each other. But because Shinzon is so contrived, and so unimaginatively evil, he doesn’t represent a “dark” at all (even though the film tells us that he is supposed to). Plus, by making Shinzon so evil, the film basically says that whether or not we are good or evil comes purely from our own experiences – that there is no inherent “self” – it’s all learned.

As for Shinzon’s plans of retribution, he commands a gargantuan ship called the Scimitar – basically an “invincible” ship which has a perfect cloak, the ability to fire when cloaked, superfast top speed, a biogenic superweapon, and the ability to make tea. It’s the worst possible excess for a film. The sheer size and weaponry evoke laughter, rather than awe. As a frame of reference, think of Spaceball-1 (kudos if you get the reference without having to look it up on google or wikipedia).

As a “mirror” story line, we also get the contrivance of B4 – a heretofore unknown prototype android created by Data’s “father” – Dr. Noonian Soong. B4 turns out to have been planted by Shinzon on some remote planet for the sole purpose of being discovered by the Enterprise, reassembled and then allowed to gain access to vital ship systems. How did Shinzon manage to procure a prototype Data when the entire galaxy would want nothing less than that?

Contrivance.

I’ll give the film credit for trying to work the B4 story into the overall plot – by way of Shinzon’s overwrought plan, and by way of a poetic conclusion to Data’s eventual sacrifice. But the gesture is so clumsily executed – and I’m not talking about the intentionally juvenile performance of B4 – that the whole concept is entirely vapid.

The rest of the film doesn’t far a whole lot better, from the opening scenes in the Romulan Senate, to Shinzon’s moronic scheme, to Super Data, to the final scene between Picard and B4. And when Data commits the ultimate selfless act of sacrificing himself for the ship and the crew, it’s horribly anti-climactic. Data was such a strong character in the series that his demise demanded a sequence that was much better executed. Really, the film plays like a really, really atrocious sample of fan fiction – from someone who is completely clueless about the subject matter.

What, if anything, does the film do right? Well, the wedding ceremony between Riker and Troi was enjoyable for its nostalgia factor – seeing the entire cast altogether again, including Wesley and Guinan (though, Data’s serenade was stretching things a bit). I think kudos should go to the sound crew. I’m not exactly sure how they managed it, but the entire film had a very polished sound – almost like it “shimmered” in the ears. (Work with me, I’m grasping for compliments here.) The visual effects were stunning – easily the best that has ever been seen in Star Trek. And the space battle between the Enterprise, the Scimitar and two Romulan Warbirds was likewise impressive. And I suppose that the various references to the other Trek films and series were nice “easter eggs” for Trekkies.

Star Trek Nemesis is simply a very bad movie with a high production budget. The result is a film that looks and sounds impressive, but is otherwise incredibly vacant. Even the underlying “mirror” subtext plays out very poorly because the “mirror” of Shinzon is so cracked and cloudy that nothing can be seen in it. For the life of me, I will never understand how this film has gained as many fans as it has.

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In spite of several action set pieces, Star Trek: Insurrection is, primarily, a slow moving, thoughtful, and contemplative film. By most accounts, it isn’t a typical Star Trek film – it plays a lot more like a ponderous mid-season, two-part episode. But the truth is, Insurrection is a largely underrated film. The problem is twofold: first, it loses the expectation game; second, it falls exceptionally flat by way of its oftentimes forced humor. Both elements tend to undercut what is, otherwise, a film that provokes deep moral and philosophical questions.

The film’s relatively slow pace is intentional. It allows the audience to experience the idyllic peace enjoyed by the inhabitants of a remote ringed planet . It’s important to establish the settlement as futuristic paradise, so that everyone knows and understands what is at stake once the conflict becomes established. But even after we learn that these people, called the Ba’ku, are going to be forcibly relocated, the film still takes its time. A good many movie-goers may ultimately decide that the pace was too slow – they certainly wouldn’t be wrong to do so – but I happen to appreciate the deliberate approach that the film took.

It’s important because of how the pacing of the film matches the underlying themes. This movie is about “slowing time down,” and being able to appreciate living in the moment. It’s about the Fountain of Youth. It’s about speaking truth to power and fighting against oppression. And ultimately, it is about reconciliation and redemption.

The fact is, the Ba’ku planet, with its miraculous ability to prolong life, repair the body, and imbue residents and visitors with a rejuvenated appreciation for life, is a tremendous temptation. And the forces of evil that descend upon it have a specific agenda, and vendetta. Without our ability to fully and completely empathize with the Ba’ku, a society of a mere 600 souls, the danger would not seem urgent, and, therefore, the film’s themes would not seem as vital. And I think this is where the film loses a great many fans.

Coming on the heels of Star Trek: First Contact, a very dark, almost apocalyptic film with the Borg, Insurrection is, without a doubt, a bit anti-climactic. And because it is slow and ponderous, many viewers may be itching for *something*to happen. And because the film takes its time, dwelling on relatively obscure ideas like the universe within a moment of time, there’s a chance for viewers to simply lose interest.

What ultimately happens, however, is that the episode’s villains, the So’na (why the need for silly apostrophes all over the place, anyway?), are actually the children of the Ba’ku, a race of people, hundreds of years old. They left their parents decades ago, and their bodies have begun to breakdown. So the So’na, and a few Federation conspirators, decide to “collect” the Fountain of Youth from the Ba’ku planet. But in order to do so, they will render the planet uninhabitable for generations. So the plan is hatched to forcibly remove the Ba’ku so that the So’na can be healed, and the billions of inhabitants in the Federation can enjoy the fruits of everlasting youth and vitality.

Of course, this sets up the film’s central morality lesson: do the needs (or wants) of the many outweigh the needs (or wants) of the few? Picard and the Enterprise crew seem to think that the Ba’ku are worth the fight, and so their insurrection begins when they defy the orders of the ranking Federation Admiral who is overseeing the project.

The conflict becomes the main focus of the final third of the film, but that doesn’t mean that all of the thematic elements are ignored. Picard shares a “frozen moment” with a woman, named Anij. Their interactions, and romance, are entirely plausible. But even more importantly, they symbolize what the film is all about: finding the Fountain of Youth *within* ourselves, and not through some scientific process.

Sprinkled throughout the film is a myriad of minor character revelations, all related to the idea of reclaiming a part of youth, or in some cases claiming a youth that never existed. Worf (in one of the worst attempts at humor in the film) is going through Klingon adolescence. Troi and Riker revisit their relationship — Riker even gets a shave. LaForge’s eyes completely regenerate. And Data learns a little bit about how to be a child.

Riker wonders if the changes will last when they leave the planet. But as Worf says, Riker’s feelings for Troi existed before they arrived. And indeed, the moment resonates for all of the characters, including Picard. The planet may have helped them replenish their own inner youth — but only because that inner youth was there to begin with. And so for characters, and a series, who are aging, it’s an appropriate, and essential revelation.

Ultimately, Star Trek: Insurrection is a film that will be enjoyed by fewer fans than it ought to have been. It’s a shame because the only real gaffes come at the expense of forced humor. The film does make you laugh on occasion, but oftentimes the humor just doesn’t work. Along with a relatively weak conflict and some cringeworthy moments, Insurrection doesn’t feel much like a film. But if you can go into it with the proper expectation, that this is a different kind of Star Trek film, you may be pleasantly surprised.

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This is what a Star Trek movie should be like. Star Trek: First Contact is a true tour de force. If you were going to watch just one TNG-era film, this would have to be it. It’s epic. It’s funny. It takes the crew of the Enterprise-E where none of them have gone before. And it has The Borg in a plot that is plausible and compelling, and allows our characters to explore their own humanity. Suffice to say that not only is this is simply one of the best Star Trek movies ever made, it’s a worthwhile film for any movie fan.

If “The Best of Both Worlds” was worthy of being a movie, then common sense would say that only a movie could do justice to another full confrontation with The Borg. True, the series returned to The Borg as characters, but this is the second wave of invasion that has haunted the Federation’s footsteps ever since the epic, two-part episode. With that in mind, First Contact had a LOT to live up to. While it doesn’t quite reach the same levels of success that “The Best of Both Worlds” achieved, First Contact is pretty damned close.

From the opening revelation that the Borg have returned, the film does an excellent job of creating a palpable sense of danger. And it is this impending doom that helps propel the movie through its various twists and turns.  We start with a Borg offensive, witness an impressive space battle, and then travel back in time to Earth, where the Borg are attempting to assimilate a weaker, less advanced human civilization.  The pacing is particularly well done, allowing for scenes to convey their full range of emotion — such Picard’s “debate” with Lilly, or the Borg Queen’s temptation of Data — without becoming labored or plodding.

And that’s what drives this film — it’s range of emotion. Whereas Star Trek Generations tried to provide a commentary on emotion, First Contact allows emotions to provide a commentary — on characters, ideas, and actions. The two main emotional storylines center on Picard and Data. Picard’s story is one of revenge, while Data’s is one of temptation. The subplot in which Zefram Cochran rises above his own imperfections to become a hero of humanity is also quite compelling. The result is a film that is accessible to not only fans of Star Trek, but also to anyone who enjoys a good story.

Within the Star Trek canon, Zefram Cochran is the man who invented warp drive (here on Earth, at least).  His invention, and the subsequent encounter with extra-terrestrials, become a turning point in human history — transforming years of strife and hunger into the more idyllic society envisioned by series creator Gene Roddenberry.  But Cochran is not a “great” man.  He is, simply, human.  His invention was created to gain access to women and money — not at all the lofty results which transpire.  And so watching this great “hero” as just a man is quite compelling.  It’s a lesson that anyone can change the world.

It’s a lesson that Data and Picard knows well — as does the Borg Queen. The Borg Queen was an ingenious invention for the story.  Her presence gives the Borg a “face” (literally), which allows them to have a better presence on screen than simply “zombies.”  She realizes that, in spite of the hive mentality, her individuality gives strength to the Borg.  It is part of the reason Picard was singled out in “The Best of Both Worlds” and it is the reason that Data is singled out in First Contact.  The Borg Queen tries to tempt Data with flesh — literally — and it makes for a fascinating (and eerily quasi-erotic) series of exchanges between the two characters.

As for Picard, he has certainly not forgotten the horrors he faced at the hands of the Borg when he was transformed into Locutus.  But before he can defeat the Borg, he must confront his own worst enemy: himself.  Picard’s obsession nearly leads to the loss of everyone on board the ship, as well as the future of humanity.  But the character of Lilly becomes a kind of mirror for Picard, allowing him to see the destructive power of his rampant anger.  The use of Moby Dick, as a symboli (and literal) plot device is particularly well done.

All of which helps the story become something more than just a “time travel” and “zombie” film.

That First Contact makes a concerted effort to be a time travel story was a cause for concern. While usually very interesting, time travel stories are difficult to pull off with any measure of success. “Yesterday’s Enterprise” is an example of the success. But something like “Time Squared” or “Time’s Arrow” are examples of how such stories can be either preposterous, or boring. I have to credit the film’s writers, Ronald D. Moore, Brannon Braga, and Rick Berman, for crafting a story that takes us to a time that is not only compelling, but also perfectly Star Trek: humanity’s first encounter with an alien species.

That the aliens turn out to be Vulcans was a masterstroke of genius. It meant that the film was not only entertaining and well-crafted — but that it also added heavily to the Star Trek mythos. So when the film ends, and we hear that familiar fanfare, we know that we have experienced not just a classic film, but classic Star Trek, as well.

Star Trek: First Contact is a transcendent film.  You can watch (and enjoy) it without ever having seen a single moment of The Next Generation.  But for fans of TNG, there is a wealth of material to enjoy — from Data’s continued queries to be more human, to the cameo of Lieutenant Barclay.  About the only criticism I have has to do with the Enterprise-E.  Obviously this film needed to contend with the fact that the Enterprise-D was foolishly destroyed in Star Trek Generations.  But I would have preferred a “new” ship that looked exactly like the old one (save for a handful of addons).  The new Enterprise is certainly impressive, and I enjoy it on-screen.  But without the old ship, there was something missing.

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After watching Star Trek Generations, there is one undeniable fact: It is good to see the crew of the Enterprise-D back together again. After a hiatus (albeit an extremely brief one), the adventures of Star Trek: The Next Generation continue. And seeing the crew reunited, back on missions, is like seeing old friends after a long time apart. Add in the appearances of Scotty and Chekov, and the pivotal role of Captain James T. Kirk, and it becomes a bit like a family reunion — without the drama. There’s a comfort level and familiarity that helps Generations become an enjoyable experience — even if it isn’t a particularly good film.

Production on Generations began even as Season 7 of TNG was winding down. In fact, the script for Generations was written alongside the script for “All Good Things … ” by Ronald D. Moore and Brannon Braga. Indeed, Braga and Moore confess that, of the two scripts, Generations was an inferior effort. The unfortunate result is that Generations is a substandard offering for what was hoped to be the successful continuation of Star Trek film franchise. While there is plenty here for the Star Trek fan — of both the Original and Next Generation shows — to enjoy, the film itself is clumsy, awkward, and just not very well thought out. The production issues not only affected the presentation of the story, but the underpinning themes also suffer quite a bit as a result.

The film is built around the idea of emotions. And there are certainly a lot of “feelings” to go around. Kirk is feeling old and useless. Data uses his emotion chip and is quickly overwhelmed. Picard suffers from a family tragedy. And the film’s villain, Dr. Tolian Soran, just wants to feel joy. You’d think this would be a film tailor made for Deanna Troi. But fortunately, her ministrations are kept rather muted (she does get to participate in an action scene and she handles it fairly well). The main focus of the film, however, is something called the “Nexus” — a place out of space and time in which there is nothing but pure joy. This is the place which Soran is trying to reach — at all costs. And so we have the motivation and premise for the film.

Two other themes center around time (as either a predator or a companion) and loss. The Nexus is supposed to represent a kind of path to immortality — and a way to redo the mistakes of the past. As such, it’s supposed to be a “cheat” around the deteriorating effects of aging, and the guilt and remorse that accompany loss. These idea coalesce around the character of Kirk — who has his share of regrets. And the opening prologue, in which Kirk seems to sacrifice his life for the sake of others, establishes the theme of loss.

But the idea of loss isn’t limited to just Kirk. Picard loses his brother Robert and nephew Rene in a tragic fire. Data (for a time) loses Geordi, due to inaction resulting from fear generated by his emotion chip. And there is the biggest loss of all: the Enterprise-D. All of these “tragedies” underscore Picard’s final ruminations on the ideas of time and loss, in which he reminds us to “cherish every moment because it will never come again. What we leave behind is not as important as how we’ve lived.” Good advice, to be sure. And it’s a very thoughtful, provocative idea to leave the audience with as we come to terms with the fact that the ship which has become “home” to us for almost eight years is no longer with us.

The problem for Generations is that all of these feelings, ideas and themes become rather buried by the overall story, and especially the execution of the story. While the Nexus works, symbolically, as a place in which joy (albeit false joy) is eternal, it is simply too arbitrary and vague a concept to really carry the main plot of the film. There were not-so-subtle (and completely unnecessary) changes to the lighting and design of the Enterprise. The transition from TNG to DS9 uniforms, while understandable, becomes distracting. And while the acting is generally pretty solid, there are clear cracks in the armor — from Data of all people.

But the primary culprit, as referenced above, is the writing. The problems are too many to bother going into detail. But discussing two (in full Trekkie detail) will serve to prove the point.

For starters, take the destruction of the Enterprise-D. While it makes sense, thematically, the whole concept is pure contrivance. It begins with Geordi’s abduction, and subsequent torture, by Soran. His VISOR is then modified to send a video image back to Lursa and B’Etor’s Bird of Prey. They use it to find the Enterprise’s shield harmonic frequency. They tune their torpedoes and disruptors to that frequency. And then proceed to rake the Enterprise mercilessly.

Eh?

The whole Geordi-as-prisoner-as-instrument of destruction story has been done before. You would have thought they’d have learned their lesson about checking his VISOR for any outgoing transmissions afterwards. And the shield harmonic thingy … didn’t they modulate that during their various Borg encounters? They knew right away how the first salvo got through, so why didn’t they do anything about it? Because the sequence of events was so contrived, it seems as though the decision to destroy the Enterprise-D was done simply because it was a movie (and maybe because the stage needed to be used for another set). The end result is to severe diminishes the emotional and thematic impact of what should have been a signature moment for the franchise. Instead, it’s simply perfunctory.

Secondly, Picard’s trip into the Nexus, where he discovers Kirk, and brings him back to almost present to stop Soran is another pure contrivance. Sure, Picard and Kirk work well together — and are fun to watch interacting — but their scenes lose their effect because they are only together because of sloppy, substandard sci-fi writing. And if Picard could use the Nexus to return back in time to anywhere, why not return to sometime just before Soran arrives on the planet? That way he and Kirk can dismantle the missile before Soran ever arrives?

Yes, I know, but then we wouldn’t have had the occasion of Kirk’s real death, sacrificing himself to save millions of innocent people. But like the destruction of the Enterprise-D, Kirk’s death is perfunctory. Yes, it is certainly heroic. And in that sense, it’s worthy. But the execution of the scene is simply preposterous.

Clearly, Star Trek Generations suffered from a lack of focus and priority from a production standpoint.  That isn’t to say that many of the people on it, as individuals, didn’t give their best efforts.  But rather, because Generations was not the sole focus during  pre-production, its quality was diminished.

For fans of Star Trek: The Next Generation, and even fans of the original Star Trek, this will be a film worth watching.  Most of the time fans will be able to enjoy seeing their favorite characters — from Chekov to Dr. Crusher — on the big screen.  But they should not expect a transcendent film along the lines of Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan.

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With All Good Things … the seven year run of Star Trek: The Next Generation comes to worthy, if somewhat unremarkable end. There’s plenty of grist here for TNG fans, including trips back into the past, to just before the Encounter At Farpoint mission, and into the future, where we get a glimpse at where the crew might end up. In fact, time is a major element in this episode. As is camaraderie. And Q. The series opened with Q’s Trial of Humanity and within that framework, the series unfolded. The premise is revisited. And it is very much appropriate.

However, All Good Things is the strongest piece of evidence that the series had run its course. The real criticism of this episode is its inability to become greater than the sum of its parts. That is, of course, the mark of a true work of art. As a series, TNG manages to accomplish that feat. But as an episode, All Good Things does not. And in spite of its feature length, as a series ending episode, it is simply a good episode — not a great one.

There are three primary elements to the episode: the mystery of the time distortion; the interactions of the crew (past, present, and future); and the trial of humanity, which signals Q’s return. The time distortion story is the vehicle by which the other two elements are allowed to unfold. Unfortunately, the mystery is given such a prominence in the episode that it literally drowns out the characters and the trial — much like the distortion itself ends up engulfing much of the Federation’s quadrant of the galaxy. It isn’t a terrible story idea, and it would have made for an intriguing weekly episode, but it is hardly epic enough to sustain a feature length episode.

The mystery, however, is a another test from the Q. It seems that the trial on humanity, which began in Encounter At Farpoint, has not stopped. And now the Q Continuum has reached a verdict: Humanity is doomed. The irony is that Picard himself is to be the instrument of humanity’s destruction. Q, demonstrating once and for all that he is, in spite of his nuisances, truly trying to help Picard and humanity, is responsible for Picard’s time shifting. Q hopes that by being able to combine his experience from the three timeframes, Picard will solve the mystery and save humanity.

As Picard moves back and forth through time periods, he slowly accumulates enough knowledge to figure out the nature of the time distortion and how to stop it. The time shifts themselves are a bit reminiscent of how Worf would shift to different universes in Parallels. And it isn’t a bad plot device to use. But one has to wonder why the series would resort to an already used device. It’s the last episode, why not pull out all the stops? But that is precisely indicative of the state of TNG in its seventh season: an over reliance on old concepts, not enough creative ingenuity.

The most interesting angle of the time shifts is the nostalgic trip back to just prior to the mission to Farpoint Station. Tasha Yar and Chief O’Brien return in cameos (Picard’s reaction to seeing Yar again was priceless). Back are the old uniforms and camera angles. And even the old mannerisms and dialogue, especially from Data, make a return. Picard gives security orders to Worf, forgetting that Tasha was the in charge of security. And so I have to credit the attention to detail (though there were a few very minor errors). The cumulative effect was to makes us really feel as though we had returned to where it all began, seven years earlier.

Unfortunately, we really only get a superficial exploration of the past. Because the story also deals with two other time periods, just when we feel as though we’re settling back in to the nostalgia, it’s ripped away and we’re sent hurtling to either the present or the future. And the effect is the same for the other two timeframes, particularly the future.

In the future, we learn that the crew has become splintered:

• Picard is alone, on Earth, tending his family vineyards in France, suffering from an incurable degenerative mental disease.
• Data is a professor at Oxford.
• LaForge is on some other planet, married to Leah Brahms (from Booby Trap and Galaxy’s Child).
• Beverly is now Captain Picard – having married, then divorced Jean-Luc – in command of a medical ship.
• Riker is an admiral, commanding a supped-up version of the Enterprise-D.
• Riker and Worf have been estranged for years because of the love interest between Worf and Troi.
• Troi has been dead for years (for reasons unexplained).
• Worf had been a member of the Klingon High Council, but is now merely a governor.
• The Klingon Empire has conquered the Romulan Empire.
• The Federation and the Klingon Empire are on the verge of war.

The whole point is to set up a bit of a “ghost from Christmas Yet-to-Come” kind of scenario: a warning about what could happen to the crew if they do not properly tend to their friendships. They manage to come together, one last time, around Picard’s insistence that they investigate a time distortion that simply doesn’t exist. Except that, because of their investigations, because Picard also investigates in the past and present, the combined effect of all three is to actually create the time distortion.

Because the distortion is something called “anti-time” it grows larger in the past. Q takes Picard way back to the beginnings of life on Earth and they witness how the distortion, which now fills a vast swath of the galaxy, has interfered with the creation of life. Humanity will no longer evolve. After realizing the time paradox (really, not that difficult to figure out), Picard uses his time shifting to coerce all three timeframes to cooperate in collapsing the distortion. In the process, all three Enterprises are destroyed.

But all is not lost.

Picard returns to the present to learn that all is well, that there are no temporal anomalies. Q congratulates Picard and explains that the trial will continue. And, having learned from the lessons of the future, Picard finally joins the senior officers in a game of poker. The final scene of the crew, an overhead shot of them seated around the table, is a symbol of their unity, camaraderie, and friendship.

It was a solid ending. But one cannot help but feel that it was all a bit anti-climactic. A big part of the problem is that, while the weekly series was ending, TNG was, at the same time, gearing up for a movie. Splitting the resources (co-writers Brannon Braga and Ronald D. Moore simultaneous wrote the scripts for All Good Things and Star Trek Generations) diluted the effort. And, too, because the cast knew that the end wasn’t really the end, the performances, while very good, lacked that nostalgic touch of the end of a great journey (contrast this to the conclusion of the Lord of the Rings films).

As such, All Good Things is merely a way station between the end of the weekly series and the TNG film franchise.

With so many good elements tucked into All Good Things, the episode should have been much better. I really enjoyed the nostalgic trip back to the beginning of the series, the lessons in camaraderie, and the continued scrutiny of humanity as a race that has the potential to both savage and luminous. But these elements never really coalesced. And we’re left wondering what the outcome might have been had this episode been seen as the real end of the series – if there hadn’t been a feature film just around the corner, siphoning resources away from the finale.

Of course, nothing can change the past. And we’re left with an episode that, while it didn’t exceed expectations, it certainly gave fans a strong, solid finish – one that provided nostalgia and closure, and left horizon open for the next generation of treks to the stars.

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Preemptive Strike is an episode that comes full circle for the character of Ro Laren. The central dynamic of the episode is her relationship with Picard — his trust in her has helped her forge a new life. She is immensely grateful. But their mutual trust and respect are put to the test. In another solid layer to the episode, it builds on the establishment of the demilitarized zone in Journey’s End. This is TNG penultimate episode (if you count All Good Things … as a single installment). And the series delivers.

The story of the episode centers on the Maquis — a group of Federation citizens living in the DMZ that are resisting the Cardassian occupation of some of their worlds (given to the Cardassians as a result of the treaty which triggered the events in Journey’s End). Also on board is Ro Laren, now a Lieutenant, who has just completed the equivalent of “special ops” training.

The opening scene between Ro Laren and Picard is notable for just how far these two characters have come since they first met in Ensign Ro. They have a mutual understanding and respect for one another. And that dynamic is central to the inner conflict Ro will face.

Within the DMZ, a militant group, called the Maquis, has formed. They make various raids against Cardassian ships and outposts using primarily guerrilla tactics. The Enterprise responds to a distress signal and comes to the aid of a Cardassian warship under heavy attack from a swarm of smaller Maquis ships. It’s interesting to note how few times we see an encounter between big and little ships in Star Trek. Here we can clearly see what an advantage smaller ships can have, provided that they have sufficient numbers.

Eager to keep the peace established by the recent treaties, Admiral Nechayev decides that the Federation needs better intelligence on the Maquis. So Ro Laren is sent in as a spy. It’s easy to see why. Her checkered history with Starfleet and her recent special ops training make her ideal for a covert operation. But the danger isn’t whether or not she can carry out her orders — it’s in her loyalties.

Ro Laren has always demonstrated a fierce independent streak, as well as a a passion for the plight of her Bajoran people. The only tie she has to Starfleet, really, is Picard. And as strong as that tie is, the pull toward a group dedicated to fighting Cardassian oppression is even stronger. Throw in the elderly leader of the Maquis, Macias, and Ro’s loyalties become even further conflicted.

Psychologically, Ro Laren seems to be in search of a father figure. In Picard, she found the strict, but fair, individual to straighten out her troubled past and give her the time and space to find her destiny. In Macias, she finds the spiritual connection back to her homeworld — and a fellow freedom fighter. While Ro Laren has great respect for Picard, the real personal connection she forges with Macias is that much stronger. As a result, when Macias is killed by a surprise Cardassian attack, Ro Laren, finally, chooses her destiny.

She does her level best to warn Picard about her shifting loyalties, even going so far as to try and convince him to back off of a plan to trap the Maquis. It’s a touching scene because the inner convictions of both characters are quite prominent — and in direct contrast to their trust and admiration of one another.

Ultimately, with Riker on board, Ro betrays the Federation — and Picard. She warns the Maquis about the imminent trap. Saying farewell to Riker, she asks him to tell her former mentor that she is sorry. It’s sincere. And for Picard, it is wrenching. His final scene is a perfect portrayal of a man who feels betrayed, who understands the reasons for the betrayal, and cannot reconcile the two conflicting feelings.

Preemptive Strike is a powerful, engaging episode which touches on a great deal of former story ideas. Unlike the past two episodes, however, these story ideas are both worthy of exploration and competently portrayed. Well done indeed.

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Emergence has the singular distinction of being the last bad episode of TNG.  But did it have to be this bad?  More than anything, I think Emergence is the prime example why the series had run its course.  It’s an episode filled with endless TNG cliché from finding new life to malfunctioning Holodecks to a commentary on humanity in general, and the crew in particular.  But what really sinks the episode is its almost complete lack of character development.  I guess you could argue that such development came from the ship itself, but that’s a bit of a stretch.

The premise of Emergence is that the Enterprise is developing its own sentient intelligence and is, therefore, attempting to fulfill a primary function of life: procreation.  The mystery begins on the Holodeck, where Data is performing as Prospero in a scene from Shakespeare’s Tempest.  Picard’s description of Prospero, as a man on the edge of a new era in humanity, symbolically frames the ship on the verge of a new intelligence.  But the connection is so tenuous that it’s impact is greatly diminished.

The discussion between Data and Picard is interrupted by the sudden appearance of the Orient Express.  And we get the first in a long progression of seemingly random additions to the Holodeck – additions which include a knight in shining armor, a train conductor, and a gangster.  As the begins functioning erratically, and with unknown “nodes” of intelligence cropping up all over the place, the crew makes several trips into the Holodeck in an attempt to decipher what is going on.

Once they are back in the Holodeck, we learn (to our not-so-great surprise) that the safety features are no longer functioning.  And so when they are threatened by guns or swords, the crew backs away.  The problem for the audience, however, is that we have seen this before – many times before – and so a malfunctioning Holodeck with no safety features is almost entirely meaningless.

Not that it matters very much that the Holodeck characters are going to “Vertiform City” (aka Technobabble City), or that their actions are metaphors for constructing or building something.  But the episode does spend a good deal of time following the crew as they reach those conclusions.  And even when the crew figures out what is going on, and works to help the Holodeck characters, there’s a detachment from any semblance of drama or suspense.

Ultimately, the Enterprise needs “verteron particles” (hence Vertiform City).  With the proper raw materials, the Enterprise creates a life form that is a poor CGI model of multicolored spaghetti strings.  The life form promptly leaves the Enterprise and the ship is returned to normal, with all of the nodes now gone.

And we’re left with a nagging question: What was the point?  The Enterprise develops intelligence, creates an offspring, and then suddenly becomes unintelligent again?  It’s entirely inexplicable.  And with no explanation given as to the hows and whys, the whole premise falls flat.

The only positive that can said about the episode is the brief discussion Picard and Data in the last scene.  Data asks Picard about the danger of letting the ship’s intelligence develop and procreate – it could have been a malevolent entity.  Picard responds by pointing out that the ship’s intelligence was derived, in part, from the accumulated experience of its crew (record, logs, etc.) over the past seven years.  If they could not trust the goodness of their own actions, what can they trust?

It’s a fine commentary for the close of the series.  But it certainly doesn’t justify the prior 42 minutes of time wasted.

Because Emergence does touch on classic TNG themes, and because it does provide a competent commentary, it isn’t a complete failure.  But it is a very poor episode that denotes, quite clearly, a series on its last legs.

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As TNG draws to a close, I certainly appreciate that the series is making an explicit effort tie together story ideas introduced early on. The conclusion of Wesley’s story in Journey’s End is an example how this can be an asset. What I don’t get though is why anyone would want to revisit the horrible Ferengi plot from The Battle. More interesting would have been a deeper exploration of the Stargazer. Unfortunately, Bloodlines gives us “The Battle Part II: The Wrath of Bok” — much to the detriment of the episode.

The twist, this time around, is that Bok plans to get his revenge by … killing Picard’s son, Jason Vigo. It’s supposed to be a monumental bombshell of a moment, but it comes so far out of left field that it simply feels contrived and hollow. After locating and using a DNA test to verify Picard’s paternity, the captain spends the majority of the episode trying to reconcile with Vigo. This, too, is hollow and contrived because (gasp!) Vigo is in fact, not Picard’s son afterall.

Which means that every “character” moment is rendered almost entirely irrelevant. Whether it was their first tentative discussion or their final heartfelt chat on a Holodeck rock ledge, the whole construction of the father son relationship is undercut in favor of a petty plot twist. It’s not that I was a huge fan of finding out Picard was a father, but if the whole point is to set up a twist, why not keep the two characters hopelessly estranged — perhaps pointing to the fact that they really aren’t related?

It’s a shame, because the two did have decent chemistry. And watching Picard grapple with the sudden realization that he is a father was as illuminating as it was worth watching. This dynamic between Picard and Vigo was easily the most compelling of the episode. Which only underscores the lack of judgment in jettisoning the concept for the sake of a single “gotcha” moment.

As for the Ferengi, they are back to their usual hyper-annoying selves. Especially Bok. Honestly, this minor character was entirely forgettable in Season 1. His return is equally forgettable. And with so few episodes left, and with so many truly compelling story ideas left on the table (like the cliff hangar end of Conspiracy), Bloodlines is simply a waste of time.

Bloodlines is ultimately a pointless episode. The connection back to Season 1 is fun — until we realize that it’s a connection to a horrible episode. And the revelation of Picard’s paternity is intriguing — until we learn that it was all a cheap, false plot device.

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Firstborn tells yet another story in the ongoing troubles between Worf and his son, Alexander. It tries to break the mold and offer an avenue of eventual reconciliation between the two individuals — fitting, considering its proximity to the end of the series. And the underlying premise is certainly intriguing enough. Unfortunately, the much of the episode never really transcends the criticisms that have plagued nearly every other Worf-Alexander story line.

The episode begins with Alexander telling Worf, in no uncertain terms, that he does not want to be a warrior. Worf, who had been prepared to lead Alexander through a sacred rite, the first Rite of Ascension, is crushed. Picard offers some assistance to Worf by way of travel to a nearby Klingon outpost so that Alexander can observe his culture first hand. Once there, Alexander becomes engrossed in the proceedings, even participating in a battle ceremony. But the situation turns ominous that evening when the two are attacked.

Worf and Alexander are aided by an unknown Klingon who claims to hold the title of gin’tak — a trusted advisor to the House of Mogh. He claims that his name is K’mtar, and that he was sent by Kurn to watch over Worf and Alexander after hearing about threats on the House of Mogh. Indeed, an assassin’s dagger left at the scene bears the markings of the Duras family. And so the Enterprise goes off in search of Lursa and B’Etor — with a little help from Quark of DS9 in a blatantly gratuitous crossover scene that was barely serviceable.

As they go in search of the Duras sisters, K’mtar does his best to assist Worf in convincing Alexander to become a warrior. At first K’mtar’s arguments are compelling and compassionate. But they soon become desperate and overbearing. Alexander takes a few tentative steps toward becoming a warrior, but through a combination of his own inner desires and K’mtar’s fanaticism, Alexander quickly distances himself from the training.

After tracking their illegal mining operation, the Enterprise does finally catch up with the Duras sisters (Riker’s idea to expose the Duras sister’s cloaked Klingon ship was rather ingeneous). The sisters are then invited on board the Enterprise to see the evidence that they have plotted to kill Worf. Once there, they gasp in amazement at the symbols on the dagger. The symbols do indeed represent the House of Duras, but there is one symbol that signifies Lursa’s child — unborn and, until days ago, unknown.

Worf catches up with K’mtar who was on the verge of killing Alexander. About to kill K’mtar, Worf is stopped short when the man calls him “father” and claims to be Alexander, from forty years in the future. With the evidence of the dagger, and after K’mtar recounts the death of K’Eyhlar, Worf accepts K’mtar as Alexander. The elderly Alexander recounts how he went back in time to stop a terrible tragedy: the death of Worf in the distant future. He explains that he never became a warrior. Instead, he was a diplomat and was, therefore, unable to stop Worf’s assassination on the floor of the Klingon Council.

Alexander bemoans the fact that he was unable to alter his younger self’s course in life. But Worf quite correctly points out that, with the foreknowledge of Alexander’s true destiny, perhaps events can unfold in a less tragic way. K’mtar then departs.

Firstborn is an interesting way to get Alexander and Worf to come to an understanding and reconciliation. But for much of the episode, their relationship unfolds the same as it always has — Alexander being annoyingly impetuous, and Worf being annoyingly, well, annoyed.

As for major mistakes, what ever happened to Lursa and B’Etor after the revelation about the dagger. Were they prosecuted for their illegal mining business? The episode never says one way or the other.

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Wesley Crusher’s story arc gets a worthy, and fitting, conclusion in Journey’s End. What makes the episode so successful is that not only does Wesley’s story fit into the episode’s main conflict, but Journey’s End also manages to provide a measure of closure for an idea first introduced in Season 1’s Where No One Has Gone Before — namely, the notion that Wesley is a prodigy, with a destiny very different from that of everyone else.

The episode’s main conflict centers around the Cardassians. Having just concluding some very precarious negotiations, the lines on the galactic map have been redrawn to allow for concessions on both sides. But that means that some colonies are now on the wrong side of the border. The Enterprise is charged with relocating one of those colonies. The problem? It’s a colony of Native American Indians who, two decades earlier, had just concluded two centuries of wandering to find a new home.

The moral implications are certainly not lost on Picard — nor on Admiral Nechayev. In spite of their previous tense relationship, both Picard and Nechayev put aside their differences. And, perhaps surprisingly, she time and again throughout the episode will do whatever she can for Picard. Actually, she doesn’t do a whole heckuva lot. But the effort demonstrates that she isn’t so bad, afterall.

While this is unfolding, Cadet Wesley Crusher has returned to the Enterprise, on leave from the Academy. But this is a very different Wesley Crusher. He is sullen, moody, and even rude. The rudeness does tend to become annoying to watch, but thankfully, it’s a rather minor part of the episode.

During a reception for the Native Americans in Ten Forward, Wesley is approached by Lakanta, a man who claims to have known, for more than two years, that Wesley would arrive. This opens the door to the episode’s rich spirituality. Lakanta explains to Wesley that everything on the colony, from the buildings to the sky is sacred — everything, including Wesley. It’s the beginning of the end for Wesley’s journey.

Wesley admits that he has not respected himself for a while. And so Lakanta leads him to a scared chamber, and leads him into a spirit quest. During his quest, Wesley has a vision of his father, who tells Wesley not to follow him any longer. As Wesley leaves the sacred room, contemplating the revelation, he sees Worf ordering security officers to surreptitiously transport the colonists off of the planet. Wesley intervenes, much to the fury of Picard.

Picard had been in the midst of some very delicat, and ultimately futile, negotiations with Anthwara, the leader of the colony. Anthwara had explained to Picard that their new home wasn’t just a place to make a home, but rather it was a spiritual place — a planet with which his people felt a deep connection. Not only that, Anthwara tells Picard that Picard family ancestor had once taken part in the slaughter of Native Americans in New Mexico. As a result, Anthwara is confident that Picard will not force the colonists from the planet and therefore will “erase the blood stain” from his family.

But of course, Picard also has a duty to Starfleet, and a mission he was ordered to carry out — one which Wesley Crusher has just made all the more difficult. The two launch into a heated exchange which ends with Wesley resigning from the Academy. Picard’s reaction is absolutely compelling. He’s very much at a loss, deeply saddened.

But Wesley is at peace. He realizes that his destiny is not with Starfleet, and with fulfilling the expectations of others. It’s an important archetype the finding of oneself, of one’s own true path. Wesley has found it, even though it is vastly different from what he once envisioned. But it’s plausible, heartfelt, and sincere.

Wesley transports to the planet where tensions of reached a boiling point. As phaser fire erupts, Wesley shouts, “No!” and everything freezes. Lakanta appears and tells Wesley that he has literally pulled himself out of time. Wesley has taken the first step on a brand new journey. But Wesley is not yet convinced about what has happened. To that end, Lakanta reveals his true nature: The Traveler. He is to be Wesley’s guide on a grand adventure.

As for the Native Americans and the Cardassians, the Native Americans agree to relinquish their Federation citizenship, and accept Cardassian rule. The Cardassians, for their part, are enlightened enough to see this as the best possible solution — and agree to leave the Native Americans in peace.

Journey’s End is a fine episode. It’s worth watching on a number of different levels. But the return of the Traveler, as well as the transition of Wesley’s journey are true highlights. That’s not to say it was perfect. The pacing was a bit slow. And not all of the elements were seamlessly constructed. And Dr. Crusher’s last line is horrifically cringe worthy. But even so, this is one episode that should not be missed.

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