After nine Star Trek films I feel like I'm playing with a jack-in-the-box. There are so many better things in this world, or this room, or under my couch cushions, for me to be playing with, but I've arbitrarily imposed upon myself the need to play with the jack-in-the-box. So I joylessly turn the crank until the clown or whatever other satanic images you can fit into it pop out. Sometimes it still surprises me, but rarely. And when it pops out, it bounces around on its string for a minute as I stare at it, and then I stare into the middle distance, thinking about something--anything--else that will take my mind somewhere where it won't waste away. And then I press the little clown back into the box and slowly start turning the crank again. If someone watched a person do this, they would probably cry. And that's what I think of the Next Generation cast. At this point they're all well into their fifties, there's more Viagra and whiskey in their coffee every morning and sometimes they stand in front of the mirror in the morning and just cry. It's likely a side effect of the leg-chaffing cream they're getting slightly addicted to and they would file a lawsuit against that pharmaceutical company if they didn't still have to pay the mortgage on the cavernous manor they bought at the height of their coke habit. They kicked the habit a few years back and got in all the tabloids, but maybe it's time to pick it up again so that there will be something to do during the day instead of re-watching old episodes of The Next Generation.
What I'm saying is, when it comes to roles in blockbusters, they got the short, pointy, stabby end of the stick. They've been playing the same roles for the chanting mass of nerds for over a decade, despite being out of shape and tired and hairy. They've signed their souls over to the producers completely, and it's clear that those producers don't give a shit about the cast. They all seem to be so sad reciting their technical Trek jargon without a thick fog of cocaine to keep the fictional universe making sense. There's one very telling scene where Crusher and Troi talk about their breasts firming up that was clearly meant to create an audible rumble through the world as Trekkies fell over and started collectively masturbating. But it came ten years too late, and now they both look like skin puppets whose silicone breasts couldn't possibly be firmer if they were filled with helium. Although that doesn't discourage Jonathon Frakes, who seems to have used his position as director and Marina Sirtis's need to pay her private detective as leverage to get her into a bathtub with him.
So here's the plot. There's some colony on a planet and they never age for reasons that are never explained, probably because I don't care. The Federation is trying to relocate the colonists and the Enterprise crew thinks that's wrong. Hooray, let's get to the insults.
There was no way this group of fuck-ups could maintain the commercial and artistic success of First Contact, so it all falls apart rather unsurprisingly. I'll give Frakes some credit as director: he's not trying to just retread the success of First Contact, but that would be better than this out-and-out failure. I get that Star Trek is all about bright, shiny optimism, but contrasting that with the ever-present threat of evil and darkness is extremely effective BECAUSE of that. Making the sequel a sunny prancing through a field of flowers is turning the knob way back down. If we're going to turn down the excitement and tenacity of a film, at least replace it with something and not the dead air that seems to be the main character of Star Trek: Insurrection.
We took an important step towards a distinctive visual language in the last film with some darker cinematography. It still looked like crap, but after a half-dozen films that all look like shit, you'll take what you can get. This film puts it in reverse for about six blocks leaving us with some of the most plain, unaltered footage I have ever seen outside of a camcorder.
The only thing I liked about this film was a space battle played, like all space battles in this series, like a naval battle that really involves the characters more than the ship which is one of the few things this series has consistently harnessed for the power of good.
The other standout is, obviously, Patrick Stewart, who actually looks quite bored here. An actor of his caliber shouldn't be stuck playing the same character for a decade, as much fun as Jean-Luc Picard may be to watch. He's stuck with an unplayable romantic subplot that made me want to claw my eyes out and throw them at the screen and is one of the most disturbing crimes this franchise has committed.
As for the rest of the cast, Jonathon Frakes looks like he's having fun, which makes him look weird and out of place next to the rest of the cast. Brent Spiner doesn't look like he wants to move a lot and F. Murray Abraham is unrecognizable and unremarkable, which is a good way to categorize his work post-Amadeus.
I've heard that Nemesis essentially ended the franchise, but I have a hard time imagining it being at least less engaging than this film. But if it's true, I can't really imagine there being a darker time to be a fan of a series.
I can't give it a one, or even a two in good conscience, it's just not offensive enough to the senses, just horribly boring. And that makes me even angrier at it: I can't really justify its crucifixion. I don't hate it, I just feel sorry for it.
3/10
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