• Written and directed by Roger Nygard
• Starring
  • Denise Crosby
• Produced by Keith Border

Just because full disclosure is by and large a good thing, I’ll make a personal inventory:

I own, I think, six Star Trek novels, plus a couple of the technical manuals and a few of the comic books. I have the Next Generation soundtrack CD boxed set, and a cassette of the score for The Cage. I have a few of the episodes recorded. I’ve got a communicator pin. I’ve shown my children a smattering of the original episodes. I got every Trek reference in Free Enterprise. I’ve even been to a Trek convention (Toronto Trek 2, back in 1989).

However. I have never owned a Starfleet uniform. I sometimes miss the nightly TNG reruns on the local Fox affiliate, but I can usually find something else to do at 10pm. I own no episode pre-records, nor do I wait with bated breath for their DVD release. I identify episodes as “The one where there was this guy who…,” not by official title. I quit watching Voyager after about three and a half seasons, and I couldn’t even stand the Enterprise pilot.

Well, it’s not like it’s any less trustworthy than a real shuttlecraft, right?

In other words, I am not a Trekkie.

These people are Trekkies.

This documentary follows Denise Crosby as she interacts with the spectrum of Star Trek fans across this great land of ours, as well as the objects of that devotion — cast members of all four (at that time) series. Crosby is perhaps the perfect choice; her initial season on TNG as Tasha Yar gives her the semi-apotheotic credibility to get any Trekkie to open up to her without fear of what “outsiders” may think, but early exit from the Star Trek universe puts her somewhat outside the circle of those who will forever be enshrined in the pantheon.

You’ll probably find this movie filed either in the “documentary/special interest” section, or in the “comedy” section. Most comic documentaries are actually spoofs, obvious parodies of the subject in question. This one is not; the documentary itself plays it straight. It’s the subjects themselves that provide all of the humor.

The most refreshing person here is Gabriel Koerner, a fourteen-year-old fan excited to attend the upcoming convention in his new Starfleet uniform. He’s well-spoken, if bookish; reasonably well-groomed (although 1997 seems a little late for so mullet-ish a haircut), and best of all, he really seems to understand the difference between reality and fandom. Yes, he belongs to a club, and he’s spent hours and hours working on computer animations for their upcoming fan-film, as well as designing their own unique uniforms, but I can accept that; he’s working on fan projects because he enjoys them. Anyone who thinks he’s spending too much time on these things should probably compare him to sports-obsessed classmates and see who’s really coming out on top. He kinda reminds me of myself at that age — a little too smart (at least academically) for his peers, and grateful for a social outlet which doesn’t treat cerebral wattage as a detriment.

Ooh, some journalist was up all night thinking of that one, wasn’t he?

On the other hand, take an equally prominent character: Barbara Adams, best known for being the Whitewater juror who steadfastly showed up daily in her Starfleet uniform until dismissed. One-on-one segments reveal how fervently she believes in her position as Commander of her local Trek fan unit, and thus her responsibility to them to not be embarrassed of her mission and rank. Which almost sounds good until you realize that she’s speaking as if she had received a commission in a real military organization, not dressing up like her favorite TV characters. In segments showing her at her “real job” in a printing plant, outfitted daily with her communicator, commander’s pips, and phaser, you realize how ill-socialized Ms. Adams is outside her world of fandom. Her co-workers obligingly call her “Commander” and seem to have no squabbles with her, but it’s obvious that they don’t understand her obsession, and really can’t bring themselves to take it seriously.

In between these extremes of healthy hobbyism and insular obsession, there’s an entire parade of characters. People who attend Klingon language camp. A transvestite filk singer. The “Talk Trek” radio hosts. A Klingon who paid $1400 at auction for one of the Klingon “turtle” makeup appliances that had graced the forehead of Gowron (and would have paid much more — Klingons are not known for accepting defeat easily). A woman who moons over Brent Spiner probably a little more than is healthy. A fellow who changed his name to “James T. Kirk.” Denizens of the towns of Riverside, Iowa (proactively named the future birthplace of Captain Kirk) and Vulcan, Alberta, who revel in their cult status almost as much as wherever Dave Letterman is calling his home office this week. I think the examples of the towns are telling; I mean, New Orleans or Chicago wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about emblazoning themselves as the birthplace of a Trek character — it’s the small interchangeable interstate off-ramps that need desperately to find a claim to fame.

Women of color.

Filling in between all of the wanna-bes are the real ones: members of just about every Trek franchise show up in convention footage and interviews. Their take on the phenomenon ranges from full respect (Leonard Nimoy) to a good-natured winking at the excesses of it (Brent Spiner), but all of them seem to implicitly agree that, not only was Star Trek one of the greatest thing ever to happen to them, but it’s also been a great positive influence in the lives of the fans. Jimmy Doohan tells the story of a suicidal fan that he kept from the edge, convention by convention for the better part of a decade, simply by telling her that he expected to see her at the next one.

Which, I suppose, leads me back to Ms. Adams, poster-child for the depressingly obsessed. The greatest benefit, I suppose, of the unpredictable fervor of Star Trek fandom for over thirty years, is that the fans have managed to create a full-fledged escapist community ready to adopt those for whom the “real world” holds little appeal or benefit. Naturally, escapism isn’t a new development, but solitary escapism, even if it doesn’t necessarily lead to insanity, certainly leads to social ostracism because everybody thinks you’re mad. And in those misty pre-Internet days, when community formation was almost totally a geographic function, the sudden explosion of Trek fandom on a national scale brought this fall-back escapist community within easy reach of just about everybody in one form or another.

“I meant, it should be hauled away AS garbage!”

And even for those who lead otherwise normal and productive lives even when they’re not in Andorian makeup, the Trekkie phenomenon may fulfill another function putatively missing in postwar Western society: the need for devotion. The general consensus is that religion has faded noticeably from prominence in American lives, largely because people find that the solutions offered at church don’t match the problems. Whether that’s true or not is immaterial (religious devotion has always been an iffy proposition where cultural forces don’t back it up), but one has to wonder if the need to devote one’s self is innate in the human psyche, and if those for whom religion no longer fits the bill find themselves latching onto some other cause, no matter how little practical importance it may have (or maybe because of its lack of practical importance, and thus separation from the workaday world).

Yeah, that’s a lot of lip-flapping on my part, and it may have no more basis in fact than [insert your favorite kook theory here -- I'm tired of fielding irate comments]. But you’re getting this for free, so stop your complaining.

“A needle? Couldn’t you just, like, set phasers on ‘numb’?”

And anyway, I’ll leave all the pontificatin’ for the wrap-up, pointing your attention back to one of the other hallmarks of fandom: good old-fashioned capitalism. Specifically, the Bourguignons, who run the Star Fleet Dental clinic — you guessed it, a Trek-themed dentistry practice. The office is crowded to the gills with memorabilia, the staff all wear Starfleet uniforms, and frankly, I find it refreshing. Since I’m not afraid to tell you, die-hard Trekkie though I’m not, Star Trek does hold a special little place in my heart. I watched the original series re-runs faithfully with my grandfather on Saturday afternoons for years. It’s an audio-visual flashback to me to more idealized childhood times, and I think that a Trek-themed dental office would be relaxing and comforting to more people than may want to admit it. (On the other hand, the Bourguignons then mentioned to Crosby how, after spending all day in their uniforms, they sometimes go home and, ah, “roleplay” in their more personal moments… and that was really more information than I needed.)

Some Notable Totables:

• body count: 0
• breasts: 0
• explosions: 0
• ominous thunderstorms: 0
• actors who’ve appeared on Star Trek: 26
  • and no, I’m not going to list them all for you