(director: J.J. Abrams; 2009)
As soon as I saw the preview to “Star Trek,” I was congratulating myself. Here was a chance to verify my impeccable judgment. Here was another installment of a franchise that refused to die, captained by J.J. Abrams, who helmed the directionless “Felicity,” “Alias” and “Lost.” The new relaunch was peopled with Cupid from “Hercules: The Legendary Journeys,” whoever Chris Pine is, and the eyebrow guy in “Heroes” (another show that doesn’t know how to stop). And John Cho as a rock-jawed Sulu decked out in armor swashbuckling with a claymore? If the film had any regard for tradition, it would follow in the proud footsteps of “Star Trek: Generations,” “Star Trek: Insurrection,” “Star Trek: Nemesis.” This had to be bad.
And what do I find? It’s pretty much a .
It doesn’t matter that “Star Trek” is nonsense. (Eric Bana’s tattooed face looks like he ate some fish he’s allergic to, his ship is a body double for a spiny jellyfish, Kirk gets intimate with the voluptuous sister of the Jolly Green Giant, and there’s some hooey about wormholes, black holes and time travel.) “Prepare the red matter!” Bana says, knowing full well how foolish it sounds. The famous “monologue of the split infinitive” narrated by Leonard Nimoy seems out of place, too. But “Star Trek” is lunging, freefalling, headlong nonsense. Young men and women are particularly good at delivering mumbo jumbo—they don’t have to pretend they know what they’re talking about; they rather believe they know what they’re talking about. To boldly go from Nimoy's “Space: the final frontier” to a Chris Pine punchline like “Bullshit!” takes some doing, and Abrams has enough of an ear for immature snarky comments. So, no, there will be no examination of the virtues of war and peace in this “Star Trek.” But you do get to see young and dashing Kirk, Spock, Bones, Scotty, Uhura, Sulu and Chekov before they settle into their roles as respected space darlings. Zachary Quinto is particularly composed and cocksure as the new Spock. ♦