To anyone watching the movie from beginning to end in one sitting this is very clearly the case. Couldn't be more obvious, in fact. The first half of the film, up through the end of Kirk and McCoy's trial, is brilliant stuff. Superlative Trek. The second half of the film is amateur hour: dumb, nonsensical, pointless. It is the work of people who were brought in to wrap up everything fast, as though time had run out.
1982 through the end of 1986 was a very, very good time to be a Star Trek fan. No Next Generation, Voyager, Discovery, Kelvin timeline, what have you. Just the One, True Trek: Kirk, Spock, McCoy, Uhura, Scotty, Sulu, Checkov. The three movies released during that time - Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan; Star Trek III: The Search for Spock; Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home - were all so good, it seemed wholly inconceivable that a subpar Trek movie (excluding the first one, which is a separate conversation) was possible. Even big-time 80s reviewers Siskel & Ebert concurred. Siskel: "I like (Trek IV) as much as any in the whole series. And it's a good series, particularly Star Trek II." Ebert: "Usually... sequels get worse and worse and worse. This one gets better and better."
The movers and shakers behind the franchise could do, so it seemed, no wrong whatsoever. It was a given - just as gravity keeps objects from floating off into space, just as planet earth orbits the sun - that any next Trek film would totally rock.
But the next Trek film was Star Trek V: The Final Frontier, an abominable movie that brought the whole fantasy of an invincible franchise crashing down around us. How lousy can a movie be? Let me count the ways: the humor is awkward, forced and overwrought, Shatner goes so far over the Shatner Line in this one that it's not even fun, and the film's central premise makes zero sense: cult leader Sybok is convinced that he can reach the planet Sha-Ka-Ree (Eden, essentially) by hijacking a galaxy class starship and flying it to the center of the galaxy, which is protected by the impenetrable "Great Barrier." (You'd be amazed at how easy it is hijacking a galaxy class starship.) Kirk himself says "the center of the galaxy can't be reached. No ship has ever gone into the Great Barrier. No probe has ever returned." Chekov says "they say no ship can survive this." Why is Chekov still making anecdotal observations in the 23rd century, completely unsupported by empirical evidence (who are "they" exactly)? The better question is how is it, when it's clear that humanity's greatest scientific minds (and the Vulcans', and the Klingons', and the Andorians', etc...) can find no way of crossing the Great Barrier, that Sybok simply flies the Enterprise through it, with no special upgrades or shields, taking only a few minutes to reach the planet at the galaxy's center and suffering no damage at all? (A Klingon bird-of-prey also follows them through the Great Barrier with no difficulty.) How is it that no one in the Federation realized that the Great Barrier was no big deal, that flying through it was easy peasy?
Because this movie SUCKS, that's how. I saw every Star Trek movie up until V multiple times in the theater. I saw Wrath of Khan twice in one day. Final Frontier I saw only once, and the disappointment I felt was practically despair. The golden era of Trek movies was officially dead and buried. How could such a thing happen? Did anyone involved in the film's production feel the same way? Would Paramount get the original cast together for one more movie, to set things right?
To the delight of shellshocked Star Trek fans everywhere, they would. With Trek's 25th anniversary coming up in 1991, it was decided to make one more movie with the original cast and make up for the disastrous decision to let William Shatner conceive of and direct The Final Frontier. After wisely rejecting the usually-reliable Harve Bennett's idea of hiring an all-new young cast to portray our beloved characters when they first arrived at Starfleet Academy as cadets in a prequel, Leonard Nimoy hit on the idea of a Cold War analogy: détente between Starfleet (USA) and the Klingons (USSR). Star Trek II director Nicholas Meyer thrashed out a screenplay and then signed on to direct. All the pieces were in place for a spectacular TOS send-off.
Except that, as noted earlier, unidentified, talentless, yea, even malevolent goons interrupted filming halfway through the movie (as doubtlessly the whole movie filmed in sequence, as movies almost always do) and banished Meyer and Denny Martin Flinn, probably handcuffed and deprived of essentials, from the set. Seriously, it's not just that there are a few bum scenes in the movie's second half - everything that happens after the trial is stupid and quite obviously the work of person or persons with no experience in movie making. Not convinced? Take a look:
Cliff Eidelman was all of 26 when he scored TUC but the gravitas he brought to the movie's score, particularly the opening credits, belied his youth. Opening with a POV shot, the audience warping through space, the credits roll quickly and without fanfare - nothing ostentatious here, just Meyer moving us economically through the obligatory credits and on to the movie - while Eidelman's ominous score starts slowly and softly, peaking grandly at the minute-and-twenty mark. But this is just a ruse; the music settles back momentarily, then ramps up with some soaring notes, tricks you into thinking it's over at 2:20, and then ramps up again, building and building to the 3:19 mark when the music stops, the stars stop whizzing by, and BOOM. Great big loud explosion sends giant purple shockwaves ripping through space.
On the bridge of the Excelsior we see now-Captain Sulu making a standard-issue captain's log about cataloging gaseous planetary anomalies (more on that later) before they get smacked by the purple shockwaves. And they really get smacked - it's jarring the first time you see the ship knocked for a loop.
What commences is a marvelous sequence for actor George Takei. It was always painful for us Trek fans anytime a new movie was announced, reading the inevitable interviews that came around with the four lesser cast members - Takei, Nichelle Nichols, James Doohan and Walter Koenig - where they complained about not getting enough screen time in the movies and floating the idea of not even signing on for the latest sequel. And no one would blame them. As beloved as their characters are, they always took a back seat to the Big Three, Kirk Spock and McCoy. But here the movie leads with Sulu and the man shows his chops. He's in total control. He makes quick, intelligent decisions. The whole scene is a joy. It's determined the Klingon moon of Praxis, a key energy facility, exploded. Meyer and DP Hiro Narita move from great shot to great shot here: a low-level angle of Sulu moving towards the viewscreen; a violent image of a Klingon screaming; a brief closeup of Sulu engulfed by the chaos on the viewscreen, looking back over his shoulder in bewilderment at his crew; the outstanding George Takei hissing "An incident!" after the Klingon transmission ends. Quick, beautiful, intense shots succinctly setting up the movie's premise: the Klingons are fucked.
We cut to another exceptional scene, a classified briefing in which Kirk, McCoy, Scotty, Uhura and Chekov are told by the Federation's Special Envoy - Spock, played with typical brilliance by Leonard Nimoy - that the Enterprise will escort Gorkon, the Klingon Chancellor, through Federation space to a peace conference.
Spock has "personally vouched" for Kirk to act as ambassador for Gorkon, and Kirk is pissed. And Shatner delivers here: no over-the-top, so-bad-it's-funny Kirk, but genuine emotion and the kind of excellent acting he was always capable of (see the last 20 minutes of Star Trek II).
Everyone leaves the briefing except for Kirk and Spock, setting up one of the great Kirk/Spock exchanges, a scene so worthy of the original cast's final bow that it is absolutely worth transcribing here:
"We volunteered?" Kirk sneers, shooting daggers Spock's way.
"There is an old Vulcan proverb," Spock says, setting up one of the great lines in movie history: "'Only Nixon could go to China.'"
"How could you vouch for me?" Kirk asks, completely brushing off this ultimate insult - or is it even an insult to Kirk? "That's... arrogant presumption."
One of the great things about Star Trek is the lack of profanity. In the 23rd century infantile vulgarities are long gone, and people think about what they're saying. They have actual vocabularies. "Arrogant presumption" is cutting stuff. Them's fighting words.
"My father," Spock replies, brushing off Kirk's insult in turn, "requested that I open negotiations-"
"I know you father's the Vulcan ambassador, for heaven's sake," Kirk gently chides. "But you know how I feel about this." He bites his lip in anger and disbelief. "They're animals."
"Jim, there is an historic opportunity here."
Spock thinking on his toes. Appealing to Kirk's vanity.
"Don't believe them. Don't trust them." Kirk is livid, barely able to contain himself.
"They are dying."
"Let them die."
His eye-bulging anger leaves Spock speechless, so Kirk tries a different tact:
"Has it occurred to you," he asks, dialing it back a bit, "that this crew is due to stand down in three months? We've done our bit for king and country. You should have trusted me."
I've been saying "done our bit for king and country" for the last 30 years because of this scene.
"You should have trusted me." Total smackdown. The scene ends with these two men, old friends, partners in myriad crazy, harrowing, more often than not life-threatening adventures, staring at each other in silence across a large room, each wondering how the other could have so totally taken leave of his senses. The economy of words is a wonder here. No lofty, grandiose speeches. Just a brief series of quick exchanges that go right to the heart of the matter.
That's an epic way to begin the final adventure of the Starship Enterprise: action sequence setting up a conflict with existential ramifications for two arch-enemies, and an angry, tense exchange between two beloved characters in one of the great American pop culture franchises. Bravo Nicholas Meyer, Denny Martin Flinn and Hiro Narita. No Trek fan could've have asked for more. We're off and running.
A lighthearted scene of the Enterprise leaving space dock breaks up the heaviness. This worked in Star Trek II for Meyer, so he repeats it here with a different hot Vulcan Lieutenant, Valeris. Valeris is somehow the first to graduate at the top of Star Fleet's class (seriously...?), played with typical audaciousness by Kim Cattrall who was already a recognized actress at this point but still seven years shy of her career-changing portrayal of Samantha Jones in Sex and the City. Incidentally, there is a GOOFY-ass shot of Scotty as the Enterprise leaves space dock (check out the ensign on his right) that no one ever talks about. To this day I can't watch it without wincing.
With the obligatory lightheartedness out of the way, we return to the real stuff: Kirk, distraught and pessimistic, records his extreme misgivings about their mission in his log. "I've never trusted Klingons, and I never will. I can never forgive them for the death of my boy... Spock says this could be an historic occasion. I'd like to believe him. But how on earth can history get past people like me?"
A superb little scene for two reasons. First, it drives home that this isn't just another thrilling adventure for the USS Enterprise. Intergalactic peace is on the line, and Kirk knows his own obdurance stands in the way. Dude doesn't even trust himself to accomplish the mission.
Second, we have a loop of sorts closing here. There were many of us who felt David Marcus' death in Star Trek III was a tad too contrived. There was no mention of Carol or David Marcus in the Star Trek canon prior to Star Trek II. They were dreamed up specifically for that movie to provide some drama and heft. Two years later in Star Trek III writer Harve Bennett has a problem: the cruel Kruge, commander of a Klingon Bird of Prey, wants to steal the Genesis Device and use it as a weapon. Kruge is one evil mo fo and must die. Bennett needs something dramatic to catalyze Kirk's anger and justify his killing Kruge. How about we kill off this David Marcus guy? No one will miss him. No one even knew he existed until the last movie. How convenient! We get our cake and eat it too: Kirk is perfectly justified in killing Kruge, and the writers get to have Marcus' dramatic death right when they need it in the plot, all without losing a major character. Voila.
But here we are years later and David is missed. His death really was more than a murder of convenience for Star Trek III's plot. Kirk is still unpacking his grief, and has to somehow set it aside for an end, as Spock puts it, to almost 70 years of unremitting hostility.
Another magnificent scene follows: Spock in his quarters with Valeris, decked out in ceremonial Vulcan garb, lighting candles. Eidelman's gorgeous, understated score perfectly sets the vibe for the Spock schooling the younger Lieutenant. She doesn't understand why Spock has a painting of Adam and Eve's expulsion from Eden on the wall of his quarters. "As a reminder to me that all things end," says Spock in another bit of beautifully concise-yet-profound dialog. The troubled Valeris asks Spock if he can't see the turning point in Federation affairs their current situation represents.
"History is replete with turning points, Lieutenant. You must have faith... that the universe will unfold as it should."
"But is that logical?" Valeris persists. "Surely we must-"
"Logic, logic, logic. Logic is the beginning of wisdom, Valeris. Not the end."
Hot damn! Imagine younger Spock in blue shirt saying this in The Ultimate Computer or Spectre of the Gun. The man has come a long way. And we get an unexpected nod to Max Ehrmann's Desiderata in the deal. Elegant and marvelous.
From its opening moment of awkward silence to Gorkon closing out the disaster it's become ("Well... I see we still have along way to go"), everyone is worth watching in this scene, and watching over and over again - Kirk glaring at Gorkon as the Klingons laugh about Shakespeare; Chekov's look of understated disgust; Uhura's genuinely pained expression after Chang asks Kirk if he's willing to "give up" Starfleet. Watch Kerla continue staring at Kirk after the good Captain explains how a bottle of illegal Romulan ale wound up on board. Look at the superb way Chang makes the slightest nod, mocking Spock's contention that Starfleet's mission is peaceful.
But all of this is just setting us up for the scene's dénouement, beginning with Chekov: "We do believe all planets have a sovereign claim to inalienable human rights."
" 'Inalien,' " Azetbur interjects. "If you could only hear yourselves. 'Human' rights. Why the very name is racist. The Federation is no more than a homosapiens-only club."
Good lord, listen to her tone, and how deliberately she navigates these words. This is the exceptional Rosanna DeSoto doing what she was born to do: taking a very small role and and imbuing it with so much depth that you are saddened she isn't in every scene in the movie. DeSoto has the most expressive eyes in the modern cinematic era. This woman doesn't need any puny lines. Just roll camera and let it capture her performance.
Years before Stand and Deliver and La Bamba, DeSoto's first onscreen role was in a 1972 episode of Cannon, playing the grieving sister of a recently-murdered hospital employee who got in over his head with a drug ring. Even in this brief role, at a youthful 22 years old, those wonderful eyes convey emotion far beyond any mere words written in a script.
The true masterstroke at the end of all this bitter back-and-forth is having James T. Kirk, already earlier likened by his best friend to Richard Nixon, be the first to invoke Godwin's Law and compare the Klingons to Hitler in 1938. The whole argument stops dead in its tracks.
We cut to the transporter room, with the Federation delegation seeing the Klingon delegation off. In fine Kirk fashion, the Captain smiles sarcastically: "We must do this again some time." The Mighty David Warner brushes off this facetiousness and takes three very deliberate steps forward, right into Kirk's face: "You don't trust me, do you? I don't blame you. If there is to be a brave, new world, our generation is going to have the hardest time living in it." Watch Shatner here, proving again he really was more than all the millions of mocking impressions over the decades. A little bit of what Gorkon says may actually be seeping into Kirk's psyche.
Think I'm a nerd-boy Trek fan, waxing hyperbolic, trying to elevate silly sci-fi into serious art? Are you of the Martin Scorcese mindset that genre movies can't be art, and Star Trek isn't real cinema - it's just more goofy-ass Star Trek product? You are entitled to your opinion, no matter how snobby and close-minded it may be. The fact remains: Star Trek VI, up until this point (and for another 25 minutes), is bona fide art.
And it is gripping art, too. In the midst of this chaos, two assassins in white space suits beam aboard Kronos I and methodically make their way to Chancellor Gorkon, shooting him in the chest. There's an apocalyptic vibe as the two purposely march back through the ship and beam away, leaving the Klingons to restore their gravity and attack the Enterprise. Kirk does the only thing he can do: signal Enterprise's surrender, and beam over to Kronos I with Dr. McCoy.
And here's where Paul Rossilli shines (again, actually) as Kerla. How much did they pay this guy for this small role? I guarantee you, without seeing the film's production notes, that it wasn't nearly enough. The ship that's supposed to escort you to a peace conference has just fired on you, and apparently assassinated your Chancellor. You're standing in the transporter room as the hated James Kirk - famously referred to as "the quintessential devil in these matters" by the Klingon Ambassador (the fabulous John Schuck) in Star Trek IV - beams aboard with his Chief Doctor. What do you say to these Federation scumbags in this situation?
"Have you lost your mind?!" Kerla demands, his eye twitching in fury. A perfect line, as there's nothing else to say in such a moment. Raw, unadulterated emotion. What incomparable writing and acting. Holy crap. He's got a phaser on Kirk and McCoy, and very much wants to use it. He's so immersed in hot, thick hatred that his head actually jerks when McCoy speaks: "We're hear to help." Three tense seconds pass as he sizes up Kirk and McCoy: Trust them? Shoot them? "Follow me," he says, successfully erring on the side of sanity.
Kerla leads them to the barely-alive Gorkon, who McCoy manages to resuscitate just long enough to look Kirk in the eyes: "Don't let it end this way, Captain." And Gorkon is dead. (And we are, alas, David Warner-less for the rest of the movie.) More perfect music from Eidelman as the full weight of the last hour's insanity settles on Kirk and McCoy, who are immediately arrested for assassinating the Chancellor.
A few short scenes follow, necessary to move us on to the trial, but the only superb one of these little transitions is with the Klingons, as Chang and the war council push newly-ordained Chancellor Azetbur to attack the Federation.
And it is superb because of Rosanna DeSoto. Oh my, how I could watch this woman act for hours and hours and never get bored. Talk about genius. After telling the Federation President (Kurtwood Smith, who is also a joy to watch in his small role; although he found fame and a steady job in That '70s Show, I'll always remember him as Clarence Boddicker) what's what - the Klingons will not extradite Kirk and McCoy, and the peace conference will go forward in a week in a neutral location "in the interests of security" - we cut to the Klingon war council making their point: "Attack them now, while we still can!" "Attack or be slaves in their world!" "We can take whole by force, what they propose to divide!"
These guys are hopping mad. Can't say I blame them, but still, note for all aspiring politicos out there: the Klingon generals are doing precisely what you should never do when making fateful decisions about war and peace. They are crafting their foreign policy around an Extreme Emotional Reaction. Cooler heads must prevail in situations like this, and just as Lincoln was the right man at the right time, Azetbur is the right woman for this fraught moment. Slowly, deliberately, with her voice matching those marvelous eyes for intensity, she tells the generals how it's going to be:
"War is obsolete general... as we are in danger of becoming." Good lord. What brilliant writing and acting. In all its glorious decades, Trek was never better.
"Better to die on our feet," the offscreen general says, "than live on our knees."
"That's not what my father wanted," she ripostes, momentarily letting her emotions get the better or her.
Chang interrupts here, like the total asshole he is: "Your father was killed for what he wanted."
"The peace process will go forward," Azetbur continues, rejecting the pressure to go to war. (At this point one of the generals angrily jumps back into position like a child who isn't getting what he wants right NOW, a great touch you need to check out.)
"Kirk," she hisses. In fact, DeSoto practically croaks the good captain's name, in a bravura bit of acting. The camera slowly zooms in on Azetbura, her tone eerily calm: "Kirk will pay for my father's death."
This is the kind of scene you may not think much of the first time you watch a movie like TUC, or that you may never think much of. More's the pity. I live for this sort of thing. Actors, writers and directors working hard at their craft, making small things into larger, profound things. Isn't that part of the essence of art? DeSoto is in total command of this scene. As usual. Even Academy Award-winner Christopher Plummer wisely just stands in the background as DeSoto takes only a few lines of dialog and conveys a movie's worth of emotions through her tone and subtle changes of expression. Speaking of her work on The Ballad of Gregorio Cortez, Edward James Olmos once said of DeSoto, "This woman is a brilliant, brilliant artist." The dude knew excellence when he saw it.
And so, my friends, we find ourselves at Star Trek VI's last monumental scene, the final minutes before things go bafflingly sideways and TUC goes from primo Trek to shit-all stupid nothing burger: the trial of Kirk and McCoy.
The lead-in is Meyer giving a clinic in movie-making: we zoom in on Chang (acting as prosecutor) making opening remarks in very harsh Klingon, cut to a quick shot of the room where the translators are conveying his remarks to Kirk and McCoy's handheld devices, and cut right back to Christopher Plummer, now speaking in English. Magnifico.
Chang's second witness is McCoy, in a scene that very easily could've come off as hokey in another actor's hands. But DeForest Kelley was Dr. Leonard McCoy, and the actor knew that this scene was the capstone of all his years of being the conscience and soul of Star Trek, the indispensable middle-man between Spock's cold logic and Kirk's "rushing in where angels fear to tread" (Kirk's words). After being accused of letting Chancellor Gorkon die because of incompetence "either deliberately or as a result of age combined with drink," Kelley gives his final, truly moving McCoy Moment, with much palpable anguish: "My God man, I tried to save him! I tried to save him... I was desperate to save him. He was the last, best hope in the universe for peace..."
Star Trek always attracted very literate, history-wise writers who enjoyed invoking great authors and great speeches, and here it is Lincoln they slip in, drawing from the President's second Annual Message to Congress. There is no shame in this, no cheapening of the great man's words. The fate of billions of lives hangs in the balance during this trial; it is altogether fitting and proper that Meyer and Finn should draw on the 16th U.S. President.
He gives "Tiberius" a little extra, spiteful oomph, resonating on two levels. Of course the Tiberius of history was the second emperor of the dreaded Roman Empire, but the name also teased all the Star Trek fans who argued obsessively over nearly two decades (at that point): what was canon in the Star Trek universe, and what wasn't? Specifically, was Star Trek: The Animated Series canon?
Three seasons and 79 episodes of Star Trek failed to reveal the name behind Kirk's middle initial. It wasn't until the second season of the Animated Series' episode "Bem" that Kirk's legendary exchange with the "Alien Entity" (voiced by Nichelle Nichols) finally ended all the speculation: "Who are you?" Kirk asks in stasis, along with Spock and Ari bn Bem. "Who are you?" the Entity counters. "I am Captain James Tiberius Kirk, of the Starship Enterprise."
And with those 10 words, eight years' worth of speculation ended. Only, it didn't at all. Many indignant Trek nerds (how dare Trek writers conflate our beloved Captain with the Roman Empire?) countered that "Bem" writer (and TOS veteran) David Gerrold tossed this line into "Bem" just to mess with everyone, and it therefore doesn't count. Worse, continuity in The Original Series was always sketchy; in the series' second pilot, "Where No Man Has Gone Before," a tombstone that the Enterprise's helmsman-cum-deity-with-godlike-powers Gary Mitchell has helpfully created for the Captain he's preparing to kill reads "JAMES R KIRK."
Is Kirk's middle initial R or T? If it's T, does it really stand for Tiberius? Here's how you should look at it: Gene Roddenberry himself got The Animated Series going, and got everyone except for Walter Koenig to reprise their roles. So yes, it is most definitely canonical. And yes, Kirk's middle name is most definitely Tiberius.
Chang immediately drops his Tsar Bomba on Kirk: a recording proving that James T. Kirk planned to take revenge for the death of his son by assassinating Chancellor Gorkon: "I've never trusted Klingons, and I never will. I've never been able to forgive them for the death of my boy."
Odd, considering what Kirk actually said 14 minutes into the movie was "I can never forgive them for the death of my boy."
At any rate, this leads directly to TUC's final two grand moments: a nod to two-time presidential candidate Adlai Stevenson, and a wonderful summation of the life and appeal of James Kirk.
The nod to Stevenson, whom in 1952 hit the proverbial nail square on the head when he lambasted Joe McCarthy as a "disgrace" and mocked right-wing conspiracy nuts "who hunt Communists in the Bureau of Wildlife and Fisheries while hesitating to aid the gallant men and women who are resisting the real thing in the front lines of Europe and Asia... they are finally the men who seemingly believe that we can confound the Kremlin by frightening ourselves to death," and nevertheless got crushed like a gnat by Dwight Eisenhower in the 1952 and 1956 presidential elections, is performed with gusto by Christopher Plummer, clearly enjoying himself: "Admiral Kirk was broken for taking matters into his own hands in defiance of regulations and the law! Do you deny being demoted for these charges! DON'T WAIT FOR THE TRANSLATION! ANSWER ME NOW!"
Cold War obsessives don't need to be reminded that Chang's rant memorializes the famous moment on October 25, 1962, when Ambassador Stevenson laid into Soviet Ambassador Valerian Zorin at the United Nations during the Cuban Missile Crisis: "Let me ask you one simple question: do you, Ambassador Zorin, deny that the USSR has placed, and is placing, medium and intermediate range missiles and sites in Cuba? Yes or no? Don't wait for the translation - yes or no?"
The second grand moment I'm sure is intentional - Meyer & company giving Kirk, in The Last Star Trek TOS movie, a chance to express, concisely, why we all love him so much. In response to Chang's Stevensonian tirade, Kirk - unruffled, as cool, calm and collected as ever, even somewhat amused by how unhinged Chang is - replies, "I cannot deny it."
"You were demoted... for insubordination??" Chang yells, still practically frothing at the mouth.
"On occasion," Kirk calmly replies, sounding like an adult addressing an irritable child, "I have disobeyed orders."
What a lovely moment for Trek nerds of all ages. Here's Kirk himself, patiently explaining why he's one of the most iconic characters in popular culture: because he routinely disobeyed orders, including the sacrosanct Prime Directive, and in each instance of insubordination, turned long odds to his favor. It calls to mind Star Trek III when Kirk is forced to actually blow up the fucking Enterprise and mournfully asks McCoy what he's done. "What you had to do," the good doctor replies. "What you always do. Turn death into a fighting chance to live."
And there it all ends. Mark your stopwatches - Kirk and McCoy are found guilty and given life sentences on the penal astroid of Rura Penthe at the movie's 53-minute mark, and director Nicholas Meyer has just been marched off the set at gunpoint. The script he and Denny Martin Flinn wrote has just been torn up. Unnamed minimum-wage hacks take over for the movie's final 60 minutes.
Things get really, really stupid from here on out. My stars, they get so fathomlessly stupid that there really can't be any question that a bunch of simpletons from Corporate were sent in for reasons lost to the mists of time to shove Meyer out of the way and finish the movie.
Where to start? How about the scene in the galley where Valeris grabs a phaser and disintegrates a cooking pot to set off the alarm and make the point to Chekov that Gorkon's assassins couldn't have simply vaporized their incriminating gravity boots? Two things here: why didn't Chekov, who by this point had served a few decades in Starfleet, already know this? What is this guy, fucking stupid? And how does Valeris discharge a phaser on Kill in a crowded galley and suffer no consequences? When she could have just verbally reminded him of the goddamn alarm system?
How about the Viridium Patch on Kirk's back? After the Enterprise apparently fires on Kronos One and Kirk decides to beam over, Spock very obviously sticks something on the back of his uniform that sticks out like a sore thumb. It is very obviously there while he's on Kronos One and very obviously there during his trial. Turns out this is a Viridium Patch: it allows someone to detect your position from a distance of light years. You'd think the Klingons - and everyone else in the galaxy - would already be familiar with this powerful tool and promptly remove it from Kirk's uniform when they arrested him. Instead, they miss it when they arrest him; they miss it when he goes to court; they miss it when they send him to Rura Penthe. Thus Spock is able to easily locate him and rescue both him and McCoy.
Speaking of the rescue: this is some seriously stupid shit. The Quintessential Devil in These Matters, along with the Enterprise's famous chief surgeon, have just been convicted of assassinating a Klingon ambassador and banished to a Klingon penal colony. They are the most infamous two chumps in the galaxy. The other prisoners at Rura Penthe are already well aware of who they are even before they arrive. Additionally, Azetbur has already personally warned the Federation President: "you will make no attempt to rescue them in a military operation."
The Klingons are very serious about removing Kirk and McCoy from the equation. It stands to reason, then, they will be on full alert, ready to quickly intercept any Federation starships that illegally cross into Klingon territory in an attempt to rescue them in a military operation. Thus, when the Enterprise does exactly that, they encounter... little ol' listening post Morska. A small, depressingly dark listening post run by a whopping two Klingons, one of whom is practically napping when his monitor alerts him to a ship entering his sector. Somehow, his technology doesn't identify the ship on his screen as a galaxy-class battle cruiser. It doesn't give him a visual, either. He actually has to fucking ask them: "What ship is that?"
These guys don't know it's the Enterprise? The Klingon military hasn't been tracking the fucking Enterprise this whole time?? As it speeds across their own fucking territory??? There isn't even one Klingon ship at the listening post to defend them if things go south for any reason?
Chekov helpfully informs us that they can't respond to the two sleepy (and drunk; one of them has a bottle) Klingons with the Universal Translator, as it would be "recognized."
We watch as he, Uhura, Scotty, and a couple of other Starfleet losers frantically flip through physical, antiquarian books, looking for a way to reply to this question, and the question of where they're headed.
Let that sink in: the Enterprise was on a mission to safely transport a Klingon ambassador to a peace conference during the most fraught, volatile time in galactic history, and there's no one on board who speaks Klingon. Not one translator for this Most Important Mission Ever.
And please, spare us your righteous criticism. I can already hear you: "Why are you guys at Ranting Russell so grumpy? This is comic relief. Don't take it so seriously." Thanks. We are fully aware that the scene is played for laughs. It is also idiotic and makes zero sense. In the movie's first 53 minutes, nothing was idiotic and made zero sense. This idiotic, zero-sense thing is endemic to the picture's second half.
Next up on the roll call of mind-bogglingly stupid shit following the trial: shape-shifter Martia breaks Kirk and McCoy out of Rura Penthe and they walk across the frozen wastes until they're outside of the "beaming shield." Turns out Martia is working for the Klingons and the whole jailbreak is a set-up; now the Klingons can kill our heroes "while attempting to escape" and avoid Federation scrutiny.
Martia does something very odd here - she shapeshifts into Kirk, despite the fact that a bunch of Klingons will arrive shortly to kill Kirk, thus greatly increasing the odds by an order of magnitude that they'll accidentally kill her instead.
But put that idiocy aside for the moment and kindly go to the movie's 1:21:29 mark. The prison guards show up to kill Kirk and McCoy. Martia still looks like Kirk, and as the one-eyed guard prepares to kill them, she says "kill him, he's the one!" Pointing at... the sky. Who or what exactly is Martia pointing at? She's supposed to be pointing at the real Kirk, but instead points over his head, off into the ether. Clearly, whatever hack took over after Nicholas Meyer was forcibly removed from the shoot and locked up did not care about such details. Dumb and inexplicable.
Next up: back on the Enterprise, Kirk, Spock, McCoy, Chekov and Scotty nearly trip over the bodies of Burke and Samno, who were killed at close range with a phaser on stun at close range. They weren't "vaporized" because it would set off the alarm.
So a phaser set to kill sets off the alarm, but a phaser set on stun doesn't? You can set a phaser on stun, go on a stun rampage on a galaxy class cruiser and no one will be the wiser? Makes sense.
But the worst is saved for last. We learn that the rescheduled peace conference is at Camp Khitomer. The Enterprise races there to stop another inevitable assassination attempt, where they are intercepted by Chang and his Bird of Prey, who start pounding the Enterprise with photon torpedos.
...And there's no security. The fate of the Klingons and peace in the galaxy rests on this peace conference, and there's not a single ship, Federation or otherwise, in orbit around the planet where the conference is taking place.
Let's go over that again, as it's important: there are NO SHIPS in orbit, patrolling, keeping the peace, guarding against another assassination attempt. Additionally: there is no one on the planet's surface monitoring this fight, notifying conference attendees that the Enterprise is in orbit and getting the snot beaten out of it by an invisible ship, and maybe everyone needs to hunker down in the emergency shelters until this thing blows over. Sulu's ship, the Excelsior, then arrives, gets fired upon, and still no one is monitoring this from the planet's surface.
Who writes this garbage? Not the same team that wrote the picture's first half. Hell no. It just cannot be.
Dig this: after getting hammered by numerous photon torpedos from the cloaked Bird of Prey, the geniuses on the Enterprise's bridge tumble to the fact that all ships expend ionized gas on impulse power. "Well what about all of that equipment we're carrying to catalog gaseous anamolies?" Uhura asks. "The thing's gotta have a tailpipe." In a matter of minutes, Spock & McCoy reconfigure a photon torpedo that follows the Bird of Prey's plasma trail after launching, slamming into the hapless ship for a direct hit. The Enterprise and Excelsior are now able to blow Chang and his crew away.
How is it, you ask, that it's a communications officer, and not one of a team of elite Starfleet scientists toiling away in one of the Federation's premiere science labs, that utters the line "The thing's gotta have a tailpipe?" You heard correctly: no scientist, and no engineer - not even our own goddamned Scotty - thought, all these decades, to track a cloaked ship running on impulse power by the gas it releases.
And yes, decades. By the time of TUC, it's been at least 20 years since James Tiberius Kirk himself beamed onto the Romulan flagship, surgically altered to look like a Romulan, stole their cloaking device and took it back to Enterprise. Starfleet has had this technology ALL THIS FUCKING TIME, but no one has figured out how to track a ship using a fucking cloaking device until the present time, until this very movie, when a whack-job Klingon commander, chewing the scenery as he actually twirls in his chair spouting Shakespeare, rains photon torpedos down on a helpless Enterprise.
Incidentally, facetious kudos to the hack writers that took over from Meyer and Flinn for brazenly filling Kurtwood Smith's mouth with a tired old cliche, "just because you can do something doesn't mean you must do it," but adding a bunch more words in a transparent attempt to disguise it as something profound: "Let us redefine progress, to mean just because we can do a thing, it does not necessarily follow that we must... do that thing." I've always thought that was a fantastically shit-all stupid line. Something an 8th grader, forced to take a drama class, writes into a scene to make his play longer. Pathetic.
