Star Trek Into Darkness
Reviewed by John David Ebert
Star Trek Into Darkness is a perfect specimen of what I have termed “post-classic cinema,” which refers to the characteristic nature of the cinema of the past decade or so, which is a type of cinema with a completely different ontological status from that of the Classic period of the 1970s and 80s. Post-classic cinema eschews all forms of originality, and proceeds by means of Cloning, Grafting, Folding and Hybridizing all previous forms of cinema. Star Trek Into Darkness essentially “folds” Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan into the inside of its narrative topology (in the same way in which Derrida said that he could have “folded” his book Of Grammatology inside Writing and Difference), and then, using that as its basic narrative skeleton, proceeds to Graft and Sew onto its anatomy various scenes and motifs from previous films. The helicopter assassination scene from Godfather Part III, for instance, is “cut” from that film and then “grafted” onto the new Star Trek narrative in a sequence in which the film’s primary antagonist, Khan, attempts to assassinate all the heads of the Federation who are present at a single meeting. The look of the futuristic San Francisco, likewise, has been cut and grafted from the city of Coruscant in The Phantom Menace. (For some reason, these films never take sea level rise into account: by the 23rd century, most of San Francisco is going to be under water).
There is, then, nothing “original” about Star Trek Into Darkness, but then originality no longer matters to anyone in the days of “post-classic” cinema. Films are now like genetically modified organisms that are produced through hybridization processes in lab-like conditions. The resulting product is clean, sanitary and gleaming, but wholly, completely and thoroughly artificial. While Star Trek Into Darkness may be the most entertaining Star Trek film since the days of the early films starring the original cast, when one looks more carefully at the film with microscopic circumspection, one can find the tiny serial number with the words “Made in L.A.” which stamps the product with all the prefabrication of one that says “Made in China.”
Take, for example, the cast of the two J.J. Abrams films themselves: once the original cast members are too old to be put into these movies, under the conditions of post-classic cinema, they can be simply “cloned” by replicating the original cast with younger look- alikes which, like clones, physically resemble the originals but, also like clones, have something “not quite right” about them. The chemistry between the original cast members, for instance, is now gone, for their clones have replaced them with a stiff and unfeeling ersatz quality that destroys the sense of camaraderie, irony and wit that made the original television series and the first movies so much fun to watch in the first place.
The directorial style of J.J. Abrams, too, is equally ersatz, for he is also a perfect exemplar of post-classic cinema, in this case, of the new ontological status of the director as forger, for his style is a perfect imitation of a “hybridization” of the visual styles of Steven Spielberg (especially his use of light) and George Lucas (with his “eye candy” touch for handling machines). Abrams is the perfect director for the upcoming Star Wars sequels because he can copy the works of the masters with such faithfulness that it is almost like trying to differentiate an original Rembrandt from equally convincing works by whole schools of his imitators. Star Trek Into Darkness looks like it could have been directed by either Spielberg or Lucas, and if one didn’t know who the real director was, one might be hard put to tell the difference.
The story, as I said, “folds” Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan inside of it because it is basically a retelling of that film: here we see Khan once again awakened from cryogenic slumber (as in the original TV show) and let loose upon the world (as in the original movie) looking for vengeance, only now he is recoded with a layer of post-historic semiotics that recall the hunt for Osama bin Laden. In this film, it is Kirk instead of Spock who must “die” as an attempt to save the Enterprise, but who is revived through a miraculous technology of using Khan’s genetically engineered blood cells to save him (which is a significant clue to the nature of this GMO version of Kirk).
The battle scenes are spectacular and fun to watch, but they too have been cut and spliced, in this case, from the opening battle sequence of Revenge of the Sith. (And this film, too, like Sith and Return of the Jedi, has an opening prologue with its own mini-plot that involves a sci-fi “humanitarian intervention,” but it is a sequence that is rather lifeless by comparison with Lucas’s skillful prologues).
Everything certainly looks great in this film: the costumes, the sets, Abrams’s perfect imitation of Spielberg’s glistening rays of light that go slicing prismatically through every frame. But it is, in the end, merely a genetic hybrid of films, as well as Star Trek plots, that we have seen many times before.
As with all post-classic cinema, it is backward-looking in its orientation, full of admiration and reverence for the sci-fi classics of the 1980s. But it proceeds along the Asiatic agrarian model — different from the West, which has always planted with seeds which produce new plants — of using “cuttings” taken from other plants to simply grow new clones, or else hybrids of preexistent ones.
Let’s face it: the days of cinematic originality are now long since behind us.
Film, with the present shifting of its ontological status from celluloid to digital, has now become an art form that resembles the corporate patenting of genes by corporations like Monsanto that are force-fed to farmers, which they have no choice but to use, or else give up their ancient, agrarian way of life altogether. Star Trek is a patented gene that can be used to grow, harvest and regrow new clones and hybrids, just like the coming wave of Disney sponsored Star Wars films. When the inception of new prototypes is no longer the goal, you can simply transform the originals into spores that can clone themselves into endless copies, each with but slight and subtle differences from their originals. Hence, the similar fate of the Alien, Jurassic Park, Indiana Jones and Mad Max franchises, and soon also Blade Runner. We can expect a whole harvest of coming Blade Runner films, too, that will paint their digitized images onto future IMAX screens as so many “replicated” images.
Thus film in the age of digitization and genetic engineering: it is all part of a monocrop culture that has come to stamp out all other varieties and forms of indigenous species that might escape the overcoding of the big corporations and their patented characters, codes, lines, globes and flows.
Endless seriality and repetition without Difference.
Another great article, Mr. Ebert. I haven’t seen this Star Trek incarnation but I can’t pass by a deep well of insight without throwing in a couple of pennies.
It’s damn near impossible not to feel pangs of nostalgia when one sees contemporary copyists pilfering bits and bobs from deteriorating celluloid “classics” to complete public works. Luckily I was never too keen on the blockbuster canon, with the exception of the Mad Max trilogy, so I take more offense to the corporate culture that fosters this tomb raiding than to the shameless act of desecrating superior bodies of work.
This mitigation of risk by using tried and true tropes is surely a sign of decline. I do hold out hope, however, that there are some patient craftsmen working in the shadows of the coliseums that will lead us out of this rut. Perhaps a “neo-classical” movement will construct even grander spectacles on foundations laid by these artisans, much like how Spielberg and Lucas were influenced by the B movies of their youth.
On one hand, it is probably inevitable that we would see a recycling of so many old stories. I mean, once our special effects technology started to reach its present apex, the natural thought of most people is “Dude, we have to do Star Trek/Star Wars/Spiderman/etc with all these new toys!” On the other hand, these recycles aren’t coming alongside any great original material, which tells us that it really is a mark of creative exhaustion.
But then again, I wonder if it’s simply that we are running to the end not of our ability to create good stories, but simply to the end of stories that play well on film. There is still a lot of good writing out there, serialized TV has been churning out better work than anything seen at movie theaters for at least a decade.
I too have been tracking the decline and fall of American cinema, and I swear to you it correlates, at least a little, with the writers strike. Back around 2005-6 my then girlfriend worked at a local independent movie theatre and we frequented there, perhaps once a week. It took a while to notice, but after several months I remember thinking “wow, I haven’t been to the movies in months!” And this was perhaps a year after the strike, which never resolved as far as I know.
So ultimately, I think JDE has hit the proverbial nail on its head: the switch to the medium of digital has, in and of itself, caused a dilution of content.
As far as this film is concerned, I have nothing to add to Eberts review. However I did go back and watch Wrath of Khan and the disparity is striking. That was a damn good movie, and when Khan said “from hell’s heart, I stab at thee!” I daresay, it resounded almost stronger for me than when Ahab said it (I wish I remember the follow-up line, something about hatred…)
To clarify, and why I think JDE is worth listening to as a prophet of the digital age (and NOT Ray Kurtzwiel!!!): the writers strike was actually an after-effect of the digitization of television/radio/film. The writers went on strike because they were losing out on the huge profits the industry was reaping on the internet and even from DVD’s.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2007%E2%80%932008_Writers_Guild_of_America_strike
JDE comes into play with his assertion (where he says this I cant recall) that the economic crisis of 2008 is probably a result of our civiliztion switching to digitized media.
Into Darkness is actually the perfect example of this post-writers strike cinema. Because after watching this and Wrath of Khan back to back, I actually feel that if this review has one weakness, it would almost be that JDE UNDER-emphasized the lack of creativity and new material here.
For all its flaws, at least Promethius had a lot in it that was new.
Dominic
There are other recent and better films out there worthy of discourse.
Like what, for instance?
Star Trek is one thing- but damn, I really wish they wouldn’t mess with Blade Runner. I guess nothing is sacred anymore.
Very well said, Mr Ebert. I just watched this the other night and while I enjoyed it on the level of pure action, when I discovered that the villain was Khan (I didn’t know going in) I felt a visceral wrongness and a sense of betrayal that could only be dispelled by re-watching the wonderful Wrath of Khan for the 10th or 12th time. The only similar cinematic experience in recent memory that comes to mind are the end scenes of Revenge of the Sith, and the laughable shriek of “Nooo!” that Darth Vader expels. I remember thinking (perhaps more in hindsight), “Is this what the great epic of my childhood has come to? And only this?”
It saddens me, really – as a lover of science fiction and fantasy, of the imagination, and the ingenuity of the human race. To think that no one has the creative spark – or perhaps daring – to create something new, something vibrant. The Matrix had promise but then, like an Oliver Stone film, became an instant of its own complaint.
For me there was a last gasp of cinematic brilliance in the late 90s, with films like The Truman Show and Dark City that offered something original, something that was both new and mythologically resonant. There are brief instances of light, but they seem now but echoes.
This seems par for the course with Abrams, of course – after seeing his other recent science fiction film, Super 8, which, like the Star Trek movie, was partially redeemed by its obvious reverence for its sources (emphasis on “partially”).
At one point one of my all-time favorite films, Excalibur, was going to be re-made by Bryan Singer, but it has since become lost in the Hollywood ethers. At first I was disappointed because I had wanted the eye candy, but then relieved, because Boorman’s great film would have been made into a mockery, a clone hybrid that looks good but is dead, a synthetic re-creation. I fear the same with the supposed remake of Logan’s Run, but at least in that case the original was so entwined with the cultural forms of the time that a remake COULD be somewhat liberating and original.
I think of the law of diminishing returns and apply this to the art of the West, in which the sum of past parts is not more through an ensoulment that cannot be considered a “part,” but less and less in that the soul has dwindled, and only still exists in memory. I would love to see some great director create a science fiction epic of the far future in which the only remaining beings are clones and hybrids who are taken by an overwhelming ennui, a realization that what they are is but a copy of what they were, which was a copy of something before…