The Star Trek Exhibition for the Times Weekend Section
Star Trek’s legendary approach to grammar greeted us at the entrance to the Adventure. I’d been determined not to mention the world’s most famous split infinitive, but it’s difficult when whoever wrote the captions had a such a way with apostrophes: “It’s (sic) positive vision of the future of humanity…” combined with semi-colons in wild, illiterate profusion. Maud (13) was cool about investigating what lay within that vast tent near Speaker’s Corner in Hyde Park. Archie (10) liked the idea, as did my sprightly father-in-law; Tolly (nearly two) is content to go anywhere with his family. So off we all trooped on a cold and frosty Saturday morning. Was it going to be the Starship Enterprise itself, warp drive humming gently in the gloom? Well, no. The appeal of Star Trek - The Adventure depends entirely on where you stand in relation to Captains Kirk, Picard, Janeway etc and their odysseys in space. I happen to love it. The original series was a great comfort whenever I was bored and alone in an anonymous US hotel bedroom, miles from home. At least one channel would be showing an episode – usually the campest one of all, where the crew discovers that Mount Olympus was just another planet. Curvaceous starlets under the sway of a petulant Apollo - in white wig and lurex mini-kilt - inhabit a small polystyrene Acropolis. William Shatner (Captain James Tiberius Kirk) reported recently on Graham Norton, that extreme care had to be taken on set, because the slightest pressure would send rocks, cliffs and whole buildings skittering madly away from you. If you walk too firmly past the exhibits, they share the same shuddering quality borne of insubstantial mass. The children liked the simulators best. “We got shot at by the Borg, and then they said the impulse engines were offline,” Maud explained calmly. “Sounds bad. What does it mean?” I enquired. “I don’t know,” she shrugged. “But then we went through a wormhole and came back to earth.” I enjoyed the commentary of ludicrous and amusing pomposity on a ‘futuristic’ communicator. My eyes fell upon the first exhibit – a Klingon throne chair: in air-brushed bronze effect – pre-loved, by its somewhat battered appearance. But then the Klingons are given to titanic rages, and no doubt it had received a good kicking or two. Apparently, and you will be interested I promise you, legend has it that it is a replica of Kalus the Unforgettables’s personal situpon, and is used for formal engagements. I dread to think what they used for informal ones. The Star Trek convention is that all aliens are human in form. To flag their otherness, something has to be added – usually rainbow panstick, and lumps and bumps to the forehead – many of which rubber “appliances” are on display. If they are baddies, then they will have the characteristics of species we find repulsive, such as iridescent beetles or scaly reptiles. If they are goodies, then mammalian features are added – cosy fur or endearing spots. The prototype was Mr Spock’s modestly pointed ears and winged eyebrows. Even the early Klingons started simply as tonsorially challenged, but have evolved massively furrowed brows over the last 40 years. Archie, then two, spotted his first Klingon on television and stated authoritatively, “He’s dot (got) a peanut butter head.” It was good to see Captain Kirk’s bridge in three dimensions – sadly no gorgeous Lieutenant Ohuru looking round with her intelligent expression, butt-skimming red uniform (also on display) and well-manicured hand caressing the gadget in her ear. That peiong-eoing-eiong noise was constant. Captain Kirk had a certain animal charm, and a tremendous way with the ladies. There was usually some cooking foil involved, lightly applied to shapelier alien areas, and lots of passionate clinches. When Captain Picard came along, the PC era had arrived, and everyone was covered up – usually in serge. Although bald, Picard lacked the sweater-model hunkiness of Kirk, and tended, if he fell at all, to go for the plucky, older woman colonist, clad in a shapeless beige garment, hand-woven from some alien plant. This apparently didn’t play so well with the punters, so Seven of Nine was introduced in Star Trek - Voyager. A human girl partially assimilated by the Borg (don’t ask), her breasts were gravity defying. The ultra-tight cat suit (of surprisingly good quality stuff) on display had given encouragingly at the seams. The whole thing is a good laugh. Trekkie punters wear the best costumes, the staff wear boiler suits. There are all the quilted noses, alien cocktails from Quark’s Bar on Deep Space 9, various transporters, lots of costumes, weapons (many very similar to electric shavers) and useful gadgets crafted from modelling clay. I realise my mobile phone is very similar to those predictive communicators from the early years. I fought the urge to flip it open and, eyes narrowed on the horizon ten feet away, speak the immortal line… But apparently no one ever said precisely that. We exited through Captain Picard’s Enterprise (lots of beige contract carpeting), and enjoyed a few shuddering explosions and a Borg attack viewed from the bridge. Tolly pointed at the flames, and said, ‘Ow’. I was overwhelmed with desire to throw myself into the Captain’s comfy chair and drawl - Star-date 11 01 2003, Captain’s Log Supplemental – to sign off another successfully completed Family Day Out. Children’s Quotes “I enjoyed seeing the prosthetics,” said Maud, who has an interest in film production. “And Counseller Troi’s wedding dress with the pink roses.” And this from a Buffy-crazed teen clad in Punky Fish! “I liked the end with the vibrating floor and all the uniforms, particularly Captain Picard’s Robin Hood uniform, and all the weapons,” said Archie.